American Revenant:
Hometown Exodus
By John L. Davis IV
America Revenant: Hometown Exodus
Copyright 2014 © John L. Davis IV
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover art, design, and layout courtesy of Emily Royal at [email protected], https://www.facebook.com/emily.jemphotographics.
Dedications
To Erica, for…well…
REASONS!
To Barry, Cole and Jim,
for support, title ideas, and beer.
1
“We have to get to the river, it’s our only chance.”
“Getting to the river is one thing. What are we going to do when we get there? Stand at the riverbank and wait for the Freak Squad to get us?”
The six people seated around the table looked back and forth between the two speakers. For the past few days these same people had listened to and participated in the same debate. ‘Where to go?’ The same passionate words and heated responses used over and over to little effect. The group still stood at a stalemate.
“Listen, we’ve all said the same damn things so many times none of it matters. Only thing that matters now is that we get away from town.” Mike Phillips stated what most were thinking. Time was being wasted on so much discussion. “Tam is right, getting to and on the river would be a great way to be safe, at least for a while. Jack is also right. We have no idea what to do once we get to the river. We have twenty people here and only one of us actually owns a boat. My sixteen-foot jon-boat isn’t going to hold even half that. So, get to the river, then what? We get some plan, and then move on it. Either way, we have to get out of town, and in a hurry.”
Everyone sat in silence for a moment, looking around the table, from face to face, hoping someone had the idea that would fix their current dilemma.
“Steal some boats,” Rick Tillerman said.
Rick suddenly felt very uncomfortable when all eyes looked to him. Everyone had an opinion, some for, others against stealing boats. The main argument against being, “Hell no, we aren’t going to start stealing!”
“Listen guys,” Rick began, “it may seem illegal and immoral or whatever case you want to make against it, but stealing has already become a viable way to survive. I’m not saying we go in and take something someone is using. But if we can find some boats, preferably a couple of pontoon boats that no one has laid claim to, then we take them and push out on the river that way.”
In less than two weeks the entire world had gone crazy. A sudden and unexpected plague of unknown origin had killed off hundreds of thousands of people. Every nation had to decide what to do with the dead and a sickness that had no cure. The CDC was overwhelmed within days of the first outbreak. Cities began to burn as panic spread just as fast as the sickness. Violence and fear spread to suburban areas and small towns. In less than one week anarchy ruled over most of the United States.
Every nation around the world was affected just as severely. The fear that controlled the hearts of men also controlled nuclear arsenals. When it was evident that each nation was brutally affected by the sickness world leaders began to point fingers at one another. It was not long before someone reached for “the button” that would send nuclear devices around the world.
Whether through intent or accident a nuclear weapon was detonated above the U.S. The explosion sent out a massive Electromagnetic Pulse that destroyed virtually all but the most heavily shielded electronic devices.
A diseased world had suddenly become a dark one.
This is the world that for two weeks the group of people seated around the table had been living in. Some of these people would have been called “preppers” or “survivalists” at one time. Now they were the few that had a chance of fighting back against a world that actively wanted them dead.
Not one of these survival oriented people would have ever seriously entertained the idea that out of the drifts of bodies would the dead come walking. But come they did, in singles and pairs, in groups of ten or more, entire massive herds.
Hearth and home had taken on a new meaning for this small and not so merry band of survivors. They had taken refuge in an abandoned school building that had been slated for demolition. The large rooms and three floors allowed plenty of room for everyone to move about freely. It was something they thought would work well for the long term, as it was easily defensible against the shambling, shuffling hordes of face-biting, neck-chewing, gut-sucking dead.
They quickly realized that the “freaks”, as one of their group so fondly called them, were not the biggest threat to safety and survival. People, the kind that are hungry and heavily armed, (or even lightly armed) and more than willing to violate all moral codes to get what they wanted posed the greatest threat to them all. It was the violent death of two of theirs that brought this into blood red contrast with the morose gray ideal of safety they all shared.
2
Two days after the EMP three members of the group had decided to see if they could find four people that were missing. Many members of the group had agreed years ago that should an event of a catastrophic nature occur, or should there ever be a time when the government either broke down or took the country down a horrible road to destruction, they would all meet up at the old school within forty-eight hours. If someone did not show up, and should the situation permit, three people would go out and search for the missing group member at one of six pre-determined locations.
The three members of the group left just at sunrise, hoping to make the searches quick, and get back to the safety of the school. They moved quickly, searching two checkpoints before noon.
A small, inconspicuous brick shed that sat on the north-west corner of an abandoned lot served as the third designated meeting-place. The lot was overgrown with weeds that were nearly chest high, and the shed itself was covered in thick green ivy. If someone didn’t know it was there it would be easy to overlook.
