Saga of the Scout

by Cliff Hamrick

  Stopping to search back again and finding no one, Ethan boldly ran up the hill past the next bush and towards the one after. This time, when he stopped to look back, he was high enough that he could see more of the carnage below him.

  Panting, he saw dozens of bodies littering the parking lot. They laid in the cars, on the hoods, and the ground next to them. Bloody smears stained everything.

  Among all the ruin, though, he didn’t see a single raider body. He looked in the direction the raiders chased after the survivors. They were far enough away that he could only see small figures moving and was unable to tell raider from survivor.

  Another rumble from the pit told him he wasn’t far enough away yet. He turned back up the hill and ran towards the next bush and then the next. At this point, the junipers were much larger, and their needles more densely packed, finally giving Ethan some real cover.

  He knelt behind a bush and took out his cell phone. Perhaps he could call someone for help or at least let his mother know he was alright. But it was dead. No charge. This didn’t make sense as his phone had at least half a battery life when they got to the park.

  His attempt to restart his phone was interrupted by the strangest sound he had heard that day: singing. He looked up and discovered what the rumblings from the pit meant. He saw a line of raiders coming out of the massive hole and filing down the road in the direction the others had gone. But rather than running as they had before, they were walking.

  The singing, a loud baritone glossolalia, came from a raider, a bare-chested, pot-bellied man wearing black leather pants and a horned helmet. He sat high in the saddle of a massive woolly rhinoceros. His singing rocked back and forth with the rhythms of the prehistoric beast he rode.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Though most were on foot, Ethan saw the woolly rhinoceros was not the only mount the raiders were riding. Some were riding black shaggy horses with no saddles or bridles.

  Footmen and cavalry walked casually from the pit and down the road, weaving between wrecked cars. They ignored the bodies on the ground as nothing more than garbage littering the parking lot. The raider on the rhinoceros turned to talk to two men on horseback and pointed a massive war hammer up the hill where Ethan hid.

  Ethan’s heart jumped. Did they see him? Was he not careful enough? But the two men turned their horses and approached too casually towards the base of the hill to show any sign they had seen him.

  They were followed by two of the raiders on foot, each wearing leather clothing and carrying a curved knife in their hands.

  Ethan turned to go further up the hill. He didn’t run this time. That kind of movement would be too easy to notice. But he did move between the bushes to hide his retreat.

  He hoped that if he got over the hill, then he would see a better place to hide. Once he reached the top, Ethan looked down and saw a house next to a dry creek bed. There was a blue pickup truck parked outside and he sighed at the idea that someone was home who could bring help.

  He paused to look back down the hill. Thick brush blocked his sight, but he didn’t hear anything. He wasn’t going to wait to see if the two men had started up the hill.

  With elevation and brush to hide him, Ethan ran down the other side of the hill towards the house. Sometimes, he slid on the smooth limestone and loose rocks, but youthful agility and good footwear kept him from falling.

  When he reached the open lawn at the bottom of the hill, he didn’t bother to look back. There was no point in that anymore. There was no place for him to hide. He ran to the front door of the house and knocked loudly.

  “Hello? Is anyone home? There’s been a…” He paused as he didn’t know the right word to describe what just happened to him. “I need help!”

  An elderly man wearing black-rimmed glasses and a bright yellow shirt appeared in the beveled glass window of the door, his brow was furrowed as he assessed Ethan. “What’s going on? What do you want?” Ethan could hear a small dog barking from inside.

  “Please, sir. We need to call 911. A lot of people have been hurt at the wildlife ranch.”

  “What do you mean? Is it the terrorists?”

  Before Ethan could reply, an elderly woman with bright silver hair and an even brighter floral dress appeared at the door. Holding a barking Yorkie in one hand, she opened the door.

  “Come in, dear. Thomas, go get your phone.”

  Ethan stepped into their home, still panting from the run down the hill. “Thank you, ma’am. Can I use your phone, please? We need to call 911. And, if it's OK, I need to call my mother.”

