by C A Bird
With heavy hearts, they continued on. During the next two weeks, they moved beyond the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest, and passed through the small towns of Holbrook and Winslow to begin the long climb into Flagstaff. Although it was now early July, the temperature in Flagstaff was comfortable. Mark knew that wouldn’t last. They resupplied in Flag, passed Williams, and descended toward Kingman and the California desert beyond.
30
It had been a long haul from Farmington. The two hundred and sixty miles to Flagstaff had taken them almost two weeks and another five days downhill to Kingman. The freeway led through town and over a hill toward the Colorado River.
As they reached Andy Devine Blvd., Mark called out to Skillet, “Let’s pull off and refill the water barrels. Matthew and Mike said they’d meet us at the hospital.”
As they rode toward that prominent landmark they noticed evidence of fire. The ground was scorched for many acres of what looked like had once been crops. A few patches of corn stalks, and a trellis with climbing beans had miraculously escaped the fire.
Lori dismounted and waded into the overgrown patch of vegetables. “I’m going to pick anything that looks okay. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
Mark waved Skillet onward and swung off Jasper to cover Lori as she made her way through the few unburnt rows, adding beans to a bag she had slung over her shoulder. Mark heard her gasp, and saw her back quickly away from something on the ground between the corn rows. “Mark!”
He already had his rifle out and immediately jumped forward to her side. The wind shifted and the smell of putrefying bodies assailed them.
“Whew,” Mark said, as he threw his arm across his face. Lori had moved behind him. Pulling a bandanna out of his hip pocket, he held it over his nose, partially blocking the sickly, pungent odor. He went through the rows and returned to Lori, where she stood with her rifle pointed away from Mark to cover them.
“There’s at least twenty people dead over there, including children. It was a massacre. Let’s get out of here and meet the others at the hospital.”
They mounted up, glanced around for any danger, and kicked the horses into a gallop to leave the ghastly scene as quickly as possible. When they arrived at the rendezvous point, Matthew took Mark aside. “I found a fairgrounds with several dead bodies and dozens of slaughtered and partially eaten animal carcasses. This was savage. If whoever did this is still around, we’re in grave danger.”
“We found a score of murdered people back at the fields. Someone came through here, killing everyone and torching the fields. We need to get out of here now.”
Mike rode over. “Lori told me about the bodies. You don’t suppose those bikers came through here, do you?”
Mark shrugged. “That’s a real possibility. Whoever did this was vicious and maybe even insane.”
“The hospital has a small reservoir. Skillet, Jimbo and Sheri are filling the barrels. Let’s get out of this God-forsaken place,” Mike said.
***
Once clear of the newer part of Kingman, they holed up under a freeway overpass at the southern edge of town, to try and beat the heat. They pushed hard and arrived at the Colorado River in two nights of travel. Mark was worried that the bridge would be out, but it still spanned the river south of Needles, California. The green waters of the river rushed by, but they found a small inlet and everyone jumped in with their clothes on, whooping and hollering in sheer joy, as they splashed and swam in the cool refreshing water. They camped that night at the river where there was plenty of grass for the horses, and waited until the next night to continue the journey.
As Skillet had predicted, the trek across the California desert was brutal. Matthew went ahead in the twilight and darkness, sweeping a light on the road to detect rattlers that seemed to find the freeway a comfortable place to rest. Moonlight bathed the wagon as it made its ghostly way up the long highway toward Essex. The evening and night time temperatures were still warm but it was at least twenty degrees cooler than during the day. Mark had driven this highway a few times on his way to the casinos of Laughlin, Nevada, preferring the atmosphere of the smaller, gambling oasis to that of the brilliantly lit Las Vegas Strip. He told them there was a service station at Essex, but when they arrived two days later they found that the only water tank was empty, and the water pipe was busted.
There was no water.
