by L. L. Akers
There.
A box wrapped in brown paper.
She grabbed it and scooted out, sitting up to look at it.
The box said ‘Grade-School: Awards, Ribbons & Mementos.’ Graysie scrunched her eyebrows together. What the heck did she want with those? Did her dad think her childhood accomplishments would inspire and encourage her to get home? What the heck, Dad?
She ripped the paper off anyway. When she lifted the lid, her eyes widened. It was her dad’s favorite pistol—a Smith & Wesson .38 Special—and two full speed-loaders as well as an extra full box of ammo. She’d shot with this gun many times and had begged him to bring it to school—just in case. But he’d always told her no.
It’s been here all along?
She could just about squeal with excitement, but she kept it to herself. Since the power had gone out, and there was no background noises, she could hear conversations all the way down the hall, behind closed doors. That meant they could hear her too. And no doubt, she was probably the only kid in the college with a lethal weapon, and many would probably try to take it from her.
She climbed onto the bed and slid the pistol and ammo under her pillow. She picked up the letter again and continued reading.
I know your first instinct is to want to come home the same way you would if you were driving. I don’t know what the scenario is right now, but regardless, if there is an emergency, the interstate route isn’t the way to come. It will be gridlocked. You could take Hwy. 29. It’s back roads and rural. You’d still get here in nearly the same time, unless you’re stuck in traffic. Bottom line, it’s safer than the interstate and same drive-time.
If you’re walking, don’t take the highways or the interstate. It’s not safe for you! Walking will take you much, much longer to get home than the normal one hour drive. You’ll find a compass in this bag, with instructions. Read the instructions before you leave. If you don’t understand how to use it, you may finally realize that daddy was right. Should have listened. But since you didn’t, find yourself a nice boy scout to help you. You’ll be following the compass through the woods. You’ll have to cross roads and highways. Be alert! Hide until you know the coast is clear. Cross quickly and get back under cover. See the map. I marked that route for you.
I know you can do this, Graysie. I’m so proud of you, and I love you. Whenever you’ve set your mind to something in the past, it’s been Katie, bar the door. So set your mind to this, and get your ass in gear.
Come home to me soon, baby girl.
Love,
Dad
Graysie’s chin quivered as she held her hand over her mouth. Tears pricked at her eyes until finally, she left them flow. She rocked back and forth and squeezed her eyes shut.
She wanted her dad. This letter from him made it all too real. She was truly in deep shit. She couldn’t do this alone. She didn’t know how to read a compass. She dug in the bag and found the small army-green pouch. She opened it to find a folded instruction manual atop compass. Quickly, she scanned the instructions. It didn’t make a lick of sense to her. She needed help.
The backpack was heavy. There was no way she could carry it all the way home, if she had to walk. Plus, she was sure her dad hadn’t packed her any clothes. She’d need at least one spare set. She folded up the letter and put it back in the envelope, holding it up to her nose.
She couldn’t smell him, but the memory of his clean scent still filled her nose.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she held the letter to her heart. Ivory soap and Old Spice. She teased him about the Old Spice, telling him it was for old men, but secretly she loved his old soul. He was forty years old this year. It seemed ancient to her, but a lot of her friends’ dads were much older.
She dumped everything out on the bed, and then opened all the zippers and compartments, throwing everything into one big pile. Then she sorted into three groups: sanitation, survival and sustenance.
In the sanitation pile, she put a plastic baggie of too-little folded toilet paper—too stingy on the tp, Dad—and a small clear bag that she could see through. It contained a toothbrush and toothpaste, Dove soap disposable washcloths, and a small bottle of hand sanitizer. A tiny bottle labeled bleach, and a ShamWow towel also went into that pile. And lastly, a Diva Cup. Ewww. So maybe he wasn’t as squeamish about girl-stuff as she thought he was. She giggled as she thought about him handling it. Although still new in the box, he’d probably picked it up with gloves on.
In the sustenance pile, she placed a compact Rocket Stove. It was in a tiny orange case not much bigger than a pack of smokes. The picture on the front showed someone feeding pine cones and sticks into it. Super cool, since it wasn’t necessary to carry fuel. Smart, Dad.
