Hope

by A. American

  “Diary, my diary.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Backpack,” she replied.

  Neal remembered the backpack she had been wearing. It was still on the ground at the other campsite. He raced over, grabbed it, and came back. He opened it, looked inside, and there it was, pink, fluffy and bedazzled.

  “Hope, go.”

  “I will, I will,” he said, thumbing through. “Where, did you write it down somewhere?”

  “Yes.”

  He thumbed until the last entry and came upon a hand-drawn map with an address. Below it was the number of men who occupied the compound.

  “Found it,” he said.

  “Go.”

  “No, I won’t leave you.”

  “I can’t make it.”

  She might be right, he thought. Right now he was batting zero for helping sick or wounded people. There were only a few things he was good at, and this wasn’t one of them.

  “Hope.”

  “Antibiotics, I have some. In my trailer, in the small kit, I have some antibiotics. That will help,” he rambled as he ran to the trailer. “This will help, it has to.”

  “Hope, please.”

  “Found them,” he said, pulling a bottle of amoxicillin from a small bag. He popped the lid, but his shaking hands caused him to drop a few onto the ground. “Damn it,” he cursed. He went to her side and said, “Take this. It will help.”

  Charlotte didn’t reply. She mumbled something unintelligible.

  “Open up. Take the medicine.”

  She opened her mouth slightly.

  He placed the capsule on her tongue and brought a bottle of water to her lips. “Here’s some water. Swallow the pill.”

  She took a small sip but coughed the amoxicillin onto the ground.

  “Work with me,” he stressed. He picked another capsule from the bottle and placed it on her tongue. Lifting her head to make it easier to swallow, he again placed the bottle to her lips.

  She sipped more, and this time was able to get the capsule down.

  Feeling helpless and scared for her, he decided he was going to do the one thing he had power over. He would load her up in the trailer and set out to find Hope. He might lose Charlotte, but he was going to find her sister and make things right.

  Outside of Boulevard, CA

  Neal stepped off the bike. Sweat poured off his face and even down his arms. He was drenched. The ride up the mountain was tough. Given he was still not a hundred percent, it made an already difficult ride more so.

  This was where mindset came into play. Neal knew his weaknesses, but he also was aware of his strengths, and being someone who had the capacity to push himself beyond the limit, he was always one who could do so when everything counted on it.

  He had lost so much and felt responsible for those losses. Now he had a small opportunity to redeem something, and the girls provided that.

  Another dawn was coming and with it a variety of choices and situations. He checked on Charlotte, who was sleeping. Her fever was still raging and the wound wasn’t any better.

  Before he left Ocotillo, he had calculated the distance to Hope’s location to be a little under fifty miles, but it wasn’t going to be an easy fifty, especially on a bike that was overloaded and operated by a person who had just survived botulism.

  He pulled an old road map from his pocket and unfolded it. A road sign a quarter mile back read Boulevard. Using the key on the bottom, he estimated he’d ridden twenty-five miles. By the way he felt, especially his thighs and butt, he would have sworn he’d ridden a hundred.

  With twenty-five miles down, he was halfway there, and fortunately for him he knew the remaining miles wouldn’t be as hard as the last.

  Happy with his results, he tucked the map back in his pocket, took a swig of water and looked for a safe place to rest. He knew getting to Hope as soon as possible was critical, but he had to get a few hours of rest. He was even willing to ride during the day, but not until he had given himself a much-needed break.

  Just off the road on his right he saw a dry creek bed. It was far enough off the road and looked deep enough to provide the cover they needed.

  Charlotte moved but didn’t wake.

  The distinct sound of car engines could be heard in the distance.

  He paused to listen intently.

  The sound was drawing closer but still far away. He was able to pinpoint that it was coming from the west.

  He pushed the bike off the road, but as soon as he hit the dirt, the soft ground made it very difficult because of the weight of the bike and trailer.

  The roar of vehicles grew louder.

  He looked west. The highway rose gently and disappeared to the right behind a sloping hill.

  He had time, but if he was going to hide, he had to move fast.

  “Move!” he grunted as he pushed the bike another two feet. Seeing the futility of moving the bike with Charlotte in it, he scooped her up and walked to the dry creek bed.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of something on the highway.

  He looked and saw a large vehicle, but fortunately for him they were still a good half mile away. Using all his strength, he raced to the creek bed and slid down the embankment. When he hit the rocky bottom, Charlotte let out a groan. It wasn’t enough to wake her, which was telling in and of itself.

  He set her down and peeked back over the edge.

  The hum was very loud now.

  There wasn’t just one vehicle; there were dozens by his rough count and all military-type MRAPs.

  Always cautious, he kept his head down and watched as they zoomed by.

  One by one they passed. He counted as they went. When the last one went by, his count was thirty-three.

  Where are they going? he thought. He hadn’t seen a convoy like that since shortly after everything collapsed. Did they have anything to do with the warning he’d been given? Whatever was happening, they were headed somewhere and fast.

  With the emergency out of the way, he turned his attention to Charlotte.

  Her head was cocked to the side and lifeless.

