by S. Ison
Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina
Reed and Jimmy rode their bikes along the deserted streets of Sullivan’s Island. It was a warm morning, and the breeze from the ocean felt fresh and welcome. They were on the search for walky-talkies or shortwave or CB radios. They were also warning their erstwhile neighbors of the possible threat. They’d not seen any strangers, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t come ashore or might come back.
They’d warned June, the woman who’d traded the chickens. She was sitting on her porch swing, set up on the long wraparound porch, swinging back and forth. She was rail-thin and wore faded jeans and an over-large hunting shirt. Her gray hair was up in a knot on the top of her head, her skin a rich brown. She held a pipe in her teeth, smoking a fragrant tobacco that made its way down to Reed and Jimmy.
Around the yard were many chickens, and the smell of chicken shit hung like a fug around the house. Beneath the porch was an ancient dog of indeterminate heritage. Reed wondered if it was dead.
Her second oldest boy, so she said, a lanky young man of about twenty-four, stood on the wraparound porch with a deer rifle across his arms, and nodded. His clothes were well-worn, but clean and surprisingly neat. Ironed, in fact. They must have used a hot stone or an old-fashioned iron. Though young, his attitude seemed older. The days of living carefree were long gone.
“Thanks for comin’ by an’ warnin’ us. I’ll send a couple of the young’uns out an’ snoop round. Iffin they’s sees anythang, I’ll send ’em yer way,” she said, a toothy grin breaking out on her thin face.
Reed smiled. He could hear the young’uns screaming and fighting in the back of the house. Giving them a task to do would get the grandchildren out of her hair. He nodded to Jimmy, and they took off.
The heat of the sun beat down on their backs, the sun near its zenith. It must be near the mid-sixties, Reed thought. Sweat ran down his back.
Reed and Jimmy stopped at an abandoned house they’d visited a month before. They’d not been looking for any kind of communication gear at that time, just food.
He and Jimmy both carried Glocks, as they were lightweight and easy to carry, and less likely to jam. Jimmy looked around, the breeze picking up the pale hair off his brow. Both ascended the stairs to the porch slowly and cautiously. Each winced at the loud creaking under Jimmy’s foot as he stepped on the worn boards.
“We sure as shit won’t surprise anyone now,” Jimmy said laughing, his eyes crinkling in humor and embarrassment. In the distance, the raucous calls of seagulls seem to laugh in comradery with him.
Reed laugh and smiled at his husband. “Goober. You’d make a lousy Marine.”
“That is certainly true. Better you than me, dear.” Jimmy winked and went up the rest of the steps rapidly.
Both men stood at the door and knocked loudly.
“We aren’t here to rob you, if someone is here. We are coming in, do not shoot. We are neighbors,” Reed called out loudly, using his Gunny Sargent voice.
They waited for a few seconds before opening the door and carefully stepping in. The house was dark and musty. Both listened carefully, and heard nothing. No creaking or movements. The house was deserted.
“Let’s separate and look around for anything we can use. We may have overlooked something before, you never know,” Reed said, turning to the right.
“Sounds good. Just be careful,” Jimmy said, moving in the opposite direction.
Reed went into the small kitchen. All the cupboards were open; there was no food. He went to reach for the refrigerator, and stopped himself just in time. God only knew what was rotting inside, and he didn’t want to let that putrid genie out of the bottle. His hand tingled with the thrill of a near miss.
He looked around in the pantry and found a box of plastic freezer bags. He picked it up and tossed it onto the kitchen table, a fifties-style blue dinner table. He smiled, knowing Jimmy would love the retro look. Reed was more partial to contemporary. He wondered, as he always did, about who had lived in the home.
There were so very few of them left on the island, and it was a real mixed bag of people and backgrounds. It seemed that he and Clive were the only ones with military backgrounds. Nevertheless, the small group worked well together, like a well-oiled military machine. He grinned at the thought. Things could be so much worse, and he and Jimmy had made it so far when all around them had perished.
