Pilgrimage_A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Story Read online

  EVENT +95:10 Hours

  State Game Lands #206, Pennsylvania

  “Did you hear that?” Dunk was carrying his bag and Gooz’s. He stopped and turned back, gesturing toward Camp Driggers.

  “I heard it,” said Gooz. “It sounded like a gunshot.”

  “Vincent wasn’t carrying a gun,” added Bruno. “So that’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Dunk. “What do we do?”

  “We keep going,” ordered Gooz. “Nothing we can do for him right now. We gotta keep moving along this creek bed and get out of here. Once we get to the house, we recalculate.”

  “I don’t know.” Dunk shook his head, but resumed his march north toward Route 118. “If he got shot, we can’t just leave him to die.”

  “I get that,” said Gooz. “But we do him no good by getting shot too.”

  They walked in silence along the creek bed. It was dark, and they took small steps through the weeds, not wanting to trip and fall down the embankment and into the water.

  “You think he’s okay?” Dunk asked, the twin bags bouncing against his back.

  “No telling,” said Bruno. “I mean, I guess it’s good that it was only one shot, right?”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Gooz said, huffing as he slugged along. “We won’t know what happened to Vince until we get back to the house. If he doesn’t show up, something bad happened. If he does, we know he’s cool.”

  “Is that the road up ahead?” Bruno pointed with his empty hand.

  “I think so,” said Dunk, still leading the group.

  “You know,” said Gooz, his words punctuated by his difficulty breathing, “if Vince is okay, this was a good deal. I mean, he was right. It was like a gold mine.”

  “It was,” agreed Bruno. “I think I got some frozen fish and some chicken. There’s, like, cans of beans. I even got a couple of beers from the freezer.”

  “That veterinarian must be rolling in it,” added Gooz. “I mean, did you see all of that stuff? Ridiculous. Did you see the shelves full of burger patties?”

  “I grabbed some.” Bruno laughed. “And some of the buns too. I didn’t get me any ketchup, though.”

  “Or mustard,” Gooz suggested. “I gotta have mustard on a burger. The yellow kind. Not that fancy golden stuff.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Dunk stopped again. “Are you seriously joking about mustard when we don’t know if Vincent is dead? We wouldn’t have any of this if it weren’t for him. You guys are—”

  “You’re right,” Gooz cut him off. “My bad. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

  “Like I lightened your load by carrying your bag,” said Dunk. “You better hope Vince is okay.”

  “I do,” said Gooz. “Seriously.”

  ***

  Vincent heard the shot and then, almost instantly, felt a searing heat in his left shoulder. He’d just reached for the door of his truck when the bullet tore through him, burying itself near his clavicle. Despite the explosion of pain, he managed to open the door, get in the truck, and drive off. He expected more shots to follow, but they didn’t.

  Instead, he was driving, one-armed, on 4024, north toward Routes 118 and 29. There was no fast way to get back to Nanticoke and his house. He’d have to cope with the pain and the blood he felt sticking to his concert T-shirt. The burning quickly gave way to an intense ache, throbbing with each pulse. He took deep breaths and blew out the air forcefully to refocus his mind on something else, anything else.

  He glanced at the seat next to him in the truck, the bag of food he somehow tossed into the cab after getting hit. It was on top of his nine-millimeter handgun. He’d accidentally left it in the truck.

  Pressing on the accelerator, he thought back about what had just happened, how he’d escaped with his life. He hoped the guys were long gone and on their way home.

  He’d run as soon as he heard the alarm sound. He knew it was coming. In the dark, he thought he saw somebody behind a tree as he sprinted past it. But he couldn’t be sure until he heard the man yell at him to stop. Vincent looked over his shoulder. Even in the dark, he recognized the man as the owner. He knew it was the veterinarian as he turned to run faster. He almost ran into a kid and a woman too. He didn’t recognize them.

  Vincent thought he’d make it. He hopped the fence, landed on his feet, and jumped onto the pavement, closing the distance between him and the truck. He stopped for an instant at the door.

