Downward Cycle

by JK Franks

  “Uh oh,” said Todd as they approached another town. “I see a glow in the sky ahead. Looks like another one’s burning."

  Scott looked at the map. “Yeah, looks that way. The next town is about eight miles—Crestview. I’ve been looking, but there’s no real way around it… It’s a busy area. Lots of servicemen. It's near the Interstate and on a major north-south corridor.”

  “I know that town,” said Todd, “It’s—it was a nice area… but it’ll be too dangerous. How far to Highway 4? Maybe we can bypass the worst of it.” Scott found the road Todd named but couldn’t see a way to get over to it. It also went off to the northwest, so it would take them well out of their travel line.

  “Stop,” Scott said, and Todd did so. “The only way to get over to it is to backtrack about five miles and probably go off road.” Todd looked at the GPS before agreeing. He turned the Jeep around and headed back the way they had just come. They caught the little dirt road heading north and wound onto less and less well-maintained roads. As they got near the I-10, the vegetation thinned, and the road became a single line service path that led down the middle of a high-tension power line run. The now useless electrical towers stood in line like silent sentinels to the group’s passage.

  Topping a small hill, they could just make out that the road they were on ran under the Interstate about a mile ahead. The darkened slab of pavement was an ominous presence to the men. Underneath the overpass were numerous campfires. The warnings about interstates had been right. Todd had killed the lights well before topping the hill, and both men had switched to the night vision goggles. The campfires showing up as bright greenish white beacons. Very few people seemed to be moving down there. “Should we wake up the other two?” Scott asked.

  Scanning ahead Todd said, “No. The road itself looks clear. Hopefully, everyone down there is sleeping too, and maybe they don’t want any trouble. I am sure they would all like our ride, most of these people were probably stranded on the Interstate when their car died. We’ll ride through as slow and silent as we can until we’re within a few hundred yards, then I’m going to floor it. It could get a little bumpy, so buckle up, Buttercup.”

  “Now I’m Buttercup?” Scott asked, “I preferred Dork.”

  Todd lowered the driver’s window partially and began slowly creeping the Jeep down the trail. “Weapons hot,” said Todd, in a voice barely more than a whisper. He flipped the fire selector switch on the little H&K in his lap. “Watch your ejected shells, they’ll be hot and will hurt like hell if you’re in the way. Short three-round burst.” Scott spread a blanket over the two sleeping passengers then lowered his window and lay the barrel of the M4 on the frame, keeping the smaller MK416 in his lap as a backup. His palms were sweating, and his stomach was in knots. Every stone dislodged by the car’s tires sounded thunderous, and he knew the whole camp would be awake by now. This was a bad plan, it didn’t feel right, and he wanted Kaylie especially to be anywhere else right now. This was not the homecoming he had envisioned for her.

  They could soon see several people standing and looking for a vehicle as they got closer, though none of them seemed to know which direction the sound was coming from. As Todd floored it, flashlights quickly pointed in their direction, temporarily causing the NV goggles to white out. “I’m going to headlights and spotlights in five seconds,” Todd said, “Take the NVG’s off so you won’t be blinded.” Todd hit the lights, and they immediately started taking gunfire.

  Simultaneously, DeVonte and Kaylie sprung up. “Keep down!” Scott shouted behind him. He unleashed a barrage of shots, mainly firing for effect. Todd was sweeping his weapon along the left side of the road ahead, doing the same. “Scott, you have to get him—at your one o’clock,” Todd called above the din.

  Scott saw instantly whom he meant. A tall man was pushing a motorcycle into the road ahead, apparently in an attempt to block their path. Scott leveled the M4 at the man’s torso and pulled the trigger. The motorcycle fell as the man’s chest erupted in multiple dark red blossoms as the bullets impacted; he dropped beside the bike. "Oh God,” Scott said.

  “Later,” Todd shouted, “Keep them off.” They were passing under the I-10 now, its bottom looming over a hundred feet above them. A shotgun blast peppered the side of the Jeep on Scott’s side and he reluctantly returned fire. Thankfully, most of the shots seemed to be quickly dying off. Todd kept up the speed but killed the lights again as he flipped on his night vision for the rest of the descent.

