The Journal: Fault Line (The Journal Book 5) (28 page)

“This may seem strange, but trust me.” She
handed him two packages of pantyhose, and received a quizzical
look.

“There was a TV special years ago about when
Mt. Saint Helen’s erupted in 1980. One of the issues the locals had
to deal with concerning the constant rain of ash was that it kept
plugging up the air filters in the vehicles. They solved it by
stretching pantyhose over the intake. The ash couldn’t get through
the fine weave. If you get caught in the cloud, John, put one of
these on the car before the filter plugs.” She was trying hard to
stay calm, stay even, though she felt anything but. “And here are
three of the newer face masks. They also have an eye shield. Not
only can the ash damage the lungs, it can also damage your eyes.
There’s one for your trip down if needed and one for each of you to
come back. And please be careful with your wrist, it’s far from
healed.”

The car was fully packed and by six a.m. John
was ready to leave. They stood awkwardly by the car, neither of
them wanting to be the first to say goodbye.

“I want you to know I believe you about the
ash cloud, and I believe
in
you, Allex. That’s why I have to
do this,” John said.

“I don’t want you to go, John. Please, I’m
afraid if you leave this time I’ll never see you again.”

“I love you, Allex, but I have to.” He
wrapped his arms around her, and held her for a long time. “I’ll be
back in a week, I promise.”

John put the Subaru in gear and pulled out of
the driveway. As he started down the street in the pre-dawn light,
he could see Allex still standing there, watching him leave. Again.
His heart was breaking at the thought of hurting her, but he had to
get to Christine. He had to make sure his baby girl knew what to do
with this ash cloud coming and that she didn’t believe the line the
government was feeding the public. She was still too gullible.
Trevor was good for her and had taught her a lot, however, John
trusted no one but himself to save her. Allex was a survivor, he
knew she would be fine. She had taught him things he wouldn’t have
thought of, things he now had to share with Christine.

John turned into the gravel parking space at
the doctor’s office in downtown Moose Creek across from township
offices. The apartment above was still dark. It didn’t matter if
Mark was still sleeping; John had to talk with him. This was not
something he wanted to do; he did not want to send the doctor to
Allex. He was certain Doctor Mark loved Allex, maybe as much as he
did. Disasters did strange things to people, and Allex might just
fall into Mark’s arms without John there. It was a risk he had to
take; a risk above and beyond knowing he might never come back. He
had to know that Allex would be cared for and loved. She deserved
that.

A sleepy Dr. Mark Robbins answered the door
John had been pounding on.

“What is it?!” he asked grumpily. “John? Is
Allex okay? The kids?” he asked alarmed, once he saw who was
standing there.

“Yeah, she’s okay – for now. We need to talk,
Mark, and I need this cast off.”

They sat in the exam room of the medical
office while Mark carefully removed the cast on John’s wrist.

“The mining accident wasn’t that long ago,
John. This fracture still needs time to heal,” Dr. Mark
chastised.

“I’m going down to get my daughter, Mark, and
I don’t know how long that will take. I also don’t know if I’ll be
able to find someone who can take this off when it’s ready.” John
scowled. “It’s uncomfortable and in the way.”

“I’ll compromise with you, John. I’ll take
this one off only if you let me put a thin stabilizer on in its
place. Anyone will be able to remove it with a pair of scissors,”
Mark offered.

“Deal,” John muttered. “There’s something
else I need, Doc. I need you to go to Allex and stay with her while
this cloud passes.”

Mark looked up sharply. “What? Why?”

“She needs someone, and not just her boys.”
John thought hard. “I asked her to marry me, and she said no. I
know you care for her, and she might care for you too. I think that
may be why she turned me down. That, and I’m always leaving. I’m
not a reliable man for her.” That was the hardest confession John
had to make. “I might not make it back; in fact it’s quite possible
I’ll be killed along the way. So promise me you will get to her
when the ash starts.”

“I promise.”