The rescuers were still a block away when they heard shouting voices and the revving of a tired old engine, a gunshot, and then a loud scream. Quietly placing their bicycles in a shallow ditch, the group quickly moved toward the shed, and the sounds.
The rendezvous shed was surrounded by six very rough looking men, all carrying a weapon of some type. A beat up rust-bucket pickup truck that had to have been made sometime in the 1950’s sat about ten feet from the shed door, a crusty looking cretin wearing a dark grin behind the wheel. The hard case crew looked back and forth from the door of the tiny shed to a large greasy-bearded man standing next to the truck.
It was th
is clue the rescuers needed. After a brief and whispered discussion two of the men readied a pistol, the third lay prone with the cold red eye of his carbine’s sight centered on the head of Greasy Beard. The pistol-bearers took careful aim at the two closest men and waited for the whispered call of death.
“Now.”
Three shots cracked, two men died instantly, one man lay on the ground screaming and holding his stomach. Greasy Beard’s gray matter splattered the side of the old truck, and the driver as well. In the moment it took for the driver to realize what had happened, the three gunmen came up from the bushes about twenty feet away.
Bullets began to fly, though most went wild. Grinny the driver lost his grin at about the same moment his foot slammed the pedal to the floor. The old truck shuddered, nearly dying before it kicked up dirt and weeds, slewing wildly back and forth as it headed away from the shed.
The two remaining marauders stopped their firing to follow the pickup on foot. One screamed when he caught a bullet in the back and flopped face first into the weeds. The other fell into a ditch, climbed up the other side and kept running.
Heroes of the moment, the rescuers went quickly to the shed. “Allen, Mary, if you’re in there don’t shoot. Its Rick, Jimmy and Calvin are with me. We’ve come to get you.”
Death can become a cold acquaintance quickly in a dark and diseased world. This rapid adjustment to the horrors of the flesh can often mean the difference between sanity and the crushing realization that human life can be very fragile. No matter how comfortable or numb one becomes with blood and pain, seeing someone you cared deeply about in a state of gory death will always have a sickening and paralyzing effect.
When they pulled open the shed door the first sight they saw were the bloody bullet punctured bodies of Mary and Allen Tanner. All three men felt the rising knot fear and anger in their stomachs, only one was able to keep that knot from rising up and out. Jimmy stood in stunned silence while the other two men took a moment to compose themselves.
Standing crowded in the door of the tiny shed, ears still ringing from the gunfight, the men could not decide what they should do. Should they find a way to take the bodies back, or bury them here and now?
Fearing that the marauders would return with friends they opted to shut the door and return to the school. They heard the whimper of a tiny voice just as they closed the door.
Inside, lying on the dirt floor behind the door, covered in their parent’s blood and gore were the two Tanner children, Trish and Tyler. Trish lay curled tightly around her little brother. Just a bit over eight years older than her eight year old brother, Trish had always been fiercely protective of him. Just last year she had been suspended from school for a week for breaking a boy’s nose when he shoved Tyler down in front of the school-bus.
Rick stepped into the shed, lightly touching Trish’s shoulder. “Trish, honey, it’s Rick. Trish?” He gently shook her and got no response, though Tyler began to cry quietly in her arms. Rick put his fingers to Trish’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Through the blood and fear sweat he felt it, strong and steady.
“Guys, Trish and Tyler are alive. Trish is out of it, she’s got blood all over her, but I don’t see any injuries. I’ll get Tyler. Cal, can you get Trish? Jimmy,” Rick had to pause for a breath, his throat tightening, “can you do a quick sweep, please? Don’t leave anything behind that sick bastards like that can use against us later.”
Rick reached down, gripping the boy’s arms as gently as possible. His crying began to get louder. “Tyler, its Rick, I’m here to help.” More tears came, and louder yet. “Tyler. Hey, Tyler.” Rick paused, then, “Hey Tartar, its Auntie Rick. You hear me Tartar?” Hearing words that meant something special to him, from a voice he knew, Tyler looked up at Rick. His eyes unglazed for a moment, he reached up to Rick, allowing himself to be folded into strong and comforting arms.
3
“You guys were lucky that the gut-suckers were still moving pretty damn slow. But that was over a week ago. There are a lot more of them now and they aren’t quite so sluggish. Getting twenty people to the river is going to be enough of a challenge, even though the river is less than a mile away from where we sit, at a straight run.”
“You’re right about that Mike. That’s why we can’t just gather up and head out to the river. We have to plan, send out a group or two to find the boats we need, get some kind of transport to move everyone. We can’t half-ass this.”
After several hours of discussion with time for something to eat, groups had been formed, and goals set for each group.
