Silent Interruption (Book 4): Of Tragedy and Triumph

by Russell, Trent

  Carl stepped over a small log as the stream loomed ahead. “Well, one thing we can be sure of is that flying in a plane is off the menu.”

  Lorenzo sniffed the air. “Holy shit. You smell that?”

  Harold inhaled loudly. “Yeah. Smells like…”

  Carl rushed over to the stream so quickly that he nearly dropped his fishing pole. He quickly waved his lantern over the stream. Instead of rippling waters, the stream was now a thick, slow moving stream of sludge. He set down the lantern and picked up a thick stick close by. He poked the stream and twisted it. When he lifted up the twig, green sludge dripped down from it.

  “It’s that same stuff that spilled out of the trains!” Lorenzo cried.

  “Shit!” Carl flung the stick into the stream.

  Harold shook his head. “Forget about fishing or drinking water. That damn stuff must have poured into the stream up ahead.”

  Carl reached for his lantern. “If I’d have turned when we were supposed to…”

  “Carl, we probably would have run into that stuff anywhere in this area. We have more than enough water and food.”

  Lorenzo turned and started walking back to the camp. “Yeah, but it would have been nice to smoke some fish.”

  Carl sighed. Maybe Harold was right, but he couldn’t help but feel this was just one more jab in his side.

  Michael yawned. Then Preston yawned. Carl tried to clamp his mouth shut, but it was impossible. The group was losing the battle of the yawns.

  They were closing in on late afternoon. They had been walking almost nonstop with just a brief rest for lunch. Their evening overnight had encountered another wrinkle beyond not being able to catch fish. Shyanne and Preston complained of the chemical odor in the camp. The wind picked up and brushed the foul odor into their camp, which made it untenable to stay. They had to pack up and move to another campsite. The scramble to flee the area and camp elsewhere ate up nighttime hours that left little time to sleep before dawn broke.

  “Are we there yet?” Tara asked.

  “Tara, don’t start that,” Michael said.

  “I meant it as a joke,” Tara replied.

  “I think my joke gland is busted,” Michael said, followed by another yawn.

  “Dammit, Michael, stop yawning,” Tara said.

  Carl slowed down so he could catch up with Lorenzo. “We really should be close. Let’s have another look at that map.”

  Lorenzo reached for his jacket pocket when he stopped and sniffed the air. “Hey, do you smell something burning?”

  “I hope it’s not a forest fire,” Harold said grimly.

  The party looked up to the sky. Clouds of smoke were sailing across an otherwise clear blue sky.

  “There’s definitely something out there,” Preston said.

  “Do we stop? Turn back?” Maria asked.

  Carl shook his head. “Not yet. I get the feeling we’re closing in on Adam’s Point.” But if they were, then these smoke clouds were not a good sign at all.

  A half an hour later, Carl’s fears were confirmed.

  The forest opened up onto a road that ran into a picturesque small town. At least that is how Carl always had remembered Adam’s Point. It was primarily a community of shops and diners on the western side with many residencies built up on the eastern side. When Carl had returned from his military tour of duty, he was surprised to see so many new houses built up since he had left. It seemed Adam’s Point was on the verge of a new growth spurt. Carl even considered returning here after he had wrapped up touring the country with the Rally for Rights.

  But now many of the small buildings up ahead were ablaze. Adam’s Point was on fire!

  Chapter Nine

  Shyanne and the boys were the first ones into the street, with Tara, Maria and Harold just behind them and Alicia following. “Hold on!” Tara grabbed Shyanne before she ran much farther down the street. Carl, wheezing as he tried to keep up, was grateful for Tara’s intervention, for the sight before them was truly horrifying. This was the main street of the town and linked together the main businesses of the town. But all the buildings down the street were burning, with a mane of orange flame lashing out at the sky.

  Carl’s heart sank. The barber shop, the dollar store, the gas station and the burger stop that he had passed for many years, all were going up in flames.

