EMP: Heading Home

by Harp, Wilson

  “Ha!” Kenny said. “That’s true. If the army had been in Kenton, they would’ve hanged me for sure. Of course, if they were there, I wouldn’t had to do what I did.”

  “So why the troops?” Anne asked.

  “My guess would be Thayer,” Ted said. “Burnett had some run-ins with some of the patrols near Poplar Bluff and Wilcox. If they have had enough of his nonsense, they may be going to end his little tyranny.”

  Mike Burnett was a local thug and meth dealer from Thayer who had taken charge, violently, soon after the EMP had hit. Bill Ellison and his family had taken a working car out of Kenton to try and get to his daughters in Little Rock. They had made it as far as Thayer. Bill had been lit on fire in front of the south bridge in Kenton a few days later. Buck Frederickson shot the men from Thayer as they laughed while Bill burned.

  When the army had learned the details of that event, they sent a patrol down to Thayer to gather more information. They had persuaded Burnett to talk with them and had informed him Kenton was under U.S. Army jurisdiction. He had so far avoided our area.

  The line of soldiers grew closer. The point man nodded to us as we came into clear view. He never slowed as the two groups of travelers passed each other on the snowy hill. The soldiers had marched all day, but they still looked somewhat alert to their surroundings. Even after the EMP, the army kept firm discipline in their ranks. Frank told me he thought they might be more relaxed with the rules since they were desperate for recruits. But they weren’t. If anything, the discipline was stricter. It had to be to establish order in a world scared of the future.

  The shadows of the western trees and hills brought a severity to the cold I had ignored as we had walked all day. Ted and Kenny pointed to various places off the road where we might find good shelter. Finally, they settled on a large stand of trees near a stream.

  We walked off the road and into the woods to camp on our first night into our journey. I unhooked my backpack and slung it to the ground. I realized how badly the straps had dug in on my body as my circulation returned, and with it, some pain.

  Anne dropped to her knees as soon as her pack hit the ground behind her. We had split up a little of her baggage, but she was still carrying close to sixty pounds.

  “We’ll get a fire going,” Ted said. “Then we can heat some water and try out our rations.”

  I nodded and gathered loose tree bark and any small sticks I could find. Everything was soaked from the snow, though, and I wasn’t sure how easily we could get the fire started.

  I returned with a good armful of light fuel as Ted had pulled out what looked to be a metal can. As I looked closer, that is exactly what it was. He dropped something inside of it, and then forced the whole can into a hole he had dug about three inches into the ground.

  “What is it?” Anne asked.

  “A green bean can with air holes punched into it,” Ted said. “It’s a cheap and easy way to cheat at making fires.”

  “So is this,” Kenny said. He held up a bottle of lighter fluid. “But I don’t think we’ll need it tonight.”

  We did not. Ted dropped a chunk of charcoal into the can and stuffed the smallest amounts of tinder around it. He had a box of matches in a re-sealable plastic bag and struck one. He shepherded the small flame into a little fire and then started stacking kindling over it.

  “Set the larger fuel over there,” he said. “I’ll leave the can here and if someone comes across this place, they can use it for their own campsite.”

  Even after nine months, Ted was still trying to help as many people as he could survive in this new, brutal world.

  We melted and heated some snow in one of our metal pans and then soaked two servings each of the pork. We ate a hardtack biscuit with one portion of the salty meat. The rest of meat was for breakfast the next morning. We made ourselves comfortable around the warm fire which burned bright in our little clearing. The trees kept the light wind from reaching us, and the little dome of heat soon made me drowsy as I lay with my eyes closed. Sore muscles relaxed and my mind stopped its relentless pacing. I imagined finding my house in Oak Park intact. I saw Emma run to greet me as I crossed the boundary from imagination to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  My bladder woke me the next morning. I opened my eyes and then squinted as the sun poked its way through the bare-limbed trees to examine the sleeping travelers.