She sorted a blue over-sized camp cup, a fork/spoon combo attached to the top of a small mess kit, a water bottle/filter combo, a canteen, water purification tablets, and food: two vacuum-sucked pouches of what looked like Stove Top Stuffing. Written on the side was a note: Add boiling water. There was also beef jerky, two envelopes of Instant Lipton Cup-a-Soup Chicken & Rice, a small jar of peanut butter with honey, two energy bars and several baggies of GORP—good ‘ole fashioned raisins and peanuts—and a can of tuna. The tuna had a note folded and taped to the bottom. It said: “Tuna Torch: Can burn up to 3 hours for light, and then be eaten. Unfold for instructions.” A tuna-scented candle? That ought to smell nice. Not.
She smirked and tossed it into the pile.
Into the survival pile she placed the folded map, an emergency Life-Straw, a small first aid kit, a folded Mylar blanket, a bundle of paracord, and a small mirror—Good. I can use that. Also, a pack of three Bic lighters, a small fishing kit in a tin Altoids box, an Army Swiss knife/multi-tool thingy, a poncho, bug deterrent wipes, water purification tablets, duct tape wrapped around a pencil, a bundle of wire, a hand-crank flashlight, and a bottle of Advil.
She was left with a cluster of zip ties—what the heck am I supposed to do with those? —a rolled-up hat with a brim, a stack of five surgical masks marked N95, several sets of latex gloves, goggles, a pile of small assorted clips, a bandana, and two brown medicine bottles.
She popped open the top of one of the medicine bottles to find cotton balls stuffed inside that smelled of petroleum jelly. She shoved the lid back and looked at the side of the bottle. In black sharpie her father had written in tiny letters: Use 1 to light fire. The other bottle held waterproof matches. She threw them into the survival pile.
She put aside the face masks and gloves. She wouldn’t be needing those.
Digging deeper, to the very bottom, she found a large K-Bar U.S. Marine knife in a sheath and two pairs of good walking socks.
Graysie raised her eyebrows. It was a lot of stuff.
The hat looked slightly too big. She flipped it over to try it on and found another note taped to the inside.
“If you’re walking, put up that hair! Try not to look like a girl. If someone messes with you, fight like a man.”
She ripped the note off the hat, finding a hair-tie and some hair pins underneath.
She stuffed everything back in and grabbed a pair of jeans and two T-shirts. She twisted the clothes into tight rolls and crammed them in the top of the bag. Now to get some help figuring out this stupid compass.
She shoved the backpack under the bed and went in search of a boy scout.
14
Grayson
Grayson tilted his head up at the mountain of Puck. “Come on, son. What’re you waiting for? Jump down here.”
Puck stood balanced on the bumper of the truck, staring down at Ozzie, and rubbing his head with both hands. He mumbled incoherently and then shook his hands in the air. Tugging unnecessarily at his too-big pants, he flashed his ankles again as he stalled.
“What’s the matter? I told ya, he won’t bite.”
Instead of jumping, Puck turned around and slowly climbed down, peeking over his shoulder at Ozzie in fear. When he stepped off into the gravel, Ozzie tucked his head and shoulde
rs down with his butt wiggling up in the air and whined, asking for Puck’s attention.
“Don’t mind him. He’s doing his doggie yoga,” Grayson joked.
Puck giggled and hiked his pants up again. He bent down and hesitantly pet the dog, biting his lip in concentration. Soon, they were fast friends, with Puck throwing a stick and Ozzie fetching it while Puck chortled like a schoolboy with a very bad cold.
It was as though Grayson ceased to exist.
He left them to it and went in to get the burgers he had thawing on the counter. Regardless of his bizarre guest, it would be nice to not eat alone for the first time in days.
Puck stared down at his plate while Grayson tucked into his own food.
Oh, he’s praying. Grayson felt bad for starting too soon. While he was a Christian—or at least he considered himself one; he did believe in God after all—he didn’t often pray. Maybe he should. A small prayer for his family to finally show up safe and sound couldn’t hurt.
