by Bobby Akart
DAY THIRTEEN
5:00 p.m., September 21
Ryman Residence
Belle Meade, Tennessee
Alex ran down the hill to catch up with her mom and dad. She’d retrieved four grocery totes from the pantry to haul any seeds or gardening supplies they might find in the O’Malleys’ home or greenhouse. The O’Malleys were avid gardeners, and it puzzled the Rymans after their first scavenging attempt in the abandoned home that seeds weren’t stored somewhere.
Alex was impressed with her mom, who two weeks ago was planning a Friday night party for her dad’s friends. Today, she was wearing a black tank top, sunglasses, and was holding an AR-15. Alex immediately thought of Sarah Connor, the character in The Terminator movies.
“I’m ready, Daddy,” said Alex as she handed him two of the fabric totes.
Out of habit, they both instinctively looked both ways before crossing the street. They decided to start in the back because they both felt they had been fairly thorough inside the house the first time. Alex stood watch on the sidewalk.
For the next half hour, they rummaged through the O’Malleys’ greenhouse and garage. They found a few more hand tools, including a hand rake, a whisk broom, and a pair of Fiskars pruning shears. Colton grabbed another funnel out of the garage and a bottle of Roundup. Alex picked up a well-worn copy of Square Foot Gardening. Even if they found the seeds, it didn’t mean they’d know how to grow anything.
Alex started thumbing through the book while she waited for her dad to search the garage attic. She found some information on the types of seeds to use and where to store them. The author wrote that the refrigerator was best, but any cool, dry location like a root cellar would be sufficient.
They’d checked the refrigerator previously, so she started to think of a cool, dry place. She walked around the backyard, looking for a root cellar. Nothing. Her dad emerged from the garage with some more fishing gear and a telescope.
“Cool!” exclaimed Alex as she ran to check it out. She dusted it off and revealed the brand. “Wow! It’s a Celestron. Good find, Daddy!”
“You’re welcome. I’m sure the O’Malleys would be proud for you to give it a good home. Did you find anything?”
“Not really, except for this book,” replied Alex. She handed it to him without taking her attention away from the telescope.
“I guess we’ll head back,” announced Colton.
“Wait. Daddy, the book said you should store seeds in a cool, dry place like a root cellar. I looked around the yard but couldn’t find one.”
They both looked around the yard, searching for a clue. Suddenly, Alex handed her dad the telescope and headed around the side of the house. The O’Malleys had installed a series of stepping-stones leading from the elevated deck around the corner. She remembered seeing a small entry door to the home’s crawl space.
Alex found the three-foot-square door and slid the bolt latch. As she opened the door, a burst of cool air hit her face. The setting sun illuminated the interior, which contained rows of handmade shelves containing Ziploc bags marked by years. Each bag contained an envelope that was clearly marked with a different vegetable name and variety.
“Winner!” exclaimed Alex as she crawled under the house on all fours.
“What did you find?” asked Colton. Alex responded by handing out an old wooden soft drink crate marked Royal Crown Cola. It was full of seeds. “This is fantastic, Alex!”
“You have no idea,” came the reply from deeper inside the crawl space. Alex began to shove more crates toward the entrance, which were quickly retrieved by Colton.
After eight crates containing two dozen packets each were extricated from the cramped space, Alex collapsed in the grass and began to thumb through the labeled Ziplocs.
“They all read heirloom seeds,” said Colton.
“What’s that mean?” asked Alex.
“I don’t know,” replied Colton. “Maybe they’ve been passed down through the generations?”
Alex shrugged and pulled some of the packets out of the bags.
“Corn, cucumber, pumpkin, tomato, and watermelon,” she read aloud. “Daddy, watermelon!”
“Dang straight!” replied Colton. She was beaming, not only because of the find, but because she made her dad smile. He hadn’t smiled much lately.
“C’mon,” started Alex, looking around nervously. “Let’s get these home before somebody sees us.”
