by J. R. Tate
“It can’t be that bad. Help will be coming,” Ryan kept his voice low, the sweat dripping into his eyes, burning them. He blinked to try and clear them, but it didn’t help, and he was afraid to move an inch. The looter might have had a hair trigger.
“If there is one thing you should believe, it’s that they aren’t. You ever read Revelations in the bible? It’s happening. The world is ending. We’ve been all over the area. People are dead. Livestock is dead. Life as we knew it before, is over. We started looting early because we want the upper hand. The one who takes charge first is the one who survives.”
Ryan scoffed. “I’m not going to get into a philosophical argument with you. You can lower that gun and take my bag. I’m not any other use for you.”
“You look pretty strong. We could use him for something, couldn’t we?” He asked his friend, looking away for a split second. The next time he did that, Ryan had to take a chance and try to gain control. At least he’d go down fighting.
“Yeah, but I think we should just off the son of a bitch. I don’t trust him.”
Ryan glanced at the other man and back at the barrel. His heart raced so hard that it was going to thump out of his chest. He knew guns and had used them, but he had never been on this side, knowing in a second, he’d be killed with a simple pull of the trigger.
“Such a damn waste. A strong man like this could be useful, but you’re right. We can’t be watching his every move. He’s smart enough to ruin everything we’ve done so far. Sorry, not sorry.” The looter smiled. “Sorry we couldn’t give you a last meal like those ol’ boys on death row.”
Ryan wasn’t sure how he got the courage to do it, but he grabbed the barrel as hard as he could and pulled it, attempting to point it upward, away from everyone. The looter grunted and struggled as they fought over possession of the weapon, both of them falling to the floor with a hard thud. The man was stronger than Ryan had given him credit for, and again, he was looking down the barrel. He closed his eyes and tried to find the last bit of energy he had, gripping the gun so tight that his knuckles ached. He thought about Cecilia and Ty, and that was his inspiration to fight until death. The other looter tried to break up the fight, but with the shotgun moving around and unstable, he was unable to jump in and help, which worked best for Ryan. Being outnumbered would completely ruin his plan.
After what felt like an eternity, a loud gunshot rang out and Ryan felt the heat through the metal, echoing against the dirt walls of the storm shelter. Everything fell silent, including the rain and hail.
Chapter Twelve
Darryl sat beside Ty’s lawn chair and watched him sleep. The health of his grandson was concerning, and his patience was past the breaking point. He hated to think it, but the chances of ever seeing Ryan again were slim. Another storm had come through, and though it wasn’t as intense as the ones before, it was enough to do some more damage. Ryan had only left a few hours before and was probably right in the middle of it.
Any chance of having a positive attitude flew out of the window. As it was, Ty and Darryl were the only two left. Ryan’s frustrations were spot on – where in the hell was the help that should have been there by now? Plenty of time had passed for someone to get there, which made Darryl fear the worst. The weather was probably an underlying issue among a massive problem that spread farther than west Texas.
Grabbing a bottle of water, he took a sip and screwed the lid back on. He was thirsty, and the moisture soaked into his tongue like a sponge, but he feared drinking too much. Ryan had done a good job stocking up the shelter, but he hadn’t prepared for long term, nor did Darryl expect him to. He was shocked his son had done it at all.
He looked over Ty’s arm. Below the gauze, it looked like his skin had a blue tint to it. Maybe it was his imagination or the lighting – the lanterns did enough for him to see, but nothing past that, so maybe it wasn’t anything to worry too much about.
He studied everything Ryan had worked on before he got there. He had braided together switches from branches and made rope, and he had gathered wood, probably to make steps. The game plan was to get Ty out and to a hospital, but even if it seemed stupid, it was best to stay where they were and continue to hope that medical staff would get to them.
“Grandpa?” Ty lifted his head from the lawn chair, his eyes half open.
“Yeah, buddy, I’m right here.”
“When is daddy coming back?”
“I hope he comes back soon.”
Ty lay his head back. “And he’ll get me out of here when he does?”
“Yes, Ty, maybe even before that.” Darryl felt the warmth gather in the corner of his eye. He didn’t have the heart to tell the boy that the chances that his father would ever make it back were slim. It killed him to think that Ty would end up an orphan because Cecilia had probably been killed in the first storm. Based off of what Ryan had told him, she never stood a chance.
“Why do you look so sad, grandpa? If daddy is getting help, we should be happy.”
If only everyone saw the world through a child’s eyes, none of this would have been so frustrating. “I’m not sad, Ty. Just a little tired. How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts.”
“And your arm?”
“I can’t feel it.”
“You can’t feel it?” Darryl sat up. Maybe it was blue. Was the circulation cut off?
“No, it doesn’t hurt anymore, and when I try to move it, I can’t feel anything.”
Darryl knelt beside the chair and sat Ty up, being careful in the process. The child would probably get dizzy from the sudden movement. Gently moving the arm, he hoped it would get some blood flow. The protruding bone rubbed against the bandage, making Darryl cringe, but it didn’t seem to bother Ty.
“Does it hurt now?”
“Nope. Does that mean I’m getting better?”
