by Sweet, W. G.
He had taken Massey street to get around the downtown area, and then cut cross streets to get to Linden. He had seen no one. Not even signs of anyone. Nothing. Bodies, smoke, nothing. Winter had returned and the entire town was covered with snow. He had driven to the top of State street hill and looked out over the city. Dead. No footprints in the snow. Nothing, and that seemed all wrong. There should be people. What had happened to all the ones who had stayed behind? Had they left too? Something else?
There were no clear answers. He had driven back to Linden street, stopping at a few stores on the way, searching out food and medicines and dug in. There was the old wood stove that he had used to heat the basement. A little work and he had got it going. There was a cord of wood that had been stacked outside the back steps that led down into the basement forever. He couldn't remember how many years. He had rarely used the wood stove after the new heating system he had put in. It heated the basement, there was no need for the wood stove. He had promised himself that someday he would yank it out. There were two guys, had been two guys, he reminded himself, at work who had offered to buy it. He was glad he had never gotten around to it.
The wood stove had heated the house up fine. He had spent a few hours looking over the house after that.
It was rough. The foundation was cracked and had dropped about eight inches on one side. The house was leaning, but still solid. Maybe a few years of leaning would take its toll. Maybe the next earthquake, if there was one, but for now it was stable, and that was all he cared about.
He had taken another dose of antibiotics, along with three aspirin, and had fallen asleep in his own bed and slept for... He didn't know how long, but time didn't really matter a great deal anymore. He had slept a long time. He didn't know how long a period and he didn't care. He only cared that he had awakened with the headache gone, the swelling in his leg lessened, and the redness mostly gone when he redressed the two wounds. He had taken another dose of the antibiotics, skipped the aspirin, and restocked the wood stove before he ate a breakfast of canned meat and toast made on the top of the glowing wood stove.
He had been sitting here trying to figure out what to do. Something, maybe while he had slept, had worked its way into his brain and it would not leave. What if, his thoughts had asked, What if Haley was not dead? What if she had survived? Wouldn't they have wanted to keep the women alive?
It troubled him because how could he know it? He had been badly injured, he had looked around, but right now, in the clear light of a day removed by several days of rest he couldn't be sure what he had done. What he had looked at. How well he had searched. Whether she was there, gone, dead, alive. There was no way to know, except... Well, except to go back and find out, his mind supplied.
He sat there sipping at the hot coffee looking for reasons to ignore the thought that had just seemed to drop in on him, but he could not. He had to go back. He had to be sure. And it wasn't just about Haley, maybe she was gone, maybe she wasn't, but what about the others? Could he really have been the only survivor? Had it been their plan to kill them all or were they looking to take the men out so they could get to the women? That seemed more logical. And yes, there were bones, he remembered, blackened and burned by the fire. And body parts. He could see them vaguely in his mind, but he saw no faces. He saw nothing that convinced him they were all dead, in fact the longer he thought it out the clearer it became that they had to be alive. At least some of them. He had most likely survived because he had appeared dead. He must have appeared dead. Hell, he had been halfway to dead.
He sighed, leaned forward, and the legs of the chair came back down to the floorboards of the porch. There was nothing for it and no reason to put it off. There was nothing here. This town was dead. Dead as dog shit, as they used to say. He had to leave anyway and he had no intention of heading east so west it would be. And Rochester was west anyway.
It could get him killed.
“It could get you killed,” he said aloud. And it could, he agreed, but that made no difference either. He stood, drained the cup and set it down empty on the rail. A half hour later he was winding through the stalled traffic of Arsenal street; heading out route 3 for Rochester.
Rochester NY: Joel
Joel sat quietly in the dark, his weapons gathered around him. He had gathered them from their own arsenals and they hadn't even missed them. They, the people running this section of Rochester, might think they had their shit together, but they were nothing but amateurs. He had looked the weapons over several times. Thought out his plans more than a dozen times. There was nothing left, but to do it.
He had seen enough to know what was going on in Rochester. The entire city had been divided into territories by different gangs. He had watched the city for the last two days and nights. Walking boldly where he wished in the daylight, sticking to the hard shadows through the night. He couldn't ask for a better picture.
The power was on still. He didn't know how that was possible or why it was possible, but in the scheme of things it made his work easier. People with lights weren't so concerned with people sneaking in. The lights gave a false sense of security at night. He had worked his way in and seen everything he needed to see, and then made his way back out in the gray light of morning that first day. Since then he had slipped easily back and forth across their lines as if they didn't even exist.
He had started with the wreck. It sat where he had left it, on the outskirts of the city, near the downtown entrance from East Avenue. He had spent the best part of two hours going over it and there were more than a few things he had missed.
The first, and major thing, was that the Jeep he, Haley, and the others had been traveling in had not been directly hit. The one behind them had also not been directly hit... Scott, Jan, and Lilly had been in that Jeep.
