Dave carefully climbed out of the drain, stepping in a shallow, v-shaped, concrete gutter. Although the night air
felt hot and humid, amidst this almond orchard in Bayberry Hollow, it gave him a temporary cooling sensation. The air in the tunnel had been several degrees hotter than the warm orchard breeze. As sweat dripped down Dave’s temples and neck, he wiped his forearm across his brow and chin, while taking in a deep breath of fresh air.
Scanning the orchard, a nearby house could not be seen from his vantage point. Row upon row of trees
, and between them, were small lines of almonds hulls, dirt and debris, as far as his eyes could see in the darkness. The trees themselves were nearly bare, having been shaken for the upcoming harvest season. Although trees were all Dave could see, he knew his exact location. An old, unlit road would only be about thirty yards to the north, and the turn-of-the-century ranch that owned this acreage, should be about a football field to the southwest. As Dave stood silently, he listened for any disturbance in the orchard. He couldn’t see anyone nearby—under the cover of darkness. The orchard remained quiet, save for the insects.
Dave thought of Roxy and her heightened senses
, as he listened.
She should be here to listen for us
. After going so long without having a stake in anything and being on his own for the longest time—as a teen, in the Marines, and while working at The Crazy Horse, he felt overcome with emotion. He had come alive with feeling. His mind and heart pulled him in so many different directions in this moment.
It felt good to help Roxy out, purposeful. Then, somewhere between meeting Mattie and thinking that she was infected and going to turn, it became more than good. It was something more. And now, Mattie and Lynn are dead. Gypsy is dead, Roxy… is dead. Kate’s been kidnapped, it’s all fallen apart.
But I still have
purpose, which has been one of the many gifts Roxy left me with. I can help Joe get one of his daughters back and I can settle up some unfinished business with Randy and Rhino. Yes, I still have a purpose.
He pulled out the little flashlight and shined it in the opening, flicking his wrist back and forth.
He shone the light down as Shotgun struggled up the rungs. Shotgun climbed up an enthusiastic pace. Dave lent his arm to assist Shotgun up and out of the drain and helped him take a seat on the dirt-covered, orchard floor. Dave assisted Joe once again in getting Rogue out of the tunnel, then Joe and Hank swiftly emerged after. Joe promptly covered the opening with the metal grate as if fearful that somehow the runners might have made it into the tunnel.
“I just need a couple minutes to rest here,” Shotgun said breathlessly.
“You’re good,” Dave began, before being interrupted by the sound of jets shredding through the sky.
“This is it,” Hank called out, suddenly falling into an unexpected fit of sobs.
He pulled his watch from his pocket and kissed it. “Not a nuke right?”
“Nah, they’
re probably going to use missiles. Lots of missiles. Burn the town to the ground and reduce it to rubble,” Shotgun said, picking up a handful of dirt and chucking it with discontent.
Joe palmed Hank’s shoulder with tears in his own eyes and offered the old man a nod as if to say that he felt the same loss. The loss of loved ones, friends, of their homes and the lives they lived in The Port.
The booms and crackles thundered. What sounded like fireworks could be heard in the distance, as the bombs fell. The remote shockwaves reverberated through their bodies like vibrations from a nearby band. Dave jogged toward the road. He looked back and could see an orange glow in the distance, and he thought of Roxy.
Damn.
Dave took a moment to let it all soak in before j
ogging back to the others. He found them all sitting on the ground, defeated.
“Alright guys, we made it out. We need to figure out what our next move is, so that we can get Kate back. She’s counting on us,” Dave said, trying to instill a bit of motivation.
“Okay, we’re in Bayberry Hollow right? Then listen up, I’ve got a plan,” Shotgun began.
Visibility under the murky water tonight was near impossible for Roxy. She wouldn’t dare turn on the diving light attached to her vest. It would act as a beacon for the helicopters above, although
, when she first went under it sounded as if they were moving away from the pier. Still, she couldn’t chance it.
While swimming as fast as her body would allow, a sudden blast discharged behind her.
They see me. They’re shooting at me
. She hurried her pace, as the blasts persisted. Her mind took pause, these sounds weren’t gunshots…they were explosions. She turned her head back and looked through three feet of cloudy water above her. A glow shimmered from afar. Though all she could see was a bright reddish-orange radiance, she knew it was Port Steward, burning in flames. She turned forward again and continued swimming, more desperate than ever to escape.
After swimming a distance that felt nowhere near far enough, she felt an abrupt temperature change along the surface of her face. As she looked up through the water, she found that her vision had adjusted
, and now, she could see very well. She approached the shallows along the beach of Bayberry Hollow. After witnessing the lengths that officials would go to in order to prevent citizens from leaving Port Steward, the open area on the beach gave her pause. Someone within the vicinity would see her long before she would see them. Roxy angled herself as she swam down the beach.
