Travis had his own worries. He kept his head down, fearful to say anything again and receive another dose of his sister’s wrath. His mind constantly replayed the mental movie of his father dying in front of him, and then the old lady dying, and then his sister shooting one of the bad men stealing from him. He tried to hold back, but he couldn’t.
Like the unstoppable surge of rolling tsunamis, with a first wave, and then another, and another, Travis succumbed to his emotions and let loose with his tears.
Once more, she had to stop and wait for him to finish. At one point he became inconsolable, unable to even acknowledge her.
She stood in front of him, her arms folded, waiting for him to be done, angry at her father for putting her into this mess and angry at her brother for not controlling his emotions better. She knew she should do the sisterly thing and wrap her arms around him, and comfort him, but she just didn’t have any love to give. She didn’t hate her brother, but she didn’t really care for him much either. He was more of an inconvenience than anything else.
She approached him, wanting to offer comfort, not for him, but for her: she just wanted him to shut up. She couldn’t give him what he wanted.
Finally, she patted him on the head, like she would a dog who was worthy of her praise or sympathy. It was the most compassion she could muster.
He peered at her through foggy eyes; his quivers of sobs were slowly replaced by sniffles. With both longing and confusion, he examined this person with whom he had no relationship, their only connections being their blood and the hallway separating their rooms in the same house for years. Still, he couldn’t understand her coldness.
“Help …”
Both of them held their collective breaths for a moment and listened.
A light breeze caused the thrumming cicada tune to crescendo and then fall again.
“Help,” called a weak female voice, so close the “p” in “help” sounded like a soft bubble popping from a fresh piece of bubble gum.
“Come on Travis, we need to keep moving,” Lexi said in a monotone voice. She turned to show she was going to walk away again.
“What about …” He sniffled. “She needs our help.”
“We can’t help everyone, Travis.” She searched her clouded mind for a reason. “Look what almost happened with that elderly couple. They would have slowed us down if … Let’s just keep moving.”
“Help, please,” the female voice called out again.
Travis was stalwart, remaining in place. His eyes bored holes into her.
“Please, I know someone is there,” the voice pleaded.
“No, Travis,” Lexi called as the boy started off toward a little tree on the side of the road, to the voice.
Reluctantly, she followed, not about to lose him again.
They stood at the edge of the road, near a BMW, and stared down at a slender woman in a business suit, who was momentarily startled to see them standing there.
“Oh, thank God.”
She was lying on her back, somewhat propped up against the tree, under its shade. “Please help. I think I broke my ankle,” she said softly. “I was walking after my car stalled and I wasn’t paying attention and I fell. I’m so thirsty; I haven’t had a drink since this morning’s Starbucks. Do you have any Evian? I’d settle for a Perrier at this point.”
Lexi lifted her head, ignoring the businesswoman’s pleas. She had heard something else.
She fixed her gaze to the east, and watched an object flutter in the distance. It had no form; the heated air wafting off the baking pavement made it ghostly. Then the sound, very faint at first and then louder, until it was obvious to all of them; it was coming their way.
“It’s a car?” Lexi asked incredulously. Something that had been so commonplace only this morning now seemed foreign and disturbing. “Come on, Travis, we need to hide.”
“Hide? Are you crazy?” the businesswoman said. “That car may be our ticket out of here. I’m most certainly not going to hide.”
Lexi grabbed Travis’s arm and led him down the embankment as the vehicle’s engine noise became predominant.
The woman pulled herself up into a sitting position. “Hon, you mind getting my shoe? I lost it dragging myself here. They’re Bruno Malis, very expensive.” She stressed the shoes’ name as if to punctuate their importance.
The approaching vehicle was only a few hundred yards away.
Lexi grabbed her shoe and handed it to her.
“Thanks … Hey, wait, what are you doing?” the woman begged.
Lexi had grabbed Businesswoman under her pits and yanked her behind the tree. “Come on Travis. Back here with us.”
He trudged over and all three looked from behind and through the tree, waiting for the car to pass.
“So, why are we hiding?” Businesswoman asked.
“Shhhhh.”
“That car can’t hear us,” Her voice elevating as the vehicle was just about to pass. “It’s going to—”
The Jeep Willys hit its brakes hard, sliding to a stop and leaving thick black tracks on the road.
The driver pushed himself up so that he was standing in his driver’s seat, and looked directly at them, like he was trying to find them.
“He must have seen us,” the businesswoman whispered, but much too loud for comfort.
The Jeep’s driver swung himself out of the car and quickly walked their way. Right away, they could see he wasn’t looking for them; he was only interested in the BMW.
~~~
Rodie figured he had enough time for one or two more hauls before he had to return. Clyde and the others were spread out. After he had realized what had happened—that all new cars had died on the road—Clyde saw an opportunity for himself as well as each of his lieutenants. They’d first take from the cars that had stalled on the main roads and the highway. Then, tonight they’d hit some of the houses. Rodie found that most of the cars were slim pickins because most folks took everything they had packed with them when they left their vehicles behind, but it was Clyde’s idea, and no one argues with Clyde. Plus, they got to keep half of their haul, and have the full protection of their gang. And if they found anything or anyone special, “there were perks,” he had told them.
