by Kyle Pratt
“They would have seen us heading down the road,” Conner said. “But I’ll walk toward that farm.”
Tim headed to the barn, and Jason strode toward a large greenhouse.
Madison pointed to what appeared to be a toolshed with an Old West-style water pump beside it. “I’ll check that out.”
Conner ambled along with her in the direction of the shed and past the water pump. He bent low and slid through the barbed wire fence into the cornfield. The crop stood taller than he did, ready for harvest in a few weeks. He strolled along one row and over to another, not expecting to find anything. He stirred up small clouds of dust as he walked.
After a couple of minutes, he could see the next farmhouse but no one outside. While trying to decide how to approach the home, something hard pushed against the back of his head.
“That’s the barrel of my shotgun at the base of your skull.” The man thumped Conner’s back as if to reinforce the point. “Drop the rifle and put your hands up.”
Conner did as commanded, but someone grabbed the rifle before it hit the ground.
“Don’t turn around or move suddenly,” the man instructed. “How many are with you?”
Determined not to tell him anything useful, Conner shook his head. “We don’t want any trouble. We’re not here to hurt anyone.”
“We’ll see about that. Go back toward the house you came from—slowly.”
It irritated Conner that twice in a week a gun had been pointed at him, but fear moved him to do as told. With his hands up, he turned and walked back. The man had managed to stay out of sight. Only he had spoken, but Conner thought he heard two people moving behind him. His pace slackened.
“Keep going.” The gun barrel jabbed into Conner’s back.
“Don’t hurt him,” a woman pleaded.
A man and a woman? Could they be—?
Madison stepped out of the cornstalks twenty feet ahead. Her eyes widened as she turned to run. Conner felt the gun barrel scrape across his back. Near his right shoulder, the end veered into view. In a single flowing motion, Conner spun backward, ducked under the barrel, and knocked it skyward.
It fired with a boom.
For an instant, Conner faced his assailant, a man only a few years older than himself. Before the man could rack the shotgun, Conner kicked his knee and grabbed the firearm.
As the man fell, Conner yanked the weapon free. Stepping back, he shifted his aim to the woman. Her eyes were wide, but she held Conner’s rifle in her hands. “Drop the weapon and put your hands up.”
She hesitated.
Conner didn’t want to hurt anyone, but he didn’t want her to shoot him either. He pointed the barrel at her head.
“No!” Sitting on the ground, the man thrust out his palms, pleading. “Don’t hurt her, please!”
She dropped the rifle onto the dusty ground.
Conner heard movement behind him and glanced over his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Madison stepped forward and retrieved the weapon from the ground.
He nodded.
Hearing more movement, Conner looked down the row of corn. Jason and Tim ran toward them.
“Sue … Raymond … I’m so glad they found you,” Jason shouted.
Conner stared at Raymond as the horror of what could have happened tore through him, “I could have killed you.”
Raymond stood, wobbled, and rubbed his knee. “Who are you two?”
“Friends,” Madison said flatly.
Conner handed the shotgun back to Raymond as Jason hugged Sue.
Tim followed close behind.
As they all neared the farmhouse, Sue pointed at the pickup. “Is that your truck, Dad?”
“Sure is.” Jason nodded. “One of my old farm trucks. I had to replace the starter and battery, but now it runs well.”
“We didn’t recognize it.” Raymond shook his head. “When we saw it coming up the road, I grabbed the shotgun and we hurried out the back.”
“Why?” Tim asked. “You were armed.”
“We didn’t want to be trapped in the house by some gang,” Sue said as they climbed the steps. “Groups have been raiding homes in the area for food and drugs.”
Standing on the back porch, Raymond turned to Conner. “I’m sorry I pointed my gun at you.” His face flushed.
“You didn’t know.” Conner didn’t feel he had anything to apologize for, but in the spirit of the moment, he decided to return the gesture. “I’m sorry if I hurt your knee and for pointing a gun at you and Sue.”
Next, it seemed that everyone was apologizing for both real and perceived wrongs. Laughter ensued as they entered the house.
When the amusement faded, Sue asked, “Why are you here, Dad?”
“To bring you home. It isn’t safe this close to Seattle. Better for both of you to be on our place, with family. There’s plenty of room.”
“I couldn’t leave our horses.”
“The truck has a hitch. Hook up your trailer, pack up your things, and let’s get going.”
Raymond nodded agreement.
Sue looked doubtful.
Feeling a tug on his sleeve, Conner turned to Madison.
With her head, she motioned for him to follow and together they went into the living room. “I figured this is a family matter they need to discuss.”
“Sure.” Conner sat beside her on a couch and, for the next few minutes, they planned their route.
Raymond stepped into the room. “Sue has started packing. We’ll be headed back over the mountains soon.” He opened a closet and pulled out a box. “Before we go though, I have some camping food and some gear in here that you can have.”
“Thanks.” Conner took the box.
The sun peaked in the sky and began its downward trek while Jason attached the horse trailer, Sue filled boxes and suitcases and Conner and Madison packed food into their packs and filled canteens at the water pump.
Sue unlocked the toolshed and swung open the door with a loud creak. “I thought you two might need these.”
