The Bug Out

by Nick Randall

  I slid the backpack toward her and grasped her hand. She offered a weak smile.

  “We can do this, Liza,” I tried to assure her. “Remember, we have stories to uncover, Goliaths to slay, and lives to save.”

  That had become our motto the past four years. I grinned at her, and she pulled me into a hug.

  “Let’s do this,” she whispered back.

  Matthew sighed, “Okay. I’ll come along. You girls are going to need someone to help out on the road. That’s a lot of miles, and someone’s gotta look after Wonder Woman over here.”

  CHAPTER 5 (Holly)

  After the late discussion, we decided to begin the long trek that night and rest for a couple of hours during the day.

  Traveling at night in the city would provide more cover. The most difficult task would be finding places to hunker down during the daylight hours.

  We didn’t realize how terrified people in the city had become. Sharks and fish . . . that was the layout.

  Terrified people gathered together in great clumps, and the danger seemed to herd them into buildings for the taking.

  Many of the store windows were empty cavities, shattered glass littering the sidewalks.

  Future criminals were stepping out of the shadows, invigorated by the chaos. This was their hunting ground. You could see the contrast on the faces of people you passed.

  Those with malevolent intent wore a look of hunger and excitement, which was opposite of the panic and worry and furrowed eyebrows of the majority.

  We hung back in the shadows. The fires around the city had ignited several buildings and the unchecked blaze cast a flickering light throughout the streets.

  Crowds congregated near the light as far away from the shadows and alleyways as possible. Liza, Matthew, and I walked steadily through the city and into the park.

  Clear Creek ran through park, and we would need to fill up on water in order to make as many miles as possible.

  “Where from here?” Matthew asked me, his back was to me as he kept watch while I rummaged through my pack for my water filter.

  “We need to get through the park and follow the creek for a while,

  I said. “I want to stay close to the creek until we get to 85. We’ll refill our bladders before we branch off from the creek, and stay in the woods close to the interstate until 985. There are plenty of streams and tributaries along the way for water. We are lucky we live in Georgia and not California or some other dry state. Also, we can’t go on the interstate. It will be the first place roadblocks will be set up, and it’s too exposed.”

  I tossed the filter hose in the creek and positioned the other hose inside my water bottle. I started pumping. The suction and then the trickling of water sounded loud in the cocooned park.

  All of the noise of crashing and crying and exploding and shooting seemed buried behind the trees.

  I filled up my water bottle over and over, pouring the water into two 3 liter water bladders, one for each pack.

  I topped off my bottle, and Matthew and I silently switched places as he pumped and filled his bladder and he and Liza’s water bottles. Liza had stepped off into the woods nearby to go to the bathroom.

  I took the time to check the map under the soft glow of my pocket flashlight. The creek would be our guide for now, and then, the interstate would be our anchor, 85 to 985, until we had to branch off to get water or supplies.

  Then, onto Grandpa Norman’s cabin. I heard rustling in the bushes where Liza had snuck off. I realized the sound of the pump was absent. I could hear Matthew positioning his bladder into his hiking pack and the plastic cap clicking into place on the water bottles.

  Liza stepped out of the brush, and we were off again with me leading the way through the park.

  We walked in silence, out of the park and along the edge of the creek. Trees skirted the border of the creek for the next hour until the creek bed gave way to a concrete embankment, and the tree line slowly thinned.

  By this time, the grey of morning was pushing out the night. We looked out across low, flat grass, and small lakes of sand on gently rolling hills. The golf course stood in our way, a small oasis among the trees.

  “I need to rest,” Liza dropped her pack and plopped down on the ground. “I’ve never walked this far in one day, Holly. I can’t go another step.”

  “Push through just thirty more minutes,” I encouraged her. “We’ll go around, and follow the tree line bordering the golf course. We need to keep going and make the most of the dim light.”

  Matthew and I helped her up. He grabbed her pack and slung it over his shoulder to join his own.

  We trudged on until we could see the end of the tree line and the beginning of a road.

  “Okay,” I said. We make camp, and then, we eat and head out as soon as the sun starts setting. We can take turns on watch. I’ll take first.”

  Matthew held his hand up to stop me.

  “I can take first,” He said. “You’ve been leading us all night. You need some rest.”

  He smiled gently and I nodded, grateful for sleep.

  We settled into a space further back in the trees. Liza and I both had hammocks in our packs, lightweight and easy to haul for long distances.

