Going Home (30 page)

Leaning back on the sleeping bag, I finished my cocoa and just relaxed. After a good meal and a long night of walking, I was drowsy. Then I remembered the can of Cope. I fished around in the Devildog and found the can. To my surprise, it was still pretty moist. I took a pinch and sat there enjoying the little buzz it gave me. I didn’t keep it long, though. I was tired, so after ten or fifteen minutes, I spit it out in a corner and started getting ready to go to sleep.

I rolled the bag out, took off my boots and coat, and climbed into the bag. The carbine was leaned against the wall by my head; the .45 came in the bag with me. The goggles were lying close by my head; staring at them with no real thought in my head, I remembered I had batteries that needed charging.

Climbing out of the bag, I slipped my boots back on and dug out the Goal Zero panel and charger. I found the dead batteries in the Devildog and put four of them in the charger then went outside to set it up. Not wanting to leave it where it could be discovered, I placed it on the roof on the reverse slope from the road I walked in on, propped at a slight angle facing south. The vines on the roof weren’t very thick, and I used some of them as the prop. The clearing behind the shed where the junk pile was should provide enough sun to charge them.

Returning to the shed, I climbed back in the bag and turned off the little light. Lying back, I started to think of home again. It had been better than two weeks now, and I could only lie here in this shitty little shed wondering what was going on at home. All I could do was hope that everything was okay and that they were all well, safe, warm, and not hungry. As thoughts of home faded, thoughts of all the others came into my mind—Thad, Sarge and the Three Muskee Queers, and Jess. I kind of bailed on her, and now I feel bad, even for Jim. There could have been more there, but there was so much going on. Thad trying to drive to Tampa, on I-75 of all places, gave me little hope for his success. I hoped he makes it, but I didn’t hear him on the radio yesterday—not good. But then I had missed calling home, so hopefully it was nothing.

Thad drove out of the little hammock toward the overpass. It was still dark, so he had the headlights on. It would be light soon, and he just wanted to get on the interstate and make as many miles as possible. Approaching the overpass, he pulled off the road. This was just an overpass, no ramps onto I-75. Pulling down the embankment, he found someone had already cut the fence, saving him from having to do it. Maneuvering the truck through the open section of fence, he hit the pavement of the northbound lane and stomped on the pedal, pushing the old truck hard, heading south in the northbound lane. Most folks had pulled their cars off the road when they died, but some real window lickers left their cars in the lane right where they died. What kind of idiot does that? Fortunately for him, there weren’t too many window lickers.

The problem with being on this side of the road was that he couldn’t see the signs. As soon as there was a break in the guardrail, Thad steered the old truck across the center median to the southbound side. At least over here he could use the mile markers and signs to keep track of his progress. Thad didn’t live in Tampa proper. He lived in the Land O’ Lakes area; he uses Exit 285 off 75. He figured he was at least a hundred miles from his exit off the interstate.

Not two miles from where he got on the interstate was an exit for Micanopy. There was the usual assortment of sad little gas stations there, the type that were just on the edge of profitability. They had a major oil company name on the sign but smelled like curry and spice and sold the oddest assortment of merchandise on the planet, everything from seashell bric-a-brac to “Lucky 7” dice and ski masks. Ski masks, in Florida? The other real oddity at this exit was the strip club. They were “World Famous” and cater to truckers.

Approaching the exit, Thad tried to push the old truck a little harder. He wanted as much speed as he could muster. The interstate passing over the surface road below would be a natural choke point, and Sarge’s crew had warned him about these as possible ambush sites. The eastern sky was starting to lighten as the old truck roared across the overpass, the frame bottoming out with a thunk as the old worn-out shocks couldn’t take the weight of the truck as it crested the rise.

Other than the bouncy ride, he made it across without incident. Looking down on the road below from the top of the overpass, it was obvious that people were down there, still hanging around the little stores. Even from this distance, he could tell one of them had been looted; all sorts of crap littered the parking lot. About five minutes after the overpass, he approached his next obstacle. It was an overpass over I-75, like the one leading to Bill’s house.

The “Three Muskee Queers,” as Morgan called them, had covered this sort of obstacle in their training. Thad scanned the overpass for anyone on top, as well as where the embankments met with the upper road. Seeing no one there, he focused on the other side. Thad eased the truck all the way over to the left until he was actually on the shoulder; then as he went under the leading edge, he started to move to the opposite shoulder as he passed under the bridge; again he made it by without incident.

Thad executed the same maneuver at the next overpasses without incident. The miles were flying by. All he could think about was home—Anita and little Anthony and, of course, Momma. A couple of years ago, she got to the point she couldn’t live on her own anymore, so he moved her in with them. Anita didn’t work, so there was always someone home with her. Thad made enough driving his truck that his wife didn’t need to work. It made him feel good to provide for his family, sufficient that they lived comfortably and wanted for little.

Rolling along, he was thinking of Anthony with his Erector Sets and Legos and other building toys. He was obsessed with them and built some of the most amazing things, especially for his age. At seven years old, he was damn smart. A big green sign told Thad that Irvine was ahead. It wasn’t so much a town as it was a place; there was a truck stop off the interstate there that he knew well. Thinking of it, he remembered there was a Wendy’s there. “Damn, I’d love a big hot ’n’ sweaty burger,” he said out loud to himself. The pass over the surface road came into view; even from this distance, he could tell someone was standing on it, at the peak. The eastern sky was getting brighter, bathing the road ahead in a soft light.

