The travel down I-5 was slow. The trip that would normally take 2 1/2 hours from Fort Lewis to Portland would probably take them a full day, perhaps longer. So they took an exit for a rest stop and camped for the night. Most of the men were hungry and ate their rations eagerly. A couple of men harvested some scrap wood from the nearby forested area behind the rest stop and built a nice campfire. The men gathered around it.
Sergeant Woodall addressed the men. “I’m hoping we’ll see something soon. This lack of anyone anywhere is kind of spooky. I can’t ever remember seeing anything like this.”
A shot suddenly came out of nowhere and Sergeant Woodall fell to the ground, dead. A bullet had entered his head and exited the other side. He had been sitting next to Eric and brain matter spattered all over the side of Eric’s face, neck and uniform. The few sitting around jumped up and Eric yelled, “Get away from the fire!”
“Over there!” A Soldier pointed to a wooded area nearby. They spread out to find the shooter. No one was found and no more shots were fired. That was the second time any of them had an encounter with another living being since they left the Mountain Climbing Camp. There were survivors out there after all. A perimeter guard was posted and after they buried Sergeant Woodall’s body, the rest of the Soldiers and Marines slept in preparation for the next day where they would roll into Portland, Oregon. During the night, five of them disappeared and were never seen again. Deserters.
Tim looked at Eric. “What can we do to keep these guys from deserting?”
“I’m not sure, but we have to discourage these men from running away. We need everyone we have. I guess we could go after them and if we catch up to them, we could shoot them, but I hope it doesn’t come to that.” Eric said grimly.
The next day they ate in silence. Each man captured by his own thoughts. This wasn’t an adventure, it was beginning to be a trial of events that none of them had much control over. The only thing they could do was continue toward Portland. Eric was senior once Woodall died, and he took charge of the group.
“Listen up,” his tone was grim, “we need to nip this desertion thing in the bud. I’d hate to do it, but if anyone else deserts, we will track them down, catch them, and we’ll put them up against a wall and shoot them. We are still active duty military and we need to act accordingly. Please don’t make us have to hunt you down.”
Eric gathered the men around him and basically let them know they needed to continue on the mission. He suggested they stay together. It was his intention to follow orders and continue to Portland. The group could discuss what they would do once they reached their destination. The men all seemed to be in agreement.
He sat down after his speech and no one said a word. He tried to reach the Lieutenant on the radio but never received a reply, only static. “Patrol Three, do you read?” There was no answer, even after calling several more times.
It was damp and chilly, but sunshine was breaking through the thick fog with the promise of warmer weather. There was an exit just off the freeway before coming to the river that led to the west. They could see the road snake up the hills from the freeway. Eric stuck his body out of the lead vehicle window in which he was riding, waved his arm around over his head and pointed to the exit, and the convoy headed to the top of the hill.
Eric believed that once at the top of this promontory, he would be able to look across the river and observe the condition of Portland’s city limits. He hoped he could see what was ahead before they crossed the river. He climbed on top of his Humvee to see what he could see. Unfortunately, he needed more height, so they proceeded to a nearby barn, where he climbed on the roof to have a better view across the Columbia River.
It was a welcome stop for most of the group. Most of them relieved themselves or had a smoke. Although it was still foggy, Eric could see mass destruction over a portion of the city. From his vantage point, it appeared that the damage was extensive. It was similar to the destruction he saw at Fort Lewis. Portland had been nuked. What he saw was a silent reminder of those people who died suddenly and in huge numbers.
It was a tomb.
“Looks pretty grim,” Tim, who was on top of the barn with Eric, was solemn in his tone.
He held a spotting scope up to his eye. “Man, I’ve never seen anything like this outside of a movie. Just looking at the twisted wreck that was once a city is depressing. What I wouldn’t give to have some of the people who did this in my scope!”
They decided not to risk radiation exposure and went back to the freeway where Eric addressed the Soldiers and Marines. “Men, Portland was bombed. I have my fingers crossed that we can get across one of the bridges that still appear to be intact over the Columbia. We’ve got a few more miles to go before we reach the river. The Columbia River is big and very deep. If we can’t find a bridge we are still going to have to get our vehicles across. Hopefully, we’ll be able find a few boats that we can use to transport us and our equipment across to the other side. I’m hoping for luck, and that we find a bridge that is intact. We need to keep the use of our vehicles which we’ll have as long as we have diesel. Does anyone have anything to say before we shove off again?”
No one said anything.
“Let’s do it and hope for the best,” he said, sounding more convinced than he really was.
They all got back into their vehicles.
When they reached the river, they found the bridge intact, and the convoy was able to cross, stopping many times to clear abandoned vehicles out of the way before they could continue on. The bridge was several miles to the east of Portland. After crossing the river, they continued south toward Salem, Oregon and then west to the ocean shore. From the beach, they would swing south, then forage along the coastline toward California.
They hoped to catch crabs and fish. With a little luck, they could eat their fill of the ocean’s bounty along the way. It seemed like a good enough plan, considering they needed to conserve their rations. Here in the Pacific Northwest, water wasn’t a problem because of the abundant rainfall… but it would become drier and water would become scarcer as they pushed further south.
