Hope (18 page)

“I guess it does sound weird.”

Neal sighed loudly and rested against a large boulder.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“El Centro.”

“Before all of this, what did you do, for work, that is?”

“I drove trucks for a distribution company.”

“Like the big ones, the tractor trailers?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t an over-the-road trucker.”

“What’s an over-the-road?”

“It’s nothing,” Neal replied, not wanting to have the conversation anymore.

Charlotte could tell he had pulled back.

“You need to rest.”

“Okay,” Charlotte said and closed her eyes.

Neal stretched out and tucked his backpack under his head.

“Thank you,” Charlotte said.

“You’re welcome,” Neal replied.

“Goodnight,” Charlotte said.

“Goodnight. Now get some rest,” Neal said, hoping she’d be quiet.

Charlotte slowly drifted off.

Sleep sounded good, but Neal found it impossible to shut his mind down. His thoughts bounced from Karen to Felicia to Charlotte then to Hope, the faceless little girl who needed to be rescued. It would be so easy to just leave Charlotte lying there and set out alone. He didn’t need to do anything; he wasn’t truly obligated. It would be so much easier to just ignore the suffering around him and head directly for the boat and set sail, leaving it all behind. But how could he live with that? Life wasn’t easy nor was doing the right thing.

Beth came to mind. He posed the hypothetical question of her being alive and alone. Would he want someone like him to go save her? Of course he would. These two girls needed help, and for whatever reason, their salvation was put right in front of him. He had to see it through.

“All hope abandon, ye who enter here!”
– Dante Alighieri

Ocotillo, CA

“Hope, no,” Charlotte mumbled.

Neal woke to find dawn had arrived. He had slept for hours, something he needed.

“Hope, please, no,” Charlotte again mumbled.

He looked over at her and saw her eyes were closed and her face glistened with a pasty sweat.

She rocked her head back and forth while mumbling unintelligible gibberish.

Concerned, he rose and felt her skin. She was burning up. Overnight she had developed a fever, most likely from the wound. He lifted her shirt and instantly saw problem number one: her abdomen was enlarged, bloated and blue. He pulled the bandage back, and blood mixed with pus oozed from the stitching. Red striations jetted out from the hole, also signaling that the wound was festering.

Neal wasn’t good at medical care past first aid, but he could tell she had two problems that could be fatal. First, she had internal bleeding, and second, she had an infection.

“Charlotte, you hear me?” he asked.

She opened her eyes and answered, “Yes.”

“I’m not going to sugarcoat this, but you’re in bad shape.”

She pressed her eyes closed, took a deep breath, and licked her lips.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” she replied.

He thought that maybe he needed to drain the wound, but he didn’t know. Where was a doctor or someone skilled in medical care when you needed one? Like before with Karen and Beth, he regretted never getting any training. He just never imagined he’d ever be in this type of situation, yet here he was, unprepared with zero skills.

What do I do?
he asked himself.
Do I drain the wound? Do I just let it be? Why is she bleeding inside? Is there a fragment of the bullet causing it?
All these questions ran through his mind without an answer for any of them. Once again he felt helpless, powerless to do anything.

“Hope, you have to go save Hope,” Charlotte said, grabbing his arm.

Her touch brought him back. “I’ll go find her, but we need to take care of you first.”

“Go find her.”

Realizing that if she died, he’d have no way of knowing where Hope was, he thought to ask, “Where is Hope? Where do I find her?”

“Diary, my diary.”

“Where is that?”

“Backpack,” she replied.

Neal remembered the backpack she had been wearing. It was still on the ground at the other campsite. He raced over, grabbed it, and came back. He opened it, looked inside, and there it was, pink, fluffy and bedazzled.

“Hope, go.”

“I will, I will,” he said, thumbing through. “Where, did you write it down somewhere?”

“Yes.”

He thumbed until the last entry and came upon a hand-drawn map with an address. Below it was the number of men who occupied the compound.

“Found it,” he said.

“Go.”

