America Offline | Books 1 & 2 | The Day After Darkness

by Weber, William H.

  Upon entering, they were hit at once by the smell of hay mixed with the pungent odor of manure. Dakota plugged her nose with the end of her mitten. “Oh, that’s strong.”

  Nate laughed. “It’s not that bad. Besides, I’ll gladly put up with a bit of stink if it gets us to Rockford in one piece.”

  He got no argument there. The only sound came from the stalls where three horses were whinnying. Two of them stuck their heads out, eyeing the newcomers with uncertainty. They were used to seeing the farmer, Nate assumed, not a couple of strangers wrapped from head to foot. Nate removed his beanie and gloves and approached a chestnut mare closest to them. He held out his hand, palm up. The horse’s nimble lips searched for food, tickling him with her whiskers.

  “Give him one of these,” Dakota said, ripping open a bag of carrots on a nearby table and bringing him one.

  “It’s a she, not a he,” Nate corrected her as he took the carrot, offered it to the mare. He grinned as she gobbled it down greedily. “Be careful your fingers don’t get nipped. Hold your hand flat like this when you feed them.”

  Dakota approached a male Appaloosa, a popular breed created long ago by the Nez Perce Indian tribe. Like the mare, the Appaloosa eagerly took the carrot from Dakota’s hand. She giggled with glee. She then fed the third horse, an aging draft animal that looked old and maybe a little grouchy.

  “Watch that last one,” Nate warned. “An angry horse is a dangerous horse, no matter how old they are.”

  But even Nate’s caution couldn’t wipe the enthusiasm from the young girl’s face. “Oh, my God, his teeth look just like my grandma’s. She used to grind them at night until they got real flat. Wow, I never knew humans could have horse teeth too.”

  Nate rolled back on his heels, laughing. The levity, however, was cut short by the sound of a shotgun being racked.

  He spun, attempting to swing the AR around.

  “Try it and it’ll be the last thing you do,” the man barked. He had both barrels trained on the center of Nate’s chest.

  Dakota was slowly reaching into her pocket where she kept the Glock she’d taken off Gabby. Nate signaled for her to stop.

  “Same goes for you, missy,” the man said.

  Dakota raised her arms, scowling.

  “Now, you wanna tell me what you’re doing on my property?” His eyes were road-mapped with red lines. His skin was deathly pale.

  “Are you feeling all right?” Nate asked, genuinely concerned. “You don’t look so well.”

  “Never mind that,” the farmer shouted. “I don’t believe you broke in just to feed my horses.”

  “We tried knocking at the door,” Nate replied in an attempt to explain.

  “Yeah, we heard you pounding away. Sounded like you was trying to break in.” The man coughed, removing one hand from his shotgun to instinctively cover his mouth. When he pulled it away, Nate saw blood there.

  Nate shook his head. “This area isn’t safe. There’s been a meltdown at the plant, which is why we’re trying to get out of town.”

  The farmer’s face scrunched up. “The plant?”

  “Yeah. Listen, when did you start feeling this way?” Nate asked.

  “I’m perfectly fine,” the man countered. “The lights been out a couple days. You get dumped on with this much snow, that sort of thing is bound to happen. ’Sides, I haven’t heard nothing about any problems at the power plant.”

  “The whole town’s been evacuated,” Dakota said, the edges of her mouth drawn down in fear. “Anyone who stays behind is going to die.”

  “Harold,” a woman’s voice called from outside. “Is everything okay?”

  “Gertie, you stay where you are. I’ve got the situation…” The farmer’s words suddenly trailed off. His body was swaying like a tall reed in a brisk wind. One stray hand reached out to stabilize him and failed to grasp anything useful. He let out a sigh and crumpled to his knees. Nate rushed to catch him.

  “Oh, Harold,” his wife said, stumbling in boots a few sizes too big for her. “What have you done to him?”

  “Nothing, ma’am,” Nate said, trying to keep the man upright. Harold’s eyes were fluttering. “He fainted. We need to get him back inside.”

