Times What They Are

by D. L. Barnhart

  “No excuses, huh.”

  “None accepted.”

  Cheryl rolled to her side and wiggled closer. He liked her there but resisted the urge to pull her tight. He had assured her she would be safe for the night. Even so, traveling with her was working out much better than he had expected.

  She wasn’t a whiner. She had ridden all day in freezing temperatures, eaten nothing of substance, and hadn’t uttered a real complaint. He listened to the rhythm of her breath and figured her for the edge of sleep.

  She shifted again, took a deep breath and let it out. “I haven’t seen a plane all day. Do you think they’re flying?”

  “Probably not. They stopped for a few days after September eleven. Most likely do the same now and for even longer. The whole east coast is closed to the airlines. A lot of aircraft to shuffle and routes to rework. Maybe even crews missing.”

  “Then why did you say you’d put me on a plane?”

  “They’ll start again sometime.”

  “Will your friend take us in?”

  “If he doesn’t, we’ll just move on, get you on that bus I also mentioned, or a train.”

  “Don’t you worry about what’s happening?”

  “I don’t like it. I think about what we need to do to survive. But it just doesn’t pay to get hung on things you can’t change.”

  “That was a smart move with the motorcycle. Did you ever think we wouldn’t make it?”

  “When failure is not an option, you learn to concentrate on execution and on being prepared to improvise.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “If you hadn’t come along, I would have died.”

  “Don’t thank me quite yet. I have the feeling we’re not out of danger.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “We haven’t had an easy time getting food. That may be because of where we are. It also may be because people are scared, and they’ve bought up all there is. If it’s a hoarding problem, we’re not likely to be welcome anywhere.”

  “How can there be so much one day and none the next?”

  “There isn’t any less. It’s about where it is. If stores on any given day have enough food to last a community a month, and people in one day buy an average of a month’s supplies, the stores are empty. That leaves some people sitting on plenty and others caught short. People start lining up for whatever shows up, whether they need it or not.”

  “That’s like what happened with gas in the seventies.”

  “I wasn’t around then,” Ray said.

  “They teach it at school. There was a supply panic. Everyone lined up to fill their tank and maybe a spare can or a barrel in the yard. Ten gallons each multiplied by a hundred million scared people. It took a billion gallons out of the supply chain.”

  “Let me guess. With gas, people ran out of places to put it, and the supply eventually caught up.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, with food, it doesn’t work that way. There is no practical limit for storage.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m not trying to. But you need to be in the mindset, that when you see food, you latch on to it.”

  “We can’t exactly carry a lot on a motorcycle.”

  “And that may become our biggest problem.”

  * * *

  Ray had the map out at first light and had their route picked by the time Cheryl rolled over to look at him.

  “Given how I think things are, our best bet is to get out of the border territory as quick as we can.”

  “Back to the interstates?” Cheryl said.

  “Sort of. If I was trying to stop the biggest group of people, I’d control the east west interstates and I-81, set up roadblocks at pinch points. Probably throw some on the major secondarys if I had the manpower. So our goal is to bypass the pinch points.”

  “What about the back roads?”

  “I think that deputy yesterday was giving us a message. The locals don’t want strangers in town. I think it’s more than helping the Army.”

  “What?”

  “Fear, I guess. Millions of people on the move could surely gobble resources, overrun the ability to control. Plenty of opportunity for crime.”

  “You sure see plenty of problems for someone who doesn’t worry.”

  “Best to be prepared,” Ray said. “Let’s get moving.”

  Fifteen minutes later they rolled down the hill on the Honda. They hooked back up with the highway and made good time, given the curvy road. A mile after leaving the National Forest, an approaching pickup flashed its lights and stopped in the middle of the road. Ray felt for the gun as he slowed.

  A lone man sat behind the wheel of the truck, his window down. He looked to be a weathered sixty.

  “Some yahoos got the road blocked before Montrose. They’s only letting through locals.”

  “The law?”

  “No. Doin’ it on their own. But they got guns. I’ll pass the word to the sheriff up in Parsons. Let him get the state boys down here. If I were you, I’d go back to Parsons and take seventy-two.”

  “Sounds like good advice. Thanks.”

  Ray pulled to the right as the truck headed north. Cheryl remained silent.

  “I don’t feel like retreating to Parsons. Think I’ll try that trail again. If it’ll stay away from the road for a few miles, it’ll save us hours.”

  Cheryl mumbled something and squeezed him harder. He rode north half a mile and found the trail. It separated from the road quickly. Out of sight was one thing, but men standing in the early morning quiet would surely hear him. The question was: what would they do about it?

  He kept his speed to a steady thirty and tried to guess the distance to the road. He cruised down a slight grade and suddenly the trail crossed a county road then ran beside it. A hundred yards along, it crossed Route 219. Ray picked the highway and ramped up speed. In seconds he was through town, not much more than a post office on a wide spot in the road.

  A pickup appeared in Ray’s mirror, closing fast. Ray opened the throttle and the speed jumped to ninety. He slowed for a series of gentle curves, entered another settlement and took a hard left as the road changed directions. He accelerated again, made another quick turn and found himself on a new four lane.

