by Jeannie Rae
“Nah, they’re probably going to use missiles. Lots of missiles. Burn the town to the ground and reduce it to rubble,” Shotgun said, picking up a handful of dirt and chucking it with discontent.
Joe palmed Hank’s shoulder with tears in his own eyes and offered the old man a nod as if to say that he felt the same loss. The loss of loved ones, friends, of their homes and the lives they lived in The Port.
The booms and crackles thundered. What sounded like fireworks could be heard in the distance, as the bombs fell. The remote shockwaves reverberated through their bodies like vibrations from a nearby band. Dave jogged toward the road. He looked back and could see an orange glow in the distance, and he thought of Roxy. Damn.
Dave took a moment to let it all soak in before jogging back to the others. He found them all sitting on the ground, defeated.
“Alright guys, we made it out. We need to figure out what our next move is, so that we can get Kate back. She’s counting on us,” Dave said, trying to instill a bit of motivation.
“Okay, we’re in Bayberry Hollow right? Then listen up, I’ve got a plan,” Shotgun began.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
Visibility under the murky water tonight was near impossible for Roxy. She wouldn’t dare turn on the diving light attached to her vest. It would act as a beacon for the helicopters above, although, when she first went under it sounded as if they were moving away from the pier. Still, she couldn’t chance it.
While swimming as fast as her body would allow, a sudden blast discharged behind her. They see me. They’re shooting at me. She hurried her pace, as the blasts persisted. Her mind took pause, these sounds weren’t gunshots…they were explosions. She turned her head back and looked through three feet of cloudy water above her. A glow shimmered from afar. Though all she could see was a bright reddish-orange radiance, she knew it was Port Steward, burning in flames. She turned forward again and continued swimming, more desperate than ever to escape.
After swimming a distance that felt nowhere near far enough, she felt an abrupt temperature change along the surface of her face. As she looked up through the water, she found that her vision had adjusted, and now, she could see very well. She approached the shallows along the beach of Bayberry Hollow. After witnessing the lengths that officials would go to in order to prevent citizens from leaving Port Steward, the open area on the beach gave her pause. Someone within the vicinity would see her long before she would see them. Roxy angled herself as she swam down the beach.
About a half of a mile down, the shore became excessively overgrown with weeds and grass about three feet tall. She swam up to it until her hips drug upon the sand. She pulled off her mask and respirator, ducking into the grass, listening.
The whole beach was alive with sound. These were not the sounds of humans, instead, a chorus of insects buzzing and chirping, blades of tall grass colliding with one another, and the slapping of water on the shoreline. Taking a moment, she gazed at the blazing buildings across the water. They were burning bright, as plumes of flames and smoke rose into the night air. She wondered if the town or government representatives had bothered evacuating any of the residents of The Port before they decided to scorch it and shoot those who tried to leave tonight. Hoping that Port Steward had set up some sort of check-point, earlier in the evening, she wanted to believe that her family and friends made it out that way.
Roxy peeled off her equipment and wet suit, wadding them up and tucking under a shrub, positioning a couple large rocks around them.
Barefoot, trekking up the cold, rocky sand and through the long weeds on the shoreline of Bayberry Hollow, Roxy turned back to her former hometown. Watching the night turn to day by the light of the scorching town before her eyes, she felt mesmerized by the blazing fire and spirals of smoke that engulfed and surrounded Port Steward. Flames of crimson and orange wisped through busted-out windows of the tallest buildings, Angora included. Although the jets had vanished from the sky, the explosions continued, likely from propane tanks, gas stations, and other combustible substances. The bombs that had been dropped demolished many of the landmarks that The Port had, but the continuous explosions…would finish it off.
Roxy cupped her palm over her mouth as her eyes brimmed with tears. The salty substance had long made its way down her cheeks and chin before she realized she was crying. Tears streamed from her eyes as she bore witness to the destruction of her hometown. She began to sob overwhelmingly as she thought of the park near her house, the neighborhood grocery store that she visited weekly, her college and all the schools she’d attended throughout the course of her life, the neighborhood she walked the ladies through every morning…and her home. Dropping her face into her hands, she broke down, wailing with heartbreak. The home that she grew up in, where she shared nearly all the memories of her mother—was gone. While she stooped on the beach, she had no idea where to go or where her family could be.
