by C A Bird
“I’ll carry the stove and a couple of pots, and you grab some of those small butane cylinders. I don’t see any guns or ammo. Either this store never carried them or our friends the storm troopers got ‘em all. But we need to find some knives.” They split up and searched the aisles until Roger heard an exclamation from Ashe.
“Hey Roger, over here. There’s a ton of them.”
They each grabbed Swiss-type pocket knives, and strapped on sheaths containing wicked looking knives with six-inch blades, each sheath having a knife sharpener. They were rushed, but knew their lives depended on having the ability to survive the trip that lay before them. They added additional supplies, such as biodegradable soap, straw-type water filters, mosquito spray, and magnesium fire starters.
Then they found the greatest treasure of all… food. Roger had gone to the aisle where the Mountain House food would normally have been displayed, but it was empty. On a hunch, he got down on his hands and knees and looked in the cabinet underneath. In the very back, far corner he saw a cardboard box. He reached in and pulled it out, excitedly cutting it open with his new blade. Mountain House Beef Stew… a case of twenty four. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
“I’m so damn hungry, I could eat one of these right now but we just don’t have the time. We really need to get moving.” The two men each strapped a stuffed sleeping bag and pad to their backpacks. On the way out they discovered display racks with various brands of beef jerky and pemmican. They stuffed as many as they could in their packs and pockets, and exited the store heading west on Highway 64, chewing on strips of the tough beef jerky.
At the edge of town they passed a bicycle shop. Roger was elated. “Oh man, we could really go a lot faster on a bike.”
“I’m sorry, Roger. I used to ride a bike when I was a little kid, but there’s no way I could ride one now. They don’t make bikes big enough for me.”
“Let’s check ‘em out. Maybe we can just use one to carry our stuff.” They entered the bike shop and Roger felt like a little kid on Christmas morning. He didn’t know too much about bikes but he’d always had an old bicycle around the farm. Ashe had gone into the repair shop at the rear of the building while Roger pulled a bicycle off the wall. It had a rack and a small basket on the back.
“Let’s go Ashe. We can take turns putting our pack in the back of the bike.”
Honk, honk!
Roger turned and stared in amazement, as Ashe rode out of the back of the bicycle shop on a three wheel bike, his backpack stuffed in a basket on the back. His bright, white teeth glowed out of a gigantic grin on his face as he squeezed a rubber ball on the handlebar of the tricycle.
Honk, honk.
Roger, laughing, said, “Okay, now you just look stupid.”
On the bicycles, the men were able to travel much faster, and since the moon had moved higher in the sky they were able to see the terrain ahead. After a few miles the road began to climb. Ashe’s trike only had three speeds and, as the road became steeper, he was huffing and puffing, spinning in low gear. They were only fifteen miles out of town when Ashe stopped in the middle of the road and said, “That’s it Roger. I can’t ride it anymore. I’m done.” Even in the coolness he was perspiring heavily. Swinging his leg over the seat, he stood waiting for Roger to ride back to him. He put his baseball cap on the backpack and rubbed the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Do you think you can push the bike so you don’t have to carry your pack?”
“No, man, that’s way too awkward. I don’t mind carrying the pack. We’ll just have to go slower. I can’t do the bike thing anymore. I feel like I’ve got a red-hot poker up my ass.”
“Well, I’m going to… Oh shit!” He was staring back the way they had come and Ashe swung around to see what had attracted Roger’s attention.
“They’re coming. We need to get off the road.” Roger could see headlights in the distance that disappeared periodically as the vehicle took the curves and crested small hills. The light shone brightly in the dark night. They quickly moved to the south side of the road and pushed the bicycles into the dense foliage as far back as they could before the wheels became entangled in the creeper. By now Roger could hear the engine of the car.
He took a last look out to the road as the sound of the engine grew louder. In the bright moonlight, clearly visible, and right in the middle of the road… sat Ashe’s hat.
“Oh No. We’re toast.”
Roger started toward the road but the sound of the engine indicated the car was too close. Ashe grabbed his arm. “Don’t be crazy, Roger. It’s too late. Come on let’s go.” They grabbed their backpacks and slung them around onto their backs and took off running through the woods. The trees weren’t as dense as they were on the valley floor so they were able to make good time. Roger didn’t know where Ashe was getting his energy, but he was keeping up as Roger led the way.
Suddenly they heard the sound of a baying dog.
“Crap! They’ve got dogs.”
Their flight became a grueling test of endurance. They were already tired from working all day, and then their flight from captivity. Now, mile after mile, they ran through the forest, trying to stay ahead of the sound of the baying dogs. Roger prayed fervently that they weren’t running in circles, as they plowed through the woods.
The sound of the dogs was drawing ever closer. They were using a flashlight with Roger’s hand over the beam to cut it down to a sliver of light. Had they not had the flashlight they would have run straight over the bank of a small stream flowing downhill to their left.