  The truck appeared again, to the right on the old road, flashing between trees and houses. The gap between them became a field. The driver put his window down and fired a handgun. A man from the passenger side leaned over the roof with a rifle. Ray opened the throttle and lay on the frame, taking Cheryl with him.

  The old road vanished into the trees, then swung across the new road. The truck stopped on the overpass and the men jumped out. Ray saw muzzle flashes in the mirror, and a bullet sparked the pavement to the left. Ray broke his line swaying across both lanes until he rounded a corner. He kept speed for five miles.

  They passed Buckhannon, took the interstate south, and stopped in Flatwoods for gas.

  “They shot at us!” Cheryl yelled as soon as Ray shut down the bike. “Why didn’t you shoot back?”

  “I couldn’t hit the state of West Virginia from a bike at that speed. Or keep the bike steady with one hand.” Ray took off his helmet and shook his head. “Crazy fools. I’d hoped we wouldn’t run into that this early.”

  “I thought that’s why you wanted off the side roads.”

  “Part of it. I was more worried about the police.”

  Ray stuck his card in the slot on the pump and pulled it out. A notice flashed: See Attendant. He tried another card got the same message.

  “It’s not taking my cards.”

  Cheryl handed him one of hers. The same message flashed. “Guess I’ll go in,” she said.

  Ray filled the tank and moved the Honda to the front of the building. Cheryl stepped out with a pepperoni pizza and two fountain drinks.

  “The shelves are empty, but you can still get fast food. Strange,” she said.

&nb
sp; “I guess people don’t roll up and panic-buy a thousand pizzas at a time.”

  “And they must be still getting deliveries.”

  They sat at the curb and devoured the pizza. “Should we get another one to go?” Cheryl asked.

  Ray nodded and handed her a twenty. “Best to have our next meal on our back.” Cheryl stood to go. “What did they tell you about the cards?”

  “They’re seeing a lot that are declined. Some kind of a network problem.” She took a step. “But I didn’t believe her. I think the card companies have cancelled accounts across the northeast. They’re not going to get their money if people are dead or can’t pay their bills. People in a panic will max them without a second thought. I sure would.”

  “I can see that. Pretty hard to pay if they can’t send you a bill.”

  Cheryl smiled and pulled out her phone. She flipped pages and sent texts. “My account’s frozen, but they’ll reactivate it once they process the electronic check I just sent. Two days, max. They’re making sure their customers are still alive and have money.”

  She offered Ray the phone. “Want to do yours?”

  Ray shrugged. “I stayed with paper.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Just never saw the upside to online banking.”

  * * *

  Ray exited I-79 north of Charleston then followed US 119 along the Elk River, crossing under the interstate just before it merged with I-77. The interstate exits were closed and vehicles backed up in a single lane. Oddly, the drivers kept large spaces between vehicles.

  Ray and Cheryl continued south, paralleling the interstate, and watched the activity on the main road. Two men in hazard suits stood at the choke point in the road. Just past them was an exit reconfigured with makeshift barriers—all choices at the bottom of the ramp blocked except one that led away from the city. Ray felt the hair on his neck prickle and he goosed the bike. A half mile later he rocketed up the ramp for I-64.

  They stopped again in Barboursville, filled the tank and ate hamburgers outside a convenience store.

  “Two for two,” Cheryl said. “I’m impressed. How many more checkpoints do you think we’ll see?”

  Ray shook his head. “Several. Maybe at every city. I think the one in Charleston was setup to keep the wrong people out of town. They might all be doing that now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you see the guys in the full body suits?”

  Cheryl nodded.

  “They’re worried about radiation. They had a diversion chute set up. I’d be willing to bet the two out front were scanning vehicles. Test positive and down the ramp you go.”

  “To where?”

  “I’d like to think quarantine.”

  “But you think it might not be?”

  “I don’t know much about radiation, but it scares me. Probably them, too, with visions of contaminated cars sickening every person in contact—the couple parked next to it at the mall, the guy changing the oil, kids passing on the street. They’ll bury what they find and seal it.”

  “And the people?” Cheryl asked.

  Ray shook his head. “I’d guess most people who took a big dose are dead already. A lot more are sick or will be. Without treatment, they won’t fare well. I doubt many places have the resources to care for an influx of radiation sickness.”

  “So, they’ll leave them to die?”

  “Probably not much choice.”

  “Unless they help them along.”

  Ray shrugged. “I don’t think so, not yet anyway.”

  “I’m not sure which is worse: starving to death in a camp, dying of radiation sickness, or taking an extra dose of sleeping pills.”

  “I doubt pills will be an option.”

  “I suppose the military prefer guns.”

  “If it came to it. We’re not at that point.”

  “Those men were a few hours ago.”

  “They weren’t the authorities.”

  Cheryl stared at the Honda then back to Ray. “So, what do you think? Are we contaminated, even a little?”

  “It’s possible. My guess is we’ll find out before long.”

  * * *

  Ray and Cheryl took US 60 through Huntington and encountered no obstacles. They couldn’t see the interstate or possible roadblocks on it. As they left the city, Cheryl hugged him. If Ray could have made himself heard above the engine, he would have told her not to celebrate, prematurely.