She thought of her Gypsy, before her mind eventually went to a place she did not want it to go—to her father and sister. Did they make it out or are they dead? Or could they be trapped in Port Steward trying to escape a painful and certain death sentence? If they did make it out, where would I find them?
Roxy fell to her knees, the wet sand dimpling under the weight of one hundred and thirty pounds. A hard rock jammed into her right kneecap, but she did not feel the pain of the impact, nor her skin splitting open a small cut on her knee. The pain she felt stemmed from a lump deep in her throat, a feeling that all would not work out, that nothing would ever be the same. Her tears could not be stopped as she sobbed explicitly, nearly unable to catch her breath. Her neck, chest and abdominal muscles contracted with each gasp for oxygen between cries. Crouched on the beach, Roxanne Harper cried until her eyes and face swelled and until no more tears remained, alone and in the dark, by the light of the burning city across the cape.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
SUNDAY
As the sun rose in the distance, Roxy could already feel the warmth of the morning sweeping over her. She opened her eyes, her gaze falling upon planks of wood and half-hammered nails. After walking inland for close to an hour last night after the dive and her breakdown on the beach, her feet would carry her no farther than this empty fruit stand.
She stood up, stretching inside the old shack. It was hardly big enough for that. The modest stand fashioned of plywood and fence planks had a large opening in the front with a plank of wood to act as a counter. A strawberry had been painted on the upper portion of the front. It reminded her of a smaller version of a firework stand.
Roxy exited through the only door, at the back of the stand, emerging on an empty seaside road.
Roxy’s head felt heavy from the meltdown she had last night. Her face and eyes still felt puffy and her head drummed in pain. She had left it all out on the shoreline last night, all her pain and anger and sorrow. Today is a day for action. Last night I was at my weakest, but not today. I will find my family if it takes me forever. They made it out, I know they did. They had to. My dad is too strong and smart to have gotten stuck in The Port last night. I need to head to downtown Bayberry Hollow, to see what people are saying, and maybe listen to the news.
Suddenly a sharp pain developed in Roxy’s stomach. A hunger pain. Her tummy grumbled and protested the emptiness within, sending her a painful warning that she needed fuel. She wouldn’t make it to downtown—not yet at least, she needed something closer to get some food, then she could make her way inland.
Her stomach grumbled again. She was hungry, very hungry. Reaching down with both hands, she felt the front of her pockets of her shorts. Pulling out two half melted candy bars from her pocket, she scarfed them down. The pain remained, though lightly dulled by the candy she’d consumed. She needed real food.
As she walked inland, she pulled the dog tag from her pocket. Reaching back into her pocket, she retrieved the cork and the cross on the ball chain. Briefly she examined the cork, wondering why she chose retrieve it from the
alley. The cork felt heavier in her hand than she expected, there seemed to be something strange about this key chain, but now wasn’t the time to check it out. Opening the chain—attached to the cross, she pulled off the house key and threw it on the ground. She threaded the dog tag and the cork onto the chain. They slid down to the cross as she clasped the chain back together, and pulled it over her head. Coming up on a towering gas sign in the distance, relief temporarily sated Roxy’s hunger. Fixating her hearing on the remote noises, she could hear bustling in the distance. It became difficult for her to separate the sounds from one another, as she found herself unfocused and the sounds were too far away. She began jogging, her hunger urging her to hustle.
CHAPTER NINETY
A faded blue El Camino pulled into the dirt parking lot of a small restaurant at the edge of Bayberry Hollow. Dust plumed as the car came to a stop at the backside of the eatery. Dave and Joe hopped out of the back, as Hank exited the driver’s side. After telling Rogue to stay in the back of the vehicle, Joe opened the passenger door, to assist Shotgun out. Shotgun’s leg had been cleaned and bandaged. The clean pair of jeans he wore covered the wound completely. If not for a slight limp, no one would be able to tell anything was wrong with his leg.
