The Borrowed World: A Novel of Post-Apocalyptic Collapse (6 page)

“What do we do now?” Rebecca asked.  “Sit here?”

“No,” Alice said.  “I guess we walk to the nearest hotel.”

“If they don’t have power, they might not be accepting new guests but we can at least try,” I said.  “I’d rather be moving than just sitting here waiting.”

We all got out of the car and stood stretching.  A single semi-truck passed by and disappeared over the next hill, and it was the only vehicle visible.  That was definitely unusual for a busy interstate like this one.  Gary popped the trunk and we all stared at the luggage.

“At least I don’t have to worry about carrying a suitcase,” Alice said.  “Mine is still in the other car.”  She was more than a little sarcastic.  For the first time, it was hitting her that all she had with her were the things she carried in her purse.

“But you’re alive,” Gary reminded her.

She didn’t say anything.

“I think we should go through our bags and lose a few things,” I said.  “It could be a long walk and carrying a suitcase will suck.”

I got my suitcase from the car and found a slightly more private spot in the grass away from the car to consolidate what I was taking with me.

“That’s convenient,” Randi said, noticing the pack in my hand for the first time.  “You brought a backpack.”

“I brought one, too,” Gary said.  “I never travel without one.”

“I don’t either,” I said.

“Why?” Randi asked.

“Boy scout,” Gary said simply.  “I like to be prepared.”

“I’m just paranoid,” I said.

“I can appreciate that,” Randi said.  “Remember, it’s not paranoia if people really
are
out to get you.”

Gary retrieved his backpack and suitcase and set about doing the same thing I was.

I loosened the expansion straps on my backpack to let it accept more cargo.  From my suitcase, I took my toiletries kit but left my shampoo and shaving items in there.  I’d never cared much for shaving and it wasn’t a priority now.  I took all the spare socks and underwear I had, a spare pair of pants, t-shirt, and the rain shell that I carried in there in case the weather turned nasty during a trip.  After sealing up my pack, I closed the suitcase and returned it to the trunk.

“Did you guys thin down your load?” I asked the women.

All I saw was shaking heads.  I raised an eyebrow.

“Our suitcases have wheels,” Rebecca said.  “Randi and I are just going to pull ours for now.  If they get too heavy, we can always throw stuff out later.”

“Is there anything from the car we might need?” Gary asked, preparing to lock up.

“The policy requires that all the vehicles carry emergency kits in the trunk,” Alice said. 

“Policy, again,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

“Sometimes policy can be a good thing,” Alice replied.

I looked in the trunk and found a first-aid kit still sealed in shrink wrap and stuffed it inside my pack.  There was also a plastic box about the size of a tool kit.  Inside was a flashlight.  I tried it and got a weak yellow glow from the bulb.  Although I had a better flashlight and a headlamp in my pack, I stuck this flashlight in there, too.  I also got a pair of cyalume light sticks, two highway flares, and a thin plastic poncho from the box.  All of it went into the pack.

“Why are you carrying all that crap with you?” Rebecca asked.   “We’re heading to a hotel.”

She was clearly unaware of how potentially serious things were becoming, and I was becoming more and more aggravated with people not getting the big picture.

“Didn’t seeing Lois get shot make it clear to you that things are not the same anymore?” I asked.  “You may think that was an exception, but I would bet you anything that chaos and violence will become the rule.  This is not the same world you woke up to yesterday.  You might as well accept it now, otherwise the next few weeks are going to be really hard for you.”

Rebecca stared back at me coldly, tears welling in her eyes.

“You don’t need to talk to her like that, Jim,” Alice said, her voice a little too much like a schoolteacher for my taste.  “None of us are children here.”

“Then quit thinking like children,” I said.  “I’m a little concerned that you all aren’t grasping the seriousness of the situation.”

“Just because we don’t choose to respond in the same way you do does not mean that we are not aware of how serious this is,” Alice said.  “People have to deal with things in their own way.”

“As long as they deal with them,” I said.  “Ignoring the circumstance is not dealing with things.”

“You are so argumentative,” Alice said.  “Why do you have to be this way?  You’re this way all the time.  Do you just hate people?  Remember there’s no ‘I’ in team.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but there is an ‘I’ in bitch and that’s what she’s acting like.”

I gave up there.  There was no use continuing.  They would either wake up or not.  I couldn’t make them.  I didn’t really give a shit whether they got it or not, my only concern was getting home to my family.  And maybe I did hate people, after all.

I slung my pack over my shoulder and headed off down the road.  It felt good to be using my muscles and burning off some of the stress of the day.  I was an avid hiker and backpacker and something about walking with a pack on always felt very comfortable to me.  I walked ahead of the group, energized by my anger and the fact that I was no longer caged up in the car.  I never was a good car traveler and hated confinement of any sort.  I could hear Rebecca and Alice speaking in low tones behind me.  I heard the words “paranoid” and “concerned” thrown around. 

To hell with them,
I thought.  I was heading home and I was going to make it alive.  They could either go with me or not.  I was not responsible for them and would have preferred not be saddled with them.  Randi was okay but I had little use for the other two.  Let them travel for a while in their little bubble and we’d see how far they made it before it got pricked.

I knew from years of traveling this road that we were about five miles from the nearest exit.  It was around noon, and the early summer sun was high overheard.  It was not miserable yet, but we were getting warm from the heat reflecting back off the pavement as we plodded down the shoulder of the road.  I had some water in the pack that I wasn’t going to use unless things got desperate, same for food.  I had some energy bars, some ramen and packaged macaroni, a few other items.  I was sure Gary was equally supplied, but neither of us had ever expected we would have to supply a group.  Though we hadn’t discussed it, I expected he felt the same.  There was just not enough in our packs for everyone, so best to keep our preparations low key.