  Shyanne started coughing. “C’mon, Baby, we have to get away from here.” Harold similarly ushered his boys away, and Ricardo’s mom did likewise with Ricardo.

  Preston, now joined up with Carl, shook his head. “I don’t believe this. What happened here?”

  “Guess if you can’t call the fire department, you’re in one hell of a pickle,” Alicia said.

  “But that’s a lot of fire. I’ve never seen more than one building ablaze in my life, not even on the news,” Lorenzo said.

  Carl swallowed. Even without a working fire department, it was not as if fires would spread this badly throughout a small town like this. There were laws that stipulated how far apart buildings should be built to prevent rapid transmissions of flames.

  “Maybe high winds,” Carl thought, “Or there was a big explosion.” Whatever the cause, the fact remained that returning to his home town did not seem to be yielding the rest for him and his friends that he had hoped for.

  “Hey! Hey!” A male voice cried out to them from an intersection just behind them. “You there! Can you help us?”

  The group turned around. A young man, bare chested and in blue jeans, was grasping a bucket of water. “We’ve formed a water line to stop the fire from reaching the clinic. Can any of you help?”

  “Sure,” Carl approached the man. “I’m Carl Mathers. These are my friends. What do you need?”

  The man nodded. “The next street over. Hurry.”

  Carl’s party followed the man to the next street. A long line of people were bringing in water from a nearby drainage canal. All of them wore dust masks. The group were bringing the water to a gaggle of firefighters, all dressed in their usual attire. A fire truck was perched close to a burning building. The firemen would climb up the ladder and use the buckets of water to douse the flames inside the windows. Sadly, the firetruck was out of commission, its hoses useless to stop the fire. This was an old-fashioned bucket brigade.

  “We’re trying to protect the clinic,” the man said as he led them up to a group of young volunteers passing out masks. “It’s still got valuable medicines inside and we need it to house the sick if we can. We’re trying to move stuff out, but the fire’s been terrible.” He grabbed a handful of masks from the nearest volunteer. “Here.” He passed them to Carl, who took one and then passed the rest to the others.

  As Carl fitted the mask to his face, he said to the volunteers, “We have children with us. Is there any place they can rest?”

  “But Mister Carl, I want to help.” Shyanne then started coughing. Her gait was also unsteady. Carl noticed the girl had been a little off balance for the last hour.

  “Sorry Shyanne, but you’ve been on your feet for a long time. You can help later when you’ve regained your strength,” Carl said.

  One of the volunteers, an African-American man, pointed down the street. There was no fire down there. “We have a few shelters at the edge of town. Chet’s Diner is a good place, but it’s a little crowded. Just be warned.”

  It didn’t take long for Carl and his party to arrive at the diner. As the volunteer had said, the place was pretty packed. There were two or three survivors to every booth. Some laid on the floor near the counter in sleeping bags or on mats with shoulder bags or backpacks next to them. The survivors ran the gamut, from seniors to children of kindergarten age.

  “My God,” Tara said, “Carl, you ever been to Chet’s before?”

  “A lot when I was growing up but only once since I came back home,” Carl said as he gazed around the diner turned refugee shelter.

  Carl stepped inside. This place was a no-go. Not even Shyanne could find a spot to sit
down in here.

  As Carl turned to head back out, a man with scruffy white hair and whiskers suddenly was approaching the team from behind. “Hey!” The man was running up to Tara in particular. “Tara!”

  At the sound of the man’s voice, Tara spun around. “Uncle Cyrus?”

  The man laughed. “My God in Heaven, I can’t believe it!” He caught her just as she started running up to him. “You’re alive!”

  Tara hugged him tight. “Uncle Cyrus, you don’t know what we’ve been through. It’s been absolutely crazy the past week.” Then she gasped. “Daddy! Where’s Daddy? And Mom?” She pulled out of his embrace.