Joe patted Rogue on the head and told her to stay once more. She sat in the back of the El Camino watching as he stepped away.
They stood outside the car for a moment looking at the eatery, all dressed clean clothes. The men all took a second look at their gently used duds. Joe’s two-sizes-too-large, plain, gray tee hung loosely on him, while Dave’s chocolate colored tee with a cowboy boot on the back looked about a size too small, clinging snugly to his frame. Hank wore a well-fitted, tan and cream, button-up, short-sleeve rodeo shirt and Shotgun wore a similarly cut one in all black. Each sported a worn in pair of jeans and their own shoes—which had run a cycle in a wash machine.
“That lady friend of yours was really a doll. You never did say how you knew her, old girlfriend?” Hank asked.
“Emily and I go way back,” Shotgun began. “We were on again, off again for a few years in high school. We’ve always stayed close over the years. I’m just glad that she didn’t live too far from where we came out of the drainage.”
“Yeah, well you didn’t have to jog the five miles to her house,” Joe joked sarcastically, cracking a slight smile to Dave.
After getting cleaned up and a decent night’s rest, Joe felt revitalized and refocused. Last night he felt as if his whole world had been ripped apart. Now, he still felt the same, but instead of focusing his energy on all that he’d lost, he chose to channel it toward finding what was left of his family, Kate.
“You should have seen the look on her face, when she opened the door to Joe and me,” Dave said. “She went from curious about why two strange men were at her door in the middle of the night, to completely grossed out by our smell, to concerned about you. All in about thirty seconds.”
“Well I’m just glad she was home. She took real good care of us and stitched you up pretty good. Never did get the chance to ask, is she a doctor or something?” Hank inquired, as they made their way along the side of the restaurant toward the front entrance.
“Nah, she owns the farm and grew up on it. You’ve got to know a little of this and a little of that on a ranch. She knows her stuff. Now, when she took the bullet out, that was real pain. She’s never been the delicate type with anything, but she got the job done. Let’s get some grub, then we’ll head out to Blue Falls,” Shotgun insisted.
A rumble came from Joe’s abdomen, almost seeming to echo throughout his empty stomach. He felt famished, as were all the men in his company this morning. While Shotgun’s friend had been more hospitable than he ever could have imagined, she hadn’t expected four hungry men for a visit in the middle of the night. Her fridge had been stocked with leafy green vegetables, sprouts, fruit, yogurt and some spongy tofu. It had looked a lot like Roxy’s vegetarian side of the fridge at home. Joe felt somewhat guilty for devouring four peaches last night, the other men had finished off the rest of the peaches, the grapes and bananas and all of her broccoli and corn. With only two eggs in her fridge, the men thought that they should leave them behind for the lady of the house, even though she insisted that they “Eat up.” She had even offered to make a trip to the market this morning to pick up groceries, but the men needed to get moving anyway.
“You know, we probably shouldn’t talk about Port Steward in here. Might just bring trouble on us,” Dave said, approaching the entrance.
“Yeah, we should just get some food to go,” Shotgun said, opening the door.
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
It only took Roxy a matter of minutes to make it the gas sign. Seeing a small service station and a diner sparked a rising glee in Roxy. As she approached the diner, she frowned at the sight of the sign, Dizzy’s Café. This diner is where she was supposed to meet Mattie today.
She hustled toward the café as the delicious aroma of breakfast, drifted by: pancakes, eggs, fried potatoes, butter and...sausage. Although she’d been a vegetarian for years, it had never stopped Roxy from appreciating the appetizing aroma of meat. Now it seemed that her cravings for meat were getting stronger than ever, like nothing else could satisfy her hunger. As the swirl of scents danced on her nose, she stopped short. There was something extraordinarily familiar about this place. A familiar smell lingered in the air, but the scent that piqued her interest wasn’t food. She inhaled again and again. She knew this smell, but she felt so hungry that she just couldn’t focus on it. Frustrated, she entered the diner hoping that the scent would still be in the air after she left.
