Working With Cedar: A Post Apocalyptic Tale Read online

  “What about Jess?”

  Jess’s fate weighed heavy on my heart. “We won’t leave the area. We’ll sneak around, find out where they take him and get him back.”

  In the dark, dank interior of that old car, the trunk padded with moldy carpet that smelled of wet dog, my senses began to register the moments leading to our parlous situation. I saw the men and women charging up the steep overgrown slope leading to the point where the exit ramp joined the road crossing the overpass. Saw the explosions fling their bodies like rag dolls. The memory of their screams and cries now mingled with the immediate sounds of pain from the wounded still alive and the grief of those inside the buses who lost loved ones.

  Our sanctuary was only twenty feet from the bus they rode on. Marie Starnes was screaming over and over, “They killed Bobbie; they killed Bobbie. Bobbie and Marie were practically newlyweds, married barely a week

  Patterson spoke again, his voice drowning Marie’s angst. “Do you swear you will give us safe passage if we leave?”

  The reply came. “Only the men.”

  There was a long delay before Patterson spoke again. “Can we collect our wounded and keep the lead bus?”

  “You have thirty minutes. Your bus will be inspected on the other side of the underpass.”

  Betty wiggled and squirmed until she could spoon to fit my bent body, slipped her arm over my shoulder and hugged close to me.

  “Are you comfortable?” She asked. “Can you stay in your position?”

  The trunk of the Caddie was large, but not big enough for actual comfort. Betty wanted to know if I could stay still. “I’m okay for as long as it takes. It’ll be dark in an hour or so. Can you shift your rifle, it’s poking my back.”

  I felt her whispering breath on my neck, “Nash, I’m scared.”

  “So am I.”

  We lay in the dark cramped confines of the trunk. The thirty minutes given for the collection of the wounded and for the men to board the lead bus felt more like an hour. We heard the engine crank and the sound of its tires as it drove away. Seconds later, enough time for the bus to clear the underpass, there was an explosion heavy enough to rock the Cadillac.

  Betty’s muted exclamation said the obvious, “The bastards blew up the bus!”

  I told her, “I knew they would. Now they’ll come to claim their booty. We can’t talk anymore. We can’t move no matter what.”

  Her reply was to pull me tighter to her.

  The voice behind the bullhorn spoke again. “Alright men; Beans, you and your men clear the burning wreckage. We’re not taking any wounded, kill anyone still breathing. Moss, your crew secures the remaining buses. Use your brains. Those still onboard have weapons. Don’t hesitate to kill if threatened. Do you women hear that? Be smart and stay alive. Think of the children inside there with you.

  “Belcher, clear the bodies from the road. You know the drill. Make it look like nothing happened here. Hurry it up. Night’s coming and so is rain. Morgan, Johnson, get the gennies under cover. We won’t need light tonight.”

  When the way-layers entered our bus, we could hear women shouting for Marie Starnes to put down her gun.

  Scrunched in the tight confines of the trunk, we both twitched at the loud sound of a short burst from an automatic rifle. Marie began screaming in pain. Another short burst stopped her. Moments later, the bus cranked and drove away.

  I used the covering sound of the engine to whisper, “Let’s hope it does rain. We’ll wait for it.” With effort, I managed to move my arm to read the luminous dial of my wind-up watch. “It’s six-thirty. If it’s not raining by nine I say we chance it.”

  Betty said, “If it doesn’t rain, later would be better. They’ll be sleepier the longer we wait.”

  We settled in to wait. Somehow, I managed to fall asleep. Betty’s knee nudging my legs woke me.

  “It’s beginning to rain,” she whispered in my ear. “I was awake the entire time and haven’t heard anyone moving around out there. What time is it?”

  A patter of the light rain beat on the metal of the trunk lid. My arm, pinned under my side was asleep. It took a long moment to move it in order to see the watch.

  “Eight-fifty.”

  “Should we go now?” She asked.

  Wriggling the arm to get blood flowing to it, I replied, “Let’s wait and see if it gets harder. The heavier it rains the better for us. Do you think you can move? My arm was asleep and I can’t feel my left foot.”