  “He’s helping to gather dirt to make the barriers. We’re trying to build walls to keep the fire back. This has been a real bitch to fight, Tara. Half the town’s gone. Almost all the businesses and a lot of houses. I don’t know where your mom is, but I saw her last night. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “Thank God.” Tara closed her eyes. “You have no idea how much I’ve worried about them. Oh, shit. Michael!” Tara grabbed Michael by the arm. “You remember Michael. What about his parents? His mom and dad?”

  “Can’t say I do.” Cyrus turned to Michael. “Where do they live?”

  “In the Maplewood subdivision,” Michael said.

  Cyrus shook his head. “That whole subdivision went up in flames. A lot of people escaped well before it got there, so chances are they may be in one of these shelters.” He nodded to the hardware store and the school supply shop on the street behind him. “We better hope to God we can stop this fire. Because if we can’t, even these shelters are going to go.”

  Michael bowed his head. “I want to look for my family but I know that you need help.”

  “Michael, go,” Carl said. “You’re still recovering. You can afford to take the time for yourself and find your folks.” Then he turned to Tara. “You too. You’re home now.”

  Tara smiled. “Thanks, Carl.” Her eyes then narrowed. “But, I’m not quite worn out yet. I’ll feel better if I can help put out the fire, at least for a little while.”

  Preston leaned up against the outside wall of the diner. “Damn. Why do I suddenly feel so exhausted?”

  “It happens,” Alicia said with a sigh. “You work and work and then when you reach home, your energy level just goes into the gutter. Since you know you can rest, your body just wants to give out and let you drop.”

  “But the town…” Preston began.

  “It’s okay. We appreciate the help, but it’s clear you all had one hell of an ordeal getting here,” Cyrus said. “Those who want to can lend a hand but we’re happy to put you up.”

  Carl took Cyrus’s hand and shook it. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to help out.”

  “What?” Tara looked at him as if he was mad. “Carl, you’re on the mend, too! And don’t you want to find your parents?”

  “There’s an emergency around here, Tara, and I have to help,” Carl replied with no hesitation.

  Carl had scooped up his first bucket of water. As he carried it down the street, his chest hurt. He started coughing. Then, he doubled over, spilling his bucket onto the asphalt and falling to the ground.

  “Carl!” Tara, who was walking back to the canal with her bucket, stopped and took hold of him. “My God!” She took hold of his arm and helped him up. “You shouldn’t be here!”

  It was true. The smoke, even with the mask on, was aggravating his condition. He had to flee from here. Tara helped him down to the drainage canal, but he felt little better there. The smell of the smoke was too putrid for him to handle. His body was rebelling.

  “C’mon,” Tara said, “I’ll take you to Preston. You can rest with him.”

  Carl sat in the chair inside the school supply store. It was the only shelter where there was some space available for newcomers. Preston had been left here some time ago. At present, he slumbered against the wall near where Carl was seated.

  He still was wheezing a little, but at least his coughing had subsided. Even so, his chest continued burning, and his legs felt weak. “Damn,” Carl said when he could speak at all. “I don’t believe this.”

  “Like Preston said.” Tara glanced at Preston, who was seated opposite Carl. “You’re not Superman.”

  “No, I’m just useless,” Carl said.

  “Everyone else can fight the fire, Carl. No one’s going to look down on you.” Tara formed a fist. “And if anyone does, I promise to punch them in the balls.”

  Carl rubbed his chest to try soothing the pain, but Tara’s threat made him laugh, which only aggravated his agony. “If they…ow…happen to be a man.” He cringed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not used to being sidelined.” He shook his head.

  “And then there was the whole trip here. I screwed up. I lost my confidence. I thought we needed to take Road 32 for a longer walk. Instead we lost, I don’t know, half a day, maybe a full one having to turn around.” He turned to look up at Tara. “I never doubted myself like that before. Maybe it’s my condition or maybe it was you and Shyanne getting captured.” He sighed. “Or maybe it was reaching Camp Jefferson and finding it trashed.”