  Scott hung his head out the window and vomited. He could not believe he had killed someone.

  Todd stayed silent and left his friend alone with his thoughts. Kaylie and DeVonte, unsure of what had just happened, were also silent as they came to terms with the world outside their campus.

  Ten minutes later Todd found the paved road that would become Highway 4 just up ahead. Turning west, he could just see the smoking ruin of the once peaceful little town of Crestview. Again, the stench of rotting bodies, this time mixed with the smell of raw sewage, overwhelmed the occupants of the car. Was this what every town was going to be like? Is this what lay ahead for them at Harris Springs? In just twenty-four hours so much had deteriorated. They kept driving. If they encountered no other major obstacles, in a few hours they would see how their own small town had fared.

  As the sun began to rise behind them, they took notice of more people out. To their relief, not much seemed to have changed in many of the small residential communities. More people were up early, rising with the sun as they had gone to sleep around dark. Each person carried a firearm. Things had changed, but in isolated, out of the way hamlets, the effect was so far less dramatic.

  Despite their meandering route, the group had managed to pick up the pace, and they crossed over into Alabama just after sunrise. DeVonte had said he lived in a little town called Mauvilla, just northwest of Mobile. The problem with getting there was that they would have to cross the upper Mobile Bay Basin and the Tensaw and Mobile Rivers, along with the dozens of other lakes and tributaries. No real roads crossed directly east to west other than the dreaded Interstate, and most other major roads went directly through Mobile. On the way out the day before, the two men had purposefully driven well north to avoid the area entirely.

  Scott had taken over driving duties giving Todd some much-needed rest. Kaylie had checked DeVonte’s injuries in the daylight and proclaimed him “Good to go.” The group had entered Alabama near a little town called Seminole; the cross road led to the beautiful tourist beach further south named Perdido Key. Perdido means Lost in Spanish, and getting lost at the beach would be far better than what came next. Getting on the North-South Interstate of I-65 was the simplest way to get across the swampy delta region of the top end of the bay. If they could do that safely, they could be across in half an hour and near DeVonte’s home thirty minutes after that.

  Unfortunately, that violated everything Scott and Todd had agreed on when planning this mission. But they owed their new friend and were resolved to get him home. Scott had pulled off to check the GPS and topographical maps. Other than an isolated rail line further south, no roads or bridges existed in this no man's land: hundreds of square miles with only a few isolated, small towns, divided by snaking rivers and marshland which spider-webbed across much of this part of the state.

  “DeVonte, we need to try and reach your brother,” Scott said. “We should be within range right now. Do you know the channel his department uses?”

  DeVonte took a few seconds to respond. The fog in his head refusing to clear completely. “I am not sure of the official frequency, but I remember one they used to monitor, it was like an unofficial 911 that truckers and other locals used to use to alert them to stuff. Scott handed him the radio, and the kid started adjusting the dial and calling for anyone with the Mobile County Sherriff’s office. He tried for fifteen minutes with no luck and was about to give up when he heard a tired and distant sounding voice say, “You are wasting your time kid. They are all gone, gave up, l
eft.”

  “Who is this? What do you mean gone?”

  The voice came back clearer this time, “Name’s Ron, and let’s just say I was in a position to know things like this. When the lights went off, the law did the best they could, but it was hopeless.”

  DeVonte had tears in his eyes as he keyed the mic. “Sir, do you know a deputy by the name of Trammell, Lamar Trammell? He’s my brother, and I need to know if he’s ok.”

  “Hmmm…sorry, kid, never heard of him…” DeVonte sadly let his hand with the radio fall to his lap.