They’d planned to have children, but now that the world had died, the thought of bringing children up in this mess was unthinkable and, in a way, he was profoundly grateful they’d not gotten that far. Greg and Becky would grow up in a world with very few avenues and choices, only survival. If it was as bad as Reed thought it was, humankind would never recover. It would survive and perhaps go on, but it wouldn’t come close to anything like it had been. Any major disaster or disease could wipe them out in one fell swoop.
Banishing the dark thoughts, he made his way to what looked to be a study. It was filled with books, and he made a mental note to come back with a box and pick some up. The room smelled musty, and the leather from the chair reminded him of his father’s study. His hands moved lightly over the bound books. He’d make sure that whatever he took didn’t have any mold on it.
Pulling out drawers, he shifted papers, looking under and around. He found a .38 special and a box of shells. Nice, he thought. He pulled it out and laid it on the desk. Walking over to a closet, he opened it, and there on a shelf stood a shortwave radio.
“Bingo!” he shouted.
Jimmy’s feet pounded down the hall, then he poked his head around the corner. “Found something?”
“Yeah, got a shortwave radio! It’s old, and I’m not sure it works, but it’s something to work with. Also, we should come back with a box and borrow some of these books.” Reed nodded to the bookshelves.
Jimmy walked over and began reading some of the titles. “Nice selection. I think we should take a couple now, along with the radio, and the gun.” Choosing a couple volumes, he walked over and looked in the closet.
“See anything else we could use?”
“No. For now we should get this stuff back, then head out again. See if we can find walky-talkies,” Reed suggested.
“Sounds good. I’ll get a pillowcase from one of the bedrooms – there’s nothing in them except clothes and such. Maybe also keep an eye out for kids’ clothes and shoes. The two we have won’t stay little forever, and I’m sure Pearl and Laura will appreciate new and larger size clothes for the kiddies,” Jimmy said.
“Good idea. You never cease to amaze me, thinking about others and the future.” Reed grinned and pulling Jimmy’s head to him to kiss the crown of dirty blond hair.
Jimmy laughed and kissed Reed back. “That’s why you married me, because I’m so amazing.”
“I married you because you tolerate my bullshit and paranoia. And yes, because you’re amazing. Let’s get out of here before your ego gets any bigger. I can’t take you anywhere.”
Jimmy sniggered, his shoulders bouncing up and down in exaggerated jocularity, and preceded Reed out of the office.
Bridgman, Michigan
Mike sat at the table, holding Zackary’s sleeping form. Janet was tending to his burns, weeping softly all the while. Mike was numb, and he stared unseeing at the sleeping child in his arms. He’d told Janet what had happened, told her he would go back to bury his friend when the ground thawed around the house.
Silent tears slipped down his cheeks, and he wiped at them with a paper towel; he didn’t want to get Zack’s head wet. He bent forward and placed a trembling kiss on the downy soft blond head, his fingers smoothing back the boy’s hair.
“What are you going to do, Mike?” Janet asked quietly, trying to get her crying under control.
“I’m going after them. I’m going to try to get Alisa back alive. Zack needs his mom, and I need to make sure Stephen can rest easy.”
“When will you leave?”
“In the morning. I hope you don’t mind
watching Zack for me? I’ve brought most of his supplies. They didn’t touch those, thank God.”
“Of course I’ll care for him,” Janet said softly and firmly.
Mike knew Janet loved the baby like a grandchild.
“I’ve got to hunt them all down and kill them,” he said flatly, “otherwise they will just come back and maybe find you and Zack. I can’t have that. I failed Stephen and Alisa. I won’t fail you or Zack.”
“You can’t blame yourself for this, Mike,” Janet protested. “There have always been bad people out there. Especially now. There will always be bad people, evil people. You couldn’t have known. Blaming yourself is a waste of emotion and energy.” She squeezed his uninjured shoulder.
