Through the Storm(12)

Most of the day, others walked within sight of him, but Neal gave each a suspicious stare. Perhaps because of that, and the pistol in his hand, no one spoke to him as he trudged north.

Despite the gun, fear churned within him. Repeatedly, Neal looked right, left, and over his shoulders. Occasionally, he would turn completely around. It reminded him of the deer he often saw on the farm. They would nibble at the plants, raise their heads, and glance around. Then, nibble some more and look again. He wasn’t a deer, but he felt hunted.

Breathing fast, he fingered the trigger of his pistol. He recognized the paranoia. Beth would tell him to trust God … have faith.

There were many things to fear in this dark new world, but right now nothing threatened him. Taking a slow, deep breath, he continued along the empty street.

Hours later, Neal walked along a country road somewhere northeast of Eugene. Spotting a grove of trees with bushes and bramble on two sides, he slid in and leaned back against one of the trunks. As the sun slid below the distant horizon, he hid within and stared into the growing darkness.





Day Two

Lane County, Oregon, Monday, September 5th

Unable to rest, Neal sat on his sleeping bag, rocking back and forth with the pistol in his hand as stars drifted among auroras.

Beauty danced in the sky, but it also meant that the Earth’s magnetosphere remained crippled and more damage had been inflicted upon the electrical systems and technology.

He felt numb and cold, perhaps because of the night air.

In the hours since the CME first slammed the planet, Neal had confronted fire, thugs, and fear.

He had shot a man.

Images of people fleeing the fires and grabbing at his car in panic flashed through his mind.

What were his sons facing? How were his sons doing? Guilt welled within him and twisted his gut. He should be home, but he had failed them, just as he had failed Beth when he hadn’t protected her from the mugger. He should have been there, but he hadn’t been, and she had bled out alone on a cold, gray sidewalk.

Now the world had fallen apart, and he cowered in the bushes hundreds of miles from his family.

Cowering? Am I a coward? No, but I am afraid. He recalled an old pastor saying that worry was a symptom of a lack of faith. There were things Beth feared, such as snakes and lightning, but she didn’t worry about them or anything else. She had often whispered to him, “Let not your heart be troubled.” Beth had faith. He had … nothing really.

After Beth was murdered, he withdrew from people, even his sons. Was that because of fear … fear of more pain? He wasn’t certain but knew that fear grew within him. She would tell him to fight the fear. Thinking of Beth, sleep overtook him.

*

The sun warmed Neal’s cheek, bringing him gradually to wakefulness. He rubbed his face and eyes, and stared into a clear blue sky. His attitude brightened with the rising sun. Again, he thought of his wife. He imagined how it would be if she were with him now. She would be afraid for her boys and anxious to get home, but she wouldn’t worry about herself.

Neal ate an MRE, drank water, and prepared for a day of hiking. He pulled a map from his pack and stared at it as the gut-wrenching realization hit him. He had only a vague idea of his location.

His heart pounded.

No. Don’t panic. There will be road signs. He breathed, deep and slow. All I have to do is walk north until I reach the Columbia River. He could almost hear Beth again saying, “Let not your heart be troubled.”

The road before him veered roughly north amid farms and ranches. He didn’t think he could reach Portland with one day of walking, but he could reach Salem and then Portland the next day. He might arrive home in three days, perhaps less if he really tried.

*

Rural Chelan County, Washington, Monday, September 5th

Conner walked until fatigue forced him to stop, then he dozed among the trees near the edge of the road and watched the northern lights once again fill the sky. When he felt rested, he continued his journey. As he drew nearer to town, his phone still showed no bars, but, as the new day dawned, he knew only a few miles remained between him and civilization.

Since he had hunted and fished in the area several times, he knew of a convenience store just a few miles ahead at the junction with the state highway. From there he would be able to report the accident and call a tow truck. Buoyed by that fact, he shifted the rifle to his other arm, adjusted the straps of his pack, and hurried onward.

The cool of morning lingered as he neared the junction and dashed across the road. Only when he reached the far side did it occur to him that no vehicles traveled along the highway, no cars were parked in front of the store, and none stood beside the gas pumps. Quickly he crossed the lot and grabbed the door handle. It clanked and barely moved.

Locked? Conner yanked on the other door with the same result. The sign said they opened at six in the morning during the summer. He didn’t need a watch to tell him it was later than that. Leaning close, he peered into the dark store. Everything looked neat and normal. He banged on the window, but no one came.

Seeing a nearby spigot, he thought to top off his water bottles, but a turn of the valve brought only gurgles. Mumbling curses, he walked around the building, searching for some sort of answer but found none.

Moments later, he stood on the gravel edge of the highway and stared in the direction of the nearest town. He drank water from a bottle in his pack and sighed. He would need to hike a few more hours.