The Search For Home

by C A Bird

  “Fuck, man, look at all this stuff.” Johnny grabbed handfuls of packaged medications and threw them into the air. They stuffed Ambien, Restoril and other sleeping meds into white paper bags, along with a large variety of narcotics. They found Vicodin, Dilaudid, Percocet and Oxycodone. It was a druggie’s dream come true. Rod had already taken three of the 2 mg Dilaudid. Others were washing pills down with bottled water.

  Bing wasn’t one to do drugs, but he filled bags full of the pain and sleeping meds to take to Chase. He took off his blue bandanna and wiped his face. This was bad. These guys were going to be harder to control than usual.

  Some men went out to the floors and gunned down the Pyxis machines. They shot open the drawers and used knives to break into the compartments. Every man had his pockets full, and had stuffed bags to put in the saddlebags on their bikes.

  It was almost dark when they returned to the motel. Chase had come out of his room and was wondering where all the bikes had gone when Bing rode up with his booty. As the others started to arrive, Chase met them with gunfire, shooting his weapon over their heads.

  “You Motherfuckers have any drugs, you better hand them over. I’ll be the one to hand ‘em out. Otherwise you’ll all be worthless.”

  With sullen looks they handed over the bags but most of them held back what they had in their pockets, taking a chance Chase wouldn’t search them. Fortunately for them, he didn’t.

  ***

  In the morning four of the bikers were dead. Unlimited access to drugs had proved too much and they had died, not only from overdosing, but from mixing the drugs. Chase ordered the bodies thrown across the street and their bikes given to men that were riding double.

  “That leaves more supplies for the rest of us,” he told Bing. “They held out on me and I’m sure the others did too. Tell the men they better turn over what they squirreled away or I’ll kill each one of them as I search them for drugs. And it won’t be an easy death.”

  The bikers had taken enough drugs to kill a dozen horses. They spent the night in a stupor and most didn’t wake until noon. Bodies unused to any kind of meds for almost two years reacted with massive headaches and nausea. When Bing told them to turn over the drugs they popped painkillers and sullenly handed over the others.

  The third day in Kingman was spent recovering.

  On the fourth day Chase roused them to action. “Now that you pussies are better, let’s scavenge what we can from this dump and get out of town.”

  That’s when they discovered the colony.

  First, they came across the fairgrounds where the townspeople were raising livestock. They had cattle, goats, sheep and pigs. When the bikers rode onto the fairgrounds they were met with gunfire. Three men were hit, their choppers careening into parked cars and a fence.

  “Fuck! Pull back to the street,” Chase yelled.

  Withdrawing to the far side of the parking area, they roared up to Chase.

  “They won’t fucking get away with this. I want every person taking part in that ambush, dead. Get behind those cars in the first row and lay down a barrage. Bing, choose six guys and follow me.”

  He swung into the street and Bing had to scramble to follow. They went down a side street to the far side of an arena, where a gate led into the dirt road that ran in front of the stables. Screaming down the central road in the fairgrounds, they came up behind the group of defenders.

  The men bravely stood their ground as the motorcycles bore down on them, firing at Chase and the others, but Chase didn’t care if his men died, and that gave them an advantage. Three of the four defenders went down. The fourth man threw down his weapon and put his hands in the air. Chase shot him in the forehead, and throwing open the front gate, allowed the rest of the Horde access.

  The squealing and screaming of the animals could be heard as they slaughtered every one of them.

  “Hey boys,” Chase called out, “another fucking barbeque.”

  “Yeah,” muttered Cutter to Bing quietly, “at least it ain’t human.”

  They cooked the meat and gorged themselves on the first fresh meat they’d had in many months. They could have fed the entire horde for weeks had they kept some of the animals alive.

  “Hey Chase? Where do you think were gonna end up?” asked Bing, as he chowed down on a leg of mutton. I was thinking it might be nice to go somewhere down south, like Arkansas or Alabama. They have lots of water down there and I don’t think they would’ve been bombed like Denver or Colorado Springs. What do you think?”

