by Kyle Pratt
“Are you with the police?”
“No.”
What’s wrong with this guy? Drake didn’t know whether to pull the rifle from his shoulder or grab the pastor and run.
A woman appeared in the doorway, her eyes red and tired; the entirety of her body seemed to sag. “Go back inside, Gordon.” She sighed. “I’ll talk to them.”
She might have been the same age as the man. It was hard to tell. From somewhere in the dark mobile home, a baby cried.
The crazy-eyed man retreated within. “They better not steal nothing.”
“I’m sorry about Gordon.” She looked over her shoulder. “My name’s Gail. He hasn’t been well the last couple of days.”
Pastor Wayne nodded and explained about the meeting.
“I’ll try to be there,” the woman mumbled. “But Gordon can’t care for the baby right now.”
“Bring the infant.” Pastor Wayne smiled. “It might be good for both of you to get out of the house for a few hours.”
After the woman nodded, Pastor Wayne and Drake left. As they walked, Drake thought about what they had just witnessed. “Was it drugs that caused Gordon to be so weird?”
“Withdrawing from them would be my guess. His supply probably dried up four days ago.” Pastor Wayne rested a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “That’s one reason I suggested she come to the meeting. It’ll be best if we get her and the baby away from Gordon. God help them both if they stay with him.”
As they neared the far end of Fremont Hill, the paved county road ended and they continued along a paved driveway.
“I’ve been down this road before.” Drake pointed to lines of trees ahead. “The guy, I don’t know his name, sells Christmas trees.”
Pastor Wayne nodded. “Ben Huntington and his wife, Louise. Years ago he managed a sawmill in Riverbank. He’s retired now but still sells trees and has a small mill on his property.”
In the clearing, a six-foot, wrought-iron fence surrounded the white, two-story home. Four snarling and barking dogs of different breeds greeted them at the gate.
A trim gray-haired man in jeans and collared shirt stepped out the front door.
“That’s Christmas tree guy.”
“Good to see you, Ben.” Pastor Wayne waved. “Can we talk?”
Ben called the dogs into the house and walked to the gate. “Hi there, Pastor. It’s nice to see you.”
Ben opened the gate and shook hands with both of them.
“How’s the mill?” Pastor Wayne gestured to a large, garage-like building near the house.
“It took me a few days to get the equipment running after the sun storm, but I’m back in business—well, if there is any business. Gas for my generator is the problem now. I’m running low, so I shut the mill down.” He shrugged. “Do you think things will get back to normal?”
“Not anytime soon.” Pastor Wayne explained about the meeting and invited him and Louise.
“One of us will be there, but someone needs to stay and keep watch over the place. We’ve had problems with prowlers.”
“Everyone has,” Drake added.
After visiting a few more homes, they reached a corner and Pastor Wayne gestured to his left. “That way will take us back toward my house.”
Drake pointed to Ashley’s home up the road. “I’d like to stop there.”
The front door of her home had been pried open, just as they had seen at the Hamilton place. Every cabinet door and drawer remained open with seemingly random pots, pans, and cups scattered on the kitchen floor. No food of any sort remained, but that wasn’t why Drake had entered. Grasping several cloth shopping bags, he hurried upstairs.
Pastor Wayne followed at a slower pace.
Drake gathered family pictures from around the house, ending in Ashley’s room. Then he grabbed more of her clothes from the closet, a few books, and everything left on the top of her dresser and nightstand.
He still had an empty bag.
Drake opened a dresser drawer revealing bras and panties. He felt his face go from warm to burning as he scooped everything out and dropped it into the bag, which then fell over spilling pink and pastel girl clothes on the floor.
He dropped to his knees and hurried to return everything to the bag before Pastor Wayne came looking for him. Then he stuffed a hoodie on top and dashed from the room.
He found Pastor Wayne at the door of the bath. Combs, razors, and creams lay strewn on the floor.
“Was someone looking for drugs?” Drake asked.
“Probably.” Pastor Wayne frowned. “Let’s head back home.”
“Forty-two.” Drake smiled at the pastor. “That’s how many homes we visited. I counted.”
“That’s a lot of walking. My feet are tired.”
Drake relaxed a bit as they walked up the street. Most of the homes they visited were occupied and most of the people were pleasant. Yes, they were hungry and worried, but almost all of them still tried to be friendly.
Despite all that had happened in the last few days, Drake felt hopeful. He had friends and neighbors and they were planning for better times ahead. Perhaps they could get organized and solve the food and water problems.
As they walked from Ashley’s home, a rifle shot crackled through the air.
A woman screamed.
* * *
Portland, Oregon, Thursday, September 8th
Crouching in a shaded doorway across the road, Neal studied the four men who guarded the gate. Three held M4 rifles; one knelt by an M2 machine gun. Their uniforms appeared to be in proper order. He relaxed a bit. They might really be military.
As he continued to watch, a black sedan drove up and the nearest man rendered a proper salute while another opened the gate.
Convinced that they were real soldiers and not some militia group, Neal stood and stepped into the light. “Come on, Ginger.” His real map hadn’t shown a base in this area, and the hand-sketched one Major Franklin provided didn’t indicate the army camp extended this far, but so many things had changed in the last few days.
