Through the Storm(29)

“And use it on cereal.” He hoped they would be together long enough for her to grow used to it. “If any does go bad, we can still feed it to the animals, so don’t throw it out.”

Ashley set the tray on the desk with a frown.

“Thanks,” Drake said and watched her behind sway on her way out of the room. Having Ashley here was really good, but he worried about their future. Gas would run low in a couple of weeks. Food for the animals wouldn’t last the month. How long would the human food last? He didn’t know. His father had stocked the pantry and more had been stored in the survival room, but, even if only he and Ashley ate it, the food would eventually run out.

When he finished lunch, he closed the folder, grabbed the tray, and walked toward the kitchen with Gruff.

Ashley hurried around a corner and slammed into Drake.

“What’s the hurry?”

Her eyes were wide with fear. “Two men are in the backyard.”

*

Lane County, Oregon, Wednesday, September 7th

Neal tugged on Ginger’s leash, but the dog found sniffing the air and ground more compelling. Had the plane carried passengers? Is death what Ginger smelled? Images of burned and mangled bodies flashed through Neal’s mind. Trying to avoid such sights and smells, Neal pulled hard on the leash, nearly dragging the dog as he hurried in an arc around the largest portion of the smoldering plane. Then he scurried across a wide cut in the ground where the craft had apparently belly-flopped in the pasture. From there it seemed to have skidded, plowed deeper into the ground, and broken apart.

In normal times there would have been a huge police and first responder presence. No one just hiking by could have ventured this close without crossing police tape and being ordered away, but in a mere four days, the world had changed.

On the far side of the wreckage, hundreds of postal packages lay strewn across the field. A few large crates had broken open, spilling boxes of computers and televisions beside the shattered fuselage. Neal stopped and stared with the sudden realization that this had been a mail and cargo flight. The crew were probably dead somewhere in the wreckage, but at least there hadn’t been hundreds of passengers. He crept through the debris wondering how many planes had crashed on the night of the EMP. How many people had died?

Ahead, a child-like form lay motionless on the ground.

Neal feared what he would find but felt compelled to confirm what his eyes told him. He brushed away paper and packages and grinned with relief. Grabbing it by an arm, he picked up the life-size infant doll.

“Mommy.”

The voice startled him even though he knew it came from a toy.

Ginger clamped her teeth on one leg of the doll and shook it.

“Get away from that stuff!” The voice shouted from behind.

“I’m not taking anything.” Neal eased himself to a standing position and, with his arms away from his body, slowly turned to face the new threat.

Ginger dropped the doll and growled.

Ten yards away stood a wrinkled, gray-haired man with a ball cap on his head and a pistol in his hand. A few feet behind the old guy stood a woman with salt-and-pepper hair wearing faded jeans.

“The plane crashed on my land,” the old guy yelled. “This is all my stuff.”

Neal had a shotgun over his shoulder and a pistol in his vest but decided to back away. “Just passing through. Come on, Ginger, let’s go.” Keeping his arms away from his torso, he tugged on the leash and eased toward the road. Then he hurried to put some distance between them.

When he looked back and couldn’t see the wreck, he considered slowing his pace but rejected it. If he stayed out of Salem and walked all night, he might reach Portland by tomorrow morning.

I’m coming, boys. Please stay safe.

*

Kittitas County, Washington, Wednesday, September 7th

Conner returned to the highway and tried to concentrate on the hike home. He had left his little brother alone. The guilt of that beat in his brain like a mantra. He tried to focus on just the route home, but traversing that would still take days and seemed overwhelming.

The climb to Snoqualmie Pass would take more than a day, but after that the trip would be largely downhill into Seattle. He narrowed in on just that portion of the route, but even then he found his mind drifting. Where was Madison? Would she be okay? They spent less than two days together, but even after so little time her image lingered in his mind. Would he ever see her again?

She had a bike and stamina and might now be miles ahead. If he were to ever find her, he would need to catch up. He strode onward and soon reached the trailing edge of refugees from Ellensburg. Madison had worn a pastel blue and white jacket so every relatively blue coat caught his attention, but those within view were worn by elderly or infirm walkers.

Just ahead, a significantly overweight man and woman tried to keep up with several rambunctious children. On his right, a group helped a young man on crutches hobble along. Nearby, a middle-age man pushed a wheelchair that carried an old woman. Most of those nearby seemed past retirement age with gray hair. Could these people make it over the mountain and reach help? Would there be any help?

He slowed his pace and looked again at those around him. They all might be dead in the next few weeks.

“Martha, are you okay?” a panicked elderly voice called. “Talk to me.”

An old man with thin white hair slumped to the shoulder of the road, holding a woman about his age.