Walking in the Rain (Book 1): Surviving the Fall Page 5

  We learned all this while sitting around the dining room table in the dim little house, eating a potluck meal of soup made from the contents of all our bags. Ruth seemed extremely pleased by the cup of rice and the freshly cut cattail roots I’d produced from my backpack, but she seemed to be watching me closely.

  “Sophia loves rice,” she’d finally said when I asked.

  Then the five of us ate in relative silence, the only interruptions coming from the baby as she periodically babbled her approval. I didn’t know much about babies, since my only sibling was a sister over two years my junior. The earliest I could recall was seeing her as a little girl, but not as a toddler or younger.

  In any case, Sophia seemed to be a very well behaved baby, her earlier shrieks notwithstanding. Heck, I wanted to cry too the first time somebody started shooting at me. When I chuckled under my breath at that thought, Amy gave me a curious look and asked if I had anything to share with the class. When I explained, Stan and Ruth just shook their heads at the idea but couldn’t deny the truth of my statement, either. Amy laughed, of course.

  Once the last of the broth was gulped down, Ruth and Amy volunteered to clean up the dishes using a bucket of water from the kitchen. Ruth explained that she’d filled the bucket last night from a stream running along the other side of the house near the driveway. This was their only water source and though not fit for drinking, it could be boiled on their camp stove. This left me to keep Stan company as he sat rocking the suddenly sleepy Sophia.

  “She looks so happy,” I said, noting the contented smile turning up the corners of the little girl’s lips.

  “Got any of your own waiting for you back home?” Stan asked, turning carefully in his seat while trying not to jar the foot he kept elevated on a stack of cardboard boxes. Despite his stocky shape, Stan had a gaunt, hollow cheeked appearance that looked recent, marking him as another adherent to the Apocalypse Diet. I imagined any extra food he had or found went to keeping his wife and daughter fed. He seemed like that kind of guy.

  “No sir, nothing like that.”

  “Well, now’s probably not the best time, but having kids will surely change your perspective on what is important.”

  I nodded. “The road is certainly no place for a little angel like her, but you already knew that, right?”

  “Yeah,” Stan agreed, “but the choice wasn’t left up to us. When the gang stormed our subdivision, we barely got out with our lives. Oh, we tried to fight them, me and all the neighbors still around, but they had the numbers. We killed a mess of them, but for every one I shot seemed like there was two more to take their place.”

  “Gangs can be really bad news. I’ve seen some of them set up on the roads, calling themselves toll collectors, but they’re just bandits.”

  “Well, Ruth was smart enough to make me stash a little bit in the woods, just what you see here with us, but without these supplies we’d already be in trouble. I thought it would be enough to walk to Ruth’s folks’ place, but this bum ankle has slowed us down.”

  “How much farther do you have to go?”

  “Just to outside of Siloam Springs is all. Ruth’s family has a nice little setup there and a tight group of neighbors. They’ll be fine. So will we, when we get there.”

  The man paused, seeming to pick his words as he continued.

  “I think you and Amy might be welcomed there too. Not for me to say for sure, but you sure pulled our fat out of the fire this morning. Those guys were pretty well set up out front, so I couldn’t get a clear shot, and the first thing they did when they pulled up was threaten to burn the house down if we didn’t come out.”

  “Stan, I appreciate the thought. Maybe we can travel together at least as far as your destination. There is strength in numbers on the road, as long as you can trust who is watching your back.”

  “You two been traveling long?” Stan asked, and I could tell he’d waited until the ladies were out of the room to pose the question.

  “Me? Since about a week after the lights went out. Freakin’ chaperone made me stay at the hotel six days. Waiting for the lights to come back on, when we should have been already on the road. I knew the power was gone when I heard the transformers blowing, but he was convinced the government was going to get things fixed.”

  “Wait…what? Chaperone?”

  I nodded. “I was in Chicago for a national science competition through my school when the lights went out. Mr. Setzer was there because he was my science teacher.”

  “How old are you?”

  I had to laugh. “Sixteen.”