  I pulled them out and worked on showing her how to gauge the distance needed between the trees and secure them. The daylight spread around us as we crawled into our hammocks and drifted in and out of sleep.

  October in Georgia. Thank God it isn’t the sweltering heat of July, I thought as I drifted off. The day passed quickly with each of us waking for our three hour shifts until the sun began to set over a hazy sky.

  We quickly ate one of our MREs. I took stock of our food as my stomach growled, not quite satisfied: 5 MRE’s in each of my packs for a total of 10, and 5 snack-sized pouches of trail mix from Liza and Matthew.

  Each of us could get by eating one MRE and a snack each day, so that left a gap in our supplies, especially when we were hiking in the woods outside the city.

  I’d mapped supply restocks for the less populated areas along the route, but we may not get to them in time if we were held up in the city.

  I’d only packed enough for one person. We would need to restock before getting too far out into the wilderness, which meant going into a populated area sooner than expected.

  I had taken the time to put on my watch and loop my compass through the many eye holes on my pack during the day watch.

  We would need to continue north, and we’d only made it through half a night’s mileage last night. I packed everything away, took a long breath, and looked around.

  The sweet hues of October surrounded us; reds, oranges, and yellows mixed with fading greens.

  The ground blanketed in fallen leaves, and the night air just starting to chill, whispering the beginning of fall.

  A full, perfectly rounded moon shone brightly over the city, no clouds in the air tonight.

  Matthew and Liza sat on the ground beside me. Their eyes were lost in thought.

  If not for the present dilemma, the night would have been perfect. A fun hiking trip with friends in the crisp, fall air with autumn beauty unfolding around us.

  I sighed.

  We all looked at each other briefly, shouldered our physical and psychological burdens, and headed out.

  We stayed with the concrete bank of the creek, passing a bar and some other buildings high up on the path along the way.

  Once the bank became too steep, we shuffled along across neighborhood streets and behind clumps of trees, staying close to the creek until we saw the interstate. I-85 loomed under the moonlight ahead of us as the city rose around us again.

  No longer fortified by the trees from the riverbank, I felt goosebumps spread along my arms and neck. We were more exposed, and that would be a threat to all of us. I turned right and stopped.

  “Stay alert,” I cautioned. “The city may seem quiet now, but I guarantee you there are people who are desperate or worse.”

  I le
t Matthew and Liza fill in their own meaning of ‘worse’.

  “We will need to find some more food before leaving the city behind,” I went on. “I only had enough in my packs for one person. When we find a place, it’s in and out. Look for lightweight, preserved foods, high in calories and protein. We go north now. If anything happens, stick to I-85 north and, then, 985 north. Stay close, but don’t go onto the highway. Got it?”

  Matthew and Liza both nodded.

  “Let’s go, then,” said Liza. “If I have to eat too many more of those MRE things, I might die in the next couple of days.”

  She twisted her neck and held up her hand in a hangman’s noose imitation.

  Matthew and I both chuckled.

  The night had fully descended, the moon the only light that guided us forward. During our dinner, Matthew and I had poured over the maps.

  I had him remember as much as possible, in case we were separated. Liza had taken one look at the map and said she was terrible with geography. I couldn’t convince her to look at it again.

  For four nights, we stuck to the routine, finding small stretches of trees or abandoned houses to set up cover and watch.

  The mileage was slower than expected. We had to be careful, so the rerouting and going around open spaces put us around 40 miles by the end of the third night.

  The neighborhoods were quiet, most people had left. Occasionally, we would encounter one or two people, or a family. We would avoid them, ducking into side streets or parks or behind buildings.

  We rummaged through pantries and scrounged around for food, breaking into empty houses, stocking up for the long stretches in the woods.

  By the third day, the woods became more compacted around us. Neighborhoods stretching out further and further apart.

  I began to think our trip might be easy and painless. My fear began to ebb, and we all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

  On the fourth night, we had just finished a sweet find before setting out, a stash of chocolate bars and champagne.

  We laughed quietly and celebrated our small stash on the small ranch we had holed up in.

  Matthew only allowed a half glass of wine for each of us. He was cautious, a trait that I’d begun to admire, among all the other reasons I had been in love with him for the past three years.

  I started to wish that I’d taken the risk of telling him before this. The blackout colored everything in a new light. My regrets and indecision and mistakes came back to haunt me. What had I been so afraid of?

  We set out that night in good spirits, excited for over half the trip to be over. I had decided that we would skirt around the small town square to see if we could find lightweight provisions before heading out past Gainesville and towards Cleveland.