***

John pushed the small green car up to 80mph
and set the cruise control. There was no one on the Wisconsin
highway: no cars, no trucks, not even the police. It wasn’t the
best speed for gas mileage, but that didn’t matter, he was in a
hurry. He drank some water that Allex had sent with him, and then
he had another cup of coffee. He was going to need the caffeine to
drive straight through the next twenty hours.

Two hours later he spotted a gas station and
slowed. The Beretta went into the waistband of his jeans as he got
out of the car. After some negotiations John handed over a one
hundred dollar bill for five gallons of gas which pushed the gauge
to three-quarters of a tank. He sat for a few minutes, studying the
maps he had for the fastest detour around the coming big cities,
especially Chicago, and then he was back on the road, heading west
so he could go south with the objective of avoiding any sizeable
city and the major highways that might be gridlocked and would slow
him down.

The country roads were rough and winding, and
relatively free from traffic. He took 64 to 45 south, then turned
on to 49 to avoid Antigo; 29 led him to 73 south and he stayed with
it for several hours.

“Damn, this is going to take longer than I
thought! Going through Chicago is sure a lot quicker!” he said
aloud to stay occupied and awake. Outside of Watertown he saw a
roadblock and slowed. There were two cars ahead of him being
detained.

The first car was being directed to the side
and the sole person, an elderly woman, got out of the big car. Two
of the military-looking personnel opened her doors and trunk for
what appeared to be an inspection.

The second vehicle in line was passed through
the barricade after several minutes. John could see children in the
back of the small blue car.

Something caught his attention. He found it
odd that the military personnel were wearing sneakers! The woman
whose SUV was being searched started yelling and John’s attention
was brought back to that scene, his senses now on high alert. Those
two men were ignoring her protests and continued removing items
from the trunk. The smaller of the two had hair down to his
shoulders, while his partner sported a short beard. Neither one
looked or acted professionally and definitely not military-like,
regardless of the clothing.

John made an instant assessment that this was
not a real military checkpoint. When the guy at the gate motioned
him forward, he put the car in gear and stomped on the gas. The
soldier waved his arms for John to stop and John kept going,
breaking through the brightly painted wooden sawhorses. He hated
leaving that woman behind, but he had little choice. He could only
hope that all those fake soldiers wanted was her supplies and that
she would be let go.

John heard a shot and lost the right hand
mirror.
Damn
, he thought,
that one is a good
shot!

He drove even faster.

He stayed on 73 for some distance, stopping
once at a tiny, out of the way gas station, where he paid an
outrageous thirty dollars per gallon, and thought it was a bonus
they let him take ten gallons for that three hundred dollars in
cash, a bonus he paid for with an extra hundred dollar bribe. The
tank was full and he even managed to put some in the reserve
can.

He made it out of Delavan by driving across
the median when he was pursued by a small gang on motorcycles he
refused to stop for. The narrow wheeled bikes got bogged down in
the mud in the center grassy area and the Subaru’s all-wheel drive
engaged in time to get him to the other side. Northbound traffic
was non-existent, so he stayed there heading south until he came to
39 south and skirted Chicago without further mishap. At 150, he
turned back east and crossed over into Indiana.

It had been a grueling thirty-six hours, far
from the twenty-four he’d planned on, and John was exhausted from
the drive, no sleep, lack of food, and the constant adrenaline. He
plainly could not keep going without risking falling asleep at the
wheel; he needed some rest. He pulled into a closed rest area
outside of Mooresville, made sure the doors were locked, and
reclined his seat for a short nap.

***

The tapping on the side window woke John
hours later. The sun was not up yet and he squinted into the beam
of the flashlight.

“Please unlock your doors, sir, and step out
of the vehicle,” commanded the deputy, keeping the light in John’s
eyes.

John sat up. “It’s a rest area and I was
resting. Is that illegal?” he asked, opening the window enough to
be heard.

“No, sir, not yet, though it soon may be.
Please, step out,” the officer insisted and John reluctantly did as
he was asked.

“Okay, I’m out. What do you want?” John asked
politely.

