by Nathan Jones
The water table around here was incredibly low, usually hundreds of feet deep, and it didn't rain too often, but with something this important it was better to be safe than sorry. After he'd dug down about three feet and waited a few minutes, making a trip to the car for another load, he felt the bottom of the hole and satisfied himself that it was bone dry and should stay that way.
He still dug the remainder of the hole with a channel at the bottom, which he filled with most of the smaller and medium sized rocks he dug up to make a drain. The drain was an idea he came up with on the spot, and between it and the tarp he hoped everything would stay dry.
It was hard to guess exactly how big the hole needed to be to fit all the stuff he planned to leave behind, so he went the extra mile and made the hole bigger than he thought he strictly had to. The small shovel wasn't his ideal tool and he spent most of the roughly two hours he spent digging cursing at it, and at the frequent rocks he encountered in this stony soil. At least he had plenty of experience digging, most recently while helping Lewis bury their shelter with the aid of a backhoe and their back muscles, so the job was familiar enough.
Finally he had a hole he liked, or at least one that was good enough after hours of backbreaking work on top of a sleepless night. Trev paused for a meal of jerky and trail mix and drank most of a bottle of water from one of the cases, then extended his break a bit longer as he lined the hole with one of the tarps.
After that it was time for more backbreaking work ferrying everything down the steep slope. He started with the buckets and boxes as a base, then filled up the space on top and around them with plastic bags full of cans and bags of rice and beans. For a bit of added water protection he tightly tied the grocery bags shut before piling them on, leaving enough leeway in the handles so he could still carry them that way later.
Last of all he piled on all the more delicate and valuable stuff he didn't want destroyed inside a sort of nest between the softer bags filled with rice and beans, covered it all with his blankets and winter gear that was too heavy and bulky to take along in his pack, then covered it with a second tarp and made sure the upper tarp would drain water to the ground below rather than somehow making its way inside.
Once he thought everything was as good as possible he grabbed the shovel and set to work on the final difficult task of filling the hole, with was thankfully much easier than digging it in the first place. And finally he spent several minutes smoothing the dirt and then kicking dead leaves and mulch from the rest of the copse over the spot, then gathering any deadwood he could find to spread around to further disguise it. Then he stood back to inspect the area and make sure nothing would draw the eye.
It looked pretty good. At last, after roughly four hours of exhausting work, he was finally finished. He sincerely hoped it was worth it. He'd heard the sound of a few semis and a single car driving by on the highway above while he'd been working, but unsurprisingly none had stopped. He didn't know whether that was a good thing, since they wouldn't know about his supplies or his cache and be tempted to steal from him, or a bad thing because it meant he couldn't hitch a ride.
Oh well, maybe he'd get lucky and another semi or car would pass by going the right direction and offer him a ride once he was on his way.
All that was left was to find a way to shove everything he'd left out to take with him into his pack or tie it to the outside. He had so much stuff that he ended up taking out his sleeping bag, tent, tarp, and inflatable pad and wedging them under the pack's front straps as he pulled them tight in order to fit everything else inside. He still had to strap his camping shovel across the back and carry his Mini-14's case in one hand, balancing it out with a bag of ammunition and sundry items in the other.
It wouldn't have been ideal if he'd had to do the slightest bit of climbing, but for just walking along the road it should be okay. He gave his car a once-over to make sure he had everything, locked it up, and then with some effort lifted his pack and pulled it onto his shoulders, grunting at how heavy it was as he buckled and adjusted the waist and chest belts.
He'd done his best to keep the weight at 80 pounds, not counting the stuff he'd be holding in his hands, since that was the weight he'd heard soldiers carried in the field. He might have gone a bit over, but either way the pack was so heavy he had trouble leaning over to pick up the case and bag without losing his balance. That, too, wasn't ideal, but he only had to go 50 miles and this was all stuff he felt he needed to take with him.
Trev worked his shoulders under the pack's straps, hefted the stuff he'd be carrying, and gave his car one last longing, slightly resentful look. A half hour of driving this morning, maybe closer to forty-five minutes. That would've taken him at least another third of the distance, maybe even gotten him to within 10 miles. No help for the past, though, so he got going.
Since he'd ended his drive at the bottom of a hill with even steeper hills ahead he got the treat of having to climb for the first few miles, which was an excellent way to demonstrate that he'd definitely packed way, way too much. By the time he'd gone a mile he was absolutely exhausted. The pack, which had seemed cripplingly heavy at first, now felt like a mountain on his back, threatening to topple him over with every tottering step.
Eighty pounds, he'd figured. Now he was wondering if it didn't weigh closer to a hundred. And for that matter, those eighty pound packs were being lugged by trained soldiers in the best shape of their lives. He rarely exercised more than the occasional game of volleyball or swimming at a nearby apartment complex's pool. Even that wasn't really swimming, more goofing off with his roommates.
There was no help for it, he was going to have to lose some weight. Hopefully not physically, although that would probably happen all too quickly once meals started getting scarce, but his pack definitely needed lightening. He hated the thought of throwing away any of the stuff he'd spent so much time and money acquiring and carefully fitting into the pack's limited space, but he'd never make it to Aspen Hill like this.
