The Hike (Book 1): Survivors

by Quentin Rogers

  Patrick heard his daughter gasp as the other soldier must have been doing the same to her. “Hey – go easy on her. She’s just a girl.”

  The soldier behind him hit him on the back of the head with the heel of his hand and said “Hush up!”

  Patrick took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.

  “Get up!” the soldier yelled to Mackenzie. The one behind Patrick grabbed his wrist and lifted to encourage him to move as well.

  They walked them both back to the Humvee and slid them into the back seat through one of the side doors. The two soldiers who they’d taken their spots stood on the running boards outside of the vehicle as the driver put it into reverse and mashed the accelerator. He then stopped and mashed the accelerator again to go forward.

  The soldier who was clearly in charge was the one who had been half standing in and out of the vehicle through the hatch in the roof. He bent down into the main cab so that he could look at his two new passengers. “How in the world did the two of you sneak passed the Line?” he asked them.

  “What do you mean?” Patrick asked.

  “You know what I mean. You could have just as easily gotten yourselves shot. Not only are you violating mandated curfew, but you are beyond the Stafford Line! My crew now has to spend four days in the pokey due to whatever your selfish motives were” the soldier said clearly upset at the predicament that his new passengers caused for him.

  “We didn’t sneak anywhere,” Patrick informed him. “We’re survivors.”

  “Yeah right,” the soldier said incredulously.

  “It’s true,” Mackenzie half yelled at the young man.

  “Whatever. We’ll get to the bottom of it when we get back to base,” and with that he was standing again with his head out of the vehicle and clearly out of earshot.

  When they reached the base, the crew of soldiers weren’t any less rough with their captives. When they entered the building, one soldier took Mackenzie into one door while they marched Patrick down another hall.

  “Dad!” Mackenzie yelled to her dad out of fear.

  “It’ll be okay Mak!” Patrick yelled out to her as she was pushed through the doorway.

  The place they were in looked like a big truck stop instead of a military base. They led him to a row of showers, threw him a bar of soap, and told him to scrub up. Patrick thought that the shower felt great, and hoped that Mackenzie was getting the same treatment.

  One of the soldiers yelled for him to hurry up. Patrick shut the water off and stepped out of the stall.

  “Close your eyes!” one of the soldiers yelled right before he doused him with a bag full of white powder. “Turn around!” he yelled again at him. Patrick complied and was doused with the white powder on his back side.

  One of the soldiers handed him a towel and a white jumpsuit, both folded neatly. Patrick unfolded the towel and started to dry off.

  “Nuh-uh,” the soldier said and motioned with the muzzle of his rifle for Patrick to leave the shower room.

  Patrick felt cold and embarrassed walking nude out of the shower room. The soldier stuck the barrel of his rifle in Patrick’s ribs and told him to move down the hall. They came to a room with a small window in the door, a drain in the floor, and a cot that took up most of the space. The soldier shoved Patrick into the room hard enough that he almost fell down across the cot.

  “Four days,” the soldier said, then left and locked the door from the outside.

  Patrick dried off, then put the jumpsuit on. He decided that he hoped they treated Mackenzie a little different instead.

  Chapter 23

  The four days felt like twenty. Patrick hadn’t seen a soul the whole time. It wasn’t until the second day when he was looking for a way to escape that he found bottled water and MRE’s left under the cot near the foot of the bed.

  He used the drain in the middle of the floor to relieve himself, and counted himself lucky that he didn’t have to go number two. The only light came from the fluorescent fixtures outside the door that let light in the small four-inch by eight-inch window high up in the center of the door. He once thought that he had seen someone walk by, but by the time he jumped to the window to look he couldn’t see anything.

  Four days of wondering. Four more days of longing to see his wife and son again. Four days of hopefulness and faith that this had been the right decision and that his government wouldn’t harm his daughter. Four days of playing the events of the last several weeks through his mind, and imagining how he was going to tell the story to others without mentioning Stuart or Sawyer.

  Finally, on the fourth day that felt like the twentieth; a young man with a gas mask and face shield appeared at the door. Patrick jumped up and stood at the door waiting for him to unlatch it. Patrick’s anxiety and the four days of solitude made him think of himself as a golden retriever standing in front of the door to be let out after being cooped up all weekend. Finally, the gas mask man opened the door and Patrick bounded out.

  “Whoa there,” the young man in the gas mask and smock said to him.

  “Sorry,” Patrick said to him. “It just feels like I’ve been in there forever. How’s Mackenzie?”

  “Who?” the man garbled through the gas mask.

  “Mackenzie! My daughter!” Patrick yelled at the young man.

  “Oh! Settle down sir. She’s fine. We’re releasing her now as well. Now please; let’s exit the quarantine area,” the man in the mask said and pointed to a door at the end of the long hall.

  Patrick turned and complied with the man in the gas mask. He walked down the long hall to the door at the end and his bare feet were frigid by the time they reached the end. The man in the mask stepped passed Patrick and opened the door. Patrick stepped through into what looked like a bustling office building. There were all kinds of what looked like soldiers and marines talking, staring at laptop computers, and talking on radios. Mixed among them were a spattering of people wearing white lab coats like the man in the gas mask.