  “I think you’re thinking too much.” Tara squatted down next to Carl. “You’ve done everything that you could and you’ve saved us probably more times than I can even count. Don’t be too hard on yourself. It looks as though things are finally going to work out for us.”

  “But the fire…” Carl began.

  “We’ll take care of it. You rest.” Tara rose to her standing height. “If you want to do something, make sure Preston doesn’t suck his thumb.” Then she winked before whispering, “You know how those libs can be.”

  “I heard that,” Preston muttered, his eyes still closed.

  “Oh, you’re not asleep!” Tara laughed.

  “Hey, you two were having an interesting conversation so I thought I’d play dead for a moment,” Preston said.

  “Now don’t say ‘play dead.’ You were dead for a moment, remember?” Tara asked.

  “Of course not. I was dead.” Preston opened one eye. “Oh, where’s Shyanne?”

  “Helping Michael to scoop out water from the drainage canal. We’re not letting her carry those buckets. They’re too heavy and we really don’t want her close to the fire anyway.”

  “Is she…having fun doing it?” Preston asked.

  “She had a happy smile.” Tara massaged her shoulders a little. “She’s always good for lifting our spirits. Hey, I need to get going. I’d like to keep an eye out for, you know…”

  Carl nodded. “Your parents. Go on.”

  Tara left the store. Carl let out a sigh. He felt so weak that he was sure he couldn’t join the fire brigade any time soon.

  “You know, she’s doing a lot better,” Preston said.

  Carl turned his head toward Preston. “Shyanne’s a strong girl.”

  “I meant Tara.” Preston pointed to the open doorway. “She used to freak out at the idea of mixing in large groups of people. She’s never freaked out once since she came here.”

  “You’re right! I can’t believe I forgot!”

  Carl recalled how Tara had had a panic attack and fled from them when Carl had spotted a group of survivors some distance away from a large expressway overpass. She had developed a fear of mixing with refugees following the attack on her and Michael inside the auto parts store. Tara had done well inside the suburban mall where they had fought Jason Malatesta and his squad of killers, but Carl figured the environment was too different from the strip mall where Michael and Tara first encountered the survivors. But if Tara was in firm control even while mixing with these people in an open setting, perhaps her trauma finally had been conquered.

  “I hope she finds her family. Michael, too,” Carl said, “Lord knows they deserve some good news.”

  Preston closed his eyes again. “I agree.”

  Carl didn’t hear anything more from Preston except shallow breathing. This time he fell asleep for real. Carl figured he co
uld rest here a while, regain his strength, and go back outside to assist in whatever way he could.

  Carl roused from his slumber. Was he asleep? He was stunned to find that he had nodded off. His surroundings were dark. Night had fallen. How late was it?

  He slapped his face to restore his wits. He had not expected nor wanted to go to sleep and certainly not for this long. Where was everyone else? The store was filled with sleeping survivors. Were his friends among them?

  He climbed to his feet, though it still was hard to get up quickly. He despised his weakened state. He had suffered injuries while on his tours overseas, and he had spent some time in hospitals, but he always knew when he was on recovery time and when he was on duty. But now, he was nursing wounds while the fire still was raging around him. He could not stand it. First, he couldn’t help fight the town fire and now he just dropped off to sleep like a worn out old man?

  He muttered a silent apology to his deceased grandfathers if they had heard that thought from the Great Beyond.

  Carl didn’t find a familiar face among any of the survivors. Frustrated, he wandered outside the shelter. Tents dotted the area. Men were walking around, some armed with rifles. At least they had thought to set up patrols and lookouts.

  “Hey!” Alicia called to him. She and Lorenzo approached from in between two tents. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty! It’s past midnight.”

  It was still bright out when Carl had shut his eyes. He must have slept for about seven hours, which burned him up even more.

  “The fire?” Carl asked.

  “Still going on, but the good news is that we got it down around the clinic. That’s giving us time to build up the barrier. A couple of the other buildings have finally gone out, so maybe, maybe the worst is over.”

  Carl looked around. “Shyanne. Where is she?”