by Kyle Pratt
“Thank you.” Madison hugged Father Dan. “It’ll be a big help.”
Conner heard the sound of an auto engine in the distance.
Father Dan clutched each of their hands and said a prayer. Then he embraced Madison and shook Conner’s hand.
An older red pickup stopped beside the three of them. A man with several days of black and gray stubble stepped out from the driver’s side. A teen with only the barest hint of a beard exited from the passenger seat holding a shotgun.
Conner grinned inwardly. The boy really was riding shotgun.
“Hi. I’m Jason.” The older man thrust out his hand and shook Conner’s. “This is my son, Tim. Father Dan says you need a ride over the mountains. Seems most people are trying to get out of the Seattle area.” He shrugged. “But I can give you a ride if you want.”
“We do.” Conner picked up his backpack. “We both have family over there.”
“Family … times like this there’s nothing more important.” Jason slapped the side of his pickup. “That’s why I worked so hard to get the truck running again. I’ve got family over there too. Well, jump in the back.”
Conner and Madison thanked Jason and Madison hopped in the back. Conner grabbed both backpacks and handed them to Madison and then he climbed aboard. With their backs against the cab, they faced the way they had come. Madison rested her head on Conner’s shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her as the pickup thumped across potholes and over bumps through town. Within minutes, they sped up an onramp, onto the deserted freeway and higher into the Cascade Mountains.
With the wind blowing around him, Conner whispered. God, is Dad home? If he isn’t, please get him safely there real soon and please keep Drake safe. I’m coming home.
* * *
Rural Lewis County, Washington, Friday, September 9th
Drake woke up to a tongue rolling across his face, followed by a snort of dog breath.
“Gruff, come,” Ashley commanded from some distant room.
He heard the dog trot from the bedroom as he opened his eyes and wiped his wet face. I’ve got to make sure to shut my bedroom door at night.
The house had been dark and quiet when he returned home. Thankful that he had remembered the keys, he had opened the door to Gruff wagging his tail. Ashley lay asleep on the couch. Her shotgun leaned against the nearby wall.
He draped a blanket over her and climbed into his bed.
Hours later, Gruff awoke him with a lick across the face. He felt tired as he rolled out of bed, dressed, and went to find Ashley.
He found her mixing flour and baking powder at the kitchen counter. Gruff curled up on the wood floor beside her, his tail thumping.
She looked up and smiled. “I didn’t hear you come in last night and checked your room. Did you finally remember to bring your keys?”
“Yeah, we need a knock or signal.” He sat on a stool beside her. “I don’t want you to shoot me some night when I come home.”
Ashley mixed eggs and goat’s milk into the bowl. “Tell me what happened at the meeting.”
Drake did but tried to put a less depressing spin on the news.
She shook her head. “Food is running out. Gangs are trying to control Riverbank. The police and sheriff are struggling to keep control. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“Just give it to me straight. I need to know.”
Her words were strong, but her face looked grim.
“Okay.” Still, Drake tried to think of some good news. “We formed a neighborhood watch. Four people are going to always be on patrol until things get better. I volunteered to be one of them.”
“That’s good.” Ashley’s grin faded quickly. “But how long do we have to do things like that? When will things get better?”
“Ah, the deputy said it might be months … or longer.”
Her face lost color as she nodded and then stared out the kitchen window in silence.
“It may take months, but things will get better.” Drake’s attempt at comfort hung in the air as mere words.
Ashley wiped her eyes. “I’ve been thinking these last few days … my parents … they aren’t coming home, are they?”
Drake squeezed her hand. Maybe they were both orphans, alone in a broken world.
* * *
Portland, Oregon, Saturday, September 9th
Neal awoke to Ginger growling. Rubbing his eyes, he recalled that he’d gone to find a tree near the observation post to wait for the bridge to open. He blinked at the morning sunlight. Ginger stood at the end of her rope, snarling at a sentry.