  “Yes, of course, dear. What happened? Is it like what they’re talking about on TV? Hush, Stevie.”

  She scratched behind the dog’s ears to quiet it down as she led Ethan into the living room, a comfortable room with comfortable furniture designed for people who sit all day.

  Two well-used recliners sat side by side and facing a flat-screen TV turned to a Fox News. A cross on the wall and a picture of a young man in a Navy uniform on a cabinet reminded Ethan of his Boy Scout politeness.

  Thomas returned from the kitchen with his cell phone to his ear and a puzzled look on his face. “It says that all lines are busy. 911 can’t be busy.”

  Ethan looked out the front window, fearful of how quickly raiders on horseback can move, but not finding any signs of them.

  Ginger said, “Oh, it must be bad then. What happened out there?”

  “I…I…I’m not sure. Everyone started killing everyone. And then the explosion. Can I try to call my mom?”

  Ethan’s vague explanation gave Thomas pause. He handed the phone to Ethan. “Go ahead.”

  Ethan dialed his mother’s number from memory, one of the lessons he learned during Cub Scouts. Luckily, his mother didn’t change her phone number after her divorce from his father like she threatened so many times in the past. He stood near the window, his eyes scanning the hill while the phone rang.

  Ginger turned the sound on for the TV and sat in her recliner to watch the report from the news anchor. Stevie sat in her lap and watched Ethan.

  “Hello?” his mother answered.

  “Mom? It’s me, Ethan.”

  …no word still from the Department of Homeland Security. If you are just joining us…

  The dog barked loudly.

  “Ethan? Why are you calling me from this number? What happened to your phone?”

  …there have been reports of explosions and violent attacks…

  “It won’t work. I had to borrow someone else’s.” He glanced over at Thomas and Ginger.

  “Where is your father? He didn’t bring his girlfriend again did he?” Ethan could hear his mother swallowing over the phone. He was always afraid that she drank more when he and Emily visited their father.

  …Alabama, Georgia, Texas, and throughout the desert southwest…

  Bark!

  “Mom, something’s happened. Dad is… He’s…” The image of his father’s head exploding jumped to his mind, and he struggled to find the word.

  “I don’t understand why he has to invite her to everything. He does it just to hurt me.” Another swallow.

  “Dad is dead, Mom! There was some kind of accident or something. I don’t know.”

  Bark! Bark!

  …power is reported to be out across large sections of the country…

  “What did you say? Wait a minute. There’s someone shouting outside.” Ethan heard her open a door. He could hear screams in the background.

  “Don’t go out there, Mom! There are dangerous people!”

  Bark! Bark! Bark!

  …no word of who is committing these acts of violence, and no terrorist group has claimed responsibility…

  “Oh, its Janice. I should go see what’s going on with her. Just get home, sweetie. Have your sister drive you, and we’ll figure this out.” Her voice was faint and barely heard over the barking and TV.

  Ethan stepped away from the room and covered his ear to get away from the noise. “Mom,
stay inside and lock the doors! Don’t talk to anyone!”

  Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!

  “Just come home, sweetie.”

  All of the noise was obliterated as the front window exploded. A raider launched into the room and landed on top of Ginger, toppling her over with her recliner while glass flew all over the floor. Ginger screamed, and Stevie yelped. Thomas froze by the entrance to the seeing his wife scramble for her life on their living room floor.

  …White House Press Room has been strangely empty…

  “Ginger!” Thomas yelled uselessly as the raider held her down by the throat and stabbed her chest over and over with a curved knife. Her gurgling screams drowned out the talking head on the television.

  Ethan didn’t freeze. He looked past the raider on the floor and saw another one climbing through the broken window, grim determination on his scarred face. Beyond him, Ethan could see the mounted raiders circling, looking for their way inside.

  Ethan ran to Thomas tugging at the older man’s arm to pull towards the back door. “We have to get out of here!”

