The Borrowed World: A Novel of Post-Apocalyptic Collapse (8 page)

She knew that she was going to have to go look out the window and see who this was.  She also knew that things were going to have to change around here for the short-term.  Until Jim came back, they were going to have to keep some weapons closer at hand.  She could not get caught like this again.

She placed the cups back on the counter and moved to the living room, stepping as quietly as possible.  She leaned toward the door and placed her eye to the peephole, her heart pounding in her ear.

It was Henry, a neighbor that owned the farm next to their property.  She relaxed and reached to unlock the front door.  As her hand moved to the deadbolt, she realized that the door wasn’t even locked.  They would have to be more diligent.  Jim usually took care of these things for them, kept them safe.  With him not here, she was going to have to step up to the plate and start thinking like him. 

She swung the door open and plastered a smile on her face.  She pushed the screen door open and Henry stepped back.

“Hey, Henry,” she said.  “How’s it going?”

“Oh fine,” he said.  “I was just checking my cows and wanted to make sure you guys were okay.  Jim told me he was going to be out of town.  I noticed he hadn’t got back yet.”

She could hear a lot of unsaid sentiments in his few words.  She knew he was thinking that it might be hard for Jim to make his way back home, that things were dangerous and Jim could be injured or killed trying to get home.  She couldn’t go there.  She couldn’t think that way.  If anyone could make it through this, Jim could, she knew.

“He got trapped in Richmond,” she said.  “They started home but ran into trouble getting gas.  I’ve had trouble reaching him except for a couple of short texts.  I know he’s trying to get home but we just don’t know when he’ll get here.”

“Things may get tough,” Henry said. 

“We’re pretty set, Henry,” she said.  “Jim was pretty paranoid about this kind of thing already.  He made preparations.”

Henry smiled.  “That’s good to know,” he said.  “Just keep your eyes open… and your doors locked.”

She realized that Henry had heard the door open without being unlocked.  “I will,” she said.  “Heard of any trouble out there?”

“Lots of trouble,” Henry said, shaking his head.  “My only worry back here where we live is that big old trailer park.”

She knew the one.  While Henry’s farm was beside their house, his own home was about two miles down the road.  About halfway between them was a trailer park with about twenty older trailer homes.

“What worries you about that?” she asked.

“They’re already out of water,” he said.  “Their water came from a well and with no power they’ve got no water.  I’m pretty sure that none of them have any food storage.  Won’t be long before they’re out prowling around trying to see what they can find… or steal.”

The thought chilled her.  He was exactly right.  There were several houses between her and the trailer park but they would probably eventually make it up this way.

“There’s a lot of rough people living there,” she commented.  “Druggies and drunks.”

Henry just nodded.  “Yep.”

“We’ll keep an eye out, Henry,” she said.  “Thanks for checking on us.”

“No problem,” he said.  “Jim would do the same if things were the other way around.  If you need us, we use channel ten on the farm.  I know Jim had some of those little walkie talkies like we use because he called me on them before.  If you’ve got batteries, you should just keep one of those things on all the time, set to channel ten.  That way we can let you know if there’s anything you need to be aware of. “

“That’s a good idea, Henry,” she said.  “I know where those are, but I didn’t think about it.”

Henry smiled and waved, then stepped off the porch.  He strode across the yard and climbed onto a big orange Kubota tractor with a hay mower attached to it.  Disaster or not, a farmer had to work.  When Henry pulled away, Ellen walked to her vehicle and retrieved her purse.  She removed the pistol, tucked it in her jeans pocket, and then locked her car.  When she returned to the house, she closed to the front door and made certain that it was locked.

As we approached the off-ramp and began to walk down the exit, I could see more concentrated activity than I’d seen in a while.  There were a couple of chain hotels, a few fast food restaurants, and two convenience stores with gas pumps off the exit.  There were also a lot of cars and a lot of people.  From the moment we started down the ramp, the shoulder was packed with a disorderly line of vehicles.  There were also vehicles stopped in the middle of the traffic lanes at the bottom of the exit, and even more packing the parking lots of the restaurants and convenience stores.  Some people sat around their vehicles like it was a tailgate party.  It would have been festive if not for the undercurrent of desperation.  In the distance, I could see a line of several large white tents with people gathered around them.

People were friendlier here, though reserved.  We nodded and greeted the stranded travelers we passed, they nodded and greeted us back. After all, we shared a common dilemma.   At the bottom of the ramp, we turned right and walked past a fast food restaurant with a parking lot full of cars.  A lot of people were eating ice cream. 

A woman holding the hand of a child walked out of the restaurant parking lot.  I looked at the little girl’s ice cream smeared face and smiled. 

She smiled back. “They’re giving away ice cream,” she said.

“That sounds delicious,” Rebecca groaned.  “I’m starving.”

“What’s going on at those tents?” I asked the woman.

“Some church,” she said.  “They’re cooking food for stranded people.”

About that time the smell of grilling burgers hit me. 

“That’s where I’m headed,” I said. 

