by Keith Taylor
He didn’t want or need enough guns to supply a regiment, and he didn’t want to defend a compound. He just wanted enough firepower to hunt and defend himself, so all he carried in his bag were a Ruger 10/22 Takedown for hunting small game, a Mossberg 500 shotgun for self defense, a basic scope and as much ammo as he could comfortably carry on a day long hike. Beyond that he had his trusty Glock tucked into his bug out bag, with spare ammunition in the glove compartment and a secret emergency stash hidden in a cubby beneath the rear seat of the truck.
After the weapons came the freeze dried food, mostly packaged rather than tinned to save on weight, and then a sack of trail mix, a box of jerky and a few dozen rolls of toilet paper. Once they were loaded he returned for his bag of assorted basic medical supplies: saline and needles, bandages, laxatives and Pepto-Bismol, antibiotics and ibuprofen in bulk, along with as much morphine as he could buy online without landing on a government watch list.
By the time he hefted the final heavy rucksack of camping equipment, clothing and various odds and ends into the back of the truck he was almost delirious with exhaustion. He felt like he couldn’t take a full breath, and when he tried his lungs burned and lights fizzed in his eyes. He grabbed a bottle of water from his bug out bag and greedily gulped as much as he could, and then slid down the side of the truck and lay panting until the ringing in his ears began to fade.
Should have worked out more, he thought. It was all well and good stocking up on supplies, but all the supplies in the world aren’t worth shit if you’re not strong enough to defend them. That had been the last lesson his father had ever taught him: you can’t prep for a fatal heart attack.
It was a few minutes more before his breathing returned to normal and his legs stop quivering. He glanced at his watch – analog, of course, even though a digital watch would probably have survived an EMP – and he was shocked to see that it had taken more than an hour to load the truck. It was now well after eleven, and people must surely now be—
He froze. At the very edge of his hearing he caught the sound of knocking. Front door? Yeah, definitely. The sound came again, followed by someone calling out his name. Shit. He’d been hoping to avoid this. He’d planned to get out before anyone even realized what was happening, if only so he might feel like less of an asshole for abandoning the town he loved to its fate.
All throughout Jim’s childhood Shep Senior had tried to drum one single lesson into his son above all others: when the shit hits the fan, you’re on your own. That’s how you survive. No mercy. No remorse. No trust. No charity. Give a man a fish and he’ll just come back for more damned fish. Teach a man to fish and he’ll catch ‘em all and let you starve. Shep Senior’s credo had always been simple, and it was probably the biggest reason nobody around town had ever invited him to parties. People? Who needs ‘em?
Young Jim had always hated the thought of abandoning his friends. As far as he saw it, if you left people behind to die it was just as bad as pulling the trigger yourself, and as a kid he’d found himself in tears more than once at the thought of driving out of town as his buddies from school shrank away to nothing in the rear view mirror. The thing was, though, that even as a kid Shepherd knew his dad was right, even if he did come across as an asshole. He knew that if society collapsed – this huge, complex society that only just barely managed to keep most people alive at the best of times – people would die. Lots of people. The only thing that would matter in that situation is making sure you weren’t one of them.
He heard his name called out once again, closer this time. It seemed to be coming from the side of the house, and he recognized the voice.
“Shep? You back there, Shep?”
Shepherd pulled himself up against the rear tire of the truck and brushed himself down. Almost as an afterthought he flipped up the flap of his bug out bag on the back seat, reached in and grabbed his Glock, slipping it into the back of his waistband and pulling his shirt down to cover it. It occurred to him that he wasn’t entirely sure if it was loaded. Had he replaced the magazine after his last trip to the range? Damn, another amateur mistake. Didn’t matter. He knew he could never bring himself to pull a gun on the man walking to the back yard.
Ron rounded the corner of the house, his shirt clinging to his belly in the morning heat. His hairpiece was dark with sweat, making it even more obvious than usual where the fake hair met what little was left of his own. He’d clearly walked all the way back from the square.
