End Days Super Boxset (125 page)

“Okay, we have to leave now!” he shouted.

He wanted to take a shower of his own, but they were nearly out of time. Paul went into his room to grab his bag then looked around for other things to take. If he thought about it long enough, they would end up never leaving. Paul heard Julie come out of the bathroom.

“You should use it while the water is still hot,” she said from across the hall. Julie had taken a shower and changed in less than five minutes. Paul was amazed; however, he knew there was no way he could do the same. The shower soon became the least of his problems as the MRE settled in. Paul clutched his stomach in pain.

“Julie,” he said, “tell Jordan that I’ll be right out.”

He ran to the bathroom and slammed the door.

“Go!” he yelled from the inside.

Wearing a T-shirt, jeans, sneakers, and a jacket, Julie shuffled to her room, took a look around the darkness, and walked out with her backpack. She stopped at the front door and set her pack down as if forgetting something. She marched down the hallway, feeling the walls along the way, and went back to her room. The moonlight from outside shined in through her window and onto her desk. On top of her desk rested a clean notebook she hadn’t written in yet. She grabbed it and fled the room past the embarrassing sounds of Paul in the bathroom.

They had gone over their time two minutes by the time Julie made it out the Humvee.

Jordan felt as if he failed himself. When five minutes had passed, he told himself that he wouldn’t wait longer than ten minutes. “Ten minutes, then I’m out,” he said.

That was his compromise. He felt that to risk so much for two strangers was foolish, but he wasn’t ready to have them on his conscience yet. Julie opened the side door and climbed in the back.

“My dad said he’ll be right out, he’s just having a little trouble.”

“What kind of the trouble?” Jordan asked.

“Bathroom trouble,” Julie answered.

Jordan didn’t say a word.

“Better in there than in here,” he thought.

Finally, Paul arrived at the Humvee, backpack in hand.

“I’m sorry about that, thanks for waiting,” he said. Paul climbed in the passenger seat as they moved in reverse down the driveway.

“Find anything in there?” Jordan asked.

“Not much,” Paul said. “They cleaned us out pretty good.”

Jordan said no more. He shifted the vehicle into drive and thrust the pedal to the floor.

“You’re going to have to help navigate me out of here,” Jordan said.

“Of course, I’ll tell you exactly where you need to go,” Paul said. He thought for a moment. “Where are we going, exactly?”

“Out of town, for starters, and away from the fallout,” Jordan said.

Paul couldn’t help but doubt Jordan's claims of nuclear destruction. “Where can we go that’s safe?” he asked.

“We head west to Missouri,” Jordan answered.

“What’s in Missouri?”

“I have family out there, a wife and kids.”

Paul’s eyes lit up. “My wife is in Colorado right now. I haven’t heard from her since this afternoon. Maybe we could head out there; it’s not too far from Missouri.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Jordan said.

Paul’s smile dropped. “Why not?” he asked.

“At least not in this vehicle. There’s not enough gas in the world to take this thing to Colorado.”

“Well, I have to get to Colorado, no matter what,” Paul said.

“In time,” Jordan said as they drove ahead into the night.

Days Gone By

Jessica, I don’t know if you’re still alive. I was just thinking about all the people I know that I don’t know if I’ll ever see again. I know we haven’t talked to each other in a while. Ever since my family moved to that stupid town, it seems like my life has gone downhill. I had great friends like you back home. But now that I hear that Philadelphia has been hit with a bomb or something, I don’t know if you guys are okay. Jordan, the guy we’re driving with, said that there is nothing left of the city. Are you guys still alive? I wished I had called you more. You guys were my real friends, not like those bitches in Beech Creek and at Discovery Cove Middle School.

I never wanted to move, but we had to move because my parents needed work after Paul lost his job. We moved into Paul’s father’s house. Then the kicker: they said they wanted a “safer environment” to raise me. WTF? I’m twelve, not two. But now that the city is gone, according to Jordan, I guess my parents were right and I’m alive now because we moved. I really hope this is one big practical joke. Or a bad dream I can wake from. We stopped the other night and slept in this Humvee, and for the first time in like forever I cried. I had to be quiet because Paul and Jordan were right there. I haven’t cried like that since we first moved to Beech Creek. I miss my mom. I miss you. I miss so many people. I really do hope to see you again.

We’ve been on the road for a week now. We’ve driven through Ohio and Indiana. Some things look normal, some don’t. We’re always looking for fuel. I don’t know what we’re doing. I just don’t know. I want to go back home. I want to go back and see you and Ashlee and Meghan. I miss all you guys. I started playing soccer last year. It’s not so bad. Ugh. I just can’t do this. It’s hard to write that things are normal when they aren’t. Everything is different. The sky is different. It’s cold all the time. No place has any power. There are a lot of scary people out there. Jordan says we have to be careful.