  Thomas pushed Ethan aside, causing Ethan to drop the cell phone. Thomas moved to the cabinet and drew a revolver. Ethan ran past him towards the back door, opening it just as he heard the click of a revolver misfiring. Ethan ran out of the house, leaving the dying screams of Thomas and Ginger behind.

  Ethan bolted towards the dry creek bed behind. He didn’t dare to look behind him, but he could hear the barking of little Stevie trying to keep up. Ethan reached the small cliff down into the creek as he heard the sounds of horse hooves pounding on the ground as the riders came around the house.

  Ethan jumped down and pulled the little dog with him. Cradling Stevie in his arms, he knelt and pressed his body as close to the dirt wall as he could. He could never outrun a horse.

  Stevie barked loudly, and Ethan tried to clamp the dog’s snout shut. But the dog bit him and wrestled free.

  Ethan curled up as tight as he could while Stevie ran away over the rocks and dirt of the open creek bed. Ethan was out of breath from running so hard, but he held it as he heard the horses approach the edge of the creek just above him.

  He closed his eyes tight, thinking that he did not want to see the raider coming if this was going to be how he died. But a second passed, and then another. And then one of the riders spoke, most likely to the other, but Ethan had no way of understanding what was said.

  Their language was guttural and harsh. Some of the words, if that is what they were, sounded more like animal sounds than speech produced by humans. There was an intelligence in the language, though a language more suited for murder than meaning. After a moment, Ethan heard the sounds of the horses turning and walking towards the house.

  Ethan stayed there, still curled up. He dared to breathe again and tentatively opened his eyes after waiting to make sure the raiders were gone. Then he heard another sound, one more familiar to him. It was a fire.

  Curious, Ethan peeked his head over the edge of the cliff and saw that the front side of the house was burning, billowy white smoke drifted into the air.

  He didn’t know if the fire was set by the raiders or just an accident during the fight, though the word fight implied that Thomas and Ginger ever stood a chance against the raiders. Regardless, there was no point in going back there. He sat on the dirt and looked back and forth to find his next path.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  With no better plan, Ethan stood up and walked in the dry creek so the cliff would hide him as he traveled. He tried to walk quietly, but the loose rocks piled along the dry bank shifted under his feet. There were a few trees, tall broad-toothed maples, that cast some shade for him as he walked under the bright sun.

  He came upon a dirt road, which crossed the creek and went up a tall hill to his right. Following the road took him farther from the wildlife park, bodies, and raiders. After walking up the hill a little way, he looked over his right shoulder and back at the burning farmhouse. A pillar of white smoke rose high into the sky as the flames fully engulfed the house. There were no signs of raiders. There were no sounds of a fire truck on its way.

  He picked up a stick that felt sturdy enough to support his weight as the road became steeper up the hill. For the first time, he felt thirsty. His throat was dry and his clothes stuck to the sweat on his body from running.

  Running, he thought, not fighting. Not helping.

  So far, he didn’t help his father, his sister, not even the woman in the Dallas Cowboys T-shirt. He probably got that old couple killed by leading the raiders there. But maybe the raiders would have come anyway.

  Just come home, sweetie.

  The last words his mother spoke to him. At least he could do that. She often needed his help. She said that she should have married a man like him instead of his father. She especially needed help when she was feeling stressed or depressed. She drank the most then. Emily didn’t help. Emily wasn’t going to put anyone ahead of what she wanted in life.

  He could walk the distance, maybe. He reflected on his Boy Scout lessons and did some calculations.

  “The average person can walk up to sixteen miles per day,” he said out loud between heavy breaths while walking up the steep road. “San Antonio is sixty miles from Austin? Yeah, something like that. Four days.”

  He stopped as he reached the top of the hill and looked over the other side. Houses, barns, and sheds dotted the landscape between tilled fields and hill country. He could see the highway, and though it was too far to see any details, he saw cars and trucks piled up along the road and several plumes of black smoke rising from them.