  I stood and adjusted my twisted coat. I had not slept peacefully it seemed. My canteen was knocked over near my feet, but I had closed the lid tight.

  Ted and Anne were awake when I returned from my morning visit to the trees. Kenny still slept bundled up under a blanket of his gear. He had found anything he thought would keep him warm and pulled it out of his pack.

  We ate a cold breakfast and were soon joined by Kenny. No one seemed up for too much talk. The day before had been exhausting and the night tense. As we broke camp, Ted showed us a few prints which were close to our fire.

  “Wolves?” Anne asked.

  “Coyotes,” said Ted. “Although neither worry me. Too much game out here for them to get brave enough to come for us. The worry is dogs.”

  “Wild dogs?” asked Kenny. “They ain’t much. They run at the first sign of aggression. Like the coyotes.”

  “Wild dogs, sure,” said Ted. “But not feral dogs. Dogs which used to live with people don’t have the fear a wild animal does. They remember people have food and if there is a big enough pack, they can come after you.”

  “Buck ran into a pack a few months back,” I said. “I remember him coming back with several bites. He was sure he had caught rabies.”

  Ted nodded. “Not much can rattle Buck, but catching rabies would shake him up. That’s why I was adamant people not just let their dogs run around when it all started. Too many people would see their dogs as too much of a burden while trying to keep their families alive. It was better to put the dogs down rather than just let them run free.”

  After we finished our breakfast, Ted had us check our canteens. When we all assured him we had enough water, he handed us each a pill.

  “What’s this?” Anne asked.

  “A multi-vitamin,” Ted said. “Don’t know if it will help too much, but can’t hurt. And considering the poor nutrition our trail food has, it might keep us going better.”

  We packed while we spoke. Kenny made sure the fire was good and dead before he pulled his pack on and joined us as we walked back to the road.

  “How much further to Highway 60?” Anne asked.

  “Maybe 25 miles,” Ted said. “We should be there tomorrow afternoon. Travel will be easier, these hills are slowing us down.”

  The sun rose high and melted the snow off the road. The next day we covered a good number of miles with no other travelers to be seen. The third day, we saw Highway 60 after an hour back on the road. As we walked toward the highway which would take us East, I thought how the conditions weren’t as bad as I feared.

  The food was passable. Maybe a year ago I wouldn’t have thought so, but after six weeks of nothing but radish and onion soup the previous spring, a little meat and bread with each meal was welcomed.

  The miles on my feet were even bearable. I wished we could have taken horses, but Ted made the point that horses would have made us a target. The harsh reality was our best protection was to reduce the risk versus reward balance as much as possible. Backpacks and rifles were as low on the reward scale as we could get and with three men, each armed, it increased the risk to unacceptably high. Four men, now that Anne was with us.

  The sun had melted the snow from the pavement completely when we reached the Highway 60 interchange. We climbed the onramp and looked toward the east as the sun reached noon. Not far from us, maybe a mile, was a wagon being pulled by a team of horses. Ted pulled out his binoculars and took a look. A few seconds passed and he waved his hand high in the air.

  “A few men on foot, maybe more in the wagon,” Ted said. “The one riding shotgun was looking back at us with hi
s own eyes.”

  He put the binoculars away.

  “They’re well-armed, and seem to be geared up for travel. Let’s see if they have any news of the road east.”

  About twenty minutes later we saw the men clearly. One was driving the team, and an older man was riding shotgun. I assumed he was older due to the long white beard which hung out from under the scarf wrapped across most of his face. He really was riding shotgun, I noticed, as he stashed the long gun under the seat as we stopped and Ted held up his hand in greetings.

  The wagon was flanked by two men on either side, each with a rifle slung on their shoulder. Two more men rode in the back of the wagon, but hopped down as the driver slowed the team of horses.

  “Howdy,” Ted said. “How is the road out east?”

  “Smooth, for the most part,” the older man said. “How is the road west?”

  “Don’t know,” Ted said, “We just came up from the south less than a mile back.”

