by Kyle Pratt
“I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help.” Conner lingered, feeling torn between staying to help and continuing his own odyssey home.
After a moment, Arthur turned to Conner. “You should find that young lady you were talking about.”
They shook hands and Conner left, still trying to decide if he should have stayed and tried harder to convince Arthur to go on to Seattle. Would Arthur have been able to survive the trip?
For the rest of the day, Conner continued his trek into the mountains. As the sun slid below a nearby peak, a church bell echoed through the growing darkness. Hungry and thirsty, he entered the small town of Cle Elum.
* * *
Rural Lewis County, Washington, Wednesday, September 7th
Drake slid the rifle from his shoulder and held it in his hands while trying to decide what to do. He stepped close to a back window. “I don’t recognize either of them.”
Both were older than his father; one was overweight, the other skinny by comparison. They both wore faded jeans, heavy boots, and several days of salt-and-pepper stubble. If he had seen them along the road, he would have thought they were homeless.
The two pumped water from the well and drank, stared at the horses, chickens and goats, and walked among the apple trees still burdened with fruit.
“What are we going to do?” Ashley whispered.
“I don’t know.” Drake didn’t want to confront them; they hadn’t done any harm. “For now let’s just watch.”
While Drake gazed out the window, Gruff pranced back and forth, sniffing the air. With a low growl, he scurried across the kitchen and out the doggy door.
The man closest to the house, the skinny one, pulled a pistol from his pocket.
Drake ran out the door with his rifle ready. “Don’t shoot my dog! Gruff, come!”
Gruff stopped midway between Drake and the man.
Skinny pointed his weapon but didn’t fire.
“Gruff, come.” Drake stepped forward.
“Hey kid, where’s your dad?” Skinny asked.
Why did everyone want to know that? “He’s coming. You better leave.”
“Sure kid, or maybe I could talk with him.”
Gruff growled.
Drake shook his head at Skinny and called for Gruff again. His jaw clinched and anger grew as Gruff ignored him and continued growling.
“Is that your sister?” Skinny asked.
Gruff eased forward with a low growl.
A glance over Drake’s shoulder revealed Ashley standing on the back steps. The thought of using the stay command on Ashley flashed through his mind.
“She’s kinda cute,” Fatty said. “What’s your name, girl?”
“You two need to leave.” Drake struggled to keep his voice steady.
“I’m going to kill that dog if it gets any closer.” Skinny thrust the pistol in Gruff’s direction.
Fatty grinned at Ashley. “Come to papa.”
A startled look on Fatty’s face caused Drake to glance over his shoulder.
Ashley ran past Drake toward Fatty, but she stopped at Gruff, grabbed his collar, and pulled the dog back to the steps.
Relieved that Ashley was out of the way, Drake returned his attention to the men. “Leave,” he said with as much menace as he could muster.
Skinny smiled. “Okay, kid. I’ll speak with your dad—later.”
Drake felt his face flush with anger at the two men and at Ashley. Why had she left the house? Why had she rushed across the yard and grabbed Gruff?
Drake watched as the two men casually walked around the house and back toward the road.
As Drake stepped inside, he slid in the metal plate, closing the doggy door. Ashley waited in the dining room, still holding onto Gruff.
“Are they gone?” she asked.
“Yes. For now.” Drake cleared the chamber and leaned the gun into a corner. “I’m mad at both of you.”
“Me? And Gruff?”
“Yes.” He stepped closer to Ashley. “Why did you go outside?”
She stood and planted both hands on her hips. “You went out first.”
“I’m a guy. I had a gun.”
“What has you being a guy got to do with anything?”
“Ah … well, guys are supposed to protect girls.”
Ashley grinned. “Where’s your shiny armor?”
“Huh?”
“Thank you. I didn’t want that guy to hurt you or Gruff.”
Drake’s face still burned. “Gruff needs serious obedience training.”
She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “Don’t be mad. I just wanted them to go away.”