  Once they had stepped through the door and the man in the mask had secured the door behind them. He removed his mask and took a deep breath. The man had a dark trimmed goatee and looked to be in his mid-thirties. Patrick thought that his wife probably would think that he was a handsome fellow.

  The whole room came immediately to a standstill when they heard the door close. They all were staring at Patrick. Then the whispers started. People from all over the room leaned to each other and started whispering and talking in hushed tones without taking their eyes off him. The gas-mask man lifted a hand and gestured down another hallway and said “If you please.”

  Patrick turned and walked down the hallway that was lined with more doors like the ones where he had been quarantined.

  “We’re in here,” the man with the goatee said as they reached a door a few from the end of the hall and opened it. They both stepped into the room that was dimly lit. There was a metal folding table in the center of the room with four chairs set up around it. At one spot on the far side of the table was a laptop computer and a few manila folders set next to it.

  The man with the goatee extended his hand and said “Abram Meyer.”

  Patrick shook the man’s hand and replied with his name.

  “Nice to meet you Patrick. Please sit down,” he said and gestured to one of the chairs opposite of the laptop. Patrick sat down and folded his hands on the table as Abram sat down across from him. As Patrick sat down he saw that there was a large mirror on the wall behind Abram that no doubt was a one-way mirror for monitoring these types of interrogations.

  “I apologize for the stares and jeers out there Mr. Kincaid,” Abram said. He picked up an electronic cigarette that was sitting next to the laptop and took a drag from it. “But rumor has it that you and your daughter are survivors from the cloud and not just two scoundrels that escaped across the Stafford Line.”

  “We are survivors,” Patrick replied.

  “Yes, we know,” Abram said before taking another pull on hi
s cigarette. “We found your wife Mr. Kincaid. She explained to us the expedition that you and your daughter were on.”

  “My wife?” Patrick exclaimed unable to resist his joy at the knowledge that she was alive. “Mary’s okay?” he asked as he felt himself rise out of his seat a couple of inches.

  “Yes, Yes,” Abram said calmly and opened the top manila folder and peered at some printout of information. “And your son James as well. They both are alive and well.”

  Patrick leaped from his seat and walked around in a small circle. He was exhilarated from top to bottom.

  “Mr. Kincaid…” Abram said calmly.

  Patrick forced himself to stop. He stood behind the chair that he had been sitting on and put his hands on the back of it. He ignored Abram’s calling and bowed his head and closed his eyes to give thanks.

  “Mr. Kincaid…” Abram repeated but with clearly more irritation this time.

  Patrick ignored Abram again while he was giving praise and thanks. Abram typed something on the lap top and moved the mouse around some while he waited for Patrick to respond.

  Patrick finished his prayer and then forced himself to sit down again. Patrick cleared his throat and said “I’m sorry Mr. Meyer. It’s just that you gave me the best news I think that I’ve ever gotten.” He felt a tear forming at the corner of his eye and reached up to wipe it.

  Abram finished typing something on the keyboard and paused for a minute before looking at or responding to Patrick. “No, I understand Mr. Kincaid. Please forgive my abruptness,” Abram said flatly. He took another drag from the e-cigarette before continuing. “It’s just that your wife and son are here at the facility, and the sooner that we complete this debriefing, the sooner you will be able to leave with them.”

  “Well, let’s get it over with then,” Patrick said.

  “Okay,” Abram said as he placed a microphone that was connected to the laptop in the center of the table. He pushed a button on the keyboard, then leaned back in his chair with his arm’s folded and the electronic cigarette in one hand that was close to his chin. “Let’s start from the beginning Mr. Kincaid,” Abram said and then tilted his head to take another draw from the e-cigarette.

  “Okay. The beginning…” Patrick started.

  Patrick spent the next several hours telling the entire story of their adventure and interaction with the cloud. He omitted telling Abram anything that he thought would lead to suspicions of Stuart or Sawyer. Patrick had gone over the story in his mind so many times in the last four days that he could tell that it is was coming off a little rehearsed, but Abram didn’t let on about any suspicions. Abram asked very few questions throughout Patrick’s monologue, and the ones that he did ask only seemed to Patrick to be clarifying questions and not probing ones. Patrick finished the tale with being taken into custody by the soldiers and he added several snide comments about how he and his daughter were treated roughly.

  After Patrick had finished, Abram sat for several seconds with a thoughtful look on his face staring at Patrick without moving or saying anything. Finally, he reached forward and pushed a button on the keyboard and then asked “Thank you for your story Mr. Kincaid. I only have one more question for you before we dismiss you.”

  Abram let silence and anticipation hang in the air. Patrick felt his stomach muscles tighten as he anticipated questions about Stuart, Sawyer, or maybe something different that Mackenzie had told him.

  “You and your daughter both referred to the infected people that you saw as ‘Scaveys’. Where did you hear that term?” Abram asked without any emotion.

  Patrick could feel his pulse begin to race, and he felt sweat start to form at his temples although it was quite cool in the room. He could tell that he was taking too long to answer the question, but finally said “I think that we must have heard it from the soldiers when they were bringing us in. We kept calling them ‘creatures’, and one of them said ‘You mean scaveys?’”