  That was my mistake.

  He knew he’d let down his guard just long enough for the owner to take aim. He heard the shot; it startled him. It didn’t register until he felt the heat and the pain.

  Vincent put his left knee on the wheel and felt the front of his left shoulder with his right hand. There was no blood, no exit wound. The bullet was still inside him, lodged somewhere in his arm or shoulder.

  Where am I going to get help?

  Vincent knew he couldn’t go to a hospital. He couldn’t risk answering questions from the doctors. And that’s if any of the nearby hospitals or clinics were even open. He didn’t know of anything that was open since the power went out.

  He was breathing harder, sweat pouring into his eyes. He blinked past the sting, keeping his eyes on the road.

  By the time he pulled into his driveway, he was nearly blind from the shock. His heart was pounding against his chest, his breathing was shallow. Vincent slammed the truck into park and grabbed the bag and the gun, not noticing the other pickup in the driveway.

  Stumbling through the door, he called for his girlfriend, “Lana!” He didn’t recognize his own voice. It sounded raspy and weak. He dropped the bag in the hallway outside of the kitchen and, using the wall to keep his balance, worked his way toward the bedroom. The gun was still in his hand.

  “Lana!” he cried. “I need your help!” Vincent was light-headed, on the verge of collapse when he leaned into the bedroom, propping himself against the door frame. He could have sworn he heard two voices whispering as he sank to the floor. He was almost certain it was a man who came at him as he collapsed onto his stomach. But it was dark. Vincent was delirious. He couldn’t be sure.

  CHAPTER 42

  EVENT +95:58 Hours

  Sweet Valley, Pennsylvania

  “Why didn’t you shoot more than once?” Kosia Driggers paced back and forth, running her hand along the granite on the kitchen island. “Why didn’t you kill him?”

  All four families were in the kitchen. The husbands leaned against the bar. The children were seated around the table, as was Leigh Rockwell, Michelle Kelly, and Denise Starling.

  “I don’t know.” Steve shook his head. “After I got him with the one shot, I just…froze.”

  “You should have killed him,” suggested Kosia. “Now he could come back.”

  “There were three other people too,” he argued. “They could come back regardless of whether or not I shot the guy.”

  “You’re sure you hit him?” asked Felix Starling. He took another swig of water from a plastic bottle.

  “Yes.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Again, Felix, I know I hit him. He grabbed at his shoulder and then used one arm to get in the truck.”

  “But it was dark,” said Felix, tipping the bottle at Steve. “You said it yourself.”

  “I know what I saw,” said Steve.

  “So what next?” asked Mike Kelly. “What do we do if they come back?”

  “The sun will be up soon,” said James. “We can assess what they took, what we can do to reinforce the security Steve already has in place.”

  “A lot of good it did,” chirped Felix.

  “Look.” Kosia leaned on the island, her glare drilling a hole into Felix Starling. “If you don’t like what we’ve got going here, Felix, you are free to find refuge elsewhere.”

  “That’s not what I—” Felix backpedaled.

  “It’s exactly what you meant.” Kosia pointed her finger. “This is my home. My home was assaulted tonight. My safety was threatened. My husba
nd fired a gun to protect us—”

  “It’s fine.” Steve moved around the island to his wife. He put his hands on her shoulders. “There’s no point to this. He’s every bit as shaken as we all are. I’m sure he’s thankful to be here.”

  “Then he needs to act like it.” Kosia looked past her husband’s shoulder at Felix and then over to his wife, Denise. “No offense, Denise, but your husband needs to keep his mouth shut.”

  “I agree,” Denise said, giving her husband a look that told the entire room he shouldn’t speak anymore.

  Felix took a nervous sip from the bottle and cleared his throat. He found a seat on a barstool and said nothing.

  “Look,” Steve said, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulder but speaking to everyone, “we’re at four days now. This is where we get testy. Our patience is tested. Our faith wavers. But we’ll be fine. Just trust we’ll weather every challenge the way we handled the initial outage.”