  I felt Betty squirm. “I’m okay.”

  The gentle tapping of raindrops on the metal above increased to a heavy thudding of larger drops. Wind began blowing and the rain changed to a downpour.

  “I’m ready,” I said. “I’m going to raise the lid just a crack. If there’re no lights, I’ll slip out and wait for you.”

  I loosened the clamp holding the trunk closed and allowed it to open a few inches. Wind-blown raindrops from the dark night hit my face.

  “No lights, it’s pitch black out there. Are you ready?”

  Betty shifted her body, “I’m right behind you.”

  It was impossible to leave the trunk without making noise. The old springs of the Caddie’s suspension squeaked, and my foot, still half asleep, clunked on the frame as I levered out.

  Betty passed me our rifles and was almost out of the trunk when we heard a pop from the overpass. A white flare blossomed in the sky, lighting the field of cars on the roadway bright as day. We froze in position, expecting bullets to start flying.

  The flare was bright, but the heavy rainfall was a shielding veil. The expected gunfire didn’t come. The flare, dangling from its parachute drifted slowly down. I saw that as an opportunity and told Betty, “Protect your night vision. Close your eyes”

  The flare sputtered and went out before it touched the ground. Betty slid the rest of her body from the trunk. Whispering into her ear I said, “They’ll be blinded from the flare. We’ll move one car at time until we’re farther away before we leave the freeway.”

  Hunched over, we ran to the next car further from the bridge. Rain soaked, we paused long enough to be sure it was safe to dash to the next vehicle, an old model Chevy pickup.

  The third vehicle was an SUV. Gaining the side facing away from the bridge, a dog, startled by our arrival came from the open side-door. The dog, a big brute of a Rottweiler, ran a few feet and then turned to begin barking and snarling. Almost immediately, we heard another pop from the bridge.

  The SUV shielded us from the light of the flare, but the dog was in the open. Those on the bridge loosed a hail of gunfire. Bullets spanged the SUV and tore up chunks of asphalt from the roadway. The dog yelped and went down. Their target found, the men on the bridge continued to fire at the animal. We watched in horror as the dog disintegrated before our eyes.

  When the flared sputtered and went out, the barrage from the bridge stopped. The men up there cheered themselves for their deed.

  I shuddered and then said, “They’ll be blind again. Let’s get away from here. No more hopscotch, stay close to me.”

  Running in the emergency lane, we rounded the curve that blocked the view from the overpass, slowed and stopped, bending with our hands on knees, drawing deep breaths.

  Betty, regaining her breath, said, “Hon, I’m beginning to shiver. We need to find shelter.”

  I surveyed the surrounding area. “There is nothing but trees on the other side of the fence. We’ll need to make it back to an exit.”

  “How far back was it? She asked.

  “I don’t know?” Moved to put my arm around her waist, saying, “You’re shivering. Stay close until you warm up.”

  I set a fast pace to warm us. The downpour turned to a steady drizzle. Thirty minutes of walking brought a ramp leading from the freeway. At the top of the bridge, we saw a combination convenience store and gas station on the far side. A dark blotch at that end of the bridge, the silhouette of a man holding an umbrella, sitting in a chair, caused us to crouch.

&nbs
p; Pulling Betty close to whisper, I said, “Ease back down the ramp. There’s a man watching the road.”

  We moved far enough away for us to speak above a whisper.

  I said, “We’re in a rural area. The man on guard up there probably has a two-way radio to let the highwaymen know when someone’s approaching their ambush.”

  “What should we do? Betty asked. “We have to find out where they’ve taken Jess.”

  “We’ll go back, sneak up the ramp and go to the right. We should be able to find an abandoned home close by, but let’s go a couple of miles from the freeway just to be sure we don’t find an occupied one.”

  “And Jess?”

  “We’ll get him back. They won’t mistreat him.”

  “What if they don’t keep him local? What if they ship him off to another fiefdom?”

