by B. T. Wright
Colt pushed out the breath he was holding in. “I think it’s okay now.”
“You don’t think th-ey, th-ey can get in, do you, Dad?” Wesley peered up at him.
Colt knelt to his son’s level. “No, buddy, I don’t. But I need you to use your brain next time.” Colt fluffed his son’s hair.
“Yeah, idiot! You almost got us all killed.” Dylan glared at his younger brother.
“Dylan, that’s enough!” Colt scolded him, looking back over his shoulder.
Dylan huffed and walked away.
“Where are you going?” Colt didn’t want him to stray far.
“To piss. That alright with you?”
Colt didn’t need to answer but showed disdain at his choice of words in front of his younger brother. He returned his attention to Wesley, offering a smile, but fear remained on Wesley’s face. He pulled him into a hug before moving toward the sliding glass doors. On the other side of the glass, both lions rose from their prone state and shadowed Colt’s movements. Colt pulled the blinds shut. They slid across the track until they reached the far end. He twisted the rod, and the blinds swayed, then closed. Then he walked toward the other side and did the same.
“Out of sight, out of mind.” He turned to Wesley and offered a smile and a wink.
“I’m hungry, Daddy,” Wesley said.
It seemed making the lions invisible put his son at ease, at least for the moment. “Sounds good, champ, I’ll get right on it.”
Colt set his rifle down again and moved to the stove, where he hadn’t realized the water had been boiling for a few minutes. He dumped the spaghetti noodles into the stock pot and opened the fridge to grab the hamburger meat. Throwing open multiple cabinet’s, he scavenged for a frying pan, then tossed in two frozen patties.
“What’s this?” Dylan nodded to the covered sliding glass door, upon his return from the bathroom.
“Out of sight, out of mind.”
“That’s stupid! It’s never going to work.”
“Easy, kid. I’m doing whatever will put your brother’s mind at ease.”
Dylan didn’t respond to his father, but was more interested in what was cooking. “You really think it’s a good idea to put the smell of raw meat in the air?”
Colt whipped his head around at the sound of searing hamburger. Huh. Maybe Dylan was right. In fact, he knew he was. Colt moved to the burner and cut off the gas.
“At least we still have the noodles.” Colt forced a smile.
“This is bullshit,” Dylan mumbled, then turned and walked away from his father.
“Excuse me?” Colt said, but Dylan didn’t offer a response, only shook his head and huffed.
Damn kid. Leaning over the countertop, Colt hovered over the pad of paper. He lifted the pen and began to make a list of supplies.
Food
Meds
Cooler
Ice
Flashlight
Ammo
Knives
TP
Blankets
Pillows
Clothes
“Dylan, come here. I need your help.” Colt’s head remained down. He didn’t see Dylan walk over. When he raised his head, he said. “Oh. Can you see if you can find any of these supplies?” Colt ripped the paper from the pad.
Dylan looked at the list, then to his father. “Why do we need all this? Where are we going?”
Should he tell him? Would he worry too much if he knew? But what choice did Colt have? Dylan and Wesley would know the plan soon enough. They’d be leaving everything behind and never turning back.
“Uncle Jacob said we need to get to DC.”
“Washington DC? What’s there?”
“I don’t know. But it’s safer there than here.”
“How do you know that?” Dylan was skeptical. He had every right to be. His father couldn’t be certain.
“I don’t, but . . . we can’t stay here.” He nodded to the doors.
Dylan looked to them. Then Colt’s phone buzzed again. He lifted it from his pocket, but hesitated to open it, then said, “Please, can you go look?”
“Argh. Fine.” Dylan spun and stormed off.
But the phone didn’t buzz because someone was calling, but rather because he missed a call from Jake. Instantly, he rang his brother back.
“Colt, everything okay?”
“We’re alive. Okay is another story, I guess. You get out of the attic?”
“We’re in an RV, on our way to Cincinnati. Trying to make a helicopter that’ll be flying to Mount Weather in Virginia.”
