Prepper Fiction Collection: Four Books in One Page 7

  It wasn’t a good place to try and set up the tent. He pulled the top pallet across until one edge rested on the other pile, then covered it with the large plastic drop cloth. He spread the other one on the ground and covered it with their blankets. Jeannie dropped to the ground in exhaustion and sat on the blankets. Jeff sat next to her and they discussed dinner.

  Neither felt like cooking, and Jeff wasn’t sure it was a good idea anyway. The aroma might attract unwanted attention. They each ate a candy bar, which didn’t fill their stomachs or satisfy them, but they stretched out without complaint and went to sleep. Jeff had intended to lay there and pretend to sleep until Jeannie drifted off, then stay awake and watch for danger, but he fell asleep too.

  They were lucky. When morning came they were alive and had not been bothered or discovered by anyone. They packed the blankets back onto the pack, along with the sleeping bag they’d covered up with, and started walking again. They knew they should eat, but neither mentioned it.

  A sickly sun was trying to shine through the clouds but not quite making it. Now they were between the river and the freeway. Cars and trucks were parked all over the streets and highway. Most had the doors hanging open or windows broken. They still passed bodies everywhere they went. Both had gotten over the shock and just walked on without a word.

  The only time Jeannie caught her breath in sadness was when they passed what looked to be a woman sheltering 3 small children with her arms and body. It looked like one of the children had peeked it’s head out under her arm and died there. Jeannie looked away quickly and blinked back tears. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about how unfair it all was, because that would unleash fury that she would be helpless to deal with.

  “Let’s stop and eat,” Jeff said a while later. They walked behind some bushes along the river and Jeff got out the camp stove. Jeannie got out the pan and the bag of rice.

  “What about water? Do you think the river is safe? I mean, it wasn’t before, but maybe no one is polluting it now!” she said, half-joking.

  “Go ahead, but we’ll boil it for a few minutes first. We might as well get used to it. If we’re going to get sick, we might as well get that over with, too,” Jeff said.

  Jeannie walked carefully to the bank of the river and looked at the water. The surface seemed pretty clear, despite the muddy bottom. She watched the current for a minute, then squatted down and dipped the pan into the water, trying to get only the top few inches of cleaner water.

  As she stood up she saw a man on the opposite bank of the river. He stared at her and she stared back. She raised an arm in a half-hearted greeting, unsure what she should do. The man didn’t move. He just stared back at her. She shivered and turned to go back to Jeff.

  He had the camp stove ready to light. She told him about the man as she set the pan on the stove. He looked across the river and said, “Well, no one’s there now. Maybe he was more afraid of us than we are of him.”

  When the rice was done they sprinkled it with oregano and ate it. The garlic salt was gone, and they’d found a few spices and a set of salt and pepper shakers in one of the apartments. Jeannie washed the pan in the river, looking nervously at the far bank every few seconds.

  They pushed back through the bushes and suddenly a shot rang out. Both dropped to their knees and looked around wildly. Jeff ran in a crouch, pulling Jeannie along, until they were behind the cement barricade by the freeway exit. He still didn’t see where the shot came from, but a moment later another shot caused chips of cement to fly off the barrier a few feet from them. Jeannie gave a short shriek and shrunk down as far as she could.

  Now Jeff had an idea of the direction. He still had no target to shoot at, so he waited, and wondered what to do now. He saw a movement and looked to his right. Two people ran from behind freeway support columns and ducked behind a truck. Jeff was pretty sure the shot had not come from that direction.

  He looked back toward the direction he guessed the shot came from and saw someone step back quickly from a window in a nearby building. It was next to a loading dock and a door. When he looked back toward the cars he saw a rifle barrel sticking out at the end of the truck, pointed toward the warehouse window.

  Another shot rang out from the building and whizzed harmlessly overhead. Seconds later a shot came from behind the truck, followed by a long howl from inside the building. The two behind the truck slipped from car to car, and behind the occasional post, until they were close to the building. While one held their rifle on the window the other one crept to the window and crouched below it. Then he slowly raised up until he was next to it and jumped over to look in the window, rifle pointing in.

  Seconds later he relaxed and let the rifle down. He waved his arm at his friend, who joined him at the window.

  Not bothering to find out what was going on, Jeff decided to take the opportunity to make a getaway. He put a finger to his lips to indicate to Jeannie to be silent, then made a running motion with his fingers and pointed. She nodded. He motioned “count of 3” and then used his fingers to give the count.

  On ‘3” they quickly rose and ran as quietly as they could, across the street, down a bank, and onto another street, around a corner, and farther and farther from the scene behind them. After a few blocks they stopped to catch their breath and leaned on the wall of a building.

  “Wang!” A bullet struck the wall next to them. Not again, thought Jeff, as he pulled Jeannie and they ran up the street and into an open shop door. Taking a quick look around to make sure they hadn’t walked into another bad situation, they ran to the back room and looked for a door into the alley. That door was yanked open and a teenage boy leapt into the room and fired a handgun at them. Jeff raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger.