  “Hon, we’ll find him no matter what it takes. Right now, we’re soaking wet and it’s too dark to do anything. Tomorrow we’ll scout around, get the lay of things.”

  It took an hour to locate a residence that was vacant. The survivors of the plague tended to group close together and that usually meant close to a major roadway or town. The home we lodged in that night was a ramshackle, one bedroom concrete-block affair that was ugly even in its better days.

  The bedroom ceiling was open to the elements, the mattress and bedding rotted, unusable. We lay on the dining room floor, soaking wet, cuddled close together for warmth.

  Morning dawned with a dark sky heavy with wet, low clouds. Betty awake and on her feet, nudged my shoulder with a foot.

  Straining to sit, I groaned and responded, “Is it morning already?”

  Betty reached for my hand. “Nine-thirty, and I’m freezing. We need to get our blood flowing. Guess what’s for breakfast. Nothing. Nothing for lunch either unless we get busy scrounging. I’ve already searched in here.”

  Struggled to my feet, stiff and cold from a miserable night on the ceramic-tile floor, I bent, fingers extended toward toes, repeating the motion several times to loosen the muscles in my back. Turning to Betty, I said, “Find food first and then Jess.”

  Betty’s short brown hair hung from her scalp in damp, straggling curls. Concerned, I asked, “You’re pale as a ghost. Do you feel okay, because you sure don’t look okay?”

  “Pot calling the kettle black … Be glad you don’t have a mirror to look in. What’s the plan, Dan? Seriously Nash, what are we going to do?”

  “First thing we need to do is clean dry our weapons. That’s on you. Look around and see if you can find some cotton rags. I’m going to scope neighborhood. I’ll leave my rifle and spare mags with you. Be sure to remove the bullets from the magazines and give them a wipe. I’ll clean my pistol when I get back.”

  “Be careful.”

  I nodded, and then looking through the opening leading from the dining room, said, “Stay low in the living room. The drapes on the front windows are rotted off.”

  Slow and easy, I opened the rear door that let out from the kitchen into the weed-infested backyard of the house. Keeping low, close to the outside wall, crept to where I could view the road. Calling the area we were in ‘A neighborhood’ was a stretch. The small nondescript houses on either side of the two-lane road were set far apart, but not so far as to be legitimately rural.

  Stopping long enough to be sure no one was in sight, I dashed to a rusted pickup truck close to the road. The truck had no wheels, the axles sat on concrete blocks.

  From that point, shielded by the junker, there was a clear view for some distance in both directions of the roadway. I observed the nearest home visible from my position and saw no one, nor any dogs that would signal the presence of humans. Not willing to chance crossing the road, I chose the home to the right of the one we’d sheltered the night.

  I left the old pickup and used the forest behind the homes to shelter the move. After ascertaining the targeted house was truly vacant, I entered by way of its unlocked backdoor.

  Like the house we’d slept in, this one was a one bedroom. Unlike that house, this one held the skeletons of the people who lived there. Judging from the bones, they were those of a man, a woman and two children, one an infant and the other a toddler. He saw no evidence of violence; broken bones or bullet holes. They were victims of the plague.

  It took only a few minutes to determine there was no food there.

  Moving in line to the next house and the next, barely noticing the bones present in all of them, I found success over a mile from my starting point. The house was another bust, but inside a small metal out-building the previous owner used for storage, shifting through boxes, I found a full case of twenty-four small cans of a liquid diet supplement.

  The product’s list of ingredients showed it was high in protein and calories. I would rather found something of substance, chewy, but protein and calories would definitely keep us going.

  Leaving the shed, I heard the muted roar of a motorcycle in the direction of the house where we’d sheltered. Worried about Betty, I decided to forgo further scrounging.

  The low hanging clouds opened up as I returned to the house. My clothing, still damp from the previous night was again soaked. Before entering through the rear door, I tapped it three times, twice close together, then after a short pause, once more; a prearranged signal for Betty to know it was me.

