Highway: A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Survival

by John Q. Prepper

  “Okay, Colonel, I have 1F on the radio,” Grimes pushed his microphone over to the colonel and offered the man his headphones.

  ~~~

  “Look, time is short for me, and perhaps for all of us.” Frank interrupted the torrent of questions being thrown at him. He understood their anxiety. But there was little time to act. It needed to be now. He held up his hands to quiet their voices.

  When he had their silence, he continued, “What I want to know is if you’ve made any escape plans.”

  Danbury spoke first. “That's what we were just discussing before you arrived.”

  “Sir? First Lieutenant Wallace, sir. But, we don't have any weapons,” barked a young woman, with intense eyes, who gazed sternly at her captain, and then at Frank. Besides being the only woman who was part of the active duty soldiers in this room, she was also the only one not stripped down to her underwear. This was curious, because Frank’s experience with Islamic jihadists was not good when it came to women. Fake-Jones must have told them to behave, keeping her clothed so as to not tempt his men.

  Frank received an irritated glance from the young officer when he stared at her for too long. “We have all the weapons we need right here. Plus, we have the element of surprise. And if we get prepared quickly, we may have access to a case of automatic rifles and ammo in the back of my truck, by the museum.”

  “With all due respect, sir,” argued the woman with the intense eyes. “What do you mean we have all the weapons we need?” Her ponytail whipped back and forth as she scanned the room in mock inspection. “I see no M4s, no grenades …”

  “First Lieutenant Wallace believes we should wait out our time here,” Danbury offered as an excuse for his officer's insolence.

  “Still,” said Wallace, “I'd like to hear how the major thinks we can fight back with a pile of Ft. Rucker bandanas and novelty pens.”

  “Let me show you,” Frank bellowed as he jogged up the auditorium steps to the back, grabbing a stack of bandanas and directing two olive-shirts to grab some of the other supplies. These they piled on the large table at the front of the auditorium. Everyone, including the civvies, surrounded Frank as he demonstrated the fine art of improvising weapons out of common materials.

  ~~~

  Porter stood up straight but tried to act as if nothing interesting was being said when the man wearing Colonel Jones’s uniform mentioned “Stowell, Texas,” where his father lived. This was mentioned in the same sentence as 1T2. He overheard the concern in the colonel’s voice as he told his superior that they could not reach 1T2 and yet, coincidentally, a stranger from Stowell, Texas shows up at this base pretending to be looking for a nephew named Private Harry Simpleton. Since this name wasn’t on the base’s duty roster, Porter guessed this stranger was not telling the colonel the whole truth.

  Then, Porter heard something that made his blood boil and freeze at the same time. The colonel made a whispered request that his superior allow him to shoot all the prisoners, including the mystery man. There was too much at stake and they needed to eliminate any threats.

  As he was saying this, the colonel turned his head slightly to Porter to see if he was listening, before continuing. “I only need to keep one of the men, because he’s the only one who can work the equipment. I lost my radio man when we took the base.”

  There was silence as 1F was responding to the request.

  Porter shot a quick glance at the colonel, who was not looking at him, his head nodding in the affirmative.

  While Colonel Jones seemed to be receiving confirmation to murder everyone but him, Porter slipped into the next room where a long electrical cable snaked inside to the radio equipment from one of the two gennies grinding away outside. Porter quickly stuck his head out the window, yanked off one of the cables attached to the genny, and tossed it under a cabinet, out of sight. The genny sputtered and died, just as Porter slid back into place at the doorway.

  The room’s lights flickered twice, and then went off.

  Colonel Jones pushed up and down on the microphone’s button, figuring he had done something. He stepped away from the radios, looking down to make sure he hadn’t kicked out the cords. He turned to Porter, who had his arms folded and was looking up at the lights above as if he were surprised by their change. Porter looked back to him apologetically, before nodding. “I’ll check the genny, sir.” Porter ran out the door and around the building to the generator, pretending to investigate the reasons for the generator’s sudden silence. But he didn’t stop at the genny; he kept running.