  When the dust settled, Jeannie was still shaking her head, trying to get the ringing sound out of her ears. Jeff was rubbing his upper arm, where the shotgun had kicked back and bruised the muscle, and looking blankly straight ahead, at the still and bloody form of the boy.

  Jeannie started sobbing and yelled at Jeff, “He was just a kid. Just a boy. Someone’s son. You killed him!” She started hitting him on the arm. That startled him to his senses. He caught her hands and looked at her.

  “Jeannie! I know,” he said, as gently as he could. “But he would have killed US. Whatever he’s been through, or whoever he’s with, he’s not a boy any more, not in the sense of the world as we USED to know it. He’d become an animal. A killer.”

  He really wasn’t trying to justify what had just happened, but the horrible realization was setting in and he was having a hard time processing it. Adrenalin and anxiety raced through his veins.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here, quickly,” he said. He picked up the shotgun from where he had dropped it. Jeannie held on lightly to his coat as they ran out the back door and through the alley, angling farther from the scene behind them before turning north once again. It was only then that Jeff ruefully realized they should have grabbed the boy’s handgun, but it was too late now.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hour after hour passed and they still walked, pushing forward in numb agony. Relentlessly, they covered block after block, stepping over or walking around bodies and belongings of every kind. A person, weakened and sick, lay half out of the door of a car, and raised it’s arm toward them. Jeff pulled Jeannie on. There was nothing they could do.

  The factories gave way to apartment buildings and then the houses of the suburbs. More living people appeared, but all disappeared as though mirages. They compared notes to see if they were imagining things.

  Suddenly the pavement ended and they both jumped as though startled. Ahead of them, past the tall grass and brush in front of them, was the river. Jeff checked his compass. They were still going north. The river must have made a bend. Looking behind him he saw that they had walked straight to the end of a culd-de-sac.

  He looked both ways to see where the closest bridge was. “We need to go back to the last cross street
and head over toward that bridge,” Jeff said. Jeannie nodded. He looked carefully at her weary face, cheek bones more prominent, giving her a gaunt look. She was exhausted.

  “It’s almost evening,” he said tenderly. “Let’s do down the bank into the trees near the river and rest. We’ll make something to eat.” He realized he was very hungry.

  He led the way through the tall grass and brush and down the slope. Tall trees lined the river bank, and a muddy trail followed the bank. He looked both ways at the trail, then shrugged out of the back pack and set it on the grass behind them. They both worked at getting out food, pan, and stove.

  “This is the last of the rice,” Jeannie said as she dumped it in the pan. “We still have lentils and cornmeal, as well as some other stuff.”

  She walked down to the edge of the river and scooped water into the pan. Some of the rice swirled out of the pan and drifted off with the current. She watched stupidly, realizing that she was beyond sense, having known better than to put the rice in the pan before getting the water. She pulled the pan up quickly so as not to lose more rice.

  While the rice cooked she pulled the plant book out of the duffel bag. She thought maybe she’d find something edible among the brushy plants on the hillsides. Looking at the plants and back to the book, she flipped through, looking at the pictures. She stopped at one, compared it to a plant nearby, and turned to Jeff.

  “This is a rose bush, and these red balls are rose hips!” she said, pointing at a bush about waist-high. He came over and looked, then looked at the book.

  “Yes, I think you’re right. Are they like berries? Do we pick them and eat them?” he asked.

  “Let’s see…well, they’re edible but it says most people use them for tea or to make jelly. They’re high in Vitamin C. Do you want to try some? We could boil some water after we eat the rice?” She frowned then, looking at the book. “It doesn’t say how many it takes to make tea!”

  “How about what looks like the same amount in a tea bag?” Jeff said.

  “Okay, that sounds logical.” She set about picking a few, sizing them up in her palm, and stopped with 6 of them. After they ate the rice she went back to the river and got more water. When it was boiling, she flatted the rose hips with her hands and dropped them in the water. Five minutes later she moved the pan off the stove and set it on the grass. When it had cooled enough, she used a plastic spoon to fish out the pieces of the rose hips. She raised the pan to her lips and took a sip, then handed it to Jeff.

  He held the pan and looked at her. “Well? How is it?”

  “No, no, try it yourself!” she said, laughing.

  He took a sip and swished it around in his mouth, thinking, then swallowed it. “Not bad.”

  “Yeah. It tastes faintly of perfume but also a bit fruity. Too bad we don’t have any sugar or honey. Well, it’s nutritious, anyway, and it’s here. It’s something we have now. I’m going to pick more and put them in my coat pockets for later.” She picked from several bushes on the hillside, taking a few here and a few there, until her pockets held enough for several pots, or rather pans, of tea.

  They sat side by side, looking across the river. “How much farther do you think until we’re in the country?” Jeannie asked.