“Speaking of helicopters, saw a few military choppers flying overhead toward Colorado Springs. Thought you said there was no military left?”
“I just talked to Emily. She said they received word that the Vice President is being taken to Cheyenne Mountain Complex. Said they’ve had a few bases report back since I last spoke with her. Their numbers are devastated, but there are more that aren’t infected than we thought. Hopefully a lot more people not infected than we even know. Where are you?”
“At the neighbor’s. We ran into some . . . trouble.”
“Yeah, I would imagine you did.” Jake paused for a moment, before continuing. “Emily is going to let the people at Cheyenne Mountain Complex know you and the boys will be coming. How are they holding up?”
“They’re fine. Look, Jacob, I know you don’t like listening to me much, and I know you’re a highly trained soldier and all, but you’ve got to be smart. Don’t stop till you get to Cincinnati. Don’t miss that helicopter. And don’t worry about us. The boys know how to shoot, and I know these mountain roads pretty well. Just get yourself to Mount Weather. Tomorrow will bring some clarity.” He was being the protective older brother. Even though Jake had the information, he still felt like he needed to oversee his brother’s safety. He had always looked after him—always—but more so, since their parents untimely deaths.
“Don’t worry about me. This isn’t my first war,” Jake said.
“Just don’t get cocky. It’ll make you complacent. And that will get you killed.”
Colt expected to hear his brother come back with something, some comment about being invisible, like some superhero or something, but there was nothing but dead air.
“Jacob?” He took the phone away? “Jacob? Are you there?”
But he wasn’t. Then Colt’s phone went black. Damnit. “Little brother, you there?” Colt knew this would happen. Again, it was only a matter of time.
Colt pushed the power button on his phone, but nothing but black stared back at him.
Cell service was gone. He and the boys were alone. No one to call. No one to help.
7
“Uh, Dad, what happened?” There was a tinge of fear behind Dylan’s voice as he looked to his father, who could do nothing but stare blankly at his phone.
“Cell service is out.” Colt walked over to the blinds and pulled them back. The mountain lions were still there, laying on the deck and licking what was left of the meat from the carcass. “Did you find everything on the list?” He looked to Dylan.
Dylan stared at the floor. All Colt saw was a cooler. “Some. But not everything.”
“Wesley,” Colt said. His son stood from the couch. Then he turned attention back on Dylan. “Did you find any flashlights.”
“One.” Dylan held it up.
“Good. Wesley, come over here. You two need to stick together. Try to find what’s on this list before it gets too dark. I don’t know how much longer the power will stay on.” Colt looked to the windows on the side of the house. The sun was getting lower in the sky, nearly behind the mountains in the west. Once the sun dipped below those mountains, it would be dark almost instantly, and the cold would follow. He glanced to his watch. “I’d say we’ve got about twenty minutes before it’s pitch-black outside and about an hour before the temperature starts to drop. You two work together. Do this as quick as possible. I’m going to get a fire going to keep us warm for the night in c
ase we lose the power of the furnace.”
“Do you want me to fill this with ice?” Dylan kicked the cooler.
“No. As long as we keep that freezer door closed, the ice should stay frozen until morning. We can’t risk the medicine going bad. It must stay in the fridge and cold.”
“You know the ice from the freezer won’t last until DC, right?” Dylan said.
“Change of plans. We aren’t going to DC anymore.” Colt walked beyond his son.
Dylan spun and said, “What? Then where?”
“The Cheyenne Mountain Complex in the Springs to meet the vice president.”
“Cheyenne Mountain?” Dylan was confused, only hearing of the secret entrance into the mountain once when he came across it on the internet. “You mean, the vice president.”
Colt faced his son. “That’s right. But we aren’t leaving this house until we find the supplies we need because who knows how long it will actually take us to drive those 100 miles?”
