Through the Storm(18)
“Hi!” Drake smiled. “I just thought I’d check on you.”
“Thanks.” Ashley unlatched the chain and opened the door but didn’t invite him in.
“Are you okay?” Worried, Drake stepped closer. “Are your parents here?”
“No, not yet.” She wiped her face with a hand. “What about your father and brother?”
Drake shook his head. “Why don’t you come to my place? We’d be safer together.”
“No, I need to wait here for my parents.”
“They know where I live. Leave them a note.”
She shook her head. “They’ll be here soon.”
“They may never come,” he blurted.
Ashley slapped him.
*
Linn County, Oregon, Monday, September 5th
Using road signs, Neal continued his northward hike to Portland accompanied by Ginger. After several attempts to start abandoned cars, he gave up and concentrated on hiking. Using his self-winding watch and milepost signs, he estimated his speed at three miles per hour. That seemed an agonizingly slow pace even without thinking of his boys at home alone.
Together, Neal and Ginger hiked to the small town of Sweet Home, which seemed unharmed by recent events, but no cars moved along the streets, and many people walked in the roads. This didn’t please Ginger. She growled at anyone who strolled nearby.
“Calm down, girl.” But after a few more growls, Neal pulled paracord from his backpack and used it as a leash.
For several hours they hiked northwest, following the rural highway. As the sun slid below the trees, they reached the outskirts of Lebanon. Smoke hung in the air, and Neal had little desire to be in a larger town after dark, especially with a stolen shotgun over one shoulder. Perhaps such worries were a bit crazy, but it was a level of paranoia that Neal felt comfortable with.
Ginger led him to a lake where she drank while he filtered water into his bottles. Then they continued on and he soon discovered the source of the smoke. Several cars smoldered in a Walmart parking lot. A crowd swarmed near the doors like angry wasps.
Cautious, Neal approached, using distance and the vehicles in the parking lot to remain hidden as much as possible.
Ginger growled.
Neal knew he should stay away, but the looters were like some horrid accident repulsing yet drawing him in at the same time. When he stood as close as he dared, still many yards from the crowd, he stopped and watched.
Shattered glass doors left shards on the pavement. Looters were inside the store and more rushed in. Those who ran out carried mostly clothes and food. Neal grinned at the sight of a young man, about Conner’s age, leaving with a game system. The system might already be burned out from the CME, but even if not, it would be a long time before he could use it.
As the young man jogged across the parking lot, the looters at the Walmart door started punching, shoving, scratching, and screaming. The chaos swirled away from the entrance. Several women skittered past Neal in their haste to flee.
Neal tugged on the paracord leash. “Come on, Ginger, let’s get out of here.” He jogged away from the Walmart in the general direction the women had gone, across a wide highway of abandoned cars to a grassy area beyond.
Tents and sleeping bags were scattered in the open space. Small groups of people clustered around cooking fires. Neal thought about joining them but decided to move a hundred yards away to a line of trees and bushes. In the last few days, humans had caused him more trouble than he cared to think about. Seclusion seemed his best option. Near a cluster of large fir trees, Neal tied Ginger’s leash to a small pine and spread his tarp and sleeping bag.
As he dug through his backpack for the dog food, eight men swaggered into the meadow.
Everyone seemed to turn and stare at the new arrivals in dark leather jackets. Campers near the approaching group stepped back out of the way.
“Who has food for my friends and me?” The lead man, arms covered with tattoos, bellowed.
Ginger’s hackles rose and she growled.
Neal pulled her close and whispered, “Quiet, girl.” He tapped a hand against the pistol in his jacket and edged backward into the shadows.
From his dark vantage point slightly above the meadow, Neal watched the eight thugs march toward one of the campfires. One had a shotgun, another had a pistol. They pushed, shoved and badmouthed anyone in their way.
Ginger gave a low, menacing growl.
“We don’t want a fight,” Neal whispered. “If all they do is take some food and leave, that’ll be okay.”
When the thugs had stolen enough food, they gathered around a now deserted campfire to eat. Most of the refugees left; the few who remained stayed well away.
During the next hour, nightfall overtook everything. The campfires burned low and silence settled in the meadow. Neal remained hidden in the trees, confident he had remained unseen and thankful for the quiet. Ginger fell asleep, and eventually, Neal did also.
Sometime during the night, gunfire erupted.
*
Chelan County, Washington, Monday, September 5th
Conner hit the ground with a thud and someone fell on top of him. He wanted to stay low but not with his face in the dirt. “Get off.”
“Sorry,” a woman said. “I got pushed.”
Three police officers ran past with guns ready.
In the dimming light, Conner grabbed what he thought was his bicycle and stood.