“We are rounding up everyone on the highways
and streets and getting them into shelters before the cloud hits,”
the officer let him know. “Which should be soon.” The officer
nervously glanced to the west.

“What if I don’t want to go to a
shelter?”

“You have no choice, sir. We are now under
martial law and you must comply.”

“Look, I’m not that far from home, which is
where I’m trying to get. Why not just let me go, and that shelter
will have one less mouth to feed?” John tried reasoning with the
young man.

“Where is home?” he inquired skeptically.

“Greenwood.”

The officer looked down. “You have Michigan
plates.”

“It’s my girlfriend’s car. Look, if you don’t
believe me, call the chief of police in Greenwood, he can vouch for
me,” John insisted.

“I served some time under him. What’s his
name?” the officer inquired, testing John’s story.

“Marty, or rather Martin Mallory. He’s close
friends with my daughter and her husband.”

“Not many get to call him Marty…” The officer
contemplated the situation. “Wait here.” He sat in his patrol car
and made a call. After a few minutes he returned to where John was
munching on a hard-boiled egg.

“Chief Mallory confirms your story,” he said,
eying the eggs. John handed him two. “You can go. Stay on 144. I’ll
call ahead so you’re not stopped. Don’t stop anywhere or you
will
be detained. And a word of advice, Mr. Tiggs, do not
try going into any of the larger cities. Martial law there is very
strict because of all the rioting and looting going on.”

John dumped the last two gallons of gas into
the tank and put the empty red container back in the hatch. He
mentally calculated that he would have just enough gas to get to
Christine’s.

He looked to the west with the morning sun
now warming his back. The dark sky crept forward as he watched, and
he prayed he could beat the cloud to Christine.

The clouds gathered
overhead, stretching as far as the eye could see in all directions.
The massive amount of ash held within those clouds grew denser by
the hour as the easternmost edge was slowed in its travel by the
Blue Ridge and Smoky Mountains; slowed but not stopped. As the ash
thickened, its weight, filled with debris of lava, splintered
rocks, and all it claimed in the horrific explosion that set it
free, started to fall.

***

“Christine, Marion! Come and look,” Trevor
called out.

Christine watched out the large picture
window at the falling ash. “It’s pretty in a weird way. It looks
like dirty snow. Do you really think it’s as dangerous as some
think?”

“I really don’t know, babe. I don’t want to
take a chance though. I’m sure Marty will update us when he comes
in tonight.” Trevor knew he wasn’t being reassuring, but he was
trying to be as honest as he could be without scaring the two
women.

“I’m really pragmatic about most things,”
Marion said, “I will have to admit, though, this has me torn
inside. I can understand what happened; we can now see the results.
Still… it’s so unreal to me.” She paused for a long moment. “If you
don’t mind, I’m going downstairs and knit for a while. I just don’t
want to think about this right now.”

Trevor draped his arm around Christine for a
comforting hug And they continued to watch the ash falling and
swirling in the wind until Holly nudged Trevor’s hand and
whined.

“Oh, crap!” he exclaimed. “In all our
preparations I forgot completely about Holly! We can’t let her
outside in this to do her business!”

“What if we put a bunch of newspapers down in
the garage for her?” Christine suggested.

“That might help temporarily until we come up
with something better. Cats are much easier to care for, all they
need is a litter box,” Trevor lamented.

In the garage, Trevor spread out some old
newspapers. Holly seemed to know what they were for and squatted,
looking embarrassed.

“You’re a good girl, Holly. I’m going to
figure out something for you.” Trevor retrieved a face mask to keep
the ash out of his lungs, and a pair of swimming goggles to keep it
out of his eyes, and then he backed the cruiser out of the garage.
With more room now, he set to work.

Half an hour later, Christine found him still
in the garage.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked,
looking at the lumber on the floor. It was now a square, with a
plastic liner and Trevor was shoveling dirt into it.

“I’m building Holly a litter box,” he replied
with a grin. “I need to open this door once again for more dirt, so
you should go back inside. When I’m done, I’ll let you and Holly
know.”