“Ashe, we need to travel in the stream for a ways. I have an idea. Let’s throw something into the water and hope the dogs follow it downstream.” They quickly unhooked Ashe’s sleeping bag and rubbed it on their faces and hands. They went down the bank and into the cold water, where it swirled around their calves. Roger walked downstream several yards and placed the backpack on the bank of the river. Returning to Ashe, he reached into the water and picked up several baseball-sized rocks, throwing them at the bag until he dislodged it and it began to float downstream, bouncing off of rocks. The men turned and waded upstream, staying as near to the center as possible.
It seemed like only minutes before they heard the sound of the men and dogs reaching the river. Trying not to splash too much, they struggled against the current of the creek, slipping on algae covered rocks. After a short while, it became obvious to them that the sound of the barking dogs was diminishing.
“Thank God, it worked. But we can’t slack off now. Let’s stay in the stream for another quarter mile or so and then we’ll take a chance on heading back into the forest.”
Morning found them still trudging uphill. They’d heard no further evidence of pursuit and had traveled many miles toward their destination. They were done, exhausted, and couldn’t go another step. Pulling off their backpacks, they slumped to the ground. Afraid he would go to sleep, Roger stood up and pulled the stove out of his backpack and set it on a flat rock.
“I need one of those butane canisters.”
Ashe could only point in the direction of his backpack, unable to move. Roger had filled the water jug from the stream and added a water purifying tablet to it just before they left the creek behind them. He boiled the water and prepared a package of beef stew and they both gobbled it down for breakfast. They fell asleep, hoping their pursuers had given up for good.
They slept most of the day and only made a few more miles before stopping for the night. A cold front had moved in, bringing dismal, cold rain. They used a plastic tarp to erect a cover and set up a tube tent under the rain fly. During the afternoon, as they had hiked southwest, Roger had pointed out a few edible plants and they’d made a soup to go with their beef stew.
“Hey, Roger. I don’t suppose you know how to start a fire with one of those magnesium starter things.”
“Of course I do.” He gathered rocks into a circle, just under the edge of the tarp, and cleared the brush away
for a few feet all the way around the campfire. He then built a little teepee of increasingly large sticks and branches, and shaved kindling off of a larger branch. Using leaves and the kindling, he took out the magnesium fire starter and glanced over at Ashe who was staring back at him, fascinated with the process.
Then he reached into his pocket, took out a Bic lighter, and grinning over at Ashe, lit the leaves and kindling on fire. He pushed the little, burning bundle into the middle of his pyramid of sticks, where they began to catch fire.
“Hey man, that’s not fair. Where’d you get that lighter?”
Roger laughed. “I picked it up back in the sporting goods store. There was a whole barrel full of them. I’ve got a dozen in my pack.” He started adding larger branches to the fire, and even though the fuel had been damp from the rain, he soon had a comfortable campfire burning.
The men sat staring out at the gentle rain, and as the fire burned down Ashe looked over at Roger and saw tears in the man’s eyes. “Hey Rog, what’s up?”
“This reminds me of camping with my kids.” He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his shirtsleeves. “I wonder if I’ll ever see them again.” He turned and stretched out on the sleeping bag they had spread out on the bottom of the tube tent and Ashe could see Roger’s body shaking with sobs.
The next morning they arose early, packed up their stuff , and by afternoon had reached a ridge. They scrambled up the side of the hill, slipping on the mud and pushing through the dense, wet foliage. Roger turned and looked back out over the valley.
“Come on, Roger, let's get moving. They could be coming after us any minute.”
“My family’s down there. I’m going to have to figure out a way to come back to get them.”
“Not going to happen, my friend,” Ashe told him. “You might as well get used to the idea that they're gone forever. If you go back and try to rescue them, you'll get captured, and chances are they'll kill you.”
“I don't care. I can’t just leave my family behind.”
“Look, Roger. Your kids have been taken to a re-education camp. Your wife is in a camp for women. They use them to do their cooking, their laundry, and, well… for other things. They’re surrounded by scores of soldiers. You don’t even know where they took them, and you will never find them. Now get real, and let’s get going. It’s a whole different world, and if you want to live you have to play by the new rules.”
After hiking three more days they finally climbed a hill and found themselves on a wide two-lane highway. Roger stood looking out over the hills and valleys they had traversed, and turning like a zombie, followed Ashe over the hill into Kentucky.
13
The group had stayed up much later than normal, singing and telling tales of their lives before the war. When morning arrived they decided to sleep in and get a late start. They seemed reluctant to leave the beauty of the mountains behind them, knowing they were heading out into the plains. Not wanting to lose the whole day of travel, they packed up and left around noon. As the horses became conditioned, and the people became accustomed to their routines, they were making better time. Coming out of the mountains a couple of hours later they saw a small town in the distance.
“I think you guys better stay here while me and Chang check it out,” Mike told Mark.
“What’s the map say it is?” Mike handed Mark the battered map.
“I think it’s Costilla. It’s not a real big town but maybe we can find some supplies.”
“Well, don’t take too long. It’ll be dark in a few hours and we need a place to camp.”
The guards split up, two to the left and one rider to the right. Jimbo rode his motorcycle alongside the lone man on horseback.
They were back in less than an hour.
“It’s deserted. But it looks like there’s a few small buildings, so maybe we can search for supplies. They’ve got a campground that has restrooms. They’re only pit toilets but at least we don’t have to set up the latrine. I think it would be a good place to camp.”