Did he go back and cache some more things? Maybe just stow them in the locked car to save time? The thought of wasting the mile he'd already walked sickened him, but at the same time he was already exhausted and with a pack this heavy he'd have trouble going 5 miles in 24 hours, let alone 50 like Lewis had joked.
Trev stood tottering in the middle of the road, gritting his teeth at the array of undesirable choices in front of him. Then with a curse he dropped the stuff in his hands, fumbled his pack's belts unbuckled, and let the crushing weight slip from his shoulders with a groan of relief.
About that time the roar of an engine turned him around in time to see a car coming fast around the curve behind him. Trev suddenly found the strength of desperation and grabbed his pack in one hand and the bag and gun case in the other, staggering towards the side of the road half-dragging everything. The approaching car swerved around him with a hand on the horn, and as it disappeared around the next corner going way faster than the speed limit the driver stuck his hand out the window to flip him off.
Trev collapsed by the side of the road, wheezing. If he'd been paying attention he might've heard that car sooner and could've tried to flag him down for a ride, or at least not been standing in the middle of the road like a blinded deer. He honestly hadn't expected anyone to come driving this way ever again, as if the moment fuel stopped being available it would disappear from everyone's tanks.
He'd have to pay attention in the future, and maybe he'd get lucky and find someone he could hitch a ride with. Until then it was time to drop off some stuff.
He started off by eating a proper meal rather than just snacking, using up some of his two weeks' worth of food, then gulped down a bunch of water from one of the 4 1-liter stainless steel containers he'd brought with him. He was sure he'd be able to get water at any town or house he passed and he also had his filter with him, so he might as well drink up a bit of extra weight. He was even tempted to dump some water out, but he wasn't quite that desperate yet.
Then he went through his pack and sorted out everything he didn't absolutely need. That was harder than he'd expected because he felt like he needed everything, or would in the future. But coming at it from a purely pragmatic eye he tossed his tarp, since Lewis had plenty at the shelter, his spare clothes, since they were something he could probably easily replace, a bunch of the smaller camping stuff that was redundant like firestarters and a bottle of liquid hand sanitizer that was way bigger than he needed, especially since he had a bar of soap in one pocket. He also unloaded a metal pan filled with a camping kit since he didn't plan on doing any cooking, his camping hatchet since he didn't plan on lighting fires, and his shovel since its main use, burying any waste, would just take up time he could spend walking.
And, a painful parting, half the ammo he'd packed. It didn't take up much space but pound for pound was the heaviest thing he was carrying. He wrapped everything in the tarp and stowed the bundle between two big boulders along the side of the road that made a wedge-shaped depression, then covered it with smaller rocks to build sort of a cairn that completely covered it. Hopefully nobody would give it a second look and poke around, but if so there wasn't much he could do about it.
Shedding the excess weight took off more than 20 pounds, and more importantly gave him room to put everything in the pack instead of having to carry some of it in his hands, which would make walking and balancing much easier. The pack still felt agonizing when he shrugged back into the straps and belted it on, but at least it was manageable compared to what it had been.
This was his reward for being unprepared and making poor decisions. 26 miles into the trip and he'd already cached just about everything he had that wasn't in Lewis's shelter.
Spurred on by that cheery thought, Trev continued on down the road as the sun sank towards the horizon slightly behind him and to his right. He had less than 5 hours of daylight left and a long, long way to go. With no other choice he took it one step at a time, doing his best to ignore the complaints of his muscles and keep up a good pace. He was forced to stop frequently for rest, drinking more water but avoiding eating more food to prevent cramps.
The distance seemed to crawl by compared to when he'd been driving, and his assumption that he'd be able to walk the usual pace of 3 miles an hour was replaced by the grim reality that with his heavy burden he was having trouble going 1. All the while he watched the sun sinking and realized that far from being able to reach Aspen Hill sometime tomorrow, it would probably be the day after that at best.
By the time the sun started to set Trev was beyond tired. He knew he was exhausted too, and for more reasons than because he was panting like a bellows and his muscles felt like rubber. He'd started to stagger a bit with every step, even more off balance thanks to his pack, and common sense told him he should stop for the night or at least pause to rest more. But he was already resting every few minutes and it was eating up time he didn't have.
He could stop when he got home, and the faster he went the faster he'd get there. If he couldn't push past exhaustion when it really mattered and keep a good pace then he wasn't ready for the end of the world. In retrospect he should have realized that was a stupid way to look at things, but in his state he wasn't exactly thinking clearly.
At least he'd reached another downhill slope in the road. It presented its own work on the muscles, sure, but still felt almost like a vacation compared to the brutal uphill slog. His speed even increased slightly.
The help of gravity gave him the boost he needed to keep going as the sun disappeared and twilight began sinking into full night. There was no sign of the moon rising, and Trev kind of wished he'd paid attention to what phase it was in so he'd know when he could expect to get a little light. As it was he didn't want to give away his position with a flashlight, even though there probably wasn't too much danger from lawless elements before things had even started to go sideways. Even with the light fading he could still see the road he was on and keep following it, which was all he really needed.
