Once Upon an Apocalypse: Book 1 - The Journey Home - Revised Edition

by JEFF MOTES

  I sip the coffee. It’s hot and it tastes good. “There’s nothing like the first cup of coffee in the morning.”

  “Yeah,” John says. “I like my first cup on the front porch, watching the day come alive. Maybe we can tomorrow.”

  We? What did he mean by ‘we’? I’m going to be in Jackson and he’s going to be in Repose, somewhere between Coffeeville and Jackson, or is that between Coffeeville and Grove Hill? Well, somewhere around there. I’ve never been there.

  It’s only a figure of speech. Don’t read anything into it, I say to myself. To him I say, “That sounds nice.”

  “If you’ll get your stainless cup, I’ll put your pack of grits in it and add the water.”

  When I hand it to him, he pours the dry grits in then about half the hot water into my cup.

  I allow them time to absorb the water then eat.

  “Jill, when we get through eating, let’s clean the cups and stuff up, then I’ll go refill our water bottles. If you’re sure you can travel, we’ll leave right after I get back. Does that sound okay?”

  “Yes. I’m anxious to get back home and see Lizzy and my mom. And John, I’m sorry about last night. I know if Lizzy is with Will, she’ll be okay.”

  John smiles. “Don’t worry about it, Jill. Everything’s okay.”

  I still wonder what makes him think they would be together. No need to go there now. From John’s cook kit, I get the scrubby and dishwashing liquid, and using a bottle of water, we clean the dishes. After drying everything with a cloth we repack our gear. From my pack, I get a washcloth and a bar of soap and wash my face. It’s so tender, especially the left side. There must be a bad bruise, though I can’t see it. While I put the empty bottles in the basket, John is removing the suppressor and changing the ammo like he did yesterday. Then he hands it to me, along with the radio.

  Turning the radios on, we do a radio check.

  “How did you like my little play on words for our call signs?” I ask.

  John looks puzzled for a moment, then smiles, “Yeah, that’s pretty good. I wondered why you picked those signs.” He chuckles. “I’ll call you when I get there and when I start back. Check with me every thirty minutes, as we did before, though I don’t think it’s going to take that long.”

  John gets on my bike and heads across the field. I set his carbine against the wall next to my pack. He’s going to be gone for a while, so I take the opportunity to bathe. Using the washcloth, the bar of soap, and a bottle of water I take a sponge bath.

  His voice comes over the radio. “Barney, this is Pumper. I have arrived. Everything is okay. Pumper out.”

  I pick the radio up and reply, “Pumper, this is Barney. I copy. Everything is okay. Out.”

  I better hurry! I finish washing as fast and as best I can with a bottle of water and get my clean clothes from my pack. Everything is fresh except my bra. I only have the one now. I washed it at Mary’s the other day and only wore it yesterday. It's going to have to do, since there’s no time to wash it. I finish dressing quickly, putting my dirty clothes, along with John’s shirt, in a Walmart bag and stuff them in my pack. I’m putting my shoes on when John calls letting me know he’s heading back.

  ***

  John gives me a few water bottles for my pack and adds a few to his. He then puts the rest in the wood box and puts them on back of the truck. He puts the bike on back and closes the tailgate.

  “Let’s put our packs in the back next to the cab. That way if we have to leave the truck, they won’t be too hard to get.”

  He lifts his heavy bag with ease and puts it on the truck. I grab my pack, feeling the pain in my back as I do, yet I shoulder it anyway. Making it to the truck, I throw it on the back, though not with the same apparent ease.

  “These are all unloaded,” he says, bringing out the guns. “The magazines are loaded, but a round isn’t chambered. I’m going to put them on back by our packs. They’ll be in the way up front.”

  He picks up his carbine and starts changing ammo and installing the suppressor. He takes a bottle of water and puts out the fire then says, “All right, Jill, check the drawers and look under the bed. Make sure we didn’t leave anything.”

  I laugh. “Let’s go, John.”