The two loaded up their vegetable garden supplies and hurried to a waiting Madison, who helped carry the crates to the house. At the top of the driveway, Alex realized she forgot her telescope.
“Here, Daddy. Take these. I forgot my telescope. I’ll be right back.”
“Alex, wait,” Colton shouted after her. “Don’t go alone.”
But it was too late, and she was already crossing the street.
Alex ran to the backyard and retrieved the telescope. She was walking toward the front yard when she heard squeaking sounds. Alex immediately looked down the street and saw people headed her way, forcing her to freeze, unable to move, much less run.
It wasn’t out of fear, but rather shock. Coming towards her was a group of four people. An elderly woman in a pink bathrobe rode in a wheelchair with a paisley suitcase on her lap. Another woman in her late thirties was pushing the wheelchair while pulling a suitcase on wheels. An older boy was urging a wheelbarrow along the street with a nearly flat tire, which contained the elderly woman’s walker, more luggage and some photo albums.
Then she recognized Corey Hart, her classmate from grade school before she entered Davidson Academy. She discovered the source of the loud squeaking sound. Corey was pulling an old Radio Flyer Town & Country wagon, the kind with the removable wooden sides.
Alex walked into the middle of the road and saw her dad coming down the front yard in a hurry. “It’s okay, Daddy,” said Alex, holding her right hand up to slow down his approach. She turned her attention to the group.
“Hey, Corey,” said Alex hesitantly.
“Hey, Alex. How’s it goin’?”
“Okay, I guess,” she replied. “Is this your family?”
Madison had now joined up with Colton, who remained on the sidewalk. She tucked her arm inside of Colton’s while Alex reunited with her old friend.
“Yeah, we’re going to 100 Oaks,” he replied. “We probably waited too long.”
Alex looked at the elderly woman and then glanced down the street behind the group. “My name’s Alex,” she said, extending her hand to shake. The woman, without responding, could barely lift her left hand for Alex to shake it. Her hand was bony and cold to the touch.
“This is my mom and older brother,” said Corey.
Alex looked into the sullen, dark eyes of the other two members of the family and then realized some people were missing. She hesitated, not knowing if asking about the others was the right thing to do.
She looked back to Corey, and whispered, “Where are your grandpa and ...?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the question.
“My dad died trying to defend the hardware store from looters. Grandpa died trying to put out the fire the looters set when they were done trashing the place. The whole block is on fire now.”
Alex looked to the west and saw the black clouds of smoke through the trees. After the rains of two days ago, they thought the threats from fires would be over. Apparently not.
“I’m really sorry, Corey,” said Alex. She looked into the distraught faces of both of the Hart widows. She turned her attention to the elderly wife of the nice man who’d helped Alex and her mom at the hardware store just two weeks ago. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hart. Your husband was a very nice man.”
Alex began to cry and Corey gave her a hug. “We’ve got to get goin’, Alex. It’s getting late. Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Ryman.” He waved as the Radio Flyer began to squeak again.
The Rymans stood in the middle of Harding Place for ten minutes in silence—watching the remainder of the Hart family until they dis
appeared in the distance. Alex looked around their street. They were completely alone. There were no kids playing in the yards. No moms were pushing strollers on the sidewalk. No cars were returning from soccer practice. There was only silence.
Alex looked to the sky, and then she heard a faint sound. Her eyes adjusted to the bright setting sun until she caught a glimpse of a flock of geese making their way south in a V formation—migrating to a place where they could find food and a better place to nest.
Chapter 39
DAY FOURTEEN
6:00 p.m., September 22
Ryman Residence
Belle Meade, Tennessee
Earlier, Colton had returned from the HPA meeting, which he attended alone. Less than a dozen people showed up. Even Shane Wren was missing. Despite eradicating the COBRA gang, looters were still present in the neighborhood. Two homes were ransacked on Iroquois, only two blocks north of them. In the exclusive neighborhood of Northumberland, squatters—who were former residents of the 100 Oaks FEMA camp—had evicted the residents and taken over their homes. They were now going house to house in search of food and supplies—sweeping through the neighborhood like locusts.