“You may have given them more reason to return.” The pouty face melted Drake’s anger. “Keep the doors locked and stay inside today.”
Drake grabbed the rifle and hurried off to the survival room. He feared the two men would return and he needed to be ready. He selected an AR-15 with a scope and found a night vision monocular on a tripod. Years ago on a dark, moonless night, he had watched his father use it.
“Two coyotes are over there,” his dad had said. “That’s why our animals are restless.”
Drake had looked across the yard into thick blackness. Then his dad motioned for him to use the monocular. The predators at the edge of the forest came into clear view.
That night his dad had dealt with the coyotes. Tonight he expected other predators to slink onto the property.
Please Dad, come home soon.
Day Five
Lane County, Oregon, Thursday, September 8th
Sore feet and exhaustion prevented Neal from hiking through the night, but the growing number of suburban homes and businesses he had seen told him he wasn’t far from Portland. He had slept in the back of a looted antique store and now the light of dawn woke him from his slumber on several old rugs.
Why loot antiques? He had no answer, but the floor coverings had provided a bed for him and Ginger during the night.
Later in the day, after they reached Portland, he hoped to find a car with keys still in it. He would get it running and drive home. But before he could leave Portland, he had to reach the city and accomplish two missions.
He fed Ginger some dog food and then pulled an MRE from his pack. By that time Ginger had gulped down her food and came sniffing at his.
He pulled his food away from her. “This is mine. You’ve got more to eat than I do. In a couple of days, I might be sniffing at your dog food.”
As he walked from the antique shop, Neal checked a nearby car for keys but found none. He tossed the MRE package into the back seat. “Come on, girl. We’ve got a long walk to Portland.”
Neal followed the road north. Few people were going his direction, but an increasing number were heading south. Their somber exodus made him curious about conditions ahead. Just before noon, he stopped at a makeshift camp around a small pond. As Neal walked toward the water, the people watched him, and he watched them. Most of the campers appeared to be families with children. They seemed harmless, but he still positioned himself so that he could keep an eye on most of them. He filled his water bottles as Ginger lapped up mouthfuls.
A boy, about six years old, ran up to Neal. “What’re you doing?”
“Getting water.”
Petting Ginger, the boy said, “My daddy told me it’s bad and not to drink it.”
Neal nodded. “I’ll filter it before I drink.”
A young man ran up to the boy. “Conner, I told you not to wander off.”
Neal smiled. “I have a son named Conner.” He dipped his last bottle into the pond.
The young man pulled his boy close, but his face relaxed a bit. “My name is Brad. Where’s home?”
“I’m Neal. I live north of here near Riverbank in Washington. Where’s home for you?”
“Here for now. We used to live just outside of Portland, but a fire swept through our neighborhood.”
“I’m glad you got out.”
Brad nodded. “We were packed
and ready. There wasn’t any food or water and criminals had looted several nearby homes. The fire just made us leave a few hours earlier.”
Conner’s mother hurried over and took him back to their tent, but Brad stayed and continued to talk with Neal about the looting, violent crime, and lack of food.
Neal shook his head. “Ah, the good old days of peace and plenty, less than a week ago.”
Brad frowned. “Last week I was a lawyer with a good firm. This week I’m a homeless bum. I hope somehow law and order is restored soon.”
“You’re not a bum.” But Neal didn’t expect normality to return soon. “I was a financial planner. Now I’m a traveler trying to reach home. How close is Portland?”
“We’re just north of Wilsonville, about twelve miles from Portland. You could probably walk it in four or five hours.”
“Thanks. I hope you’re able to find a new home.” They shook hands and Neal, with Ginger at his side, continued north.
Just after noon, Neal crested a hill where he could see the freeway stretching into Portland. Thousands of refugees hiked south along the highway out of the city. Bagpipe music reverberated from the throng. In the midst of the refugees, a fat man with thick red hair and wearing a kilt played the instrument. A hundred yards behind him, a dozen bicyclists, in various degrees of undress, pedaled along. Others chanted and sang. The smell of pot floated on the air.