He put his burger down and lowered his own head, and while waiting respectfully for Puck to finish, he tried to formulate some semblance of a prayer of his own. Giving up, he silently spoke to The Big Guy: Just bring ‘em home soon, God.
A full minute passed and Grayson took a peek. Puck wasn’t praying; he was staring at his food. A slow tear trailed down his cheek.
Awkward.
The kid was probably missing his mother. Grayson cleared his throat. “What’s up, Puck?”
“I don’t like lettuce. Jenny likes lettuce.”
Oh for crying out loud.
Out of habit, Grayson had dressed Puck’s burger the same way he did for his daughter, Graysie: loaded.
He sighed and stood up, pulled the top bun off the burger and snatched the lettuce off and then dropped the top back onto it and sat down. “There. No lettuce. Now eat.”
Puck happily dug in as though the last few minutes hadn’t happened. He sat with his legs spread wide, taking up nearly one entire side. He was a big man. Or man-child. He clumsily gobbled his first burger down in four bites, smearing ketchup and mustard around his mouth. The boy was starving. He swiped at his mouth with his arm and dug into the second burger on his plate.
“Use your napkin, Puck.” Grayson lifted his own napkin and wiped his already-clean mouth in example. “How old are you?”
Puck frowned and rapid blinked his eyes. “Um… ten and eight?” he said through a mouth full of food.
“You’re eighteen?”
Puck nodded and kept chewing.
“What have you been eating for the past few days while your mama’s been gone?”
“Pork ‘n beans, mostly. Mama Dee didn’t get the circle lids last month. I can’t open the others. If I bring them over here, can you open them for me, mister gray man?”
“Grayson. My name is Grayson. You don’t have to call me mister, either. What’s a circle lid?”
“The ones you pull the circle and the top comes off.”
“Oh, a pull-top. I guess you can’t open the others because the power’s off? Don’t you have a handheld can opener?”
“Mama Dee does. I don’t know how to work it. I’m the only one who can open the jars though. She said we could eat three jars while she was gone. I ate those the first day. And Jenny ate some, too.”
“What was in the jars?”
“Mama Dee’s veggie soup, and some slimy green leafy stuff—Jenny ate that—and apple sauce. Me and Jenny shared that one.”
So Mama Dee knew how to can food. The green stuff sounded like collard greens. Or spinach. Hopefully she had a full pantry to feed Puck and Jenny until she returned.
“I think until Mama Dee gets back it would be okay to eat whatever you need, Puck. Just don’t eat too much. Maybe stick to the canned food for now. I can show you how to open a can. Jenny doesn’t know how either?”
“No.”
Maybe Jenny was special too?
“So, you said Jenny’s not your sister?”
“No. We’re not really kin.” Puck saved the last bite of his burger for Ozzie, who gently took it from his fingers and then closed his eyes as Puck rubbed his head and ran his hand down his back. The kid was obsessed with the dog. He’d seen Grayson pass Ozzie his own burger that was swallowed in pretty much one bite, but still shared his own food with him. Now that he was over his fear, he couldn’t keep his hands off of the dog, petting him constantly. “But I love Jenny.”
Grayson raised his eyebrows. Love like a sister? Or more? Maybe that’s why she was sleeping in the barn instead of the house. “You mean you love her like you love Mama Dee?”
He shook his head. “No. More. Jenny is pretty. I like her hair.” Puck smiled innocently.
Grayson studied the boy. With his size, maybe Jenny was sleeping in the barn because she was afraid of him. Maybe she didn’t love Puck like Puck loved her…
“Listen, kid. While Mama Dee is gone, it might be best if you sleep in the barn and let Jenny sleep in the house. You’re the man there, right? It makes more sense for the men to sleep outside.”
Puck pursed his lips together. “I don’t know if Mama Dee would like that. She doesn’t let me sleep in the barn. I wish Jenny could just stay in the house with me. I’m scared.”