Time was running out on them as fires burned out of control on the other side of Belle Meade Country Club. The sky to their west was filled with dense, black smoke, which obscured the sunset tonight.
Madison believed that everything happened for a reason. Things went wrong so you could appreciate them when they were right. You believed lies, so you eventually learned to trust no one but your family. Sometimes good things fell apart so better things could come together. The Rymans were at a turning point in their lives in which the brief moments they spent smiling with the ones they loved meant the most.
“Hey, gorgeous,” said Colton as he gave Madison a hug around the waist. “Watcha got planned for dinner? Oatmeal? Perhaps beans and rice with a touch of paprika?”
“Nope,” she replied. She handed him a stack of china. “Here. Set the dining room table.”
“Whoa, fancy!” Colton laughed. “What’s the occasion? Did I miss our anniversary?”
“No, but you better not forget it,” admonished Madison. “Take these candleholders in there too and these cloth napkins.”
Alex entered the kitchen after a nap. She’d taken the sight of the Hart family pretty hard and had gone straight to her room after the encounter. Madison and Colton agreed to give her some space and extra time to rest.
“Hi, honey,” said Madison as she gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek. “Help your daddy set the table while I bring in the food.”
Madison carried a woven rattan serving tray to the pool house and retrieved the food, which she was keeping warm on the Camp Chef grill. Before she came in, she took a quick glance around the backyard to make sure nobody was drawn to their home by the smell of cooking.
“Here we go,” started Madison. “We have green beans with almonds, baby new potatoes with garlic and peppercorns, carrots, and everybody’s favorite—grilled Spam topped with pineapple slices.”
“Holy moly,” exclaimed Alex.
“I agree,” said Colton. “Hey, is that wine in the stemware?”
“No, sir. Pineapple juice.”
“I’ll take it,” said Colton.
The Rymans sat at the table and followed a tradition that used to be commonplace in homes across America. The days of families enjoying meals together were gone. The days of saying the blessing before meals was long gone.
“Bless, O Lord, this food when others are hungry; this drink when others are thirsty; our family when others are lonely. Through Christ we pray, Amen.”
“Amen.”
“Amen.”
They passed their plates around and enjoyed their first meal together that resembled a family dinner since the power went out. It felt good and they actually laughed about what they would’ve been doing right now if the power remained on. Colton would be working late at the office. Alex would be buried in her very popular social media accounts. Madison would be thumbing through a magazine, waiting for her favorite television show to come on.
“One thing about the apocalypse—” Colton chuckled as he finished off his last bite of Spam with a slight belch “—we’re all together. Seriously, is there anything better than this?”
Madison reached out and tenderly grasped his hand. “Nope,” she said, smiling.
“Well, perhaps Katz’s deli,” chimed in Colton, earning a slug to the arm from his wife, the chef.
“Maybe golf,” said Alex dryly. They all laughed.
“Well, maybe we can find a spot on a golf course,” said Madison with a tone of seriousness in her voice.
“Ha-ha, Mom,” started Alex. “My golf course is on fire.”
“Exactly,” said Madison, pushing away from the table and walking into the kitchen. She returned with a notepad and pen. “I think it’s time for us to leave.”
“What? Really?” asked Colton.
“Yep,” replied Madison with confidence. She laid the notepad in front of her and leaned back in her chair. “I’m sure many people have headed for the hills, so to speak. I think the preppers call it bugging out. Then there are others like us, who, to an extent, hold out for as long as their home is still standing. But there comes a turning point where you have to decide if that continues to make sense.”
“Whadya mean, Mom?”
“There is never a clear-cut answer in most cases, but it seems to me our decision is being made each and every day. Things are not going to get better around here. I think we’re reducing our options by waiting. We should leave on our terms, not when our hands are forced by someone else.”