“No, I won’t leave you.”

“I can’t make it.”

She might be right, he thought. Right now he was batting zero for helping sick or wounded people. There were only a few things he was good at, and this wasn’t one of them.

“Hope.”

“Antibiotics, I have some. In my trailer, in the small kit, I have some antibiotics. That will help,” he rambled as he ran to the trailer. “This will help, it has to.”

“Hope, please.”

“Found them,” he said, pulling a bottle of amoxicillin from a small bag. He popped the lid, but his shaking hands caused him to drop a few onto the ground. “Damn it,” he cursed. He went to her side and said, “Take this. It will help.”

Charlotte didn’t reply. She mumbled something unintelligible.

“Open up. Take the medicine.”

She opened her mouth slightly.

He placed the capsule on her tongue and brought a bottle of water to her lips. “Here’s some water. Swallow the pill.”

She took a small sip but coughed the amoxicillin onto the ground.

“Work with me,” he stressed. He picked another capsule from the bottle and placed it on her tongue. Lifting her head to make it easier to swallow, he again placed the bottle to her lips.

She sipped more, and this time was able to get the capsule down.

Feeling helpless and scared for her, he decided he was going to do the one thing he had power over. He would load her up in the trailer and set out to find Hope. He might lose Charlotte, but he was going to find her sister and make things right.

Outside of Boulevard, CA

Neal stepped off the bike. Sweat poured off his face and even down his arms. He was drenched. The ride up the mountain was tough. Given he was still not a hundred percent, it made an already difficult ride more so.

This was where mindset came into play. Neal knew his weaknesses, but he also was aware of his strengths, and being someone who had the capacity to push himself beyond the limit, he was always one who could do so when everything counted on it.

He had lost so much and felt responsible for those losses. Now he had a small opportunity to redeem something, and the girls provided that.

Another dawn was coming and with it a variety of choices and situations. He checked on Charlotte, who was sleeping. Her fever was still raging and the wound wasn’t any better.

Before he left Ocotillo, he had calculated the distance to Hope’s location to be a little under fifty miles, but it wasn’t going to be an easy fifty, especially on a bike that was overloaded and operated by a person who had just survived botulism.

He pulled an old road map from his pocket and unfolded it. A road sign a quarter mile back read Boulevard. Using the key on the bottom, he estimated he’d ridden twenty-five miles. By the way he felt, especially his thighs and butt, he would have sworn he’d ridden a hundred.

With twenty-five miles down, he was halfway there, and fortunately for him he knew the remaining miles wouldn’t be as hard as the last.

Happy with his results, he tucked the map back in his pocket, took a swig of water and looked for a safe place to rest. He knew getting to Hope as soon as possible was critical, but he had to get a few hours of rest. He was even willing to ride during the day, but not until he had given himself a much-needed break.

Just off the road on his right he saw a dry creek bed. It was far enough off the road and looked deep enough to provide the cover they needed.

Charlotte moved but didn’t wake.

The distinct sound of car engines could be heard in the distance.

He paused to listen intently.

The sound was drawing closer but still far away. He was able to pinpoint that it was coming from the west.

He pushed the bike off the road, but as soon as he hit the dirt, the soft ground made it very difficult because of the weight of the bike and trailer.

The roar of vehicles grew louder.

He looked west. The highway rose gently and disappeared to the right behind a sloping hill.

He had time, but if he was going to hide, he had to move fast.

“Move!” he grunted as he pushed the bike another two feet. Seeing the futility of moving the bike with Charlotte in it, he scooped her up and walked to the dry creek bed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of something on the highway.

He looked and saw a large vehicle, but fortunately for him they were still a good half mile away. Using all his strength, he raced to the creek bed and slid down the embankment. When he hit the rocky bottom, Charlotte let out a groan. It wasn’t enough to wake her, which was telling in and of itself.

He set her down and peeked back over the edge.

The hum was very loud now.

There wasn’t just one vehicle; there were dozens by his rough count and all military-type MRAPs.