Ty was going to lose the arm. What could he do to prevent it? “Can you stay sitting up for me, Ty?” He grabbed a blanket and balled it up behind him, helping support his back. “Does it make you feel dizzy to sit that way?”
“Dizzy?”
“You know, like when you get off of the spinning rides at the fair?”
“Yeah, a little.” Ty giggled.
The way Ty was acting didn’t help Darryl’s concerns. With a head injury, Ty could take a turn out of nowhere. His sudden change in mood meant that something was going on in his skull, or he was just being goofy because his arm wasn’t bothering him.
“Drink some water.” Darryl offered him the same bottle he had just opened. “I want you to drink as much as you can. And tell me if you start to feel your arm.”
“I don’t want to feel my arm. It didn’t feel good.”
“I know. Can you move your fingers for me?”
Ty complied with Darryl’s request, but they only wiggled for a moment. “It feels like when my feet fall asleep.”
That was a good thing. It meant the blood was starting to move. “Good! Keep moving them, okay?”
Darryl made sure they had enough ibuprofen and Tylenol. If Ty gained feeling in his arm again, he wanted to keep a handle on it. He wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if the boy did lose the use of the arm.
Spilling out one of the pills in his palm, he broke it in half and handed it to Ty. “Take this.”
“Daddy gave those to me when I was hurting. I’m not hurting.” He shook his head and drank some of the water, spilling some down his chin.
“I know, Ty, but you aren’t hurting because you took them. If we stop now, your arm might bug you again.” Why were kids so hard headed about taking pills?
Ty opened his mouth and Darryl put it on his tongue. He swallowed it with a gulp of the water and Darryl wondered if the painkillers were doing internal damage. It was adult medicine, and hopefully breaking it in half would reduce chances of liver damage and stomach problems.
“Are you hungry, Ty?”
“No.”<
br />
“You should probably eat something soon. Gotta stay strong, okay?”
Darryl looked at their options. It was food he’d never touch in normal conditions, but at that moment, it all looked delicious.
~~
Ryan had to act fast. The looter who held the gun on him was lying in a pool of blood, his eyes glossy and staring off into the oblivion. The other looter was still alive and lunged at him, but Ryan was able to grab the shotgun, aiming it at the other man. His index finger was on the trigger, ready to pull it, but the nuisance backed off, looking down at the lifeless body at his feet.
Ryan was still on the floor and he stood up, keeping the gun trained on him. Everything had happened so fast that he couldn’t remember how the gun got turned. He just kept his eyes closed and fought, not knowing the semantics of the situation. He had come out on the winning side, and with the handgun in his pocket and the shotgun in his possession, there was no way he’d lose now.
“You shot my brother, you son of a bitch!”
Ryan felt guilty, but it was replaced by a desire to live. He had his own family to think about, and had he not taken control of the situation, it would have been him on the floor in his own blood.
“Your brother got himself killed.” He checked the other man in the corner, and he hadn’t moved. He was pressed up against the dirt wall, unable to get far enough away. At least he hadn’t gotten hurt in the commotion.
“Then you better kill me, because when I get the chance, you’re a dead man.”
“Not the smartest thing to say with a gun pointed at you,” Ryan replied, unsure of what to do with him. He couldn’t kill him now. The man wasn’t exactly a threat at the moment, and he wouldn’t have the heart to pull the trigger. But he also didn’t want him running loose with the constant worry of him coming after them.
“So what are you gonna do? Call the cops?”
“I’m taking this man and we’re leaving. And don’t follow us.” It was probably stupid, but Ryan wasn’t a killer. The fact that the other looter was dead tore at him, even if it happened in self-defense. “Come with me.” Ryan motioned toward the stranger, his trust on high alert. He hated being in full on survival mode and couldn’t believe what the thieves had said about help not coming, but it seemed plausible with how everything was escalating so quickly.
The man pushed off of the wall and extended his hand. “My name is Steve. Steve Tarrant.”
“Ryan Gibson. You from around here?” He seemed familiar, but the name didn’t ring a bell.
“Just moved here from Oklahoma. Bought the old ranch down the road from here. Wasn’t in the house two months when the weather went crazy on us. We have some pretty crazy stuff happen where I’m from, but nothing ever like this.”
Ryan looked through the cabinets and filled his bag with food. It wasn’t much, but he couldn’t pass it up. “Believe me, Steve, I don’t think anyone has ever seen anything like this. Don’t let it ruin Texas for you.” He winked and tried to insert some humor, but it fell flat. They were in deep shit and both men knew that.
Pulling out a drawer, Ryan found another handgun and a box of ammunition that went with it. He also found a few more shotgun shells. He definitely wouldn’t leave any of that behind. Guns were common and most people in the area owned them, but now they were like precious gold, and taking them out of the looter’s hands would make everyone a bit safer. There were two cans of spray paint, and though he didn’t know what he’d need them for, he gathered them. Simple everyday items were now rare finds and he suddenly understood the mindset of a hoarder.
Turning to the looter, Ryan pointed the shotgun at him again. “I’m leaving some food for you.”
“Why in the hell would you do that?”