  “But, you killed those men, like, like it was nothing. And Amy…”

  “Mr. Schecter, I may be a kid but the world’s changed. Adapt or die, and I am too young and handsome to go down yet. Yes, I’ve killed before, but only to defend myself or others.” I paused, and I noticed my tone of voice changed when I continued despite my conscious effort to remain unaffected.

  “Amy is fourteen, and we met under similar circumstances. Not my story to tell, but she has seen a lot of pain in her life, and I don’t think that started when the lights went out. I will not take advantage of her, Mr. Schecter, and I’ll kill anybody who tries. We might sleep next to each other, but that’s it.”

  Stan held up those large hands, palm out. I could tell he was a good man. I knew this by the way Ruth and little Sophia acted around him. Oh, Stan could do the hard things if he needed to, since he and his family were still alive, but he took no joy in killing. He’d saved my life after all, taking out that fourth bandit that had me in his sights. He face was serious as he replied.

  “Man, we are cool, and please, you can still call me Stan. You just look older and, well, Ruth was worried about Amy is all, traveling with an older guy. I’ve seen how it is out on the road, and you are right. No place for someone you care for out there.”

  I agreed. We spoke for a few more minutes as we discussed what little we knew about why the power suddenly went out. Neither of us had heard any type of official government announcement, and Stan was leaning towards some type of Coronal Mass Ejection, or CME. I agreed it was possible, but wondered aloud why the news didn’t carry any mention of it beforehand.

  “What do you mean? Somebody would have seen this coming?” Stan asked, wide-eyed.

  “Yes, if it was a CME, we should have gotten twelve to twenty four hours advanced notice. We have observatories watching the sun for these, and their feeds and updates are publically available. If something like that was coming, my dad would have called or texted me with a warning if nothing else.”

  “So what do you think caused it? If it was an EMP, I figure it would have been in advance of some type of attack, but so far we’ve heard nothing.” Stan sounded suddenly concerned, like someone whose world had just been upset yet again.

  I shrugged.

  “CME or EMP, one or the other, or maybe it was something else entirely. Polar shift upsetting the magnetic fields of the earth? I read a book about that once. The author theorized the resulting changes might fry the electrical grid at least, but I could tell he was just making stuff up.”

  I kept quiet about what I’d heard from the National Guard troops I’d encountered. They thought it was in preparation of an invasion of some sort, but they were also nuts. Mentioning their opinions would raise more questions than I wanted to answer at this point.

  “So how do you know all this stuff anyway?”

  I grinned. “I was always interested in science and plus, I was going to be an Eagle Scout. I needed lots of merit badges plus a project to get me there.”

  After that, I changed the subject a bit and said I hadn’t met anyone with a working ham or short wave radio who might be able to answer these questions. That led to a conversation about how I avoided the cities and the people in them as much as possible. Going through the rough, undeveloped areas as much as possible might be slow, but the route presented less overall risk. Stan agreed that seemed to be a prudent course of action given the
circumstances.

  “So, what’s your plan?” I finally asked him.

  “Well, we’re just burning daylight sitting here. Let’s go see if we can get that truck started. It ran good enough to get them here, so we can just drive that beast to the farm.” Stan suggested, looking up as the ladies came back into the room.

  “Stanley Edward Schecter,” Ruth said in that commanding tone I’d heard my own mother use a time or two, “you have to stay off that ankle if it is ever going to heal.”

  “It’s okay ma’am,” I hastened to speak, “I’m a decent diesel mechanic, so let me go take a look at that truck. Like Stan said, it ran good enough to get those bandits here.”

  “And I can help, too,” Amy volunteered, coming over and plopping her little bony butt down on my knee. I sighed when I saw Ruth’s face redden. Thankfully, Stan came to my rescue again.

  “Let these kids go take a look, Ruth. We can get started packing up in here. “

  Amy clapped her hands and the two of us headed for the door. As soon as we stepped out, Amy gave me one of her questioning looks.