The figure was too far away to really see, but there was definitely a person standing near the inside guardrail. Thad eased the truck over; the small figure rapidly increasing in size as he hurtled toward it. The figure was leaned against the concrete barricade, Thad saw him stand up and step out into the lane. Thad moved over into the emergency lane, trying to put some space between them. The man, whom he was now close enough to see, started waving his arms and stepped out into the right lane. Thad couldn’t move over any farther.

Pressing the accelerator down, he white-knuckled the steering wheel, gritted his teeth, and started to move back out into the right lane. The man on the overpass flinched when the Chevy emblem on the hood lined up with his chest. He stopped waving and started to half run half skip toward the left lane while still waving his arms. Thad blew past him and looked in the rear side mirror to see the guy kick the gravel and debris on the side of the road and then throw his hat on the ground with exaggerated force. Thad watched him standing there with his hands on his hips as he slowly disappeared in the mirror, watching the back of the truck as he sped away.

Three miles later, about three minutes after passing the guy on the bridge, another overpass loomed. Checking it for any sign of people, he didn’t see anyone but still executed the standard maneuver for passing under one. This time, he went to the far right, on the shoulder. As he was passing under, he made his change to the left. What he hadn’t seen were the three men on the bridge. They were staying down below the tops of the concrete barricades, looking through the joints where they connected. There was a gap about an inch wide that allowed them to look down at the road. The other thing he didn’t notice was the CB antenna, connected to a CB sitting on the overpass. They had hauled a car battery up there to operate the radio and had received a call from the boys down at Irvine that a truck had just passed.

They had hauled material up to the top of the overpass with a wheelbarrow, cinder blocks, bricks, and a logging chain. While they couldn’t be certain where the truck would come out, they compensated for it by dropping their deadly missiles in both lanes. Thad was just to the left of center of the left lane as he was coming out; he saw the block for an instant before it crashed through the windshield.

That little shed ended up being a good choice to sleep in. With no windows it was fairly dark, and I slept like a rock. When I woke up, I looked at my watch through sleepy eyes. It was 1:45. I lay there in the bag, warm and comfy and not wanting to get out. I’d like to just stay here, but I needed to get home. I finally rolled out of the bag and slipped on my boots, laced them up and put on my light coat. I decided to take advantage of the little spot and cook some breakfast. Using the canteen cup, I made the last of my oatmeal with some powdered milk and sugar. After cleaning it up, there wasn’t much water left. The Platypus bag was empty, along with the two-quart canteen. There was a little water in the one quart, and the stainless steel bottle was full, but that didn’t leave much. I needed to find more.

With the change in our comm schedule I was to contact Sarge around three, so I had a little time. I packed up all my gear and decided to use the shed for one more thing. I dug a cat hole in one of the corners, just in case someone found their way in here, and left a very satisfying dump. I went out and took the panel off the roof, stowed it, and then hefted the pack; feeling good, I headed out looking for a tree to string the antenna in.

Finding a nice tall pine, I dropped the pack, took out the slick line and antenna, and set the plastic-wrapped radio out. Ha, I got the line up to the top of the tree on the first throw and hoisted the antenna up. After unwrapping the radio and connecting the antenna, I checked the time, five minutes till three. I checked the notebook, tuned the radio and waited another couple of minutes. About five minutes later, I keyed the mic and made the call.

“Walker to Foxtrot Sierra Mike.”

Immediately there was a reply, “Foxtrot Sierra Mike, I have you five by five.”

“Authenticate x-ray,” I replied.

There was a pause. “Orange,” came the reply. The delayed response was a little unsettling.

“Roger that, SITREP, en route to Hotel, SNAFU,” I replied.

“Roger that. We’re mobile now. Will relay destination later. What’s your distance to Hotel?” he asked.

“About forty miles. What’s your situation?” I asked.

“TARFU. Foxtrot Sierra Mike out.”

“Walker out,” I replied.

I sat there thinking about those guys. I hoped they were all right. What in the hell would make them leave the house? I began to hear a helicopter again. It sounded like it was north of me. I quickly pulled the antenna down and packed up the radio. I don’t know what the helo was up to, but it seems to show up whenever I use the radio, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to add those two up.

It was still a couple of hours before it got dark, but I headed out anyway. I needed to find some water. Leaving the relative safety of the trees, I stepped back onto the little dirt trail. Standing there, I did a pretty quick survey to see if there were any tracks—same as before, just deer and other critters. Following the trail, it came out on an open field, and I turned to the left to follow it. Out in the field was a low spot and what looked like the top of a dock. Dock means water, but from where I was standing, I couldn’t tell.

I decided to watch the field and surrounding area for a little while. Stepping off into the trees, I dropped my pack and took out the binos. Glassing the field and tree line behind it, there wasn’t a sign of anyone, but I had time. Making myself comfortable against a big pine, I figured I’d wait until almost dark before moving out into the open. The sun cut through the cover where I was sitting, and what little there was felt good on my face. I still heard the helo working an area behind me but sounding like it was making some wide orbits, and they were getting closer with each one.