  “Yeah. I can do four days. I did more than that at Philmont, and they had mountains.”

  Ethan tried to ignore the voice in his head reminding him that, at the Scout Ranch, he also had a backpack full of food, water, a tent, and a team of scouts and scoutmasters to help him if he got into trouble.

  While pausing to catch his breath before beginning his descent, he heard the sound of a helicopter. He looked around to see where it was, eventually noticing it over the wildlife park. Shielding his eyes from the sun so he could see it better, Ethan saw that it was a military helicopter like many of the ones he had seen flying over his father’s house in San Antonio.

  The helicopter circled past the white smoke of the burning house and glided over the hill. There was a flash of blue light like lightning but not lightning. It shot up from the ground behind the hill and hit the helicopter, causing it to shudder. The rotors slowed, and the helicopter tumbled over on its side until it crashed to the ground on the other side of the hill.

  Ethan felt his hopes crash with the helicopter as he watched the black smoke rose. He wondered what could have created the blue flash that seemed to turn off the helicopter’s engines. Considering the events of the day, that wasn’t the strangest thing he had seen. But it did tell him that the raiders aren’t just crazy people living in caves. With woolly rhinos, he reminded himself.

  He turned from the path behind and towards the road ahead. He walked down the other side of the hill and was happy to see that the way down was much easier. He could see a house at the bottom and across a field. He hoped to reach it before nightfall. Part of him hoped there was someone there and part of him hoped it was abandoned. He wasn’t sure which would be worse.

  As he walked down the steep dirt road, which wound back and forth down the hillside, he noticed the world seemed to go on as if nothing had happened. The sun still shone down, creating a warm spring day, which Ethan knew would lead to a cold night.

  A gray lizard skittered away to hide under a dead branch as Ethan walked by. A cardinal chirped loudly in the shade of a juniper bush. Mockingbirds fussed at each other over some imaginary territorial line.

  On most days, Ethan would have considered this a nice day for a hike. But today, his father was dead, his sister changed, and his mother was alone.

  Just come home, sweetie.

  He wasn’t on a s
imple hike. He had a mission to get home. But first, he had to survive the walk to get there.

  As he reached the bottom of the hill, he came to a crossroad. Trees and bushes blocked his sight, and he wasn’t sure which way he should go. If he had a compass, then he would have shot an azimuth to the house from the top of the hill and been able to walk there directly. But now, he had to guess after winding one way and the other down the hill.

  Seeing a gate in the distance to his right. “Well, gates usually mean keep out. And that usually means private property.”

  He looked back in the other direction and saw a plume of black smoke through the trees. “Probably not a good idea.”

  Turning away from the smoke, Ethan walked down the road towards the gate. Gnarled mesquite trees shaded the road. Between the tree trunks, and the thorny bushes that grew around them, he could see an open field.

  Reaching the gate, he was able to get a better look. The field was completely open and tilled. Lying out in the field were more bodies, about a dozen or so. Most of them laid face down in the soil, their clothes stood out against the brown soil. Men, women, and children were trampled into the dirt.

  Ethan imagined people running from the highway only to be caught by raiders on horseback. He wondered what a woolly rhinoceros does to a human being.

  Though he could see the gray roof of a house over oak trees across the field, Ethan decided crossing the field wasn’t worth the risk. He would be too visible, and who knew if those raiders were coming back.

  He could follow the barbed wire fence that circled the field, he decided. Brush and trees grew along the fence, and he could hide if someone came. He hoped he could get to the house before the sunset.

  He hefted his improvised walking stick and wished he had something better than an old juniper branch for a weapon. Ethan followed the barbed wire away from the gate and away from the highway. With the fence to guide him, he wouldn’t get turned around this time.

  Further from the road, traveling was slower. He tried to avoid small patches of prickly pear cactus and was successful most of the time. Agarita thorns jabbed into his thighs through his blue jeans. His arms were scraped but not cut.