  John starts toward the passenger side. Does he want me to drive? I follow him, unsure what to do. He stops at the door, opens it, and waits. Oh!

  “John, I can open my own doors. I’m not your little sister.”

  John looks at me and smiles. “I know you’re not my little sister, Jill, believe me. You’ll have to open your own doors from here back home, since there will not likely be time for niceties. For now, however, please humor me.” He motions with his arm for me to get in. So I do, and he closes the door behind me.

  After he gets in the driver’s door, he says, “I think we should pray before we leave. Do you mind?”

  “I really wish you would,” I reply.

  John bows his head. “Father, we thank You for Your hedge of protection You have provided us thus far. For the difficulties we face ahead, we ask for the courage and wisdom to face them without fear. May Your hand be upon our children and our loved ones and bring us back together. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”

  I say, “Amen.” I smile to myself, he’s praying for ‘us.’

  John reaches for the ignition key, then stops. “Jill, there’s something I want to talk to you about before we go.”

  I look over at him questioningly, wondering what’s on his mind.

  “Jill, those bastards back there…I pulled their driver licenses and checked their addresses on the GPS. While none of them are directly on our route out of here, the one called Earl, whose name is also on the truck registration, has an address not far from our route. I don’t know if those bastards have any cousins or friends, but if they do and they see somebody besides one of them in this truck, we may have trouble.”

  This must have been one of those things he’s been holding back. I ask, “What do you think we should do?”

  “I couldn’t find another route around Montevallo using the GPS. I don’t know the back roads here at all, so I wouldn’t want to try to pick a way around. I don’t think we have a choice but to stick with our original route. Let’s stay on our toes. Okay?”

  “Okay, John, if you think that’s best. I’m with you.”

  That’s when I see it. That ugly, evil looking serrated knife, the one held to my chest. I shudder at the memory of it touching my skin. John is looking at me and seeing my distress, he says, “What’s wrong, Jill?”

  “That knife. Please, John, get rid of that knife!”

  “This? I found it on the floor in the…” His eyes grow wide. “Oh, Jill! I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” He picks it up and throws it out the window into the fence line. “I’m really sorry. Are you okay?”

  “I never want to see that thing again. Never!”

  “All right. I wanted to make you aware we may have trouble. Hopefully not, but we might. Right now, I’m going to ease the truck up and stop short of the fence and tree line, then I’m going ahead on foot to check the road. If it’s clear, I’ll return and we’ll hit the road. If there are any problems, we’ll either wait or return to the barn. Either way, I want you to pay attention to me and be ready to move if I say so.”

  “Okay, John. I’ll follow your lead.”

  John pulls the truck ahead and stops as he described. He gets out with his carbine and heads to the road, moving into the tree line. He takes a knee, scanning both directions with his monocular.

  “Looks clear,” he says, climbing back in the truck. “It’s 8:30 a.m. If everything goes well, we should be home before dark.” He puts his seat belt on, puts the truck in gear, and pulls out onto the highway

  I chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks.

  Pointing at the old seat belt I say, “Do you think that’s really necessary? You’re only going to drive thirty miles per hour.”

  “Yes I do, and yo
u should put yours on too.”

  Rolling my eyes, I grin and buckle in. I’m watching the sides of the road as the truck lurches slightly when John shifts through the transmission. It’s a good thing he didn’t want me to drive. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve driven a manual transmission.

  Home! Home before night!

  I’m so anxious to see Lizzy!

  “We are looking for Smithfield Road,” John says. “It should be up ahead on the right, in about two miles. Montevallo is about five miles ahead. Keep your eyes open and don’t let me pass it up.”

  “Okay.”

  “Your dad gave me my first speeding ticket back when I was in high school. He also gave me a ticket for no seat belt.”

  “Yes, I know. He told me. He also said one day you would come and thank him.”

  “Really?” John says. “I did go see him a few months back and did exactly that.”

