by Steven Pajak
Right now, I wanted to just enjoy the break I’d been given and take some time to get my thoughts organized.
Soft sunlight filtered in through the thin space between the blinds. Dust particles floated on the air. The place was warm and my belly was full. After a while I felt my eyes begin to sag. I shook my head, trying to desperately to stave off sleep.
“Why don’t you grab a few winks?” Kappy asked. Before I could argue, he said, “I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours, just before dark. I’ll feed you a nice dinner and then pack you a doggy bag and you can be on your way. How does that sound?”
I paused for a moment, considering. As much as I wanted to get home, it wouldn’t do much good if I fell asleep on the John Deere again. Next time I wrecked I might not be as lucky and come through unscathed. No, it would be best to take a rest and recharge my batteries.
“Sounds great,” I said finally.
“What do you want for dinner?”
“Whatever you have is fine.” Right now I didn’t want to even think about food. I was in no mood.
“Come on, what do you want? This is a restaurant, and this is what I do for a living. Don’t deny me cooking you a meal.”
“Are you insisting?” I asked.
“I am. Don’t deny an old cook his pleasure.”
I sighed. “Okay, I guess some meatloaf with mashed potatoes would do just fine.”
“Now you’re talking, Matt. Go on and grab yourself some sleep. I’ll wake you soon.”
After packing up my packable jacket to form a pillow, I lay on my side in the booth and closed my eyes.
Although I didn’t think I’d actually sleep, I was out in a matter of seconds. It seemed like I’d only been sleeping for a few minutes when Kappy shook my shoulder.
“Time to wake, buddy.” His face loomed over me and he was grinning. “Did you enjoy your sleep? You were snoring like a chainsaw.”
Sitting up, I cleared my throat, rubbed the remains of sleep from my eyes, and graced him with a smile.
“My wife says the same thing. Of course, I don’t think I snore at all.”
“Dinner will be up in a few. Come on and get washed up.”
I followed Kappy down the aisle and into a small corridor. The men’s and women’s rooms were on the right but we bypassed those and continued through the door at the end of the short hall that led to Kappy’s office. He showed me to a small bathroom that had a shower stall, commode and small sink.
“There’s soap in the shower and all the towels are clean. Call me if you need anything.”
When Kappy left, I stared at myself in the mirror for a moment. I had a pretty good cut on the right side of my forehead. Kappy patched that up nicely but I could see a thin line of blood underneath was beginning to seep through, and my left eye was starting to show the beginnings of a shiner. My eyes were red from lack of sleep but other than that I thought I looked pretty good, all things considered.
I let the hot water run in the sink for a bit and then washed my face and ran my wet fingers through my hair getting it in some order. I used my finger and some toothpaste to brush my teeth. Feeling quite refreshed, I returned to the table.
Kappy sat across from me again. Two plates with thick cuts of meatloaf and a billowy mound of mashed potatoes covered in brown gravy sat before us. Between us sat a large bowl of rolls and cuts of French bread. Kappy had also brought two pitchers of soda: one Coke and one Diet Coke.
“Looks fantastic, Kappy.”
Frankly, I really wasn’t in a mood to eat. At breakfast I’d eaten out of necessity, but now, try as I might, I kept thinking about Katie and Mark. Right now they should be home watching Bakugan or Pokemon, not buried under four feet of cold ground.
“Dig in,” Kappy said, unaware of my inner turmoil.
He buttered a piece of French bread and put it onto a small dish in front of him.
“Regular or diet?” he asked, indicating the two pitchers of soda in front of us.
“Diet, please”
As he poured, I poked at my meatloaf. I forced myself to take a bite. Although I was sure Kappy’s meatloaf was heavenly, I didn’t really taste it. I chewed and swallowed, running on automatic.
While I nibbled at my dinner, Kappy told me about his wife. Before the cancer, the two of them had enjoyed sailing. Kappy had a schooner he kept docked on Lake Michigan, but he hadn’t sailed it since his wife passed.