“You didn’t hear me yell? I’ve been banging on that door like a madman.”
Shepherd force a smile. “Sorry, Ron, I was in the back of the truck. Must have missed it.” He shuffled a couple of steps to the left, blocking Ron’s view through the window. “You look exhausted. Did Kath not drive you home?”
“Couldn’t get a signal on the cell,” he said, waving his phone in the air. “I was about to head indoors when I saw your lawn all tore up out front. What the heck are you doing? Looks like you drove right through the old rose bush.”
Shepherd cringed. Ron’s wife loved that rose bush, and since it straddled their lawns she'd always thought of it as her own. If he’d just taken a couple of seconds to skirt around it maybe Ron would have walked right on by.
“Damn, I’m sorry about that. Afraid I wasn’t paying enough attention. I’ll do my best to fix it up later, OK?”
“I’m sure Kath’d appreciate it. You know how much she adores those roses.” Ron craned his neck and peered over Shepherd’s shoulder. Despite his best efforts Shepherd couldn’t conceal the towering stack of supplies. “Hey, what you got back there? You planning some kinda trip?”
Shepherd shook his head. “Nope. Just a few last minute bits and pieces for the festivities. I promised Mrs. Klein I’d drop ‘em off before everyone sets up. In fact, I gotta head out there right away or she’ll blow a gasket.”
Ron nodded, still curious but mostly satisfied with the answer. Mrs. Klein was the self-appointed head of the July Fourth committee, and by far the toughest of the old ladies. If Ron was suspicious about Shepherd’s odd behavior it was all explained away by mention of her name. She could get a cat to juggle dogs with nothing more than a stern look.
Shepherd turned to the truck and pulled open the driver’s door, fumbling the keys as he went. They dropped to the grass, and he reached down to scoop them up before remembering the pistol in his waistband. He stood quickly.
“Well, tell Kath I said hi, and please give her my apologies for the rose bush. I promise I’ll fix it up good as new as soon as I get home.”
He jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the key, eager to get out of there, but he knew he couldn’t drive away without one final goodbye. He’d known Ron his whole life, after all. Hell, Kath had changed his diapers as a baby. He gave the old man a quick glance, and immediately wished he hadn’t as soon as he saw his expression.
“You take care now, Shep,” said Ron, his voice barely a whisper.
At any other time that would have sounded like the kind of throwaway pleasantry people tossed around with every breath in the south, but not today. Shepherd saw the look in Ron’s eyes. He saw the realization, and the resignation. He must have been wondering if something was going on all the way home, what with the stalled cars and the lack of phone service, and now, seeing Shepherd’s truck stacked to the roof with supplies that obviously weren’t destined for a barbecue… seeing the Glock tucked in his waistband…
“Take care, Ron. Give my love to Kath.”
That was that. There was nothing more to be said. Shepherd put the truck in gear and pulled away from the house, carefully driving around the crushed rose bush as he passed it. It wasn’t until he dropped down the curb with a jolt that he realized his vision was clouded with tears.
What else could he have done? Both Ron and Kath were in their late seventies, and neither were in great shape. They both survived only with the help of a daily regimen of pills and shots that would have put a junkie to shame. Kath needed an oxygen tank
most mornings just to get out of bed. Even if Shepherd had unlimited supplies there was no way he could have kept the two of them alive more than a few weeks, not where he was going. The only thing that would keep them breathing was a fully stocked pharmacy and a team of nurses, and both would be thin on the ground after today.
No, this was the sensible decision, the adult decision, and it was the kindest thing. Stringing Ron and Kath along with false hope would be cruel. Best to just cut them loose and worry about his own survival. This was what his dad had taught him all those years.
If he repeated those words enough times he might even come to believe them.
He glanced in the rear view mirror just as he reached the end of the street, and the moment he saw what was in the reflection the tears began streaming freely down his cheeks.
