Survivors of the Sun

by Kingslie, Mia

  Georgia nodded. That made sense. Nodding her thanks to Rebecca, she reached over and picked up the roll of medical tape and the cotton wool.

  ‘How does it feel?’ She asked Lola a few minutes later as she ever so gently pressed down the ends of the tape.

  ‘Like someone broke my node.’

  They all laughed, including Lola.

  Georgia slipped off the table, gathering up the supplies. ‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked Lola as she put the bag away in her pack.

  ‘No, I dink we should ged oud of here.’

  ‘I agree,’ Rebecca said, ‘anything not to hear that woman’s voice again.’

  Shortly afterwards they reached the river, walking along the stony bank until they found a relatively shallow place which they all agreed looked like a good place to cross.

  There then ensued a long discussion about who would carry what, and how deep it might be in the middle, and should Millie be allowed to swim. This might have continued for quite a while, had it not been for Jamie suddenly breaking in to the conversation, with an urgent whisper, ‘they are coming back, and they have just come over the top of the hill.

  ‘If we want to get away before they see us, then we better leave now,’ Georgia said. She felt a momentary pang of guilt about leaving Ken and his family to fend for themselves. She felt as though she should tell them about the nuclear power stations, and the lawlessness and that they should boil their water, and the hundred and one other things they had learnt in the last days.

  However, that little nagging voice in the back of her mind was back. ‘Don’t be a fool,’ it said, ‘you are barely managing with the responsibilities you have now, and you have no idea how they are going to react.

  The discovery that there is absolutely no law seems to have been embraced very rapidly by a large percentage of the population. Why would they be any different?’ They have just discovered that the shit has hit the proverbial fan and they have hardly any food and no resources for finding any in a hurry. They might try to take the little we have. It would be crazy to risk it.

  Georgia hoisted her pack back on, checked again that the shotgun was on safety and in less than a minute, they were wading across the river. She held the shotgun above her head, Ant sitting quietly in the bottom of her bag. Rebecca carried Millie, while Jamie and Lola held the caddy, with Badger still nestled inside, up out of the water.

  As they reached the other side, they heard Ken’s voice call out. ‘Hello, uh… ladies are you um… still here?’

  ‘Keep going,’ Georgia insisted, ‘they can’t see us, and they won’t, not unless they come right down to the river.’

  Ken called out again, ‘there’s no need to hide, we believe you,’ His voice was much louder now and there was an anxious quality to it.

  Georgia led the others through the scrub, following the river upstream.

  Then Gina was calling out, her voice reedy and taut; high-tension wire about to snap and unravel. ‘No need to be afraid. You can…’ the next few words were unclear and then they heard ‘not safe to travel without a man.’

  ‘What did she say?’ Georgia whispered, ‘I couldn’t quite make it all out, over the noise of the river.’

  ‘I think she was offering to let us travel with them,’ Lola said.

  ‘Yeah, cause we don’t have a man,’ Rebecca added, rolling her eyes.

  ‘Yeah, we do,’ Deedee exclaimed most indignantly, ‘we have Jamie.’

  ‘Yes, that is so true. We have Jamie,’ Georgia agreed, as they slipped away into the late afternoon shadows leaving the picnic hut as just a memory of a place they had once visited.

  Chapter Thirty One

  August 7th, Day 28

  It was seventeen days since they had left Picnic Place, twenty-three days since they had met up with Lola, and twenty-eight days since Jamie’s hair had stood up and the power had gone out. Twenty eight days since Nathan had rushed off early, taking his half full cup of coffee with him. He had been in such a hurry he hadn’t even stopped to kiss her goodbye.

  Georgia estimated that in that time, they had travelled ninety miles, give or take a few. Only ninety miles! Less than a quarter of the distance, they needed to travel to reach Bethel.

  They had been forced to stop for four days at one point, when Badger had taken a turn for the worse, becoming hot to the touch, refusing to eat or drink, but by the third day, she had begun to recover, and now apart from a puckered red scar along her flank, and the occasional fit (and those were becoming shorter and further apart), she was back to her old self.

