The Storm (25 page)

              “Who’s taking the lead?” I wondered out loud.

              Without any hesitation, Randy confidently answered. “Tom and I will go ahead of everyone else. We only have the one cart, so we can be a bit more vigilant and stay focused on what’s going on around us.” He was smiling again and was resting his hands on the pistols tucked into his belt. I couldn’t help thinking that he probably felt like the hero in one of his video games and was trying to live up to the role. I hope he realized that there is no save and reset button in real life. When your character dies, the game is over . . . permanently. “Be sure to stop if you see anything out of the ordinary or if people are ahead. If the road looks blocked, we don’t want to take chances. Understand?” Miller authoritatively asked them.

              “Got it,” said Tom as he continued to quench his thirst. Randy gave a big nod.

              “Please use hand signals and remain quiet,” chimed in Nana. “No matter what, don’t say anything or yell as we pass through the apartment areas. Use hand signals to communicate back with us.” We all knew what we meant, but he took the liberty of quickly flashing us a stop sign and a move signal with his hands. It was time, and we began our return voyage home.

*************************

              Plantation Road was largely deserted, except for a few abandoned cars scattered around on both lanes. This road had a total of four lanes and was used to being a main artery off the highway. For us now this morning, it was our golden brick road that we had to follow. A few businesses and a post office were around, but all showed signs of vandalism with broken windows and fresh spray paint decorating the outsides. We were walking at a brisk pace, our cart making an occasional squealing sound as the metal wheels rubbed against the frame. We had wanted to search the restaurants, but since it was morning and full light, we couldn’t spare the time needed to do so.

              We passed a couple of burned houses as well as a couple of roads that shot off in other directions but hadn’t seen any signs of life yet. It was full morning now. Early risers would surely be rolling out of bed and planning their day ahead. I was hopeful they might be eating their breakfast or drinking their coffee, and we could get by. Twice Tom raised his fist up high and we all froze. Mohammad and I were the middle team, and we duly would raise our hand to signal Nana and Miller to halt behind us. Each time, we clenched our rifles and began making mental preparations for what might happen, and every time after a moment’s pause, they would wave us forward again and continue walking.

              Mohammad was barely able to keep going. His gun was lying across the cart and he was hunched over pushing it as though it was taking every last ounce of his energy to continue forward. Each time I glanced at him, I felt sorry for whatever he was suffering from and wanted to help, but I had my own cart that was ridiculously heavy and was our most important cargo. I took a deep breath and swallowed. We were now entering the apartment complex.

              The apartments flanked Plantation Road on both sides and consisted of three floors crammed with one-thousand-square-foot units. This one area had always been a problem spot in the county, and it was why the police department was located a half mile down the road from here. They were usually patrolling this area and arresting vagrants. Now that law and order was gone, this whole complex had turned into a nest of vipers where anarchy ruled. Every fiber of my being warned me to get out now, but we journeyed onward.

              Up ahead, there was a small incline that could pass for a hill. It was smack in the middle of the complex, and there were two cars facing each other in the middle, blocking the road. It would be easy enough to pass on either side, but immediately I thought this was some kind of a barricade. Randy and Tom weren’t stopping, and it looked like Tom had finished the whole bottle of champagne and set it back in his cart. I was nervous and began looking around in all directions for any sign of life. The quiet morning betrayed nothing of any hidden danger.

              Tom raised his hand again for us all to pause. I saw Randy walk to the right of the parked cars with pistols drawn and Tom drew his shotgun to his shoulder. Whatever had set them off, they were being cautious but hadn’t sent us any signals of danger. Tightly I held my rifle and watched as Randy completed a full circle around the cars and placed one of his pistols back in his belt and shrugged his shoulders. Tom let down his gun as well, and they both flagged us forward.