Group one would be Rick, Gordy Fletcher, his son Calvin, and Jack Addams. They were to look for boats, preferably larger pontoon style boats that could be used to move twenty people as well as all they supplies they would need. Four men on this team would help to ensure safety, while still allowing them to move safely and quickly.
Group two would focus on procuring transportation and plotting the fastest and safest route to the river. Mike Phillips, Jimmy Mitchell, and Sam Fletcher would be handling this mission. They had to take into account the amount of people as well as all supplies and equipment that would have to be moved. Pontoon boats were the main target of the first group, and it was with this in mind that Group two had to formulate their plan.
Each group had one silenced weapon. The first group carried the only silenced pistol, the second carried one of two silenced rifles available to the family of survivors. Always intending to move with stealth and speed, each person knew that they could only plan so far. The rest was up to luck.
Both teams were geared up and ready by dawn. Without electronic communication available to them, it was agreed that both teams would return by 5 p.m. Each team member wound up and synchronized their old wrist or pocket watches. Both teams stood at the large windows on the third floor of the building. From their vantage they could see much of the town laid out before them.
The men’s wives stood with them, each having a personal moment looking out over their town, smoke drifting thickly through the skies. Fires had run unchecked for several days, though it seemed that most had burned themselves out. They could see bodies lying in the street just across from the old school building.
All gathered there at the windows were sober in that moment, their eyes vigilant as they watched the slow shuffling of a man wearing a bloodstained yellow T-shirt. His pallid face was framed by a wild mane of hair and thick bushy beard, giving him and odd lion-like appearance. Occasionally this Lion-man would throw back his head and roar at the sky, then he would look around, eyes seeking someone to devour.
Both teams slowly made their way down to a waiting bunch of bicycles. Racks had been mounted on the back of each, with a large bag inside each rack. This would allow the men to carry food, ammunition, or any other valuable items they found during their respective missions.
Each man carried a long rifle and a sidearm with extra magazines for each. Though they hoped to be efficient in their searches and return long before the appointed 5 p.m. time they knew that they could be gone all day. Each man carried two bottles of water and one MRE food pouch, as well as a small package of beef jerky and two 2 ounce glucose drinks. Most of the two team’s member’s also carried more than one knife. A regular pocket knife and a larger fixed blade, though a couple of the men also carried sword blades on their backs as well. All items went into a small daypack carried on their person at all times.
Although goodbyes had been said earlier, long looks followed the men as they pedaled away. No one spoke their fears, hesitant to put the thoughts out into the world as living words. Even the loss of one would hurt the morale of the group as a whole. They were family, people that were close long before any disaster, brought closer still in the aftermath of fear and the hope of survival.
“We are going to head to the marina, then on to Old River Road,” Gordy explained, “that will probably take most of the day, between the two. If we don’t have any luck there we can think about where else to look.”
“Good luck,” Mike replied. “Think we will make our way to the mouth of Bear Creek, then work our way back, see if we can move pontoons up and down it. Water’s kind of high at the moment, should be easy to do.”
The separate groups parted at the south-side bridge where it crossed over Bear Creek. Gordy and Rick’s group continued on down Main Street towards the marina, while Mike’s group was going to go on foot directly to the mouth of Bear Creek and work backwards.
4
Despite the need for urgency, the men rode at a leisurely pace. These were average people, with bad backs and sore knees. They were not soldiers. Even riding slower it only took a few minutes from the bridge to get to the marina.
All four men came to a halt at the four-way stop, a right would take them across railroad tracks to the riverfront, straight ahead was downtown Hannibal.
Through the haze of smoke and piles of debris they could see all the way to the Tom and Huck statue at the farthest end of the street. Historic downtown Hannibal was destroyed. Bullet holes riddled the old brick buildings. Dead bodies lay in the broken glass littering the sidewalk from smashed storefronts. Tendrils of smoke drifted from several buildings.
Mass hysteria had affected even this small town. In fear and rage people had smashed nearly every window, kicked in nearly every door along the four block area from Broadway to North Street.
Speaking quietly, Jack pointed out something the other men had not noticed. “Hey guys, isn’t that Mississippi Marketplace?”
Just past the Java Jive coffee shop, and The Powder Room women’s store was the only storefront that had boarded up windows and doors. No glass or bodies cluttered the walk in front of the store, which led the men to believe that the shop had been boarded up prior to the worst of the looting and wanton destruction.
“There could still be a lot of food in there. Might be a good idea to check it out,” Rick said.
Gordy nodded in agreement, “Yes, it would be good idea, but now isn’t the time. Besides that, I think they might have something to say about it if we decided to take a little grocery shopping side trip.”
American Revenant: Hometown Exodus Page 1