About a half of a mile down, the shore became excessively overgrown with weeds and grass about three feet tall. She swam up to it until her hips drug upon the sand. She pulled off her mask and respirator, ducking into the grass, listening.
The whole beach was alive with sound. These were not the sounds of humans, instead, a chorus of insects buzzing and chirping, blades of tall grass colliding with one another, and the slapping of water on the shoreline. Taking a moment, she gazed at the blazing buildings across the water. They were burning bright, as plumes of flames and smoke rose into the night air. She wondered if the town or government representatives had bothered evacuating any of the residents of The Port before they decided to scorch it and shoot those who tried to leave tonight. Hoping that Port Steward had set up some sort of check-point, earlier in the evening, she wanted to believe that her family and friends made it out that way.
Roxy peeled off her equipment and wet suit, wadding them up and tucking under a shrub, positioning a couple large rocks around them.
Barefoot, trekking up the cold, rocky sand and through the long weeds on the shoreline of Bayberry Hollow, Roxy turned back to her former hometown. Watching the night turn to day by the light of the scorching town before her eyes, she felt mesmerized by the blazing fire and spirals of smoke that engulfed and surrounded Port Steward. Flames of crimson and orange wisped through busted-out windows of the tallest buildings, Angora included. Although the jets had vanished from the sky, the explosions continued, likely from propane tanks, gas stations, and other combustible substances. The bombs that had been dropped demolished many of the landmarks that The Port had, but the continuous explosions…would finish it off.
Roxy cupped her palm over her mouth as her eyes brimmed with tears. The salty substance had long made its way down her cheeks and chin before she realized she was crying. Tears streamed from her eyes as she
bore witness to the destruction of her hometown. She began to sob overwhelmingly as she thought of the park near her house, the neighborhood grocery store that she visited weekly, her college and all the schools she’d attended throughout the course of her life, the neighborhood she walked the ladies through every morning…and her home. Dropping her face into her hands, she broke down, wailing with heartbreak. The home that she grew up in, where she shared nearly all the memories of her mother—was gone. While she stooped on the beach, she had no idea where to go or where her family could be.
She thought of her Gypsy, before her mind eventually went to a place she did not want it to go—to her father and sister.
Did they make it out or are they dead? Or could they be trapped in Port Steward trying to escape a painful and certain death sentence? If they did make it out, where would I find them?
Roxy fell to her knees, the wet sand dimpling under the weight of one hundred and thirty pounds. A hard rock jammed into her right kneecap, but she did not feel the pain of the impact
, nor her skin splitting open a small cut on her knee. The pain she felt stemmed from a lump deep in her throat, a feeling that all would not work out, that nothing would ever be the same. Her tears could not be stopped as she sobbed explicitly, nearly unable to catch her breath. Her neck, chest and abdominal muscles contracted with each gasp for oxygen between cries. Crouched on the beach, Roxanne Harper cried until her eyes and face swelled and until no more tears remained, alone and in the dark, by the light of the burning city across the cape.
SUNDAY
As the sun rose in the distance, Roxy could already feel the warmth of the morning sweeping over her. She opened her eyes, her gaze falling upon planks of wood and half
-hammered nails. After walking inland for close to an hour last night after the dive and her breakdown on the beach, her feet would carry her no farther than this empty fruit stand.
She stood
up, stretching inside the old shack. It was hardly big enough for that. The modest stand fashioned of plywood and fence planks had a large opening in the front with a plank of wood to act as a counter. A strawberry had been painted on the upper portion of the front. It reminded her of a smaller version of a firework stand.
Roxy exited through the only door, at the back of the stand, emerging on an empty seaside road.
Roxy’s head felt heavy from the meltdown she had last night. Her face and eyes still felt puffy and her head drummed in pain. She had left it all out on the shoreline last night, all her pain and anger and sorrow.
Today is a day for action. Last night I was at my weakest, but not today. I will find my family if it takes me forever. They made it out, I know they did. They had to. My dad is too strong and smart to have gotten stuck in The Port last night. I need to head to downtown Bayberry Hollow, to see what people are saying, and maybe listen to the news.
Suddenly a sharp pain developed in Roxy’s stomach.
A hunger pain.
Her tummy grumbled and protested the emptiness within, sending her a painful warning that she needed fuel. She wouldn’t make it to downtown—not yet at least, she needed something closer to get some food, then she could make her way inland.
