The Survivors: Book One (22 page)

He looked into her frightened eyes and when she leaned toward him, tan slacks rustling, he gently surrounded her with his strong arms, hoping she wouldn’t notice his racing pulse. “You’re a Nurse, I’m a Doctor. It’s wrong of us to hide and deny them our help. They need us now more than ever.”

He kissed her wrinkled forehead, smiled at her, “Our age won’t matter, except to make us more valuable because of all our experience.”

John played his trump card without guilt, knowing her inability to catch pregnant (which he believed to be his fault) would keep her from arguing more. Suddenly sorry he had never talked to her about adopting, John ignored the pain in his gut and looked at her with doubtless blue eyes.

“There are a lot of kids out there too, Anna, kids who are alone and hurting. They need us. Trust me, my sweet, I do this for you.”

“I do, Johnnie. You know that. I always have.”

He nodded, gritting his teeth against a burning wave of pain that settled deep in his guts. “Good. We’ll leave this week.”

Anne turned her head and John tensed, expecting a bad reaction as her eyes landed on the gruesome scene outside. She shuddered and he opened his mouth to comfort her.

“I never did like that damned dog. It barked too much.”

Anne went back to her knitting, leaving him with a shocked look on his lightly bearded face, and a smile in his heart. Even after all these years, she was still capable of surprising him, and he was happier than he could say, that they had survived the actual War together. There was no one he would rather be with.

2

A while later, John was still at the window, big ants (and their dinner) gone, the freezing rain returning for yet another round. His mind was still on his wife of 37 years, on the half-truths he had told her. He never lied, but often left things out…and this time it was something huge. He would tell her soon, though. She had a right to know that this next year together would probably be their last.

John sighed. He had to get her to some kind of safety, and he had to do it now, knew she would refuse to go if he told her why they were really leaving.

Movement in the dimness caught John’s eye, mostly because they saw so little of it now, and he froze, watching a shadow limp across their driveway , keeping to the line of dying bushes around the edge of the long porch. They had seen a lot of radiation victims after the War, most in the early stages where travel was still possible, and he tensed, expecting one of the walking dead.

Tall and thin with dirty black curls under goggles, the young woman wore a long muddy coat that came to the tops of her black boots. Should he call to her? She looked healthy other than the slight limp - normal.

Before he could decide, she turned toward the window and saw him. Her eyes widened in fear, panicked feet slipping on muddy debris, and then she was gone, disappearing into the hazy darkness.

John started to go to the door anyway, and had to sit back down in the hard chair, grimacing at another sharp lance of burning pain. He rubbed his swollen stomach, wishing the pills would hurry. He needed a lab that still had power, so he could run some basic tests. It would be easier to plan his wife’s future if he knew how long he had before the cancer ended his life.

John sighed again. He would insist, something he didn’t usually do, and they would leave shortly, in the next few days. He wouldn’t stop until he found someone to look after his sweet, gentle mate. She would never last out in this hard, new World alone.

Glancing away from a missed ornament - a gaudy, grinning reindeer lying under the couch - Anne tied the last knot of string on the dark brown blanket, trying not to frown as she began to put away the knitting supplies.

She didn’t look at her husband - didn’t need to see him to know he was in pain, and gunny-sacking to keep her from finding out...again. He could try to distract her with talk of kids all he wanted, she did feel a bit of regret that she had never been able to bear him a son, hadn’t wanted to take one in that wasn’t theirs, but it didn’t keep her sharp eyes from noticing things. Something was wrong.

His eating and sleeping habits had changed drastically, and she had seen the empty pill bottles in the trash. He was protecting her from it, like he always did with the bad things, and while she would do what he wanted and pretend she had no clue, she knew what she knew. He was sick and looking for a place to leave her.

He wanted to be alone when he died, had said it many times, claiming it would hurt too much to say goodbye, and while she would do anything for him, she simply couldn't do that. Leaving him alone to die would be a betrayal of their life together, and now, after all that had happened, any betrayal of life was wrong. When they went, it would be together.