Both Jeeps had been destroyed just the same. There was a large area of asphalt gouged out, and the tar had melted around both vehicles. The fire had been serious and had probably killed anyone who had not escaped the Jeeps, but some of them had escaped the Jeeps. More than just him.
There were bones, blackened, and wet now from the near constant rain. The body parts he remembered seeing were gone. Even so there were not enough bones to account for everyone. It didn't mean that Haley was one of those that had made it out, it only meant someone had. So he had set out to find out who might have survived and where they were.
The second night had paid dividends. He had followed a returning group on foot with prisoners and slipped right back into their protected area along with them. From there he had simply followed those they had bought in as they were pulled and shoved along the streets to a two story house off Culver Avenue.
The house was guarded, but again, it was guarded to make sure no one escaped, not to keep people from slipping in. And even that was slip shod. It was late the next day before he had seen her, and he had wept freely as they had dragged her from the buildings front door along with Scott, Amber and a few others he didn't recognize. Either the others were somewhere else or they had died or already been killed.
He had shuddered to think of what they might have been through over the last several days as he had made his escape and then finally decided to come back. It was too much to take in, and so he shut it down and followed them as they were dragged through the fresh snow, barefoot he saw, to another building and turned over to armed men there.
His mind had screamed, Do something! Do something right now! But his common sense had fought it down. That would be suicide. It would benefit no one. It would surely get him killed and probably them too if they realized that he had come here to free them.
They had not been long at the building, those that had bought them had stood around talking. Low tones, subdued, it seems they were none too happy about their own circumstances. It had been on the way back, after they had brought them back out and were headed back to their prison, that Joel had overheard their conversation.
Scott was alive because he had told them he had skills
with carpentry. They needed skilled workers. So far he had refused to work for them. They had beaten him several times. Most likely they would kill him soon if he didn't give in. He was probably holding out, enduring the beatings, hoping for some way out for the women, for himself too.
Haley and Amber were a different story. They had been brought over to be looked over by a rival gang who might purchase them as part of some trade. From the sounds of the conversation they had liked what they had seen. The deal would go down tomorrow if they decided to go with it: If he intended to get them out alive it would have to be tonight.
It had not taken long to gather what he needed. He had found weapons of every kind. Rifles, pistols, knives, hand grenades even. He had gathered them and bought them to the small wooded area in back of the house next door where he had been hiding watching the prison. There was nothing left to do.
A few minutes before, the guard had changed. The night shift consisted of only two guards, and they were already sharing a joint together out back of the building. He heard their low voices and laughter as he worked his way out of the woods, bringing only what he needed, and around to the front of the house.
He hesitated at the front door. He was fairly certain there was no one inside, but he couldn't be positive. Anyone could have slipped in while he was out gathering weapons. He closed his eyes for a moment, shifted the pistol in his hand slightly, and then reached down and turned the knob.
The door swung open to a dark interior. Cold, no heat... No sounds. He stepped inside.
Rochester NY: Joel
Midnight
It had almost gone without a hitch. It had taken him a few minutes for his eyes to adjust, but once they had he had set off through the house. He thought back on it now as he bent his weight to the shovel, digging more out of the bottom of the shallow grave...
As he had searched his ears began to tell him things too, they were upstairs, he could hear minute creaks as body weight shifted on the floors above him. He could hear weeping from somewhere above him too. The sound made a sob catch in his own throat before he choked it back and headed for the stairs.
Scott had been out in the open, tied to a post for the railing. Joel had caught him in the process of trying to fight his way free. His mouth was gagged, but he immediately stopped his struggles when Joel came into view at the top of the stairs. Joel bent forward carefully, the step creaking loudly, and cut the bonds on his wrists. A second later he was passing Scott a pistol as he worked to free his jaw up. Joel passed him a canteen, and Scott sipped carefully, his lips blistered and cut, before he handed it back. His voice was scratchy, rusted.
“Kill the ones out there?” Scott asked in his whisper croak. His eyes were hard.
Joel shook his head. “They're getting high... Won't be a problem... Where are the girls?”
Scott nodded and headed down the hallway with Joel following. He stopped in front of the door. “One of them went in a little while ago... Probably... Probably...” He shook his head, unable to continue.
Joel whispered, “Don't lose it... We'll go on three, fast, but don't let the door make a lot of noise. Try to stab him, not shoot... Don't want to alert those others.” He held Scott's eyes until he nodded.
Joel turned the knob slowly and counted down quickly. His shoulder hit the door but it didn't give completely, just flexed, cracked loudly, and then sprang back at them. He cursed under his breath. “Take it down, take it fucking down,” he whisper croaked.”
The door splintered and finally opened. The guard inside was waiting, a gun in one hand, the form of a nude female beside him, a vague shape tied to a radiator across the room. A hand rose and pulled the gun down. The gun went off as they were tackling the man, and then everything went bad fast.