The only two cars that yielded anything interesting so far were the rentals. Their owners must have abandoned them figuring they’d get help and then return. So they had left their bags locked in their trunks. The red BMW caught his eye and he was happy to see it was a rental. Maybe there was something good in there.
He reached onto his Jeep’s floor and grabbed the crowbar. Some of these locks took finesse and some of them force. BMWs were often real easy. He walked to the front passenger-side window and calmly smashed it in, and then dragged the tool around the window frame to clear away the excess glass. Leaning in, he hit the trunk release, which gave a satisfying click.
Inside, he found several pink bags. The first one opened up easily, revealing makeup and meticulously packed clothes. He held up an itty-bitty thong with his thumb and a forefinger and smiled at the image of the woman who must have worn these.
“Hey, leave that alone. That’s mine,” hollered a female voice behind a tree, off the road.
Rodie squinted to see, walking toward the sound, still clutching the panties.
As he caught a glimpse of a barefooted woman in a business suit, his smile spread over his whole face. “Whoa, yah a looker aren’t yah? Let’s go back to my place an party.”
With this, she screamed, looking behind her as if someone was going to come and help her.
“You’re far mo valuable dan any other cargo. You better come wit me. Clyde will want to meet yah.”
He dragged her kicking and screaming to his Jeep. Really, she offered only minimal resistance until she started biting, then he let go of her. Rodie pulled out a radio and spoke into it, very businesslike. “Hey dis is Rodie, I’ve got a hot-looking bid-ness woman fo Clyde, but she too much for me to handle. She nearly bit off my fi
nga. Bring some guys to mile makah sixty-seven?”
He glanced at the woman, who was trying to crawl away into the bushes.
“10-4, Rodie. I’ll be there in five. Over.”
“Shit!” That was Zach, Clyde’s asshole brother. He’ll probably not even mention to Clyde that he was the one who found her.
“Thanks for your good work, Rodie,” boomed Clyde’s voice from the radio.
Rodie smiled at that. He then wondered how he could make it better for Clyde. He would prefer she’d have the proper clothes. So, he went back to the BMW, retrieved the woman’s bags and his crowbar, and tossed them back into his Jeep.
Lexi and Travis sat quietly in the thick brush, about twenty feet from the road. They had receded there when the woman yelled. Lexi held the revolver in front of her, following this man who called himself Rodie with the barrel.
Travis whispered to his sister, “Are we going to let this man take her?”
“Yep,” she said.
While they waited for the other men to arrive to complete the woman’s abduction, they did nothing to stop it. Lexi reasoned that this highway was now like their lives, and the lives of everyone who used it. It gave them a route to some nebulous place that might provide them safety and survival. But it also led to death and the evil men who laid claim to it. And because of this, the more time they spent on this highway, the less likely they would survive.
Every moment that passed as they waited for the men to disappear made their destination seem more unlikely. They were running out of time. They had to find some way to get to Abe’s place quicker than their feet would take them.
Chapter 10
Frank
With each churning swirl of smoke rising in the sky, the burning pit in his stomach grew. Yet, he approached his property slowly, careful to not crash his ATV.
There was only one reason why there’d be so much smoke: house fire. And because his nearest neighbor was a mile away, he knew it was his house that was burning.
Anxiousness turned into full-fledged worry as he considered what this could mean for him. Not only was he probably homeless, but with the fire, he may have lost all of the life-giving supplies that he had assembled over the years. Everything on his prep list may have been reduced to ashes.
He should have been ready for this.
When he had become fully prepped for an EMP, he found a series of Prepper Brothers Guides that got him started on prepping for different types of apocalypses. Since he was already covered for EMPs, prepping for a CME was easy. Then he prepped for a pandemic; then nuclear attack; then for economic collapse. He tried to consider every contingency. Aside from a zombie outbreak, which he thought was as stupid as stupid could get, he had prepped for everything. Well, except for this.
Frank cursed himself for not having thought of this obvious tactic and for not having done a better job securing his supplies. He should have gone underground or gone all metal or metal-lined concrete, like his detached garage.
Maybe that was still intact. He could only hope.
As he neared his burning home, his mind riffled through all the ways he could have done a better job. As each yard passed, he craned his neck upward to try and see past the growth that obstructed his view. Instead, his dread rose with each billowing cloud that filled the heavens.
And with each self-excoriation, Frank began to realize the biggest problem wasn’t something for which he could have prepared. Oh, he knew he couldn’t have prepared for everything. But there was something noticeably absent that affected all his preps. It was something that he hadn’t had to worry about in the Army.
He was alone.
If he had had a companion, that person might have been able to defend his home before it was destroyed. But he had no one. Right after he retired from the Army, his wife couldn’t stand the cold unemotional man he had become, and she took off for California. Then, Frank hid from his life, in Texas, comforted by his own lie that he didn’t need anyone else. And although he kept a few friends in town, he never had anyone come to his house, fearful that they would accidentally tell others what he had. Fearful that one day, someone would try and take his stuff. Well these asshole terrorists did one worse than that; they destroyed his stuff, and likely with it, his life.
