Authors: Robert Brown
“We’re almost here guys,” George says to the men. “You can see my dock up there. We’ll have to walk to my house. It’s across a small field beyond those trees.”
“I’m glad we’re here. I’m starting to get sick,” Jack says.
“You too?” George asks. “I haven’t been feeling good for the last few hours. I was hoping it didn’t show when I was speaking with Captain Alvarez.”
Taking a step back from the men, Thomas asks, “You haven’t been infected, have you?”
“No, it isn’t the infection, but for us, it might be just as bad. I think we were exposed to too much fallout.”
“Couldn’t it just be seasickness?” Jack asks fearfully.
“I’ve been on boats most of my life and have never gotten sick, have you?”
“No. No I haven’t. We waited too long to leave.”
“It could be something else,” Keith offers. “I’m not feeling bad. How about you, Frank?”
“I’m feeling good as well, so far, but we weren’t outside as long as they were, Keith.”
Keith and George jump off the boat together to tie it to the dock, while Jack leans over the back and vomits into the water. No one wants to speak about the possibility of radiation poisoning but they are all thinking it.
*
The western bank of the river is crowded with the bodies of the infected now. Coatzacoalcos proper is lost, and close to three hundred thousand infected are wandering around the city, looking for their next meal.
“How many do you think are there?” Keith asks George while acting as a crutch to keep him upright.
“It doesn’t matter how many are there. The point is the city is lost, and we can’t stay any longer.”
“I don’t think you and Jack should move yet.”
“We can’t stay any longer. We’ve been taking the potassium iodide, and whatever help it can offer at this point is what we have to deal with. There’s nothing else we can do about the radiation, but we can avoid getting trapped by the infected.”
Jack is lying down in George’s house, his nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea have increased over the last two days. He is unable to take more than four steps—even with support—and has blisters on his skin. George is weak and needs to be supported when he walks, and all four of them are experiencing some degree of nausea.
The two men turn away from the river bank and begin walking across the field back toward the house.
“I’m sorry we didn’t leave earlier.”
“This isn’t your fault, Keith.”
“I read your medical books on radiation exposure. We’re all dying now.”
George stops and lurches forward grabbing his stomach in pain. He hasn’t been able to eat anything for the last few days but has been forcing himself to drink water regularly. He isn’t able to hold the water down long but having something able to come up is less painful then being wracked with dry heaves.
“You and Maggie didn’t slow us down,” he is able to rasp out after emptying his stomach. “You know that, Keith. We had everything loaded and wouldn’t have left that night even if we weren’t giving Maggie more time. It hit us before we would have left on our own, so you can’t take the blame on yourself.”
Thomas has stayed with the men and is taking the potassium iodide pills to protect himself from any residual radiation they may be putting off. He will continue to take them for two weeks, although eight days is enough to be beyond the radio-isotope’s half-life danger zone. It will take six months for the isotope’s to be broken down to zero. At least that is what the literature George has states. The concern is in not knowing which isotopes they were specifically exposed to at the oil rig and how much of a dose each of them was subjected to.
It took over twenty-four hours for Jack and George to start getting sick, and another day after that for Frank and Keith to have any symptoms occur. They agreed that there must have been a thicker cloud of radioactive pollutants that passed the oil rig when Jack and George first exited the oil rigs interior.
The smoke did seem heavier when I walked out the door
Jack told them trying to remember his chaotic exit, but George didn’t remember it.
*
Thomas rushes in to the main room. “I found a truck we can take to Salina Cruz! I spoke with your neighbor, Senior Maldonado. He has the trucks that can take us there if we will share the supplies.”
“Are there any other options?” George asks with concern about dealing with his neighbor.
Senior Maldonado’s house is three stories tall and has an ornate design most likely representing the ancient Mayan or Aztec cultures, George doesn’t know which. In front, there is a manicured garden which could easily be featured in any top horticulture magazine, and all of it is designed to be seen only by the occupants of the house or the rare few people that would travel down this private road to Senior Maldonado’s house or George’s. The expense and extravagance of the dwelling convinced George early on that his neighbor must be involved in some type of illicit trade, either drugs or guns. In his thinking, a hardworking man wouldn’t spend his money so lavishly on decorations and architecture when no one else could enjoy it unless it was easy money.
