To the Rescue; Surviving the Black--Book 2 of a Post-Apocalyptical Series

by Zack Finley

  Razor reported there might be a few extra holes in his truck, but none in him. He also said his fuel tanks were intact.

  We didn’t hang out to learn whether the guards had a vehicle.

  Closer call than I’d like, but we were across one of the main rivers. We were now south of the Cumberland River and headed southwest toward the Tennessee River.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 9

  About half of the population of Nashville lived on the other side of the Cumberland River, which divided that city. We were still too close to the rest of the people from Nashville for my comfort. I doubted any of the southern bridges across the Tennessee River on the line from Nashville to Memphis were passable.

  We skirted along the south side of the Cumberland River through Cumberland City and past a coal-fired power plant. In Cumberland City, we passed the ferry landing.

  From the lack of cars on the rural roads, I suspected either the cars headed out of Nashville piled up and never made it this far north, or they just didn’t want to come up here. Even before the crash, this area had few people living here full time. It was heavily forested with a low population density. Much of the agriculture was limited to the creek valleys crisscrossing the finger of land between the two rivers.

  We navigated a series of rural roads to intercept US-79 bridge across the dammed Tennessee River area known as Kentucky Lake. The bridge was a long four-lane span with the directions separated by a concrete barrier. The far side of the bridge ended at Paris Landing. I hoped the lighter traffic in this region left us a way to get through on one side or the other.

  Our scouts had the larger vehicles wait at the intersection with US-79 while they checked the bridge.

  We only waited about 15 minutes to learn this bridge was packed solid with crashes and abandoned vehicles. They didn’t think this blockage was caused on purpose. It was impossible to determine the precipitating event. It could be as simple as someone ran out of gas, or someone got cut off. We’d never know. The scouts reported it would take us a week to create a single lane through to the other side.

  Most of the cars were pointed westbound, even in the eastbound lanes. From what the scouts described I suspected most of the vehicles came from outside the area, likely from the north side of Clarksville. That suggested the US-79 over the Cumberland River at Dover, at least for a time after the crash.

  The next bridge was in Kentucky about 40 miles away. I feared we would find the same situation there. This area was known as the “Land between the Lakes,” and much of it was federal land.

  The sparse population should keep the traffic down, but that just depended on what had happened with fuel, refugees, and survivors.

  The first group of ninjas zipped past headed east on US-79. We waited until the second wave rushed through before following.

  The scouts sent us onto TN-49 for nearly 30 miles of windy narrow roads. We were all getting good at zipping in and out of abandoned vehicles. Once in a while, we stopped to shove one out of the way. The scouts did a good job warning us of the narrow areas.

  It took us only an hour to get to US-68. I hadn’t seen the new bridge before. The new bridge was wider and even had a pedestrian walkway. The bridge it replaced was a narrow two-lane which clogged up every weekend in the summer. I hoped people remembered the old bridge and avoided this one.

  “Boss, we can get across on the ninjas, barely, but we’ll have to leave the rest of the stuff behind,” Tom radioed.

  I wasn’t ready to leave the pickups quite yet. I had one last shot at getting most of our gear across the Tennessee River. Going by the Cumberland River ferry had me thinking of the Danville ferry. We might not be able to bring the semi with us, but we wouldn’t have to leave the pickups or boat behind. Even if the ferry was on the wrong side of the river, we could send the dive boat after it.

  The Danville ferry required us to backtrack by nearly two hours. If it was operational that increased the odds of mission success, providing a way to bring vehicles carrying Andy’s wounded back across the Tennessee River. We could park the semi on this side of the river and hide or disable the ferry, so it was usable for the ride back.

  I wouldn’t like leaving the semi, but it wasn’t mission critical. If we could get the pickups and the dive boat across this next barrier, we had a good chance of success. If we had to abandon them, at the very least, we’d face delays. At the worst, I didn’t want to even consider the worst.

  The dive boat wasn’t a great choice to take solo down the Mississippi River, but if we could find a second boat either between here and Hickman or even on the way down the river, it would be a valuable asset.

  If we failed to find the Danville ferry, we’d be back here tomorrow night, with our ninjas. We might even put all the gas cans in the dive boat and take it to the west side, and try to find replacement vehicles.

  The most desirable option was an open bridge, but we weren’t going to find that. All along I’d expected this new bridge to be passable. I hadn’t realized how much I counted on it, until now.

  At least we now had a cleared path for much of the drive to the Danville ferry. I had considered detouring to check it out on our way north but really thought it was a long shot.

  We pulled in two ninjas and put them on to charge, giving the two scouts riding them a break in the cabs. This left us with only two scouts in front, but we didn’t expect to run into new roadblocks.

  The road we took to the ferry snaked through thick forests. Homes were concentrated in the sporadic areas surrounded by fields not trees. Most of the dwellings were summer homes or retirement properties. There were almost no commercial properties at all, except for an occasional rundown motel or tourist-oriented business. Even these might have been closed for the winter season, even before the crash.