              In that brief second, I felt secure again and allowed myself to believe that our plan was going to work. That’s when it happened. Just as Tom’s arm was lowering back down and he was turning to put his hands on the cart to continue pushing, I saw his body jerk. His head flailed backward and forward as though it were a balloon and the air was rushing out. A gray cloud burst from his brain as though a volcano had erupted. His head exploded with a force akin to a sledgehammer crashing down on a watermelon. Randy took multiple hits in his chest and suddenly spun completely around before going face first into the dirt. Tom’s body fell forward into the cart, and it began rolling back down the hill.

              All of this happened in what looked like slow motion, and I was paralyzed by fear. The
crack
and
boom
sounds arrived moments later as did the
whoosh
of a bullet flying by my ear. The sensation of knowing that death had just visited me but missed was galvanizing. Mohammad’s slumped over body hadn’t seen any of this, and a bullet crashed into his cart making a loud metallic
ping
sound.

              “Move!” I screamed as loudly as I could. With rifle in hand and grabbing the bag of seeds, I bolted at high speed for a nearby oak tree to take cover. Another “
whirrr
” sizzled past me as I dived headfirst at the ground near the base of the tree. Mohammad was twenty feet behind and moving slowly with a limp. “Run!” was all I could think to shout at him as chunks of bark flew over my head from another bullet landing close to its target.

              Gunfire answered the enemy, and I could hear several shots popping from Miller and Nana. They had dodged for cover and were entrenched behind a white van while returning fire. Mohammad was almost to me. His tetanus, or whatever had sickened him, was making him move more slowly than normal.
Ten feet, run faster
, I thought. Five feet, almost here. Suddenly he fell forward and landed just in front of me. A bullet had connected with his chest, near his heart. His eyes gazed straight at mine and showed an intense fear I had never seen before. The look a man gives when he knows he has seconds left to live.

              “Mohammad . . .” I didn’t know what to say. I tried to reach down to him, but another bullet hit the tree behind me. I had to step back behind the safety of the tree. “I . . .”

              “Chumi . . .” he managed to say as he coughed up a mouthful of blood and died, his eyes still starting intently at me. His dull gray shirt rapidly turned red as the blood poured forth and spread in rings from the center of his chest.              

              My mouth hung open. What was happening? More gunfire all around me. I was trapped in a hell that continued to creep closer. More bullets connected on the tree and one hit the dirt a couple of feet from my foot. It wouldn’t be long before they moved and had an angle on me. Running through gunfire may seem stupid, but sitting here was inviting death to come and take me. It was probably an animal instinct that took hold, but I was alone and survival became my priority. I knew I had to move, and fast.

              I quickly squatted low to the ground, made a sidestep and aimed my rifle out toward the enemy. Firing at targets when growing up was always so easy. The objects just sat there, and you could take as long as you needed to line up your sights and then hit the bull’s-eye. It was different now with bullets flying around me. I had less than a microsecond to find a target and get a shot off. Within that split second of an eternity, my gaze settled on a man who was starting to advance from a hidden position that had been behind some bushes one hundred yards distant. A glimpse of a person only reveals so much, but he was wearing old faded jeans, a camouflage jacket, and had a black ski mask over his face. He was exposed now in the open, and I squeezed the trigger.

             
Boom!
It kicked back into my shoulder as it roared forth and I saw the man’s leg take the bullet squarely above his knee before he fell to the ground.
Good job, Josh
. The now wounded man screamed in agony for help, but my thoughts were shifting to my next action.
Now, move,
I reminded myself. The old Winchester handle cranked and kicked out a steaming hot bullet and slammed another into the breach. I gazed off to my side and saw it was fifty feet to the side of one of the apartments. Safety was there for me, if I could only make it. I had to try.

              Gunfire continued echoing into the air, but I was now desensitized to any sensations from it and could only feel the adrenaline racing in my veins as I started sprinting to the side of one of the apartment blocks. I was holding the gun by the barrel in my right hand and carried the duffle bag filled with seeds in my left. Forty feet to go. Then thirty feet. “Aaarrrggghhh!” I screamed in an animalistic rage as I continued sprinting. Almost there.