The dog trotted alongside as he approached the gate with his shotgun over a shoulder and hands in view.
When Neal reached the middle of the street, a sergeant stepped to the gate. “Halt.”
The other soldiers all pointed their weapons at him. “My name is Neal Evans. I met Major Franklin south of here in Lebanon. I have a message for his commanding officer.” Neal pointed to the letter extending above his shirt pocket. I should have had it in my hand. Neal slowly retrieved it and held it up.
The sergeant stepped forward.
Neal snapped his hand back. “I was told by the major to deliver it to his commanding officer, not you.” Although certain the sergeant would deliver the letter, Neal hoped to talk to the officer and perhaps get a ride home.
The sergeant frowned but nodded and retreated to an antique field telephone. Neal couldn’t hear the words, but the soldier soon returned to the gate.
“Approach with your hands where I can see them.”
Neal continued across the street.
“Remove your shotgun and any other weapons.” The sergeant stepped closer. “I’ll need to inspect your backpack.”
Ginger growled.
“Calm down, girl,” Neal said in soft tones. “It’s okay.”
“Will the dog bite?”
Neal shrugged. “She hasn’t bitten me.”
The sergeant kept his distance. “Hand me your backpack and weapon. You’ll get your gun back when you leave.”
Moments later, Neal and Ginger sat in the back seat of a jeep, zipping across the compound. It felt strange to hear the rumble of the engine around him and feel the wind on his face. The jeep turned down a gray, industrial street and stopped at a four-story office building nestled tight between two old brick-and-mortar warehouses.
A soldier stepped from the office building, “Neal Evans? I’m Lieutenant Pool. I’ll take you to General Sattler.”
“Stay.” Neal left Ginger with
the driver and then followed the lieutenant into the building.
As they stepped inside, the lieutenant spoke again, “We started holding an orientation briefing for new soldiers, marines, and their families who straggle in every day. The general is in the conference room, speaking with them right now. I’ll introduce you when he’s done.”
As they walked down the hall the realization hit Neal. “Lights. You have lights.”
Pool smiled. “Yes, the electric grid is down hard, but we have several large generators on the post.”
They entered a gleaming white conference room. At the opposite end, a gray-haired man in an army combat uniform stood on a podium. Neal spotted the single star on the chest insignia that identified him as the general. As if in pews of a church, about twenty-five people sat in rows along both sides of the room. Pool pointed to chairs in the back and they both sat. Neal turned his attention to the general pacing back and forth.
“We don’t have the manpower to maintain control of the city so we’ve secured the area around the University of Portland, part of the port, and a large residential area. There are two other, smaller posts near here.”
“So, later on, do you plan to expand this area?” a woman asked.
“We hope to restore order to all of Oregon, but food, fuel, and manpower will determine what we do in the near future.”
“It’s been five days,” someone in the group stated.
The general frowned. “A lot has changed in five days.”
Neal nodded.
“Some panic-buying began on Saturday with the first announcement about the coming coronal mass ejection.” The general sighed and stood in silence for a moment. “Sunday, after the first CME hit, the electric grid went down and we lost most communication. That’s also when everyone realized they needed more food, candles, matches, and much more. However, with the power down, stores took only cash. By Sunday night, widespread looting broke out. Police and our soldiers tried to contain it.” He shook his head. “Looting continued until there wasn’t a grocery store in Portland that had anything left. As I mentioned, we have three positions in the city with plenty of food and MREs for the next few months.”
“What about after that?”
“That’s exactly the problem. Most people live in cities, but food production is difficult in urban areas. For now, I’m waiting for orders and doing the best I can.”
A soldier raised his hand. “General, you mentioned waiting for orders. Do you have communication with command centers?”
“Yes. Relaying messages through Military Auxiliary Radio and civilian ham operators, we have contact with several bases in California and across the country to the Washington, DC, area.”
“Do you know if the solar storms are still going on?”
“The University of Portland uses our communication facilities to maintain contact with several other universities and observatories. They all report the same thing. Large solar flares continue on the sun. Several CMEs have hit the earth over the last few days, destroying most modern electronics.”
“So this is happening worldwide?” someone asked.
The general nodded. “No one can help us because we’re all in the same boat.”
Neal felt like he had been punched. While he expected that the solar storms had hit the entire world, the confirmation stunned him. He raised his hand. “Do you have communication with any military or civilians in Western Washington State?”
General Sattler shook his head. “Other than sporadic comms with Lewis-McChord, no.” After several more questions, he dismissed the group and turned toward a side door. Lieutenant Pool hurried to the general as Neal followed at a slower pace.
“General, sir, this is Neal Evans. He has a message from Major Franklin.”
Neal pulled the envelope from his pocket and handed it over. “I also have a message for Major Franklin’s family.”
With lips pressed tight and a slow shake of his head, General Sattler read the message. He looked at Neal with a stone face. “Thank you for delivering this. Major Franklin’s wife, Carol, and his boys live on this post now. Lieutenant Pool, take our guest to them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“General, sir, do you have outposts north of here?” Neal asked.