He showed me a picture of his wife, a beautiful older woman with dark brown hair and blue eyes. It was a professional photo and both Kappy and his wife smiled brightly for the camera. Kappy wore a charcoal gray suit and light blue tie. In the picture he looked like a serious Wall Street type rather than a fry cook.
While eating his desert of cheesecake and coffee, Kappy asked, “So, what’s your plan?”
“My house is about ten miles from here.” I’d given up on the meatloaf and focused on moving the food around my plate. “If I can get the John Deere running again, I should be home in less than an hour. Once I get there, I’ll probably fortify my place and wait it out.”
Kappy nodded. “You have enough supplies?”
I thought about this for a second.
“Yes. Last year I finally talked my wife into stockpiling food and water. What convinced her was hurricane Katrina. Before that, she thought it was ridiculous, and assumed that I was stockpiling supplies, waiting to be invaded by North Korea. But I convinced her that being prepared for a natural disaster was a good idea and she agreed. I think we’ll be okay.”
“Sounds like you’ll be fine.”
I pushed my fork through my mound of mashed potatoes and smiled.
“Sure I can’t talk you into coming with me? I could use a good cook.”
Kappy smiled. “I’m sure your wife has that angle covered. I appreciate the offer but like I said, this is where I belong.”
After dinner, Kappy packed a doggy bag as promised, which actually turned out to be four meatloaf dinners to go, complete with dinner rolls and a six pack of Diet Coke.
“I don’t know if that will fit on the back of the John Deere,” I said, setting the large brown bag onto the table.
Kappy held out a set of keys. “Take my Jeep. She’s four-wheel drive and will get you around or through most anything.”
For a moment I was speechless. “No, Kappy, I can’t take this, it’s way too much.”
“It’s just a car,” Kappy said. “Go on, take them.”
I shook my head, “Kappy, I—”
“Take them, Matt. Get home to your wife and family. Please.”
I reached out and accepted the keys. “Kappy I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. I’m glad I could help. I’ve done a lot of things in this world for which I need atonement.”
“Come with me, Kappy,” I said again, now getting all choked up.
“Get out of here now.” I could see he was getting emotional, too.
I reached for the bag of food, but Kappy said, “I got this. Grab your bag and your rifle.”
I went to the door and grabbed my gear. I put the shoulder strap over my head and slung the SKS over my left shoulder. A quick look out the front revealed two more crazies had joined the red windbreaker’s clan.
“Kappy, I really should take care of the problem you have out here. They might keep congregating out there.”
Kappy appeared beside me and looked out. I could see he was a bit unnerved by the newcomers.
I thought he’d make up some excuse for me to leave them alone, but he surprised me when he said, “If you could get them without getting yourself hurt, I guess that would be for the best.”
I unslung my bag and set it back down on the chair, dug inside, pulled two stripper clips of ammo out of the bag and put them into my left hip pocket.
After pulling on my packable jacket and Nomex gloves, I turned to Kappy and asked, “Is there access to the roof?”
He nodded his head and led me back to his office. He poin
ted to an overhead trap door inside the small closet, reached up and pulled the door open, then unfolded the ladder.
“Give me your rifle. I’ll hand it up after you get up there.”
I handed over my SKS and climbed the ladder. When I emerged onto the roof, the cool wind struck me, flapping my jacket and mussing my hair. I reached down and grabbed the SKS.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
After taking a moment to get my bearing, I moved toward the north side of the roof. When I reached the edge, I crouched down on one knee and peered over the side. I had a perfect line of sight to my targets.
This was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel, and I was going to enjoy it. I lifted my trusty SKS and settled it onto the narrow wall. It made a good rest and I felt I could shoot accurately.
I looked down through the iron sights and found one of the newcomers. She was a middle aged woman dressed in a pink sweat suit. The front of her sweater was stained maroon and her lips were stained with blood. She’d been busy.