All along the journey on Old Highway 101, they came to homes, businesses, schools, fire stations, restaurants, grocery stores and gas stations that fronted the ocean. There were plenty of dead, people and animals, but they didn’t see anyone or anything alive. Occasionally they would pull off to the side of the road and explore the area… but odd as it seemed, there just wasn’t anyone, anywhere to be found. Most homes and businesses had been looted. They were guessing of course, but the general consensus was that the people had all fled inland and were in hiding.
Eric called his men together once they stopped at a convenient place off the road. “This is decision time men. We can split and go our separate ways or we can stay together and head down the coast. I think we’re safer staying together. Anyone have a comment?”
One Marine said, “I think most of us want to stay together. We’re safer and a more formidable force if we’re attacked. Although it hasn’t happened yet, it could. As for me, I’m staying. All we have to do is think about Sergeant Woodall.”
Some of the other Soldiers spoke up, as well, and it appeared to be a consensus among them. Corporal Ramirez noted, “None of us know where this trip will lead us, or what we will face as we go along. I’m sticking.” Most of the other men concurred. They were staying together… at least for the time being.
They continued down the coastline when they could, often having to resort to the roadways above, when challenged with steep jutting cliff-sides. They found very few items of interest, not fully aware of the good fortune they had that this area had been unscathed by nuclear warfare. Some of the men were actually having a good time. They found fishing gear in an abandoned campground, and the fishing was great. The water was refreshing and most of them would take advantage of the ocean each day.
They camped in a location that had a fresh water stream coming from inland, and they restocked their d
rinking water. They enjoyed a long needed fresh-water bath to remove the salt water residue from their clothing and skin. The lack of other human life made it feel as if they were in a different dimension. It was all so surreal.
What they were seeing was completely outside the realm of what they all were accustomed to… people hustling about, doing their daily activities. It was hard for them to accept. It was a sobering experience. None of them wanted to believe that nearly everyone was dead. Most of them believed that people were simply in hiding.
For the next two months, they continued down the coast until they reached a small, desolate area just north of Crescent City, California. It was here they ran out of diesel for the vehicles. And so they continued their trek on foot, carrying all of their gear and weapons they had been comfortably transporting on board the trucks.
Walking on the beach with soft sand beneath their feet was getting to them. They decided to go inland a little to see what they could find… they would avoid the beach for a while. They were running low on fresh water again, and that was the most critical reason for them to explore inland. They had traveled about three miles when they came to what had been a large barn. It was burned to the foundation, and a house located about a thousand yards away was also burned nearly to the ground. It appeared to have been attacked, because there were spent brass shell casings scattered around what had once been the house. “There was a firefight here,” said Sergeant Pelletier.
There was nothing left of value, so they decided to move on. Eric wanted to put some distance between this place and his men. It was all so depressing. When the group left the small farm, they came to a rural dirt road that branched off to the east. They traveled it for a few miles and came across several homes. Some were burned out and some were just abandoned and looted, but no one was seen anywhere.
One of the Soldiers began a cadence, “One, two, three, four, I left my wife in New Orleans with twenty-four kids and a can of beans…”
Eric yelled at him, “Can it! We don’t want to announce to anyone out there that we’re coming.”
They continued along quietly, heading further inland. They found a farm with a well and were able to replenish their water supply. That was the only redeeming grace for the long march and detour. The men complained about the loads they were packing, and continuing in the current direction was yielding nothing but sore backs and feet.
“Halt!” Eric yelled, “Take a break. Everyone fall out!” The men dropped their packs and settled down in the shade of some walnut trees. General chit-chat ensued. Most welcomed the break. Eric and some of the other men saw a couple of dogs in the distance watching them. They were probably pets at one time. A couple of the men tried to encourage the dogs to come to them by offering a biscuit, but they wouldn’t venture near.
“Here boy; c’mon over here.” One Soldier tightened his lips together and made a clicking sound but the dogs just lay there out of reach staring at the men. “They sure are skittish. I wonder why?”
They still had miles to go before they reached San Francisco, their ultimate destination. It seemed like a good plan to travel inland away from the main road in a southwesterly direction. It was an area already explored. Since they were heading back to the beach, it would be in their best interest to cover new ground. None of them knew that bypassing Crescent City probably saved their lives. Crescent City was the main camp where the slavers congregated and based their operations. The slavers were more than eight hundred strong now, and the men would have been seriously outnumbered.
Eventually the over-sized squad headed back to the beach and to the south. They spent a couple of days fishing and stocking up on seafood along the way. What they didn’t cook and eat on the spot, they dried in the sun or smoked for later. They caught a lot of fish, gathered clams and mussels and caught crabs with makeshift traps. Several men went out and away from the beach and found an old orchard with peaches, cherries and nectarine trees, and harvested all of the fruit they could reach.