Colt let the boys disappear into Walker’s bedroom before he moved to the fireplace. Only five logs were stacked neatly on the log holder. He picked up a chunk of aspen wood. It was bone dry and would no doubt light fast and stay burning long. Colt searched for kindling, but there was none nearby. “What I wouldn’t give for my axe right now.” With no axe, Colt peeled the outer bark away from the wood with his fingertips, collecting enough shards to act as the kindling he’d need. “Matches? Matches?” Colt glanced around the area but found nothing. He rose from beside the fireplace to continue his search and noticed a box of matches at eye level on the mantle. He shook the box vigorously, but he heard nothing rattling inside.
Damnit. Without hope, Colt slid the box open. One match remained. He lifted it, then looked to his stacked logs and kindling. There was little doubt he could start the fire with one match—he’d been doing it his entire life—but just as he moved the head to the strike pad, the match bent in half and broke. Only half an inch hung on.
His demeanor didn’t change. He had no other choice. They needed to stay warm. The heat wouldn’t work without power, and at night, at this altitude, even in the summer, temperatures could plummet below freezing. Colt struck the head, and the flame sparked. He dropped the match onto the kindling, then bent down close, and began to blow lightly, stoking the flame with his breath. Within an instant the wood began to crackle.
After shutting the cage to the fireplace, he searched for his sons. They were still in Walter’s room.
When he arrived into the bedroom, Colt asked, “How much of the list do you have left?”
“Only a couple things. Food. Water. A few rounds of ammunition,” Dylan said.
“Why don’t you take a break and go sit by the fire. Grab those blankets and those pillows from the bed. We’ll be sleeping by the fireplace tonight.”
Dylan and Wesley grabbed what they could handle, and Colt gathered the rest. Once his sons were situated by the fire, he moved to the stove. He lifted a plastic spoon from the drawer and tested the noodles. Perfectly al dente. This meal was important, considering Colt couldn’t know when their next meal would come. He plated the pasta, and walked over to his sons, handing each of them their dinner.
“What, no sauce?” Dylan stared at his plate of plain noodles.
“Sorry, stud, it’s what I got.”
Dylan tossed his plate to the side, and half of the noodles dumped over the edge and onto the floor.
Colt’s demeanor switched from protective to irritated in an instant. “Pick that up, now.” Dylan glared at his father. He saw his father meant business.
“Noodles are gross without sauce.” He picked one up and showed him.
“I don’t care. It’s what we have, and you need your strength. Now eat!”
Once dinner was finished, Wesley yawned audibly and leaned into Colt.
“Whoa, buddy. It’s been quite a day. I think it’s time you get some sleep,” Colt said.
“I don’t want to leave you.” Wesley leaned in harder.
“You and Dylan can sleep right there. I’ll be right here in front of the fire.”
Wesley crawled onto the couch, and Colt dropped a pillow underneath his head, then covered him with a blanket. “Goodnight, buddy. I’ll be right here if you need me.” Colt stood and stared at Dylan, “You too.”
“Not tired.”
Colt tilted his head. He didn’t care. “You need your rest. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
Dylan huffed. “Fine.” He moved to the oversized reclining chair and leaned back. Colt lifted a blanket and moved toward him, but Dylan ripped it from his hands and said, “I can do it myself.”
Colt lingered nearby, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to antagonize Dylan anymore, not on that night. Colt sat and stared into the fire. Hypnotized by the orange glow, he thought about their future. But he didn’t stay on the future long. Rather, his mind shifted to the past. Visions of Anna danced inside his head. Visions from their life together. Starting with the first time they met. At a wedding. He was the best man and she was a bridesmaid. Cliché, but they’d made it work for more than fifteen years. Then thoughts of their honeymoon crept in. Sweet it was. They’d vacationed to the Caribbean. Turks and Caicos. He remembered the crystal-clear water, aqua blue and warm to the touch, much like the fire on his face. He smiled just thinking of her. Soon that smile faded like the passing storms they endured on many nights in the tropics when emotion came. A single tear. More waited on delay. He rose from his seated position and turned around. With both his sons presumably awake, he excused himself so neither could hear him break down. He had to be strong for everyone now.
But this was different. Anna was gone, gone forever. She was a piece of him, a piece he could never get back. When he reached Walker’s bedroom, he shut the door, entered the closet, knelt on the carpeted floor, and wept.