  But the continuous desperate search for food and water, was the biggest factor slowing them down. The store bought food, or rather the store liberated food had long run out. They had been living on rabbits and small game, becoming regular scavengers as they scoured their surroundings for anything edible. Half ready corn, dandelions, sugar beet, cat-tail shoots and the ever available, hateful, spiteful thistles.

  It seemed to Georgia that they were always hungry and even though they shared the little they had with the dogs, the three of them had taken to eating grasshoppers and other insects to supplement their lean diet. They too were learning the art of survival.

  That they could walk the miles was not in question, all of them were so much fitter now, but they couldn’t do it without food. This fact more than any other scared her, caused her to wake with a start, night after night, sweating profusely and breathing heavily, as though she had been running from the devil himself. It had woken her again tonight. At this rate they would not reach Bethel until…, well, well they simply would not get there in time, they would freeze to death.

  They had another eight weeks, if they were lucky, of relatively warm weather. The days had been unbearable, hotter than she could ever remember. The heat was slowing them, but her fear lay in knowing how fast that could change. Fall was not far off, winter close on her heels.

  It was too dark to see the dial of her watch but as she sat up, she guessed that it was close to midnight. Even so, she doubted the temperature had dropped much below 85 degrees Fahrenheit. They still slept beneath the tent canopy, in case it rained. Up till now it had rained only once, intense torrential rain, the sort of rain one only found in the tropics, and yet it had rained like that in Missouri. The deluge had been sucked up by the thirsty plants and the ground, and within a day the landscape returned to its choking dryness.

  Now, it was as before, with rain that never seemed to come, always promised, in the rolling grey clouds, but never arriving. They slept with the blanket kicked off, way too hot for that, it would have been too hot even to sleep under a sheet, if they had owned one. Exhaustion allowed them to doze through the constant whining of mosquitoes and other insects that flew around or crawled over them, biting, stinging and sucking blood. They were all covered in bites; the calamine lotion bottle empty but not discarded. Small bottles with caps were hard to come by these days.

  Tonight, a light wind had sprung up, helping to clear away the unwelcome night invaders, but even so it was not a pleasant breeze. It was warm, disagreeably warm and somehow threatening. Georgia slipped away from the others, leaving them sleeping, walking slowly through the waist high grass, breaking all their rules. It was so dark, but yet there was a menacing purple glow to the blackness and the stars were brighter than ever before. They were in a valley of sorts, with very few trees, the hills surrounding them, a coliseum of jet-black against the sky. The low hills were edged with a thin orange line, as though the world was on fire, the tops of the hills hiding the horror of what lay on the other side, as they merely reflected the flames. But she knew there was no fire for there was no smell of smoke in the air. As she stood there, the wind began to blow in sweeping gusts, so hot and somehow frightening, a low moaning in the air as it swept through the valley laying the grass flat, and grasping at her clothing and her hair like an impatient lover.

  It was a wind, like no other, she had ever experienced. An unnatural wind, a supernatural wind, and fo
r one panic-stricken moment she wanted to run, for it seemed to her that surely this wind was sweeping across the entire planet, gathering force. Sweeping and sucking, as though a great hole had torn in the stratosphere, and in the next few moments, seconds maybe, the wind would increase its fury, the moaning would become a howl and then a shriek that would shatter eardrums as it ripped and tore everything from the surface of the earth. Sucking it all out, through that punctured membrane, into space and into the great eternal blackness.

  She did not run, instead she leaned into the wind, her arms stretched out, squinting her eyes against its brutality. ‘Bring it on,’ she thought, if this is the end, then so be it. End this struggle.

  The last weeks were a blur of fields and trees, and the small towns, and settlements they had skirted around. After the Picnic Hut, they had continued in a southeasterly direction, passing midway between Peculiar and Raymore. They had continued towards Harrisonville. Crossed state Highway K and followed the east state route to Gunn city. Though it seemed to Georgia that they had missed Gunn city; they only found a few scattered houses.