“The bridge is open. Refugees from the Washington state side say a gang war broke out last night. There seems to be a ceasefire right now, but are you sure you want to walk into that?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Neal grimaced as he stood. Walking into a battle reminded him of the park near the Lebanon Walmart. Images of dead flashed through his mind. Still, he had to go. His boys needed him. Neal gathered his gear. With Ginger trotting at his side, they jogged to the bridge.
A steady flow of people plodded from the chaos and violence of Vancouver across the bridge into the relative peace of Portland. The sentries inspected those heading south, into Portland, and all but ignored Neal and the few others heading north into Washington state.
When he reached the far side, Neal stopped and drew in a deep breath of Washington air. He estimated that maybe two days of hiking remained ahead of him, but he could almost feel the end of the journey. He would soon be home with his sons. A weight of worry lifted from him. However, before he left Vancouver, he would have a quick visit with his old navy buddy, Josh.
Neal walked several miles along a highway clear of vehicles. A few dozen men, women, and children, some in family groups, hiked along the pavement as if it were a wide sidewalk. Everyone avoided Neal, and occasional growls from Ginger reinforced his isolation. Neal liked that fine because he wanted to move fast.
In the rural areas, Neal expected quiet but, with only the rustle of the breeze in his ears as he walked along the urban highway, the silence felt unnatural, even foreboding. The dark office buildings that lined the freeway only added to the uneasiness within him.
A drizzle of rain tapped his face. Remembering the fires that burned Eugene, he thanked God he didn’t have to run ahead of flames.
After a few miles of hiking along the freeway, Neal spotted the exit to Josh’s home and hastened down the off ramp to the side streets. At the first intersection, he looked right and then left. Probably because he had always driven here, and from a different direction, distances and directions seemed longer and unfamiliar. He started down one street but decided it didn’t look right and walked the other way. Doors hung ajar, and windows were broken on many of the homes. As he passed, armed guards watched from several streets.
The drizzle increased to a light rain. Dark clouds billowed above. Neal hurried in the hope of finding Josh and a safe haven from the rain.
Minutes later, he turned left onto Josh’s street. The doors of several houses swayed back and forth in the breeze; others hung by a single hinge. Bullet holes punctured windows and walls. Some homes might have been looted, but others appeared untouched.
Plywood covered the living room window of Josh’s single-story red home. Everything else appeared normal. Had Josh put it there? Had his window been shot and broken?
“Come on, Ginger, let’s investigate.” The rain increased as Neal crossed the lawn to the front of the home. His first knock on the door caused it to creak open. “Josh? Are you okay?” he mumbled and stepped into the dark house. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he turned toward the living room.
Floorboards squeaked.
“Is that you, Josh? It’s me—”
Something slammed into the back of his head.
Stars danced across his vision.
His knees buckled.
Neal collapsed.
* * *
West of Cle Elum, Was
hington, Friday, September 9th
The air grew cool as the truck rumbled toward the pass. Refugees, most on foot, some on bikes and a few in cars and trucks, dotted the freeway. Conner pointed as an ancient school bus, packed with people and belongings, rolled east toward Cle Elum.
The temperature continued to fall and soon Conner spotted Keechelus Lake. They would soon reach the summit. He looked for a sign or something that announced the pass, but sitting in the bed of the truck, he saw only the back of road signs. However, buildings and a clear slope marked the ski resort. Soon afterward, he could tell the truck had gone over the pass and now rolled down the western slope.
Due to the rush of the wind, Conner moved close and spoke in Madison’s ear. “We’re over the summit.”
She nodded and smiled.
Conner did some quick figuring in his head. Depending upon how far they traveled by truck, he could be home in two days or less. He smiled. They might reach Madison’s home in just over a day. He stared at her face, trying to fix every bit of it in his memory.
She turned and smiled at him.
His face warmed.
She kissed him on the cheek.
Conner hugged her tight. “We need to stay warm.” He grinned. If this would be his last full day with her, he’d try to enjoy it.