Could be Mama Dee was more worried about the boy than the girl. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and maybe he couldn’t be trusted to fend for himself outside. And if he was so scared in the house, he’d probably be terrified in the barn at night. It really wasn’t safe for either of them to be in the barn right now anyway, with those thugs having chased Puck up a tree. They might come back.
He’d never seen Puck’s home, but the neighbors had described it as a dilapidated shack in a clearing in the woods; run-down and crumbling. He probably needed to go over and check on these kids himself. But would Mama Dee be okay with that? People who live in squalor usually didn’t take kindly to strangers dropping by and maybe passing judgement.
“How many bedrooms is in your house, Puck?”
Puck held up first one finger, turned it around to look at it, and then another.
“Two? I’ll tell you what. You tell Jenny about those bad kids. Tell her until Mama Dee comes back you both need to stay in the house. There’s safety in numbers.”
“But if Mama Dee gets mad, can I tell her you said so?”
“Absolutely. Tell her I said so. But listen, you two need to sleep in separate rooms, okay? Maybe Jenny can sleep in Mama Dee’s bed.” He gave Puck a very serious fatherly stare. “No kissing or anything like that, is what I mean.”
Puck laughed—a loud honking noise that surprised both Grayson and Ozzie. “Jenny wouldn’t like that, Gray Man.” His angelic face turned solemn and wistful. With big eyes, he said, “Jenny lets me touch her hair sometimes. But then sometimes she gets mad and tries to kick me.”
This was sounding more and more creepy. Grayson was concerned about these two kids being alone, but apparently Jenny knew how to handle Puck if he got too handsy. He seemed almost afraid of her.
He’d give it another day or so and if the power didn’t come back on, he’d insist one or the other—or both—stay here until their mother returned.
If only he’d known how the woman of the house really felt about Jenny, and the danger she was in when Mama did return, he would have gone over and brought her home that day.
15
The Ladies
“If I have to watch you scratch your balls one more time…” Gabby threatened. It was sickening. The man—Larry—was sticking his hand directly down the front of his pants as though Gabby—or her sisters—weren’t in the car with him.
Disgusting pig.
He laughed and continued to scratch as they hit a congested spot, all leaned back with one hand slung over the steering wheel. They crept down the highway meandering around the cars and crowds of people, and feeling as though they were being suffocated by the waves of heat coming up off the road. More than a dozen people had tried to stop their car, step
ping out to the point of almost getting hit.
So many people were desperate, and she felt almost guilty that her circumstances were better. Not guilty enough to get out and walk with them, but it hurt her heart to see this. And it terrified her. If they hadn’t run into Larry—regardless of what a jerk he was—they’d be walking too.
Gabby swallowed hard. It was making her sick. All of it. He was making her sick. Rude. Crude. No manners. Sweaty—and refusing to run the air because it might use too much gas—they were going stir crazy with him in the car. She could barely stand to look at him with his cul-de-sac of greasy hair fringing his shiny bald spot, cheap false teeth and sparkly gold chain.
He’d come on to each one of them in turn, especially Emma. He’d asked her to sit in the front before even starting the car. Gabby made sure she stepped up instead. She could handle assholes like this much better than Emma and Olivia; they were too nice.
She dug into her bag and came out with a container of Monkey Butt. It was powder that was used for chafing. She and her sisters—and their husbands—had used it for years, especially in the summer when they’d be exercising and sweating. She tossed it at Larry, who missed the catch, letting it roll down between his legs into the floor.
She grimaced. “You need to use that.”
“Get it.” He raised an eyebrow and smirked at her.
She rolled her eyes and looked away.
They’d been on the road with him an excruciating two hours and had just barely made fifty miles. The back roads had been nearly completely blocked with broken-down cars out of gas. Getting around the stalled congestion from behind a bottleneck of other still-mobile cars had been like trying to thread a needle, especially with Larry driving and treating his sacred car as though it were made of glass. He’d finally detoured and hit the interstate instead and they’d made a bit of progress, although the situation was much the same. Miles of interstate was gridlocked. They were able to barely eat up miles by alternating between driving on the shoulder and weaving between stalled vehicles on the highway.