A horse will drink five to ten gallons per day and they had two mules and five horses. Each person needed a minimum of one gallon a day but with the heat, they were drinking more. They had eight barrels, approximately fifty gallons in each one. So one barrel minimally watered the horses for one day.
The burning orb overhead beat down on them during the day, and they did their best to find shade where they could sit out the oven-like temperature. They tried not to move around too much to conserve water by not sweating, but never-the-less, trickles of sweat ran out of their hair and down their faces. Their clothes were damp from perspiration and filthy from the dust kicked up by the horses every time they left the pavement.
Even though they had all slathered on sun screen, they were turning a golden brown after weeks of being outside in the elements.
They sat in the shade of a large pile of boulders. “So Sheri,” Mike said, “how do you like this heat? You said you don’t like the winter in New Mexico.”
“It’s funny. I can ride all day in this stuff. The heat doesn’t bother me so much.”
“Are you kidding? It’s gotta be a hundred and ten out there.”
“How far to Barstow?” she asked, turning to Mark.
“It’s about a hundred miles. There’s a small town, Ludlow, about midway but there’s no guarantee there’s any water. Just like Essex. How’s the water, Skillet?”
“Six and a half barrels. If we keep it to a minimum, we should just make it. There’s bound to be water somewhere in Barstow.”
Even the nights were hot, as they got underway at 6:00 o’clock in the evening. It seemed like a dream to them as they rode through the darkness, holing up again as the temperature climbed at 9:00 in the morning.
As they feared, Ludlow was dry. There were a few buildings, but either the pipes were broken or the pumps had failed, and there was no gravity fed water. Lori was worried about the kids, as they both showed signs of extreme dehydration. Both were listless and Ashley was barely sweating. So far, though, their foreheads still felt cool.
“Here Kevin, put this on.” She coated his lips with lip balm.
“I’m thirsty Mommy.”
“I know, baby, but we don’t have much water left.” She gave him a small sip of her own ration.
“Mark, can we get a half cup of water for the kids?”
He glanced over at Skillet. “What do you think?”
“Tulip is having a real hard time with the heat. She’s been stumbling. I don’t want to lose her. When we get close to Barstow if it comes down to the horse or the people, we will obviously choose people.”
“Let’s leave a little later in the day to take advantage of the cooler weather,” Matthew suggested.
“At least there’s gas for the motorcycle. I filled the cans, too,” Jimbo said, as he rode up to the wagon and hoisted the cans onto the shelf, securing them with the straps. “I’m gonna go ahead and see if I can find water. It’s only fifty miles to Barstow. I can strap a five gallon, water jug on the back of my seat. It’s not a lot but it will help.”
Sheri sat astride her bike, one foot on the ground. “I can go too. We’ll be safer that way.”
“That’s crazy. You’ll sweat more than you can carry.”
“I’ll hydrate before we leave. I can carry several water bottles in my panniers. You need someone to cover you while we find water.”
“She’s right, Jimbo,” Mark said. “You shouldn’t go alone. It will take us two days to get there, and if you can find where there’s water, so we don’t have to search for it, it will help us a lot.”
They spent the day in
Ludlow, in the shade of an old restaurant that once served travelers along the Old Highway 66, a nostalgic reminder of days gone by. That night, when the wagon pulled out on the highway, Jimbo and Sheri, on their non-living mounts, pulled away and disappeared into the darkness.
Even at night, the heat was oppressive and the mules walked with heads hanging low. Lori rode on the bench beside Skillet, and Tulip was tied, rider-less, to the rear of the wagon.
By the next morning, they were twenty miles closer to Barstow and Jimbo had returned with his jug full. “Sheri got really hot, pedaling fifty miles to town, even though she usually isn’t bothered by the heat. I don’t think it got below ninety degrees all night. She’s holed up at the Marine Corp Depot, keeping cool.”
“Did you see anyone, or run into any trouble?” Lori asked him.
“Naw, and we made sure it was deserted before she decided to stay there. There’re water tanks at the base. Even though we didn’t run into any trouble, I was glad she had my back.”