  A detachment of five men with guns arrived at the door of the radio room from another direction.

  The colonel marched past them. Projecting his voice back, he announced, “Come with me. I’ve been just given orders to shoot all the prisoners.”

  ~~~

  Frank finished one more bandana, just like he’d shown them earlier. “Ft. Rucker paperweight in the middle of the bandana; then fold in half; then roll the bandana from apex to base; then fold it end to end.” He had held it up to show the group what the lethal bandana looked like.

  “Do you really think this thing will do much damage?” First Lieutenant Wallace had asked, looking at her sap incredulously.

  Without missing a beat, Frank stepped over to a globe resting on a pedestal beside the lectern. “Pretend this is your enemy’s head.” Frank swung his improvised weapon around and connected hard with the globe, burying the sap deep within the metal orb.

  Wallace didn’t say another word.

  No one did.

  They took the next ten minutes to construct their improvised weapons. When everyone had one, Frank knew they were as ready as they could be. He wished he had more time, especially to coach the civvies; they hadn’t even had Basic like the officers and reservists.

  “Look, we don’t have much time. Remember, you’re going for the head or the knees, even if they’re holding a weapon.” Frank said this while walking over to Danbury, who nodded at him as they stopped at the door.

  “All right everybody, fall in,” Danbury ordered, waiting behind Frank.

  The others did as their captain ordered. All were carrying something, even the civilians. Some had rolled-up base newspapers, taped in the form of a bat with pen-spikes sticking out of the end. Many had the bandana and weight combo. Danbury, already an expert at hand-to-hand, just carried a pen.

  Frank, using two paperclips—he always kept them on his person—worked on the lock as everyone waited for the moment.

  A click told them it was time.

  Chapter 20

  Lexi

  When you’re panicked, it’s basically impossible to think straight.

  Lexi dashed from the truck into the store to see if by some odd chance he was still there. But both Travis and the dead elderly man were gone. Only a red stain from the man’s blood remained. She hovered over the spot, hands on hips, mentally beating herself up for not having done a better job to stay with her brother. She’d left him again when she trotted into the store to find her shoes. If they had both gone in, they might have been able to slip out the back before being seen. The panicky feelings returned and her head began swimming, knowing as she did that at any moment Clyde and Zach were going to pull up and kill her for burning their house down.

  Breathe and calm down, Lex!

  She tried desperately to think of where her brother might have gone after she was taken.

  Then she remembered.

  She drove the monster truck to the front of the white house with the wrap-around porch that the old man had pointed to. She put it into park and watched for movement. On any other day, this slice of Americana would look inviting. Red, white, and blue banners sashayed the length of the porch, and an American flag proudly flew from a long pole jutting off the front of the house. Before the apocalypse, it would have had kids running around the front yard, sparklers blazing in little hands, and giddy laughter filling the air. So much has changed in two days.

  Now, the home looked for
eboding, another trap waiting to catch her. The front door was open wide and she could see inside and almost all the way through the house. A burrowed trail of blood ran from the grassy front lawn, to the front sidewalk, and up the stairs. Death had fallen upon this home.

  Lexi withdrew her pistol—she now considered it hers and not her late father’s—out of the pack and mounted the steps. The blood stain continued over the threshold and into the house. Her body and mind stopped, hesitant to go any farther. Her heart leapt from her chest when a crow grated a warning from the large oak outside and flew away. She wasn’t sure her nerves could make it through another day of this.

  Calm down, Lexi, she told herself over and over, before finally stepping inside.

  The blood pooled by the entrance, but then abruptly stopped. Around the pool were a flurry of bloody footprints—one small and one only slightly larger—and some scratch marks. And by the staircase, two sets of shoes rested beside each other, socks inside each.

  The smaller set of shoes belonged to Travis.

  Stepping around the gruesome pond, Lexi proceeded on tip-toes down the long hallway to the back. The staccato beat of her heart filled her ears; thump-thumb-thump. And there were other sounds out back.

  She raised the gun higher as she approached the back door—it too stood wide open. At the threshold, she saw him.

  Travis was sitting in a chair, sipping from a glass of yellowish liquid, while an elderly woman knelt beside a mound of dirt. The woman laid flowers on top of it and whispered tear-filled words.

  Lexi shoved the gun against the small of her back, beneath her shirt, and walked down the back steps.

  He was safe.