  Todd had roused from his cat nap and reached back for the radio. He was able to get a bit more information from the man calling himself Ron before the signal faded again. What became clear was that their worst fears were confirmed. Mobile County was home to over four hundred thousand people, with nearly twenty percent of those living below the poverty level. Ron said the city had been dealing with a growing gang presence, the ranks of which had now increased with the thousands of newly released prisoners. In the days after the CME, they appeared to be in a feeding frenzy. The addicts could no longer get drugs from dealers, so they were looting drugstores for prescription meds as well as from houses and hospitals. Food, drugs, fuel, ammo and even sex were the new commodities with any value. Fires raged around the city, and armed gangs patrolled the roads looking for hapless travelers. The law quickly had become irrelevant and now was non-existent. Those officers who were not killed or injured in the early hours of the crisis simply had no more ammo or working patrol cars. They also had no place to put anyone arrested. Chaos and anarchy had become the rulers of this once proud southern port city.

  The occupants of the Jeep grew quiet, and the mood was distinctly darker after hearing how bad things had gotten. No one speculated on the fate of DeVonte’s brother, but the anguish was evident on the boy’s face. Kaylie and DeVonte were having to come up to the reality of this new world with no time to process it all. The two kids had been immersed in a relatively sheltered environment at the university. Now, it was like a diver emerging from the depths only to find the entire world had changed. They had to take it all in and adapt just to survive. Scott knew that Mobile was probably like countless other towns and cities around the world. In crisis, in ruins, good people fighting to survive and losing that fight. Right now, Scott just had to find a way to get them all home, and he was running out of ideas.

  Before everything went dark, they could have taken the scenic route and gone south to the beach, drove out to the mouth of Mobile Bay near Fort Morgan. From there they could have taken the ferry to the Dauphin Island in the middle of the bay. Then they could simply have crossed a few bridges, drive back inland on the west side of the bay and been home in an hour or so. Sadly, the ferry would not be running, and that route now had lots of choke points for desperate people to stage ambushes.

  This area they were in was just not as familiar to Scott, and he voiced his concerns. They all agreed that going south to the beach was out—too easy to be trapped on the wrong side of the bay and the city. Chances were that many of the most desperate people in Mobile had begun targeting those wealthier beach towns already. Going north, it was agreed, would take too long and require more fuel than they had. Eventually, they made the decision to shadow the Interstate for about fifteen miles on a parallel road. That would let them see if there were indeed highwaymen along it, or if it might be a viable option.

  This wooded stretch of interstate seemed to be remarkably clear. They were especially watching for roadblocks or people on overpasses waiting to ambush potential travelers below, but they saw nothing. It was likely so rural out here that most people had abandoned their stalled cars and left the interstate hoping to find better luck elsewhere. For thirty minutes they watched the road from the relative safety of the woods and only saw one other vehicle go by, heading north. After some discussion, they cautiously took the exit ramp down to the northbound side, which looked to have less stalled cars jamming the lanes. They headed southwest, crossing over the lower bay’s northern estuary safely. They exited near Creola, Alabama.

  DeVonte navigated them down a series of backroads to keep them away from the suburban sprawl of Mobile. They noticed numerous makeshift roadblocks and had to make quick detours several times. The next time the stench hit them was as they came up to an isolated old strip mall. They could see the cause this time. Thousands of seabirds, crows and vultures were feasting on what appeared to be a blackened mass. Getting closer, they could now tell it was hundreds of dead bodies. There was no other sign of life. Todd slowed but did not stop. No one spoke. As horrific a scene as it was, it was getting to be less unexpected at this point for all of them.

  They made it to Highway 45 about fifteen miles north of Mauvilla. “Ya’ll can let me out here and then just head straight on toward Georgetown and then turn south. I can get home on this road okay. I appreciate it.”

  “Probably be better if we drive you closer. You took a pretty hard lick on the head last night, and we owe you that at the very least,” replied Todd.

  DeVonte wasn’t listening; he was already getting his stuff together. “No, sir…My people are probably not going to be very welcoming right now with all this shit going on, and you guys are my friends. I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me… I’ll be alright.” DeVonte climbed out of the Jeep and threw his small duffle over his shoulder.