  She opened the door. “You were gone so long I was beginning to worry.” Noting my condition, she said, “I found some usable towels. They’re on the dining table. I’m going back to the front window. We had some activity a few minutes ago. Dry up and meet me there. I hope that’s something to eat under your arm. I’m starving.”

  I followed her into the dining room, stopping at the table while she continued to the front windows. Betty liked things organized. On the dining table, his cleaned rifle and magazines lying on a towel gleamed with a fresh coat of oil. On one end was a stack of neatly folded towels. Beside the towels stood a large plastic bottle containing a small amount of vegetable oil.

  The wet cardboard box opened as I placed it on the table. Several cans of the supplement rolled off onto the tiled floor. Ignored them and grabbed two cans to take with me. Shivering, wishing I could shed my wet clothing, I snatched a towel to wipe with, and hurried to join Betty.

  Bending low to prevent anyone seeing me through the three uncovered windows fronting the room, I knelt beside Betty at the middle one.

  She moved to make room, saying, “You’re soaked.”

  “Yeah, and I’m freezing.” Popped the tab on one of the cans and handed it to her. “This is all I could find. What’d you see?”

  She eyed the small can and said, “Better than nothing. At least it’s chocolate flavored.” She drained the can in one long pull.

  I opened a can and followed suit. Made a face and said, “Yep, better than nothing. I heard a motorcycle.”

  Betty nodded, saying, “Careful when you look, the second house to the right across the road. A few minutes ago a man wearing military style camo drove to it on a motorcycle, I think a Harley. He shouted something and a big man, and I mean a very big man, came out to talk to him.”

  I said, “We walked past that house last night. I’m glad he didn’t spot us.”

  Betty nudged him, almost causing him to tip over. “You’d have handled him.” Then in a more serious tone, she said. “Something strange happened. As the man came out to meet the soldier, a woman and a young girl ran from the back of the house and went into the woods. The man on the cycle only stayed a minute or two. The woman and little girl returned to the house just before you knocked on the door.”

  I said, “That is odd. Was the big man dressed in camo?”

  “Yep, the exact same style.”

  “The men must be associated with the bastards at the bridge.” Changing position from squatting to a crouch, I said, “Let’s go into the kitchen. I want to wring out my clothes and hang them to dry.”

  “And then we’ll go find Jess?”

  Emphati
cally nodded, “Yes, then we’ll find our boy.”

  Betty didn’t change position. “Go ahead. I’m going to watch for a while longer.”

  In the kitchen, I stripped the wet clothing, wrung out most of the water, and draped them over the back of the dining chairs to drip. Reluctant to be completely naked, lamenting the fact we hadn’t grabbed our small emergency packs before leaving the bus, I re-donned the damp skivvies.

  Shuffling through the towels on the table, found one I could wrap and tuck around my waist, used another to scrub dry. During this process, thought about what Betty had seen. From what she described, the visit by the man on the motorcycle wasn’t antagonistic. Considered reasons why the woman and child would want to remain hidden from the visitor. I came up with a couple of ideas: all of them leading to the conclusion that the big man was a member of the gang that attacked our convoy. The woman and child may have fled for any number of reasons, but it was clear the man was hiding something from the gang.

  Betty joined me in the kitchen. “You must be freezing.”

  “Chilled to the bone. Did you see any more activity at the house?”

  “None.” She bent to retrieve the cans of supplement from the floor and popped the top of one, single-gulping it as before. “This stuff’s not bad.”

  I reached for another can, quipped, “Yep, gourmet fare if you like the flavor of yuck. I’ve been thinking about the house down the street. I say we take a chance and try to make contact with him.”

  Betty, knowing her husband, didn’t protest, “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking he’s on the outs with the gang. The fact that he’s hiding the woman and child from them may give us a handle we can use.”

  “What would we gain?”

  “Information that might help us locate Jess faster than wandering around spying on the bastards.”

  Betty replied, “Then let’s give it a shot. I’m holding it in-check, but I’m close to going insane. I want our boy back.”

  She was holding, but I could tell she was near tears. Reached for my pants and said, “Hell, let’s do it now. My clothes can dry on me. Here’s the plan.”