by Harp, Wilson
“Smoke,” Kenny said.
“But not a clean smoke,” Ted added.
“I think it’s coming from the river,” Anne said.
We left the road and crept into the woods to our west. After a few steps in we could see the river below the bluff and on the far side there was a dense cloud of smoke. It was black and billowed out. The column rose from a single spot and you could see flames threaded through the mass of darkness. There were houses near the pile of smoke and I realized what we smelled was a home completely engulfed in flames.
“Do you think anyone lived there?” Anne asked.
“Probably not the original owners,” said Ted. “Most likely squatters or the scavengers who have been harassing the army.”
“How would it go up like that?” Kenny asked.
“Maybe a chimney fire,” I said. “If the fireplace hadn’t been cared for, the soot on the inside of the chimney can catch fire and spread quickly.”
“Maybe an old propane system, too,” said Ted. “A leak in a line, a random spark and you have a raging fire.”
We turned away from the scene and started up the highway again. I couldn’t imagine living that way. We had more than a few fires in Kenton, but when one broke out, there were dozens of people there to help. Everyone pitched in and tried to save what they could. I didn’t imagine people with no hope, who lived on suspicion and despair, would even think to organize and put out a house fire.
We continued up the highway for the rest of the day. I had always hated the drive through Southern Illinois; it was so flat and boring. But it was different while walking. At seventy miles per hour, you don’t notice the gentle rolling motion of the land. You don’t appreciate how many trees line the roads. It was strange how the landscape could change so dramatically just by crossing a river. The soil was richer and much less rocky. There were still plenty of trees, but many less evergreens and cedars than in Missouri, and while they were in small stands, unlike the dense woods near Kenton, I never had a view which didn’t have trees in it.
For the first time in five nights, we bedded down outside. We had covered many miles since morning and I was grateful for the comfortable places we had slept over the last few days. It had revitalized us and gave us the energy we needed to start the next leg of this journey.
The day had turned colder, though, and the sun had set early behind a line of clouds on the Western horizon. A storm was coming, but for that evening, the sky was clear and bright. The moon hadn’t risen yet, and the sky sparkled with stars. The Milky Way was a giant swath of light, like a wide brush of glowing paint had been drawn across the darkness. I was amazed how many stars there were. Our modern world had blinded us to the beauty of the night sky.
We lay there resting and talking and then watched the moon start its journey. A majestic orb of pure light which ruled the night sky like a queen.
I drifted to sleep as I thought about where I was. I was back in Illinois. I was back in the state after nine months of being away, heading for the city which held the answer to the only question I cared about. Heading to Lexi and Emma. I was finally going to get them.
Chapter 8
The next morning I woke after a pleasant dream. I kept my eyes closed and tried to stay in the afterglow of the escape I had enjoyed. I had been at the lake with Lexi and Emma. We had a good time. I remembered Ted, Kenny, Sophia, Luke, Tom and all of the people from Kenton were there as well. Was Anne there? Yes, she was. I remember seeing her in the distance, but she had turned her back and walked away.
I opened my eyes and got up. I felt awkward as I ate breakfast and got my gear ready for the day. It was such a clear and pleasant dream, and yet it made me understand I was distancing myself from Anne. The closer I came to leaving on this trip, and now with every mile of the road behind us, I was building the wall around my heart. What if I made it to Chicago, though, and I couldn’t find Lexi and Emma? No, that was a thought I couldn’t dwell on. I wouldn’t consider it. And so I pushed Anne away.
Even when I did find them, there were tough decisions to make. Would I really be able to take my family back to Kenton with Anne there? I didn’t think I could. Maybe Sikeston would be a good place for us to settle and make a new life.
I shook my head as I tried to reconcile what I knew I had to do with how hard it would be. Anne had been a rock for me these last nine months. She was a comfort and a soothing balm to my wounded heart. And yet, my family came first and always would.
The dark line of clouds from the night before had moved closer, but still seemed some hours away. I hoped we would be able to get a good number of miles in before any weather hit us.
“According to McDearis, the military has control from Scott Air Force Base all the way down to Ava along Route 4,” Ted said as he showed us the map. “If we continue up Route 3 until we hit 151, we should only be about ten miles from Ava.”
“It’ll be a long day to make it,” said Anne. She glanced up at the sky.
“Let’s get moving then,” said Kenny. “We aren’t burning miles worrying about the weather.”
“The air base sounds like it has some real capabilities if it has control that far south,” I said.
“They probably have some working vehicles, like the army does down with us. It makes a difference when you can travel thirty miles in an hour to deal with a problem. People look to you for safety,” Ted said.
We looked over the map several times as we calculated how far we could go each day. It looked like we were only a few days from the base, which was about the halfway point of the trip up. If we kept this pace, we would be able to be back in Missouri by the time spring was in full bloom.
If the base held all of the promise McDearis believed, then we would be able to rest, resupply, and start north with fresh enthusiasm. I was excited to see this place and to note how far along the map we had already come.