Madison smiled.
Conner looked over his shoulder at Sue holding two expensive-looking red bicycles.
“Yes.” Conner nodded.
“We haven’t used them in years. Not since we bought the horses.” Sue pushed them forward to Conner. “We don’t have room for them.”
“Thank you.” Madison smiled. “It would have been a long walk.”
Jason loaded the horses and then squeezed into the back of the pickup with his wife, various suitcases, and a couple of dozen boxes.
Conner and Madison waved goodbye and then turned south on their new bikes toward home.
Day Seven
Clark County, Washington, Saturday, September 10th
The darkness faded and Neal returned to consciousness with a pounding headache. His eyes fluttered open to a view of Ginger’s belly. He tried to understand both why his head hurt and why Ginger stood across his face, growling.
Something had hit the back of his head.
He pushed the dog aside and sat up. His head throbbed and the world swayed, but he managed to remain upright.
Ginger growled toward a dark corner.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, a woman in a loose jacket, holding a shotgun, gradually became visible.
Neal glanced about for his weapon.
“Yeah, this is your shotgun,” the woman said. “You dropped it and I grabbed it before that dog of yours came at me.”
“Well, you did hit me.” The face of the woman showed fear, but with his shotgun across her lap, he didn’t want to challenge her too much. Neal casually brushed the side of his jacket. His pistol remained in place. “Who are you?”
“This house belongs to my family.” She lifted the shotgun with both hands. “Who are you?”
“Your house?” Neal rubbed the back of his head. Could this be the wrong place? He looked about and spotted pictures of Josh and his family. As he did, one photo in particular caught his attention. H
e looked back and forth between the woman and the picture. “Are you Claire?”
“How do you know my name?”
“Because I’m a friend of your dad. I’m Neal.”
She stood revealing a bulging belly. “Neal?” She stepped closer with the gun limp at her side. “Dad said you might be coming but … well, that was a week ago.”
Ginger snarled and she moved back. “I’ve always liked dogs, but this one might change my mind.”
“Calm down, Ginger.” Neal pulled the dog back toward him. “I’ve had to walk a lot to get here. Where’s Josh?”
“Tie up the dog and follow me.”
Claire handed Neal his shotgun and then led him up a dark stairwell to the master bedroom.
Sunlight from a window illuminated the room. Josh’s head rested on a pillow. The rest of him lay hidden under several blankets.
“Is he dead?” Neal asked.
“Not yet,” Josh mumbled. “Is that you, Neal? I can’t see so well.”
“Yes, it’s me.” Neal stepped to the side of the bed. “What happened to you? How can I help?”
No answer came from his friend.
Across from Neal, Claire drew close to the bed. She pulled up a chair, sat, and clutched her father’s hand. “He’s been drifting in and out of consciousness for a day now.”
“Is he dying?” Neal cringed as he asked the question with his friend on the bed before him. “How did he get hurt?”
“He’s never managed his diabetes well.”
“I knew he was diabetic, but why is it killing him?”
“I’m not sure of all the details. He’s a stubborn man and doesn’t talk much about his illnesses, especially the diabetes. I’m pretty sure that’s what is killing him … but … well, it’s more complicated than that.” She let out a deep breath and continued. “I came down to visit him from Everett last weekend. When the news of the sun storms broke, Dad encouraged me to stay just in case things got bad.” She sighed and shook her head. “Things sure did get bad. A couple of days later, I could tell he wasn’t well. I finally got him to admit that he had run out of insulin.” She stroked her father’s hand.”
“I’m sure we can get more.”
Josh shuddered, but his eyes remained closed.
“I’ve checked with the VA hospital. They’re doing triage of all patients and are saving the insulin for children and people less dependent on the drug—not old guys with type 1 diabetes and lung cancer.”
“Cancer?” The word hit Neal like a blow to the gut. “I didn’t know. I haven’t visited in years, but we’ve exchanged phone calls, emails, and Christmas cards.”
“I guess that’s not the kind of thing he wanted to say in a card, email, or call.”
Neal nodded. “I should have visited, but I’ve been busy … since Beth died.” Neal knew that wasn’t true. Since she had died, he had struggled to maintain connections with anyone, even his sons.
“Sometimes people drift apart, but I think Dad wanted to reconnect with you on this visit and say goodbye.”
After talking with Claire some more, Neal brought water and food to Ginger and returned to the bedroom. He pulled up a chair and continued the vigil over his dying friend.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Claire said in a soft voice.
“I’m sure Josh is glad you were here.” Recalling how she had spoken about her father’s illnesses, Neal asked, “Are you a doctor?”
“No, a nurse. Does it show?”
“You seem confident around illness, so yes, I guess it does.” Neal smiled at her and again noticed Claire’s bulging belly. Conversation had never been his strength and this one could turn into a minefield. She looks pregnant, but I’ve seen more than one guy assume that and the woman was just fat. How do I ask? And what about the father? Where is he? Is she even married? Things are so complicated nowadays. “Ah, you mentioned you live in Everett. Ah, are you … married?”
She grinned. “Yes, I’m married.” She rubbed her belly. “Dad would be very perturbed if I wasn’t.”