He’s looking for his family, and we’re looking for my mom. I would give anything to see her again. He said his family is in Missouri. Why he lived in Pennsylvania, I don’t know, but it might have something to do with some trial separation he told Paul he was going through. That’s so sad, but whatever. Paul wants to go to Colorado to find my mom. I wish we were already there. I hate long road trips. We barely ever stop. Oh, someone stole our car and smashed it through the house and took all our stuff, too. That’s why we’re stuck with Jordan, but he’s alright I guess. Our town was evacuated. Maybe your family evacuated before anything happened. If so, I can’t wait to see you again. And your mom too, she’s awesome. I just don’t know how much longer I can take this. It’s been days since we have taken showers. It’s so gross. And I’m sick of eating the same crap. Listen to me now, complaining when some people have actually died. I’m just very confused. I hope you and your family are safe. I’ll write to you again soon. I have to go, Paul is talking to me.

“Julie!” Paul said.

Julie tossed down her notebook. “What?” she asked.

“How are you holding up?”

“Good,” she said annoyed.

“What are you writing?” Paul asked.

“Nothing,” Julie said.

Throughout their trip, Paul and Jordan had taken turns at the wheel. With the amount of fuel they continually scavenged for, Jordan felt like they needed a new car. But cars, like everything else, had become a hot commodity. Mainly because everyone, it seemed, was on the move. Whether one had a vehicle or whether they stole one, everyone faced the same problem everywhere they went. The simplest necessities--food, water, fuel, and electricity--grew scarce with each passing day. From Pennsylvania to Ohio, gas stations were running out of fuel with no supply in sight. Paul, Julie, and Jordan weren’t the only ones trying to get to safety. Residents from the east had poured into neighboring states, overburdening resources and adding to the chaos and disorder.

What they saw of Ohio was similar to what awaited them in Missouri. Movement was everywhere, stores were emptied, and gas stations ransacked. People weren’t going to work; rather, they were afraid to leave their homes. Hospitals were overburdened and understaffed. Overcrowded government camps awaited “nuclear evacuees” and so on. Things had escalated quickly. Paul asked Jordan where the government was in all of this.

“They’re scrambling,” Jordan replied. “Some of our officials, no doubt the president and his staff, are secured in bunkers somewhere. I wouldn’t expect anything from Washington anymore.”

“Why not?” Paul asked.

“Because it isn’t there anymore,” Jordan replied.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Paul asked.

“Before communications went out, we were on a teleconference with some higher-ups. They informed us of a dozen major areas that had been attacked. Philadelphia, as you know, was one. The District of Columbia was another.”

Desperation grew on Paul’s face. “Then what?” he asked.

“That was all I heard before the line went out,” Jordan said.

“And you’re just telling me this now?”

“I’ve told you what you needed know, what’s the point of speculating?”

“What other areas have been attacked?” Paul demanded.

Jordan said nothing as he slowed down and pulled to the side of the highway. He came to a stop and pointed ahead. “Read the sign,” he said. Ahead of them was a giant billboard with information printed over a white surface.

Estimated number of cities struck in nuclear attack: Twelve

Estimated casualties: Undetermined

All branches of active-duty, reservist, and National Guard military immediately report to your nearest duty station for further instructions

All civilians are encouraged to evacuate large cities along the eastern coast.

All evacuees are advised to find the nearest emergency shelter available
.
Fixed ALERT AM station: 530

An official message from the Missouri Emergency Response Department

News reports were scattered. They had no radio in the Humvee, but that didn’t stop Paul from looking.

“Nice try, but most Humvees don’t usually come equipped with car stereos,” Jordan said.

“We need to find a radio or a television as soon as possible,” Paul replied.

“I wouldn’t get within ten feet of a Wal-Mart right now.”

“Why not?” Paul argued. “I want to find out what’s going on. There has to be news reports. Round the clock coverage. There’s no reason that we should be left in the dark with this.”

“You got a good look at the sign, right?” Jordan asked.

Paul nodded as Jordan merged back onto Highway I-70. Cars zoomed past them at a frenzied pace.

“So there you go. What else do you need to know?”

“We don’t know a damn thing about these attacks,” Paul said.

“Not me. Not you. Not the stupid sign.”

Paul looked back to Julie. She was sleeping with her head against the window. He turned back to Jordan to further grill him.

“Who put the sign up there? And when?” Paul asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Jordan answered.

“So we know that they’re calling all military personnel for duty. There’s our answer. We go to a military base and find out exactly what’s going on,” Paul said.

“Paul,” Jordan said, clearing his throat. “We can’t figure out everything just this moment. I’m staying on course here. I’m going to find my family first.”

“But the military can help us find our loved ones. They can protect us—”

“Don’t be so naive,” Jordan interrupted.

