The Borrowed World: A Novel of Post-Apocalyptic Collapse (16 page)

Ellen was relieved to discover that the truck she heard approaching the house belonged to Pops.  She had been expecting him through the front gate, but Pete had obviously guided him onto the same farm road that they had used this morning.  The truck was creeping as if it was loaded down and Pops was pulling his enclosed dual-axle trailer behind him. 

Ellen thought for a moment about having him park the rig around back, but decided it was probably better to have it parked around front, making it look like more people were here.  Maybe that would make them less of a tempting target for any rogues living in the trailer park.

Pops pulled up beside her vehicle and killed the engine.  The doors opened and Pops, Pete, Nana, and their dog all came spilling out.  Ariel went running down the porch steps and hugged her Nana, then took the dog’s leash and began showing him around the yard.

“Thanks for coming,” Ellen said as Nana came and hugged her.

“It’s okay,” Nana told her.  “We couldn’t really do much at our house anyway.  We have the generator but we didn’t want to burn up all our gas in case we needed it for the vehicles.”

“We’ve got a few tricks up our sleeves out here,” Ellen replied.  “Jim has prepared for something like this.”

Nana looked around and shook her head.  “I always thought he was a little paranoid, but I’m not so sure now.  He always said that a few hiccups in the wrong place at the wrong time could bring the whole house down.”

“His paranoia came from being better informed than most of us,” Ellen said.  “He was aware of the risks and vulnerabilities.”

“I’m kind of glad I didn’t know all that,” Nana said.  “I’m not sure I would have been able to sleep at night.”

What Ellen didn’t say was that feeling as if her family was prepared for those hiccups in the system had helped her sleep better at night.

“Come help us unload some of this stuff,” Pops called.

Ellen and the kids helped Pops and Nana unload for the next hour.  They had brought suitcases with their clothes and toiletries.  Not knowing what the weather would bring, or how long they would be staying, they also brought a wide variety of outerwear and shoes.  They had filled two coolers with the remaining food from their refrigerator and freezer, as well as boxes with canned foods and other staples.  Ellen and Pete carried those to the kitchen to deal with later.  Pops had brought a few cans of Coleman fuel, two cases of one pound propane cylinders for the camp stove and lanterns, and over a dozen 5-gallon fuel cans of gas and diesel fuel.  He’d even brought all the toilet paper they had in the house.

He’d cleaned out his gun safe and the contents were piled in the trailer.  There were milk crates full of ammunition.  Ellen had not realized that Pops was such an ammo hoarder.  She’d never heard it discussed, but she was certain that she was looking at probably ten thousand rounds of assorted calibers.  There was an old college footlocker in the trailer and Pops raised the lid to show her that it was full of pistols and magazines.  There were nearly two dozen rifles, some in gun cases, some wrapped in blankets stacked in the trailer.  It was the lifetime firearm collection of a man who enjoyed occasional hunting and frequent target shooting.

“Let’s stash those in the basement,” Ellen said.

“Fine with me,” Pops said.

“I think you need to start wearing a gun all the time,” Ellen said.  “I’d also pick a rifle and shotgun to keep handy, something you’ve got plenty of ammo for.”

Pops dug into the trunk and pulled out a Ruger SR9 in a holster and clipped it onto his belt.  A little more digging produced three spare mags.  He took three boxes of 9mm in both hollow point and full metal jacket and stacked those with the magazines.

“I don’t have any assault rifles,” Pops said, eyeing his rifles.

“What’s accurate and easy to load?”“The Remington 700 is a tack driver if there ever was one,” Pops said.  “It’s not a fast reloader but not too slow, either.  It’s a .270 and I have a couple of hundred rounds for it. 

“Is it scoped?”

“Yes,” Pops replied.

“Good.  We may have to reach out and touch someone.”

Pops smiled but it was a rigid, tense smile.  He was clearly hoping that it didn’t come to that.  He was a man who loved to shoot, but preferred the ring of a steel target over the scream of a human one.

They ferried weapons, ammo, and assorted items for the rest of the day until everything was unloaded and stashed away.  By that time, everyone was starving.  Ellen already had dinner heating on the grill prior to their arrival so throwing it together only took a few minutes.  Nana and Ariel helped.  Pete walked Pops around, showing him some of the things they’d done with Jim gone.

Twenty minutes later, they were seated outside eating pork roast, noodles, fresh broccoli, and biscuits.  “The disaster sure hasn’t impaired your abilities to put together a meal,” Pops said enthusiastically. 