Her stomach grumbled again. She was hungry, very hungry. Reaching down with both hands, she felt the front of her pockets of her shorts. Pulling out two half melted candy bars from her pocket, she scarfed them down. The pain remained, though lightly dulled by the candy she
’d consumed. She needed real food.
As she walked inland, she pulled the dog tag from her pocket. Reaching back into her pocket
, she retrieved the cork and the cross on the ball chain. Briefly she examined the cork, wondering why she chose retrieve it from the alley. The cork felt heavier in her hand than she expected, there seemed to be something strange about this key chain, but now wasn’t the time to check it out. Opening the chain—attached to the cross, she pulled off the house key and threw it on the ground. She threaded the dog tag and the cork onto the chain. They slid down to the cross as she clasped the chain back together, and pulled it over her head. Coming up on a towering gas sign in the distance, relief temporarily sated Roxy’s hunger. Fixating her hearing on the remote noises, she could hear bustling in the distance. It became difficult for her to separate the sounds from one another, as she found herself unfocused and the sounds were too far away. She began jogging, her hunger urging her to hustle.
A faded blue El Camino pulled into the dirt parking lot of a small restaurant at the
edge of Bayberry Hollow. Dust plumed as the car came to a stop at the backside of the eatery. Dave and Joe hopped out of the back, as Hank exited the driver’s side. After telling Rogue to stay in the back of the vehicle, Joe opened the passenger door, to assist Shotgun out. Shotgun’s leg had been cleaned and bandaged. The clean pair of jeans he wore covered the wound completely. If not for a slight limp, no one would be able to tell anything was wrong with his leg.
Joe patted Rogue on the head and told her to stay
once more. She sat in the back of the El Camino watching as he stepped away.
They stood outside the car for a moment looking at the
eatery, all dressed clean clothes. The men all took a second look at their gently used duds. Joe’s two-sizes-too-large, plain, gray tee hung loosely on him, while Dave’s chocolate colored tee with a cowboy boot on the back looked about a size too small, clinging snugly to his frame. Hank wore a well-fitted, tan and cream, button-up, short-sleeve rodeo shirt and Shotgun wore a similarly cut one in all black. Each sported a worn in pair of jeans and their own shoes—which had run a cycle in a wash machine.
“That lady friend of yours was really a doll. You never did say how you knew her, old girlfriend?” Hank asked.
“Emily and I go way back,” Shotgun began. “We were on again, off again for a few years in high school. We’ve always stayed close over the years. I’m just glad that she didn’t live too far from where we came out of the drainage.”
“Yeah, well you didn’t have to jog the f
ive miles to her house,” Joe joked sarcastically, cracking a slight smile to Dave.
After getting cleaned up and a decent night’s rest, Joe felt revitalized and refocused. Last night he felt as if his whole world had been ripped apart. Now, he still felt the same, but instead of focusing his energy on all that he’d lost, he chose to channel it toward finding what was left of his family, Kate.
“You should have seen the look on her face, when she opened the door to Joe and me,” Dave said. “She went from curious about why two strange men were at her door in the middle of the night, to completely grossed out by our smell, to concerned about you. All in about thirty seconds.”
“Well I’m just glad she was home. She took real good care of us and stitched you up pretty good.
Never did get the chance to ask, is she a doctor or something?” Hank inquired, as they made their way along the side of the restaurant toward the front entrance.
“Nah, she owns the farm and grew up on it. You’ve got to know a little of this and a little of that on a ranch. She knows her stuff. Now
, when she took the bullet out, that was real pain. She’s never been the delicate type with anything, but she got the job done. Let’s get some grub, then we’ll head out to Blue Falls,” Shotgun insisted.
A rumble came from Joe’s abdomen, almost seeming to echo throughout his empty stomach. He
felt famished, as were all the men in his company this morning. While Shotgun’s friend had been more hospitable than he ever could have imagined, she hadn’t expected four hungry men for a visit in the middle of the night. Her fridge had been stocked with leafy green vegetables, sprouts, fruit, yogurt and some spongy tofu. It had looked a lot like Roxy’s vegetarian side of the fridge at home. Joe felt somewhat guilty for devouring four peaches last night, the other men had finished off the rest of the peaches, the grapes and bananas and all of her broccoli and corn. With only two eggs in her fridge, the men thought that they should leave them behind for the lady of the house, even though she insisted that they “Eat up.” She had even offered to make a trip to the market this morning to pick up groceries, but the men needed to get moving anyway.
“You know, we probably shouldn’t talk about Port Steward in here. Might just bring trouble on us,” Dave said
, approaching the entrance.
“Yeah, we should just get some food to go,” Shotgun said, opening the door.