  That had been the night of the rain, and they had attempted to find shelter in a barn from the raging storm, but shortly after they had settled down for the night, they had been discovered by the owner. He had clearly not wanted them there. They had fled into the darkness and the thunder and the rain, as he fired his shotgun after them. The blasts from the weapon, echoing crazily around them and mingling with the thunder that crashed and rolled over the plains.

  They had slept huddled in a group, the tent canopy wrapped around them, the dogs somewhere in amongst the tangle of their legs and arms. It was too dark to set up a campsite, too wet to start a fire. The rain managing to find its way in and by morning they were all soaked through to the skin. They had walked for a couple of hours, and eventually had been forced back onto the road as the fields were too muddy, making progress even slower. From there they had travelled across country more or less in a straight line, relying on the compass; following a setting of 128 degrees so until they were close to Clinton. Each evening by the light of the fire, Georgia had carefully recorded the progress they had made, the disjointed pencil marks stretching diagonally across the map. Such a tiny line in comparison to the real distance they had travelled.

  Tomorrow, if there was a tomorrow, they would continue to follow Missouri Route 7, bypass Clinton and head into the area on the map shaded a dark green, into the Harry S Truman reservoir.

  Yes, the last weeks had been hell. The stifling heat made travelling unbearable and there was the eternal search for water and supplies. They trudged past towns that were burning. Towns that seemed deserted, ghost like with their empty windows and doors that banged in the hot dusty wind. Then there were the towns that were unapproachable. Huge barricades built across the freeways and roads, barbwire draped everywhere, closely guarded by men in military clothing, heavy boots and armed to the teeth. They avoided them all, always on the alert for danger, ever hyper vigilant.

  Sometimes, it seemed to Georgia, that everything was simply a means to slow them down. As though there were evil forces out there, trying to prevent them ever reaching Bethel.

  She was struggling with the responsibility, always afraid that any decision she made, any choice of direction, would lead to their deaths and as they walked she would find herself avoiding the cracks in the road, or if there were no roads, mustn’t step on a twig, for surely if she did something terrible would happen.

  She worried about her sanity. Avoiding the cracks was something that children did, that she had done herself when she was very little. Knowing it was childish; knowing it was only foolish superstition, did not help. Telling herself she wouldn’t do it again, changed nothing, for she would find herself again and again, avoiding the cracks, not stepping on twigs, waiting for disaster to strike at every turn in the road and the longer their luck held out, the harder it became for her to deal with. The odds were stacking against them, of that Georgia was convinced.

  She found herself struggling to stay upright in the wind, the air thick with dust and grass seeds. She coughed as she turned and ran back to the hollow where the others were sleeping. As she ran, she could hear Lola and the others calling for her.

  ‘I’m coming,’ she called back, and for a moment she was disorientated, unsure which way to go, then she heard Lola’s voice again. She reached the others just as the wind tore the tent canopy loose, the tethered ropes whipping back and forth. She plunged after the canopy as it billowed and swooped and flew, taking on a life of its own before ensnaring in the low hanging branches of a tree. Georgia leapt upon it, bunching it down into a ball.

  ‘What the hell were you thinking?’ Lola snapped at her, as she struggled to untie the ropes, ‘since when do we just walk off and not tell anyone where we are going?’ Georgia didn’t reply, she knew she had been wrong to do that. They managed to get everything stuffed into the packs, and hunkered down into the shelter of the hollow and stretched the blanket over them.

  They were relatively safe there, as they gripped the edges of the blanket to stop it blowing away, the cover protecting their eyes from the onslaught of dust, and then as suddenly as the wind had come, it had stopped.

  In the morning Georgia felt a little sheepish, remembering her flights of fancy the night before, and Lola’s justified anger, but the wind had been real, as had the strange glow and she knew that she would never forget how supremely surreal and strangely beautiful it had all been.

  They cooked and ate the last of the sugar beet for breakfast; the last of their food. Her pack had become terrifyingly light, the shopping caddy empty, save for extra water bottles and only one of those was full. They would need to find food and water very soon. At least for once, water was not going to be a problem, now that they were within walking distance of the lake. Georgia smiled ruefully to herself at this thought. These days everywhere, was within walking distance!