  “What’s in the country?” A voice boomed above them. Startled they jumped up and turned around. The shotgun was on top of the backpack, which was on the ground nearby, and Jeff reached for it and pointed it in the direction of the newcomer.

  The man raised his arms straight out to his side, then slowly turned in a circle. “I’m not armed. Not with a gun, anyway. And you’re too far away for me to kick that silly stick out of your arms.”

  He started down the bank toward them. Jeff raised the barrel until it pointed right at the man. “Put it down, I’m not going to hurt you. Just want to talk.”

  “We don’t have any food,” Jeff lied. “And there isn’t anything to talk about.”

  “Nothing to talk about? Listen to you! Well, tell you what, how about if I just sit right here and we can talk across all this grass and brush!” The man lowered himself to the ground. Jeff and Jeannie studied the man, wondering how to get him to go away, or whether it was possible for them to do so. He was close to their age, maybe a little older, maybe just weathered. He wore blue jeans but they were a quality brand, and his sweater also spoke of quality. But they realized he could have gotten the clothes while vandalizing houses. They remained wary.

  “Where you headed?” the man asked. Silence greeted him as Jeff and Jeannie just stared at him. “Okay, let’s try something else. Hi! I’m Marty!”

  More silence. He leaned back on one elbow, sighed, and looked out at the river. “Man, looking at that water, peacefully flowing along, you’d think there was no reason to have any cares, huh?”

  “I had a boat. I was going to use it to get out. Had it tied up right over there,” he pointed. Jeff kept his face straight ahead toward Marty, but Jeannie turned her head. She saw a dent in the dirt back, and the cut end of a rope hanging over it. The rope laid on the ground, across the grass, and up to where the other end was tied to a tree.

  “Our gear was packed into it, and my wife and son were in the boat. I went back to the house for one last load. The coats and blankets. They were by the door. Our house is right over there, the second one. The one with the yellow shutters and the big porch,” he waved over his shoulder. They could see it in the background behind him.

  “As I came out of the house and started back, I heard them scream. I ran. I dropped the blankets and coats. When I got to the bank, the boat was a couple dozen yards from the bank. Two men in black leather coats were in the boat. One held my son over the side and pushed his head under the water. He struggled and fought with his arms, but he was just a little boy. He would have been five the day after Christmas.” The man stopped, swallowed hard and blinked several times.

  “My wife, Tracy, was fighting and screaming and trying to jump out of the boat, probably to save our son. She almost tipped it. That made them mad. The man holding her pulled out a gun, shot her, and pushed her over the side. The other one let go of my son, and they started the motor and took off.” He stopped and sat there in silence, his eyes misted with pain, staring at the water. It was a while before he continued.

  “I jumped in the water and swam out there, checked them both to see if either were still alive. I pulled them to the shore. The current had carried us downstream a ways. I dragged them out. My wife was clearly gone, but I did CPR and resuscitation on my son, hoping it wasn’t too late. I kept it up for a long time.” He shook his head.

  “I went and got a shovel and buried them above there, above the flood mark, on the hillside. I should have carried them home, but we loved the river and it seemed like a good place for them. Home isn’t home any more. The house isn’t, any more. I guess with them gone, I don’t have a home any more.”

  With that, he got up and started to walk away. Jeannie called after him, “we’re sorry for your loss.”

  Jeff called after him, “It’s not to late to get out in a boat!” The man stopped and turned back.

  “What’s the point? I have nothing to live for now!” he scowled.

  “I’m sorry for your pain, but you’re alive! You’re healthy! You’re young! I know how you can do it. How WE can do it. We’ll help, but we don’t know anything about boats.”

  “Then how can we do it?” he asked. Jeff waved him down by them.

  “Listen, I saw boats on trailers in lots of driveways as we came through the suburbs. What little I know of motors, they should still work, despite the EMP. We just have to find one light enough that the three of us can manage the trailer with our muscles, and get it to the water. Where are the boat launches?” Jeff asked.

  The man got excited then and pointed toward the bridge to their right. Jeff could see where a road led down to the water’s edge. They climbed up the hill and looked at the houses on the culd-de-sac. At least half of them had a boat, either in
the driveway or the back yard.

  “I’m going to grab our packs and we’ll walk around and check them out!” Jeff said, as he started back through the grass. Jeannie went too, and slung both duffel bags over her shoulder as Jeff swung the backpack onto his back. They followed Marty out onto the street.

  Marty glanced around, then said, “We should go over closer to the boat landing so we don’t have to man-handle a heavy boat and trailer any farther than we have to.

  They walked to the corner and started east toward the main street that crossed the river. Turning at that corner they headed back toward the river, and the second driveway had a boat at the back. They walked around it and lifted the edge of the cover to look at it.

  “No good. It would be better to find one that has an outboard motor with a pull cord to start it. We could probably get this one going if we had to, but let’s keep looking,” Marty said. The next driveway had a boat too, parked around the back of the house next to a concrete patio. Marty walked around to check the motor, and the back door of the house flew open.