Ron was kneeling in front of the rose bush in Shep’s front garden, carefully repairing the damage the truck had caused.
He wouldn’t want Kath to see it like that. Not today.
΅
:::5:::
ABIGAIL ROSS STARTED her day in the mother of all foul moods.
She didn’t ask for much from life. She worked damned hard in D.C., pretty much 24/7. So hard, in fact, that she hadn’t had a single weekend to herself since… what, February? Damn. Now, finally, she’d managed to block out a full five days of R&R. She’d set her email to ping the out of office auto reply and told everyone at work that if her cell rang it better be because the office was literally on fire and covered with radioactive spiders. She’d been looking forward to this trip back home to Charlotte for months.
And what did she get for her trouble?
“I’m so sorry, ma’am, that flight is overbooked. I’m afraid we had to bump you.”
Seriously, United. Overbooked? She’d bought her ticket a month ago. “I’m so sorry,” the check in clerk had repeated with that fake plastic sympathetic smile and infuriating head tilt. “It’s always a little crazy around the holidays.”
“NO SHIT?! THAT’S WHY I BOOKED THE TICKET A MONTH AGO!”
Abi didn’t remember much of the rest of the conversation. All she could recall were a few choice curse words that increased in volume until they attracted the attention of a nearby security guard. Before she knew it she found herself led firmly by the arm back to the taxi rank with a warning that “that kind of language isn’t acceptable at Dulles, ma’am.”
After she’d had a few minutes to cool down she hefted her weekend bag over to the Hertz counter, where she’d discovered that her license had expired in the middle of June, and apparently Hertz frowns on the idea of hiring cars to unlicensed drivers. From there she’d angrily hailed an outrageously expensive cab back into the city to Union Station, where she’d been able to book a last minute Amtrak ticket to Charlotte for an eye watering $170. Ten hours on a train versus ninety minutes in the air, and the train cost even more than the flight.
The worst thing about this was the the train wouldn’t arrive in Charlotte until the early afternoon, long after the old friends she was visiting would have started drinking, which meant that she’d have to take a cab from the station to the hotel, and then another cab out to wherever the craziest party was going on, and somewhere in that unholy mess she’d have to find the time to grab a shower and freshen up after ten hours on the train. This screw up had turned a well earned relaxing vacation into a logistical nightmare, and she hadn’t even reached her destination yet.
As she watched the morning sunlight play over the rolling hills of Virginia, though, her mood had finally begun to improve a little. The start of her trip had been an out and out disaster, but at least she got to see some beautiful views. She’d never taken the train through Virginia before, and she had to admit that watching the farmland and forests sail by while the empty carriage gently rocked her back and forth was a step up from being sealed inside a steel tube, rocketed into the air while breathing the stale farts and cigarette breath of strangers. In fact, she could get used to this. Maybe she could even trade in her return flight for a rail ticket.
She rested her chin in her palm and gazed dreamily out the window, listening to the soothing clack-clickety-clack of the rails as she enjoyed the view. The track ran beside a narrow country road, and beyond the strip of asphalt and the power lines that ran alongside it there was nothing out the window but an endless sea of glorious green, almost glowing emerald in the morning sun. It was a picture postcard view, more beautiful than anything she’d ever see back home in the city.
After a few minutes of watching the view Abi felt herself begin to drift off. Her eyelids felt heavy, and her head began to nod forward as the rhythmic rocking soothed her into sleep. She leaned back in her seat, nuzzled her head against the backrest until she found a good spot and—
Her eyes suddenly sprang open with shock. Out the window the string of power lines running alongside the road burst into a shower of sparks at each pole. As far as the eye could see the things that looked like little steel trash cans – transformers, she thought they were called – shot out sparks like Roman candles, and Abi realized that even above the sound of the train she could hear sharp explosive sounds like gunshots, each crack corresponding with another shower of sparks.