  “He told me that too.” I chuckle. “John, last night you said you thought Lizzy would be with Will. Why did you—Look out! There’s a truck coming through the woods!”

  John curses and shifts gears, giving the truck more gas. The truck surges forward. We’re about to pass the road from the woods when the POP, POP, POP of gunfire erupts and holes appear in the windshield in front of John. Metal is tearing and glass shattering. The truck suddenly slows and lurches into the left lane. I’m jarred by the suddenness of it all. Steam and smoke are coming out from under the hood. I turn toward John. He’s slumped over the steering wheel with crimson blood flowing down the side of his head.

  “John!” I scream. From the corner of my eye I see the truck pulling alongside us. In that instant things seem to slow down. I’m filled with anger and rage. They’ve killed John! I scream inside. I reach for my Glock. The oncoming truck is almost right beside us as I start pulling my weapon and raising my arm. In a moment, merely an instant of time, my eyes meet those of our attacker. His eyes are filled with the same hatred I feel inside, then a shocked expression appears on his face as the trucks collide. The impact of the collision slams me into the door and my head hits the frame hard. Stars appear in my vision, I lose my grip on the Glock, and it falls to the floor. John is now lying to the side; his shirt is covered in blood. The impact has sent our truck off the road toward a large culvert. The front of the truck lurches into the void where the culvert opens into the shoulder of the road. With a crash, the truck dives into the water, hitting on John’s side. Water splashes inside, hitting me in the face. John and I are being slung around like rag dolls, only held in place by the seat belts as the truck rolls and rights itself. My mind is foggy.

  People are running to the door.

  “Oh no. It's not them! Mark, it's not them!” I hear from a great distance.

  I’m facing John, who lies motionless across the seat.

  “John, I…” I whisper, but my mind refuses to form any more words. The last sensation I have is of hands pulling me out of the truck.

  Chapter 28

  Jill

  How Can It Be?

  Day 5

  Birds are chirping outside. The sounds of their beautiful morning songs fill the air. Slowly, I open my eyes. I’m lying on my left side, my head resting on a soft, clean pillow. I’m looking straight through an open window. The curtains are tied back, yet they move in and out as a gentle breeze comes through. I don't move except for the blinking of my eyes. It seems so peaceful here. It reminds me of the bed and breakfast where Lizzy and I stayed in North Carolina a few years back. Why am I here? How did I get here?

  Oh, John! John’s gone! He’s gone!

  Tears start filling my eyes. The beautiful, peaceful feeling is gone, yet I do not stir. Grief overwhelms me and my tears flow.

  “God, I don't understand. Why did You send him back into my life, only to snatch him away? I don’t understand.”

  I wish John had not found me. At least he would still be alive. What about Will? Another flow of tears stream down my cheeks.

  I'm so sorry, Will. I’m so sorry, Lizzy, I've tried. I've tried to make it home.

  I hope she is with Will, as I realize I may never see home again.

  The room is nice. Obviously, a woman decorated this room, with pastel colors and flower arrangements. There is carpet on the floor and a dresser along the wall. Next to the dresser, leaning against the wall is my pack with my shoes neatly set beside it. Determination rises back inside me. I am going to make it back home.

  But how? Oh, John, I need you as I've never needed you before!

  How am I going to make it when someone as capable as John doesn't? Memories of what John has done for me through the years flood my mind, how he's intervened on my behalf, even to the point of violence. The image from back in high school is vivid. John standing back up after defeating Clyde. He had blood on his face. He came over to where I was sitting after being shoved down by Clyde. Kathy was there with me, her arms around my shoulders.

  He knelt and asked, “Jill, are you okay?”

  The same words he asked this morning or whatever day it was.

  I whisper, “Thank you, John.”

  Now, because he helped me again, he’s gone. He’s gone!

  I continue to silently sob.

  Something seems amiss. My mourning stops and all my senses are alert. I still haven't moved, yet I sense I’m not alone. I listen intently. Then…something…something moves the bed ever so slightly.