  Nate shouldered Harold’s shotgun while Dakota moved in next to him and grabbed Harold’s free elbow. Together, they got the old man on his feet and headed back to the house. Gertie walked ahead of them, turning around every few seconds, a terrified look on her pallid features. “Please don’t hurt him,” she kept saying.

  Nate had no intention of doing anything of the sort, in spite of nearly getting shot for the second time in the past twenty-four hours.

  With great effort, they reached the farmhouse. Gertie held open the door. “Set him on the couch while I make a fire,” she told them.

  The interior looked like something out of a Rockwell painting—old chairs and sofas next to round tables draped in lace dotted with family photos and antique lamps. If nothing else, the place was cozy.

  They carefully deposited Harold onto the sofa, setting a pillow beneath his head. Nate wiped a thick layer of sweat from his own brow.

  Dakota noticed this. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but you’re not dressed right for winter.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your skin can’t breathe,” she told him. “I know a thing or two about dealing with cold weather and you’re doing it all wrong.”

  Nate felt something stinging and he suspected it was his pride. “I’m wearing a t-shirt, sweater and winter jacket,” he said, as if to prove his point.

  “Exactly. You’re dressed fine for someone going on a sleigh ride or something.” That last part made her giggle. “Layering’s the key. I’ll bet every time you find yourself walking outside, a big old bucket of sweat goes rolling down your back.”

  Nate’s eyes fell. “Not a bucket.”

  That also made her smile. “Okay, how about a pint glass then?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You start with breathable fabrics, like polyester. Long sleeves. Add another layer for warmth if needed. Then there’s your jacket. It doesn’t need to be heavy-duty. Light and windproof are far more important.”

  Nate smirked. “I thought I was the prepper here. How do you know all this stuff?”

  Dakota batted her eyelashes. “A girl never tells.”

  Harold made a noise and it drew their attention.

  “I told him not to go out there,” Gertie said, sighing, as she brought the flame from a lighter to handfuls of crumpled paper in the fireplace. “Sometimes he can be as stubborn as a lop-eared mule.”

  Both Nate and Dakota cracked a smile at that.

  “He’s just like his son, I tell you,” she went on, fanning the flames with the sports section. “Harold Junior. Goes by Harry. He’s in real estate in Chicago. A real hotshot, too.” Her voice suddenly took on the mournful quality of a bereft mother. “He and Harold had words some time ago and we haven’t heard from him since.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Nate said, meaning every word of it. He knew something about loss. “How long ago was that?” He was trying hard not to sound like he was interrogating a witness, a carryover from his days as a PI.

  Gertie stopped fanning and stared up at the ceiling. “Oh, four, maybe five years. It’s been a while.”

  “Didn’t you say your mother worked in real estate in Chicago?” Nate asked Dakota on the off chance the two might have known each other.

  The girl looked suddenly very uncomfortable. “Well, she did, a bit.”

  A deep line formed across Nate’s forehead. “A bit? I thought you said she was one of the top agents in the city?”

  Gertie perked up. “Then maybe she knew my son.”

  “I doubt it,” Dakota said, sounding firm and maybe even a little dismissive. “Besides, I haven’t a clue who she may or may not have known.”

  “What sort of real estate did she sell?” Gertie asked, turning just enough to lock eyes w
ith the girl.

  Dakota shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I said she was in real estate. All I know is that she sometimes showed people apartments.”

  There was a natural tendency in teenagers to inflate and exaggerate the exploits and wealth of their parents. That social pressure on young people might have always existed, but was particularly potent in today’s day and age. With the internet, your competition wasn’t only the kids on your block or at school. You were held up next to kids from around the world. It was hardly a surprise that under such circumstances the truth tended to get lost between layers of necessary fabrication, a survival tactic designed to ward off insignificance and loneliness.

  Harold coughed, bringing only the slightest touch of color into his cheeks.

  “Your husband’s very sick,” Nate said bluntly. The time for delicacy was long gone. He removed the Geiger from his pocket and switched it on. It crackled to life, stronger now than it had been at the school. “I believe he may have radiation poisoning.”

