Hope (19 page)

He had twenty-five miles to go, and if he rode hard, he’d be there before midnight.

One Mile East of Golden Acorn Casino, Campo, CA

The signs on the road that told travelers of food and drink at the Golden Acorn Casino now informed them they were closing in on a federal camp.

In the rush to flee the coyotes and get the trip over as quickly as possible because of Charlotte’s condition, Neal had forgotten about Bob’s warning and had come close to entering the secured access lanes that led to the camp.

Before he blundered, he was able to get off the interstate and down to Live Oak Trail, a road that cut south and hopefully bypassed the federal camp.

The sun was closing in on the horizon, and soon the cover of darkness would help him. Until then he decided to pull off and rest behind a grove of trees twenty feet off the small road.

Immediately he checked on Charlotte, and her condition could only be described as critical. He tried to give her more antibiotics, but he couldn’t get her conscious enough to take them. Nor would she drink any water. She was close to death, and once again he was proving to be incapable of keeping anyone alive.

A westerly breeze swept down and brought with it a putrid smell. The canvas cover of the trailer had small ash-like particles sprinkled on it. He brushed them away and thought nothing of them.

He started to reconsider taking her to the feds and dropping her off. Maybe the stories weren’t true. He was sure most rumors held some truth but also falsehoods. The issue was how more true were they than false.

A stiffer wind came and again the smell, but this time he noticed what could only be described as particulates drifting down out of the sky like snow. He held out his hand and caught a few. Some were dark gray while others were off-white.

He smelled them, but the individual pieces didn’t hold an odor, but clearly there was something off in the air. The smell was something like a cross between burnt pork, plastics and diesel fuel. It was an odd smell, something he’d never encountered before.

Curious, he stepped away from the trailer until he found a small game trail and headed up it as it climbed up and gave him a vantage point of the surrounding area. Directly west he could see the casino, and the massive tent city that surrounded it was new and was the FEMA camp. To the south of the main casino building, five large pillars of black smoke rose; these had to be the source of the smell and ash. He gazed through his binoculars but couldn’t get a good view of what was smoldering. He looked around the camp and didn’t see anyone. The mix of white and olive green tents dotted the landscape to the east and south of the main casino building, with a multilayered chain-link fence topped with concertina wire running the perimeter. Large wooden towers stood at each corner, but no one manned them. He turned his attention to the highway and the fortified entrance. Again he saw no movement. It was odd, but maybe explained who he saw racing east earlier. The base also made sense as to why few cars were ever seen coming from the west. Many who attempted to go east ran into the camp, and he could only guess never made it out.

Where is everyone?
he asked himself. That tent city looked as if it could house thousands, but those vehicles he saw going east weren’t buses or anything large enough to carry thousands away. Did they come from there? Maybe they didn’t, but whatever was happening at the camp had recently occurred.

Neal made his way back to the bike and found Charlotte half awake.

“How ya doing?” he asked, knowing it was a stupid question.

“I need to see Hope,” she replied.

“We’re close, I’d say less than twenty miles, but then I have a steeper challenge getting her,” he said, stating the obvious.

“Hurry.”

“I thought we had a bit of an obstacle due west, but it appears I was wrong,” he said, referring to the camp.

“Hurry.”

“Hurrying,” he said, pushing the bike back onto the road and pedaling south.

When he reached the small unincorporated area of Live Oak Springs, he found it abandoned. Spray-painted marks on the doors told him the feds had come through and removed everyone. The town must have been emptied months ago, as tall grasses had already begun the slow battle of taking back the streets, and Mother Nature was encroaching on the homes and commercial spaces. Arriving at the intersection of Old Highway 80, he paused. Should he go right? That would take him into the camp. Or should he go left and try to find a way around it? By the looks of what he saw, the camp appeared to be empty, abandoned like the town behind him. Knowing time was not on Hope’s side nor Charlotte’s, he decided to risk it and go right. He pedaled along the narrow road until he came to the beginnings of the camp’s south entrance. Interlocking Jersey barriers channeled him into a lane, which he slowly navigated until he came to the fortified gate, which lay wide open. The guard station was empty, and beyond he saw the thick smoke columns rising.

