by Alex Gunwick
As Liz and the kids walked back to the cabin, she watched the golden light of sunset blanket the canyon. The occasional tweet of a songbird and the rush of wind through the trees helped relax every muscle in her body. For now, they were safe. And with any luck, Luke would be coming home.
21
As night fell, Luke navigated the winding mountain road toward Lancaster. Forty miles later, they drove through the darkened city streets. The occasional bark of restless dogs punctuated the eerie silence. Several groups of men roamed the shadows, clearly up to no good. As the car’s headlights hit the gangs, the men and their guns melted back into the night.
“Somehow I don’t think the cop car will keep us safe,” Luke said.
“Yeah. Where are the other cops? I would have thought they would have checkpoints all over the city,” Grady said.
“I don’t know. Maybe they were sent to LA.”
“They wouldn’t leave a city of one hundred fifty thousand people to fend for themselves, would they?”
“I hope not,” Luke said. “But we don’t know much about what’s going on.”
“Let me see if I can get the radio working.”
As Grady fiddled with the radio, static filled the air. He flipped through various frequencies, but they were all silent.
“Nothing,” Grady said. “Turn left at the next light.”
“How much farther is it?”
“Three blocks. I don’t like the look of things out there.”
“Me either,” Luke admitted.
When they turned onto a residential street, a man raced out of the bushes. He swung a baseball bat at the front windshield. The bat bounced off the reinforced glass, hitting the man in the face. He stumbled backward, falling into the bushes and out of sight.
“It didn’t take long for people to stop trusting cops,” Grady said.
“It may not have anything to do with the bombs,” Luke said. “Some people stopped trusting cops after seeing beatings livestreamed.”
“Maybe I’m a fool, but I still trust them. Right at the next street.”
“At the moment I don’t trust anyone. Well, except you,” Luke said. “I would probably still be back in that store if you hadn’t been there too.”
“You would have found a way out.”
“Maybe, but thanks for taking out that guy.”
“I hope I never have to do it again,” Grady said. “That’s my house on the left. No, the next one. The driveway runs around back. I don’t like parking my car out front.”
As Luke pulled back behind the house, a light flicked on.
“Motion sensored,” Grady said.
“Good. Do you have any other preps?”
“Nothing fancy. We’ve got a shotgun and a house alarm system.”
“That’s better than most people have,” Luke said.
“Not sure what good an alarm is going to do when there aren’t any cops around to respond to it.”
“It will at least give you enough warning so you can grab the shotgun. And maybe it’ll scare a potential intruder away.”
“Maybe,” Grady said.
The sliding glass door at the rear of the house cracked open. A woman poked her head out.
“Baby is that you?” she asked tentatively.
“I’m home, honey.” Grady pushed the car door open and strode toward his wife.
She flung open the door and raced into his arms. They hugged and kissed with abandon until Luke walked over and cleared his throat.
“This man saved my life,” Grady said.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I don’t know about that,” Luke said with a chuckle. “Let’s call it even.”
“Where are the kids?” Grady asked.
“Asleep.”
“Are they all okay?”
“Fine,” she said softly.
“Good.” Grady turned back to Luke. “You should stay the night. I know you want to get back to your family, but it’s not safe to travel at night.”
“Please, you can stay on the couch. It folds out,” she said.
“Thank you, but I need to keep moving. I still have a long way to go,” Luke said.
“How far?” she asked.
“At least a hundred miles. Probably more. Depends on how I can get there. I’m planning on taking Highway 14 across to the 5, then heading south.”
“The 14’s closed. You can’t get through,” she said.
Luke’s heart dropped.
“What about Bouquet Canyon Road? He could take that. It’s a few miles out of the way, but parallel to 14,” Grady said.
“That could work,” she said.
“How do I get there?”
As Grady’s wife drew directions on a paper map of the LA area, Grady helped Luke refill his water bottles. He insisted on giving Luke a bag full of snacks. After politely turning him down twice, Luke relented and took the extra food. He probably wouldn’t need it, but it wouldn’t hurt to have more than enough.
After packing the food and water in the police car, Luke took the map.
“Thanks again for the offer to stay,” he said. “Be sure to lock up and set that alarm. Keep the shotgun ready.”
“We keep it by the bed but not loaded because of the kids,” she said.
“How old are they?”
“Youngest is five, oldest is fifteen,” Grady said. “So some are old enough to know better than to pick up a loaded gun, but not everyone. Don’t worry though, I can load it in under ten seconds. I nailed a shotgun shell carrier to the top of the doorframe inside our closet. That way the kids can’t reach it, but it’s still close enough to get to.”
“You might want to get a gun safe instead,” Luke said. “I have one on my nightstand. I can get into it in three seconds.”
“See honey, I told you we should have gotten that safe,” she said.
“You’re right, honey.” Grady said. “As soon as they open up the stores again, I’ll grab one.”
“Thank you, baby.”
“I need to get on the road,” Luke said.
“I hope your trip isn’t as eventful as ours was,” Grady said.
“As long as I get to keep the car, I’ll be fine.”
