Saga of the Scout

by Cliff Hamrick

  Though he didn’t know how to work the gears properly, he was traveling faster than ever before. The bike was even faster than when they drove the minivan as he was able to weave through wrecked cars much easier. And when the highway was too clogged with debris and twisted metal, then he could pop onto the grass just fine.

  He smiled as he realized he would be home in no time.

  He sped up the highway with the wind rushing in his ears. The only problem he discovered about moving so fast was that he felt even colder. But he just focused on pedaling faster until he sweated a little bit.

  Off to his right, he saw a strange complex with a high chain-link fence circled with barbed wire. It didn’t look like a business or any place that someone would want to live.

  As he continued, he saw the sign: Correctional Center of Kyle. Then he noticed the bodies lying out in an open courtyard. There were only about six or seven, but they were all wearing orange jumpsuits. As he rode past, he saw a large section of the fence had fallen over.

  Just north of the correctional center, he came across a gas station. Any hopes of finding food or help there were dashed by the sight of about ten men, all wearing orange jumpsuits. They sat out front, drinking beer and smoking something that didn’t smell like tobacco.

  When they saw Ethan, they got up and started shouting at him. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, and he just pedaled faster to get away. One of them threw an empty beer bottle at him, which shattered against the bumper of a semi-truck.

  Much of Kyle was the same. He would come across a business that might have food and water only to find that it had either been taken over by men in orange jumpsuits or burned down. Sometimes, he saw women and children with the men. They didn’t seem to be with the men voluntarily. Ethan hated to leave them behind, but he was barely able to get away himself.

  He was very glad that he had the bicycle. Some of the men were sleeping in vehicles on the road and tried to grab him as he whizzed by. He realized that if he had tried to walk through Kyle, then he most likely would have been caught. His stomach was disappointed as he sped through Kyle without a meal.

  He had no idea how long he was riding. Time seemed to fly by now. Once he was north of Kyle, the central Texas countryside returned. There was little more than fields and scrubland dotted with the occasional car dealership or quarry.

  He pedaled hard up a long hill until he reached the top and stopped to catch his breath, leaning against an abandoned car. He looked out over the landscape and smiled when he saw the best thing he had seen since the fire station.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Cabela’s was a chain of stores that sold outdoor supplies, and the store in Buda, just between Kyle and Austin, was one of the largest in the country. It had guns, knives, clothes, camping equipment, and fishing gear. It even had a food court and snacks.

  And it was just down the hill from where Ethan rested.

  He smiled as he looked down at the store. It was at one end of a very large parking lot, circled by smaller stores and fast-food restaurants. At the other end was an emergency clinic.

  He squinted at the store to try and see any details, but he was too far away. There were many cars in the parking lot, and some of the stores appeared to have been burned. He could see about a dozen people moving through the vehicles. The wind carried up the sounds of children playing.

  The sun was higher now, and his shirt was wet from sweat instead of rain. He took off his windbreaker and tied it around his waist as he thought about the best way to approach the store. He pedaled down the hill until gravity took over, and he coasted down the highway, eventually splitting off so he could come around the back of some of the stores.

  He passed by a mattress store and reflected on the hard asphalt he laid on the previous night. There was also a cell phone store and a bank, but both were looted. The large windows in front of the stores were smashed out. Some people thought that money was still worth something.

  The sight of the cell phone store made him stop. He realized he hadn’t checked his phone recently. He rested against a wall in the shade and checked it. It didn’t turn on.

  He remembered it ran out of power the other night. He thought he could find a charger in the store, but if there was no electricity to charge it, then what was the point? He put it away to focus back on the task at hand.

  He came around the back of the stores so he could get closer to the entrance of the store. Three men faced him as soon as he coasted his bike around the corner. They were all in their thirties or forties and were armed with shotguns or some kind of AR-15 style rifle. Two of the men immediately pointed their guns at Ethan, and he stopped to put up his hands.

  “Get out of here!” one the men yelled. He was very overweight with a Ruger T-shirt stretched a little too tightly across his large beer belly. He was pointing a rifle at Ethan’s chest.

  “I-I just want some water. Do you have any?” Ethan asked.

  “No. Get out of here!” The other men seemed to be content with letting beer belly do the talking.

  “I’m not going to hurt anyone. I am going to Austin. But I don’t have any food or water.”

  “I said, get out here. We don’t have enough for our own people.”

  Our own people. The words struck Ethan as strange. Did they already think of themselves as a tribe? The people at the stadium didn’t use such language. Some of the children came closer to watch the scene.

  One of the other men, slightly younger, less overweight, and not pointing his weapon at Ethan, spoke up, “Maybe we can trade him for something? He gives us something, and then we give him some food and water to get him on his way?”

  Beer Belly thought for a moment and said, “That sounds fair. What do you have?”

  Ethan felt hopeful, but he realized he didn’t have anything to trade. He had the clothes that he wore, a screwdriver, and his bicycle. He needed all of them.

  He looked at the men and then he looked at the guns they pointed at him. He decided to try something. He felt his dry throat when he swallowed nervously before speaking.