“There might be other options, but we don’t have the time to seek them out. Senior Maldonado will be here with his family in thirty minutes to begin loading everything. His family is coming with us to the coast. He is thinking of heading into South America by boat once we reach the Pacific.”
“Do you think we can trust him?”
“Yes. You may have been right about what he did to make his money because his family is very well armed, but he seems to be an honest business man, even if his business isn’t an honest one. We will need the armed escort his family will provide to make it through whatever we run into out there. So, our only other easy option would be trying to join with a group of deserting soldiers that might go to the coast. Senior Maldonado is the safest choice for us right now.”
George has his own Range Rover at the house, but it isn’t large enough to fit all five of the men and supplies for the trip. It also isn’t the type of vehicle they should be driving across Mexico during a time of upheaval like the country is experiencing right now. What is left of the Mexican Army is scattered throughout the nation, and many soldiers are abandoning their posts to help care for their own families in any way they can. Thomas has found out the same has happened with the police. The absence of any organized peace keeping force will fill areas with chaos and criminal behavior anywhere they travel. If they don’t leave now, it is likely that they will never be able to escape.
Chapter 8
New Acquaintances
Oregon.
Present Day.
“This is a waste of time. It’s been over thirty minutes already. If someone was following us they would have made it here by now,” Jeremiah says in his usual aggravated manner but with the added ridiculous smeared blood on his upper lip from his busted nose.
Getting your nose busted by a girl is still a funny thing to happen, even in this post-apocalyptic world. I know his men will mess with him about it. There’s a good one hundred pound difference between him and Samantha. Jeremiah is a big guy.
I ignore him and continue to watch and listen. The six of us are spread out and hidden in the area of the burned down house. Luke and Samantha are watching the area behind the charred building, it is a large field that ends with a narrow tree belt and continues into another field. Someone would have to crawl through the tree line to make it past us unseen. Matthew and Isaac are by the trailer and are watching the road.
I stuck myself with Jeremiah in the wooded area to the south of the road. The trees are too thick to see very far, and once you are ten yards into the treeline from the road, the brush gets too thick to be able to move. We are here to listen for anyone or anything walking up through the open wooded corridor.
I needed to stay with Jeremiah to see how much of a danger he actually poses to my family and me. The only danger I felt pre-collapse from religious people was from Muslim extremists blowing themselves up or randomly shooting people. Their attacks became more frequent as the economic collapse dragged on, but the threat was still vague, not direct. It wasn’t something I could deal with, because no one ever knew who the bad guy was or when they would attack.
Now I have to deal with unrestrained religious fervor of a different sort. I wish I had grown up in Ireland to know what it must feel like to be directly targeted either as a Catholic or Protestant. I feel totally unprepared to deal with this type of danger and have a harder time seeing it as real. I keep thinking I can ridicule the stupid out of Jeremiah but know I am most likely making things worse in how I am dealing with him.
A rock hits near us, and I look through the trees and see Isaac waving from behind the camper. He points to his own eyes and then back down the road, so Jeremiah and I creep to the edge of the woods where we can look that way without being seen.
One man is slowly making his way up the road. He is carrying what looks like an M4 or other AR-15 variant, and keeping closer to the wooded side of the road where Jeremiah and I are.
I hit Jeremiah on the shoulder and give him an
I told you so
look.
I whisper to him, “I can’t tell if he’s scouting for a group or just being extra careful because of the infected.”
“Do you think he’s the person you saw in Rogue River?”
“No clue. I only saw quick movement—like a shadow disappearing around a corner. I could tell it was a person but didn’t register any details.”
The man is still far enough away to not be a threat, so I call to Isaac in a soft voice, “Do Luke and Samantha know?”
Isaac nods and lies down, getting into prone position to watch the approaching man, from under the trailer. Matthew is already in prone behind the truck’s rear tire.
“Jeremiah, move deeper into the woods. If this guy is a scout his people could be on either side of the road.”