After traveling several more miles Jason pulled the truck off at a wide spot in the road.
Grateful for the chance to stretch, Conner stood.
“Why are we stopping?” Madison asked.
Jason held up a thermos and cup. “Too much coffee.” He disappeared into nearby woods, while his son Tim stood next to the pickup with his shotgun.
Conner jumped out and lowered the tailgate. Madison climbed down.
Spotting the marking for an observation point on a nearby knoll, Conner grabbed his rifle and hiked up a short trail. Madison joined him and together they gazed south along the Cascade Mountains toward home. Towering gray clouds rolled up from the south.
A cold wind blew.
Madison leaned close.
Conner hugged her tight.
“Stop,” Tim shouted. A shotgun blast boomed.
Conner yanked the rifle from his shoulder.
Five men, covered with tattoos on their arms and faces, formed a semi-circle along the road and edged near Tim and the truck. No one seemed hurt. Had Tim fired into the air?
Jason darted from the woods, holding a pistol.
Leading with his rifle, Conner hurried across the gravel, keeping the truck between him and the men.
“We were just admiring your pickup.” One of the tattooed men stepped forward and pulled a pistol from his pocket.
“Admire it from a distance.” Jason hopped in the driver’s seat and started the truck. “Tim, get in the cab.”
Another man pulled a pistol.
Conner jumped into the bed of the pickup and Madison followed.
Gravel sprayed as Jason accelerated back toward the pavement.
Conner stumbled to his knees and then yanked up the tailgate.
A thud shook the pickup.
Pistol fire mixed with a shotgun blast.
As they raced away, Conner glimpsed one of the gang members on the ground.
Another gang member fired a shot.
Conner returned fire and fell backward in the bed of the truck.
As the pickup sped down the road, Conner moved in front of Madison. With his rifle over the tailgate, he tried to return fire, but the bounce and sway of the truck defeated his attempt to aim.
For nearly an hour, Jason traveled along paved roads and stopped for nothing. Then he reduced his speed as he turned onto a gravel lane, and slowed even more as he turned up a driveway. When he pulled alongside a white, two-story farmhouse, he eased to a stop. Jason stepped from the cab. “This is my daughter and son-in-law’s place.”
Conner clutched his rifle. Why hasn’t anyone come out to greet us?
Jason walked to the front door and knocked. “Sue … Raymond … are you there?”
He banged harder on the door.
No one answered.
* * *
Rural Lewis County, Washington, Friday, September 9th
Within seconds, tears flowed down Ashley’s cheeks. “I was mad at Mom and Dad on Saturday.” She sniffled. “I don’t know why, but I always seemed to be angry with them lately.” She wiped her eyes with a hand.
Unsure of what to say, Drake passed her a box of tissues.
Ashley dabbed her eyes. “They told me to stay home Saturday night. I wanted to do what I wanted—go to your party.” She sighed and wiped her eyes again. “I wanted them to leave … just disappear … and they did.”
Watching her, Drake nearly cried. With each passing day, it became less likely his father and brother would ever return. Fighting back his own tears, he held Ashley until her sobs ceased.
Even with Ashley nestled against him, Drake felt empty and abandoned, but he would hold back his tears for Ashley’s sake.
Later, alone in the barn, Drake allowed himself to mourn for his missing father and brother and even his long-dead mother. Without them, he felt small in a really big and scary world. He banged on the wood shelf with his fist, spilling feed and grain. Tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped onto the bench.
No. He shook his head and wiped his eyes. He must be strong for Ashley. When the tears had faded to sniffles, he finished his chores and, with a final wipe of a sleeve across his face, walked toward the house. They might be alone in the world, but he would do his best for Ashley.
Few words passed between the two as the day slid by. Ashley worked on training Gruff in the morning and then again in the afternoon and prepared meals. Drake read his father’s notebooks, cared for the livestock, and checked survival gear, food stocks, and weapons.