  “What can I do to help?” asked James. “I’m sick of lying in bed.”

  “Nothing,” said Steve. “We’ll manage with—”

  “I’m an adult,” said James. “My family is in danger too if those guys come back. I’m helping you do whatever needs doing to make this place as secure as possible.”

  “I’m buoyed by the fact they weren’t armed,” said Mike Kelly. “I would think they’re probably kids or stupid adults who just came looking for food.”

  “Good point,” said Steve, “but if they were desperate after three days, imagine what they’ll do in another week or two. And if they tell anyone else about Steve’s stash in that barn, we could face an entirely different animal.”

  That sent a shudder through the room. The men nodded. The women pursed their lips. The children looked to their parents for comfort.

  They knew, without having to be told, there would be more people coming. Others would want what they had.

  “Can we handle another kind of animal?” asked James, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  “Yes,” Kosia answered. “Without a doubt.”

  CHAPTER 43

  EVENT +96:30 Hours

  Nanticoke, Pennsylvania

  “Wake up!”

  Vincent felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder. Someone was poking at his wound.

  “Wake up!”

  Vincent opened his eyes. There was the beginning of daylight bathing the room. He was on the floor in the doorway to his bedroom. A man had his knee pressed into the small of his back.

  “Wake up!”

  “I’m awake.” Vincent coughed, his cheek buried in the carpet. He winced against another poke at his wound. “Who are you?” He cursed and tried to slap away the hand.

  “Where’d you get this, Vincent?” Reggie held up the pillowcase, letting it hover just above Vincent’s face. “You didn’t tell me about this, Lana! You didn’t tell me your man was out getting food.”

  “Who are you?” Vincent cried. “Lana? Who is this?” He opened his eyes wide, trying to find Lana.

  “Talk to me.” Reggie grabbed Vincent’s chin and yanked it. “Where did you get the food, Vincent? Tell me where you got it and I get you some help.”

  Vincent was confused and in pain. “Who are you?” he whimpered. “Tell me who you are and I tell you where I got the food.”

  “His name is Reggie.” Lana stepped into Vincent’s line of sight. “He’s a friend of mine.”

  Reggie laughed at that suggestion. “Friend? I wouldn’t quite put it that way, baby. But I’m a little upset you didn’t tell me what your boy Vincent here had working.”

  “I didn’t know,” cried Lana. “Leave him alone.”

  “I was eating bologna,” Reggie spat. “I hate that crap. But it’s all you told me there was to eat.”

  “I didn’t know, Reggie,” she pleaded. “I swear.”

  “I guess your mouth was too busy to tell me.” Reggie laughed.

  Vincent swallowed hard against the dry knot in his throat. “Great…” He closed his eyes and winced against the pain, biting into his lip.

  “Where did you get it?” The question. Again. Followed by a thumb into the wound. “Answer me, Vincent!” He pulled Vincent’s gun from the back of his waistband and pushed the barrel against Vincent’s head. “Tell me!”

  “Stop!” Lana tried to grab Reggie’s arm, but he shoved her with his elbow.

  “I’m counting to three, Vincent,” he snarled. “One…two…”

  “A place in Sweet Valley!” Vincent cried out. “A house on 4024 south of 118. Camp Driggers.”

  “Good job, Vincent.” Reggie patted him on the chest and stood up, tucking the gun in his pants. “I’m telling my people about this,” he said. “They’ll be very grateful for the information.”

  “But—” Vincent tried to talk, but it came out as an unintelligible whisper.

  “I gotta go,” said Reggie. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Aren’t you gonna help Vincent?” asked Lana. “You said you were going to help him.”

  “Right,” he said. “I’m not helping Vincent, baby. But I will be helping myself to this food. When we hit that place in Sweet Valley, I’ll bring some back for you.”