He gave the kids a cup each of the lifesaving liquid and then passed around the jug so the others could get re-hydrated. They greedily gulped the cool liquid.
The last barrel of water was one quarter full when they passed the Marine Corps Logistics Base and saw Barstow in the distance. Sheri flagged them down and led them to water tanks that still held hundreds of gallons of water. They filled the barrels and drank all they wanted, making sure the animals were re-hydrated, as well.
Two hours later they were heading up the ramp onto Main Street. They searched through stores and service stations and found a few cases of bottled water and some canned goods. They were way past their expiration dates but the cold, canned beans tasted okay.
They rested up for two days, sleeping in motel rooms with the windows thrown open to the desert night. They allowed the horses and mules to rest and graze, since they’d found very little grass or other edible plant life in the desert. There was still desert ahead of them, but their barrels were full and they would be approaching the coast with its cooler weather in a few days.
***
“Radiation level is increasing. I don’t think we can keep going in this direction.” Mike was looking at the readout of the scintillation device, his hand over his eyes to reduce the glare. They were going west toward Victorville but there seemed to be a radioactive barrier a few miles beyond Barstow.
Mark gazed longingly toward the west coast. Past Victorville, past San Bernardino and all the eastern parts of Los Angeles County, past Los Angeles itself, lay the coast… and Mark’s home.
“It’s just too hot, Mark. We can’t keep going in this direction.”
Lori rode up beside him. “I’m so sorry, Mark. I hoped we’d be able to get through. I know how much you wanted it.”
He just sat astride Jasper, unmoving. He’d known it all along, of course. But it wasn’t until he saw the reading on the meter, that he really believed the home he had shared with Will Hargraves and Chris was gone… or his own home on the hill above Newport. After a few minutes, while the others gave him his space, he sadly pulled Jasper’s head around toward Barstow. “Let’s go back to Barstow and head northwest. We’ll try to get to the coast again from the Santa Barbara area.”
Twice more, they tried to go west, but were thwarted each time by the radiation.
It became cooler as they made their way from Barstow, past Boron, and then the Spaceport at Mojave, California. Each day they traveled a little later into the day until they passed over the mountains at Tehachapi and down the long grade, alongside the rushing Kern River, to Bakersfield. When they tried to go south on the 99, the radiation levels began to increase again, forcing them back to the northeast.
“Well, Sheri, it looks like you’re going to get your wish to go to Lompoc. At least we can try that direction and see what happens.” Jimbo threw his arm over her shoulder.
“I’m worried that Vandenberg was hit. But for the last few years it’s turned toward space as its mission. At one time the space shuttle was going to be launched from there but they scrapped those plans and converted the gantries to handle SpaceX.”
Skillet looked puzzled. “What’s SpaceX?”
“It’s a privately owned rocket that was going to be taking supplies to the International Space Station.”
“Wow, that’s cool. Not government?”
“Nope.”
Sheri pointed west. “After we get over the mountain range into Santa Maria, it’s south to Lompoc. I’ve spent a lot of time with my aunt and uncle, training in the hills around there. I even ran the Lompoc Marathon one year. I have good memories of the whole area, and I absolutely love Santa Barbara.”
Crossing the mountains, they reached Santa Maria in mid-August. The Geiger Counter exhibited only normal background radiation. They saw evidence of life: a garden behind a house, a boy who ran behind a building and disappeared, and even a car in the distance. But no one came to greet them or bothered them, as they approached Lompoc from the north.
“Hold up,” Mark shouted as he spotted something in the distance. “Look! There’s an airplane.” He was so excited, Lori laughed.
“There’s an airport in Lompoc,” Sheri told him. “Come on, I’ll show you where it’s at.” She shot off on her bike, rode a few hundred yards ahead and then swung back to lead the slower horses down the highway.