  The old man nodded and unwrapped the scarf around his face. He was a little younger than I would have expected and his eyes danced with intelligence.

  “So I saw. Where are you fellows heading?”

  “We’re on a pilgrimage,” Ted said. “Looking for lost ones.”

  “You ain’t been on the road that long,” the man said. “But you’re packed heavy. Your shrine must be quite a distance. I’m Bill.”

  “Ted. Glad to meet you. You fellows look like you mean business out here.”

  The men who had been tense when we arrived relaxed and laughed.

  “You’re right,” Bill said. “It is business. Our first delivery, as it were.”

  “What’re you delivering?” Ted asked.

  Bill motioned and two of the men went to the back of the wagon.

  “I think you might like this,” Bill said. “And if you pilgrims make it back safely, you can tell the people of Kenton about our goods.”

  I tried to keep the surprise off my face. I don’t think I succeeded, and I know Anne didn’t. I saw her out of the corner of my eye. Her jaw dropped open and her eyes widened.

  Bill smiled and the humor touched his eyes.

  “Don’t be surprised, missy,” he said to Anne. “I know Kenton is the turn south there, and according to the Army, it’s a secure town. We’re from another secure town, Charleston.”

  “Not familiar,” Ted said. “You heard of it, Kenny?”

  Kenny shook his head.

  “Small little place, although it’s ballooned up. Figure Kenton had the same thing happen. We garrison about two hundred soldiers, besides.”

  The men Bill had motioned to when we arrived walked over from the back of the wagon and set down a large insulated cooler.

  “What’s this?” Ted asked.

  “This is our trade,” said Bill. He climbed down off the wagon and walked over to the cooler. He looked at us with a wink and opened it up. It was full of snow. Bill wiped some of the snow aside and I saw the top of a catfish.

  “Catfish?” Kenny asked.

  “Mostly. We have some other fish as well. But we are taking this out to a compound near Mountain View. Talked with a guy out there on the radio relay. He’s willing to trade me two milk cows for five hundred pounds of fish. Won’t be real fresh when I get it to him, but it’s on ice and not salted, so should be a treat for him.”

  Ted looked impressed. I was very impressed. Bill really was about business. He was setting up a real trade system.

  “Two cows for five hundred pounds of fish?” Kenny asked. “Seems light?”

  “You have a good eye for business, sir. The wagon is part of the deal.”

  The wagon was a flatbed tow-behind which had been lifted and had a seat and front storage area added. It looked quite nice and I could see Kenny examine how they had modified it.

  “You think you could figure that out?” Anne asked me.

  “Maybe. Looks like it wouldn’t be too hard.”

  Bill squinted at me when I said it. “No, I guess it’s not for someone who understands how to put things together. But it’s still a well-built vehicle, if I do say so myself.”

  “I didn’t mean any offense,” I said. “I just never thought of doing something like that.”

  “When you get back from your searchin’, maybe you can design some for the folks back home.”

  “Sounds like something we could use,” I said.

  “You fella’s about to break for lunch?” Bill asked. “We’ll be glad to share with you.”

  Ted took a quick look at each of us before he agreed to sit and have some lunch with Bill and his boys. Two of them really were his sons, and the rest were young men he had taken on as workers for his thriving fishing business.

  “After the EMP hit,” he explained. “I didn’t know what to do. I had lost my wife a few years earlier, and when that happened, I just went down to the river and fished for months. Every spare moment I had was fishing. When the EMP hit, I again found myself with nothing to do, so I went fishing again. I caught lunch then caught a few more for the neighbors. That evening, we cooked the fish. The next day, others wanted to go with me. It was a mess. They didn’t know what they were doing, and besides, there were things they needed to do back in town. I told them if they made sure I had plenty of water and some rest, I would bring them back fish. Pretty soon my boys and a few others who knew what they were about, joined me and we started bringing back a good amount of fish every day. Never had to dig a latrine or chop wood. Just kept the fresh fish moving in.”