A thundering boom pulled his attention once again skyward. He yanked hard on the ATV’s brakes, stopping abruptly. His jaw slacked; his anxiety was at full throttle as he watched a thick, mushrooming, mud-colored cloud blossom over his house, or what was left of it. His propane supply most likely fueled that sickening sign, which confirmed to him and anyone for miles around that his house was destroyed.
He popped the clutch, spun his wheels and was back up to a slow 7 miles per hour, about as fast as he’d dare travel along the river bed. Then he heard smaller explosions. First a few, then hundreds of them, so rapid as if was if they were igniting almost at once; like giant bags of popcorn popping from a microwave, only much louder. That would be his ammunition.
In spite the roaring sounds coming from Frank Cartwright’s home roast, and even though his ATV was suppressed for noise, Frank still parked a half-mile away and approached quietly on foot, hoping to surprise a few of these bastards and make them pay for what they’d done.
Before he even ascended the small rise to his back yard, he could easily confirm his house’s destruction. The only good news, from what he was seeing, was that except for a few random marks from the errant bullets, it looked like his garage was intact.
Frank had the selector of his slung AK on Auto and he pointed it wildly back and forth with each step closer, hoping that he could kill just one more of these guys.
A small smirk crawled onto his face as stepped over the severed hand of one of his enemy. A few steps farther, he could see more body parts: a foot, a leg, and finally the killing field’s origination. It was his booby trap. It would have gone off when they tried to break in, and by the looks of all the carnage, it took out at least three of them. He was hoping to have been more personally involved in his revenge, but this small reward was better than nothing.
At first glance, there didn’t appear to be anyone here. They had once again left him to pick up from the havoc they’d left. This seemed strange, because he’d have thought that burning down his house was a diversion to get him to return so they could finally kill him, for whatever purpose they had. Just in case it was a trap, he gave his burning home a wide berth and focused his attention on places where the enemy would be hiding, waiting for him to amble by.
But there was no one around; he was sure of that.
As Frank stared at the bubbling lacquer finish on the burning sign, a recent gift from his godson that said “Casa De Frank,” a thought sprang up in his mind: they must have assumed that he was trapped inside his home and so they burned it down, hoping to kill him in the process. As he was without supplies, they might ultimately succeed—just a little torturously slower than they had thought.
After circling around the flaming metal shell of his home, he proceeded to his garage. There was no food stored there, but he did have his bug-out supplies already packed in his truck, and some extra cans of fuel. So, he could leave. But where would he go? This was his home.
None of this mattered right now. He could figure out his accommodations and food later. There was a much larger problem he had to address. He needed to neutralize these men who had not only attacked and damaged him, but had attacked and damaged his country. Yet with almost all his ammo and firearms burned in his home, he lacked the firepower to take them on.
He had just two weapons on him: his AK and Berretta 9mm, and maybe one-hundred-fifty rounds of ammo for each. He had stupidly tossed the salvaged guns and gear from the early-morning attackers into his now smoldering home. It was barely enough to defend himself. Certainly it wouldn’t be enough to mount any sort of offensive. And he just couldn’t do it alone.
He was pretty sure no one else even knew these terrorists were here. So, it was up to him to do som
ething about them even if he died trying.
Once again, he felt the tug of obligation. His country was depending on him. Every terrorist he let live would be responsible for the death of more Americans. He couldn’t let them live any longer. It was his responsibility to end their lives, so that others could continue with theirs.
Still, Frank knew he needed help. And he knew right where he’d get it.
Chapter 11
Lexi & Travis
Lexi’s anxiety grew with each step they took.
Every moment she thought she’d heard another approaching vehicle of murderers and rapists; every growing shadow threatening to leap from the brush, an assault from men who wanted to harm them; every abandoned car, a monster that would open up and consume them. Yet, with each step, she was sure their only path to safety was getting to the home of their father’s friend, Abe. And the only way to get there was this highway. So, they marched as fast as her injured feet would take them, while they each dragged their baggage.
She had no idea of the time, nor did she care; she only knew that it was late. Each glance at the darkening sky reminded her of this, further adding to her mounting anxiety. They had to find shelter for the evening and then find bicycles and then get back on the highway and then get to Abe’s.
A residential turnoff to a small housing development presented them with a possibility of solace, and maybe even transportation. Perhaps someone would take them in, or there would be a park they could sleep in; anywhere would be fine, as long as it was off the highway, where danger lurked with every footstep.
The first house they approached was a fairly new single-story, with an empty garage, open and inviting. Gift-wrapped were two bicycles, a man’s and woman’s, lying against the clutter in back. They felt to her more like morsels of cheese in a giant mousetrap, luring them in.
Was it worth the risk?
After trekking up the inclined driveway, they stood at the garage entrance, hesitant to take a step inside. Lexi glared at the dead garage door as if warning it not to close on them.
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