by Steven Bird
Impressed at the stealth in which the car traveled as Spence pulled to a stop, Jessie said, “Wow, that thing is quiet.”
“I doubled up on the mufflers. I basically welded an extra one on after a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree bend in the pipe at the end, re-routing the exhaust back through the second muffler before dumping it out in the center of the car. It’s not ideal. It robs the car of a little more power than the single muffler, not to mention the fact that the exit location would make it too easy to gas myself if I sat in it too long with the engine running and not moving, but hey, it's got its purpose and it serves that purpose well.”
“You’ll hear no complaints from me,” Jessie said, admiring the little car. “I only managed to get twelve gallons of gas in all. I’m amazed so many of the cars had already been siphoned dry, but then again, the gang at the bridge had probably been feeding off them since they arrived.”
“How far outside of Cortez is your friend’s place?”
“A few miles to the east of town. He’s on a ten-acre parcel of land.”
“I’ve got maybe eight or nine gallons left in the car here. Once we get to your friend’s home and decide whether or not the airplane is a viable option, we can drain the gas from the car as well, if need be. It’s not like we’ll be needing it anymore from there,” suggested Spence.
Strapping the last of the fuel tanks on top of the car’s rear deck-lid cargo rack, Jessie walked over to the passenger-side door, began to open it, and said, “Let’s stop by the treatment plant. I’ve got a few things I want to look for that those filthy scumbags took from me.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Spence replied.
As they closed both doors, Spence started the little car and began to adjust his rear-view mirror, only to realize that the fuel tanks strapped to the rack were blocking his view. “Oh, what does it matter, anyway?” he said with a chuckle as the two began driving down the street.
“Are you sad to see it go?” Jessie asked.
“What?”
“Dolores. Are you sad to be driving out of Dolores for the last time?”
Looking over at him with a serious expression, Spence replied, “Dolores is nothing but a graveyard to me now. Everywhere I look, I see the homes that have become the tombs of my former friends and neighbors. I don’t care if I ever see that place again. It’s just full of ghosts for me.”
Knowing exactly how Spence felt, with similar feelings having driven him from his beloved mountain homestead, Jessie simply nodded to show his mutual understanding.
As Spence pulled into the upper parking lot of the water treatment plant, Jessie said, “Keep the car running. Just because it’s safe here now doesn’t mean it will be in ten minutes. You never know what’s going to come down that road next.”
“Roger that,” Spence replied.
“I’ll be quick,” Jessie said as he stepped out of the car, only taking with him, his trusty old single-action Colt.
As he entered the administrative office, the memories of his encounter with Wolf and his men came flooding back into his mind. Walking across the office floor to the far side of the room, just past the doorway leading down the stairs, Jessie opened a door to find a supply room full of office paper, pencils, pens, and other miscellaneous clerical supplies. Closing that door and then moving on to the next, Jessie opened it to find what he assumed was previously used as the manager’s office.
Lying on top of the desk in the office were several weapons, including Jessie’s beloved Winchester Model 70 that had been taken from him on the bridge. Picking it up, he continued to sift through what appeared to be the spoils of war for the men, who had taken weapons, and other valuable personal belongings from the people they robbed and killed. Numerous watches and other pieces of jewelry were strewn about the desk, as well as several wallets and ladies’ purses. What the hell did these guys think paper money and credit cards would do for them these days? I guess they were stealing for the sake of stealing, he thought.
Pushing a few watches out of the way, Jessie’s heart pounded in his chest as he saw his own wedding ring. Sliding it onto his finger, his pent-up sadness and rage flooded back into his mind, blackening his soul.
Picking up his Winchester, Jessie started to turn and walk out of the room, when out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of his journal lying on the floor, as if it had simply been kicked out of the way. Picking it up and stuffing it into his pocket, Jessie stormed out of the office. Walking with a brisk pace, struggling to hold back his emotions, Jessie returned to the parking lot and got in the car, laying the Winchester rifle alongside the two M-1A’s between the seats. Looking at Spence, Jessie abruptly said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Without saying a word, Spence slipped the car into gear, eased out on the clutch, and off they went across the bridge, heading south on Colorado 154.
~~~~
Arriving just outside of Cortez twenty minutes later, Spence stopped the car and looked over at Jessie, still lost in a rage-filled trance. “Hey. Jessie. Are you okay?”
Turning to look at him, Jessie said, “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
“So, where to from here?” Spence asked.
“Stay on 154 until you reach 160. Turn left on 160. It’s only a couple miles from there,” Jessie said as he rolled down his window.
“Are you getting hot?” Spence asked.
“No. This is a shooting port,” Jessie replied. “There will be a lot of buildings of to our right as we travel south. I just want to be ready to engage any potential threats.”
“Good thinking,” replied Spence as he focused on the road ahead.
With Jessie’s M-1A now resting awkwardly on the door of the car, with the barrel protruding outside, they made their way through the outskirts of Cortez uneventfully. Aside from a few signs of smoke from homes off in the distance, the city of Cortez, like Dolores, seemed to be mostly abandoned. The only signs of life were written warnings placed outside of barricaded neighborhood entrances that evoked threats of violence to any outsider who might try to enter.