  Two hours into our hike, we neared the square. We heard nothing until the silence slowly faded, rising into a small whisper, and then, a murmur, and finally, a roaring din.

  We had just entered the alleyway of a small diner and pizza place. We crept towards the end of the alleyway to peer at the source of chaos and commotion across the street.

  An older model car was on fire and jutting out of the front of a grocery store.

  People were screaming and running in all directions as the fire blazed hotter and hotter. One on top of the other, people stampeded out of the store. They shoved and hit and clawed their way past each other.

  At the front of the building, standing in the back of a 1950’s Chevy pick-up truck, a dark figure rattled off bullets out of a semi-automatic AR-15 strapped across his body.

  The fire blazed behind him, as if he were the devil in his element.

  “Woohoo!” he called out. “Look what we have here! The ants are scurrying out of their little ant hill!”

  He drew out a shiny silver 1911 .45 caliber pistol, took quick but careful aim, and fired at the nearest head.

  The body fell.

  The people scrambled back into the recesses of the store.

  “Okay, everybody, let’s calm down. My name is Joseph, like St. Joseph, the patron saint who protects you. You can call me your personal protector. From now on, you work FOR me to earn protection FROM me.”

  He laughed maniacally, shooting another volley of bullets into the store front. Five men stood in formation around the truck, rifles in hand.

  I saw three more men beside the store, firing into the parking lot towards the members of the crowd who’d escaped.

  “Now, everybody, stop running and line up outside on the street if you don’t want to end up like this man!” He pointed to the man he’d just shot.

  One by one, the people stepped out of the storefront and resignedly lined up along the street. The man stepped down from the truck, and for a brief moment, the firelight shined on his face.

  He was handsome with thick hair cropped short and tidy around a smooth face with a strong jawline. He had large almond shaped eyes and a perfect profile.

  A devil disguised as an angel.

  I wondered if he’d fooled the people into thinking they could trust him before orchestrating this disgusting scene. He turned away, his back towards me.

  “Holly, what the hell?” Matthew whispered. “We need to get out of here now!”

  I slipped out of my trance and looked behind me to see Liza cowering against the building, her hands covering her ears.

  She was whimpering softly. Matthew was kneeling down next to her, his hand rubbing her shoulder.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said. “Let me check the street behind us first.”

  I walked slowly to the street behind the pizzeria, checking left and right.

  “All clear,” I said in a hoarse whisper.

  Just as I turned to walk back towards them, I heard a scuffle and a gunshot.

  “Run!” Matthew yelled.

  Just before I bolted off, I saw Matthew and Liza up against the brick wall, guns trained on them by one of St. Joseph’s men.

  “We’ll meet again!”

  I heard the man shout it down the alley as I ran.

  He said it with such surety and calmness. His words ricocheted after us through the alley.

  CHAPTER 6 (Holly)

  I ran.

  I ran just far enough that I hoped no one would chase me. I had only counted ten, including the Saint and the man in the alley.

  If they were smart, they wouldn’t trouble with one stray when they needed all of their manpower against the thirty or so people lined up outside the grocery store.

  I knelt and fished around in the bottom of my pack to pull out my Glock 19, holster, and a couple of spare magazines loaded with jacketed hollow point 9mm self-defense loads.

  I was never a gun person, but Norman had insisted that I learn to shoot and had spent hours with me on the range teaching me how to shoot and use all types: .22s, hunting rifles, semi-automatic rifles, shotguns, revolvers, and semi-automatic pistols.

  On my 18th birthday, he had presented me with this very same Glock.

  “I think that you’ve had enough training at this point,” he had told me when I opened the box and stared at the factory new Glock nestled for me inside. “You need your own before going off to college. Happy Birthday!”

  Norman had smiled and also handed me a sleek black leather holster to go with it.

  “That’s to fend off all the douche-bags that come your way,” he grinned.

  “Thanks, grandpa,” I said with a casual chuckle. “It’s what a girl always dreams of!”

  I batted my eyelashes and laughed. He had taken me to the shooting range that day to make sure it was a good fit. He was right. It was tailor-made for a woman’s hands, and it was the perfect weight for my size.

  I secured the gun, strapping it around my thigh. Then, I reached in the front pocket of my pack and pulled out my knife and sheath.

  After I strapped it to my other thigh, I headed a few more blocks down to check the perimeter.

  Then, I doubled back around and positioned myself several storefronts down
and across from the pizzeria.