Besides, he might need the flashlight batteries in the future.
Looking at it later Trev could blame inexperience and impatience for this series of poor decisions that seemed rational at the time, and giving in to exhaustion and blind stubbornness rather than thinking things through certainly didn't help. But either way he had no one to blame but himself as he stumbled along the downhill slope and suddenly found his right ankle giving out on him in a blaze of pain.
Before he quite knew what was happening he collapsed onto his right knee, slamming it hard into the pavement, and then sprawled sideways from the weight of his pack. That extra weight worsened what might have otherwise been minor injuries, and he ended up curled up on his side in the middle of the road cursing through gritted teeth and doing his best to ride the wave of excruciating pain throbbing through his body from his ankle and knee. To distract himself from it he scrabbled blindly around on the road with his hands, searching for what had made him fall.
At first he passed over the culprit entirely, sure it couldn't be responsible, but after another minute of searching with his hands he found nothing but smooth pavement. What had made him stumble couldn't even be called a pothole, barely more than a dip in the road an inch or so deep. He would've missed it entirely if he'd been walking a foot to the left or right.
A pothole. He'd injured himself on a pothole in the middle of a smooth road. How stupid was that? Pain giving way to anger, Trev tried to force himself onto his feet to keep going.
He immediately collapsed back to the road again, falling into a seated position leaning back against his pack, and his cursing gave way to a frustrated moan. His rubbery muscles couldn't support his weight, but more importantly the moment he tried to stand on his right leg it reminded him of his new injuries with sharp jolts of agony. He was done for the night, and with an injury like this he might be laid up for a week.
Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Who was he even kidding anyway? He'd felt so smug about how prepared he was for the end of the world, laying up a few supplies in a backpack and defending himself against an idiot who hadn't even known how to use a gun. But for all his “foresight” he hadn't even stored enough gasoline for the drive home in case of an emergency, and used up what little he had in a greedy bid for more he didn't need.
And he'd never bothered to prepare himself for walking long distances, especially not while carrying a heavy backpack. Not to mention he didn't know the first thing about first aid. And even though he had the tools he needed for a situation, like a flashlight, he was too stupid to use them.
And the rifle and pistol he was so proud of? He was barely competent with them, going out to the range a few times a year and firing off fifty or so rounds. He barely ever practiced drawing and holstering, he'd mostly ignored Lewis's advice on dry fire practice, and he still had problems with anticipating the recoil and actually hitting the target.
Ready for the end of the world? He was a joke, barely more prepared than Matt or the others he'd left behind. Overloading his pack, pushing himself past exhaustion and walking in pitch black just begging for an injury that would keep him off his feet just when he needed to be moving, with no idea the proper way to treat the injury. Even common sense should've helped him more than this.
With some effort Trev dragged himself over to the sparse grass at the side of the road, doing his best to favor his right leg and not make the problem even worse. He hadn't seen another car since that one that had roared past earlier, and with crippling fuel shortages it was anyone's guess whether he would, but it wasn't like he wanted to camp in the middle of the road anyway.
The thought of trying to set up the tent in his pack made him groan. It was difficult enough just to unbuckle the belts and shrug out of it, then root around inside for his sleeping bag. With his hurt leg it took forever to scoot inside and ended up being a miserably painful experience. And if it did rain or dew in the night he'd stupidly left his tarp behind to shed less than a pound of weight, because
he'd assumed he'd have the energy or even ability to set up his tent.
As he lay awkwardly on the rocky roadside, gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his leg and staring up at a clear, starry sky, he came to a realization he should have had a long time ago: it wasn't supplies that spelled the difference between life and death in a real disaster. Once those ran out or if they were stolen or, in his situation, if he couldn't even carry them, he'd be in the same situation he would've been in not having them at all.
It was knowledge and learned skills he needed to survive long term, and survive any situation life threw at him. That and deliberate, educated consideration of the situation to avoid making possibly fatal mistakes. He should've taken a page from Lewis's book and learned all the things his cousin was learning, mimicked his pragmatic and thoughtful approach to life.
Maybe, like Matt, Trev hadn't really believed this day would ever come. Or maybe he'd assumed that preparing with some supplies would be a good enough substitute for knowledge and skills. Or maybe, arrogantly, he'd been thinking that if he needed any of that knowledge or those skills Lewis would be around to help him.
As he did his best to fall asleep in spite of his intense discomfort he decided he was going to need to learn some important things, and quick. And he needed to be ready to solve his own problems because he couldn't always count on someone else being there to help him.
For crying out loud, he hadn't even thought to pack painkillers!
Chapter Four
Day Seven: Morning
In spite of a sleepless night and waking up to find his ankle and knee bruised and swollen Trev felt a lot more hopeful the next morning, the second day after the attack.
He had the food to rest and heal up for as long as he needed, and enough water for another day or so as well as a top quality purifier. He'd also gotten ahead of himself in survivalist mode and forgotten that most of the rest of the world thought this was going to be a temporary disaster, and the bad news had only been sprung yesterday anyway. Power was still running, which meant water too, and there might even be a car coming by that he could hitch a ride with.