They also found another abandoned farmstead. It had an old-fashioned well with a bucket and pulley, and they were able to restock their water containers. It took several trips to get it done, but was worth the effort to have plenty of water on hand. The citrus fruit was a special treat. A big bonus was fifteen chickens and many eggs they discovered in an open coop behind the small barn, not far from the abandoned house.
In a few more days Eric had a meeting with his Soldiers and Marines. “Men, we need to move a bit farther down the beach. Our ultimate destination, for the time being, is San Francisco. So far, as you all know, it’s been dismal in terms of finding anyone alive. Every house or store we come to has been pillaged and looted. I suggest we move out in the morning. We’re all stocked up with fresh water, thanks to Corporal Linden and his boys, so I see no reason why we should delay much longer. Any comments?”
One man asked, “What happens when we get to San Francisco?”
“That’s a good question. Once we get there we’ll decide. Anyone else have any questions or want to make a comment?”
No one spoke. They were all getting anxious to move out. The next morning, the group marched down the beach. The cliffs off to the east were quite high… around a hundred feet. They decided it would be a good idea to follow the beach below the cliffs where they could find defensive positions among the rocks and driftwood. Just to be sure, Eric and a few men climbed one of the cliffs to determine what they could see from up there. A few hundred feet east was a highway that ran from north to south. Next to that were more cliffs, and some of those areas appeared to be nearly impassable.
They decided that traveling the beach was a better alternative than up near the road. They climbed back down to the beach, rested and headed south again. They camped at nightfall. Eric experienced a sense of danger, so they extinguished the campfire. Later that night, they heard the sound of motorcycles traveling on the highway going north.
There were others alive, and plenty of them! The motorcycles took about five minutes to pass. Eric guessed that there were maybe a couple of hundred or so. A lot of questions flooded his mind. Who were they? Where were they headed? Were they friendly or were they bad guys? Regardless of who they were, the numbers were way too great to approach without knowing. Discretion was the byword in this case.
As they sat around in a group eating dried fish, the men were mellow, if not maudlin. “You know, Sarge, I find it hard to believe we aren’t seeing anyone. What’s up with that?”
“We are all wondering the same thing. Where are the people?”
“I think most of them are dead,” said another.
“They can’t be all dead! We just heard a bunch of ’em!”
Eric thought carefully before he spoke. “I think people are in hiding. I’m not sure what they’re hiding from, but I think they’re afraid of something. Maybe they think the Russians and Chinese landed. It could be something else but I don’t know what it could be. I think sooner or later we’re going to find out, and we may have a fight on our hands with whatever or whomever they are hiding from. People don’t necessarily hide unless there is a perceived threat. We don’t know for sure what that threat is, but I suspect all those motorcycles we heard going by could be part of it.”
They took the situation seriously and wondered what they might encounter in their travels. They set watch, and the rest of the men went to sleep.
Morning came, and it was time to continue on their journey. They walked for about two hours, and just as they were about to take a break, Eric saw a man way off in the distance. He was surf fishing and appeared to be with several women and a few children, some were teenagers. Everyone was busy. Some were cleaning fish, some were tending to the campfire and others were collecting driftwood. Eric gathered his troops around him.
“Well troopers,” Eric finally spoke, “we finally found some live ones. Let’s move toward the cliff and travel single file. We don’t want to scare them off but we do want to talk to them. It’s mostly women a
nd children, so I see no reason to anticipate trouble. The base of the cliff will help keep us hidden from sight. We’ll leave our things here for the time being. Gomez and Smith… stay here and guard our gear. Let’s move out.”
It was a hot day. The Soldiers and Marines moved toward the small group of people. The sun was up at about the nine o’clock and it promised to get even hotter as the day grew longer. The breeze from the ocean blew onshore, which made things a bit more comfortable, but it was pretty warm, nevertheless. Eric and his troopers moved toward the small gathering of people. It wasn’t long before they were spotted.
The people took off running like a group of birds startled into flight. The Soldiers and Marines drew nearer to them, and there was no place for any of them to escape because of the cliffs. The frightened people cowered together as Eric and the Soldiers moved toward them. He yelled above the noise of the surf. “We mean you no harm. We are United States Military. We are making our way down the coast to San Francisco. You’re the first living people we’ve encountered in over two months. Where is everyone? Do any of you know what all has happened?”
One of the men came forward. He was somewhat ragged in appearance with a full beard. He appeared to be reasonably calmer than the rest of his group. He began to speak in a soft voice. Eric interrupted him by telling him he had to speak up. The man, named Charles, raised his voice
“We’re a few of those who have managed to escape the slavers. They have been scouring the area from just north of Crescent City all the way down to San Francisco. They take hostage everyone they find. They use the women for a while and then sell them up north to anyone who has the right price. The teenagers are also sold, but the babies are eaten.”
They couldn’t believe what they were hearing as Charles continued, “Most of the men who are strong enough to work are sold as slaves. We have been coming to the beach once every couple of weeks to gather food to take back to our camp. We haven’t had much food since the war began.”
Avalon: Beyond the Retreat (The Avalon Series Book 2) Page 5