8
Slicing rays of sun lit up the floor and shined through the curtains on the southern side of the home. Colt rolled over on the hardwood floor and felt the aches in his body from a night of restless sleep on the hard surface. When he opened his eyes, he saw Dylan standing over him. Colt smiled, but Dylan didn’t smile back. His face showed only anger.
“How’d you sleep?” Colt made small talk.
“Like shit.”
“Watch your mouth.” Colt rose from his prone state.
Dylan didn’t acknowledge his father’s distaste for his choice of words.
“It’s freezing in here.” Dylan shook the cold away as he walked.
Colt looked to the fire. All the logs had burned down. “The power must’ve gone out overnight.” Colt moved to the side of the couch where a lamp sat on the end table. He turned the switch, but nothing. “Figures,” he said. The only warmth would be from the power of the sun, and it was unlikely they’d get an increase in temperature before they left Walker’s home. Colt stood and followed Dylan, passing Wesley, who remained asleep. He didn’t want to wake him. Not yet. “Did you find any bullets during your search last night?”
“Only a few, remember.” Dylan spun around and spoke under his breath. “He’s losing his mind.”
Colt let out a breath and gritted his teeth. “The old man’s gotta have a stash around here somewhere.” Once again, Colt moved into Walker’s closet. Although he’d spent a few moments of trauma in there last night, he didn’t check for ammunition.
“Where are you going?” Dylan asked.
“To find more bullets.”
Dylan followed his father to help him search. Each tossed stacks of clothes on the floor. Walker’s closet wasn’t large, and it didn’t take long for them to tear everything apart. Colt huffed after their search came up empty. “Damnit, Walker.” Then Colt moved out of the closet and nearer to the bed. Two end tables bordered the oversized mattress, but Colt shifted his focus from the end table and onto a black square stuffed in-between the pad and box spring. From the closet, Colt couldn’t make out what the square was until he moved closer. Damn. How did, I m
iss that last night? Upon his first step, he discerned the square was a bedside gun holster. A black pistol was stuck inside. Colt lifted the weapon. A Ruger .380. Colt pushed the magazine release and slid the magazine out to find it full. Capacity was only six rounds with one in the chamber.
“This is perfect for Wesley.” Colt looked to Dylan.
“He can’t shoot. Couldn’t hit a target from four feet away,” Dylan said.
“And I hope he never has to, but this is for his protection. He needs to be able to handle it, and we must make sure he is safe when doing so. Got it?” He looked to his son for confirmation.
Dylan rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
Colt stuffed the .380 into his belt and yanked open the end table drawers. Another magazine was there, as well as a box of fifty extra cartridges. “Check that one.” Colt nodded to the opposite table. He lifted the box and extra magazine and shoved them into his pockets. “Anything?” He heard Dylan pull the drawer open.
Dylan shuffled some papers around. “Nothing. Just some fishing magazines.”
But Colt was unable to respond to Dylan, because a loud scream filled the small home. “Dad!” Wesley was in trouble.
Colt and Dylan sprinted out of the room and toward the call. In panic, Colt reached for Wesley who stood near the side of the couch and shook him. Wesley kept his focus forward, beyond Colt and over his shoulder. “What is it? Wesley what’s wrong?” Wesley didn’t speak, instead, he pointed to the window, a window that ran along the west side of the home.
To their surprise, a man stood there, someone Colt didn’t recognize. He was leering inside with his hands on the glass, no doubt looking for a place to loot or plunder. Colt rose from the couch and shielded his sons. He waited for the man to act. Colt felt the presence of the .380 pushing against his hip, but that weapon was almost useless in this scenario. The man would need to come nearer if Colt wanted to put him down for good. But deep down, Colt couldn’t know his intentions. Maybe he was a friend. Someone they could trust. Then the question probed Colt’s mind. Why was he alive? Aside from his sons and Jake, this was the first person they’d encountered who wasn’t infected with . . . with, whatever it was.