We spent the next day traveling up Highway 3, racing against the ever threatening line of clouds. I was surprised at how much game we saw as we traveled. Not even in the thick woods near Kenton had I seen more squirrels dancing from tree to tree, rabbits munching on the stunted growth. Several foxes and a raccoon had been close enough to the road to stop and note our passing. I knew this area of Illinois was rural, but I was surprised at the complete lack of people. Occasionally we would see a few tendrils of smoke in the distance. Signs whoever did live out here were bundled up in their houses.
Kenny had lifted the air rifle to his shoulder several times as we went along, but he never took the squirrel or rabbit he put in his sights.
“I would,” he explained when Anne asked him. “But I would prefer to not carry a dead animal along. As many as we’ve seen, I’m sure we can get some when we get ready to camp.”
Ted laughed. “Somebody’s watching us,” he said with a smile on his face.
I slowed and started to look around.
“Keep moving,” he said. “Speed up and don’t look. If they wanted to take us, they would’ve already fired. We just need to convince them we’re passing through. Nothing more. The best way to do that is to just keep walking.”
“I see ‘em,” Kenny said. “We’re about to pass. Three of them, two look like teenagers.”
“Are you sure we’ll be okay?” asked Anne.
“Yeah, probably a dad and his kids watching to make sure we aren’t up to trouble.”
I caught sight of them out of the corner of my eye and as much as I tried not to turn my head, I must have moved a little. I saw them duck down and hold still.
“We’ll just keep walking,” Ted said. “We’ll be out of here in just a few minutes.”
I smiled as I realized Ted was talking to them, as if they could hear him and be reassured.
I was positive they all had rifles. To be out where no one else is when there is plenty of game could mean only one thing. Unless you were a group heading north on the highway. Then that might mean you are up to trouble. I understood the fear and distrust of stran
gers, but it didn’t make me feel more confident.
It was another ten minutes before Ted took a quick look behind us.
“I bet they’ll be telling the story about us soon enough. People will be on the lookout for four strangers in the area.”
By noon the clouds were almost right on top of us. It was a very slow moving system and we all knew that meant the snow would last for days. I could smell the snow, almost taste it. I suggested we find a place to shelter and maybe wait out the storm, but Ted pushed us on. He said there would be plenty of time to find shelter once the flakes started to fall.
As we walked, my mind drifted back to the people hidden in the woods. I wondered if they were part of a larger community, like Kenton. If they had been sent out to hunt like Buck and his boys. Or maybe they were just a single family, cut off from everyone and totally alone. They would find ways to survive, but would always be removed from others.
Would the world ever heal to the point where everyone who was cut off would be brought back into communication? There were people I was sure would want to stay removed. Those who felt their best chance of survival would be to go on their own.
That idea didn’t appeal to me, but there did seem to be some wisdom. I would much rather be with a handful of people I could trust than to live in a city where thousands were all trying to find the resources they needed. There was power and security in more people, to a point. And there was safety and comfort in being in a small group. I just wasn’t sure which option was best.
Maybe a small group which worked together was best. Small being relative, of course. In a survival situation a couple of hundred is small compared to a city, but compared to a farm community of a thousand, a hundred people added may overwhelm the resources.
Kenton had experienced a massive amount of growth in the last few months. When the EMP hit, there had been around five thousand. The harshness of the summer shrank our numbers to around three thousand. When the army came in August, they started relocating settlers into Kenton, people who had no place to go or whose situation was collapsing. Kenton had swollen to eight thousand.
Eight thousand is a lot more mouths to feed than the numbers we had at the end of summer. I wondered if the spring planting would be much harder or maybe because we already had experience, it would be easier. In some ways, more hands to plow the fields, to weed, and to keep pests and animals away from the crops would make the work less intensive. But there was always the danger of floods, fires, storms, insects and disease.
The town had found fertilizer and seeds in large numbers due to the scavenging efforts. And the Town Council had brought up the idea of private gardens. Ted had said they were likely to wait another year before that happened. The goal of survival of the town as a whole was more important than individuals excelling on their own projects.
And yet, succeeding in your own endeavors is what reassures people life can return to normal. When people work to make their lives better, and not just survive the current situation, they tend to work harder, smarter, and find ways to succeed.
I thought of Gary whose skill as a mason provided nothing in terms of survival, but did provide mental and emotional relief. He was paid by our hard labor to memorialize our lost loved ones. Was it really an effective use of his time? Could he use his efforts to help the community more directly? Maybe, but life can’t be just about survival.
Of course, in the wintertime there wasn’t a whole lot for him to work on. In the summer he would be pressed into duty as building started. The plans for a new irrigation system would involve his skills.
I caught myself as these thoughts consumed me. These were long-term thoughts which had kept me distracted and busy. My current duty was short term. In the next few weeks I intended to get to Chicago and find my family. This was all that mattered and yet I had Kenton and its problems fixed in my head.
This bothered me because I hadn’t considered Kenton my home for decades. Even now I didn’t consider it home. I belonged to Chicago. It was where I had lived the last 25 years. Where I got married, had a child, and spent all of my adult life.
And yet I hadn’t considered how Chicago fared when compared to Kenton. Maybe it was because I had seen Kenton day by day and hour by hour, but I hadn’t seen Chicago in nine months. Or maybe I didn’t want to imagine Chicago. I didn’t want to imagine what millions of people, all desperate and scared, might do when they panicked.