An hour later, he was as far from fine as he could possibly be. He hadn’t been able to find an open gas station, so he’d run out of gas in the middle of the mountains. He coasted into a dirt pullout next to the Bouquet reservoir just as the car died.
“Shit!” He pounded the steering wheel. “Can’t I get one damn break?”
He flung the door open and got out to check the trunk. Although he’d packed it earlier, he hoped he’d missed seeing a five-gallon gas can.
After checking the trunk, he slammed it shut. Twice.
The duty belt he’d been wearing for the last few hours dug into his waist. He unbuckled it and set it down on the trunk. In all the chaos since fleeing Buttonwillow, he hadn’t stopped long enough to take stock of what he had. And since he couldn’t go anywhere, he might as well do it now.
In addition to a Glock 22, he unclipped a can of pepper spray which was attached to the belt with a black lanyard. He was also the proud new owner of a Taser. That would have come in handy back in Buttonwillow.
He flicked on a Streamlight SL20XP-LED flashlight. Not too bad. Useful if he needed to light up a whole room. There was also a smaller secondary flashlight, a Blackhawk Nite-Ops Gladius.
After unclipping the magazine pouch, he checked the contents. Two more full mags of 9mm for the Glock. Awesome. At least he had some extra firepower.
He found a small first aid kit with disposable gloves, a CPR mask, antiseptic wipes, an UZI Responder knife, and a multi tool. He put everything back on the belt and set it on the passenger seat.
As he searched the trunk, he found a portable defibrillator, bolt cutters, a bulletproof vest, and another fully equipped first aid kit. But best of all, a recharger for a cell phone.
He almost couldn’t believe it. His cell had died
on the way to Buttonwillow and he hadn’t thought to charge it back at Grady’s house. He immediately plugged the adapter into his phone, then into the car. When the charging light blinked on his phone, he whooped. It worked!
Now he had everything he could possibly need to get home, except gas.
He would have stopped back in the city if he’d known there weren’t any gas stations on the road. He figured with his uniform and car, he would have been able to fill up without a problem. California was covered in gas stations. They were as ubiquitous as cockroaches in a fifty-year-old motel. Except here.
After kicking the tire in frustration, he pulled out the map Grady’s wife had given him. He located the reservoir and traced a line back to Lancaster. As he ran his finger over a dotted line, he squinted to make out the minuscule text. Pacific Crest Trail.
He eyed his Get Home Bag. Trying to get anywhere near LA had been a fool’s errand. But what if he hiked over the mountains? He could take the Pacific Crest Trail to the Cajon Pass and then he’d only be sixty miles from home. The trail wasn’t straight, so it could be eighty miles or more to get to Cajon, but if he walked twenty miles a day, he could make it in a few days.
And what difference did a few days make at this point? He could walk the last sixty miles in another three days. So he’d be home in a week, tops. As long as nothing went wrong.
He laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation. With a running car, he could be home in a few hours. But stuck on a mountain road without any other options, was it really stupid to consider hiking the rest of the way? It wasn’t his first choice. Maybe he could flag down a motorist instead. But if that didn’t work, then he’d have to hike for the rest of the trip.
Luke paced around the police car. Several hours had passed since he’d run out of gas, but no one had come up the road. Fatigue and hunger pulled him back into the car. He dug through his food supply. A bag of beef jerky and a granola bar would do the trick. He washed both down with a liter of water.
He had three more gallons of water in the car. It was probably enough, but he never wanted to be without water, so he hiked over to the reservoir and refilled the bottle he’d just emptied. He found a water purification tablet in his pack and dropped it into the water.
Back at the car, he sat in the passenger seat and closed his eyes. Every muscle in his body ached. He hadn’t slept since he’d left the farmer’s house. His eyes flew open. Had it only been a day? So much had happened in that time.
Hours later, he woke with a start. A truck roared by, heading toward Lancaster. He jumped to his feet and raced out. His attempt to run after the driver and flag him down ended in failure.
Encouraged by the sighting, he watched the sunrise as he waited. A fresh new day lightened his spirits a bit. It couldn’t be any worse than the last few days. As long as he wasn’t shot at or captured, he’d have a great day. He laughed and grabbed a granola bar for breakfast.
Midmorning brought the end of hope. Not one single car had passed since the truck. Maybe he would end up on the Pacific Crest Trail after all.
He opened the map and studied the trail. It seemed like a straight shot over the mountains toward Interstate 15. He’d have to trek through miles and miles of mountainous terrain, but maybe being alone in the woods would be safer than trying to hitch a ride into town. Even if he did get a ride, what would he do then? Steal a car?
He’d been on plenty of long-range hikes as a SEAL. He could easily do twenty miles a day. The more he considered his options, the more he was convinced this would be the best route to take. Sure, it would take longer to walk over the mountains, but at least he wouldn’t be battling people along the way.
With his mind made up, he assessed his gear. He couldn’t carry everything on the trail. He’d only be able to bring basic necessities. Anything more than what he had in his Get Home Bag would be overkill. However, he’d need all the food he could carry. From what he could remember, there were plenty of water sources available along the trail. But food was another matter. He wouldn’t have time to stop and hunt.