I thanked the lady and looked at the faces of my group.  No argument or discussion was needed.  They were all as ravenous and thirsty as I was.

It was amazing what food did for people.  All of the people we passed on the way to the tents were stranded travelers with no idea how they were getting home or what they would even be going home to, but with a full plate of food they were all smiles, awash in blissful ignorance.  People greeted us in a friendly manner, as if we were at some outdoor festival.  When we finally arrived at the tents, we were met with more smiling faces.

“Lay down your burdens and eat with us,” said a man with a ministerial bearing and perfect dark hair.  He wore shorts and a blue polo shirt, and spread his arms toward the bounty of the tables laden with all manner of picnic foods.  There were grilled burgers, hot dogs, and barbecue sandwiches, coleslaw, baked beans, chips, potato salad, cookies, pies, cakes, and much, much more.  It was a beautiful sight. 

Even with my usual suspicion toward churches and organized religion, I was not about to turn down their charity.  I took a Styrofoam plate from a smiling woman and began filling it.  Even as I appreciatively heaped food on my plate, I could not help but be aware that the generosity I was seeing was both an indication of very poor planning and possibly even a suicidal gesture for these friendly folks.  These people didn’t understand that they might not be able to replace the food they were giving away, assuming that in a day or two there would be more trucks of food showing up at their local grocery store and that the power would be back on. It was quite possible that this would not be the case.  It could be months before we saw things restored to normal, maybe even longer.  The very food that they were giving away might mean the death of their own families in a few weeks when the food supply dried up.  It was already cooked and waiting, though, so I was not about to voice my concerns.  With my plate so full it was about to collapse under the weight, I found a shady spot under a nearby tree and slid my pack to the ground.  I went back and took two bottles of icy cold water from a cooler under the tent and was already eating when my fellow travelers joined me.

“Make sure you save all your water bottles,” I told them.  “We may need to refill and re-use them if we have to walk.”

“I hope we don’t have to walk,” Randi said.  “My feet are not used to this.  What did we just walk?  Ten or twelve miles?  Fifteen?”

“A little over four,” I said, my mouth full.

Randi groaned.

“I guess we’ll just have to see what tomorrow brings,” Alice said, digging into a hot dog.

The plastic-haired minister approached and stood over us while we ate.  “I know you folks have your mouths full so I won’t bother you much,” he said.  “But may I ask where you folks are headed?”

Gary took a drink, cleared his throat and replied, our default spokesman in this kind of situation.  He was probably the best man for it, too, with a more agreeable disposition than I. 

“We left Richmond this morning headed for Russell County,” he said.

The minister gave a low whistle as he considered this.  “I’ve never been there,” he said, “but I know it’s a far piece.  How many miles are you talking?”

“Over two hundred from here,” Gary said. 

The minister shook his head.  “Any idea how are you going to get there?”

Gary shook his head.  “Don’t know yet.  We just left our vehicle behind a couple of hours ago.  We’re hoping to find a place for the night and then see what tomorrow brings.”

“The last town we stopped in was not this friendly,” Rebecca commented.  “We appreciate the hospitality.”

“I’m afraid this town isn’t much friendlier,” the minister said with a little regret in his voice.  “You can’t see it from here, but they have a roadblock just over the hill there and they’re not letting anyone into town, either.  They agreed to let us come out to try and ease the suffering of you weary travelers.  They did warn us that we couldn’t bring anyone back with us, though.  Otherwise we’d open our church as a shelter as the Lord would have us do.”

I wondered if the minister threw in that last part to deter us from asking for shelter for the night.

“What’s the latest news?  Heard anything?” I asked between bites of baked beans.  “Pakistani terrorists have taken credit is what I last heard,” the minister said.  “A lot of the terrorist acts took place in remote areas so the full effect isn’t known yet.  The news is getting kind of spotty and it sounds like there isn’t much official information coming in.  I think the power outages and fuel shortages are starting to interfere with getting the news out.  Whatever is happening is nothing that we can’t make it through.  People must not lose hope.”

In that last sentence I could hear that this minister believed this might be as bad as it got.  I knew this area received its fair share of ice storms and people here were used to power outages with downed trees and impassable roads.  Perhaps that was what he was expecting from this – nothing more than an ice storm’s level of inconvenience.

“What about the gas situation?” Gary asked.

“Not good,” the minister replied.  “What news you can get says they’ve hit pipelines and refineries, as well as destroying large quantities of the available gas supply stored at those refineries.  They don’t know when we’ll be able to start buying gas again.  Some say it could be months.  They’re telling people to conserve what gas they have because it may be all they get for a while.  Most of my folks serving the food here walked or came on bikes.  We used ATVs to bring the food.”

“If they’re not selling gas, why aren’t there are any guards at the stations we just passed?” I asked.  “The last station we stopped at up the road had troopers show up to make sure no gas was being sold.”

“There’s no gas here to guard,” the minister said.  “All the tanks sold out this morning.  I think there’s a little kerosene left and that’s it.”

“Are the hotels accepting guests?” Alice asked.