~~~~
Turning on to Highway 160 as Jessie had instructed, the two men traveled west, leaving the city of Cortez behind. With desolate, wide open spaces in front of them, the scenery turned from the overgrown lawns of the homes and parks in Cortez to dry, brown, lifeless desert-like terrain. Both Jessie and Spence welcomed the emptiness. Deep down inside, they felt a reassurance that the emptiness and desolation of what lay ahead of them would also make it more likely to be devoid of people.
Passing the Montezuma County Fairgrounds off to their right, Jessie broke the silence by saying, “The turn-off to Joe’s place is just another mile or so ahead on the right. It’s a small dirt road, so it’s easy to miss.”
Nodding in understanding, Spence asked, “Did Joe have a family? Anyone that we might need to be concerned with that could have also gone to his place to seek refuge?”
“No one close,” Jessie replied. “He was originally from California. His father died of a heart attack several years before it all began. His mother passed away when he was younger. He had a sister, but I believe she was killed in a traffic accident some time ago. I think he may have had cousins, but none in the area. It’s sad really.”
“What’s sad?” Spence asked.
“That Joe probably had to go through all of this alone, facing the collapse of the modern society that was keeping him alive during his battle with cancer. Once the attacks started and the infrastructure fell, I just don’t see how he could have continued receiving treatment. It would be a rough way to go, being all alone while your body slowly killed itself.”
After a moment of silence as the men drove, Jessie raised his hand, pointing up ahead, and said, “There it is. The little dirt road off to the right.”
“That’s his driveway?” Spence asked, noting that it looked more like a random trail than a road.
“That’s the way he liked it. No one was going to accidentally turn down hi
s street,” Jessie said, acknowledging the brilliance of his old friend.
“Was Joe a like-minded individual?” Spence asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Was he prepared for the collapse, like us?”
“I wouldn’t say I was prepared,” replied Jessie. “No, Joe was just a loner for most of his life. I guess, in a way, having a general mistrust of society put him in that category by default. But no, Joe wasn’t a survivalist or prepper. He was just a man who preferred being alone.”
As Spence turned down the old worn and rutted dirt road, the low-riding Pontiac Fiero dragged the ground on occasion, barely maintaining its forward momentum as they navigated the road to Joe’s home. As they came up to a slight rise in the terrain, Jessie said, “Stop right here.”
“Do you see something?” asked Spence.
“No, but we can’t just go driving up to this place. Let’s shut the car off and observe for a while. No one could have a line of sight on us here from the house, so let’s take advantage of that and ensure we aren’t driving right up to a dangerous situation.”
“Roger that,” Spence replied.
Removing his Winchester rifle from the car, Jessie crept to the top of the hill, and lying in the prone shooting position, he began to survey the area down below through his rifle’s scope.
Crawling up to Jessie, Spence asked, “Do you see anything?”
“No, not yet. I’m not gonna make the same mistake twice, though, and just go strolling into an ambush. You watch our six while I keep an eye on the place. There’s no need to rush this. It’s not like we have to be back to work on Monday.”
With a chuckle, Spence replied, “Smart man.”
Chapter Thirty-One
As the eagle soared high in the sky, gliding on the thermals of air rising from the warm ground below, it spotted the signs of a prairie dog town with numerous burrows following along the natural lay of the terrain that was carved by a small stream.
Hungry for its next meal, the eagle tucked in its wings and dove toward the bustling network of prairie dog-filled tunnels below. Swooping in from a steep angle and at a high rate of speed, the eagle’s attack had gone unnoticed by its unsuspecting prey below.
As the eagle began to spread its wings and extend its talons to take its meal, a thunderous crack echoed through the valley, shattering the silence that was, until then, only filled with the sounds of nature. Feeling an impact on its left wing, the great bird looked to see a human appear from behind a constructed blind, who then fired another shot, with a flash of light followed by another thunderous crack...”
“Hey, Jessie. Wake up,” he heard as he felt something nudging his shoulder.
Flinching and grasping his rifle, Jessie heard, “Relax, it’s just me,” coming from Spence’s familiar voice. “Everything is okay. You just looked like you were having a bad dream or something. The sun is also starting to come up over the horizon. I thought you might want to enjoy it. Even though we’re surrounded by dark things, every morning God reminds us that light will prevail. I for one like to take a moment and enjoy the beautiful reminder.”
Rubbing his eyes, Jessie said, “I was just having another dream. My dreams seem more real to me as time goes on. It’s almost like they are telling me something, too.”
“That could be the Ute in you,” Spence said with a smile.
“Yeah,” Jessie replied. “That’s what my wife used to tell me. So how long was I out?”
“Just an hour or two. It was so quiet out here that I figured I’d just let you sleep. You’re still not a hundred-percent with that shoulder injury there. You need to get more rest than you probably want to. Besides, you can’t see through your scope in the dark anyway.”
“Have you seen or heard anything?”
“Not a peep or movement other than the birds flying overhead.”
Jessie replied only with a chuckle.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.”
