Without

by E. E. Borton

  “I need to put my eyes on that baby and that young lady,” said Jason. “I promise I won’t wake ‘em. I just need to see them for a second if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all, sweetie,” said Hope.

  He walked inside leaving us alone on the porch. In an instant, everything changed. Before Jason crossed the yard, I had every intention of staying with them. Having her dead husband’s brother show up out of the blue was something I didn’t see coming. Neither did she.

  “He lives in Knoxville,” said Hope, shaking her head. “He must have started walking as soon as the power went out. Just like you.”

  “He doesn’t have a family there?”

  “Nope. Single, never been married, and no kids,” said Hope. “I think he lives vicariously through Brian. He loves those girls like they’re his own.”

  “That’s great to hear, Hope. He’s exactly what you need.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Hope, reaching for my hand. I let her take it.

  “He’s family,” I said. “He’s also young and strong. He doesn’t seem like the type that hesitates. I can tell. I can see it in people’s eyes. I see fire in his.”

  “Just because he’s here, doesn’t mean I want you to leave,” said Hope, smiling to disarm me. “I want you to stay. We all do.”

  “You don’t think things are going to be a little awkward?”

  I wasn’t ready for the kiss, but when it happened, I didn’t fight it. I closed my eyes, drifting a million miles away from the reality around me. I wasn’t thinking about her husband under the oak, three days dead; I wasn’t thinking about the bodies I buried in the woods; I wasn’t thinking about Earl or Todd and the boys; I wasn’t thinking about the thugs I burned in Atlanta; I wasn’t thinking about Sam.

  I definitely wasn’t thinking about Jason, who was standing in the doorway when I opened my eyes. When I pulled back, Hope saw him as well. He looked down, turned away, and walked back inside.

  “Oh, my God,” whispered Hope.

  Reality came back with a brutal vengeance. I could see the shame in her eyes. I could feel it in mine.

  “I’m sorry,” said Hope, crying. She turned, following Jason inside.

  As I stood on the front porch, reality wasn’t through kicking my ass. It screamed that none of this was real. It screamed that the thoughts I had of taking over for Brian were insane – he wasn’t even cold yet. There was no way Hope and the girls loved me. They would pretend to love anyone that could keep them safe. That was real.

  I felt like a child. All I wanted to do was run. I wiped her kiss off my lips and looked around for my gear. Avoiding the kitchen where they were talking, I walked into the living room where my pack was yelling for me to strap it on. I complied – quickly – and grabbed my rifle, slinging it across my shoulder as I walked down the front porch stairs. I made it to the oak before I heard him running up behind me.

  Just take the beating. Take it and get the hell out of there.

  As the large hand grabbed my shoulder, I braced for the first blow. It seemed poetic that it would happen ten feet from Brian. He had a front row seat to his brother taking my pound of flesh. He deserved every ounce.

  I had become one of the monsters that I buried in the backyard – but my crime was worse. The cowards took advantage of their bodies when they were weak. I took advantage of their hearts when they were even weaker. The only thing I did was be there at the right time to play hero. I didn’t earn any of it.

  I closed my eyes, opened my hands, and waited for the pain.

  “What are you doing?” asked Jason, crying, pulling me into him with a crushing hug. “It’s okay, man. Things are crazy right now. We’re all confused, scared, and don’t know what the hell to do. It’s okay. Nobody is pissed at anyone.”

  He released the hug, grabbing me by my shoulders. He was right, I was confused. I didn’t know what to say to him.

  “I wasn’t kidding when I said I owe you a debt,” said Jason. “I can’t allow you to just walk away from here out into the dark. You know what’s out there. It’s not safe. Come back inside. Nobody is going to say anything, I swear. Just come back inside. We’ll sort everything out in the morning. If you wanna leave then, I won’t stop you. Not that I could anyway, but I won’t even try. I promise.”

  I found my words. “This isn’t my life,” I said. “It’s his and it’s yours, not mine. I’m not going to lie to you, Jason, I wanted it to be. I wanted it bad. But my life is waiting for me to get back to it. Do you understand? None of this is mine.”