  We pulled into McKinnon, the unincorporated area where the Danville ferry left from. The settlement had a lot of homes, but few were heated. Most of the houses were clearly meant for summer use, with docks leading out into the lake.

  Most homes were reasonably new, and none I saw had chimneys. Those that showed some heat had one or more vehicles parked in front, but there just weren’t many. One might eke out a living here with traplines and trotlines, but it would be tough. No place to farm and it looked like much of the forest was clearcut to build summer homes.

  I didn’t know how good the fishing was, but I doubted you could feed a family on it for very long, especially this time of year.

  There was no sign of the ferry at the landing. It was still about two hours until dawn, so we sent Allie, Joel, and Razor on a boat ride. There were three nearby marinas. While it was possible the ferry was abandoned randomly on the shore, it was more likely the operator parked it wherever he left his car.

  On a hunch, I suggested they check the far side marinas first, before looking on our side of the river. Joel took a can of diesel, his small toolkit, and a substantial length of rope with him.

  The rest of us settled down to wait. I searched through the semi cab for anything we might want to take with us. We were all concerned about the amount of noise we made arriving in this little village. There was a chance some visitors might drop by to check out the new people in town, but I hoped they would wait until daylight. By then with a little luck, we’d be long gone. I preferred to avoid any altercations.

  If we recovered the ferry, I intended to go across as soon as possible, day or night. If not we’d move north to a more secure place to rest during the day.

  “We’ve spotted the ferry,” radioed Razor. “It’s at a private dock, directly across the lake.”

  My mind started working at full speed again. I’d been in a depressed state, waiting. We still might not be able to use the ferry, but it was back on the list of options.

  “We have a stalker,” radioed Tom. “On ferry road, intercepting.”

  I heard two squelch clicks from the other guards. I knew Tom was on the west side of the ferry road and suspected whoever was on the ot
her side of the road was moving slowly to intercept as well.

  A subtle thump, thump of suppressed M4 rounds and a sharp. “Stop or the next one is in you!” was audible despite the rustling of the scant leaves in the trees.

  “Come get him,” radioed Tom. “I think we should remain on alert, just in case he isn’t alone.”

  Mike, who’d been the only one left in the parking lot with me jogged up the road to pick up the prisoner.

  “It's just a kid,” Mike radioed. “We are coming in.”

  We’d parked the semi to provide cover to our group, but far enough in from the entrance to allow our trucks to snake around it if needed.

  Mike stayed behind and to the right of the youngster, as they walked down the center of the road. As they got closer, the kid looked more like a scarecrow draped in much too large clothing than a human. He wasn’t thin, the boy was downright scrawny.

  “He had a pellet gun, a slingshot, two knives, a box of pellets, and some ball bearings,” Mike said.

  “Those things are mine,” the boy said in a voice that broke slightly. “I need them.”

  Even though the kid was wrapped in layers of oversized clothing, I could see he was just skin and bones.

  “We’ll give them back as long as you behave,” I said. “I promise. I’m Jeremy, what is your name?”

  “Kurt,” the boy replied.

  “Kurt, what brought you to see us this lovely night?” I asked.

  “There hasn’t been a car through here in a month,” Kurt said. “You guys made so much noise going by; it woke me up.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you came over?” I said, giving him a chance to tell me more.

  “I thought you might be from the government,” Kurt said. “My foster parents told me the government would come and help us sometime soon.

  “No, we aren’t from the government,” I said.

  “Look, mister, everyone around here left already. Can you take me with you? The fish don’t bite very well, and I’ve hunted all the squirrels that aren’t hibernating,” Kurt said. Just then he jerked over holding his gut. “Mister, I gotta go real bad.” Within seconds he had his pants down and was squatting by the semi, leaving a disgusting, foul mess behind.

  He didn’t have much in his system, so it was quick. Once his pants were back on, we moved to the other side of the truck.

  “Have you been boiling your water?” I asked.

  “Mister, I barely have enough fuel to cook a fish or a squirrel when I do catch one. We ran out of propane months ago,” Kurt said. “The lake water isn’t bad except just after a rain, then it gets real murky.”

  “Where are your foster parents?” I asked. I was heating up a rocket stove, figuring I’d feed the kid before we left.

  “They left just after the power went out. Told me to wait here for help,” Kurt said. “They took almost all the food with them. Not many people live here all winter, and about a month ago, the rest of them left. Nobody had much gas, and some were mighty mad that the ferryman left them high and dry.”

  I poured the boiling water into one of the freeze-dried meals and waited a few minutes, wondering what we should do with this kid.

  “Tom could you swap with Mike, I think this kid needs a medic,” I radioed.

  I heard two squelches as an acknowledgment. As I stirred the meal, the boy’s eyes never left the pouch. The wooden fire in the stove made it easy for him to see.