Nearly a week later

“Go faster, John! Faster!”

“Hold on!”

The horrified Doctor swung the wagon onto the dark woods that lined the road and killed the engine a few yards in, glad for the heavy fog and cover of night.

“Get down! Low as you can!”

The elderly couple shoved themselves into the floorboard as best they could. The hurting man stifled a groan at the cramped position, glasses sliding from his face as the engines grew closer.

Pop-Pop!

Sscreeechhh!

Headlights flashed their way and they tried to get lower, the gunshots and engines upon them as the storm rolled overhead.

“I love you, Johnnie. Have since we was kids.”

A cold hand locked onto his hairy wrist through the sleeve of his plaid shirt, and John covered it with his own shaking fingers, afraid he might wet himself despite all his efforts not to.

“And I you, my Sweet.”

The large group of cars began to fly by and the couple froze, listening to the shots, wincing at each whine and ricochet.  Drunken shouts echoed, along with thuds of metal hitting, scraping. Rain thumped on the roof, a tire squealed, and a bullet pinged off their bumper, making them both jump. As their grip on each other tightened, the fog was all that kept them from certain, painful death.

Long minutes later, the gang was out of sight, their noises fading to silence. Terrified it was a trick, that they’d been seen, John kept them still for another fifteen minutes, only moving when the bands of pain around his gut caused tears to slip out of his eyes against his will.

Driving without lights, John turned them west on 40, away from the gang. They would still go to Cheyenne Mountain, they would just take a different path. They had been on the road for five days now, and he had been careful to find ways through that didn’t require physical labor. They weren’t spring chickens, and he wasn’t taking any more chances than he had to. They were both a bit stiff and a little sore, but had agreed that they felt more alert than they had in a long time.

“How long will this add?”

John slid his glasses back in place. “Couple hours. We have to get off these frontage roads, but we’ll still make Routt Ridge by dawn.”

Anne nodded, wrinkled fingers turning on the heat and defrost, before digging into the bag behind his seat. “Here, take these.”

She dropped two white pills into his wrinkled hand, and held out an open mason jar of clear liquid. John took them with a grateful look in his faded blue eyes. His gut was on fire, blood in his temples pounding in time with his pain.

Anne said nothing, just turned on the CB, and went back to checking channels. He was her man, her love, and she wouldn’t let him suffer. She had a good idea now what was wrong, had been a nurse long enough to read the signs he couldn’t hide on this journey, and it would be a secret between them no more.

    John’s eyes scanned the foggy landscape, able to see only faint outlines of dude ranches and big game hunting lodges. Other than those, and the occasional farm or dead vehicle in the road, there was almost nothing around here. It had been isolated before. Now, it was desolate except for the bluegrass that was exceptionally tall - up to the wagon’s roof in some places. Wind howling through the shadowy darkness, they moved steadily through the foggy drizzle for the next four hours.

John made good time, but when he saw the next set of bodies and cars that were still smoking, he began to worry more. This had been a group of travelers, maybe even a large family, and the gang had killed them all. The back trail was indeed leading straight to NORAD. Had they been there too?

The old man lurking inside winced as another bump jarred him against the sharp spring sticking out of the seat, and he shifted, trying to avoid it as the wagon chugged along the smoldering streets of Granby, Colorado.

He hoped Anne would stay asleep despite the rough ride, and he tried to take it easy so she would. The gentle snoring coming from the blanket-filled passenger seat gave him hope she might sleep through this particular stretch of road. One look out the foggy window and she would know they were in danger again.

Signs of a battle littered the area, and the winners had marked their victory with devastation. Homes were in flames - even the pine trees on front lawns were burning, their cheery Christmas lights melting onto their branches - cars were rammed through buildings, and lifeless bodies, even horses lay where they’d been shot. The blood hadn’t dried yet, and the doctor was horrified to see their tires leaving bloody tracks, but could do nothing about it. The puddles were unavoidable.