  She stopped. “Radiation? But from what?”

  Nate explained the situation in as much detail as the circumstances would allow. “We don’t mean you any harm. I hope you can see that now. We thought no one was home and were going to use your horses to get to Rockford.”

  “Our horses?” The flesh around Gertie’s chin was loose and jiggled whenever she spoke.

  “There’s too much snow,” Dakota explained. “I mean, look at your own cars, they’re buried. You’d need a tank to make it through.”

  “That’s assuming the highway itself isn’t clogged with abandoned vehicles.”

  Gertie studied Dakota’s face, then Nate’s. “I’m sorry to be so rude, but you and your daughter look nothing alike.”

  Dakota blushed. “He’s not my dad, just a…”

  “Guy who was in the right place at the right time,” Nate said, letting her off the hook.

  Harold moaned, his eyes fluttering. “Let’s get him some water,” Nate suggested.

  Gertie agreed and headed into the kitchen.

  Dakota whispered to Nate, “Do you think this guy has a tractor?”

  “He might. Why?”

  “Well, wouldn’t it make more sense to ride that thing to Rockford, rather than a pair of horses?”

  Nate thought it over for a second, his eyes bright and contemplative. “It would have an easier time handling the snow. We’d also be just as exposed as we would on horseback. Then there’s the highway. A single pileup could be enough to block us.”

  Dakota’s mood soured with Nate’s dire prediction.

  Their options were few to begin with and seemed to be dwindling by the minute. Harold’s eyes came open slowly and he pushed himself upright. “What are you doing in my house?” he bellowed.

  “It’s all right,” Gertie said, returning with a glass of water. “You collapsed out in the barn. If they’d meant you harm, they would have simply left you there.”

  Harold grunted and gulped the water down in two mouthfuls.

  The heat from the fireplace begged them to draw this moment out as long as they could. But the blood Harold had coughed up earlier had made it clear the longer they stayed, the sicker they would become.

  “The gentleman here thinks you’re suffering from radiation poisoning,” Gertie told him.

  Nate reached into his bag and produced three potassium iodide tablets. “Take one of these every twenty-four hours. I know it isn’t much, but at least it should counteract some of the effects.”

  “But why me and not you?” Harold asked, taking the pills and glaring down at them.

  “Everyone’s different,” Dakota said, answering his question. “Age might play a factor. Along with genetics. It’s hard to say, really. There are so many variables.”

  “And how do you know that?” Harold asked, skeptically.

  “My intro to biology class,” she replied. “It was the only class in school that I liked.”

  Harold let out a quiet snicker. “Never had much use for school and I don’t think it had much use for me either. Got all my education working the land, growing corn and what not.” His eyes glazed over for a moment, lost in a bout of nostalgia.

  Gertie reached down and rubbed the side of her husband’s stubbled face.

  “We appreciate your hospitality,” Nate told them. “But Dakota and I need to be getting on. Now that we know someone lives here, is there a way we can buy two of your horses?”

  One of Harold’s eyebrows perked up. “Suppose it depends on how much.”

  “You weren’t watching the news before the lights went out, were you?” Nate asked.

  “Gertie watches the television. Not me.”

  “It looks like the same people who cut the power also crashed our major financial institutions.”

  “So you’re saying you have no money,” Harold replied, pushing himself up on one elbow. “That takes ‘the check’s in the mail’ to a whole new level.” Gertie smiled too and Nate had no choice but to grin and bear it.

  “Cash won’t do you any good,” Nate told them. Not least because the town was empty of people and cash registers wouldn’t be operational for months, if ever.

  “All right, give me your best offer then,” Harold said, one hand pressed down into the sofa cushion as he propped himself into a seated position.

  Nate grew quiet for a moment, searching through his bag. “How about three more potassium iodide pills, a can of beans and six double-aught buck shotgun shells?”

  Harold’s gaze moved to the AR Nate had rested against the seat next to him. “I like your rifle.”

  “I can’t give you the AR, I’m afraid. But I can throw in my Remington 870 pump-action shotgun along with twelve shells of double-aught buck.”