  The area did not look well off. The people around here might indeed be wary of strangers right now, and for good reason. But they were not bad people; just the opposite, most likely. The kid’s parents, or at least, his mother and uncle from what Scott understood, had raised a fine boy. His intelligence and common sense had taken him out of the backwoods to the university and now had brought him back and almost home safely.

  “Hang on,” said Todd getting out of the car as well. He unzipped the kid’s bag and put several things inside. “You may need these. There’s a radio in there with our frequencies and schedule if you ever need us.” Todd hugged him hard, thanking him for everything. Kaylie climbed out, her eyes moist, and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “You little shit, I wish I had known you better…before, I mean,” she stammered affectionately. “Be safe, and I really hope your family is ok.”

  He and Scott shook hands and Scott held it as he looked him in the eye. “You saved my niece… and me. I can never repay you for what you’ve done.”

  “You got me home, man—that was more than I ever dreamed.”

  Scott's eyes watered as he looked at the young man. “C’mere.” Scott led him to the rear of the Jeep where he undid the safety straps and lifted his Cervelo racing bike onto the ground. “You can ride a bike, can’t you? I want you to take this.”

  DeVonte was shaking his head.

  “You can’t ride a bike?” Scott asked.

  “No—I mean, yes. I can ride, but I can’t take your bike. It’s expensive and…well, it's yours.”

  Scott laughed, “Then bring it back to me one day. It’ll get you home quickly and quietly. And it's built for going long distances. Maybe when things settle down, you can ride it down to visit us at the beach. Besides, I have another one. This is my backup…just take it."

  DeVonte finally gave in, obviously relieved not to be making the long scary walk home on foot. Scott went over a few tips on the gears and told him how to scout ahead on each road before plunging ahead. He showed him where the patch kit and pump were. He hugged the young man and watched as the boy mounted awkwardly and began pedaling toward his home. The three remaining held their hands up in farewell as they watched DeVonte ride speedily away.

  Todd had tears in his eyes. Scott knew Todd had wanted to do more for the boy as well. “He’ll be fine, Todd. He’s a survivor.”

  Nodding, Todd said, “I know, I’m just worried that home for him may be unrecognizable. His troubles are probably just getting started.”

  Scott thought that was probably true for all of them.

  Chap
ter Forty-One

  Day 13

  The next hour in the car was much less stressful, and Todd had again taken the wheel. As they crossed into Mississippi, the area was more familiar. Todd had once had family in the area, and Scott biked many of these roads on a regular basis. Things were different, yes, but the morning sun gave promise of a beautiful day ahead, and they were closing in on home.

  Scott’s mind continued to return to the man he had killed. He knew it had been the right thing to do. The man would have done it to them in a moment. Many others had been ready to kill them on that road. What he felt was not remorse for the man but sadness for himself, for the thing that had died in himself with that act. He knew he would never again be the same and feared that, in time, taking a life might not affect him at all. Most of what he had read suggested that opportunistic and cruel people would quickly take over in a time like this, and it would be every man for himself. Take what you can and fuck everyone else. The weak will suffer as the strong rise-up. What he had seen so far suggested that some of that was already going on.

  But there was another side to this, and it was what Scott wanted to remember. While the bad may be rising to the surface, so was the good. Unknown people had helped them, were willing to pull together to help survive the crisis. Total strangers were willing to risk their lives to help him. For a man like Scott, who had withdrawn from society and people in general, this was a revelation. Perhaps he had been wrong about people… He rested his head on the window and let the whine of the tires on the road lull him to sleep.

  The sun was already bringing on an oppressively hot late-summer day. Scott was dreaming of ice cubes tinkling in a glass. Ice. Would he ever even have that luxury again? The tinkling was getting louder as he slowly rose from the depths of the dream. His eyes half opened, but the tinkling sound came again. Looking out the window, he realized that the Jeep was barely moving. Just ahead, a man led a mule loaded down with what looked like his worldly belongings toward a cluster of men. “Roadblock ahead,” Todd said calmly. “Don’t worry, it’s the sheriff’s office, our sheriff.”