Even with the windows up, the smell was revolting: blood, shit, and charred skin. When he lowered the glass, stopped momentarily to listen for survivors, he heard only wind and crackling flames, nothing else. The equality state was no longer that. Now, only the strongest would survive…
and those with them,
John thought, looking over at his wife, before turning his eyes back to the dangerous land around them. He and Anne had been that type in their youth, but now he could only hope to find someone that would keep her protected.

Pushing away the worry, he tried to concentrate on the debris-laden road, but found his eyes flicking off the horror to peer at the sky. He hated it that there was no moon, no stars, just grit and thick, nasty smelling smoke.
Like a damned episode of the Twilight Zone
, he complained silently, grateful that the pills were pushing back the agony.

John had automatically slowed to watch for signs of survivors, but the gang had been very thorough and after a long minute, he drove on. Granby was a cemetery without a headstone.

4

Dawn was just starting to break as they cleared the city limits, the dusty sky barely hinting at light, and while he knew he couldn’t go another full day without sleep, he also knew they weren’t stopping near here, not even for a stretch. Those men might...

“Want me to drive?” Anne asked, making him jump. “I’ve got my glasses.”

He nodded, smiling tightly as he loosened the belt over his swollen abdomen. “Yes, but not yet. We’ll switch after brunch and I’ll snooze in your warm spot.”

She smiled back as she adjusted her silk shawl tighter over her sweater, then closed her eyes and laid her head back on the pillow against the locked door. Instead of giving him hell about not telling her he was sick, she was hadn’t even mentioned it, just adjusted to care for him as they traveled. She was handling the trip well. Had she too been just a little bored, a little restless?

Hell of a way to have an adventure,
he thought, still wanting to see the stars. There was a bite to the wind that said they would be running the heater all day, and he was very glad of the cans on the luggage rack. Three hours at a gas station with a foot pump had given him a nasty backache, but they were good for two weeks of driving, and he hoped to find a safe place long before it ran out.

Along with the gang they had just hidden from, there had also been other dangers on this trip, like the radiation victim that had snuck up on them in the fog three days ago and almost got the door open before he could get the wagon into drive.
Talk about taking some years off my life,
John thought with a touch of bitterness. The weather was also hard to drive in, but at least the acid rain would force the walking dead to hole up somewhere and start dying. With the open sores and lack of reasoning skills, the zombies would go to ground and not come up.

The doctor inched along without headlights toward the government compound, casting his eyes over the tarp in the back of the wagon that hid their belongings - the last remnants of their life together. He desperately wanted to find a group of people like themselves…different. John knew they were out there, gathering somewhere, he could feel the pull of their calls, but saw no one, and the old Ford kept on chugging.

5

Half an hour before dawn barely lit the sky, the rain and fog had lightened and the wagon sat on Routt Ridge. The occupants waited silently, but their hope was gone, the billowing smoke was undeniable. Their safety was in flames.

Surveying the surrounding area, John watched ants taking the poison bait balls he’d thrown out of the window when they’d first stopped. The ants here were bigger, but their hill was enormous, - three feet high and probably just as wide - with a snakeskin and the bones of lizards scattered around it. The order of nature had been reversed and even here, the smells of smoke, rot, and mildew lingered under the fresh scent of clean air and pine trees.

“Check again. Maybe we’ll hear survivors.”

Anne did it slowly, but they heard nothing until the last station. John put a gentle hand on his wife’s wrist to keep her from changing the channel, almost able to feel something coming. “Wait.”

A second later, the radio lit up with heavy static an a man’s determined words.

“Safe Haven - Red Cross... Welcome all…survivors follow…clear means closer...”

They lost it, the radio going back to full static, and John looked over, not needing to see the horrors in the bunker to know they were there.

Anne’s voice was shaky, but there was confidence in her aged brown eyes - confidence in him. “Whatever you think, Johnnie.”