“They weren’t so willing to help people in Beech Creek. Everyone I know got the hell out of there as soon as things got hot.”

“That’s bullshit,” Paul said. “For a former soldier or whatever you were, you don’t sound at all like you know what you’re talking about.”

“We’re not stopping anywhere until I find my family,” Jordan said, staring at the road.

Paul didn’t want to escalate the argument any further, but he found Jordan’s resistance perplexing. Finding a military base seemed the most sensible thing to do. Paul glanced over at the fuel gauge. It was well below half a tank. “We’re going to need to stop and get gas soon,” he said.

“I know,” Jordan said. “I’ll get off the next exit; keep your fingers crossed for fuel.”

After a brief period of silence, Paul spoke. “Nothing is more important to me than finding my wife, but we can’t do this all on our own,” Paul said, trying to talk over the engine.

“We have an hour until we reach Kansas City, that’s where my family is. After that, we’ll see,” Jordan said.

Jordan veered the Humvee to Exit 34, which promised gas and lodging. They were in a rural area of open fields, local shops, and a disconcerting quietness, as if the area had been evacuated. They had faced endless traffic at every turn, only to find themselves the lone car on an empty road. They pulled into the first station on their right, an old Hess station, and parked the Humvee next to the diesel pump.

“Good thing they have diesel,” Jordan said.

The limited-availability of diesel was all the more reason they wanted a different vehicle, but for Jordan, everything was about getting home first. Paul examined the small parking lot, looking for any signs of life. A single fading red station wagon was parked in the gravel near the front. A cigarette butt-can held the entrance to the store open. If the store was opened, business was far from booming.

“Let’s give it a shot,” Jordan said.

Paul looked back to see Julie still sleeping. Both Jordan and Paul exited the Humvee and stretched.

“Let’s hope these pumps work or we’re in trouble,” Jordan said.

“Agreed,” Paul said.

As they walked toward the store, they were uncertain of what they would find. Paul looked up into the sky. A storm was overhead, and a cool breeze passed through the air. It had looked like the same for days, as if a massive gray cloud had been following them. Clouds blanketed the sky like unraveling ripples. The sun was hidden by heavy overcast that brought a strange comfort to Paul. They slipped inside the store hoping to be met with bright aisles, country music, and a friendly associate eagerly awaiting their business behind the register. Their hope vanished once they entered the quiet and darkened store with empty shelves before them. Paul thought the store had been deserted and jumped at the sound of a man's voice.

“What can I help you gentlemen with?” the man asked to their side.

Jordan and Paul turned to the counter. An elderly man wearing a buttoned-up flannel and a camouflaged hat sat on a stool behind the cash register. He brandished a pump-action shotgun.

“Sorry, we didn’t see you there,” Jordan said.

“That’s alright, we ain’t got much left, and I can only accept cash.”

“Do you have any gas?” Paul asked.

“Sorry, we’re all out. I’ve been telling people that all day.”

Paul tried to resist punching the wall in frustration. He looked at Jordan, clearly upset.

“What the hell are we going to do now?”

Jordan raised his hand to calm Paul down.

“We’ll think of something, don’t worry.”

Paul wanted to tell Jordan that they were doomed, that their trip and all of society was doomed, but he withheld on account of the old man’s presence.

“We have cash,” Jordan said, approaching the counter.

The old man studied.

“How much?”

“That depends. Do you know anywhere we can get any diesel?”

“The hell with the diesel, ask him if he wants to sell that station wagon outside,” Paul said.

“To be honest with you boys, I’ve got some fuel cans in the back, sort of like my reserve stash in times of emergency. But there’s not a can of diesel in the bunch.”

Paul looked around the empty store and walked over to a newspaper and magazine rack. Jordan placed his arms on the register counter. “Sir, I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to make an assertion.”

The old man looked at Jordan curiously then moved one hand from his shotgun to adjust his hat. “Go ahead.”

“I’m thinking that you probably have plenty of better places to be than a gas station with no gas and empty shelves.”

“What’s your point?”

Jordan reached into his shoulder bag. “My point is that you must have something you want to sell other than fuel cans and old magazines.”

Paul examined the newspaper rack, finding only one paper remaining. It was a paper from the Friday before, the morning of the Wall Street bombing. He flipped through its thick newsprint, trying to find something of value, and then tossed it to the side. The magazine rack was just as useless. All the magazines were dated from the past week or older. He hungered for knowledge, something that would let him know that Samantha was still alive and if he had a country left. There had been no official report of casualties or the overall destruction beyond the anonymous sign they saw on the road. Paul walked back over to the counter where Jordan was haggling with the shop owner.

“Let’s just say we wanted to make a vehicle trade. Our Humvee for your station wagon,” Jordan said.