  Oh no, no, no, no! This isn't going to happen! I’m going to die first!

  I start to turn quickly, but every bone and muscle in my body screams, STOP!

  Yet I turn, though slowly. There is a man in the bed beside me!

  Oh Dear God no!

  My mind is racing. Frantically I look around, searching for a weapon, but see nothing.

  I turn further around and catch a glimpse of him now. He’s lying there without a shirt. Quickly, I glance at myself. My shirt is on. I look under the covers. My pants are on. I look at the man more closely and my eyes grow wide. Tears blur my vision and I reach up to wipe them away.

  How can it be? How can he be here? What does it mean?

  The man beside me is John!

  He has a large bandage around his head. He’s pale, but it’s him, no doubt. I touch his cheek gently. His head is partially turned towards me. His face is warm but not hot. There is rough stubble on his chin. John was clean shaven when we left the barn. This can’t be the same day.

  “Dear God, thank You. Thank You for saving John’s life.”

  I rest my hand on John’s shoulder, close my eyes, and drift back to sleep.

  ***

  Later, I awaken, my hand still resting on his shoulder. There is movement beyond the closed bedroom door. There are two doors in this bedroom. The one I hear the noises from is on the opposite side of the window. Maybe a hall, but I don’t know where I am or whose house I’m in. The last thing I remember was people trying to kill us. But if they were going to kill us, why place us here? Why treat John’s wounds?

  John hasn’t moved. His skin is slightly pale, probably from all the blood he lost. I see his chest rise and fall with each breath. Strong, steady breathing. His bloody shirt is gone, and his chest is bare, showing strong shoulders and strong arms. John is not a big man, but from what I see, there is no doubt he is a strong man.

  I hear movement again and some voices. I sit up and almost cry at the terrible pain, but I force myself up and out of the bed. I’m still wearing the same clothes. The only things removed are my shoes and my holster. The extra magazine and knife from my pocket are gone too. That makes me nervous. If they weren’t going to hurt me, why would they take my knife and gun? I have no idea where I am, how I got here, or why I’m here.

  I move to my pack, feeling pain with each step. Unzipping the bag, I check inside. No Glock. The knife I always keep on the outside webbing of my pack is gone too. On the opposite wall is John’s pack, with his boots neatly arranged next to it. I check it for weapons. None. Even his scabbard kni
fe he keeps on the shoulder strap has been removed from its sheath. Digging down into my pack, I check one of the pouches on the inside. Yes! There’s my folding Kershaw knife Dad gave me to keep in my pack. I slip it in my pocket and put my shoes on.

  I need to use the bathroom bad, but I can’t, not knowing where I am and who is on the other side of the door. I glance at John one more time, then head for the door. I try the doorknob, it’s unlocked. Gently turning it, I very slowly open the door a crack and peek through, but all I can see is a hallway. I open the door further. It doesn’t creak. That’s good. I open it far enough to walk through. There’s no way I’m just going to poke my head through. Dad had told me that’s the fastest way to get a cracked skull if someone is on the other side. I ease through. Partially in and partially out. There are voices coming from my right. I scan the hall. It dead ends a few inches to the left of my door. Across the hall, I see another door to the right of mine and then another a little further down. They are both shut. The hallway ends at a large room to the left. I can see the back of a brown leather couch. People start talking again.

  I creep into the hall. My body is raging in pain, but I force myself to move. I remove the knife from my pocket and hold it behind my back, gripping the handle firmly with my thumb resting on the blade, ready to open it quickly. I ease down the hall. My heart is racing and adrenaline is coursing through my body. The sounds are coming from the right side at the end of the hall. I creep further down, halting near the corner. The hall is shorter on the left side. It opens into a great room of some type. It has a fireplace, couches, chairs, two recliners, and a TV. There’s a bookshelf lining one wall, and decorations and picture frames hanging on the wall. It seems like a homey place. Christian type decorations are many. It gives me some comfort, yet I still don’t know why I’m here.