  “Shut up Bing. We’ll just keep moving until I say we found the right place.”

  Rod had food smeared in his beard, “Hey Chase, I like Kingman. It’s been really good to us, huh?”

  Chase took out his .45 and shot the man through the chest.

  ***

  Two days later they rode out of town, east on I-40. They’d found the rest of the residents and killed every man, woman and child, losing two more men and one of the women in the process. The crops in the fields were mostly grown, producing a cornucopia of produce. Chase ordered them torched. Even the most evil of the members of Satan’s Horde were shocked by the wanton violence and destruction.

  Chase removed his gloves almost every hour, rubbing on alcohol gel, and the others, always worried about Chase’s sanity, were becoming concerned for their safety. Cutter approached Bing the morning they were to leave town. “Bing, what the hell are we going to do about Chase? He’s getting guys killed and he even shot Rod for no reason.”

  “Look, man, we’ve had steak, pork chops and lamb for two days. We have an unbelievable amount of drugs, and gallons of alcohol we found in that bar. The pickups are jammed full of shit and we’re getting out of this town. We’ll worry about Chase later.”

  “We should let him take off at his insane speed and then take a different road.”

  Bing chuckled and agreed, “He’d come back and track us down. Probably kill us all.”

  The day was warm and the gang wore short sleeve t-shirts and leather vests. Bing’s ever present bandanna was yellow but his long, gray hair still blew backwards in the wind. Flagstaff, Arizona was the next large town on their route as they climbed steadily out of Kingman, and the trees changed from Junipers and Pinyon pines to Ponderosas. Motoring through Williams they saw the turn-off for the Grand Canyon. Always wanted to see the Grand Canyon, Bing thought. They came into the beautiful, mountain town to find Chase sitting in the middle of I-40 reclining against the sissy bar waiting for them.

  “Gas up and head north on the 89. We’re heading for Kayenta up in the Navajo Reservation.”

  Bing was perplexed. “Damn, Chase, that’s really out of our way. Why’re we going up there?”

  Chase almost looked a little embarrassed. “That’s where my Mama lives.” He sat up on the bike and, with a deep throaty rumble, it sped down the off ramp, Chase leaning to the inside of the turn onto the 89, his knee almost touching the ground.

  “Is his mom a redskin?” Cutter asked.

  “You got me. I ain’t askin’ him.”

  Arriving in Kayenta, Arizona in the late afternoon, they decided to stay in the Holiday Inn just off Highway 163. As always, Chase was waiting for them to arrive.

  “You guys stay here, I’ve got to go someplace. If you see anyone, don’t fuck with them. Got it?”

  “Sure Chase. When you comin’ back?”

  “I don’t know. Just wait here ‘til I do.”

  He didn’t return until the next afternoon. He wore dark shades and his rusty voice was scratchier than usual. Bing could swear the big man had been crying but wisely didn’t say a word. The bikers were all in the parking lot, starting up the bikes and putting their belongings back into their saddlebags. The pickups and the van swung around the bikes and the driver of the van yelled out to Chase, “Where we going?”

  Chase looked back the way he had come, sitting silently on the big Harley for a minute and then, as he took off, he yelled, “Durango!”

  15


  It took a full week for the wagon train to get through the passes between Antonito and Chama. The road was at times quite steep, and with only two horses or mules pulling each wagon, they had a rough time getting up the hills to the La Manga Pass at 10,230 feet. Mark and Mike tied ropes on either side of the lead wagon and let their horses add their strength to that of the primary pair. As the other wagons fell behind, they did the same thing for each of the other two.

  The high country still had patches of snow, but the trees had leafed out and painted the hills in shades of green. The temperature, cooler at this high altitude, was still pleasant and the sun warmed them all afternoon. The narrow gauge tracks of the Cumbres and Toltec Railway crisscrossed the highway several times and ran off through flower-filled meadows. They could only make ten miles a day and, not getting all the way through the pass, ended up camping on the asphalt of a scenic overlook. The view toward the north was breathtaking, with pine covered slopes, sheer rock cliffs and a meandering river in the valley below. Fluffy clouds floated overhead.