  Traffic stopped ahead of them outside Kenova. Ray U-turned into a strip mall parking lot. He shut of the engine and unfolded the map.

  “Can we get around it?”

  “Only if we want to take roads through the West Virginia and Kentucky coal fields.”

  “You’re thinking we might see more like this morning?”

  “It’s Hatfield and McCoy country. I don’t know what to expect. But I’d rather deal with the Army or state police.”

  “You didn’t sound that way earlier.”

  “Options change. Now, I’d just as soon take my chances on the interstate with the A Team.”

  “Why there?”

  “It’s where legitimate travelers will be. Better to hide in the crowd.”

  “I liked the plan to go around them, better.”

  “We can do it on foot, maybe even on bicycles. But it looks like we’ve run out of ways to dodge them with a vehicle.”

  “What if we decided to stay here, Huntington or Charleston, I mean? They have to take down the roadblocks sooner or later.”

  “If our credit cards worked we could hole up in a nice hotel. As it is, we’d have to pick a campsite, best if it wasn’t an official one.”

  “Like last night.”

  “We can afford a tent, maybe a camp stove. But there is a limit to what we can haul on the bike.”

  “How about one night in a room first, on me, before we buy the tent.”

  Chapter 11

  Karla finished the block walls and painstakingly poured eight inches of concrete into the reinforced form for the ceiling, preventing entry to her room from a simple cut through the floor above. Lastly, she hung the safety steel door and frame and installed two super-duty dead bolts. She smiled at her work. Her storage room could be opened, but not easily and not by a casual thief. Anyone who got inside would have to have serious equipment.

  She spent the next hour loading the room with her growing stocks of food. It didn’t half fill the space, but she thought it more than enough for her and Jessie to last out the expiration dates on the food. She hoped it didn’t come to relying solely on what she had. But it might. She climbed the stairs and picked up the phone.

  A dozen times every day Karla called the same numbers. Roger’s mom had Karla’s numbers blocked. None of the others would talk to her. The police said they’d look, but they had no more to go on than she did. Karla poured a glass of wine and collapsed on the couch.

  Chapter 12

  Ray shut off the engine. He and Cheryl climbed off the motorcycle and hung their helmets on it. They stripped off their heavy coats and walked into the office of Cray’s Motel, in Hurricane, West Virginia.

  “How much for a room, non-smoking, king or queen, one night?” Ray asked.

  The clerk was forties, with a beer gut, but also a USMC tattoo on a large bicep. “Forty-six fifty, plus tax.”

  “Can you make it forty even?”

  “If you’ve got triple A, I could.”

  “Haven’t needed to join. Most of my travel’s been courtesy of Uncle Sam.”

  “Where’d you serve?”

  “Iraq and Afghanistan. 26th Infantry.”

  “The man nodded. “Forty two. That’s our veteran’s rate.”

  Ray counted the money and placed it on the counter.

  “You got a card I can run? We got rules, too.”

  Ray produced his Visa. “Hasn’t worked right all day. I’d guess the operations center is somewhere
back east.”

  “I can make an imprint on the old machine. You sign it. No damage to the room, I tear it up.”

  “Fair enough,” Ray said. “And if you’ve got something quiet it would suit us fine.”

  Ray filled out the card and the man handed him the key to unit 46. “The TV’s kinda spotty, like the card. Cable still works some, though.”

  Cheryl hooked her arm around Ray’s waist. “We’ll be just fine.”

  They gathered their gear and walked the motorcycle to the end unit they’d been given. Ray chained the bike to a corner post and unlocked the door to the room. Cheryl stifled a laugh as she pushed Ray inside.

  The red carpet was a loose shag. The curtains matched where they hadn’t faded to pink. The queen bedspread shared the scheme. Cheryl turned on the heat, bounced twice on the bed, then moved to the bathroom. She pushed aside the yellow plastic shower curtain and turned on the water. It made steam in a few minutes.

  “I’d like to go shopping,” Cheryl said. “This is three days in the same undies.”

  * * *

  Cheryl picked up jeans, two tops, and a leather jacket from Goodwill. Underwear, socks and a hairbrush came from Wal-Mart, along with a small pack. Ray didn’t bother with outerwear. The grocery section at Wal-Mart was pretty bare, but Arby’s had food and they each bought two sandwiches and a milkshake and took them to the room.

  They sat on the bed and turned on television. The timing was good and Cheryl flipped through to CBS news. They both noted the set looked more like that of a local station—and probably was, with New York evacuated.

  The opening story showed footage of a flattened central Los Angeles, apparently taken from off the coast at altitude. Refugees were still streaming east and north. Ray and Cheryl gleaned from the report the story of the attack, the day before. They sat transfixed through a similar update on the situation in Seattle. Then came the news from the Northeast.

  Millions had been unable to evacuate because of clogged roads and a major winter storm. An unknown number had died. Millions were presumed sick. For those who remained, power failures were widespread, repairs on hold. Few, if any, roads would be cleared of the radioactive snow.