  “That sounds like some hokey Marlboro Man bullshit,” said Jason, standing his ground. “With all the crap happening around us, the only way any of us is going to make it, is for good folks to stick together; folks you care about and trust. You earned both of those with Hope and the girls. It was just a kiss, man. No harm in it.”

  “It wasn’t just a kiss for me, buddy. That’s the harm in it. And I’m not looking to walk the earth, searching for my purpose like some kind of sappy cliché. I have a place to go and I have a plan. I have everything I need on my back, and the only way to travel these days is on foot. There’s nothing you can say that’s going to keep me from leaving right now.”

  “Damn it, man. She’s up there bawling her eyes out,” said Jason. “I told her I’d bring you back. What do I tell her now?”

  “Tell her I said thank you.”

  “Really? That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “You sure you got everything you need?” asked Jason. “Food, water, ammo, everything? There’s gotta be something I can give you.”

  “Promise me you’ll be a warrior for them.” I said. “I know you will, but I guess I’d just like to hear you say it.”

  “You have my word.”

  When my feet hit the asphalt, I turned to look at the mirage that I wanted to be my home. Jason was standing by the oak tree, holding onto the swing. I saw Hope’s silhouette in front of a lantern on the porch. The cliché – that was my life at that moment – couldn’t get sappier if I tried. Smiling, I turned, starting my walk down the dark, lonely road.

  Marlboro Man. That was a good one.

  Along with reality kicking my ass, Mother Nature decided to get in a few licks as well. Green flashes were on the horizon, exposing clouds forming over the mountains. As I walked, bandits and cowards lurking in the shadows weren’t on my mind as danger. Baseball sized hail was.

  Wanting to put some distance between me and the urge to turn around, I kept walking for a few more miles. As my legs started to burn from the change in the elevation of the road, I began looking for shelter. On the edge of Johns Mountain WMA, I knew unoccupied houses would be harder to come by. Thinking about the one I had just left, staying in a house seemed like a very bad idea.

  There were several reasons why I chose to walk along rural roads. (Near a city, I would’ve avoided them like the plague.) Outside of the city, I still believed it was too early in the event for organized groups – or a sniper – to set up an ambush. The higher value targets were still the stores that held larger quantities of supplies they’d need to survive. Picking off the occasional traveler would yield little for them to distribute among several people. The primary reasons were ease of terrain and navigation. I knew most of the roads by heart, but I knew nothing of the trails through the woods in the WMA. Another reason was the hundreds of abandoned vehicles I could use as armored shelter from weather, especially the deadly hail.

  For years Mother Nature had sent a warning sign in the form of drastic temperature changes prior to most large scale events. As the first wind gust brought a ten degree drop in the air around me, I quickened my pace to the next vehicle. Traveling farther into the WMA, the selection of cars began to dwindle. When the hardtop Miata came into view, I decided to tempt fate and press on a little farther down the line.

  My gamble paid off around a bend as the brand new Land Rover with temporary tags materialized out of the darkness. Crossing m
y fingers, I grabbed the door handle. When it didn’t open I tried the other three. All of them were locked. Breaking a window would be my last resort for gaining entry. There was no telling how far the temperature could drop overnight.

  Checking the last point of entry, I was able to open the hatch on the back of the SUV. Folding down all the seats it formed a comfortable enough bed. I left the hatch open as I situated my gear, using my pack as a pillow. For the moment a cooling breeze knocking down the heat of a long walk was welcomed. The silence was broken by a gentle lullaby of water cascading over rocks in a shallow creek alongside the road.

  After closing the hatch to make my cocoon safer, I was glad to feel sleep beginning to overtake the thoughts of Hope and the girls. I’d have plenty of time to think about them over the next few days. I’d have plenty of time to think about everything.

