They had to go north.
It was about eighty miles Massachusetts and they hoped that the virus or whatever biological weapon that was used hadn’t hit there.
Ben and Lana used common sense before taking off.
They tried to figure out what had happened.
It was big, and yet neither Ben nor Lana felt the attack wasn’t from a big country. Russia and China had the means to hit them, but no reason. Plus, they would have used nuclear weapons. Then again, nuclear weapons might have been used; they just did not know.
Whoever had done, it had to have been either a small country or at least one that was underestimated. The internet news source was still up and running so that told them a good part of the country was too.
If it was just the east coast that was hit, then New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Washington DC would have been the focal points of attack.
Connecticut and New Hampshire as well as parts of Massachusetts were entry points for invasion and hence the reason for chemical weapons.
Had it been a bigger country that attacked, then Connecticut would probably have been hit like New York. Instead they used biological weapons there.
They blew their explosive loads on the bigger cities.
Hit the United States, hit them big, cause confusion, chaos and while the United States scurried to pick itself up, hit with an invasion.
Hit them when they’re down.
Arriving at those theories, Ben and Lana realized they were smack dab in the middle of the point of entry. The first wave arrived; it would not be long before the second came.
Not that they believed Massachusetts was any better to be, but the small towns on the western side of the state were heavily forested and may have been spared by the grace of nature’s foliage. If not, if they ran into more of the same, they would just keep going,
Their intermediate goal was to get out of Connecticut into Massachusetts and try to find out what was going on.
But their long term goal was to be safe and stay alive. For that, Ben and Lana believed they only had one option and that was to keep heading north, get out of the country and head into Canada.
They didn’t look at it as abandoning their homeland in a time of need; they looked at it as just wanting to live.
***
Harry was too old to walk the twenty miles and smart enough to know that whatever the planes that passed overhead were heading east.
There were probably headed into New York and beyond.
He would have taken Mr. Hines’ horses had he been twenty years younger, but there was no way Harry was riding a horse that far. He had ridden when he was younger, but that was years ago. And Tyler didn’t have a clue about riding horses.
So, on a wing and a prayer, they took the car, staying on the road that followed the river north.
The road was a winding one and occasionally heavily tree lined. That afforded them some protection from anything that could spot them from the air.
Did he think they were a hundred percent safe? No. Actually Harry worried he was being foolish to drive, but he did have a destination in mind, a place he felt might be safe, if he could get there.
Just across the border of Connecticut, beyond the newly constructed housing subdivisions and two miles off highway159, was the town of Agabarn. It wasn’t big; it had probably more drinking establishments than business and most of its residents commuted to their work places.
Harry knew of the town because he knew George Miller. He met George by chance. Harry was with Leo having a cigarette while waiting outside to see Ronald Reagan speak. They got to talking and remained friends, especially after they discovered that their love of Ronald Reagan wasn’t the only thing they had in common.
George was a retired mechanic, but hadn’t always been a mechanic. He had been a fisherman who had loved his job. From sun up until sundown he fished for his living.
He did that until his oldest son drown and, consumed with grief, George swore he never wanted to see the ocean again.
He moved inland and put his other talents to work.
George lived in Agabarn and Harry hoped he was still there, that everything was fine and he’d find his buddy.
The drive wasn’t long or far and Harry inwardly wasn’t hopeful of finding anything different up north, especially since they didn’t see a car or person the whole trip.
Then again, it was only twenty miles.
Tyler was quiet.
Still a bit shaken after the plane experience, he didn’t say very much and his hand seemed to find some sort of security in resting on the Leo present.
Harry thought it was ironic, considering what the gift was.
They made the turn off from RT 159 and were a stone’s throw away from Agabarn. The McDonald’s, the landmark for the turn, was dark and empty.
No cars.
No people.
Harry was losing hope.
He swore he felt his heart hit his stomach when he pulled on the main street of the three block town.
Not that Agabarn was a bustling metropolis, but there were always people out and about. Cars were always parked on the street, especially in front of the grocer. But there were no cars and windows were all blackened and boarded up. It was a ghost town.
Harry pulled over. He needed a minute to get his bearings and think of a plan B. In his mind, the invasion force had swept through Agabarn, boarded up the place and moved on.
“I’m sorry,” Tyler said. “Maybe we should go to your friend’s house.”
Harry shook his head.
“Don’t you know where he lives?”
Harry did, but that wasn’t the reason. He just didn’t think he had it in him to see another dead body ravished by the flu or anything else for that matter. Especially if it was someone he knew.
Again, Harry shook his head. “I’d just rather not.”
Staring down, Harry saw through the corner of his eye that Tyler was gripping the box tighter. He lifted his eyes to see that Tyler’s head hung low as well.
“Hey.” Harry reached for him. “It’ll be okay.”
Thump, thump, thump!