  I thought about what Bill was saying. While we certainly had chores everyone needed to pitch in with, it was looking for people who had specialized abilities which would allow us to claw back to a semi-modern life. That was why Gary was brought in. We needed a mason. I’m sure someone could have learned how to cut stone, but Gary already had the skill set needed. The scrip was the exchange of value from doing general labor, like working in the fields, and transferring it to someone who could carve names and dates into a headstone.

  I never had considered how a working economy would develop again and I listened intently as Bill explained how he became a prosperous fish merchant. I imagined what Kenton would be like when I returned. Would people start to think that way? I guess Lester already had. I didn’t approve of what he dealt in, but people seemed more than willing to trade their hard work for his booze, weed, and girls.

  Would stores start up? Flea market kinds of places? Would people travel into Kenton to shop for the week, month or season? These thoughts still fascinated me as Bill and his boys said their goodbyes. We were back on the road when Ted poked me hard in the chest.

  “You awake?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Sorry, just lost in thought.”

  “I could tell. What’s the trouble? Bill and his men not sit right with you?”

  “No,” I said. “If anything, his success reminds me of how far we have to go. Right now, we’re communally growing food so we don’t starve. But most people aren’t cut out to be farmers.”

  “What do you think will happen?” Kenny asked. “They have to focus on the crops this next year.”

  “True,” said Ted. “But they will start specializing. I already know a couple of guys who have an idea for making enough scrip to buy all they want without lifting a finger after planting. At least that’s their plan. And if it works, it will actually help the fields.”

  “Really?” asked Anne. “What plan?”

  Ted laughed. “They’re going to go door to door and offer to clear out and clean up everyone’s latrines. Then they will add the waste to some compost piles they have been building and when it comes time for planting, they will sell the town the fertilizer.”

  “Not a bad plan,” Anne said. “I wouldn’t want to be digging out latrines, though.”

  “Me neither, but that’s why it might work,” said Ted.

  “If they fertilize the fields, they can increase the yield. Which means more food with less labor,” mused Kenny. “Kenton mig
ht be successful sooner than we thought if they can manage to pull it off.”

  I nodded, but didn’t feel as optimistic. If they could properly fertilize, it would increase the yield, but many things could go wrong. When you rely on the next harvest to survive, the threat of fire or storm is ever present. So is drought, or floods.

  “What about private gardens?” I asked. “Has the town considered that option again?”

  “Next year, according to Ike. The army wants the town to have communal fields for five years total, but some of the old farmers are talking about breaking some of the rules this year even if they have to pay a fine.”

  Our talk helped us eat up the miles as we traveled. We cleared a hill and Ted pulled us to a stop. He looked at the map as I noted our shadows stretched out before us.

  “This was a good day,” he said as he put the map away. “I would guess we will be at the military camp in just an hour or so. Much sooner than I figured.”

  Indeed, there was talk that morning we might have to camp with no fire that night. The only people who lived semi-permanently on this stretch of Highway 60 were soldiers. Anyone who had wanted to get away from the violent little gangs and troupes of scavengers which plagued this area had been sent to safer places. A couple ended up in Kenton, and the stories they told made me physically ill. Rapes and murders, even rumors of cannibalism had floated around.

  We walked on as the shadows faded. The sun was just a few minutes from dipping below the western rise when we saw a patrol of soldiers. They were in a group of six. I had heard not even soldiers took a chance in this area at night. I could see why. Deep crags and gullies on both sides of the road offered ample places to hide and set an ambush. The dense forest of the Mark Twain National Park had attracted a lot of people who were geared up for survival. Unfortunately, most of those were of the Lester Collins mindset and not like Ted. They took what they could get and felt no remorse over leaving your body for the coyotes and carrion birds.

  We approached the camp right down the middle of the road. The sentries at the checkpoint kept their rifles at the ready, but no one made a move to stop us until we were inside the safe glow of the early evening cook fires.