Mike placed his larger hand over hers and squeezed softly. “Thank you, Janet. I don’t know what I would do without you. I’m not sure how long this will take. And I may not come back. But it won’t be for lack of trying. Either way, I will bring Alisa back one way or another. I won’t leave her out there with those animals.”
Zack stirred, and Mike shifted his weight. The baby settled back into deep slumber. “You’re my son now, little man, and I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Mike said softly, his finger tracing the rounded soft cheek.
Zack responded with nursing motions, his small pink mouth miming the process. Mike felt tears burn his eyes again. He would find those animals and wipe them from the face of the Earth. He’d make sure they’d never harm another human being.
CHAPTER EIGHT
San Gabriel Mountains, California
It had been a few days of hard walking. The first day, the air had been cold and heavy and Larry had been afraid it might snow. It would be harder going and slippery if it did. They had gone down into a valley and then back up the other side, higher into the tree line, where the conifers were thick. The dense forest was muted, their steps muffled by the thick carpet of pine needles. At times, their path leveled out and walking was easy, and the burning in his legs eased. Then they would head upward, and his legs would complain about the abuse.
Larry had no clue as to where they were, but Charmain seemed to know exactly where they were headed. He’d seen her look at her watch periodically, and when he’d asked her about it, she’d held up her wrist.
“It’s a compass. You can’t really navigate in these forests without one. I have no clue how you ever made it, or how you found me,” she’d said.
“Sheer dumb luck,” he’d laughed.
It had been one of the few times they’d spoken during their trek. She’d meant it about staying silent. As they travelled farther south, it had become warmer. Within the last hour, they’d slowed their pace. She had also unslung her AR15, and he did likewise.
She stopped ahead of him and held up a hand. He immediately halted. Waiting, he looked around and listened. He could hear the thundering of his heart in his ears, and was almost afraid she could hear it too. The hair on his body rose. It was a primordial warning. He sniffed the air, afraid there was a big cat.
He smelled earth, dirt, dead leaves, and pine resin from the tree beside him. He heard the low hum of bugs, but no birds. His hair stood more erect and goosebumps formed, almost making him shiver. His brain was beginning to ring the warning bell.
Charmain gave a forward signal, and he stepped slowly and quietly forward. Coming up beside her, he looked where she was looking. At first, he saw nothing.
He tried to relax and let his eyes glide slowly, like she’d taught him. Then he saw it. A large mountain lion, tugging at the insides of a very large deer. The body of the deer jerked almost obscenely as the big cat pulled and tugged a bloody chunk of flesh away. The cat was down in a small valley, about five hundred yards away, but that was still too close for Larry. The ease with which the large cat tore at the deer’s flesh made him shudder. He was sure the deer weighed more than he did.
The warning bells were now screaming with panic. He began to pant.
Charmain laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to him. “It’s okay, Larry,” she whispered. “That cat doesn’t see us as a threat, and we are far enough away from him that we are safe enough. We’re also down-wind from him, so he can’t smell us. Let’s back out and go around this big boy. We’ll give him no reason to come after us.”
Larry nodded readily, backed away slowly, and followed Charmain, staying close and looking back over his shoulder constantly. As they moved slowly between the trees, Larry watched where Charmain placed her feet. She was avoiding the small limbs and branches that littered the ground.
They needed to use the trees to steady themselves, the ground was so uneven. Rocks were scattered around, and Larry didn’t want to step on one and twist an ankle. Making noise of any kind would probably draw unwanted attention from the mountain lion.
The forest wasn’t as dense here, and though it would be easy to run between the trees, Larry was sure they’d never outrun that big cat. And he didn’t want to shoot it either.
It wasn’t a pleasant feeling knowing that you were at the bottom of the food chain. In all his years, he’d never even given it a thought. But when he and Jake had gone into the woods to escape Los Angeles and the gangs and dangerous people, it had become quite clear that humankind was now on the level of prey species.
Two hours later, Charmain once again held up her hand. Larry stopped and listened. Very faintly, in the distance, he heard human laughter. Once again, the hair on his body rose. Something about the laughter was wrong.