He nods and moves off. I’m thankful I don’t have to argue with him or explain further why he should go. I return to my original position and wait. I can just see the top of Isaac’s head from where I am standing if I look his way so I can see if he needs to signal us.
As the man on the street gets closer, so do his hidden companions in the woods. There are three people walking through the woods behind him, one man and two women, so I signal their numbers to Isaac. They are casually walking toward us in opposition to the cautious way the man in the road is, but then they aren’t walking out in the open alone in this dangerous new world of ours. After about eight minutes the man makes it roughly fifty feet away from the trailer. He stops and signals to the people following to stop as well and turns left and right to make the signal. So, I have to assume there are more people following him on the other side of the road as well.
He is just standing there in the road either trying to figure out what happened to the house or because he knows some of us are here. It’s an awkward situation, and Isaac motions to me that he is going to speak. I relay the signal to Jeremiah, and we both wait to see how the three ahead of us react.
I sincerely hope this turns out to be a good encounter and we are looking at possible new friends. I’m nervous though with the increased potential for conflict at the ranch with so many new people arriving. There are already too many people who will all have their own agendas and ideas about the ideal way to survive. At least Isaac and his group will be staying at the Carpenter farm next to the ranch and not right with us, that is a big headache we won’t have to worry about.
“You there in the road, hello,” Isaac calls out. “Put your rifle on the ground in front of you.”
“I’m not alone,” the man calls out clearly not wanting to put down his gun. The three in the woods all set up behind trees aiming at the truck and trailer to defend their companion.
Putting the rifle on the ground isn’t what I would have called out, and I’ll have to speak with Isaac and his men about that.
“Put your rifle on your back if you don’t feel safe without it—your friends also,” I yell causing the three in the trees to see where I am with my rifle trained in their direction. “If we wanted to shoot you we could have. It’s your turn to show some restraint.”
“I think we’ll just go back the way we came,” the man in the road yells and takes a few steps back.
“That’s not going to happen. A few more steps and we start shooting,” I yell in response.
I hope Samantha and Luke have eyes on the other people,
I think to myself just as the man in front of me in the trees starts turning his rifle in my direction. He is probably thinking I turned my gaze to the man on the road and could take a shot. He has a bolt-action hunting rifle and may have experience making quick shots in the woods, so I can’t let him finish turning in my direction. I intentionally shoot the tree next to him. I know it might make everyone start shooting, but I am hoping it scares them into submission rather than fight. I have killed enough people lately and hope I can avoid doing so today.
The man I shoot near drops to his knee and peripherally I can see the man on the road drop down. I didn’t hear another shot with mine and it looks like he dove, so I’m hoping he wasn’t shot. Relationship dynamics start playing out in the next few seconds as well. One of the women in front of us screams and starts running to the man in the road, the other drops her rifle, turns and bolts back in the direction they came, and a familiar high pitched crying starts following her through the woods. She has a baby strapped to her back.
The man I shot at turns around to run after her, but this time Jeremiah shoots at a tree ahead of the man halting his progress.
Finally raising his hands with his gun over his head, the man yells to us, “If I don’t stop her she’ll be killed.”
The woman continues to run.
I want to respond but am stopped by at least ten shots that ring out from across the road between our group and theirs. Someone has been shot according to the screams I hear. They are the anguished cries of severe pain.
“What the hell is wrong with you people?” I yell bringing the man’s attention back to me but ensuring my aim is right at him this time. “We didn’t want to fight you!”
“Let me get her,” he says, and the pleading look on his face lets me know he has a genuine concern for her or the baby, probably both.
“Drop your rifle and you can go,” I say not wanting our people to be on the receiving end of that gun from down the road. Perhaps he is just as good a shot with whatever handgun he is carrying, but at least this way I minimize some of our risk.
He takes off after her, and I start to run following him. Turning to face Jeremiah as I go by, I call out, “Isaac’s in charge. Find out who’s hurt.”
I’m close behind the man, but I can’t see where the woman is and the crying has stopped as well. Ten more running steps behind this guy and I see what will probably be my death out of the woods on the road ahead of us. These people must have been part of a larger group and were a scouting team, because there are another six people spread out and running up the road.