I pulled out my cellphone and checked for signal.  One bar.  I composed a quick text to my wife and sent it.  Unsure if it went through or not, I left the phone powered on and stuck it back in its holster.  If she got my message and replied, I didn’t want to miss it.

After three miles, we had passed several abandoned vehicles but no people.  We were passed by an ambulance and a few semis.  The semi-trucks appeared to be holding out longer, since their diesel tanks had a larger capacity.  It would be a little longer before they hit crisis state.  The scary part was that when those trucks quit running, goods would no longer be reaching store shelves, and regular food supplies would be interrupted.  People who had not made preparations would start going hungry.

I’d travelled a lot of interstate highways in my life and this section was as generic as they got.  Woods on both sides, with occasional glimpses of open field at times.  No houses, no signs of life, no personality.  Just open road.

At one point, a convoy of armed National Guard troops passed us in the other lane.  They didn’t look very excited.  They were probably concerned about leaving their families behind to this mess, too.  I know I would be.  I wondered how many had not showed up for duty.  Once, Alice had stuck her thumb out when a semi passed but the truck had not even slowed down.

I started to tell her that under the circumstances it might take a more impressive display to get a trucker to stop, but I didn’t want to hear about what policies I might be violating with my comment.

I topped a hill and approached another stalled vehicle on the shoulder ahead, and I could see that this one was occupied.  I glanced back and saw the rest of my group was clustered together about fifty yards behind me.  I raised my shirttail so I could put my hand on the grip of my Ruger LCP and carefully approached the car.

“Hello,” I called once I was close enough to be heard.

I could see movement in the vehicle as a large man struggled to get out.  He was around seventy, tall, and neatly dressed.  He was red-faced from the heat beating down on his car.

“Hello, young man,” he said, his booming voice carrying a little weariness at the moment.  He reminded me of my dad. 

“You alright?” I asked.  “You look a little warm.”

“Nah, I’m okay,” he said.  “I am a little concerned about my wife.”  The man moved stiffly around the back of his car, heading for the passenger side, then stopped and stuck out his hand to shake.  “I’m Jack, by the way, and my wife there is Ruth.”

I relaxed and took my hand off my weapon.  I took his hand and shook it.

“I’m Jim.”

Jack turned again and I followed him around to the passenger side of the car.  He leaned through the open passenger door and spoke to someone, then straightened and turned back to me.

“My wife just had surgery yesterday at UVA at Charlottesville,” he said.  “They discharged her this morning and we were on our way back to Roanoke when we ran out of gas.  Every damn place we stopped was either out or wouldn’t sell us any.”

“We ran into the same thing,” I explained.  “We’re trying to walk to the next exit.”

“I thought to do the same thing,” he said.  “There’s no way my wife can make it though.  She’s too weak.  She’s got stitches from the surgery and is on medication.  I’m worried about her being out here.  We don’t have any food or water, or even any shade.”

I dropped my pack and dug into it.  I had an 8-pack of 12 ounce water bottles that were part of my Get Home Bag.  I hadn’t touched them yet since things weren’t chaotic, but these folks were looking a little desperate.  I took out two water bottles and handed them to the man.

“It’s not much,” I said.  “But it’s something.”

“Oh, God bless you,” he said, uncapping a bottle and hurrying to put it to his wife’s lips. 

I could tell she was weak; she didn’t even raise her own hand to help hold the bottle.  I started to ask the man what he was going to do, but it was clear that he didn’t know and I didn’t have any suggestions.  It was a question better left unasked.

When the rest of my group topped the hill, I pointed them out to the man.  “Those folks are with me.  We were at a meeting in Richmond and are trying to get back home.”

“How far do you have to go?” the man asked, opening his own water bottle now and taking a drink.

“All the way across the state,” I said.  “Russell County.”

The man shook his head.  “Long damn way.”

“It’s a long way even if you’re driving,” I said.  “A lot longer if you’re walking.”

When my group was together, I explained the situation to them and Randi said she wanted to look at the lady.

“I’m an LPN,” she said, heading for the passenger door.

“I didn’t know that,” I said to no one in particular.  “Good to know though.”

Randi was back in a moment.  “She’s way too hot, and her pulse is weak.  He’s got some blankets and a pillow in the car.  I want to make her a bed on the ground beside the car, in the shade.  It will at least be out of the heat of that car.  It’s got to be 120 in there, even with the doors open.  Her clothes are soaked in sweat.”

“You make the bed.  Gary and I will help Jack with getting her situated.”

When we had the woman lifted out and comfortable, Alice approached me.  My chest constricted with tension the moment she drew near.  It was the first time we’d spoken directly since the earlier confrontation and I assumed she was ready to pick up where we left off.

“Are we just going to leave them here?” she asked.

“What do you propose?” I said, putting it back in her lap.

“I don’t know,” she said.  “They’ll die if we leave them here.”

“To be blunt, they’ll probably die anyway,” I said.  “At least the woman will.  If things are as bad as they said on the radio, people who require medication may not be able to depend on a regular supply much longer.”

Alice looked me in the eye.  “That’s pretty harsh.  My mom is a diabetic,” she said.  “Are you saying she might not be able to live through this?”

I ignored the comment, not wanting to speculate on the fate of her family.

“They remind me of my own parents,” I said.  “I’d like to help them.  But that lady is over two hundred pounds and I can’t carry her two miles.  Can you?”

Alice didn’t answer.  In her job, she often had to handle complex situations and I knew it was eating at her.  Here was a problem and she wanted to solve it. 
Needed
to solve it.  Even though she got on my nerves sometimes, she was an excellent problem solver, however, problems had just gotten a lot harder to solve.