  “I thought you didn’t like traveling by vehicle? Isn’t that why we have been walking?”

  I nodded, then relented with a verbal response.

  “Yeah, normally that’s what I’ve seen. Within just a few hours of the lights going out, gangs or National Guard troops were seizing any vehicles still running. But, if these boys had buddies, I want to be gone by the time they show up. We won’t get far with Stan gimpy and having to carry Sophia.”

  Amy turned, her eyes searching mine.

  “You saw National Guard units up north? Like, getting things together? I haven’t heard anything about the government since everything started.” I could hear the hope in her voice but with my headshake I saw that light dim as she continued. This was going the direction I avoided with Stan, but I’d already resolved to share whatever I knew with Amy.

  “And you never mentioned them before, because they weren’t working for the government anymore, were they?”

  “No, not the ones I saw. There was a camp, where somebody tried to set up early on, but by the time I came along these weren’t soldiers, just thugs with guns. Stealing, raping, and killing…just another gang. You know, just about everywhere I’ve been, there’s been groups of assholes trying to set up their own little kingdoms. Doing the raiding and pillaging thing. Doubt Harrison is any different.” I paused.

  “And I figure these four guys had friends somewhere in the area, so we need to haul ass.”

  “So how are you planning to keep this truck if we can get it running?”

  “Gun up with what we recovered from the dead bandits and kill anybody who looks at us funny. I may even have to suspend my three raider bag limit with you and the Schecters along for the ride.”

  Amy started to laugh until she looked closely at my face and saw I was dead serious.

  “Well, okay then,” was all she had to say after that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The truck, a mid 70s Ford crew cab pickup with a cracked topper shell, started easily enough once I located the keys. I hated digging in the pockets of the dead, just because of the stink, but the proximity to a corpse no longer fazed me. I was never very squeamish, but now I had to wonder at how desensitized I had become that I barely thought about the dead around me, even the ones I caused. Hell, especially the ones I caused.

  I shelved the Dr. Phil speculation as I listened to the big diesel engine rumble for a few minutes before shutting off the key and moving on to salvaging. Which means stripping the raiders of anything else of use, and they had a lot of useful items for sure. To the victor goes the spoils and I was surely entitled to the spoils off three of those four corpses, but nice guy that I am I was already planning to share. Within reason, of course.

  While I turned out pockets and stripped off belts and boots, Ruth and Amy made a quick inventory of the contents of the camper shell and then started loading our gear. Stan sat on the front porch with a scoped hunting rifle in hand, his bad foot propped up and Sophia resting in her kid carrier on the ground next to him.

  “Amy, keep your backpack on the floor in the truck,” I cautioned her as she was in the truck bed, and all three adults turned to me for an explanation.

  “In case we have to bail out of the truck, keep at least your little pack close to you at all times. Just like your weapons, if you need it and it’s not there, then you never had it to begin with.”

  Amy nodded but Ruth gave me a look before asking, “No offense, but how does a sixteen year old know all this stuff?”

  “Well, that saying was something my daddy always said, and he was a Marine for most of my life. My dad was always teaching me stuff but now it really comes in handy. Plus, I’ve learned if you gotta run, don’t take time to mess around packing.”

  “He sounds like a smart guy. I’m sure him and your mom are just fine,” Ruth said, and I thought she really meant her words.

  “That’s what I am hoping. Now, who wants more guns?”

  I said the last part with a silly voice, like I imagined a used car salesman might sound. Stan had already said he was sticking with his hunting rifle, a Savage Axis, chambered in .308 Winchester. Inexpensive and reliable, the Savage matched calibers with the CETME battle rifle I retrieved off the first raider I stripped. Along with five loaded magazines and four empties, and with the ammo being the same, I figured either Stan would snatch it up or failing that, Ruth, so she could replace the shotgun she now carried.

  Ruth, too, had other ideas.

  “Luke, that thing is huge, and I don’t know how it works at all. Plus with that charging handle thingie on the side, what the heck were they thinking?”