“Yes.”
“Could I get a ride with a convoy to your most northern post?”
General Sattler stared at Neal for a moment. “You asked the question about communication with Western Washington state.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have family there?”
Neal nodded.
“We owe you that much. Lieutenant Pool, when you two are done at the Franklin home, take him to the Interstate bridge over the Columbia River.”
* * *
Rural Lewis County, Washington, Thursday, September 8th
A second shot boomed.
Drake dropped the bags just inside the door of Ashley’s home and ran several yards toward the shot and scream.
“Stop,” Pastor Wayne shouted. Then, in a lower voice, he said, “That wasn’t a shotgun and I don’t think the voice was anyone from our homes. Get the stuff for Ashley. I don’t want to have to come back this way.”
Drake retrieved the sacks and together they crept along the road.
An old man across the street hurried back into his house. They hadn’t spoken to people up this street and those that saw them looked with fearful eyes as they moved, hunched over, along the fences and among the trees and bushes.
Drake focused his attention to his right in the direction of the blast and scream. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he asked, “Didn’t it come from over there?” He pointed toward the shot. “Should we move in that direction?”
“I want to check with Mary and Katy and put us between our homes and whoever fired the weapon.”
Drake nodded and kept a wary eye to his right as they hurried up the street.
The snarl of a truck engine filled the air.
Drake peered in the direction of the sound. Seconds later, Pastor Wayne’s home became visible and a Humvee pulled into his driveway.
Dan, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and long sleeves, stepped from the vehicle. A deputy sheriff exited from the driver’s side.
Pastor Wayne hurried to Dan. “Glad you’re back safe. Do you know who fired the gun? Who screamed?”
The deputy helped a trembling woman from the Humvee. Her frizzy red hair stood in stark contrast to her ghostly pale skin. Purple, blue, and red bruises blemished her arms and face.
“This is Deputy Campbell,” Dan gestured toward the officer. “He fired the gun.”
Mary hurried from the house and rushed straight to the red-haired woman. “You look like you need to sit down. Come inside with me.” She led her toward the house. “Do you want some water? Maybe tea, if I can get the fire started.”
When Drake and the men were alone, Dan said, “I was coming back with Deputy Campbell when we rounded the curve just down the hill.” He gestured to the deputy. “Well, I’ll let you tell it.”
“We encountered a group of four men and a woman, Emily, about to cross the road. When Emily screamed and tried to break free, I stopped and got out. One of them fired at me. She managed to escape from the guy holding her and ran toward me. I fired back at the shooter. The four men then ran into the woods.”
“Had they kidnapped her?” Pastor Wayne asked.
The deputy nodded. “South of town yesterday. I don’t know much more than that. She’s pretty shaken up.”
Four kidnappers that close. Drake thought of Ashley as fear and worry rose within him. He wanted to run home and ensure she was safe.
“We’re trying to maintain law and order, but it’s difficult with no communication.” The deputy sighed. “We have enough gas but only a few working vehicles. We had to release twenty-two nonviolent prisoners yesterday.”
“You released prisoners?” Drake’s heart pounded.
Deputy Campbell nodded. “The jail is running short
of food, so the sheriff ordered them released.”
Images of his confrontations with Skinny and Fatty mingled in Drake’s mind with movies about serial killers and stories of people murdered in their homes.
The deputy shrugged. “I understand you’ve called a community meeting for Fremont residents. When is it?”
Dan pulled an old-fashioned pocket watch from his jeans. “In about an hour.”
“I’ll be there,” Drake said. “But I’ve got to get home first.” Before anyone could reply, he grabbed the bags for Ashley and sprinted away.
* * *
Lane County, Oregon, Thursday, September 8th
Neal rode with Lieutenant Pool along tree-lined suburban streets where children played. Ginger sat on his lap with her head out the window, sniffing the air. It all seemed so peaceful, so normal. But, in these last few days, such playful innocence had become unusual. “Did Major Franklin live in the area before the solar storm?”
“No. Housing within the compound is in short supply.” Pool turned down a side street. “But whenever a home becomes available we move someone in.”
“How do homes become available?”
“Well, some people never returned home after the storms; others left for one reason or another; and some have died because of the storms.”
“Died? Because of the storm?” Then Neal recalled the dead farmer where he found Ginger. He scratched the dog behind the ears.
“Some people are dying because they can’t get medicine or an operation. We expect that will only grow worse over the coming months. Also, think of the complications that will arise from illnesses such as HIV, diabetes, and even asthma.”
Neal shook his head. “A lot more people are going to die.”
The lieutenant braked to a stop in front of an older, two-story brown home with a wide porch. Children played kickball in the street nearby.
A woman with streaks of gray in her hair and wearing new jeans opened the door and walked onto the porch.
Lieutenant Pool hopped from the jeep. “Hello, Carol.”
“Hi.” She smiled, nodded, and then locked eyes on Neal.
“Mrs. Franklin?” Neal climbed from the jeep with Ginger beside him. “I met your husband two days ago. He gave me this for you.” He held up the envelope.