  “Plus the pills and whatnot?” Harold’s road-map eyes were gleaming.

  “Sure, why not.”

  The old man held out a meaty paw. “Deal then.” They shook. He turned to Dakota and did the same. “Pleasure doing business with you, young lady.”

  The smile on Dakota’s face wavered and then fell. “Now I just need to figure out how to ride a horse.”

  Chapter 28

  Thirty minutes later, Nate and Dakota were back in the barn, making some final preparations before they departed. Gertie came with them, if for no other reason than to be sure they got what was owed to them in the trade.

  Both horses had a name, which surprised neither Nate or his young traveling companion. The chocolate-colored mare was called Sundae, as in a chocolate sundae, probably on account of her dark coat. The Appaloosian male with his camo-patterned design of white and brown hair was called Wayne, as in John Wayne. Like the actor, the horse was robust and brimming with quiet confidence. By comparison, Sundae was strong-willed and prone to whinny at the slightest provocation.

  Once the saddles and bridle had been fitted, Gertie brought them each a set of leather saddle bags. “Won’t have much use for these, not with the riding horses gone. You might as well fill them with carrots and what not. Sundae’s got something of an appetite.” The old woman smiled warmly. “Oh, and you should also take one of these each.” She pointed to a bushel of hay. “With this weather, there won’t be any grazing. The food you carry is all you’re likely to get.”

  They thanked her, each taking turns giving her a hug. Nate wanted to bring both of them along, but he also knew that was far from realistic. Harold was far too sick to travel. Even more apparent was that Gertie would never leave his side. Their only salvation lay in the hope that this would all soon be over.

  Nate then took a moment to go over the basics of western-style horseback riding. Now that this had gone from idea to a full-blown reality, Dakota’s face had started filling with tension. Her lips were drawn into a thin line and her pupils were dilated. “For starters, use your heels to get her going and the reins to steer. If she starts going too fast, pull back on the reins, but not too hard. You’ll be behind following. Chances are good Sundae here won’t want to let
Wayne out of her sight, so just let her do all the work.”

  Dakota nodded and swallowed.

  “You’re a brave young woman,” Gertie said, rubbing her back. “I wish growing up I’d had a pinch of your gumption.”

  Nate helped her onto Sundae, before he mounted into his own saddle. Wayne backed up a few feet, blowing warm air through his lips until Nate used the reins to bring him to a stop. For her part, Sundae led Dakota over to a bale of hay and started eating.

  “Don’t forget who’s boss,” Nate reminded her.

  Like an old pro, Dakota swung the reins to the left and nudged Sundae with the heels of her boots. The horse grunted and then complied.

  Together, they headed out of the barn and back into the deep snow.

  •••

  In short order, they retraced their steps up the drive and back onto the road. The horses seemed to have a slightly easier time of it, especially in well-traversed areas. Although the real test, Nate knew, was yet to come.

  Give or take, there were still four or five hours until the sun went down. With any luck, they would find somewhere along the highway to camp overnight and be in Rockford early the following morning. Their arrival would also mark more than reuniting with loved ones. It would mark their departure from the exclusion zone and the radiation that was already busy claiming Harold’s life and probably his wife’s too.

  Within thirty minutes, Dakota was comfortable enough to break the follow-the-leader routine and bring her horse alongside his.

  “Wayne’s got bad gas,” she said, waving her hand in front of her nose. “Wind’s blowing it right in my face. Sundae may not mind, but I was about to puke.”

  Nate let out a resounding belly laugh. “Maybe he’s allergic to carrots. I’ll keep that in mind at snack time.”

  They reached Blackhawk and turned left. Eventually this road would become Highway 2. Along the way, a handful of mounds marked the location of abandoned vehicles, buried in the snow along with whoever had opted to stay huddled inside. He couldn’t help recalling Jessie, the woman he’d met yesterday, hiding in her car, waiting for someone who would probably never show. The more time passed, the more certain he was becoming that just such a scene was playing out all over the country.