  I slept hard for hours, but not hard enough to sleep through the shaking Land Rover and the roaring coming from every direction outside the windows. It was as if I were being attacked by a pride of lions on the Serengeti. The rocking and roaring didn’t alarm me as much as watching the blur of trees speeding by.

  I had no idea what was happening.

  Chapter 18

  (Day 9)

  Buck

  Thinking the two-mile wide tornado that spared me the first time wouldn’t on the second, I braced myself against the seat, waiting for the impact. It only took a few seconds of looking at clear, blue sky for me to become more confused. As the large SUV started to roll over, the source of the chaos was revealed. Somehow, I found myself back in water – a lot of water – and all of it was angry.

  There were very few nights I didn’t sleep fully clothed, wearing boots, ready to run at the first sign of trouble. If I woke in a panic, I had to remember to grab two things: my pack and my rifle. (Learning my lesson in the sinking houseboat, I had tethered my shotgun to my pack.) Before I would fall asleep, I would tuck both pistols inside the pockets on the outside flap. Everything I owned – everything I needed – was always within arm’s reach. I was able to find both before the SUV capsized. The second problem I faced was that there was nowhere to run.

  It was impressive how quickly everything went dark. I woke, I saw, I was underwater in the black. The process took less than five seconds.

  As the heavy engine compartment sank, the back of the truck popped out of the water, letting in enough light for me to see how I was going to get out. The roof was the floor. With the rifle across my back, gripping the shoulder straps of my bag, I got on my hands and knees. I looked behind me, took aim, and then kicked at the glass like a mule.

  With the amount of adrenaline pumping through my body, it gave on the first whack. It sounded like a bomb went off in my ear. The still intact, semi-airtight cabin imploded with water. Turbulent, freezing, pissed-off water.

  I took a deep breath, waiting for the cabin to fill before I could attempt to crawl out. When the pressure equalized, the front end of the truck smashed into something that wouldn’t give. In slow motion, it cartwheeled. The floor became the floor again, and the SUV was heading downstream backwards. I was glad I wasn’t in the Miata. The Land Rover was taking the beating like a champ.

  A slight lag in the force of the flooding inside allowed me to pull myself out. When my head popped up, the truck dipped down. As if to give me a brief time-out, the raging river pushed me gently up on top of the SUV. I was able to grab hold of the roof rack and try to get my bearings.

  I was surrounded by a deadly, boiling soup of debris. Jagged spears of wood were protruding out of the water and then submerging again everywhere I looked. My first vision of jumping was followed by another vision of impaling myself on a limb shooting out of the muddy water. Something else made the decision for me as the SUV slammed to a stop, ripping the roof rack out of my hands.

  I’d never be able to pick it out of a lineup, but something hit me as soon as I hit the water. It smashed into the right side of my chest, punching all of the air out of me. I couldn’t fight the involuntary reaction to inhale. It was as if someone had poured acid-hot molasses down my throat. My body jerked, realizing the wrong stuff was being sent into my lungs.

  When my head broke the surface, everything was coming out of me. Muddy water streamed out of my nose as I puked. Even through the impressive display of ejecting fluids, I felt the acceleration of being sent over a fall. I gulped any air I could find before things went dark again.

  I was coughing underwater. That’s not easy to do.

  Through all the fun I managed to keep a white-knuckle grip on my watertight pack. At the bottom of the hydraulic, the current was yanking at it with all its might. I realized I wasn’t moving anymore. The pack was trying to pull me to the surface. The rifle, caught on something below, was trying to drown me. I decided to go with the pack.

  Using all the strength I could muster before I passed out, I held onto the pack with one hand and reached down for the knife on my ankle with the other. I was relieved to find the handle and pulled it while slicing through the rifle strap. Things started moving quickly again in the right direction.

  I popped up and started the process of ejecting fluids again while wrapping both arms around my pack. For what seemed like an eternity, I did my best to time my bobbing through the water’s rage, resupplying my lungs with air instead of hot molasses. I was knocked around by unidentified objects, but nothing had impaled me. As the Reaper hovered over me – waiting for that to change – the water slowed.