His eyes dropped to her belly. “So you’re … ah ….”
“Pregnant? Yes, that too. Twenty-one weeks.”
“So, where is your husband?”
“Rob? He’s a lieutenant on the USS Reagan. For the last few years, our home has been in Everett.”
“Where is he now?”
“Somewhere in the Indian Ocean.” Her voice trailed lower with each word and she turned her gaze to the window.
Neal knew what she was thinking. With technology around the world burned out by the sun, what would happen to a modern, computerized vessel? “They harden warships against EMP. He’ll come home.”
“Could he find me? I didn’t leave him a message about where I went.”
“He’ll figure out where you are.” Neal wasn’t sure about that and, without autos, Everett and Vancouver were days of travel apart. Minutes passed in silence. Finally, he asked, “It must have been hard watching Josh … your dad, these last few days.”
Claire nodded. “He felt okay for the first three days, but these last four have been difficult for both of us. He vomits up anything I try to feed him. He grimaces or shouts in pain, and the last twenty-four hours, he has been in and out of a coma.”
More silence passed between them.
Josh’s eyes fluttered open and, after a moment, focused on Neal. “Please … get Claire … to a safe place.”
“Yes, of course I will.” Neal had no idea where a safe place might be or how to get a woman five-months pregnant to such a location, but he felt obliged to commit himself to trying.
Josh smiled and closed his eyes. Over the next several hours, his breathing slowed, became labored, and then stopped.
* * *
King County, Washington, Saturday, September 10th
Conner’s legs ached and he needed sleep, but they pedaled south and Madison seemed encouraged as she pointed out trails where she had biked, jogged, or run.
They stopped only when darkness had made it impossible to see. Then, in the twilight before dawn, Madison had awakened and urged him on toward her home.
Several hours later, they entered a hushed Olympia. The lingering cool morning air felt good on Conner’s face as he struggled to keep pace with Madison.
The breeze rustled in his ears.
A bird called from a nearby tree.
The quiet of the city rattled his nerves as he waited for the rumble of traffic and machinery that he knew would never come.
Fifty yards ahead, Madison slowed her bike to a stop and stared at the hill before them.
Conner pulled up on her left.
“There.” She pointed at the top of the incline. “That’s where I live. I can almost see my house.” Madison’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “We can be there in ten minutes.”
Why couldn’t your house be at the bottom of the hill? Conner’s legs and butt ached, but he smiled weakly.
Madison stared at him for a moment and then she leaned over and kissed him on the lips. “Thank you for getting me home.”
Conner grinned at the surprise kiss. He leaned forward to kiss her back, but she had already returned her gaze to the hill.
She had helped him as much as he had helped her, but as Conner’s smile grew, he wasn’t going to quibble about the details. He didn’t want to lose her and so tried to imagine her joy at the reunion with family. He did his best to fix a smile on his face. “Let’s climb that hill and get you home.”
Engines rumbled in the distance.
Madison led the way to a freeway overpass. As they crossed, half a dozen military and civilian trucks rumbled south along the highway.
Conner stared at the unusual sight. I wish I could catch a ride with them.
Several small groups of men and women stared in silence as Madison and Conner pedaled up the hill.
Conner’s legs ached as if on a cross-country bike race, but it was only minutes. Finally, Madison stopped and stared at a small, single-story ho
me. “Mom … Dad!” She dismounted, let her bike drop on the grass, and hurried toward the house.
Conner pulled to the front of the home.
She stopped. “The front door is ajar.”
Conner slid the rifle into his hand and took the lead as they entered the dark house.
Just inside, Madison stopped and wrinkled her nose. “That smell ….”
Conner tried to breathe through his mouth.
Death wafted in the air.
* * *
Rural Lewis County, Washington, Saturday, September 10th
While doing the morning chores, Drake heard the rumble of engines. A week ago, such sounds would have prompted little notice and no concern. Today, it stirred him to hurry his chores and jog down the road with his rifle.
As he rounded a bend, the pastor’s home became visible. Just beyond the house and church, a group of men and women stood in the road, watching two bulldozers level ground, clear bushes, and remove small trees along the east side of the hill.
Spotting Pastor Wayne, Drake strode over. As he drew near, another man hurried to the pastor’s side. “They’re dead. Both of them.” After delivering the message, the man hurried away.
“Hi. I didn’t think any vehicles worked.” The words left Drake’s mouth as his mind comprehended the impact of the man’s statement.
“Good morning.” The pastor smiled at Drake as if no one had just advised him about two deaths. “It’s the electronics that are the problem. These old diesel engines don’t have any computer chips, electronics, or fuel injection.”
Drake had only a vague idea of what fuel injection was, but if not having it helped the dozers work, it must be a good thing. The message of death still echoed in his brain, but no one seemed alarmed so Drake decided to ask later. “What are they doing?” He gestured at the dozers.
“Making a path for the next part of the fence.” The pastor pointed to a nearby pile of heavy wooden fence posts and rolled wire.
“Do you have enough fence wire to encircle the hilltop?”
“No.” He shook his head. “But we’ll go until we run out and then figure some other way to protect the neighborhood.”
