Through the Storm(13)
About a mile down the road, Conner came upon an empty pickup truck along the shoulder of the road. The hair on the back of his neck stood as he walked around it. Fear welled within him. This was the third abandoned vehicle he’d found. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
With panic surging within him, Conner ran down the road.
Only when exhaustion forced him did he slow to a walk. He struggled to find some logical answer. Where were the people? Conner recalled a church camp years ago. A speaker had talked about the rapture, where all Christians would be taken to heaven before the great tribulation. He hadn’t been to church much since his mother died, and he never read the Bible. He hadn’t thought about God in years. Had the rapture happened and God passed him by? Was this the start of the tribulation?
As the sun neared its zenith, Conner reached the edge of a small town. He didn’t see anyone, but the smell of barbecue hung over the street like an invitation. He followed his nose along a side road into a small subdivision.
Growls from his stomach led to visions of hamburgers, hot dogs, and steaks, which prompted more grumbles. In anticipation, he continued past several middle-class homes, seeing no one.
A woman strolled from the side of a nearby house holding a large cooler.
“Hello,” Conner called. “Can you help me?”
She dropped the cooler and ran.
As he walked by the spot, Conner picked up the cooler and continued in the direction she had gone. He arrived at a small park with about thirty people of all ages, eating and playing ballgames. A covered pavilion stood at the center with four picnic tables. Several barbecues were in use on the side.
Perhaps the rapture hasn’t happened. It all would have been so typical for a Labor Day weekend except for the four men, armed with rifles, watching as Conner approached.
An unarmed man, wearing an Oregon Ducks football jersey, stepped forward and held up his hand, motioning for Conner to stop.
The rifle remained on Conner’s shoulder and he knew some would take it as a threat. He held out his arms with the cooler dangling from one hand. “I’m sorry I scared the woman. I was hunting in the mountains. My car wouldn’t start; my phone won’t work. I hiked out past several abandoned cars. Oh, and there’s an accident. People died.”
“Is anyone alive and injured there?” Ducks fan asked.
“No, all three are dead.”
“Are you alone?” The Ducks fan glanced in the direction Conner came.
“Yes.” Conner felt uneasy. “I’m not here to harm anyone.”
“No, I don’t think you are.” Ducks guy stepped forward and held out his hand. “My name is Jim. Leave your rifle with one of the guards, sit down, eat some food, and I’ll catch you up on the collapse of civilization.”
*
Rural Lewis County, Washington, Monday, September 5th
Drake awoke to a close-up view of Gruff’s nose. The dog licked his face.
“Stop it!” Drake sat up, wiped his face, and stretched. He looked about the living room and realized that he had fallen asleep on the couch. Stiff and groggy, he stood and unlatched the doggy door.
Gruff hurried outside.
Drake checked the house. The power remained out and neither his dad nor brother had returned. What’s going on? He had wanted time alone, but this had gone on too long. His dad or brother should be here.
He ate a quick bowl of cereal breakfast, using goat’s milk. Then he fed their animals and the Hamiltons’ horses.
Hot and sweating, he returned to the back porch.
Gruff nuzzled beside him.
“What should I do?” Drake patted the dog. “Where are Dad and Conner? Why is the power off?” For several moments he sat on the back steps and thought. “Come on, we’re going for a walk.”
The Evans’ farm sat near the top of a steep incline that overlooked the town of Riverbank. The hill had a name, Fremont, but he always called it “the hill.” With Gruff on a leash, he ambled along a straight stretch of road in the direction of town.
The smell of smoke hung in the air as he walked. Since summer lingered, it wouldn’t be a woodstove, and since he heard no fire trucks, it must be someone’s burn pile. He gave it no further attention and continued his hike.
In the past, Riverbank had always seemed so close, but he had been walking for nearly ten minutes and only now reached the turn for Ashley’s house. He paused and considered his options. Six homes were in view, and all seemed strangely quiet. No one else walked along the road, no cars moved, no noise at all.
“What are you doing?” A loud voice called.
*
Lane County, Oregon, Monday, September 5th
Earlier, Neal had seen others walking in the direction of Eugene and Portland, but for the last several hours, he walked alone along the country road. He shifted his backpack, moved the rifle to the other shoulder, and trudged on.
A few people worked the fields and vineyards with hand tools and wheelbarrows, but they seemed cautious, watching as he passed. Several were armed with rifles and pistols. He had no desire for a confrontation, and little desire for talk, so he pushed northward toward the Columbia River and his home beyond.
As the sun rose, heating the day, Neal looked for a shady area to stop and eat. He rounded a bend and spotted a hill topped with fir trees about a half mile ahead. On the road below sat a blue SUV.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.