She turned back to the carriage, looking around to see if there were any other passengers to alert to this crazy sight, but she was alone. She turned back to the window just as an alarmed voice rang out over the Tannoy, but before she heard more than a couple of words the sound cut out with a screech of deafening feedback.
Moments later a steward came bolting through the carriage from the back of the train. Abi stood in the aisle and tried to call out to him, but before she managed to get out the first word the entire carriage jolted forward as if someone had slammed on the brakes. From start to finish it had all taken no more than a few seconds.
Abi was pitched off her feet, tumbling forward head first. The last thing she saw was the steel armrest three seats ahead approach her at what seemed like a decent fraction of the speed of light.
Everything went black.
΅
:::6:::
TRAIN.
THAT WAS the first word that came to Abi’s confused mind as she awoke. Her eyes began to open lazily, her vision blurred and her thoughts scattered, and she looked up from her strange vantage point at a luggage rack and the ceiling.
Train. You’re on a train.
It took a few moments for her thoughts to come into focus, but the moment they did she was fully awake with a jolt. She was upside down, wedged awkwardly between two seats. She twisted herself free in a panic, feeling pain in every joint and a throbbing in her forehead, and as soon as she pulled herself upright she shot to her feet in the aisle.
Bad idea. Her head swam, and her right eye began to sting as something sticky dripped down her face. She fell back into the seat and reached up to touch her face, and her fingers came away red with blood.
She could feel herself begin to drift away again. Despite her fear the seat felt too comfortable to get up. She just wanted to rest there for a few seconds; just close her eyes and take a bit of a break before dealing with whatever was going on. She felt her eyelids droop, and she sank deeper into the seat with a contented sigh. It seemed to wrap around her, enveloping her like a warm, cozy blanket.
“Get out!” The voice seemed distant, as if she was hearing it from the other end of a football field. “Hey, lady! Get the hell out!”
Leave me alone, she thought, screwing her eyes tight. She wasn’t ready for any of this.
“Damn it,” the voice complained, closer now. She heard a rustling noise, then some banging, and a few moments later she felt hands slip beneath her arms and drag her out of her seat.
“Get off me,” she muttered. “Let me sleep.”
“Come on, lady, walk with me, it’s not safe here.” She felt someone kick at her feet. “I said walk!”
She made a halfhearted effort to move her feet, but she couldn’t seem to get them to coop
erate. Her legs felt like jelly, and in the end she just allowed whoever was dragging her to get on with it. She didn’t want to walk anyway. If he was so insistent he could do the hard work. Her heels slipped off her feet, but she didn’t care.
Suddenly a blast of fresh air hit her face, and the effect was like a cold shower. She snapped awake with a start, and as her eyes opened she saw that she was being lowered clumsily down from the train carriage to the gravel siding below. By the time her feet touched the ground she could actually feel them again, and with a concerted effort she managed to force her legs to support her weight for a few seconds before she stumbled to the ground beside the track, scraping her knees on the biting gravel. Behind her she heard boots hit the ground, and she glanced back to see a young Amtrak employee, his shirt torn and an angry bruise forming on the side of his face.
“Can you walk? You gotta get away from the train ASAFP, lady. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, yeah, I… yeah, OK. Thank you for… umm, thank you.” She pulled herself to her feet and started to clumsily walk in the direction he pointed.
“Just get to the field, you understand? I gotta go back and help the other passengers.”
Abi didn’t answer. It took all her strength just to concentrate on staying on her feet, but she heard the man lift himself back into the carriage with a grunt. She just put one foot in front of the other, weaving towards the field like a newborn foal until she felt the cool, dewy grass between her toes. She didn’t know how far she was expected to walk, but she figured someone would tell her when she was safe.
She was maybe thirty yards from the tracks when she decided to take a break and turn around. Back in the direction of the train a couple of people had climbed off and were laying on the gravel by the track, but she could see a few more through the carriage windows, and the steward trying to hustle them out. Not many, though. The train was almost empty.