The quick, triple hard hits on the driver’s side window made them both jump and scream.
Harry grabbed his chest and opened the window. “By God, it’s a living person.”
A younger man, probably in his mid-twenties, wearing a baseball cap was frantic. “Mister, ya can’t leave the car in the road. Ya got to move it now.”
“I’m sorry, move it?” Harry asked.
“Unless you’re going. If you’re going, you got to go. If not, you got to move.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Harry whispered out. “What in the hell are you saying?”
“Is you passing through or is you staying?”
“I’m looking for George Miller. Know him.”
“Everybody does.”
“Is he alive?”
“Last I checked.”
Harry grinned and turned to Tyler. “George is alive.” He returned to the young man. “We’re staying.”
“Ah, Gees, okay.” He adjusted his cap, shuffling some. “Head a block up, no gunning the gas, turn at the station into Mort’s storage units. I’ll run up. Meet you there, Ok?”
“Why am I going to Mort’s?”
“Mister, ya got to square away your car. Come on.” The young man darted a half a block, poked his head into the ‘Running Tap’ saloon, backed out and quickly ran in the direction he had told Harry.
Harry followed the dictate and when he arrived at Mort’s the young man stood by an open storage unit waving Harry forward.
Figuring the young guy wanted him to hide his car, Harry pulled forward and into the storage unit. He shut off the car and stepped out.
“Do you have belongings?” the young man asked.
“Yes, we do.”
“Can you hold off until dark to get them?”
“Well we’re just gonna head to George’s house.”
“Not until da
rk you aren’t. There’s a curfew right now, have to stay off the streets and inside.”
Harry blinked. “Aren’t curfew’s usually for night?”
“Not now, they aren’t.”
Harry nodded. “I understand. Should we just wait it out here?”
“No, you and the boy can come on down to The Tap. Lot of people are there, just hanging out, listening to the radio and waiting.”
“The Tap?” Harry asked. “Is that a bar? Because he’s a boy, can he go in there?”
“Don’t much matter now, does it,” the young man said.
“Guess not. Lead the way.” Harry placed his hand on Tyler’s back and kept the boy between him and the other man, just to be safe.
They were led from the storage area, quickly across the street and through the side door of a Laundromat. The windows were boarded up. A woman folded laundry and waved as if nothing was peculiar about them passing through.
From there they headed out the back door, staying close to the buildings and it was another half a block before they entered into the back of The Tap.
No sooner did they walk in than the young man secured the back door and led them down the hall.
Music playing at a soft level carried to Harry and Tyler, along with voices.
Tyler reached up and grabbed Harry’s hand. He held it tight.
“It’s okay,” Harry said to Tyler. “I promise.”
They then emerged into the back portion of the Tap. The interior lights were on, some red and blue. People played pool; some threw darts. Others filled the tables and there were children running around.
The man behind the bar gave an up motion of his head. “I see you got them, Rick.”
Rick nodded. “Didn’t quite understand about hiding the car, but they’re looking for George.”
“Miller?” the bartender asked.
Harry nodded. “Do you know him? Have you seen him?”
Another nod of his head and the bartender pointed.
Harry turned.
George emerged from the men’s room, a newspaper tucked under his arm. He wasn’t a tall man like Harry, but had a barrel chest and thick gray hair that was neatly combed and styled. “Harry? Well I’ll be a son of a bitch!” The man was a few years younger than Harry. He moved toward him and gave him a hearty embrace with a chuckle.
“George, can’t tell you how happy I am to see you and that you’re alive.”
“Me, too.” George reached out and rubbed Tyler’s head. “This your grandson?”
“No. no. But I’m gonna call him that from here on in. He’s my buddy.” Harry pulled him closer.
George tilted his head. “What brings you here?”
“Didn’t know where else to go. Gave it a shot and hoped things were better up here,” Harry explained. “Tyler and I were on a train. It crashed in New York. We were stuck underground, when we came up …”
George’s single, slow, knowing nod, told Harry he understood.
“George, we made it out of New York, into Connecticut...” Harry said with desperation. “What the hell happened?”
George motioned his hand toward table. “Sit down. Get comfortable. Let me see if I can fill you in.”
***
You are weak.
You’re such a coward.
What is wrong with you?
Those were the thoughts that ran through Abby’s mind as she huddled behind that sofa, holding her ears long after the shots had ceased.
She had run.
In a world gone mad, a boy not even old enough to know love had been kind to her and she had run.
She hid behind the sofa in a townhouse with a clear view of a child.
A dead child.
Her memories flashed to her son, Landon.
The corner said the car impacted the driver’s side at such a high speed that her husband and son never knew what hit them. They were crushed.
Decimated beyond recognition, Abby didn’t even get to see them. She couldn’t bring herself to identify the bodies. A coworker did.