Always cautious, he kept his head down and watched as they zoomed by.

One by one they passed. He counted as they went. When the last one went by, his count was thirty-three.

Where are they going?
he thought. He hadn’t seen a convoy like that since shortly after everything collapsed.
Did they have anything to do with the warning he’d been given?
Whatever was happening, they were headed somewhere and fast.

With the emergency out of the way, he turned his attention to Charlotte.

Her head was cocked to the side and lifeless.

Alarmed, he shook her and asked, “Charlotte, you still with me?”

She flittered her eyes and whispered, “Hope.”

“It’s Neal. I’m just checking on you.”

“Hope, get Hope.”

“We’re going there now. Just need a break. Sorry if I roughed you up getting you over here. I heard those trucks and I got scared. You just don’t know who’s cruising down the road,” he said in a conversational tone.

She nodded off.

There wasn’t any doubt the vehicles were military or government. Maybe he should have stopped them and asked for help. Did he just make a mistake? Life was so confusing. He’d heard nothing really positive about the federal government’s response, some even speculating they were harming those who went seeking help. It was better he hadn’t stopped them; things could have turned ugly.

He rested his head back against the rocks and closed his eyes. He could feel sleep coming, so he sat up. “Gotta go get the bike and set up.” He shook his head, but his body was weary. He leaned back again and convinced himself that he’d close his eyes for just a wink.

Neal woke when he heard guttural growls. To his left and right were coyotes. It wasn’t uncommon to see coyotes in Southern California. They were everywhere and were often seen in residential neighborhoods; however, most sightings happened at night. It was midday and the sun was riding high in the sky.

He kicked some rocks, causing the coyotes to scatter.

They regrouped and walked back, some growling and others barking; a coyote had a unique bark and howl. Neal had heard them a lot growing up and knew their barks indicated they were closing in on prey.

He pulled out his Sig and pointed it at the closest coyote.

A coyote ran up behind him and nipped at his neck.

He stood up and hollered, “Back away, back off.”

Again they scurried away a short distance and regrouped to come back.

Neal spun around three hundred and sixty degrees and counted seven coyotes.

Charlotte wasn’t moving. She lay on the hard ground, her head slumped over.

Another coyote ran at him.

He turned and yelled at it.

The coyote retreated.

Neal knew what he had to do because they would keep coming until they figured out a way to get him and her. He faced the one he thought was the alpha, aimed, and squeezed a shot off. The round exploded from the muzzle and struck the coyote in the neck.

That coyote yelped, ran a few feet, and collapsed dead.

“C’mon, motherfuckers!” he yelled, taking aim on another and shooting. This shot missed, as the coyote moved just as he shot.

The two loud shots scared the others. They retreated further away but still hung around.

Neal could feel that his face was sunburned. It was stupid of him to think he could just take a short nap. Angry with himself, he holstered the pistol, scooped up Charlotte, and climbed out of the creek bed.

His bike and trailer were exactly where he’d left them that morning.

Charlotte’s head bobbed up and down as he hurried towards his bike. She was still alive but barely.

He looked down at her abdomen and it was huge. The swelling was so severe her shirt didn’t fit and exposed the lower part of her belly. There he saw the deep purple and black skin.

“Stay with me,” he said.

He reached the trailer and put her in carefully.

Barking behind him made him jump. He turned to see two coyotes had closed in. Pissed off, he unslung his rifle, took aim and squeezed off a round. The 5.56 round smashed into the coyote’s head.

It dropped where it stood, dead before it hit the ground.

The second scurried away.

However, Neal had had enough; he took aim and squeezed off another round. This shot hit the coyote in the rear.

The coyote yelped and limped away.

Neal wasn’t through. He kept his sights on it and shot several more times, hitting twice and missing once. Both rounds proved fatal as the coyote fell down dead.

The remaining coyotes kept their distance, some even running further away.

Feeling safe, he slung his rifle and pushed the bike back on the road. “Time to get out of here.”