Neal shook his head and stifled a grin. He would soon be in Portland.
In the distance the bang of gunfire sounded.
God, watch over my boys and speed my trip home.
* * *
Cle Elum, Washington, Thursday, September 8th
Conner spent the night curled in his sleeping bag in the covered entryway of Cle Elum’s Catholic church. The first rays of dawn barely caused him to stir. Only when a shadow deprived him of warmth did he force open his eyes. The silhouette of a person filled his view. His arms flailed as he stumbled to his feet.
“Good morning.”
“Madison?” He gazed at a bruised cheek, puffy eye, and swollen lips. “What happened to your face?”
“You sure know how to greet a girl.” She grinned, but it faded quickly. “Some Neanderthal took my bike.”
“Are you okay? I mean other than—”
“Other than my bruised face and pride? Yeah, I’m okay. He was more interested in the bike than me.” She glanced about. “Where’s your bike?”
“I bent a rim on the hill outside of Ellensburg.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know.” She stared at him for a moment. “Are you cold? Why didn’t you come in?”
“The church had a guard at the door last night. He wouldn’t let me in with my rifle.” Conner frowned. “I wasn’t going to leave it outside.”
“Did you at least get some food?”
He nodded. “Yeah, a woman brought some to me.”
“I’ll talk with Father Dan. Yesterday evening I stumbled in here with a face full of blood and tears. He did some first aid and we talked afterward. I think he’ll be reasonable. Stay here.”
Madison walked inside and returned a few minutes later. “If you promise not to shoot anybody, you can come in.”
“That’s what Father Dan said? If I promise not to shoot anybody?”
Madison grinned and then touched her swollen lip.
“Okay, I promise.” He followed her into the sanctuary crammed with people. Sweat hung heavy in the air. Many slept on the floor or in the pews; others sat or stood in clusters. Blankets, clothing, and camping gear lay scattered among the people.
Madison stopped and faced him. “I’m sorry about leaving you behind.”
“You didn’t know about my bike.”
“I was scared. The fire. All the people running.” She sighed. “I planned to stop at the pass and wait for you, but I never got there.”
“I’m glad we’re back together.” Conner felt like hugging her but stopped at a squeeze of her hand.
A man in his early thirties strode across the room toward them. “Hi. I’m Dan.” Wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, he looked more like a lumberjack than a priest. “I’m sorry about last night, but we need to be careful. Madison told me you’ve been helping her get home.”
“We’ve been helping each other.” Conner smiled at Madison.
“We’re preparing breakfast.” Dan turned and gestured. “Follow me while we talk.”
The mention of food caused Conner’s stomach to growl.
Dan stepped over a sleeping child. “Madison said she was from Olympia. Where’s home for you, Conner?”
“On a farm just outside of Riverbank in Lewis County.”
“A farm. That might be a great thing to have in the future.” Dan walked in silence for several moments. “So, you’ll both be heading through the Puget Sound region?”
Conner shrugged. “I guess so.” He crept around a large woman sleeping on the floor.
“We’re starting to see refugees from that area.”
Conner shook his head. “Seattle? Tacoma? Why would they be coming this way?”
“From what I’m hearing, conditions in the metro area are bad. Most of what we’ve heard is from Seattle refugees, but all the news from the area is disturbing. Food is running low or already gone. Looting is rampant. Gangs control some areas. Parts of Seattle and Tacoma are burning.”
Father Dan stopped and turned to them. “Are you sure you want to walk into that?”
* * *
Rural Lewis County, Washington, Thursday, September 8th
Drake awoke with a start, grabbed his AR-15 rifle from the floor in front of the couch, and looked about.
Ashley giggled as she walked across the living room toward him. “You snore.”