Joel drew his knife across his throat to cut off a scream that had begun, but even he knew it was too late. Scott scrambled up and made his way to the radiator and began untying the woman there. Joel bent, pushed the man aside and saw Amber. She moved quickly and he pulled her to her feet. They were out the door seconds later, all armed with the pistols Joel had bought, all ready, scrambling down the stairs two at a time. The front door burst in as they hit the bottom of the stairs and the two men that burst through never stood a chance. They ran over the top of them as they were still falling and spilled out into the night.
The whole area was on alert. The guards were out, dogs running everywhere, Joel saw. The dogs were no problem. It wasn't like the movies, the dogs didn't know who they were looking for. They managed to make it three blocks north, nearly out, before Joel realized that Amber had been hit. She stumbled, he pulled her to her feet, but she stumbled again and when he looked back he saw the blood that covered her entire side and soaked her leg. There was no time, he bent and took her over his shoulder, hearing her cry out in pain as he did, but there had been no other option. They had made the blockade a few moments later and had, had to stop while they tried to figure a way around.
There were too many of them. Two dozen standing around watching, but they were not trained to do it. Most of them had never hunted, didn't know how to watch, what to look for. Joel had laid Amber on the ground and Haley had pulled her into her arms and held her, both crying silently. Behind him, several blocks back at the house where they had been held the grenades he had rigged to a timer finally went off. The men scattered, ran, started to regroup and then began to run through the streets back to where they had been. Joel and Scott picked up Amber together and ran through the darkness, sticking to the deepest shadows for the next half mile until they were well beyond the city and the gangs that were out looking for them.
Joel and Scott collapsed onto the ground while Haley held Amber as she died. Dawn had not been far away so they had taken refuge in a nearby house and waited the day away. No one had come near. They had rested up during that time and when it was dark once more they had left the shelter and brought Amber with them...
Joel bent to the shovel once again. They had all taken turns, it was nearly done. He took a deep breath, stepped away from the hole and the others nodded. A second later they were lowering Amber into the hole.
She was dressed in clothes the Haley had taken from the house just a short time before. A long dress, her face pasty white and smeared with dried blood. But peaceful nonetheless. A half hour later they were back in the house ransacking it, looking for anything that might help them. They had a half mile to travel, a short distance, Joel had thought when he had hidden the truck he had driven here in, but a long walk now that he knew they might be anywhere looking for them. They left a short time later and made their trip to the falling down garage next to a flattened diner where Joel had hidden the truck.
The house had given them virtually nothing. No water. No food, a couple of coats and that was it. The truck was a welcome sight with its cache of food and water, and they had spent the next hour just sitting quietly, eating, replenishing their fluids, not talking.
“You were dead,” Haley said at last. “The guy went over, kicked you, was going to shoot you in the head, but he decided not to because you were dead.” Her eyes were bright, tears perched on the lids ready to fall. They fell as Scott spoke.
“I couldn't do anything, Joel. Nothing.”
Joel caught his own emotions. They had been right on his sleeve for days, it seemed. He took a minute and composed himself.
“Alive. I was alive. I came to and thought all of you had died. I was in bad shape, bleeding, leg messed up... I thought you were dead.” He stopped, gained his composure once more and then started again. “ Later, back in Watertown, I couldn't remember if I looked well enough., If I made sure you were dead, but I decided I didn't. I didn't and it ate at me.” His throat tightened up and he had to stop. “So I came back,” He said at last.
Haley came to him and hugged him. “Thank you,” she said. “I am so glad you did.”
Scott nodded and they all fell silent once more. Haley wiped at her eyes and then stood and walked away. “Sorry...
They were about to trade us... Pat...” She choked. “Amber and me.” The tears nearly overtook her once more but she fought them back.
“Okay... So we go back to Watertown again... I have my house set up. We go back and decide what's next.” He looked down at his leg. Blood had seeped through the bandages. “Leg's shot,” he said by way of explanation. The silence held for a second.
“I should look at that,” Haley said.
“Later,” Joel agreed. “Ready, Scott?”
“Yeah. Yeah I am.”
“Okay, let's get going. I want to be as far away from this fucking place as I can be by daylight tomorrow.” A few minutes later they were running a fast as they dared in the moonlight, heading back toward Watertown.
April 15th
Watertown, New York
Joel
Joel sat on his front steps and quietly stared over Linden street. It had changed for the worse. More than a dozen small quakes had hit over the last few days since they had been back. The houses were leaning more, including his own. Last night they had received some skip coming out of Manhattan. For twenty minutes they had been in whatever pocket that had been there and they had talked back and forth like they were right next door. There were no more illusions. The people he had talked to had come cross country, all the way from LA. There was nothing left. It was all gone. There was no help on the way. The Army was not on the way to put things right.
“Hey,” Haley from beside him. He had been slipping deeper into thought again.
“You were drifting away,” She said, as if she had read his thoughts.
She did that a lot lately, caught him, or he drifted a lot lately, maybe both. “I was... I was thinking about all of it. I think we should go to New York, wherever they are, outside the city. They sounded legit,” He raised his eyes to hers.