  “How about this? You give me one bottle of water—just one. And I tell you something you really need to know. And if I’m right, then I get to take some stuff out of the store and go on my way? OK?”

  Beer Belly looked Ethan up and down suspiciously. “What do we really need to know?”

  “Just one bottle of water. That’s all I’m asking for. Then I’ll tell you.” His shoulders were getting tired from holding his arms up.

  “Alright.” Beer Belly glanced at the man with the shotgun. “Go get a bottle of water. We can spare that. And if he’s full of shit, then we’ll shoot him.”

  The man with the shotgun nodded and walked into the store. Other people had gathered around now. Men, women, and children of all ages came to watch the tense standoff between Ethan and the men with guns.

  After a couple of moments, the man returned, followed by a woman in her thirties. She wore blue jeans and a T-shirt over a white button-up shirt. Long brown hair fell around the eyeglasses she wore. She carried a water bottle. “What’s going on out here?”

  Beer Belly responded, “Just give him the water bottle, Rachel, then let's hear what he has to say.”

  She looked at Ethan and seemed unsure of her role in all of this. She stepped closer, but not too close and held out the water bottle to Ethan. He took it and smiled thanks to her before drinking half of it in one big gulp.

  Beer Belly said, “Alright, you’ve had your water. Now, what do we need to know?”

  Ethan paused to catch his breath from drinking so quickly. Then he looked at Beer Belly. “Your guns don’t work.”

  They all shifted a little bit at that news. Beer Belly blinked as if he were trying to figure out what he should believe. The other man pointing his rifle, wearing a Spurs T-shirt and blue jeans, spoke up, “What do you mean they don’t work.”

  Ethan took another gulp of the water. “I mean, nothing happens. They
just misfire.”

  Beer Belly raised the barrel of his rifle and pointed it right at Ethan’s head. “You mean if I were to pull the trigger right now, nothing would happen?”

  “That’s right.”

  The woman yelled out, “Larry, stop it! You’re not going to—”

  Click.

  Larry, the man with the beer belly, blinked as he realized that the gun did exactly as Ethan said it would. He pulled back the bolt to eject the round and load a new one. Then he quickly pulled the trigger again—another click.

  Her mouth open in shock, Rachel said, “Oh, my fucking God! I can’t believe you were going to shoot him.”

  The men ignored her. The man with the shotgun pointed his gun into the air and tried as well. Ethan thought that their reactions were the same as the soldiers, except they didn’t have a Humvee to escape in.

  Larry asked Ethan, “How did you know?”

  Ethan finished the water bottle and smiled, recognizing that even in this new world, information was still a commodity. “Remember our deal? I get to take stuff from the store, and then I can go.”

  Rachel interrupted, “Yes, come on in. We’ll get you set up. But please, tell us what’s going on.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Ethan leaned his bike against a pillar outside the store and followed the woman inside. A few people followed them, most of the children went back to playing, and some of the men stood outside muttering to each other about their lack of defense if their guns no longer worked.

  The store was dark despite the bright day outside. There were few windows in the store. The large windows in front were blocked by a large overhang that shaded the driveway up to the front doors. The few other windows were small and up high. In the corners far back inside the store, he could see the bluish-white light of fluorescent lanterns lighting the area.

  As she led him through the store, he could see signs of chaos brought back to order. The gun and ammo section was the site of a huge fight. Few guns or ammo were remaining. Shelves were knocked over, but then reassembled and moved to the side. Glass counters were smashed though the broken glass had been swept away. But the bloodstains in the gray industrial carpet couldn’t be cleaned away so easily.

  The rest of the store showed signs of people, families, settling in to make it home. Rather than the usual racks of clothing cluttering up the center of the ground floor, the clothes had been folded and stacked against the wall, and the racks were pushed off to the side or were missing altogether. Rows of sleeping bags and inflatable mattresses replaced them and formed a large sleeping area for the families.

  Unlike almost every other building he had been inside since the first day of this new world, this building didn’t smell like death. It smelled like cooking meat. His stomach grumbled loudly as the woman led him through the store and up the stairs to the food court.

  Some families sat around the tables or in the booths. Ethan noticed that many of the elderly sat there as it seemed that these were the most comfortable seats for them. It dawned on Ethan that he saw very few old people at the stadium and wondered why that was.

  The woman told him to sit at one of the tables as she went to the kitchen. Another man about her same age joined him. He wore black slacks that seemed a little too skinny for his legs, hiking boots, and a red and black flannel shirt. His dirty blond hair and beard were neatly trimmed.

  Another woman joined them. She was tall, slightly overweight, and appeared to be Ethan’s grandmother’s age, though she wanted to appear younger. Her hair was obviously dyed red and was just to her shoulders. Her clothes were stylish but still affordable. She spoke to Ethan first.

  “Hi, my name’s Karen, and this is Peter.” Peter shook Ethan’s hand.

  “My name is Ethan.” He didn’t want to be impolite, but he did look around in hopes that food came soon. His stomach was throwing a temper tantrum.