Ellen smiled.  Pops loved food.  “We camp so much that cooking outdoors is second nature,” Ellen said.  “We’re also eating a little higher on the hog right now because we have so much in the refrigerator that needs to be eaten.  We have some beef roasts, too, that I might slice into jerky and dehydrate if we can’t eat them fast enough.”

“There’s a roast or two in our coolers, also,” Nana said.

“If we can slice and marinate some of that tonight I’ll start drying it tomorrow,” Ellen said.  “It will keep longer that way.”

“What else needs done around here?” Pops asked.  “Anything Pete and I could be doing?”

“Jim left us a manual,” Ellen said.

Pops chuckled.  “That boy was always more organized than anyone else I ever knew,” he said with admiration.

“The manual gives us a few ideas and tells us what materials he stored that we may be able to use to increase security around the property.”

Pops started to say something else but paused when they all became aware of a distant clanging sound.  It was a steady, metallic banging.  Ellen rose first, followed by Pops.  She went in the house and unlocked and opened the front door.  Looking through the storm door, she could see a cluster of people at the front gate, beating on it with a stick.  There were two ATVs and what looked like four people standing there by the gate.

Nana looked puzzled.  “I wonder what they want.”

“Only one way to find out,” Ellen said.

“You’re going down there?” Pops asked.

“What else am I supposed to do?  If I ignore them, they’ll probably cross the gate and come up.  I don’t want them up here seeing what we have.”

“How do you propose we do this?” Pops asked.

Ellen was glad that he used the word “we”.

“I’m going to drive down there in my car,” Ellen replied.  “I’ll wear this sidearm and make sure it’s visible.  I’m also going to carry Jim’s tactical shotgun because it’s about the scariest damn gun in the house.  I’d like you to ride with me, keeping a gun visible so you can cover me.  I want them to see that we’re ready for trouble.”

Pops took a deep breath and sighed.  “Okay.  Let’s do this.”

“I want to go,” Pete said. 

Ellen put her arm around him.  “You need to stay up here and take care of Nana and your sister.  You can get your gun and keep it with you, but I want the chamber empty.  You have to be safe with it, okay?”

Pete looked pleased with that.  Guard duty was a big responsibility.

Ellen and Pops retrieved their weapons and went to her SUV.  Pops seemed nervous.  Ellen was slightly nervous, too, but even more pissed about having people show up like this.  She drove quickly to the gate, leaving a cloud of dust behind the Suburban.  When she reached them, she hit the brakes and slid to a stop by the gate.  She sat for a moment, sizing up the group.  There were two men and two women, the entire group appearing to be older adults, maybe in their forties.

Ellen opted for the assertive approach.  “What the hell are you all doing beating on my gate?” she demanded.

The group stared at her for a moment, then one of the women stepped forward.  She was overweight and rough looking, unkempt.  Ellen figured she didn’t work.  She had the look of someone used to sitting home all day doing nothing.

“We wanted to talk to you a second,” the woman called out. 

The woman had missing teeth and bad skin.  Ellen flung her door open and climbed out.  She reached back in, grabbed the shotgun, and slung it over her shoulder.  Leaving the Suburban running, she stepped around the open door, stopping at the front bumper.

The group looked taken aback at the weapons, staring at them.

“Then talk,” Ellen said.  “I’ve got stuff to do.”

The woman cleared her throat, gathering her thoughts.  “We was wondering if you had any food to spare,” the woman said.  “We’re about out.  The whole trailer park is about out.”

“There’s nothing I can do for you,” Ellen said.  “We’ve got just enough for my family.”

“Surely there’s something you can give us,” the woman said with a hint of anger.

“Like I said, we’ve only got enough for my family,” Ellen said. “We’re not rich people sitting on a pile of food.  We were taken by surprise just like you all were.  Now you’re expecting us to feed the whole damn trailer park?”

It was clear to Ellen that the woman was used to getting handouts, used to government checks, rental vouchers, all the benefits awarded to those too sorry to work.  Of course she knew that there were people who legitimately couldn’t work for various health reasons, but there was also a whole culture dependent on being coddled and taken care of.  They were not her problem.  Her concern was with her children, her parents and in-laws, and her husband that she missed terribly.  She fought to control her anger.

“So you ain’t gonna give us nothing?” the woman asked.  “What are we supposed to do?”

“I just made it clear to you that I have nothing to give,” Ellen said.  “We have a little food for ourselves but I don’t know how far it will get us.  I cannot give anything away.  As far as what you’re supposed to do, I suggest you get out and start looking.  See if there’s someone needing work done.  Do some hunting.  There’s still time to set out a garden.”