The paranoia and hysteria which had taken Cape Girardeau and reduced it to rubble would have played out dozens of times, hundreds maybe, in the first few hours in a city with millions of people. How many buildings burned to the ground that night as the fire department was helpless?
A single large building which caught on fire would result in an entire block being consumed by flames. Thousands of people would lose their homes, hundreds would lose their lives, in just a single night. A fire could spread easily, jumping from building to building in the downtown area. With no sprinkler system, no fire department, and no way to communicate or coordinate a rescue effort, people would just flee letting the entire city burn.
I was horrified at the thought and I pushed it aside. I imagined what Kenton would be like with its plowed fields and extra people working those fields this upcoming spring. Yes, thoughts of Kenton soothed me. Thoughts of Chicago made me sick.
When the first snowflake hit my cheek, I was surprised. I had lost myself deep in thought and didn’t realize the snow had started. It wasn’t heavy yet, but there were flakes floating around us in the wind. The sun was still in the sky, but the clouds had covered it with a dense blanket and it felt later than it was. Ted had said we would stop when the snow started, but he showed no signs of stopping. We had covered a lot of miles already, and I knew he wanted to make the most of each day we traveled. So we walked on.
Soon, a dense line of trees appeared ahead of us. Once we saw there was good shelter, we pushed harder. The snow was heavier now and we walked through several inches of it as we went, but if we could make it to the woods, it would be a more comfortable night. Soon after, we saw a sign showing the interchange for 151 just three miles away. This gave us the extra push we needed and we felt energized as we headed for the woods.
The snow was heavy by the time we reached the eaves of the woods. We moved in about two hundred feet and found a large oak whose branches would shelter us from the snow and yet was high enough so we could build a fire. Kenny dropped his pack and took the air rifle to go find food. Ted had me and Anne build a fire as he gathered materials to build a windbreak.
By the time Kenny returned with three squirrels, we had a cozy camp set up. The wind picked up in the early evening and the snow was thick and heavy. As we rested after dinner, we talked about anything and everything.
A coyote howled in the distance, and another answered his call. Ted sat up and looked around.
“What is it?” I asked.
“That’s not a coyote,” Anne said. “Those were dogs.”
“And they are close,” Ted said.
Ted drew his pistol from his waist. I fumbled for mine as Kenny retrieved a rifle from one of the rifle bags and handed Anne a shotgun.
We heard movement around the camp and several sniffs and whimpers. A series of barks in the direction of the highway were answered by barks in the woods near us.
“Backs to the fire,” Ted said. “Anything that moves into the light, you shoot.”
We arranged ourselves to cover all of the camp. Anne was to my left and Kenny to my right. Ted was directly behind me. I could see dim shadows of the dogs as they moved around the edge of the light. Shadows danced as the wind stirred the flames of our campfire. My eyes adjusted as I peered into the dark woods, and I could start to make out the dogs. They circled and moved. Maybe two dozen dogs in all. I tried not to look away from my area when I heard twigs snap under their paws.
“See the alpha?” Kenny asked.
“No,” said Ted. “He’ll make himself known soon.”
&nbs
p; There was a snarl and yip. Ted fired and there was a whine as I heard the dog hit the ground. One of the dogs in front of me jumped forward, and I fired. A spray of blood blinded me for a split second, but I fired a second time as I saw another dog lunge forward. The sound of the gunfire echoed in my head. The smell of gunpowder was sharp and made me want to sneeze. We knew that a single bite would be bad. Not only could a bite cause an infection, but rabies was a sure death sentence now. A simple dog bite could kill any one of us. Twice more I fired as the dogs kept testing the halo of light around our fire. I heard Anne’s shotgun blast and the dogs ran away from our camp.
The sound of the dogs running through the woods faded, but my heart kept beating hard.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Alpha went down,” Ted said.
“I shot him,” said Anne. “He was the German Shepherd.”
She pointed at a large grey dog beyond the reach of the firelight. I had seen him during the fight. He had circled and nipped the other dogs as they attacked.
“Is everyone okay?” Ted asked.
None of the dogs got within five feet of me, so I knew I was fine. But I had heard a lot of commotion around the rest of the camp.
“One got through,” Kenny said. “He latched onto my arm, but I don’t know if he got through the coat.”
Ted pulled Kenny close to the fire and examined his sleeve.
“There’s blood on it, and I see where he tore in,” Ted said. “Get the coat off and we’ll see if it’s your blood or the dog’s.”
“Do you think they’ll come back?” I asked. I scanned the edge of the fire. I counted nine dead dogs, and I was sure there were a few obscured by the darkness.
“If the pack broke, they shouldn’t come back,” said Anne.
Kenny had removed his jacket and he leaned down next to the fire.
“He got you,” Ted said. “Let me get the first aid pack.”
Ted dug into his backpack as I heard Kenny pray softly. I leaned down and saw the raised edges of where the dog’s teeth had ripped open his arm. A year ago, it would have been a couple of stitches at urgent care, now it would be whatever we could do by the light of a campfire and the hope the dog wasn’t rabid.