“Because I’m not an animal like you and your brother. If I find out you are out causing problems again, I won’t hesitate to blow you away, you hear me?”
The looter backed against the wall. He believed Ryan’s words just from his expression. “You say you’re looking for your wife?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s she look like?”
Ryan scoffed and hesitated to answer him. “Why do you wanna know?”
“I might’ve seen her when I was out there.”
“Where?”
“With another group of people. There were like five of them.”
“How about you describe who you saw and I’ll let you know if it was possibly my wife?” Ryan asked.
He described a woman that resembled Cecilia. “It’s your wife, isn’t it? I did see her. She wasn’t in good shape. Looked like another group of looters, so me and my brother steered clear.”
“Where were they headed?”
“North, last time we saw them, but that was days ago.”
Ryan gripped the gun and clenched his jaw. “Why would they be keeping her?”
“That’s for you to figure out. I was going to use you and this other guy here to help rebuild, sort of like slaves to make a new place to live. Maybe they have the same idea. Or maybe she decided to stay with them. Maybe she figures it’s her only way to survive. Being out there alone is a death sentence.”
Ryan ducked his head and took a deep breath. If the woman he spoke of was, in fact, Cecilia, she had been spotted alive. Now he had to make up time and get to her. Or the looter could be leading him on a wild goose chase to throw him off course as a way of revenge for his brother’s death.
“You better not be lying.”
“I guess you’ll never know.” His evil smile was back, making the hair on the back of Ryan’s neck stand up. “Just like you’ll never know if I’ll track your ass once you leave.”
That should have been enough to give Ryan the courage to shoot him, but he still couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Don’t threaten me.”
“Or what?”
Ryan pushed the barrel of the shotgun under his chin, lifting his head. His index finger rested on the trigger and he looked the man in the eye. “Your brother is dead because he was about to take my life, and I have two people depending on me to get help.” His voice shook and he tried to mask his emotions. “There’s still a chance for you. In times like these, it’s better to pull together instead of going around and ruining other people’s lives.”
“Or be weak and die.”
“No. I’m not weak. And I’m not going around kidnapping and killing. I’m going to leave you here. I left you some food. You’re on your own. If you want to follow us, go right ahead, but I’ve got your guns and all your ammunition. You won’t threaten me a third time, do you understand?”
He nodded and backed away, a red spot on his skin the shape of the end of the barrel. No one said a word. The only sound was the wind whipping overhead. Ryan started up the steps, adjusting his backpack that was a bit heavier from the supplies he collected.
“You coming, Steve?” He still had to feel him out, but he didn’t seem like he was a bad guy.
When they got to ground level, Steve pointed at a padlock beside the door. “They locked me in there when they’d go out to loot.”
Ryan slammed the door and dust flew up around them. Latching the lock to the metal, he secured the man inside. Pulling a can of spray paint from his bag, he painted a large red circle on the cellar, alerting help that someone was inside. He couldn’t live with himself if no one ever came, but he also couldn’t take any chances.
“In the fire department, we are trained to look for signs like this in times of disaster. X means someone is dead inside. Anything else means help is needed. Someone will come for him. Right now, he needs to stay put. The fewer jackasses like him running around, the easier it’ll be for us to do what we need to do.” Ryan mainly said it to justify his decision. There was a man dead inside, but with one still living, search and rescue would respond faster with the circle. It was too late to go back on it now. He didn’t have the key and had no clue where it was. The looter was locked inside with several days of food and water.
“W
hat exactly do we need to do?” Steve asked.
“You got any family?”
“It’s just me. Recently divorced. My ex-wife stayed in Oklahoma.”
Ryan began to walk away. He had to get away from what had just happened. With daylight burning and the possibility of more storms, they had to keep moving.
“Any kids?”
Steve shook his head. “None.”
“I’ve got a boy. He’s hurt pretty bad.”
“Where is he?”
“Back at my place with my dad. We got in the cellar just in time, but...” Ryan trailed off. “I gotta find help. He might lose his arm.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. And your wife?”
“I’m not sure if I can take the guy seriously. He could’ve just been saying that to give me false hope.” Ryan watched the clouds over the mountain range. They didn’t look too ominous yet.
“I was with them when we saw the group. He described the woman correctly. I don’t think she was with looters. It was hard to tell.”
“Lots of women could look like that, but I’m going to hold onto it and say that it is Cecilia. I don’t have much else to go on, so one glimmer of hope will be enough motivation for me to head north and find her.”
Steve patted him on the back. “I’d like to help. I have nothing else going on. I’d rather not just sit around and wait. Doesn’t look like anyone is coming for us anyway.”
Ryan hoped that was one thing the looters were wrong about. How could no one be coming?
Chapter Thirteen
The sun was setting over the mountain range and the heat of the day was finally fading. It made for cooler nights, so Ryan found a spot under a grove of trees that hadn’t been completely destroyed. He gathered wood from the fallen limbs and dug a small hole to start a fire. His stomach growled from hunger, and with the new food, he’d eat a little more to get his strength up.
Pulling the lighter from his bag, he struggled to get the fire going. The wood was wet from the recent rain. If he had some lighter fluid or something flammable, it would help, but nothing would work.