              The bag jolted in my hands as a bullet passed through it, but I continued on. Safety was within reach. Nana was screaming something in the distance, but all I could hear was my heartbeat. Ten feet to go! The last few feet had seemed like an eternity, but finally I dove over the shrubs blocking my path and felt secure with a large brick wall at my back. As far as I knew, it should shelter me from the direction they were shooting. “Oh my god,” I said to myself as my breathing became labored and the reality of what was happening hit home.
I have to keep going
I thought. Onward I ran, past a couple more apartment blocks. The woods were ahead, and if I could get in there, I felt like I might escape this madness. Through the bushes, I crashed at full speed, not looking back to see if I was being followed or shot at. As far as I knew, no bullets were landing near me now as I sought refuge with the trees. Gunshots continued to reverberate through the air as Nana and Miller continued their fight, though their shots seemed to grow more distant by the minute. They were moving in an opposite direction from me now. We were cut off.

              After a few hundred feet, I stopped to catch my breath. I dropped my gun and bag of seeds and began patting myself down all over. My adrenaline was still pumping, and I was in a minor state of shock and disbelief that I hadn’t been hit. I had to double check every part of my body to ensure I really was alive and well. I looked again at the bag on the ground, now with a large hole in its side. Had these seeds been worth the blood of my friends? What would I tell Chumi? I knew where I was going. Another half mile and I would hit the railroad and could follow that back near my neighborhood. Suddenly my rage and every other emotion bubbled up, and I began to sob. I fell to my knees and cried uncontrollably for a full minute, but not daring to speak loudly and make noise. With a face full of tears and a soul that had just been injured, I collected the bag and gun and started walking again.

Chapter 13

Shattered Beyond Repair

              The journey home felt like it was one hundred times longer than the trip to the LeapMart. People with concussions or are in shock rarely are self-aware of their situation, but on this day, I couldn’t help being overwhelmed with the emotions flowing around my head. The events that had occurred shortly before continued to replay over and over. Rage, fear, disgust, revenge, heartache, all continued to resurface before I could suppress them and let the next emotion show itself. The worst one of all remained stubbornly persistent: guilt. How was I still alive when at least three of my friends were dead? Mohammad, Randy, and ole Tom were no more. Nana and Miller split in a different direction, and I heard their gunfire for a while, but I don’t know if they had made it out or not. I should be happy I am alive, but guilt is a sneaky feeling that isn’t easily set aside.

              I had jogged as far as the railroad tracks until I finally stopped for a prolonged rest. The adrenaline had carried me that far, and the visible light of day made running through the woods less painful than it was a few hours before. It took time to collect myself and remember I had to be strong for Stacy and the kids. Failure wasn’t an option, our old basketball coach in high school used to say. That lesson couldn’t be more relevant than now in life. They depended on me; I had to push forward.

              Continuing down the tracks, I noticed a small reflective piece of wrapper, and it hit me that this was the trash from Tom’s breakfast a few hours before. We had just walked these steps on an important mission. With that in mind, I looked down at this bag of seeds and shook my head. Was it worth it? Maybe if we all made it. The carts filled with tools, dirt, and alcohol was a really stupid idea, and people were dead now because of it. We should have just been grateful to get what we had to and slip away into obscurity, but that human desire for more won the day. As with so much in life, hubris builds a house of cards that ultimately crashes.

              The morning air was pleasant, but it carried a bitter taste. The birds chirped, but their songs were mocking me. The very leaves and greenery starting to bud from the trees seemed to stare at me and say that “life was renewing as it always does in the spring, except for you, Josh!” The fear that death hadn’t visited me for the last time today kept me moving. Each leg now felt like it had iron weights attached, and it was a struggle to hold my head up while visually sweeping the area for any movement.