  Once through La Manga Pass, they spent the rest of the day getting to Cumbres Pass, also at over 10,000 feet, then finally began the long descent toward Chama and Highway 64. At some point they re-crossed into New Mexico. Lori had worried about the kids at these high altitudes but the only person bothered by the altitude had been Mike. He developed a throbbing headache and vomited over the side of the road. Aaron told him the only help for it was to get to a lower altitude. Fortunately he didn’t develop any worse symptoms and recovered as soon as they descended into the valley.

  Since the war, life had been hectic; trying to learn new skills, fighting off mutant monsters, and building a new town. Mark had been finding it hard to relax and just take one day at a time. He still had that built-in alarm clock, like the white rabbit, that said I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date. But on this trip he was finally letting go of the stress and was enjoying each day as it came.

  They rode into the charming, mountain town of Chama at two o’clock in the afternoon, passing by the western terminus of the railroad. The scouts had cleared the way, and they pulled the wagons a quarter of a mile into the center of town. They stopped right in the middle of the street.

  “I don’t care what happens in this town, I’m spending the night in a bed,” Jimbo whined. “I’ve had enough of the ground.”

  “There’s a nice motel just down the street,” Einstein pointed out. “We saw a bed and breakfast, a couple of restaurants and a bar. I’m going to go down and see if there’s any booze left.”

  Everyone climbed down from the wagons and stretched their stiff muscles. The men who had been walking, went to the side of the street and sat down on a wrought iron bench just beyond the sidewalk. Lori, Chris and the kids headed straight for a store with clothes in the window, and found the door unlocked. It was full of merchandise, including Native Indian style clothing, colorful t-shirts and turquoise jewelry. Greg stood by the door, his rifle at the ready while the women and kids tried on clothes. With her shoulder still sore, Chris had trouble with trying on blouses, and almost cried when she looked in a mirror and saw her beautiful hair burned on the side of her head.

  When the women and kids had finished, Lori covered for Greg as he selected some jewelry, putting on a beautiful turquoise necklace.

  Skillet pulled his wagon forward and parked it in front of a restaurant. He would use his own equipment for cooking but the travelers would be able to eat at real tables. Two guards stayed behind the wagons and two moved forward a hundred yards down the road while a few of the men unharnessed the horses and mules. They led them between two buildings to a grassy area out back, alongside the river, and strung up a rope corral so the animals could graze.

  They spent the afternoon until dinner, checking out the stores and replenishing their dwindling supplies, including batteries, rope and clothing. Skillet was thrilled to find some air-tight, five gallon containers of wheat and rice and a pantry containing baking essentials, such as baking powder and salt.

  When dinner was ready, Skillet and the Yancey’s carried everything into the Branding Iron Motel and Restaurant, where they pulled several tables together in the center of the room.

  “Why do you think this place is so untouched?” Lori asked. “Except for a layer of dust, it looks like it might have before the war. Nobody’s messed with any of it. It’s just like Antonito.”

  “I’m thinking if there were any survivors they left town as soon as the bombs fell,” Aaron said. “They must have realized there wouldn’t be any more trucks bringing food and supplies. If it were me, I would have headed for the nearest big town where there would be a lot more people.”

  “What about the radiation?”

  “Not everyone knows about that stuff. Maybe they didn’t think about it. Or maybe there wasn’t any this far from the blasts.”

  The conversation continued and they decided that regardless of why the residents left, they were grateful to have new clothes. There was even a small clinic and Aaron found another stethoscope and a handful of drug samples.

  The morning dawned bright and sunny with no fog and no clouds in the sky, but only a few of them saw the dawn, as the others were all snug in real beds. Skillet didn’t even fix breakfast until mid-morning. Sentries were swapped out and the night shift crawled into bed. In the spirit of Mark’s new laid back lifestyle, he suggested they remain in town for another night, and there were no dissenters.

