Without II: The Fall

by E. E. Borton

  Bruce and Parker were known as the grumpy old men of Stevenson, but when the wide-eyed kids swarmed the cab, they welcomed all of them with warm smiles, handshakes, and even a hug or two. They gave each of them a turn at pulling the lanyard that sent steam through the whistle. As if the engine had become the Pied Piper, more children came running out of the mist from every direction.

  We removed our gear from the passenger car when Uncle Perry asked for the parents’ permission to take the children for a short ride. Tiny heads popped out of every window in the car as Bruce took them a few hundred yards down the tracks. We knew the bellowing steam, smoke, and constant whistle could be seen and heard for miles, but nobody cared. All we cared about was that the children were playing and laughing without a care in the world. The way every day was supposed to be for a child. (But just in case, Tucker and Doug manned the machine guns on top of the car.)

  “Good luck getting that thing back from them,” said Gunny, watching the train ease into the station.

  “It’s theirs for the day,” said Perry. “I bet they haven’t had this much fun in a while.”

  “They haven’t,” said Gunny. “It’s getting harder and harder to let them be kids these days. Half of them have lost a parent, and a few of them have lost both. They spend most of their days doing chores and most of their nights behind locked doors. I appreciate you and your men letting them be kids again for a little bit. They won’t forget about this day for a while and neither will we.”

  When I saw Uncle Perry lower his head, I knew he was thinking about Jack. He had no choice but to make him an orphan, but that was no consolation. His thoughts were confirmed when he spoke to me.

  “If I would’ve known it was going to be like this, I would’ve brought Jack and the rest of our kids with us.”

  “We’ll bring them next time, Uncle.” I said.

  “Who’s Jack?” asked Gunny.

  “A refugee,” I said, sparing Uncle Perry from telling a story he didn’t know how to tell. “He lost both his parents as well.”

  Gunny understood what I meant. I’m sure a few of the orphans on the train were the result of refugees attacking Bridgeport. We had to turn away hundreds of families with children before. It was different when we were the reason why their parents were gone. There are no easy decisions anymore.

  “We need to get moving,” I said, changing the subject.

  “Perry told me you’re heading to the dam,” said Gunny. “I like the idea of raising the river, but it’s a risky mission. We spotted a group of ten or so refugees making a camp on the other side of the bridge near the tracks. No telling how many more are in deeper in the woods.”

  “Have they tried to cross?”

  “A few, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before the rest try.”

  “We don’t have too many options here,” I said. “The only other crossing is five miles north in South Pittsburg.”

  “That’s not an option,” said Gunny. “Things are bad up there. That’s where most of our problems come from. The town fell three months ago to looters, and then a gang from Chattanooga moved in. We don’t have the numbers or the ammunition to change that at the moment. They control access to their bridge. It’s all we can do to keep them out of here. We took in a few surviving neighbors, and the stories they told us were right out of a nightmare.”

  “If we try to go around, it’ll add two days to our walk,” I said. “We can either cross in boats, which will make us sitting ducks, or head back to Stevenson and use our bridge. More than likely there will be refugees on the other side as well. Your bridge is the best of our crappy options, Gunny.”

  “I can spare a few men to take you over the first bridge to Long Island,” said Gunny. “From there they can cover you while you cross the second. After that, you’re on your own.”

  “What about leaving after dark?” asked Joey, joining us with JD and Tucker.

  “Gunny’s men won’t be able to cover us in the dark at that distance,” said JD. “That bridge is a bottleneck. Once we clear it on the other side, we’ll have more room to avoid any other groups.”

  “I agree,” I said, “but there’s no way to avoid the first one.”

  “I hate to be the one to suggest it, but we can hit whoever’s armed from this side of the bridge,” said JD. “It’ll probably take the fight out of the rest of ‘em.”

  “There’s one more option,” said Perry. “But you’re not going to like it.”

  He was right. We didn’t. His plan made sense if we weren’t dealing with desperate people.

  We crossed the first bridge and made it to the island in the middle of the river without incident. The six men, including Gunny and Uncle Perry, who were covering us while we crossed the second bridge had clear shots to the refugees. If any of them made an aggressive move toward us, they’d be cut down in seconds. It did little to calm our uneasiness as we walked in the open with white flags tied to our gun barrels.

  JD and I were the first to start crossing. Doug and Daniel were forty yards behind us. Tucker was the last to start moving. With flags waving over our heads, we could see most of the refugees taking cover behind a large grouping of trees. We were fifty feet from land when we saw four men with rifles step onto the tracks at the end of the bridge. The barrels were pointed toward the ground. As long as they stayed that way, our men on the island wouldn’t squeeze their triggers.

  “We’re not looking for trouble,” I said, keeping my stride. “But we are looking to pass by. My name is Henry and this is JD. We’re on our way north.”

  “My name is Jason. Says here on this sign that you’ll shoot us dead if we try to cross this bridge. We buried four men that tried. From where we’re standing, you are the trouble, Henry.”