He continued, and the closer he got with each pedal made him feel more uneasy than the one before. Maybe it was a combination of the hastily abandoned camp, the smell, the smoke and the dying sun to the west casting long shadows his way. Whatever it was, something just didn’t feel right.

Charlotte mumbled behind him, but she wasn’t lucid anymore. When he did understand her, she was only repeating Hope’s name over and over.

The air was now thick with the charred smell of something awful.

He was drawing closer. The light of the sun was still viable, so he’d be able to see without the aid of a flashlight what was smoldering. He could now make out that the five smoldering areas were massive ditches, and the bulldozers and other pieces of heavy equipment that had dug them were close by, but he still couldn’t see what was lying in the bottom of the pits.

The sound of metal grinding and clanging came from below him. He looked down and saw brass ammunition casings and links covering the ground. There were literally thousands everywhere.

He stopped suddenly. A sick feeling came over him as he had his suspicions of what might have happened. The evidence was right there in front of him, but could it be real? He stepped off the bike. He wanted to see what was in the pits, but an apprehension overcame him. Did he need to know? Was this all in his head? If it was, what did it mean?

His stomach tightened. He just needed to press forward, away from the pits, out the far gate, and continue on. He wouldn’t look, he couldn’t. He got back on the bike and pedaled hard.

The smell washed over him again. It was strong and overpowering and made him nauseous. It was now a familiar smell; he knew it well.

Should I stop and go see?
he thought.
No, keep pedaling.

He was almost clear of the last pit when he braked hard. His curiosity was too strong; he needed to know. He briskly walked to the smoldering pit and looked down. When his eyes gazed upon the horror below, he turned and threw up. Using his sleeve, he wiped his mouth and again looked.

Below him, stacked feet high like cords of firewood, were the charred remains of people, thousands of them burned and unrecognizable.

Neal felt the urge to throw up again but held it back.

The rumors were true, all true. Those who went seeking shelter and comfort from the government found none, but why had they done this? What reason could anyone give? Was there some sort of viral outbreak? Or was this just murder? Memories of a TV show on The History Channel or some other network flashed through his mind. It was of the Nazis marching people into ditches and shooting them; then another of the crematoriums at places like Auschwitz with the black smoke rising from the stacks.

Neal had seen enough. He raced back to the bike and rode off.

“Hope is like the sun, which, as we journey toward it, casts the shadow of our burden behind us.”
– Samuel Smiles

Descanso, CA

The green glow from Neal’s Casio G-Shock always comforted him. It reminded him of a different time; maybe it was because he’d had the watch for almost twenty years or that out of so much around him it was one of the few reliable things he had left. Whatever the reason, the watch told him it was just a few minutes past three in the morning, and he had made it to the first stop, Charlotte’s house.

She hadn’t asked him to go there, nor had she told him where it was, but her diary was a treasure trove of information, one being her address.

To his surprise, she was still alive but wouldn’t be for long, he feared. He carried her inside. The house was two stories, so he imagined her bedroom was on the second floor. He raced up and into the first bedroom he found. He gently laid her down on the thick pink duvet cover and smiled when he saw her name in big block letters above the bed.
What luck,
 he thought.

He removed his headlamp and pointed it towards the ceiling. The white light lit the entire room and provided a warm ambience. Tenderly he lifted her shirt and frowned when he saw her wound.

The stitches had popped out, and thick blood mixed with pus was oozing out heavily.

She was going to bleed out.

He couldn’t believe she had made it this long. Was she holding on for Hope?

“Charlotte, I’m going to go get Hope now. I’m not sure when I’m going to return, but I’ll come for you as soon as I can,” he said, holding her hand.