  The falls had deposited me into a larger body of water, diffusing much of the angry creek’s energy. I was still moving at a good clip, but it was less difficult keeping my head above water. Looking to my right, I watched a row of partially submerged houses meander by. Looking to my left, I saw Buck.

  Judging by the size of its head and antlers, Buck had to be a hunter’s dream. He was huge bobbing alongside me. We were close enough to see the reds of each other’s eyes. I’m sure we had the same expression on our faces.

  What the fuck, Buck? What just happened?

  I don’t know, buddy. But I’d sure like to get my ass out of this water and my hooves on dry land.

  With a nod – or at least I’d like to think it was a nod – we both started kicking. Having four legs to my two, I watched him pull himself out onto the shore. It was going to take me a bit longer, but I was glad to see Buck made it out alive. A few minutes later I grabbed onto a branch hanging low to the water. When I reached up I did my best to ignore the pain in my side. There wasn’t much of a choice unless I wanted to keep swimming. I didn’t want to keep swimming.

  Getting out wasn’t good enough. On my hands and knees, dragging my pack behind me, I crawled up the bank until I was sure nothing was going to reach out and drag me back in. I collapsed in a heap.

  (Between the houseboat and the Land Rover, I was starting to hate the water.)

  After several minutes of more coughing and puking, I made it to my feet. I didn’t get far when the adrenaline subsided and the full force of the pain revealed itself. I was a wreck.

  I gave up trying to slip the pack over my shoulders, dragging it behind me through the woods as I took each agonizing step. I had no idea how far the flashflood had carried me. All I knew is that it took me in the wrong direction. The breaks I needed to take in order to catch my breath were coming with more frequency. I may have lived through the flood, but that didn’t mean I was out of trouble.

  A small gift was given as I came up on a well maintained trail. It would be easier dragging the pack over even terrain. It was still early in the morning, but I needed to find shelter to evaluate my wounds and check my gear. Both my Glocks and the shotgun were submerged in corrosive water. I was confident they would fire, but not for long if they weren’t disassembled and cleaned.

  I didn’t have much of a choice for the direction I was heading. It was easier for me to walk downhill. I knew I was backtracking even farther than the river carried me, but it didn’t matter at that point. I h
ad to find a safe place to rest.

  I wasn’t a doctor, but walking for several hours was a good sign. If my ribs had been broken, any internal bleeding caused by shards of bone would’ve ended me. There was no doubt they were cracked, or at least bruised, as every breath I took was labored.

  My main concern was taking in a lungful of muddy water. It would take a day or two before any signs of pneumonia developed. If it did, it was a death sentence without IV antibiotics. The two doses of oral antibiotics I carried would have little or no effect.

  The coughing wasn’t helping with the pain, but every ounce of the toxic fluid I could expel, the better. I reluctantly took a few of the painkillers I carried. I had to fight through it or spend the night out in the open. With my recent experiences with cowards, large hail, super-tornadoes, sinking ships, and flashfloods, the last place I wanted to be was outside.

  When the meds kicked in I was able to slide on my backpack. My pace was about the same, but at least I wasn’t dragging it behind me, wasting energy. The sun was getting lower in the sky, but I hadn’t come across anything that would make a decent shelter.

  I thought my luck was changing when the trail widened. I was happy to see the road ahead, but dropped the smile when I heard the killer creek flowing beside it. It had dropped ten feet since I went swimming, but there was no way in hell I was staying anywhere near it. The trauma of my morning was still fresh as I hesitated to cross the wooden bridge, putting me right back over the damn thing. In my mind all I could see was adding just enough weight to collapse it, starting my bad day all over again.

  As I stood debating on whether or not to tempt fate, I heard snorting from a large animal coming off the trail behind me.

  Perfect. Now I’ve got to fight a fucking bear. This day couldn’t get any better.

  Without making any sudden turns, I reached behind me for the handle of the shotgun. As I began to pull it out, the bear spoke.