  She went over to the packs and took out the map, spreading it out on the ground before her, wincing at the pain in her fingers. How she hated those thistles. She had removed so many of the unbelievably long red tipped prickles, but the ones she had missed were becoming septic, tiny red bumps with yellow centers, so small and yet so ridiculously painful whenever she put any pressure on them.

  ‘So how far are we going today?’ Lola asked, coming to sit down next to her, tugging a comb through her hair. The long blonde locks hopelessly tangled, yet despite the hardships they had endured, Lola was looking lean, fit and muscled, moving with the ease and grace of a panther. They all did. ‘At least Lola’s nose had healed well,’ Georgia thought as she turned her attention back to the map. You would always be able to tell that it had been broken, it was no longer straight, and the gash across her bridge had settled down to an angry pink line, with just the tiniest pucker where it had threatened to become infected.

  As Lola leaned forward, Georgia turned the map so Lola could see it more clearly. ‘We are here, just before Clinton, we should probably skirt around it, and head for the lake, maybe a day’s walk, if we really push ourselves.’

  Suddenly Rebecca was between them, kneeling to look at the map as she pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘Did you say Clinton? We can’t skirt round Clinton. That’s where Lexie lives. We simply have to go and see if she is okay.’

  For a moment Georgia was puzzled, Lexie? Who the hell is Lexie? Then she remembered.

  ‘You know who she is, my homeschool friend, the one I always talk to on skype.’

  ‘And she lives in Clinton?’ Lola asked, looking as surprised as Georgia felt. ‘This Clinton? Because there are…,’

  ‘Well obviously this Clinton, or I wouldn’t be suggesting we go and visit. She lives there with her mum and granny,’ her voice had an impatient edge to it.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Georgia said slowly, ‘I think it is out of the question, it is far too risky, you don’t even know if she is still there, and…,’

  ‘You know what I
think? I think you are horrible, you have taken me away from my dad, and my mum, and now you want to keep me away from my friends…,’

  ‘Whoa, stop right there,’ Georgia said calmly, though she was completely taken aback by this attack. ‘I did not take you away from your parents, if you recall, your dad never came back home, neither of your parents turned up. I didn’t have any other choice. Have you really forgotten that?’

  She could not recall ever being this hurt by Rebecca, her words were so unjust. She would have said more, but Lola laid a calming hand on her shoulder. ‘She’s not trying to keep you away from your friends, Rebecca, she is trying to keep you alive, to keep all of us alive, and so far she is doing a pretty good job. I really think you need to apologize.’

  ‘What would you know,’ Rebecca snapped, as she flung the map aside, then stood up and stalked off.

  Even though Georgia had been somewhat shocked by Rebecca’s outburst she could not help but feel sorry for her. She watched her as she slumped down against a tree on the far side of their campsite. Her step daughter looked so forlorn. She had lost her mum and her dad, and now suddenly there had been a glimmer of hope that she would find someone from her other life, her best friend no less. And she, Georgia had snatched it away. She could understand how in Rebecca’s eyes, that made her the bad guy.

  ‘Ignore her,’ Lola said, ‘she will snap out of it. She is just being a hormonal teenager.’

  ‘I guess,’ Georgia sighed.

  ‘So after we skirt round Clinton, then what?’ Lola prompted when Georgia had remained silent.

  She picked the map up off the ground, brushed the dirt off it and continued, ‘so after Clinton and once we get past Tightwad we will detour south and make camp by the lake. Then tomorrow we will go back up to Missouri Route 7 and head for the dam. It’s the only way to get across the reservoir. It is out of the question to go all the way round. Lola nodded as Georgia tapped the map thoughtfully. ‘Unfortunately,’ she continued, ‘that will put us right at Warsaw, we won’t have a choice, we will have to pass through the town. Then we will follow the Osage River through to the Ozarks. I’m guessing it will take us a couple of weeks, but at least water will be in plentiful supply.’