For the next few minutes, the two men observed the beauty of the morning’s sunrise over the eastern horizon. As the sun came up, its rays painted the sky red as it illuminated the high clouds while casting a shadow over the terrain in the distance, creating a striking contrast between the ground and the sky.
“How does it go? Red sails at night, sailors’ delight, red sails in the morning, sailors take warning? Or something like that,” Jessie said, noting the beauty of the bright orange and red colors in the sky.
“I always heard it told as red skies, but yeah, something like that,” Spence replied. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Let’s wait here just a little longer. We need to see if there’s any morning activity at the house. People generally have a morning routine of some sort and we may be able to spot a sign of it if anyone’s around. Let’s just give it a little while longer.”
“Sounds good to me,” Spence replied.
~~~~
As the sun approached the position of high noon, Jessie looked over to Spence, who was clearly becoming restless, and said, “I think we’re good. You fire the car up and climb in. Drive slow and I’ll walk along beside you. The terrain is too open to try to sneak up on the place. If something happens, I’ll be able to use the car for cover while I engage the threat. If we’re both in the car, we won’t have enough freedom of movement in its tight confines to adequately defend ourselves. If I go down, you get out of here as fast as you can.”
“If that’s the best plan you’ve got, then okay,” Spence reluctantly replied.
As the two men crept toward the house, Spence driving the Fiero while Jessie walked alongside with his M-1A at the ready, both men kept a keen eye on the home, looking for signs of movement. Just fifty feet from the house, Jessie signaled for Spence to bring the car to a stop.
“What is it?” asked Spence. “Do you see something?”
“No, but I need you to cover me while I approach the house. Leave the car running and get out and kneel behind the door and cover the house with your rifle.”
“You do realize these doors are basically plastic, right?” Spence said, referring to the lack of ballistic protection they would afford him. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said as he put the car back in gear and pulled forward, turning sharply to the left. Leaving the car running, but in neutral, he then climbed out of the car and knelt down behind the rear wheel, propping his rifle on the supplies strapped to the rear deck lid.
Shaking his head from side to side in jest, Jessie smiled at Spence and proceeded toward the front door of the older brick one-story ranch-style home.
Reaching the door, Jessie stepped off to the side with his back against the wall, out of view of the home’s windows, and looked to Spence. Giving him a thumbs up to proceed, Jessie reached to his left and placed his hand on the doorknob, only to find it to be locked.
Waving for Spence to join him, Jessie watched as Spence shut off the ignition, removed the keys, and slipped up to the house where Jessie awaited.
“Are you afraid someone's gonna steal your pride and joy there?” Jessie said with a sly grin.
“You can never be too careful,” he replied. “I sure would hate to hear our gear drive away while we’re checking out the house.”
With a nod, Jessie said, “Okay, I don’t want to just start breaking windows and kicking doors in, just in case someone is around. Judging from the dirt and debris around the front of the house, it doesn’t appear anyone’s been accessing it from the front anytime in recent days. They could be laying low and using the back door, though. There are no windows on that side of the house because of the garage,” Jessie said, pointing. “Let’s go around that way and check out around back. We’ll look for signs of recent entry first. If nothing presents itself, we’ll try the door, or even a window if we must.”
Nodding in agreement, Spence followed Jessie around the side of the house, clearing around each corner as they went. Pausing before exposing himself to the back side of the house, Jessie looked around, s
eeing no signs of recent activity, and said, “Okay, I’m gonna slip underneath those windows. You cover me from here and keep an eye out behind you as well. I’ll signal if it’s clear.”
“Roger that,” Spence replied as Jessie worked his way to the back door.
Seeing damage to the door jamb from what appeared to be a forced entry, Jessie thought to himself, this looks like it was done a while ago. The broken wood looks weathered. Nothing fresh. Nudging the door open with his left hand, with his rifle slung over his shoulder, Jessie drew his Colt .45, cocked the hammer back with his thumb, and slipped into the house.
Entering through the back door, Jessie found himself in the kitchen. With just enough light shining through the opening between the window curtains to light his way, he could see that the house had been ransacked. Every cabinet door had been left wide open, with the unwanted contents scattered around on the floor.
The house seemed entirely devoid of food products, and on the kitchen countertop, Jessie noticed that the butcher block-style knife holder was completely empty. I guess knives could come in handy for a lot of things these days, he thought.
Hearing a bump in one of the other rooms, Jessie spun around with his Colt at the high ready position. Assuming the noise came from one of the bedrooms, Jessie silently lowered the hammer on his revolver and re-holstered it, bringing his rifle to bear. The M-1A, being a full-sized main-battle rifle, could be unwieldy in a close quarters situation, but Jessie felt the extra firepower of the .308 cartridge might come in handy with only flimsy hollow interior doors and sheetrock walls to shield any possible threat from his wrath.
Slipping quietly from the kitchen of the dark and musty house, Jessie saw the silhouette of a man sitting in Joe’s recliner in the middle of the room, facing an old television set. Turning quickly and aiming his rifle at the man, Jessie quickly realized the man had long since expired, his body fully decomposed, resembling a mummified skeleton, as nothing remained but dry skin and bones, held in place only by the man’s clothing.