  Alarmed, he shook her and asked, “Charlotte, you still with me?”

  She flittered her eyes and whispered, “Hope.”

  “It’s Neal. I’m just checking on you.”

  “Hope, get Hope.”

  “We’re going there now. Just need a break. Sorry if I roughed you up getting you over here. I heard those trucks and I got scared. You just don’t know who’s cruising down the road,” he said in a conversational tone.

  She nodded off.

  There wasn’t any doubt the vehicles were military or government. Maybe he should have stopped them and asked for help. Did he just make a mistake? Life was so confusing. He’d heard nothing really positive about the federal government’s response, some even speculating they were harming those who went seeking help. It was better he hadn’t stopped them; things could have turned ugly.

  He rested his head back against the rocks and closed his eyes. He could feel sleep coming, so he sat up. “Gotta go get the bike and set up.” He shook his head, but his body was weary. He leaned back again and convinced himself that he’d close his eyes for just a wink.

  Neal woke when he heard guttural growls. To his left and right were coyotes. It wasn’t uncommon to see coyotes in Southern California. They were everywhere and were often seen in residential neighborhoods; however, most sightings happened at night. It was midday and the sun was riding high in the sky.

  He kicked some rocks, causing the coyotes to scatter.

  They regrouped and walked back, some growling and others barking; a coyote had a unique bark and howl. Neal had heard them a lot growing up and knew their barks indicated they were closing in on prey.

  He pulled out his Sig and pointed it at the closest coyote.

  A coyote ran up behind him and nipped at his neck.

  He stood up and hollered, “Back away, back off.”

  Again
they scurried away a short distance and regrouped to come back.

  Neal spun around three hundred and sixty degrees and counted seven coyotes.

  Charlotte wasn’t moving. She lay on the hard ground, her head slumped over.

  Another coyote ran at him.

  He turned and yelled at it.

  The coyote retreated.

  Neal knew what he had to do because they would keep coming until they figured out a way to get him and her. He faced the one he thought was the alpha, aimed, and squeezed a shot off. The round exploded from the muzzle and struck the coyote in the neck.

  That coyote yelped, ran a few feet, and collapsed dead.

  “C’mon, motherfuckers!” he yelled, taking aim on another and shooting. This shot missed, as the coyote moved just as he shot.

  The two loud shots scared the others. They retreated further away but still hung around.

  Neal could feel that his face was sunburned. It was stupid of him to think he could just take a short nap. Angry with himself, he holstered the pistol, scooped up Charlotte, and climbed out of the creek bed.

  His bike and trailer were exactly where he’d left them that morning.

  Charlotte’s head bobbed up and down as he hurried towards his bike. She was still alive but barely.

  He looked down at her abdomen and it was huge. The swelling was so severe her shirt didn’t fit and exposed the lower part of her belly. There he saw the deep purple and black skin.

  “Stay with me,” he said.

  He reached the trailer and put her in carefully.

  Barking behind him made him jump. He turned to see two coyotes had closed in. Pissed off, he unslung his rifle, took aim and squeezed off a round. The 5.56 round smashed into the coyote’s head.

  It dropped where it stood, dead before it hit the ground.

  The second scurried away.

  However, Neal had had enough; he took aim and squeezed off another round. This shot hit the coyote in the rear.

  The coyote yelped and limped away.

  Neal wasn’t through. He kept his sights on it and shot several more times, hitting twice and missing once. Both rounds proved fatal as the coyote fell down dead.

  The remaining coyotes kept their distance, some even running further away.

  Feeling safe, he slung his rifle and pushed the bike back on the road. “Time to get out of here.”

  He had twenty-five miles to go, and if he rode hard, he’d be there before midnight.

  One Mile East of Golden Acorn Casino, Campo, CA

  The signs on the road that told travelers of food and drink at the Golden Acorn Casino now informed them they were closing in on a federal camp.

  In the rush to flee the coyotes and get the trip over as quickly as possible because of Charlotte’s condition, Neal had forgotten about Bob’s warning and had come close to entering the secured access lanes that led to the camp.

  Before he blundered, he was able to get off the interstate and down to Live Oak Trail, a road that cut south and hopefully bypassed the federal camp.

  The sun was closing in on the horizon, and soon the cover of darkness would help him. Until then he decided to pull off and rest behind a grove of trees twenty feet off the small road.

  Immediately he checked on Charlotte, and her condition could only be described as critical. He tried to give her more antibiotics, but he couldn’t get her conscious enough to take them. Nor would she drink any water. She was close to death, and once again he was proving to be incapable of keeping anyone alive.

  A westerly breeze swept down and brought with it a putrid smell. The canvas cover of the trailer had small ash-like particles sprinkled on it. He brushed them away and thought nothing of them.

  He started to reconsider taking her to the feds and dropping her off. Maybe the stories weren’t true. He was sure most rumors held some truth but also falsehoods. The issue was how more true were they than false.

  A stiffer wind came and again the smell, but this time he noticed what could only be described as particulates drifting down out of the sky like snow. He held out his hand and caught a few. Some were dark gray while others were off-white.