I just separated myself from the protection of my group by falling for what might be a trick this group uses. Strap a doll in a kid-carrying backpack, and if trouble starts, hit the
play
button on a radio to make the sound of a crying baby start.
The only problem with that scenario is the man ahead of me raises his revolver and starts shooting at the people in the road—the runners in the road. He should have stopped running to get aim at his targets. Not only did he miss with all of his shots and only succeeded in attracting the runners’ attention to us, but he didn’t see the branch that swung out from behind the tree ahead of him hitting him in the face.
The baby starts screaming again after the man shoots so closely to it. So, I’m happy to know I didn’t fall for a
sick baby sound
trap. I am still caught though as the woman steps out holding the branch, apparently surprised she hit the man on the ground and not me. As much as I would like to protect myself from the swing of the branch she is preparing for me, the greater fear in me turns my head and rifle in the direction of the runners that will be on us in just a few seconds.
As slow as time has been moving with just about a minute passing since the first shot was fired, it slows down now even more as I work to steady my breath and focus my vision on the task ahead.
I love my rifle. It is a wonderful FAL in a real caliber; 7.62x51mm or .308 Winchester for when I took it hunting. I never really liked the AR-15 platform and its little twenty-two caliber sized bullets. I’ve always said that the .308 is the best two-legged varmint round out there. Two-legged varmints being people, of course. I would prefer to have my shotgun in the close quarters of these trees and the proximity of the runners, but as rifles go, I have exactly what I need.
What I see before me is just a vision of beauty that I have to appreciate before my inevitable end. I keep pressing the trigger, and each time I do, bullet followed by flame makes its way out of the barrel and into the oncoming group of runners that turned our way.
I miss a few times, but the runners are forced to crowd together to make it through the trees to get at the three of us and the baby. The bullets that do hit these things basically tear them apart. The gore and mist exploding from the backs of the first two infected is painting the four behind them red, and the carnage continues with the bullet trajectory. I’m not taking careful aim because they are so close and moving so fast, but my bullets stop them just the same.
I pull the trigger two more times on empty before I drop my rifle to hang by its sling and grab for my pistol. The last infected falls in
movie fashion
just a few feet away from us, and the three of us take aim at the bodies on the ground and place bullets into each of their six heads.
With the communal killing of the greater threat over, the man, woman, and myself turn our guns on each other in an attempt to regain superiority on the situation. When I aim my gun at the man, I am thinking I will have two barrels facing me, the woman’s and the man’s. She is pointing her gun at him though, which is a twist to what I thought, because I believed they were together.
Jeremiah walks around a large tree next to us, and I am thankful that his gun is also pointed at this strange new man instead of at me.
“I think you’re outnumbered,” I say motioning with my eyes for him to see the guns pointed at him from each side of his head. “Lay down your gun.”
He doesn’t speak and just places his gun on the ground. I reach in my pocket with my free hand for a zip tie to secure his arms. The woman turns her gun’s aim to my head and starts backing up.
“You can’t go out there alone. It’s not safe,” I say not taking my guns aim away from the man.
“I’ll take my chances. I’m not getting free from Toby here just to be controlled and traded by you two and your group.”
“Look lady, I’m not sure what you’ve been through with this guy, but I’m not letting you just walk off into the woods with that baby.” Mentioning her baby at least stuns her or reminds her why she shouldn’t leave. She stops backing up. “If you can’t take the way things are any more, then you’ll be free to go as soon as we determine you aren’t a threat. You won’t be taking that baby to its death with you, though.”
“You’re not taking my baby from me!” she yells, and I see Jeremiah edge around the man so he can more easily take aim at her if he needs to.
“We have other children at our camp and women that are more than capable of taking care of your baby. I don’t want to take your baby from you, but I will not let you take it with you to die in some bid for freedom from this man or his group,” I say trying to redirect her anger at her initial target. “If you care about your baby at all I need you to holster your gun. You may be able to shoot me, but you won’t make it away from this spot alive. I don’t want the baby hurt by one of our bullets or by your body when you fall.”