Chris had walked over to the conversation. “Good. Can we get hookups?”
Costilla turned out to be less of a town than a collection of old houses and older trailers. It stretched out over a mile along the road. As they moved through town they remained vigilant, feeling like the town was haunted with the spirits of the casualties of war.
It seemed completely deserted but didn’t feel like it. Low clouds had gathered and made the day dark and cold, even darker than it should have been. Mark felt a chill as they passed a food store with all the windows busted out and with the wind moaning through the gap.
“You know Mark, I have a feeling were being watched,” Lori whispered. She sat on the wagon seat, her rifle across her lap. “Kevin, Ashley, you guys get down in the bottom of the wagon and stay there until I say you can get up.”
She looked around nervously and thought she spotted something moving off to her right, but when she snapped her head around in that direction, it was gone.
Kevin was whimpering, curled into a ball in the back of the wagon and Ashley lay beside him, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Mark’s head continually swung right to left as he too, felt the strangeness in the air. Lori saw something disappear behind a falling down storage shed and stared at the spot for several minutes, hoping to see what it was. But nothing moved and she felt the small hairs on the back of her neck rise up.
The horses looked around nervously.
Matthew and several of the other men had fanned out on either side of the wagon train, their weapons at the ready, as a thickening mist swirled around them. Something hit the side of the wagon and Mark jerked the reins as the horses picked up the pace. The wind shook the canvas of the wagon as Lori crawled into the back with the kids and sat by the tailgate, her rifle pointed to the rear.
She thought she could she shadows in the mist but couldn’t pin down anything solid. They seemed to sway with the moans of the rising wind. The trip through town seemed unending.
Then suddenly they came out of the mist into bright sunlight. Behind them a solid wall of fog cut off the road back into town, strange shapes swirling in the mist. Lori shook her head, not sure if it was real or her imagination, caused by the tension of the past hour.
They hurried north, away from the uncanny village of Costilla.
***
A couple of miles further up the road they came to a Shamrock service station.
Jesse, Chang and Danny ran over to the service station in a crouch. They disappeared inside and were back in less than a minute empty-handed.
“Picked clean. I wonder if there’s any gas in the tanks,” Danny said, “I think Jimbo’s gas cans are getting low.” He and Jesse unscrewed the lid of the tank and Jesse dropped a small pebble into the dark hole.
“I think I heard a splash. Did you Danny?”
“Yeah let’s get the pump.” The tank was almost empty but they were able to get enough to fill one of Jimbo’s five gallon cans.
The outriders returned to the wagon train and a discussion was held about spending the night. They made a unanimous decision to move on and camp away from the town, none of them feeling comfortable with the eerie feelings and sense of malevolence they had felt. They set up camp a few miles to the north and posted extra sentries for the night to be on the safe side. The eeriness persisted and they spent a restless night.
***
The next day they crossed into Colorado and rode over the bridge that spanned the Rio Grande. The sky was clear and no one even pitched a tent as they all decided to sleep out under the stars. Mike, Chang, Carlos and Greg had a poker game going. All these men were in their late thirties or early forties and tended to hang out together. They sat on a blanket in front of the chuck wagon and used an upside down box as a table. A lantern hanging on the side of the wagon illuminated the game as they played for waterproofed matchsticks.
Mark, Lori, Chris and Aaron sat in front of Mark’s wagon in lawn chairs, all but Chris dri
nking a beer. The desultory conversation revolved around the kids, the strange trip through Costilla, their journey, and what they thought they might find at the end. Ash, Kevin and Skillet were all asleep in their wagons and the young adults were playing hacky sack on the far side of the campfire.
Sheri gazed over at Jesse, wondering why she hadn’t noticed before how nice-looking he was. They had hung out in different circles in the shelter but were spending more time together on this trip.
“What?” Jesse asked her, startling her out of her reverie just as the hacky sack came her way. She deftly kicked it up with the side of her foot and it sailed high in the air toward Sam.
“What do you mean, what?” she asked him, as they both kept their eyes on the footbag.
“You were staring at me.” In his best imitation of Sandra Bullock in “Miss Congeniality,” he sang, “I think you like me, you think I’m pretty.”
She started laughing and glanced his way just as the hacky sack hit her on the knee. “Damn, that wasn’t fair. He distracted me.”
“You’re out.” Willy said.
She walked over to the side of the wagon and, sitting in her chair, took a swig from the whiskey bottle. Jesse was the next to leave the game and Sheri suspected he missed the sack on purpose so he could join her. She started to hand him the bottle but he held up his hand. “I’m an athlete, remember?”
“Listen, dude, It’ll be years before there are any more organized sporting competitions. We could die tomorrow, so let’s enjoy life while we can.”
Even though she was an Olympian, Sheri had always been a partier.
“So, if you’re such an athlete, how come I hardly ever saw you in the gym when we were in the shelter?”
“I always went when you weren’t there.”
“Why the hell would you avoid me?”
He paused for a second as if embarrassed, and then told her, “I had a crush on you. Clay and Danny teased me about it so I didn’t want to fan the flames. I stayed away from you.”