Charmain signaled him to approach slowly and he did so, each step slow and carefully placed. He was fairly sure he wouldn’t alert those farther away, but he knew there could be outlying sentries.
Coming abreast of Charmain, she leaned near him. “I can hear them, but I can’t see them. From here, we proceed very slowly and very quietly. Listen out for everything. Keep your head on a swivel. You see something, you freeze. I’ll know it, and you can point it out. Don’t make a sound,” she warned in a whisper.
Larry nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. The bizarre urge to take a crap nearly overwhelmed him. He tried bringing moisture to his mouth, and finally got his fear under control.
They began to move forward, and the movement reminded Larry of a praying mantis, going forward, pausing in midstride, then going forward again after many seconds of suspended motion.
Time seemed to stand still as they made their way toward the laughter. Charmain led them to a huge downed tree, the trunk as high as their chests. Lifting a hand, she halted.
Through the thick branches and underbrush, Larry could make out people in a clearing about three hundred feet from their position. Too close for comfort, Larry thought grimly. Tree stumps dotted the clearing, so it was clearly manmade. Most of the trees hadn’t been that large, so perhaps a grove of saplings. Some unused wood lay by the fire. The ground looked like it had been packed down, as well as any vegetation that might have grown there. As his eyes scanned the group, he spotted a pile of clothes off to one side of the clearing.
Most of the people were dressed in heavy coats, and some wore bandanas, while others had ball caps on. Quite a few had nothing on their heads. Just about all the people looked to be gang members, perhaps three separate gangs, with each group wearing bandanas or hats of similar color.
They reminded him of the gangs he’d seen in Los Angeles, and they’d clearly joined forces. There were a few women, but those they could see were probably gang members themselves. One, standing by the fire, wore an absurdly pink fluffy coat. Her hands were stretched forward as she tried to warm herself. She was neither tied up nor looked to be in any distress.
Silently, Larry began to count the people he could see
Charmain nudged him, and he abandoned the count. They slowly moved closer to the group, keeping behind large trees as they went. He was careful where he placed his feet and stepped only where Charmain trod. They found a large grouping of boulders and squatted behind them.
Charmain lay down on her belly and inched forward, cl
oser to the clearing. Larry did likewise, until they came to a split tree. Once there, they brought up their binoculars to get a better look.
He put his hand to his mouth to stifle a cry of horror. With the help of his binoculars, he realized that what he’d thought was a pile of clothes was in fact people. Dead people. Naked, bruised, and bloodied. From the looks of the feet he could see, he surmised they’d been forced to walk barefoot. Tears burned his eyes.
The bodies had been dirty and in rags, and he could see open wounds even from the distance up in the woods. He saw the bulge of intestines, and he couldn’t imagine the hell they’d gone through before they’d been killed. And now they were discarded like trash, no thought of humanity, or compassion. The cruelty was beyond him.
He looked at Charmain. Her face was set like stone, and though her mouth was a hard-thin line, he saw it tremble ever so slightly. The sheen of tears glinted in her eyes.
And the woman by the fire, in that ridiculous pink fuzzy coat? It was filthy, as were all the people there. As though they didn’t know what water was for. They sat or stood around, drinking from bottles. He assumed it was alcohol. Who would bring booze and leave life-giving water? It was like they didn’t know what to do.
If they were indeed gang members, then perhaps they didn’t know how to live outdoors. They’d be more used to taking things from others. The easy way. But now there was no easy way. It was damned difficult to survive. And if you didn’t know how, it was damned near impossible, as he and Jake found out. They’d even had the benefit of that book, and still they’d struggled. And then Jake had died from eating poisonous mushrooms. Ignorance killed.
It was difficult to comprehend. He and Jake had fought so hard to stay alive. They’d conserved water when they could, bathed when they could. They’d never felt clean, but they’d at least attempted it. These people were practically animals. It was frightening, and the thought made the hair on his arm rise. He remembered the laughing. It hadn’t sounded normal.