  Vincent saw the man step over him and heard his boot steps down the hallway and out of the house. Lana stepped into view and then knelt beside him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking through tears. “I didn’t mean for—”

  “I get it.” Vincent tried to wave her off with his good arm. “You were—”

  “Don’t talk,” Lana said. “Save your strength. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  “Who was he talking about?” Vincent mumbled. “Who is he telling?”

  “He’s telling—” she started, but stopped when the front door slammed open.

  “I thought better of it,” said Reggie, storming back into the house, his boot steps banging on the floor as he stomped his way toward the bedroom. “I don’t think I’ll be back.”

  “NO!” Lana screamed as she watched Reggie pull Vincent’s nine millimeter from behind his back.

  He pulled the trigger twice. “You were good,” he said to Lana as she fell back onto the floor, her head banging awkwardly against the foot of the bed she shared with two men. “But not that good.”

  Reggie dropped the gun onto Vincent’s chest and spun on a boot heel. He had ninety minutes to get to Wilkes-Barre and tell Kepler what he’d found.

  CHAPTER 44

  EVENT +97:40 Hours

  Sweet Valley, Pennsylvania

  “It’s not as bad as it could have been.” Steve stood in the barn pantry, trying to assess what was missing.

  “How’s that?” asked James. “It looks like they took half of the stuff on the bottom two shelves.”

  “They didn’t take anything off of the top shelf,” Steve explained. “Those are the long-term needs. They last forever. Everything they stole is off of the bottom shelves. They’ve got short lives.”

  “Hey, Steve,” Kosia called from outside of the pantry. “They took a lot of the meat.”

  “Again,” Steve said to James before answering his wife, “short shelf lives.” He turned and walked out of the pantry and into the open space in the middle of the barn. James followed.

  Both freezer doors were propped open while Kosia and Leigh took stock of the missing frozen inventory. The men walked up to their wives and stuck their heads inside the walk-ins.

  “It’s not as horrible as it could have been,” said Kosia to her husband. “Some chicken, some fish, burgers and buns.”

  “They took hamburger buns?” asked Steve, sounding surprised.

  “Yes,” she said. “But they left the shelled eggs and the wild game.”

  “They left the duck and the pheasant?” Steve checked the shelving. “That’s good.”

  “Why is that good,” asked James, “as opposed to the burgers?”

  “Wild game can last up to a year in the freezer,” said Steve. “The fowl we ha
ve in there is good for another six months at least. Those burgers were good for maybe a few weeks.”

  “So they didn’t know what they were doing,” said James.

  “If they had,” said Kosia, “they would have been prepared in the first place.”

  “So”—Steve rubbed his hands together—“despite some losses, we’re in good shape. We maybe lost a couple of weeks’ worth of food, a month at the outside. But we’re fine.”

  “I feel better.” Kosia sighed. “Now we have to figure out how to stop from losing any more. Have you figured out how they got by the fence?”

  “They used a battery switch,” said James. “It fooled the system into thinking the electrical current was running when it wasn’t. They bypassed it.”

  “It’s fixed,” said Steve. “Felix flipped the switch on the bypass and closed up the junction box at the entrance. The fence is on again.”

  “And the generators?” she asked.

  “All good,” said Steve. “Up and running. Gas flowing. No problems.”

  “That’s a start,” said Kosia. “Have you been to the garage yet?”

  “That’s next,” said Steve. “I’ve got Mike and Mitch Kelly in there now, organizing everything.”

  “Everything?” Kosia’s right eyebrow rose higher than her left.

  “Not everything,” he said. “I was waiting for that until I had all of the adults together.”

  “I’ll be done here in a minute,” said Kosia.

  “Meet you there.” Steve kissed his wife on the forehead and waved James to follow him out of the barn.

  James felt good, considering. The back of his leg was sore and itchy from the stitches. His chest felt tight, but he wasn’t coughing as much. And he could take a reasonably deep breath for the first time in three days.

  He slipped his hands into his pockets as he followed James across the property to the garage. It was cool for a late summer morning, evidence the autumn was fast approaching.

  “So what’s in the garage?” he asked Steve as they walked between the house and cottage?