She didn’t move or acknowledge him, but she was alive, barely.

Seeing her reminded him of Beth. He kissed her hand and said, “I’ll be back. You hang in there.” He rushed out of the room and down the stairs and out the door. His adrenaline was pumping; he knew the next act in the Saving Hope play was going to be tough. Wanting to lighten the load, he emptied everything out of the trailer onto the ground. He quickly inspected his vest, ensuring his magazines were all there, before jumping back on the bike.

As he rode down the driveway towards uncertainty, he chuckled that Hope’s savior wasn’t coming on a white stallion but a Kona Dawg Deluxe mountain bike. He laughed even harder as he thought,
hi ho, Kona Dawg, away!

Guatay, CA

Using the cover of night, Neal navigated up the hillside, the same one that Bob had gone down when he fled the compound.

The concealment the night provided also put him at a disadvantage because he couldn’t see where any guards were.

His plan was to move slowly from one covered spot to another, each time taking a moment to listen.

When he stopped each time, he took notice of how eerily quiet it was.

A glow of lights came from the far end of the compound. That had to be where the main house was according to the map Charlotte had drawn and he had committed to memory.

Neal remembered reading Charlotte’s diary about the compound having generators, hence the lights.

He moved again and took up cover behind a jutting rock. He was thirty or so feet from the fence now. Again he listened for any movement or voices.

Nothing.

It was odd. He had been slowly advancing up the hill for an hour, and he hadn’t heard one thing or seen a guard.

Between him and the fence, there didn’t appear to be any cover. This was where he’d have to make a beeline, cut his way through, and enter the compound. From the fence his plan was to head straight up the hill and take cover behind the row of metal buildings. The center building was where Charlotte claimed to have been held and most likely was where Hope would be found if she was still there.

His preparation for the raid was thorough. He had six fully loaded thirty-round magazines for his rifle, four fully loaded magazines for his Sig, two knives and, more importantly, the will to see it until its end even if that meant his demise.

Neal readied himself, counted to three, and raced to the fence. When he got there, he pulled out his Leatherman tool, opened the wire cutters, and began clipping the individual links that held the chain-link fence to the pole. Four cuts later he was inside and running to the rear of the metal outbuildings.

He reached the first building, squatted down and again listened.

Nothing but quiet.

“What the hell? Where is everyone?” he said under his breath.

With no one around or in earshot, he stood and ran down the alley to the back door of the center building. He gulped, nervous that at any moment he’d encounter someone, and checked the knob by turning it slowly. Finding it was unlocked, he opened the door and peeked into the dark hall.

No one was there or at least not that he could see.

A light emanated from a single room on the left-hand side.

He stepped inside and with special care diligently took each step. He paused to listen, but still the place had an eerie silence to it. He lifted his right foot and extended it but felt something beneath it. He squatted down and felt with his available hand.

It was a body.

He stood and waited before again stepping forward and over the body. He reached the point in the hall where it teed off to a short hall that accessed the front entrance. The door at the end was open, and he could see a couple floodlights shining down on the main yard.

Several unidentifiable large lumps or piles lay outside the main house. He had a hunch what they were but needed his binoculars to properly identify them.

He retrieved them from a pocket on his tactical vest, looked through and focused. When the lenses cleared, he discovered the large lumps were bodies.
Interesting
, he said to himself.

Seeing more dead people began to fill him with confidence that he’d not find any opposition, but it also filled him with fear that Hope might be dead and his long journey there was for naught.

He pocketed the binoculars and proceeded to the door described by Charlotte. It was also the room where a faint light could be seen from under the door.

He reached out, touched the knob, and turned it to find it unlocked.

This was it, opening this door would signal the end to the short adventure. He slowly turned the knob until he heard the latch release. Unsure what he’d find on the other side, he raised his pistol and readied for a fight. In one swift movement he swung the door open and stood there.