I haven’t ever studied this hard. He slid the notebook aside, stood, and grabbed his rifle. Intending to do afternoon chores, he walked toward the back.
A knock sounded from the front door.
Ashley hurried into the living room with her shotgun.
Gruff growled.
Fairly certain that bad guys wouldn’t knock, Drake crept toward the entry and peered out the peephole. “It’s Pastor Wayne.” He opened the door and invited him in.
“Can you go on a short hike with me?” Pastor Wayne pointed toward the highest point on Fremont Hill. “I’ve got something I want to show you.”
Drake looked at Ashley. He always seemed to be leaving her.
“It won’t take long,” Pastor Wayne added.
Ashely smiled. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”
Drake followed Pastor Wayne along a trail through the forest. The path emerged near a new wire-mesh fence secured to thick, wood posts that ran along the ridgeline. He imagined it would be hard to climb the slope to the fence, but the height of the mesh, well over Drake’s head, and rolled barbed wire along the top would make entry through here very difficult. They followed the fence and soon arrived at the remnants of a stone wall built into a rock outcrop at the southwest corner of the hill.
“I’ve been here before.” Drake hurried ahead. “When I was a kid, I’d play here with friends. This is Fort Fremont, isn’t it?”
“What’s left of it. They demolished most of it after World War I. The commander’s house is over there.” Pastor Wayne pointed to a small stone building with no roof or doors.
Drake walked among the ruins and then to the boulders that looked over Riverbank, several miles of freeway, and the Chehalis River that flowed along the south of the town.
“Where did you get all this fence stuff?”
“Remember Ben Huntington, the Christmas tree guy? He milled the posts and is doing more. Another man at the meeting, Rob Gunther, manages a farm supply warehouse in town. He had the fence.”
“Did you guys do all this work? Are you trying to fence in the hill?”
“A dozen people worked on it, including me.” Pastor Wayne grinned. “Yes, we’re trying to pr
otect the Fremont Hill community. We did a lot today, but there’s much more to do. By tomorrow evening we plan to have a simple plywood roof over this observation post and we’ll be extending the fences north and east from here.”
“I can help.”
“I planned to ask you.” Pastor Wayne rested one hand on Drake’s shoulder and pointed with the other. “That stretch of the fence will run east and eventually go along the back of your property.”
“My property?” A week ago, Drake was a kid playing video games, and the farm belonged to his father. Sadness surged within him. Was it really his farm now?
Pastor Wayne pointed along the fence line. “Is it okay if we continue?”
“Yes, but I want to be there when you build it.”
“Of course.” Pastor Wayne turned and gazed at the town and river below.
Drake leaned on the boulder and gazed at Riverbank and the freeway. His father had once said that the difference between a man and a boy was accepting responsibility. If he had inherited the farm, and the responsibilities of a man, it all felt overwhelming.
Moments later, the sunlight faded like a dimmer switch being turned down. He looked up as gray storm clouds rolled toward them.
Drake shivered.
* * *
King County, Washington, Friday, September 9th
Conner watched as Jason pulled a key from one pocket and a pistol from the other. He knocked again, but when no one answered, he used the key to enter. Warily, Conner and the others followed and did a quick search of the house.
Minutes later, Jason walked into the dining room. “Did you find anything?”
Conner shook his head. “Nothing suspicious. There’s even food in the kitchen.”
“Why would Sue and Raymond leave?” Jason asked as Tim and Madison walked into the room.
“We should search the barn and greenhouse,” Tim said.
Madison stood beside Conner. “We’ll help you look.”
Conner nodded. It seemed to him that criminals would have taken the food and made a mess doing it. “They might be headed to Cle Elum, but sure, we should check outside.”
The four left through the back door.
“Sue and Raymond just keep a few acres of pasture for their horses.” Jason gazed at the farmyard. “They lease the cornfield to the old couple on the next farm. They might be there.”