I pulled the trigger and watched her ear explode into the right side of her skull. She went down gracefully, onto her side.
I targeted the young man in the North Face puff coat next, putting a well-placed shot into his forehead. He turned off like a light and dropped like a sack of apples.
The black man wearing the black suit was next. The first shot took out his left jaw and the second pushed his left eye into his brain.
The guy that looked like Bon Jovi was next. He wore a leather biker’s jacket and too much hair spray. The shot tore the back of his skull open, ruining his hairdo.
I saved the dude in the red windbreaker for last. I watched as he moved stupidly around his fallen comrades, blundering and tripping over their strewn limbs.
Taking a bead on him, I yelled, “Hey motherfucker!”
Red windbreaker stopped suddenly and looked up at the sound of my voice. When he locked eyes with me, the stupid look was gone in an instant, like a shade being pulled down, and his eyes were full of rage. He opened his mouth and screamed.
Before he could even begin his charge, I shot him in the mouth, shattering his teeth and blowing a hole through the back of his neck. He stumbled backward and went down to one knee. He looked up again, trying to scream, but no sound emerged from his ruined mouth.
I shot again and he fell to his side; blood flowed freely from the large hole in the side of his head.
I waited a moment longer before standing up and returning to the ladder. When I looked down, Kappy was staring back at me. He reached up and took the SKS that I handed down to him. After closing up the ladder and the trap door, I followed Kappy back out to the front, where I shouldered my go bag.
Kappy was staring at me. “What’s wrong, Kappy?”
He was quiet a second and then said, “When I was in Korea, I came across a squad patrol. I had really good cover and my men had high ground. So I ordered them to open fire and boy did they ever. And as my guys were firing, I heard one fellow from my squad, a really quiet private named Lawry. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, shouting profanities at the Koreans. When I ordered them to cease fire, I pulled Lawry aside. I asked him what all the hollering was about. He said he was just doing his duty. And he was. But he was also enjoying it.”
I was quiet, waiting for Kappy to make his point.
“What you did up there was your duty. But I think you were enjoying it, too.”
I didn’t speak.
“I know you have some anger in you,” he went on. “You told me you went to the school to get your kids…but they’re not with you now.”
Again, I remained silent. Tears began to well in my eyes.
“Whatever happened, I’m sure your anger is righteous. But don’t let it eat away at you and change you. I don’t want to see you turn into Private Lawry.”
“Point taken, Kappy.” I wiped tears from my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat.
He looked at me for a long moment and then he picked up the doggy bag. “Let’s get you to the Jeep and home to your wife.”
A few minutes later I was behind the wheel of Kappy’s Jeep Wrangler. I waved to him as I pulled away, happy to be on the road again and one step closer to home. I watched Kappy in the rear view mirror until the restaurant faded from view.
CHAPTER 6:
Homecoming
In the first twenty minutes after leaving Kappy’s I encountered substantial blockages on Route 20 where the next three exits emptied into downtown Elgin.
In most cases, the vehicles had simply been abandoned in their lane, while others were driven off to the shoulder or into the ditch below before being abandoned.
The spacing between blockages was sporadic; you could not just easily weave from one lane to the next. At a few points I had to drive down the ditch and up the sloping wall to get around a few of the blockages, and I thanked Kappy for the use of his Wrangler. Without the four-wheel drive, I would never been able to navigate around the worst of the blockages.
I approached mile marker eight, just three miles from home, and the road suddenly opened up. The cars, which I assumed had been on the road, had for some reason been pushed aside, off to the shoulder and into the ditch.
Some had been pushed with total disregard and were flipped onto their sides, and in a few cases onto their hoods. There were at least fifty cars that had been plowed through. It would have taken several people with tow trucks or other large vehicles to have cleared the road.
Why had it been done? Why just in this stretch of Route 20? I had a bad feeling about this new situation and I slowed the Wrangler to about five miles an hour, slow enough for me to scan the area.