  “Before we get into a pissing contest, you need to know that you’re in the crosshairs of a lot of guns,” I said, stopping near the edge of the bridge. “As long as you keep those weapons down, nobody will have to die.”

  “We’re not the only ones in crosshairs.”

  “I know,” I said. “But if you shoot us, you won’t get the food in those big bags my guys are carrying behind me. We even threw in a couple jugs of shine as a peace offering.”

  “You’ve got moonshine?” asked one of Jason’s men.

  “We do,” I said. “And as soon as we’re on our way, more will be sent over. We’d like for you to consider it our return ticket for safe passage when we come back through tomorrow.”

  As Jason was considering our proposal, I looked over at their camp near the tracks. A series of tarps were strung between trees to shield them from the rain, but there were no walls to shield them from anything else. Underbrush was cleared to reveal a damp dirt floor where they slept on thin, filthy bedding. Empty cans were strewn across the site with an empty pot hanging over a small cooking fire. Bones from rodents and small game were thrown into a pile at the edge of the camp.

  The four men in front of us didn’t look much better than their camp. The clothes hanging off their thinning bodies were tattered and torn. They had pale faces with dirty hands. Their eyes were dull and starting to hollow.

  As with most people forced from the comfort of their homes near the city, they had no idea how to survive in the woods. Basic human instinct told them to hunt for meat when they were hungry. Their diet of squirrels and rabbits was lacking the vitamins and minerals only found in vegetables and fruits. Their bellies would be full from a fresh kill, but they had no idea that they were still starving to death.

  “You’re asking us to let you pass because you have somewhere important you need to go,” said Jason. “And then you want us to wait here and do it again when you come back.”

  “And in return, you get three days’ worth of food that we can’t spare,” I said. “That’s more than a fair trade.”

  “A fair trade would be to let us cross that bridge,” said Jason, looking over my shoulder. “We know what’s over there.”

  “What’s over there?”
I asked.

  “A chance,” said Jason. “Something we don’t have over here.”

  “It’s not much better over there than it is here,” I lied. “We’ve got the same problems you have. The only difference is that we have four hundred people to feed, shelter, and protect. You have ten.”

  “Do you have a roof over your head and walls around you when you sleep?” asked Jason. “Do you worry about somebody sneaking up on you in the dark and cutting your throat every night?”

  “We’re not taking you and your people in, Jason. Get that out of your head.”

  “Do you have children, Henry?”

  “No.”

  “I got two little ones,” said Jason, motioning for them to come to him. “My wife was killed in Knoxville. We left three months ago and met up with these other folks outside of Chattanooga. It was worse there than where we came from. We’ve just been wandering ever since. Sometimes we’d find an abandoned house to stay in, but there would always be someone looking to hurt us or steal from us. We’ve been in these woods for a month now.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “We’ve all lost people. We all have stories, and none of them have happy endings.”

  “A couple weeks ago we heard about these towns across the river that were safe,” said Jason. “We even heard that there was a train running between them. When we saw it this morning, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It meant what we heard was true.”

  “It’s not as safe as you think,” I said. “Those were just rumors.”

  “We’ll earn our keep,” said Jason. “I promise you that. You won’t find anyone that’ll work harder than us.”

  “Not my call,” I said.

  “Then just put me in front of the person who can make that call,” said Jason. “We’ll guard this side of the bridge for you. Forget about the food. I just want my girls to sleep in a warm, safe place tonight. They don’t believe me anymore when I tell them everything is going to be okay. I don’t know if I believe it either.”

  His youngest, who was clinging to his leg, couldn’t have been more than four. His other daughter who was standing behind him looked to be seven or eight. They were both wide-eyed and silent. They learned a while ago to fear strangers with guns.

  “Bring up Gunny and my uncle,” I said. “This was their bright idea. We’ll let them sort it out. We’re burning daylight here.”

  JD returned with them both. They told Jason the same things I did. We couldn’t take in any more refugees, and the only deal was for the food.

  “I saw a bunch of kids on that train,” said Jason, deflating. “My girls saw them too. All they wanted to do was go over and play with them.”

  “Some of them lost both their parents,” said Perry. “That’s the only reason why we took them in. Your girls still have you. They need you. Don’t do anything stupid to change that. Let my men pass, and you’ll be making your daughters a fine dinner tonight.”

  As with most horrible things that happen, I didn’t see it coming. Before I understood the reason why he hugged his girls and then sent them away, he took a few steps back. With tears filling his eyes, he waited for them to disappear into the woods. That’s when he pulled out a pistol.

  “Please take care of my babies,” said Jason, putting the gun under his chin and pulling the trigger.

  Chapter 9

  Supercell

  JD and I dropped to a knee and raised our weapons toward the woods. Jason’s men who were standing with us saw that he committed suicide, but the others may not have. We needed to make sure they didn’t think it was us that killed him.

  When nobody fired – including our guys on the island – we lowered our guns and stood. Gunny walked with Jason’s men into the camp to explain what had just happened. Uncle Perry knelt down beside Jason’s lifeless body, put a hand on his shoulder, and said a prayer.