She never got to say good bye to her son, hold him or tell him she loved him.
She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him hurt.
But Landon had felt no pain; he had died instantly.
Unlike that toddler on the dining room floor of the townhouse, he never knew his life was ending.
How much pain that young child must have endured the final moments of his life was incomprehensible to Abby. He suffered, probably crying and screaming for help, and died alone on a cold hardwood floor.
She kept focusing on his little hand and then Abby couldn’t take it anymore.
She scurried out from behind that couch and crawled to the child.
His eyes were open, his skin white and his mouth frozen open as if crying out for help.
Scooping her arms under his body, Abby lifted the child into her arms and cradled him. She held him close, burying her head against the boy and sobbing from the depths of her soul.
For all that she lost, for all that other mothers lost, for every child who died without a pair of arms to comfort them, she cried as she held that child.
“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered and cried as she held him. “I’m so sorry for the pain you went through. I am so sorry.”
She rocked back and forth holding him and crying for the longest time. Then she stood and carried the child to the sofa. She laid him there and covered him with the blanket that was tossed over the back of the couch.
She stared at him and then covered him completely. She swiped her hand under her nose and took a moment to think.
A few days earlier she had stood in her bathroom, a razor to her wrist and wanting to die.
But she couldn’t do it.
The train crashed. Seventy percent of the passengers onboard died. But she lived. Why?
Foreign soldiers had barreled into town, guns blazing, shooting everyone and everything that lived.
Except her.
She still lived.
Why?
It dawned on Abby right there in that living room that for all her losses, all her heartache, for all the seconds she just wanted to die … she didn’t.
She was meant to live.
Somehow, someway, through her pain there was a greater purpose.
Whether it was to just get out of the city or to find others alive, there was a reason she was still alive.
‘The whole world is mourning.’ Foster’s words ran through her mind. Suddenly her pain was not singular, but multiplied by parents everywhere.
She broke down and cried again, thinking about Foster in that recreation center. She thought of the helpless blind that she so heartless disregarded because of her own pain.
An opportunity was given to her, a purpose for her life, and she had turned the other cheek.
With the body of the child on the sofa and Foster racing through her mind, Abby sobbed her last tear.
Her lips were swollen from all the crying and her face was wet with tears.
But she had turned an emotional tide. She vowed right there to turn over a new leaf. Running for her life, hiding, made her realize she truly didn’t want to die.
Abby vowed to make up for her lack of compassion and selfishness.
She would try.
First, she would head down to the recreation center even if it were only to find Foster’s body. Then she would apologize and promise the young man she would pick up where he left off.
If the bus load of people were alive, others were too.
It was quiet outside and Abby felt it safe to leave.
Sniffling and catching her breath, Abby peeked out the window.
She didn’t see anyone on the street.
Quietly she walked to the front door, opening it without a sound.
She pulled it closed behind her without latching it and stepped down the steps.
Shit.
She heard the sound of a weapon loading ammunition bullet in the chamber.
&
nbsp; Abby stopped cold on the stairs. Turning slowly to her right, she saw a soldier.
He said something to her as he aimed his weapon.
Abby didn’t understand him. She lifted her hands in surrender, but she was not surrendering. As she reached the bottom step, the soldier neared her. Inwardly she almost felt invincible. She had escaped botched suicides, the train wreck and the paratroopers. She had a purpose.
And that purpose wasn’t to die.
She shifted her eyes. No other soldiers were around.
Arms raised high, she thought about running. The soldier was young; if he was twenty, he was lucky. He also looked scared, as if he didn’t know what to do.
“I’m not armed,” Abby said.
Again he said something.
“I don’t understand you,” Abby told him. “English?”
He motioned his weapon, ordering her to do something.
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
He moved closer.
Abby thought, ‘Fuck it.’ She was going to run.
Standing there at the bottom of the townhouse stairs, she was aware of her will to survive. It was that same survival instinct that had led her to run into that townhouse and hide. She realized that she didn’t want to die.
But Abby’s revelation of the value of life came too late for her.
For all her failed attempts to end her life, all her near death experiences were just a tease to bring her to the realization that she wanted life not death.
In the midst of reasoning with the young soldier, he fired a single shot from his rife, an action for which she was ill prepared.
And the wish of a day or so earlier, her wish to die, came true when the bullet seared into her forehead and Abby dropped to concrete sidewalk and died instantly.
***
The blood went from warm and thin to cold and thick, turning sticky and sour smelling. But despite the transformation the substance took, Foster stayed still beneath the bodies and didn’t move.
He was prepared to get up earlier but then he heard that lone shot and he stayed still even longer.
He hadn’t a clue how long he was under those bodies; it could have been all day or ten minutes. But enough silence engulfed him and since there hadn’t been any outside noise in a while, Foster deemed it safe to get up.
Then Came War Page 11