Inside the diner, the scent smelled even more powerful. It seemed more like a collage of acquainted smells, but she needed food, now. She felt unsteady on her feet, as though she could lose consciousness right there. She looked around the restaurant, everything seemed normal, except her.
The diner had a comfortable atmosphere and the scent of breakfast and coffee lingered in the cool air. Antique kitchen instruments and appliances were hung from the walls and ceiling as works of art. The dated countertop and booths showed their ware from decades of visitors. Everyone seated looked like they were happy to be there. Roxy felt relieved to see regular people on a regular morning, eating breakfast at a regular restaurant. The approaching waitress greeted Roxy, looking her over carefully, and then sat her at the counter.
“Hey Maggie, is your cell getting any reception?” A man sitting with his family called out. The family of four all had cell phones out tapping away at their touchscreens, shaking their heads.
“Just a second Mr. Anderson. Can I start you out with somethin’ to drink hon?” The lanky waitress asked, sliding a menu across the counter, chewing a piece of gum. Roxy could smell that it was nicotine gum.
That wasn’t all she could smell. The woman stood too close to Roxy. An insidious urge crept over Roxy, one that she fought out of her head the moment it formed, an urge that terrified her down to her very core.
A craving.
An insatiable craving for…protein—meat specifically—surged through every cell in her exhausted body. She bit her lip and stared at the bare skin on the waitress and listened to the rhythmic throb of her heart.
Deep down Roxy knew that she had no choice but to submit to her craving for meat, before she did something that she would most certainly regret.
“I’ll take a water, and steak, rare with two eggs over easy,” Roxy said, pushing the menu back to the woman, in hopes that the waitress would distance herself from the counter.
“Comin’ right up,” Maggie said, jotting down the order, then slapping the ticket on a circular trolley and spinning it.
Roxy looked around in an attempt to occupy her mind until her food was ready. There weren’t many people in the diner. There was a man in a booth beside the entryway sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. The family in the corner booth, eating their breakfast and a couple on the other side of the dine
r finished with their breakfast—dropping cash onto the table. Roxy had the overwhelming desire to race over and eat the left over biscuit and half bacon strip left behind on one of the plates, but she maintained what little self-control she had left.
This jittery feeling in her body was a whole new sensation. In her entire life she’d never felt this starved. I ate two candy bars this morning and I ate last night and at Angora and at Mattie’s garage. It’s not like I haven’t eaten. It’s like I have tapeworm or something.
Roxy’s order was up in record time. The waitress couldn’t put the plate down fast enough. Roxy began slicing into the eggs and shoveling them into her mouth. She was so hungry that she’d only chew two or three times then swallow. Devouring the food at a record pace, she moved onto the steak. She loaded the bites into her mouth so quickly that she could barely taste the meal. But in some way, that made little sense to her, she could feel it. She could literally feel her body absorbing the nutrients contained within the meal. It was as if her body became recharged by the animal protein.
The waitress stood back, looking at her with a minor level of disgust. “Rough night?”
“You have no idea,” Roxy said with a mouthful of food.
“I figured. This here, is hang over food. You look like you’ve been through the ringer. And it looks like you lost your shoes somewhere. Normally, we don’t let shoeless folks in here, but you seem harmless and we’re not that busy this morning. You from around here?” She asked.
“Not really, I… have a cousin I’m visiting,” Roxy lied between mouthfuls. After the war zone that Port Steward became last night, she thought it best to not speak of her hometown or why she was in Bayberry Hollow.
Roxy looked down at her bare feet. They were filthy. Her chipped, pink, toe polish reminded her of an old chair that’s paint was deteriorating from weather damage. Dirt and grime had snuck under her toe nails, and dried sand clung to her heel and calf. Her thighs were smeared from her sweaty hands wiping against them on the way here. Her clothes were equally grimy; looking as if she’d not washed them in a week and rolled around in the parking lot a few times before coming into the diner. Taking a moment to examine her hands, she would have been repulsed by their grubbiness, had she not felt so famished.