  Peter said, “That’s Rachel, my wife. She’ll bring out a burger and probably potato chips. We can get some of the propane stoves to work so we can cook on them, but we can’t seem to make any French fries. We’re trying to eat all of the hamburger meat before it goes bad.”

  Ethan nodded vigorously. “That’s great! No, that’s fine.”

  Karen asked, “When was the last time you’ve eaten anything?”

  “I had some Goldfish crackers the other day. Yesterday? I can’t remember.”

  “That’s it? I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  He shrugged a little. “It's OK. At least it was something. I was hoping I could find more food at a gas station or someplace, but the prisoners took everything over.”

  Peter looked concerned. “Prisoners? What prisoners?”

  Before Ethan could answer, he saw Rachel come out of the kitchen carrying a paper plate. His eyes fixated on the burger and bag of chips as she set it down in front of him. She sat at the table with them, and they all watched as Ethan gulped down half of the burger in a couple of seconds.

  Peter took a water bottle and set it down in front of Ethan before saying, “Tell us about those prisoners.”

  Ethan swallowed down some of the water, but his pace was slowing. His stomach was quieting down. “The prisoners from the Kyle Correctional Center, or whatever it is called. It looks like they got out and took over the town. Or at least the parts with the beer and food. They almost grabbed me, but I was too fast for them on my bike.”

  Rachel looked to Peter. “Kyle isn’t too far from here. You can practically see it from the highway.”

  Peter nodded and asked Ethan, “What were they doing in Kyle.”

  “Getting drunk, mostly, I think. They were just hanging around the gas stations drinking and smoking. They did have some women and children with them. I think they might have been captured, though. They didn’t seem happy about being with them.”

  Karen shuddered at the idea. “If the guns don’t work, then we can’t defend ourselves if they come here.”

  “Sure you can,” Ethan said as a matter of fact as he finished the burger. “This place is like a castle.” He wasn’t sure why he said that, but the three adults at the table seemed to take him seriously.

  Peter asked, “What do you mean?”

  Ethan turned in his chair so that he could point to the open area below him. “There’s only one big entrance to the store, so you could just board that up and make it smaller so it’s harder for people to get inside. Any other doors that lead outside could be blocked from the inside. Then you have all of those knives downstairs, and you can make spears from other stuff. Just gather up all of the food and water you can get from those fast food places and keep them stored in the kitchen.”

  They followed his points and looked out over the store.

  He continued, “And I bet there’s more food in those fast-food restaurants. And you could bring some of the mattresses from the store here so people can be more comfortable when they sleep. And if you haven’t gotten the medicine out of that emergency clinic, then I would grab it now before someone else does.”

  Peter looked at Rachel and Karen. “We need to tell everyone else about this.”

  The people living in Cabela’s gathered around on the bottom floor. Some people stood while others sat on their sleeping bags. Most of the children continued to play outdoors or climb on the large rock sculpture that stood at the base of the stairs. There were a couple of dozen adults of all ages and races. It seemed that there were more men than women. Some of them were still wearing the Cabela’s shirt that they wore to work on the day that the world went mad.

  Ethan felt strange as all of these adults sat and listened to him while he stood a few steps up the stairs so they could see him while he pointed out how they could turn the store into a fortress. He thought it was strange that none of them had thought of this. It seemed so obvious to him, but he reminded himself, they assumed guns still worked, and they didn’t know about the prisoners in Kyle until he told them. Some of them were still expecting to be rescued.

&
nbsp; While he was explaining his plan, he noticed a girl paying particular attention to him. She was about his age, maybe a little older. She had long, straight brown hair that laid flat against her face. She watched him with dark brown eyes that seemed to glitter when their gazes met.

  He felt himself feel suddenly warm and looked away in case she might notice. She wore denim shorts that showed off her slim, tanned legs and a brown sweater over her white T-shirt. Ethan couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  He tried to keep his focus on how the families could move mattresses into the store to make sleeping more comfortable instead of watching her firm breasts move inside her shirt.

  When he finished, they talked among themselves. A forty-ish-year-old woman in workout clothes said, “This seems like a lot of work. I mean, someone is bound to come along and help soon, right?”

  Larry, the beer belly said, “It’s been days. No one’s coming. We’re on our own.”

  “You don’t know that! Stop saying that!” said another woman. She seemed about the same age as the other woman, but with more expensive clothing.

  “Have you heard any sirens? Have you seen any cops? The national guard? There’s no news. No one is coming,” Larry said.

  “This is like Katrina,” muttered a woman sitting on an inflatable mattress next to a man that appeared to be her husband. “Worse,” he replied.

  “What if we just talk to the prisoners? Maybe they’re just trying to get by like us,” said the first woman.

  “Doubt it. They’re in prison for something,” said a middle-aged black man. He had a graying beard and seemed alone in the store.

  “It doesn’t mean they’re violent,” she replied.

  “Doesn’t matter. We don’t have enough food to go around. We need to save as much as we can for ourselves,” Larry said.

  “Then what? The food will run out eventually,” said the woman in designer clothes.

  Peter spoke up, “None of this matters right now. We need to focus on the problem at hand. Other people, prisoners or not, are going to come here, and we need to figure out what we’re going to do.”