It was obvious that the idea of having to do any work wasn’t setting well with the woman. 

“Well that ain’t good enough!” the woman yelled.

“And you ain’t my damn problem!” Ellen yelled back, bristling.

“Fucking rich bitch,” one of the men said under his breath, loud enough for Ellen to hear.  “We can
be
your problem if that’s the way you want to play it.”

Ellen whipped the shotgun off her shoulder in a flash and leveled it at the man, racking a round into the chamber.  “Let me make this crystal clear,” Ellen said, her words firm.  “I have nothing for you.  I am not responsible for taking care of you.  The best thing you can do is get the hell out of here and never darken my doorstep again.”

One of the men spoke, and she realized it was one of the men from earlier that morning – one of the rabbit hunters.  “This here’s a public road,” he said.  “Ain’t no law against us being on the public road.”

Ellen met his eye.  “No there isn’t,” she said.  “But my suggestion to you is that you stay on it and stay on that side of this gate.”

“Or what?” the man asked belligerently, jutting his jaw out defiantly.

“Let’s just say that my husband has an excavator that digs a hole eleven feet deep and I have access to hundreds of acres where I can dig holes.  Anyone crosses that gate, they’ll never be seen again.”

“You got the balls to kill a man?”

“I don’t recommend you find out,” Ellen said.  “You might not like the answer.”

With that, Ellen backed up, got in her vehicle and slammed the door.  She laid the shotgun across the center console and accelerated backward, executing a perfect bootlegger turn in the gravel driveway.  In her rearview mirror, she could see the people still standing in the road, awash in the cloud of dust that she left behind.

“That went well,” Pops said sarcastically.

“If you hadn’t been with me, and if we hadn’t have been armed, I think they might have tried to make their way up to the house.”

“You really think so?”

“I do,” Ellen said.  “If they only wanted sympathy, they would have just sent the women, hoping that we could talk it out woman-to-woman.  By the men coming, too, I think the idea was to try force if diplomacy failed.”

They pulled back in front of the house and Ellen killed the engine.

“What now?” Pops asked.

“I think we need to set out some tripwires and barricades before dark.  We may even have to pull some guard duty tonight just to keep an eye on things.”

The Bear Den Shelter was a large, three-sided structure made of the type of milled logs used in log home construction.  It had an overhang on the front that covered a porch.  The porch, as well as the picnic table out front, was piled with packs and boots and assorted pieces of well-used gear.  In between the piles of gear there were tired, dirty hikers lounging around eating, drinking, and tending to blistered feet.  Our approach drew little attention initially, other than hikers looking up to see if they recognized us, hoping we were a trail friend they’d encountered along the way.  When they saw we weren’t, they went back to what they were doing.  As we got closer, though, some began to give us a second look.  Our gear was obviously not standard backpacking gear and we were cleaner than the norm.

“Let’s take a break here,” I said as we neared the shelter. 

Randi and Gary hung back a little, but as a veteran of many AT section hikes I was comfortable with shelters and hikers.  I mean, really, they were backpackers, not a street gang.  They may stink, but they weren’t scary.  I approached the picnic table and dropped my pack on the ground.

“How’s it going?” I asked the man and woman who were already seated at the table.

The guy appeared to be in his twenties, with a thick beard, long hair, and a bandana wrapped around his head.  The girl with him appeared to be about the same age, in a tie dye shirt with brown hair worn in dreadlocks, and a nose piercing.

“Good, man,” the guy said in a friendly tone. 

The girl looked at me and smiled.  The guy checked me out and glanced at my companions.  “You guys day-hikers?”It was a typical starting point in a trail conversation, determining whether a person was a day hiker or through-hiker.

“You could say that,” I said.  “We don’t look like through-hikers?”

He shook his head and laughed.  “Not hardly.”

“Too clean,” the girl added.

“That’ll change,” I said.

“You spend any time out here it sure will,” the guy said.

Randi and Gary approached about this time and dropped their gear.  Gary took a seat at the picnic table while Randi wandered back to relish another of her precious cigarettes.

The guy nodded to Randi’s pack.  “Is that a pillowcase?”

Gary laughed.  “Yep. She’s into ultralight homemade gear.”

The couple at the table began to eye us a little cautiously.  The girl leaned forward conspiratorially.  “Are you guys like fugitives or something?  I mean, if you are that’s cool and all.  Just don’t kill us.”

I laughed this time.  “Not hardly,” I said.  “More like refugees than fugitives.  We’re just making our way home.”