  Abram pursed his lips and then nodded slightly. “I see,” he said. Abram leaned forward and tipped the computer screen on the laptop down. “We do appreciate your willingness to share your story with us Mr. Kincaid. The more that we learn about this event, the faster we can heal those infected people and get our country back to what it was before the catastrophe.”

  Patrick felt himself relax and his pulse slow.

  “There are two things that I need to inform you of before you are dismissed,” Abram said.

  Patrick nodded his head instead of verbally responding. He didn’t want to say anything more that might screw up his chances of seeing his family again.

  “The first thing is that you and your family will be allowed to return to your place of residence since it is outside of the Stafford Line, but you will be under house arrest until otherwise notified.”

  “House arrest?” Patrick blurted out without restraint. “What did I do?”

  “I think that you understand your government’s concern with potentially wanting to know more about your adventure in the future as more facts become available,” Abram said wryly. “You may have a clue that unlocks the nature of the events that you haven’t recognized or that we don’t know how to ask today. The alternative to the house arrest is an extended stay at one of our military bases such as this one, until we are sure that we no longer have any need for information that you might have. Will you be able to comply with the house arrest directive?”

  Patrick’s blood was boiling. All that Sawyer had told him was true about the martial law and the absence of freedom. Instead of releasing a diatribe about freedom and the glory of the United States that he felt welling up within him, he replied through semi-grit teeth “I will comply.”

  “Excellent,” Abram said flatly. He took another drag as he seemed to ponder how to relay the second piece of information. “Now, more importantly; there is an issue with your story that we need to correct.”

  Patrick replied only with a furrowed brow that communicated his lack of understanding.

  “For whatever reason, you are mistaken about how some of the events took place regarding the cloud. We’re not sure why your memories are jumbled, it could be due to your close interaction with the cloud itself. In any event, the bomb that was dropped caused the cloud to dissipate. It did not dissipate on its own prior to the bomb explosion.”

  Patrick understood what Abram was trying to do, but couldn’t restrain himself from prying. “So, you mean that my daughter and I didn’t drive part way down the mountain before the explosion that caused the EMP?”

  “No. No. We believe that your memories of that event are correct,” Abram said quickly. “There were two bombs that were dropped. One must have occurred the first night you were on top of the mountain that caused the cloud to begin to dissipate. The second bomb detonated the following night that caused the EMP.”

  Patrick thought about it for a few moments before honestly responding “Yeah; I guess that could have happened that way.”

  “Good,” Abram said as a small smile approached his face. “It is imperative that you know that and that is included in your story to any others. Is that clear?”

  Patrick looked Abram square in the eyes and said “Crystal.”

  “Good. Good. Now let me go get your daughter so that we can begin your dismissal,” Abram said as he stood up and left the room.

  Patrick sat in the chair and waited for what seemed like a long duration before the door opened again. Mackenzie stepped through and a soldier behind her closed the door from the hallway.

  “Dad!” Mackenzie exclaimed.

  Patrick jumped up and they embraced each other. Patrick then held her at arm’s length and looked her over up and down. She looked clean and unharmed.

  “You okay?” Patrick said as he felt tears start to well up again.

  “Yes! You?” Mackenzie answered as her tears were already beginning to fall. Patrick nodded and embraced her again.

  “Did they tell you about Mom and James?” Mackenzie asked.

/>   “Yeah. They said they’re fine and that we get to see them in a little while,” Patrick said.

  “I can’t believe that it’s over,” Mackenzie said and snuggled her nose in her dad’s shoulder.

  “I know. Me neither Darlin’,” Patrick answered and held her tight.

  “Did they make you say that’d you lie about bombs?” Mackenzie asked in a hushed tone.

  Patrick couldn’t believe that she was asking a question like that in here. He hesitated before responding, but then said quietly “Glurp,” and darted his eyes to the mirror across from the table. He hoped that she caught it. He then said to her a little louder “I don’t know if it is a lie. I suppose that there could have been two different explosions and we only heard the second one.”

  Patrick motioned for them to sit down in the chairs at the table opposite of the laptop. They both sat in silence and waited for whatever was going to happen next.

  Abram finally opened the door and was accompanied by two soldiers with helmets that had M.P. insignias engraved on them. He stood in the open doorway and said “Mr. Kincaid, you are hereby dismissed under the conditions that we had previously spoken of. You are free to join your family. These gentlemen will escort you outside and see to it that you make it home safely.”

  Patrick and Mackenzie practically jumped up out of the metal chairs that they were seated in and bounded to the doorway. Abram stiffly stuck out his hand for Patrick to shake as they met in the doorway. It made Patrick’s skin crawl, but he grasped the man’s hand and gave it a pump before shouldering past him to the hallway.

  The soldiers gestured for them to walk down the hallway, then had to take large steps to keep up with the brisk pace of the father and daughter. Patrick reached the door first, but realized that it was locked. He had to wait for the soldiers to catch up and wave a badge in front of a panel on the side of the door. The panel beeped, a green light lit, and this time the crash bar opened the door when Patrick pushed on it.