  Of course, she was talking about the left side charging handle, which was different from most systems. At least, American systems. The style was right popular with European military forces for a number of years in various incarnations. Yes, I broke out one of my big words.

  Instead, Ruth opted for the Yugoslavian made Simonov SKS rifle I stripped from the backyard bandit. Bone stock with the ten round attached magazine and nicked wooden furniture, the SKS wouldn’t win any beauty contests but was a solid, reliable rifle.

  “My daddy taught me how to shoot with one of these,” she explained, “before he bought me my first deer rifle.”

  So I kept the CETME and handed Ruth a cloth bag full of spare ammo for her rifle, preloaded onto stripper clips. She thanked me with a smile that made her somewhat pinched features flash very pretty. I realized Ruth would have been considered very attractive before, but worry and short rations had taken their toll. Also, I noted she took the same care as Amy did to dress down and keep her hair covered.

  When I went back to the dead thug with the big .308 battle rifle to snag his magazine carrier chest rig, I felt a little shiver run up my spine as I saw the body armor he wore underneath. Had I not shot him in his exposed armpit, my bullet would have merely knocked him down and not killed him. Maybe not even have knocked him down, for that matter. Probably just pissed him off.

  From my reading, I knew the 38 Special round was decent, having been a staple with law enforcement for many years, but was not really what was considered a man stopper. My only experience with the caliber was second hand, since my mom used 38 Special in her 357 Magnum when she wanted to target practice with low recoil.

  I said nothing about the armor as I used a rag cut from the dead man’s undershirt to wipe down the blood from the chest rig, armor, and other gear. I would need to clean everything up later, but now I was working on short time and wanted to get us on the road. I stripped off my light jacket, put on the armor and cinched up the Velcro side straps, then wrestled the chest rig and magazine holders over the armor. I felt thirty pounds heavier but I thumped the ballistic chest plate and grinned.

  The corpse had a 1911 still holstered at his hip and I claimed the gunbelt and spare magazines, loading everything into a duffle bag destined for the covered truck bed
. That would go to Amy unless I found something better for her.

  The other two bandits also carried rifles that I took for our trouble. One, a tricked out Ruger 10/22 with synthetic stock, 2x scope and a trio of 25 round magazines, I set aside for Amy as well. This wasn’t a battle rifle but I knew she could shoot it and one of the packs she found in the truck contained nearly a thousand rounds of 22LR to be added to our ammo stock.

  I also picked up three extra pistols from the dead men since the Schecters had their own, as well as every round of ammo I found on the bodies. I was unsurprised to find that all four men had small amounts of gold and silver coins in their packs, as well as dozens of gold rings, necklaces and such. I felt bad for the rightful owners, but took everything anyway.

  The other rifle was an AK-47 style semi-automatic rifle, a WASR I think they were called, with three spare magazines and a half full magazine still in the rifle. I offered the WASR to Stan for his use and the man declined, saying he would keep the Savage or switch for his wife’s shotgun. He explained he figured he would be driving anyway. Ruth was quick to shoot that idea down.

  “Honey, how are you going to shift with your ankle the way it is? I’ll drive and you can help protect us if you’ll let Luke show you how to use that other rifle.”

  Ruth had a point and we all knew it, so Stan shrugged and I took ten minutes to run him through the basics for using the Romanian made rifle. This pattern of rifle was fairly straightforward and while not known for its accuracy at longer distance, the weapon was easy to maintain and service. Well, if we needed sniping then Stan had the Savage. I found it interesting that Ruth automatically assumed I knew how to use the weapon, and I filed the thought away for later but it did make me wonder about her parents. Maybe they were like mine.

  Finally we were ready to go. With Ruth in the driver’s seat I expected Stan to climb in beside her, but instead he went to the back bench seat and began rigging up car seat out of Sophia’s baby carrier and some bungee cord from the truck bed. In only a few minutes he had a well anchored safety cocoon for his daughter. I looked at that sweet little face and began shucking out of my chest rig and other gear, removing the body armor and draping the Kevlar around the carrier until the baby was covered on all sides.