“Dude, there are a lot better ways to get home than the AT,” the guy said.  “Like about any other way possible in the world is faster than this.”

Gary and I exchanged a glance.  Could they not know what had happened?

“How long has it been since you guys have resupplied?” I asked.

The girl looked at her friend as if trying to recall.  It was easy to lose track of time out here when every day revolved around walking, eating, and sleeping.  “Maybe three days,” she said.  “We’ve got a package waiting for us tomorrow up ahead just a little.  That’s our next supply point.”

“Have you not seen anyone else in the last day or so?” Gary asked.

“Nobody new,” the guy said.  “We hiked most of the last couple of days with this group here.  This is a pretty remote section of the AT so we just stuck together.  We’ve crossed paths with a few SOBOs but that’s been it.”

“SOBOs?” Gary asked.

“Southbounders,” the girl piped in.  “Hiking the trail from north to south.  We’re NOBOs – northbounders.”

“You guys haven’t heard any news from outside?” I asked.

The shook their heads in unison.  I looked over at Gary again, not quite sure how to say it delicately.

“Guys, things are getting crazy out there right now,” I said.  “There have been major terrorist attacks and things are pretty much fucked.  That’s why we’re not on the road.”

I could see Gary out of the corner of my eye and he was grimacing.  I looked over at him.  “What?”  I asked.

“That was delicate,” he said.  “You certainly didn’t sugar coat it.”

I shrugged.  “What can I say?  I’m plainspoken.”

“Hey guys!” the girl yelled, turning back toward the shelter and calling to the people inside. 

“What’s up?” came a voice from the shelter.

“Get out here,” she said.  “You all have to hear this.”

Randi had finished her cigarette and pitched the butt in the fire pit in front of the shelter.  She wandered over to us.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“They don’t know,” Gary said to her.

“Don’t know what?” she asked, confused.

“Don’t know about any of it,” Gary told her. “They haven’t seen people or heard any news in days.”

“Oh shit.”

There was the sound of boots on wood and a handful of other hikers streamed from the shelter.  I counted five of them, roughly around the same age as these guys.  The girl turned back to me and waited expectantly.

“I was just telling your friends here that things are pretty bad out there in the world,” I announced to the group.  “There were over a dozen major terrorist attacks yesterday.  They’ve knocked the power out to most of the country, blown up roads and dams, and now you can’t get any gas.”

The group stared at us, stunned.

“Were a lot of people killed?” the guy at the table asked.

“We don’t really know,” I said.  “I did hear a report that they blew up a dam in Kentucky and that caused Nashville to flood.  They blew up the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel and several oil refineries.  It’s hard to get information so we don’t know a lot.  With the power outages a lot of stations are not broadcasting anymore.  Now they’ve frozen the gas supply and left stranded travelers all over the country with no way to get home.  That’s how we ended up here.”

“Isn’t the government doing anything to help?” one of the group from the shelter asked.

“The only thing we know for sure that the government is doing,” Gary said, “is sending some buses down the interstate to gather stranded folks up and put them in emergency camps.  Some of our folks went with them, but we didn’t want to.”

“Shit,” someone in the group muttered.  “That’s messed up.”

“Why aren’t you walking the roads?” one of the group asked.  “What the hell are you doing all the way up here?  The road is easy walking compared to this.  Maybe you could even hitch a ride.”

“It’s not safe,” Randi said.  “The cops are all busy with emergencies so people are pretty much doing whatever they want.  There have been attacks on people walking the interstate.  We’ve seen shootings and had to defend ourselves, too.  The trouble is unavoidable if you stay down there.  It’s extremely dangerous.”

There were other questions about specific regions of the country, presumably where these hikers had family, but they were areas we hadn’t heard anything about.

“We haven’t had cell reception all day,” the guy at the table said.  “I was hoping we’d get some today to call home.  Now I’m worried about my parents.”

“There’s reception further up the trail,” Gary said.  “We’ve didn’t have any all day until about six miles back.  There’s a fire road that crosses the AT and there’s a pocket of reception there. ”

The guy got up from the table and started gathering his gear.  “Let’s pack up,” he told the girl.  “I won’t be able to sleep tonight until I’ve at least tried to get a hold of my family.”

She got up also and began gathering her gear.

“Try a text if you can’t make a call,” I told the guy.  “We could text but we never could get any calls through.”

“Thanks,” he said. 

“Sorry to dump all that bad news on you guys,” I said.  “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

The guy started shoving items in his packet.  “Are the rest of you guys going?” he asked the group that had come out of the shelter.