Drake wiped his eyes. “No, I don’t.” Sunlight poured through the window. “What time is it?”
“Nine, I think. Do you want breakfast?”
“How long was I asleep?”
She shrugged. “You were snoring when I woke up.”
“I need to feed the animals and check things before eating.” Clutching the AR, Drake hurried out the backdoor. As he jogged across the yard, he yawned and rubbed heavy eyes. I can’t keep watch at night and stay awake during the day. His foggy brain provided no solution.
As he scooped up chicken feed from the bin, Drake heard the creaking of wood. Startled, he spilled some of the food. He glanced behind him but then felt foolish. Just the old barn creaking. Why hadn’t he brought Gruff with him?
Drake took care of the chickens and rabbits and then fed and milked the goats. As he did, an idea formed. Homes in the area had been looted. Others must have encountered such criminals. The good people of the area should cooperate. He could talk to Pastor Wayne about the idea.
He returned to the house and set the eggs and milk pail on the counter.
“Come.”
Drake couldn’t see Ashley, but her firm command sounded from the living room. Worried, he stepped toward her voice.
“Good boy.”
Thoroughly confused, Drake peeked around the corner.
“Stay.”
Ashley had Gruff on a leash.
“Come,” she repeated.
“What are you doing?” Drake entered the room.
“You said Gruff needed training, and I agree. I’ve trained a dog before.”
“You have a dog?”
She shook her head. “Not now, but I did for most of my life. I trained Lulu as part of a 4-H project.” Her face lit up. “We got first place at the county fair.”
“Okay.” Drake didn’t have the time or any idea how to train Gruff. “I hope you can do it.”
She put her hands on her hips. “I can. I will.”
“After breakfast, I’m going to see Pastor Wayne about Skinny and Fatty.”
“Who?”
Drake explained how he had named the two thugs. “I want you to stay inside while I’m gone.”
“You always want me to stay inside.”
“It’s safer.”
“That may be true for a very long time. Do you want me to stay inside forever?”
Frustrated, Drake considered telling Ashley she could leave, but he didn’t want her to go so he held back the words. “You saw those guys yesterday. It’s not safe, and you won’t use a gun.” Drake threw up his hands. “What do you want me to say?”
She stared at him and then nodded. “I’ll stay inside.”
Even though Drake left Gruff with Ashley, he didn’t want to be gone for long, so he hurried down the road. He expected to see Pastor Wayne on the porch, maybe even sitting with a shotgun across his lap. He seemed like that sort of a guy. But when the porch came into view it stood empty.
Drake heard movement in the house as he walked up the steps. He knocked on the door.
All sound from within the house stopped.
* * *
Lane County, Oregon, Thursday, September 8th
Neal could skirt the dangers of Portland, but it would take much longer. Also, he had letters to deliver for Major Franklin. Still standing on the crest of the knoll, Neal pulled out a paper map of the Portland metro area and plotted his course into the city.
“Come on, Ginger.” He stood and trod forward. “I’ve got a feeling today is going to be another long one.”
For the next hour, Neal walked along largely empty residential streets. In the distance, an unseen child giggled. Later, a couple hurried down the opposite side of the street carrying backpacks and keeping a wary eye on him.
Ginger watched them as they passed.
Some of the homes had broken windows and doors while others seemed untouched. He tried to imagine that the parents were at work and the kids were in school. It didn’t work. The hair on his neck prickled, and he could almost feel the piercing stares from dark windows.
Glass crunched under Neal’s feet. He stopped. The windows of a nearby car were shattered, and the hood stood open. He shook his head, stepped back, and led Ginger around the shards. Why break into a car that doesn’t work? As he passed, he glanced at the engine. The battery had been taken.
He turned left onto a four-lane boulevard with strip malls on either side. At the corner stood a looted gas station convenience store, with its doors hanging open and glass scattered on the pavement. Farther down the street, the windows of two fast food restaurants had been shattered. Other stores remained dark but intact.