When they arrived at the Lompoc Airport, Mark rode across the tarmac to a row of hangers along the eastside of the taxiways. He handed Jasper’s reins to Lori and threw up the hanger door, gasping as he saw what lie within.
“Oh my God! Look at that,” he cried out, a huge grin on his face. “It’s a ’41 Stearman! It looks like it’s in great condition.”
He walked over and ran his hand along the lower wing. He grabbed a stepstool and checked for fuel. “It’s got a full tank. I don’t know how old the fuel is, though.”
Glancing around he saw his friends framed in the doorway of the hangar. The wagon sat out on the taxiway and he saw Matthew beyond, his crossbow across the saddle horn and Matthew looking out across the runway.
The biplane stood facing outward toward the door, and the group of his very skeptical friends.
“Mike, let’s see if it’ll start.”
“Geez, I don’t know Mark. What if the owner shows up with a shotgun?”
“There’s no one around.”
“Yeah? What about that airplane you saw?”
“It actually looked like a military plane.”
He climbed into the rear cockpit. “Come here. I’ll show you what to do.”
“Mark, do you think this is such a good idea?” Lori called out. Ignoring the question, he set the mixture to 100% to prime the carburetor, then set the throttle to 10%. He activated the magnetos and showed Mike how to stand on the brakes. Changing places with Mike, he trotted to the front of the plane and, grasping the propeller, pulled it past the compression point to the left.
Nothing happened. The prop snapped back. He tried again and again until he was exhausted. Climbing up and leaning over Mike, he adjusted the throttle, to try again. “Anyone want to give this a try?”
Everyone quickly shook their head. He grasped it again and was thrilled to get a sputter out of it. One more try and it turned over… and died. He rested for a moment and gave it another try. This time the engine caught and it started up.
“Turn it off, turn it off!” Mike yelled.
“Don’t worry,” Mark laughed. “It’s not going anywhere. Just stay on the brakes.”
Mark let it run for a few minutes and then killed the magnetos. The prop slowed and stuttered to a stop. Mike leaped out of the plane, landing heavily on the concrete.
“Don’t ever ask me to do that again!”
Mark reluctantly closed the hanger door and they moved away from the airport. Now it was Sheri’s turn to be excited. She impatiently led them through town.
As they neared the downtown section of Lompoc, they were confronted by a group of armed men. The
men didn’t threaten them, rather seemed very surprised to see them. They looked well fed and reasonably clean. They numbered five.
One man, short and stocky, with sandy colored hair, stepped forward.
The others kept rifles leveled at Mark’s group. Mark wasn’t worried. Matthew and Einstein were out there in the town somewhere guarding their back.
“What do you want? Are you with the military?” the man asked.
“We’re not military.” He gestured at Sheri. “We came to find Sheri’s relatives.”
“Who’s that?”
Sheri eagerly pushed her bike toward the men. “Doug and Carla Williamson. Do you know them?”
“How do we know you’re related to them?”
“I’m Sheri Summerland. I was in the Olympics, and Lompoc gave me a parade.”
One of the guys lowered his rifle. “Hey, I remember that. That’s her. Doug and Carla live in the same house they were in before the war. They’ll be real happy to see you.”
“Thanks, come on, I know where that is,” Sheri said, gesturing for them to follow her.
She shot off toward the west and watched them over her shoulder as they hurried to keep up. Jimbo kept up as the others fell behind.
A few blocks west and two to the south, she rode up a driveway in front of a beige, stucco house. The lawn was long and full of dandelions, the driveway cracked and sprouting weeds. The roof had a patch of newly replaced shingles.
“Sheri,” Jimbo called out. He noticed the front drapes in the picture window being drawn aside. “We need to remember security. Wait for the others.”
Just then the front door opened and a couple flew down the sidewalk into Sheri’s arms.
Jimbo pulled his weapon but it was obvious this was a joyous reunion. He grinned and scratched his whiskers, watching Sheri smothered in an embrace.