  The second night in town, everyone gathered in the bar where Einstein had discovered a cache of beer and liquor. They had become used to room temperature drinks and all sat around talking and just chilling out. Ashley and Kevin were in the corner, playing with new toys and Aaron held Karen, who was asleep on his shoulder.

  “This is great,” Chris said. “It looks like our problems may be behind us.”

  “Oh no, why do people keep saying things like that?” Lori just shook her head. “Bad omen.”

  “Whatever.”

  ***

  One hundred miles lay between them and Bloomfield, New Mexico. It took five days, the first half through pine covered hills, that gradually gave way to juniper trees and scrub. As the highway wound between low hills and through fractured canyons, they started noticing oil and gas wells, some by the road, and many in the valleys they passed through along the way.

  Chris was becoming tired of the constant traveling, especially with a baby. Unlike Mark, who was beginning to enjoy a more relaxed attitude, she found fifteen to twenty miles a day boring. She enjoyed the evenings around the campfire, the camaraderie and conversations, but she wanted to get to their destination. The thought of making this trip, turned out to be much more exciting than the trip itself.

  In Willsburg, she’d had a job that was both important and interesting, trying to increase the yields on the farms, working with good friends Samuel and Rana, and feeling she was making a real contribution. She missed it.

  Her spirits perked up as they neared Bloomfield, the first good sized town since Raton. The small towns had been deserted, but in Bloomfield and Farmington she hoped to meet new people and hear some news.

  Aaron sat on the seat beside her, driving the mule team. “Chris, what’s wrong? It’s not like you to be down like this.”

  “I’m okay, honey. Just bored with the slow pace. We’ve only traveled three hundred miles or so in four weeks.”

  “Yeah, but it’s been through some really beautiful country and I’ve kind of enjoyed the whole camp-out thing. Even in the pouring rain.”

  “Especially in the pouring rain. That’s my favorite part. But we could have driven three hundred miles in a day, comfortably, before the war, and still enjoyed the scenery.”

  “You will drive yourself nuts if you constantly compare the old days to the current reality. Let’s see what Bloomfield brings, okay?”

  She was enjoying her new role as a mother, but she was still the modern woman that had traveled the world as a scientist. She wo
ndered if she would always feel out of place in the lower-technology world they now lived in.

  16

  A constant drizzle fell, as Roger and Ashe gingerly walked down the animal trail they had stumbled across, trying not to slip on the slick mud. Wandering for two days, they’d made their way deeper into the Kentucky back country. The foliage was dense, curving over their heads, and they pushed the wet branches aside as they made their way down the trail. Even though they wore their plastic ponchos, now ripped from the branches, water seeped down Roger’s neck.

  Ashe set the pace. “Do you think we should just stop and spend the night? I’m soaked through to the bone. It’s going to be dark in a few hours anyway.”

  “I guess so. Do we even know where we’re going? You don’t still have those relatives living here, do you?”

  “No. They moved to Tennessee.”

  “We can’t stop here. We need to find a clearing. I’m just concerned that our food’s running low and we have no idea where we are, where we’re headed or when we’ll get there. Makes me almost wish I were back digging holes. At least we had three meals.”

  “I hope you’re kidding.”

  “Yeah, but just partly.”

  It was another mile before the trees opened up into a small meadow. The game trail continued along the side of the clearing and continued into the bright green vegetation on the other side. A few saplings grew part way into the meadow, giving them something to tie their tarp to. In fifteen minutes they had it up and the tube tent pitched, with the sleeping bag spread out in the bottom, holding the sides apart. The tarp extended beyond the tent giving them a space to build their fire. Since it was Ashe’s turn to cook, Roger let him try to start a fire using only the chunk of magnesium.

  “You doing okay over there?” he asked as he returned from the bushes.