“I think so,” he said.  “There’s a rumor that FEMA is supposed to charter some buses and come through and deliver people down the interstate.  One rumor is that they’ll bus people closer to home. Another says they’ll bus them to FEMA camps to sit out the worst of this.   Because of that a lot of people are just sitting around waiting for the buses to show up.  Some have checked into the hotels.  They don’t have power and I’m sure the water is probably down to a trickle by now but I guess it beats sleeping in the bushes.”

At the mention of FEMA, I caught Gary’s eye and fought back a grin.  While we were both a little paranoid, FEMA inspired severe paranoia in many in the prepper community.  They were attributed with all manner of powers specifically tailored to taking our liberties.  FEMA and the Department of Homeland Security were alleged to be evil incarnate.

“Are people behaving themselves?” I asked.  “There are a lot of people here.”

The minister considered this.  “They are for now,” he said after a moment, “because they think buses are coming to get them.  When it gets dark and there are no buses, I’m not sure how they’ll act.  Not everyone has the means to pay for a hotel, even if they are accepting plastic.  There have also been a lot of folks purchasing alcohol from the convenience stores and sitting around drinking it since they don’t have anything else to do.  We tried to discourage that by saying we wouldn’t serve anyone who was intoxicated, but some prefer the bottle to the burger.”

“I agree that things might not be so pretty here when people realize that the rumor was just that,” I said.  “When people get desperate, they get ugly.”

“Yes,” Alice agreed.  “We’ve seen that today already.”

“You folks have seen the face of man’s ugliness today?” the minister asked.

“We lost a member of our group this morning and it’s still upsetting to us,” I said.

“I’m sorry if I’ve hit a sore spot,” the minister said.  “I do a lot of spiritual counseling and prying is in my nature.”

“That’s okay,” I said.  “No harm done.  We definitely appreciate the hospitality.”

“You’re most welcome,” the minister said.  “I see more hungry folks coming so I better get back to the serving line.”

“Sir?” I said.  “One more thing.”

He turned back around.  “Yes?”

“You mentioned ATVs,” I said.  “We passed an elderly couple about two miles north of here on the interstate.  They were out of gas and the woman was in medical distress, unable to walk.  Do you think that someone might be able to go pick them up and bring them back here?  I’m really concerned about them.”

“I’m sure that we could,” the minister said.  “We have a side-by-side ATV that holds three people and has a cargo bed.  We also have a trailer attached to it.”

“I would be glad to go with you,” I added.  “We hated to leave them, but we couldn’t carry them without a vehicle of some sort.”

“Why don’t you folks go see if you can secure a hotel room after you’re finished eating?” he said.  “Come back here in about thirty minutes and I’ll have someone available to pick them up if you can show us where they are.”

“I appreciate that,” I said.

The minister smiled, turned, and walked back to his station, patting shoulders and greeting more hungry faces.

We decided to start with the hotel farthest from the interstate.  We’d had a short discussion about it and Gary pointed out that it was likely to be the least crowded since tired travelers would probably stop at the first hotel they came to.  We walked in that direction, passing the second convenience store.  As the minister had mentioned, there was a lot of drinking going on in the parking lot.  Most people there appeared to be part of two large groups.  One was made up of what looked like young rednecks in tank tops and ball caps, hanging around a cluster of pickup trucks with fishing poles and canoes in the beds.  The other group was primarily Hispanic, chugging forty ounce beers and casting hairy eyeballs toward the rednecks.  Both groups were playing music from car stereos, running down the batteries of already dead or nearly dead vehicles.  In the battle between Lynyrd Skynyrd and Latin hip hop, it seemed like hip hop was winning. 

There was some evident hostility there, too, that went beyond the battling tastes in music.  Who knew what insults may have been cast back and forth over the course of this drunken day?  I knew things like this didn’t end well.  Someone would be hurt before the night was over.  Eyes cut toward us as we moved along down the road.  No comments were made, though, so we kept faces forward and walked straight to the Comfort Inn.  I’d had my share of altercations for the day.  As we neared the hotel, we could see people hanging around outside the entryway.  Kids played in the parking lot, made safer by the absence of moving vehicles.  Some of the folks drank from water bottles, beer bottles, or red plastic cups.  It was an odd environment and in its atmosphere and informality was more like approaching a backpacker’s hostel in a trail town than a chain hotel by the side of an interstate highway.

We wove through the milling people and entered the dark, humid lobby.  Light entering through the large picture windows revealed a tired Pakistani woman in a sari sitting on a stool at the counter.  Rather than greeting us or asking us what we needed, she just stared apprehensively in our direction.

“We’re looking for rooms,” Alice said, taking the lead and approaching the woman.  “I’m assuming that you’re open to guests?”

The woman looked us over.   “Can you pay?” she asked.  “No free rooms.”

“We can pay,” Alice responded, “As long as you still take credit cards.”

The woman shook her head.  “Cards no good,” she said.  “Cash only.”

Alice was visibly frustrated by this.  “We work for a government agency,” she said.  “Our cards are good.”