“When?” asked Alex.
“I fixed this nice meal for us tonight for a reason,” replied Madison. “We need to leave now. We need to pack the truck and go.”
“But where? We don’t know what to expect out there,” said Alex.
“That’s true, honey,” replied Colton. “But we do know what to expect here—gunfights, looters, out-of-control fires, and ultimately—the FEMA camp.”
Madison picked up the list and slid it over to Colton. “I’ve been thinking about this for days. Here’s a list of pros and cons. We have enough food to last a month. If we stay here, it will be increasingly dangerous to make your runs. Why? Everybody is doing the same thing. We’ve got to get into a rural area where we can trade for food and, in the spring, grow our own—thanks to the O’Malleys.”
Colton ran his finger down the list. “I didn’t realize how much stuff we’ve accumulated. It’s a pretty good list, Madison.”
“It is. I thought about the EMP book I bought and went back to review the checklist in the back. We’ve done pretty good on our beans, Band-Aids, and bullets. Our weak spot is shelter, a safer place to live where we can start over.”
Alex spoke up. “Back to my question. Where can we go?”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea for a plan A that we can talk about while we’re packing.”
“Is there a plan B?”
“I’ll let you know on our way to plan A. C’mon!”
Chapter 40
DAY FOURTEEN
11:00 p.m., September 22
Ryman Residence
Belle Meade, Tennessee
Having an emergency evacuation plan was critical during any survival situation. After a collapse event, having a plan of action would help make the decision-making process easier as to where to go and what to take. The Rymans weren’t preppers, but they were learning by applying common sense and via the crash course in preparedness they’d received in the last fourteen days.
Colton pulled out their map book and foldout maps and studied the plan with the girls. They would head for Shiloh, Tennessee, on the banks of the Tennessee River, approximately one hundred fifty miles to their southwest. Colton’s longtime client Jake Allen had a vacation home there.
A few years ago, the Rymans spent a couple of weeks with Jake, his wife, Emily, and their son, Chas
e, who was now seventeen. Colton didn’t know whether the Allens would be at the Shiloh ranch. Their permanent residence was halfway between Springfield and Branson, Missouri, where Jake played with his band at a newly created music venue. Years ago, an elderly man and woman lived on the Shiloh ranch as resident caretakers. Colton hoped the Allens were there, but if not, the caretakers might allow them to stay—at least for a while.
Over the next five hours after dinner, the Ryman household was bustling with activity. Everyone was excited about the prospect of getting out of the city. Colton was upset with himself for not broaching the subject earlier. Madison and Alex each had their seminal moment, an epiphany, after the events of the last few days. There was never a doubt they’d turned the page on this chapter of their life, and it was time to move on. For Colton, it was merely a matter of numbers. If they stayed in the city, they’d be outnumbered by the bad guys. It was time to go.
They packed everything of value for survival in this world without power. Following the beans, Band-Aids and bullets axiom was the easy part. Loading up all of the other supplies and tools they’d accumulated was more difficult.
The sixty-inch cargo carrier was affixed to the truck’s hitch. Colton stacked the generator and extra gasoline inside of its rails. Then, he crammed the power tools in every available space and tied it all together with bungee cords. Colton covered the entire bundle with a tarp procured from the cable repair van.
Inside the Wagoneer, every duffle bag from the house was stuffed with medical supplies, alternative lighting, and their camping gear. Clothing was the subject of debate, especially with a fifteen-year-old girl. Their focus was on comfort, warmth, modesty, and blending in. Madison and Alex were careful not to choose any clothing items that might be considered provocative. In a post-apocalyptic world without rule of law, some men might be quick to violate acceptable boundaries. There would be no need to encourage them. All of them focused on athletic wear with as many pairs of sneakers and cotton socks as they could find. Each of them packed their most comfortable pair of western boots and stuffed them full with socks. Finally, accessories—including gloves, scarves, hats, sweatshirts and coats—were crammed into every nook and cranny.