  ~~~

  After saying their goodbyes and collecting their bags—Travis had somehow held onto them—Lexi and Travis sped out of Greensville and back onto the highway. Lexi couldn’t drive fast enough, sure at any moment now Clyde would be on their tail or in front of them, blocking their passage.

  But she also couldn’t help but look at Travis, who sank deeper into the passenger seat with each mile they drove. He hadn’t said a word the whole time and just stared out the window, despondent. Perhaps he was in shock.

  He was like that at the old lady’s house. Lexi tried to give him something solid to hold onto, because everything around them seemed so transitory and death so close to them. So she gave him their father’s Purple Heart.

  It didn’t seem to help.

  Before too long they drove by the dirt road that led to Zach and Clyde’s place. She was driving so fast, she almost didn’t notice it. But when she glanced that way, a camo-colored truck erupted from the growth’s dark opening and bounded toward the highway and them.

  “Shit!” Lexi jammed her foot into the accelerator, and the old vehicle lurched forward in response. They were going slightly faster, but was it enough?

  She watched attentively for their turnoff, making sure she didn’t miss it. The map was forever etched into her memory. But in a panic, her memory-map didn’t seem to match up with reality too well.

  “How close are they?” she shrieked in an almost shrill voice. The wind roared through the open cab of the truck. She wasn’t even sure if he said anything so she yelled once more, “How many lengths of this truck are they from us?”

  From beside her, he bawled back, “About fifty trucks.” He was kneeling on the seat, peering behind them.

  They crossed over the vast expanse of the Apalachicola River and then she saw it. Their turnoff was marked by a crooked mailbox off the highway. She took her foot off the gas.

  “Thirty trucks,” Travis yelled, his voice breaking up from fear and the swirling wind.

  She spun the wheel, barely slowing down. She felt her side of the truck lift up, the driver’s side wheels finding air. She corrected, and left the dirt path. Jamming her brakes, she corrected once more, almost flipping it the other way. She hit the gas again, bouncing onto the dirt road.

  “Twenty trucks!” he yelled.

  She looked at her side mirror and could see them already on their road, close behind, as if they didn’t even slow when they hit the turn. The side mirror exploded.

  “They’re shooting at us!” Travis screeched and sank to the floor.

  She glanced at him and felt deep compassion for the boy. Hell, she was terrified as well. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get to Abe’s and he’ll protect us,” she hollered so he heard.

  She hoped that was true, only assuming that Abe was a prepper like she guessed her father must have been. Oh God, I hope Abe’s house is close.

  They zagged away from the river and then zigged back at it. The truck lurched and gagged.

  Then it died.

  They rolled to a stop in front of a large fence, the bumper kissing it.

  “Get out, grab your bag and get onto the hood of the truck.”

  Lexi leapt out of the truck. Looking back she couldn’t see their pursuers, but she could hear them. She tossed both bags on the hood and jumped up, using the knobby tire as a step. After tossing her two bags over the fence she grabbed Travis’s bag and tossed it, and pulled him up so he could climb over. Although, he didn’t need the boost because he climbed better than a monkey.

  The camo-truck zagged toward them. She could see Clyde and Zach in front and two other men in the truck bed.

  She hoisted Travis over the fence and he tumbled to the other side. She sprang fast, without thinking where she would fall, and landed hard but safely. She grabbed their bags and started to run. Looking to her side, she was happy to see Travis was there. She guided them into the thicket and out of sight from the road.

  Several shots thundered behind them, but they didn’t look back to see where.