Although it was dark, this section of Route 20 was relatively well lit with spaced street lamps. The vehicles that flanked both sides of the road seemed suddenly ominous and my focus sharpened as I passed each one.
I expected at any moment for a horde of the crazies to appear from within the abandoned vehicles and rush me. I reached over to the passenger seat and pulled the SKS a bit closer. I also cursed myself for not checking and reloading after taking care of the loitering crazies outside of Kappy’s place.
From memory, I think I fired five times or maybe six. That meant I had either four or five rounds left in the magazine.
Stupid.
And again I had to wonder how I’d survived this long.
Several minutes passed while I continued to cruise at five miles an hour, carefully watching the road. I was now approaching the Randall corridor entrance, the last entrance onto Route 20 for a long stretch. Beyond this main entrance onto Route 20 were only small, one-lane blacktop roads that led into several of the recently developed subdivisions of single family homes and townhomes. I lived in one of those subdivisions.
I neared the Randall overpass, and noticed two large SUV’s parked in the road in front of me. Their front ends almost met, covering the two lanes entirely. This roadblock surprised the hell out of me and I quickly stopped the Wrangler.
Although no one appeared to sit in either of the vehicles, nor did I spot anyone milling around, alarm bells were sounding in my head.
Something was definitely wrong. Although this roadblock could have been set up as a defense against approaching crazies, I didn’t think that was the only reason.
Whoever had set it up had done some planning. It was a pretty perfect spot; if you were travelling west on Route 20, as I was, there was no exit or side streets that you could use to leave Route 20 in retreat.
The nearest exit was three miles back, and there was no place to turn around because the east and westbound lanes were separated by a substantial ditch that I doubted even the Wrangler could navigate.
I was pretty sure these folks, whoever they were, had another blockade set up further west to catch any vehicles that merged onto Route 20 from the Randall entrance. Or they may have just blocked the Randall Road entrance altogether.
With the Wrangler idling and my brain still trying to ta
ke in the situation, my hands did their work. Lifting the SKS, I opened the magazine catch and dropped the remaining ammo onto my lap; several of the loose rounds fell down onto the seat and the floor but I’d worry about those later.
I reached into my left pants pocket and pulled out one of the stripper clips, inserted it into the slot on the bolt, and pushed ten rounds down into the magazine. This time I had no trouble getting the rounds down. I released the bolt and the SKS was loaded and ready.
I reached down and pulled the door latch, and right then a man with a blue baseball cap appeared from behind the SUV on the left and aimed what looked like an M1 Carbine in my direction. I quickly pushed the door open and heard him yell for me to put my hands in the air.
Ignoring him, I stepped out of the Wrangler, leaving the door open for what little cover it offered. Once my feet hit the ground, I immediately ran to my left, around to the back of the vehicle.
Two shots rang out. Already winded, I ducked around to the cover of the rear of the Wrangler. The bastard is actually firing at me. I was incredulous. He had to know I wasn’t one of the crazies; I was driving a vehicle and carrying a rifle, for shit sake.
The man in the blue cap shouted for me to come out with my hands up. Instead, I risked a peek through the back windshield. I saw the guy with the blue cap still holding his position behind the SUV on the left. However, a second guy now appeared around the corner of his right. He wore a light brown coat and was carrying an AR-15. He was crouched behind the bumper of his SUV and aiming in my direction.
Shit. This was turning into a scary situation.
The ditch on my left was just a few feet away. I could probably scramble there and dive in before they could get a bead on me, but once in, I’d be a sitting duck. From their elevated position they’d be able to rain down fire on me while I tried to climb the slope to get onto the eastbound side. That was pure suicide. To my right the ditch was way more manageable, but the ditch rose into a steep slope, about twenty feet up to Randall Road. There was no way I’d make it up the slope fast enough to avoid being shot down.