  “I’m sorry, Uncle,” I said, waiting for him to stand. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Christ, I should have,” said Perry. “That was stupid of me.”

  “There was no way you could’ve known,” said JD. “It’s hard to tell when a man loses all hope.”

  “This is the second time in a week that an only parent died protecting their children,” said Perry. “I’m responsible for both.”

  “You’re not responsible for their actions,” I said. “They were. They made the decisions and gave you no choice but to react.”

  “I gave them no choice but to die,” said Perry.

  “What are you talkin’ about?” said JD. “That don’t make no sense.”

  “We’re using all of our time and energy trying to keep people out,” said Perry, staring down at Jason. “We should be working harder trying to figure out how to let them in.”

  “Uncle, you know why,” I said. “Before they could start producing, they’d be draining our supplies. Supplies we’re running out of already.”

  “Because we’re focused on building that damned wall,” said Perry. “I believed him when he said he and his group would work hard to earn their keep with us. The thought of giving them that chance never crossed my mind. It needs to. We have dozens of abandoned homes in Stevenson with plenty of land to work and grow food. Why not let them in? Why not give them that chance?”

  “You’ve had a rough day,” I said. “You need to get some rest.”

  “No, son,” said Perry. “This man lying here in front of me had a rough day. His girls had a rough day. Jack and his father had a rough day, not me. I’ll be going home to my family. They’ll never be with theirs again.”

  There was truth in his words, but they were coming from a man who still had faith in people. Much more faith than I have. He always tried to see the best in them. I only saw their potential to hurt us. I don’t have a clue anymore which position is better to have – or fear.

  “We’re not going to solve that problem today,” said Gunny, joining us.

  “I know that,” said Perry, looking over at Jason’s girls. “But it’s something I’d like to keep on the table during our meeting.”

  “Absolutely,” said Gunny. “I don’t like turning away desperate families any more than you do, but we need to stabilize our towns before we open the doors.”

  “Agreed,” said Perry.

  “We need to get to the dam,” I said. “What are you going to do with these people?”

  “His daughters are coming with us,” said Gunny. “The rest of these folks are shaken up pretty bad. We’ll give them the food and help them make this camp a little more comfortable. I like the idea of having people on this side as an extra layer of security. That’s how they’ll earn their keep for now.”

  “That’s a good plan, Gunny,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “We’re going to keep the train here and stay overnight,” said Perry. “Me and my men will pitch in to square this camp away. We’ll be waiting for you when you get back, Henry.”

  “Music to my ears and my leg,” I said. “Kelly’s going to give you a big hug when we get back.”

  “You boys take care of yourselves,” said Perry. “Get it done and then get home as soon as you can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As we strapped on our gear, I watched Uncle Perry walk onto the bridge holding a small hand in each of his. Every few steps they’d turn around and look at their father lying near the tracks. One of his men covered Jason’s face with a jacket to spare them worse nightmares. It was hard for me to comprehend how many times this had happened all over the world.

  As usual, JD and Tucker were on point. The path of least resistance all the way to the dam were the tracks. It was also the most dangerous. The brothers could move as fast and quiet through the woods as the rest of us could on a clear path. JD and Tucker would flank either side a few hundred yards ahead of us. If they came across any trouble, they’d double back and take us around it.

  All three towns of Bridgeport, Stevenson, and Scottsboro would live or die by the Tennessee River. Controlling the am
ount of water flowing in it was critical to our survival. Too much and all three towns would be underwater. Too little and all three would lose their natural protective barrier.

  The community leaders had recognized the importance of flood control before the event. There were contingency plans in place if the towns found themselves on their own. Those plans didn’t include the loss of South Pittsburg to looters and gangs or the loss of all power. It didn’t take away from the importance of securing the dam, but it did take away our ability. We had no idea what, or who, to expect when we got there.

  We had to assume the two towns between South Pittsburg and the dam were in no better shape. In order for us to secure the dam and our future, we had to secure all three of those towns. For now, it was an impossible task, but it wasn’t our biggest problem. Chattanooga was.

  When the power died, looting and killing started the first night in Atlanta. I left the day after and almost didn’t make it out alive. That was over five months ago. It was hard for me to imagine how bad it was now.

  Chattanooga is much smaller than Atlanta, but I can guarantee it fell just as hard. Cities are kept alive by a continuous stream of supplies coming in from the outside. They consume massive amounts of fuel, electricity, food, and water that they can’t produce on their own. They rely solely on trucks, trains, pipes, and wires to survive. Take those away and there is no slow death. It will start to happen overnight. A few days after, chaos, desperation, and violence will be all that’s left.

  When the cities are bled dry, that chaos, desperation, and violence will radiate in every direction like a plague. It will consume everything in its path until it’s defeated. Nickajack Dam is twenty miles from Chattanooga. Most people can make that trip on foot in two days.

  There were no towns or subdivisions along the five-mile stretch of rail that would lead us to the dam. Most of the land on either side of the tracks was used for farming. We hadn’t come across another soul for two hours. The first sign of trouble didn’t come in the form of human beings. It came as a feeling.