  Lexi and Travis crashed through the heavy growth, having no idea where they were going or if safety awaited them.

  “Go get them,” Clyde yelled to the two men in the truck bed.

  “When I catch that bitch, I’m gonna fillet her hide,” his brother screamed at the windshield.

  “You get ’er, brother.”

  Zach had already jumped out and leapt onto his truck’s hood and over the fence like a lion after its prey. Their two men followed just behind him. Clyde jumped over last.

  Travis was falling behind even though she was carrying all their bags.

  “C’mon, buddy. I need you to be strong for just another minute or two.”

  She looked away just long enough that she didn’t see the tree limb at chin level until she hit it full force, knocking her on her back.

  “Lex, are you okay?” he begged looking down on her, with concern.

  She felt a little light-headed and wondered for a moment. Her chin throbbed—matching her constant headache—and it felt like it was bleeding.

  Then, she heard approaching noises, the cracking of branches and thumping of footsteps telling her that those men were just behind them.

  She jumped up, ignoring the pain and her blurred vision, and moved forward. They were running again, branches and giant leaves whipping at them, but they both ignored their stings.

  Lexi could see the area opened up in front of them slightly, and then they were in a wide open area with a driveway leading to several houses, and a river.

  In front of them was a man on one knee pointing a rifle at them.

  They froze in their tracks, starring at this man who didn’t flinch or move a muscle.

  She could see his finger wrap around the trigger.

  He fired twice.

  Chapter 21

  Two Days Earlier

  Dallas, Texas

  It was the feeling of inevitably that haunted him.

  Stan glanced at the car tailing him, several car lengths away. Hameed’s men, led by his hit man Yusuf Habib, were waiting for him to pull off to a quiet side of the road, where they would pass slowly and fire their automatic weapons into him until he was dead.

  But he kept his white Toyota steady, pointed north at a tedious 65 miles an hour. The last thing he wanted to do was
pull an unsuspecting motor cop into this. His route, if he continued down this path, would lead to Kansas as he had told Hameed over the phone. That is, he—Malik the Terrorist—would visit an arms dealer there, to purchase more weapons for a large planned attack, coming soon. But he didn’t intend to go all the way to Kansas, and the car behind him would never let him get that far.

  Stan looked at himself in the rearview mirror, brushing his filthy hands over his full beard, finally yanking at his moustache to remind himself that all this was his real mug. He still didn’t recognize this face he’d worn for the last five-plus years. His all-consuming hunt for Farook had come so close to an end. Almost eight years of undercover work, trying to catch the man who killed his wife while taking down terrorist cells in the US, had yielded gains. But it had also taken so much: eight years away from his kids, growing up without him, and the life of his wife, all stolen by Abdul Raheem Farook. Then his plans changed in an instant.

  Stan—playing the part of Malik the Terrorist—had been working a young boy named Bilal, who was part of Hameed’s Texas cell. He couldn’t have been more than 16—maybe five or six years older than his own son, Travis. Malik befriended the boy, providing a father figure that the boy had never had. Malik had Bilal questioning his loyalties to the cell, especially after Malik found out that Bilal was being molested by Yusuf Habib, one of the most bloodthirsty men he’d ever had the disappointment of meeting. Bilal overheard much from Yusuf’s bed and recently started to report what he heard to Malik. Three revelations changed everything.

  Yusuf was in constant contact with Hassan Hameed, somewhere in a rural part of Texas. This made sense because Hameed was the head of the Texas cell and gave direction for their smaller cell in Houston. But Yusuf also spoke directly to Farook, even mentioning his name. Bilal described the killer actually becoming rigid when he spoke to Farook, so he knew it was him on the phone. In a conversation two days ago, Yusuf let slip that Farook was in Florida. So now they had active intel that Farook was in the States, and in fact in Florida. Agent Stanley Broadmoor was able to pass this along to his superiors, and the statewide hunt was on for Farook. Then yesterday, Bilal told Malik/Stanley something that would ultimately lead to Stan’s death.