  He smelled them, but the individual pieces didn’t hold an odor, but clearly there was something off in the air. The smell was something like a cross between burnt pork, plastics and diesel fuel. It was an odd smell, something he’d never encountered before.

  Curious, he stepped away from the trailer until he found a small game trail and headed up it as it climbed up and gave him a vantage point of the surrounding area. Directly west he could see the casino, and the massive tent city that surrounded it was new and was the FEMA camp. To the south of the main casino building, five large pillars of black smoke rose; these had to be the source of the smell and ash. He gazed through his binoculars but couldn’t get a good view of what was smoldering. He looked around the camp and didn’t see anyone. The mix of white and olive green tents dotted the landscape to the east and south of the main casino building, with a multilayered chain-link fence topped with concertina wire running the perimeter. Large wooden towers stood at each corner, but no one manned them. He turned his attention to the highway and the fortified entrance. Again he saw no movement. It was odd, but maybe explained who he saw racing east earlier. The base also made sense as to why few cars were ever seen coming from the west. Many who attempted to go east ran into the camp, and he could only guess never made it out.

  Where is everyone? he asked himself. That tent city looked as if it could house thousands, but those vehicles he saw going east weren’t buses or anything large enough to carry thousands away. Did they come from there? Maybe they didn’t, but whatever was happening at the camp had recently occurred.

  Neal made his way back to the bike and found Charlotte half awake.

  “How ya doing?” he asked, knowing it was a stupid question.

  “I need to see Hope,” she replied.

  “We’re close, I’d say less than twenty miles, but then I have a steeper challenge getting her,” he said, stating the obvious.

  “Hurry.”

  “I thought we had a bit of an obstacle due west, but it appears I was wrong,” he said, referring to the camp.

  “Hurry.”

  “Hurrying,” he said, pushing the bike back onto the road and pedaling south.

  When he reached the small unincorporated area of Live Oak Springs, he found it abandoned. Spray-painted marks on the doors told him the feds had come through and removed everyone. The town must have been emptied months ago, as tall grasses had already begun the slow battle of taking back the streets, and Mother Nature was encroaching on the homes and commercial spaces. Arriving at the intersection of Old Highway 80, he paused. Should he go right? That would take him into the camp. Or should he go left and try to find a way around it? By the looks of what he saw, the camp appeared to be empty, abandoned like the town behind him. Knowing time was not on Hope’s side nor Charlotte’s, he decided to risk it and go right. He pedaled along the narrow road until he came to the beginnings of the camp’s south entrance. Interlocking Jersey barriers channeled him into a lane, which he slowly navigated until he came to the fortified gate, which lay wide open. The guard station was empty, and beyond he saw the thick smoke columns rising.

  He continued, and the closer he got with each pedal made him feel more uneasy than the one before. Maybe it was a combination of the hastily abandoned camp, the smell, the smoke and the dying sun to the west casting long shadows his way. Whatever it was, something just didn’t feel right.

  Charlotte mumbled behind him, but she wasn’t lucid anymore. When he did understand her, she was only repeating Hope’s name over and over.

  The air was now thick with the charred smell of something awful.

  He was drawing closer. The light of the sun was still viable, so he’d be able to see without the aid of a flashlight what was smoldering. He could now make out that the five smoldering areas were massive ditches, and the bulldozers and other pieces o
f heavy equipment that had dug them were close by, but he still couldn’t see what was lying in the bottom of the pits.

  The sound of metal grinding and clanging came from below him. He looked down and saw brass ammunition casings and links covering the ground. There were literally thousands everywhere.

  He stopped suddenly. A sick feeling came over him as he had his suspicions of what might have happened. The evidence was right there in front of him, but could it be real? He stepped off the bike. He wanted to see what was in the pits, but an apprehension overcame him. Did he need to know? Was this all in his head? If it was, what did it mean?

  His stomach tightened. He just needed to press forward, away from the pits, out the far gate, and continue on. He wouldn’t look, he couldn’t. He got back on the bike and pedaled hard.

  The smell washed over him again. It was strong and overpowering and made him nauseous. It was now a familiar smell; he knew it well.

  Should I stop and go see? he thought. No, keep pedaling.

  He was almost clear of the last pit when he braked hard. His curiosity was too strong; he needed to know. He briskly walked to the smoldering pit and looked down. When his eyes gazed upon the horror below, he turned and threw up. Using his sleeve, he wiped his mouth and again looked.

  Below him, stacked feet high like cords of firewood, were the charred remains of people, thousands of them burned and unrecognizable.

  Neal felt the urge to throw up again but held it back.

  The rumors were true, all true. Those who went seeking shelter and comfort from the government found none, but why had they done this? What reason could anyone give? Was there some sort of viral outbreak? Or was this just murder? Memories of a TV show on The History Channel or some other network flashed through his mind. It was of the Nazis marching people into ditches and shooting them; then another of the crematoriums at places like Auschwitz with the black smoke rising from the stacks.

  Neal had seen enough. He raced back to the bike and rode off.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Hope is like the sun, which, as we journey toward it, casts the shadow of our burden behind us.”