He unpacked and repacked his bag. Since he wouldn’t need an armory full of guns, he settled on keeping the P938, and the Glock 22. The shotgun weighed too much to be hauling all over the woods. He stuffed the bag full of food and used an extra shirt to make a hobo-style bag. He took three bottles of water. As much as he wanted to carry all of the jugs with him, he wouldn’t be able to drag that much weight around.
Overhead, a hawk squawked. Luke looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. The bird dove toward a sparse patch of sagebrush, probably after a mouse. He eyed the landscape. Most of the vegetation was coastal sage, barely waist height. Trees were few and far between. The sooner he could get moving, the better.
After packing as much gear as he could reasonably carry, he sealed the map in a Ziploc bag. It wasn’t the best topographic map available, but it was all that he had.
As he headed back to the Pacific Crest Trail marker, he listened intently for the sound of any approaching cars. Nothing. It was silent but for the screech of the hawk.
The clearly marked trail wound up into the hills. He glanced back at the police cruiser one last time before starting up the trail.
Hours later, sweat dripped into his eyes. He’d hiked up and down two ridgelines as he headed toward Highway 14. Before crossing the empty road, he stopped to take a swig of water and eat a granola bar. He estimated he’d walked about fifteen miles so far. The sun had finally dropped lower on the horizon, but he had a couple of hours left before he’d have to make camp.
After crossing the highway, he continued along the switchbacking trail into the hills. An endless sagebrush landscape stretched from one hill to the next. He gained elevation along the way, but not enough to get into a tree line. He walked several more miles until he finally reached the Santa Clara River. Surrounded by tall, gnarled oaks on every side, it was the perfect place to rest for the night.
He searched for a relatively flat, dry patch of earth. After pulling out his tarp, he strung it up with a length of paracord. He gathered broken branches and other debris from the surrounding area and set it in a tepee-style pile. A second pile of dry grasses and leaves would serve as a nest to capture the initial sparks.
He pulled a piece of flint out of his bag. As he scratched shards of magnesium off the side, they formed a small pile in the center of the nest. Satisfied with the pile, he turned the steel around and scraped his knife along the ridged length until sparks flew.
The dry tinder smoldered before bursting into a single flame. He quickly moved the nest into the tepee of small sticks. As he fed the fire more wood, it grew until he had a reasonably good blaze going.
Night fell. The temperature plummeted. Clouds rolled in to filter the moonlight, giving the sky an ominous tinge. He gazed up at the shadowy moon. Was Liz looking up at it too? Did she wonder where he was? If he was dead or alive? Did she have the kids with her? Were they okay?
He tortured himself with unanswerable questions until the fire burned low and hot. He got up and refilled his water bottles from the river. Only one had a filter cap, but he could easily change it as needed. He drank as much water as he could stand. Since he didn’t have a good trail map, he didn’t know when he’d encounter the next water source.
For years Liz had been begging him to move out of the state, to go to a place where they could buy a ranch and live off the land. They could have sold their house for almost a million dollars. At least that was one good thing about living in one of the most expensive states in the country: you could sell your modest home and buy a mansion in another state, and have money left over to live off for years.
He loved his job, but was the weekly commute worth it? Was he trying to live a lifestyle predicated on expensive houses and fast cars at the expense of his family?
The weight of regret rested heavy on his chest. He couldn’t change anything now, but he wished he’d listened to her years ago. They’d probably be living blissfully
on an almost completely self-sufficient homestead somewhere in Wyoming, far away from nuclear bombs and unsustainable cities.
But what good were regrets when time only marched forward, not backward? If given the chance, he might have made different choices, but it didn’t matter now. He could live in a torturous state of what-if, or he could fight like hell to get home to his family. He always chose action over inaction. And as such, he spent the rest of the night mentally preparing himself for the long journey ahead.
22
Luke rose before sunrise and hiked approximately five miles before he had to stop to tend to his feet. He hadn’t walked this many miles since SEAL training. Although he kept himself in great shape, he’d let long-distance endurance runs fall by the wayside, something he vowed to rectify in the future.
As he searched for a place to sit, he spotted the North Fork Ranger Station. As far as he could tell, it was deserted. Several empty picnic benches sat under several sparse pine trees. He welcomed the shade and a chance to tend to his feet.
After setting his pack down, he pulled out his medical kit. It contained a blister pack with everything he’d need to treat his aching feet. He pulled off his socks. Although they were specifically made for hiking, they were damp with sweat. Hiking through a desert environment on an increasingly hot day hadn’t helped things. He gave his feet a minute to cool off.
He opened a tube of antibiotic ointment and applied it to several hot spots before covering the areas with Band-Aids. Duct tape came next. He used it to cover the Band-Aids. This would allow his foot to slide in the shoe without causing more friction burns.
A sign attached to a fire grill pointed toward a water cache. He gathered his bottles and headed toward a large propane tank. His back ached as he bent to fill the bottles, but he was grateful for the cache. Finding water on the trail might be more difficult than he’d considered. He’d taken water availability for granted at home, but on the trail, it took on an almost mystical importance. Without it, he’d die.