  “If you guys aren’t the government, why are you dressed like the soldiers at Fort Campbell?” Kurt asked.

  “Kurt, I’ll give you this pouch to eat as long as you promise to eat it slowly, I don’t want it to make you sick,” I said.

  “Okay,” Kurt said

  With that promise, I handed him the pouch and spoon.

  I could see him make an effort to eat one spoonful at a time, even as he hunched protectively around the pouch. His hands were filthy, and his nails were short and broken. His face was smudged, and his cheeks were gaunter than I first thought. He might have had some fuzz, but not yet old enough for a beard.

  When he took the dump, his legs were nothing but skin and bony knees. I’d seen similar in Africa especially in refugee camps.

  Tom appeared at my elbow.

  “He has the trots, bad water I think, or just bad hygiene. He is starving. Look him over and see what we can do,” I said softly to Tom.

  “I’ll check him once he finishes eating,” Tom said. “I’ll certainly give him something for diarrhea and some vitamins.”

  Tom went over to the boy and squatted beside him. They spoke quietly together, and I pulled back to give them some privacy.

  I couldn’t take him with us, but it didn’t feel right to leave him here either. I crawled back into the semi cab. I didn’t expect to find anything and wasn’t disappointed. Some clean socks, sweat pants, and sweatshirt, might fit the boy.

  Tom gave the boy a bottle of water and came over to me. “He is pretty weak, that dysentery is bad. Kurt has been on his own from nearly the beginning.” Tom eyed the clothing in my hand and added, “I take it we are bringing him with us?”

  “Yes, no, I don’t know,” I said.

  “We can’t save everyone,” Tom reminded me, his voice carefully neutral.

  “No but we can save this one,” I said. “Can you take Kurt to his house, get him cleaned up, and pack up his things?”

  “Sure, I’ll take Mike so he can keep watch while we get ready,” Tom said, taking the clothing from me. “I’ll explain some rules to Kurt, too.”

  Tom took one of the ninjas, with Kurt riding in front of him.

  “Boss, Joel finally got the ferry started. We should be on our way back in about five,” Razor said.

  I love it when a plan comes together.

  “Does the ferry have enough fuel?” I radioed.

  “Affirmative.”

  I started the semi up and parked it farther off the road, out of the way. I hoped it would be there when we got back, but if not, we’d make it anyway. Now that we knew how much help they were with roadblocks, I suspected we’d be pressing others into service if needed.

  “ETA about 20 minutes,” Razor radioed. “Be ready to rumble.”

  “Roger, that,” Mike radioed, followed by a squelch.

  “We’ll be there,” Tom radioed. “But we won’t be early.”

  I mounted the ninjas onto the pickups, packed away the rocket stove and waited.

  It took another 20 minutes for me to catch the sound of the ferry across the water. There was only a slight breeze kicking up a minor chop. We were lucky, this lake could get challenging when the winds picked up.

  I assumed we would tow the dive boat and load it on the trailer on the other side.

  The two guards were back as dawn finally took hold. We could now see the ferry approaching from across the lake. Razor overestimated the ferry’s speed.

  “Tom, you have at least 10 more minutes if you need it,” I radioed.

  I got a squelch in response.

  The ferry was just off the landing when Tom, Mike, and Kurt pulled in. The ferry was big enough for the two pickups and the pickup and trailer combination, but that was about it. The towboat was bigger than I’d thought and the ferry-towboat combination would be great to take down the Mississippi. Sadly, the powerless locks on the Tennessee and Ohio rivers wouldn’t let us get it there.

  It gave me hope the Hickman ferry might be suitable to take down the Mississippi River. Allie seemed to be driving this one just fine.

  The guys rushed to help Razor let down the ramp. One of the guys ran to the back to keep the rope attached to our dive boat out of the props.

  The first vehicle was the pickup-trailer combination. I then drove my pickup on and parked at the chain on the far side of the ferry. Within minutes we were all aboard. Razor and Ben piled into the dive boat, and Mike stood ready to release them if needed.

  I checked in on Allie in the cockpit.

  “Joel is in the engine room,” Allie
said. Her voice was clipped and edgy. She radioed, “We are backing up, Mike, watch those lines.”

  Allie must have spent her time coming across the lake familiarizing herself with the controls because she moved with confidence to put the towboat into reverse. I left her at her post and stood at the rails.

  We edged away from the shore, ever so slowly. Most of our group remained on the ferry with the vehicles. Mike gathered the tow rope in loops. The men on the dive boat were out of the path of the ferry.

  When we were about 200 feet from shore, and beginning to aim downriver, I felt the change as the towboat shifted into neutral. Our momentum kept us moving away from shore and a bit upriver. The raw wind off the lake freshened as we left the protection of the coastline. No whitecaps but there was a noticeable heavy chop.