They looked around at each other, nodded, and went back to start gathering their own gear.  One guy stuck around.   He was similar to the others in appearance – scruffy, sweat-stained, and tanned.

“Where exactly are you guys headed?” he asked.

“Why?” I replied, my paranoia kicking in instantly.

“Tazewell County,” Gary replied.  “At least that’s where I’m headed.  The others live in that general area.”

“My girlfriend and I are students from Emory and Henry College,” he said.  “She’s back in the shelter packing her gear.”

“We’re familiar with Emory and Henry,” I said.  “Gary had a daughter who attended there.”

“We were hiking up from Damascus,” he said.  “We were going to go to Shenandoah National Park and have some relatives pick us up there.  Our families live in the Bristol area.”

“I would head home,” I said.  “No telling if anyone will get able to get there to pick you up with the fuel restrictions, and even if they did they wouldn’t be able to drive you this far with no fuel.  You may not even be able to get a call out to your relatives to pick you up.  You may end up isolated and on your own.  Not a good place to be.”

“Can we hike with you?” he asked.

I expected this and had no problem with it.  As a parent, I would hope that someone would help my kids in a similar situation.

“Sure,” I said.  “We’re fresh on the trail and will probably not be able to keep your pace, though.”

“That’s no problem.  We can slow it down for you old folks,” he said with a grin.

I looked at Gary.  “I’m having second thoughts already.”

The guy extended his hand to me.  “I’m Walt.  My girlfriend is Katie.”

I shook his hand.  Then he shook with Gary, waving to Randi who was a little further back.

“Pack your stuff,” I told him.  “And we need to eat a bite, so give us a few minutes.”

He nodded and wandered off to tell his girlfriend of their new plans.

Gary, Randi, and I shared a quick meal of jerky, crackers, and water.  We bid goodbye to the departing hikers as they hastily moved out, taking large strides to gain more ground with each step.  Walt and Katie said their goodbyes to their trail friends and exchanged contact info so they could get in touch at a later point.

“So that’s what I’m going to smell like when I get home?” Randi asked.

I nodded.  “Maybe even worse,” I said.

She shook her head at the repugnant thought.

“It keeps the bugs away,” Walt assured her.

“And everyone else,” Gary added.

By my GPS, we averaged 2.5 miles per hour over the next three hours of walking, which did indeed gain us a few additional miles before feeling the need to stop for the night.  As the sun fell over the horizon and our weariness grew, the sound of insects and night birds began to emerge.  Walt and Katie dropped their packs when we selected a frequently used group campsite for the night.

“Do you guys even have any gear?” Katie asked.  She was an athletic, smallish waif of a girl with short hair.  We’d learned over the course of the past few miles that she was a triathlete who’d competed throughout the world.  She carried her fifty pound pack like it was nothing.

“Some,” I replied. 

“We have a tent,” she said.  “I feel kind of bad about sleeping in a tent with warm sleeping bags while you guys are roughing it.”

“No worries,” Gary said.  “We’ll be okay.  Use the gear you have and be glad you have it.”

Walt and Katie found a good tent site and set up their camp quickly and efficiently.  You could tell they’d done this many times.  One rolled out a protective ground cloth while another dug the tent out.  One rolled out the tent while the other dug out poles.  Before you knew it, they’d assembled their camp, said goodnight, and climbed in for the night.

“I know you told me we’d have to rough it if we passed up the shelter,” Randi said.  “But how the hell are we going to sleep out here?  I mean, I’ve camped before, but not like this.  I had actual camping stuff.  What do I need to do?”

I dropped my pack and looked at Gary. 

“What do you have in the way of shelter?” I asked.

“I’ve got a tarp and a piece of painter’s plastic,” he said.

“I’ve got a tarp and a piece of Tyvek house wrap,” I said.  “Between your items and mine, and a little paracord, we can throw up a quick shelter.”

“What do you need me to do?” Randi asked.

I was impressed that she was eager to help.  I knew she was not used to this level of activity, spending most of her time at a desk and not really having any physical hobbies.  She had to be exhausted.  We were all tired, though, and the job would go faster with more hands.

“Gather some leaves,” Gary said.  “Find a forked stick and use it to rake leaves into a square pile about eight feet by eight feet.  Make it about a foot thick and pick out any big sticks from it.  If Jim doesn’t mind, we can put his Tyvek over that and it will give us a soft bed.  We’ll string one of our tarps over top of it to ward off any dew or overnight rain.”