Through the Storm(38)
“One of us will be there, but someone needs to stay and keep watch over the place. We’ve had problems with prowlers.”
“Everyone has,” Drake added.
After visiting a few more homes, they reached a corner and Pastor Wayne gestured to his left. “That way will take us back toward my house.”
Drake pointed to Ashley’s home up the road. “I’d like to stop there.”
The front door of her home had been pried open, just as they had seen at the Hamilton place. Every cabinet door and drawer remained open with seemingly random pots, pans, and cups scattered on the kitchen floor. No food of any sort remained, but that wasn’t why Drake had entered. Grasping several cloth shopping bags, he hurried upstairs.
Pastor Wayne followed at a slower pace.
Drake gathered family pictures from around the house, ending in Ashley’s room. Then he grabbed more of her clothes from the closet, a few books, and everything left on the top of her dresser and nightstand.
He still had an empty bag.
Drake opened a dresser drawer revealing bras and panties. He felt his face go from warm to burning as he scooped everything out and dropped it into the bag, which then fell over spilling pink and pastel girl clothes on the floor.
He dropped to his knees and hurried to return everything to the bag before Pastor Wayne came looking for him. Then he stuffed a hoodie on top and dashed from the room.
He found Pastor Wayne at the door of the bath. Combs, razors, and creams lay strewn on the floor.
“Was someone looking for drugs?” Drake asked.
“Probably.” Pastor Wayne frowned. “Let’s head back home.”
“Forty-two.” Drake smiled at the pastor. “That’s how many homes we visited. I counted.”
“That’s a lot of walking. My feet are tired.”
Drake relaxed a bit as they walked up the street. Most of the homes they visited were occupied and most of the people were pleasant. Yes, they were hungry and worried, but almost all of them still tried to be friendly.
Despite all that had happened in the last few days, Drake felt hopeful. He had friends and neighbors and they were planning for better times ahead. Perhaps they could get organized and solve the food and water problems.
As they walked from Ashley’s home, a rifle shot crackled through the air.
A woman screamed.
*
Portland, Oregon, Thursday, September 8th
Crouching in a shaded doorway across the road, Neal studied the four men who guarded the gate. Three held M4 rifles; one knelt by an M2 machine gun. Their uniforms appeared to be in proper order. He relaxed a bit. They might really be military.
As he continued to watch, a black sedan drove up and the nearest man rendered a proper salute while another opened the gate.
Convinced that they were real soldiers and not some militia group, Neal stood and stepped into the light. “Come on, Ginger.” His real map hadn’t shown a base in this area, and the hand-sketched one Major Franklin provided didn’t indicate the army camp extended this far, but so many things had changed in the last few days.
The dog trotted alongside as he approached the gate with his shotgun over a shoulder and hands in view.
When Neal reached the middle of the street, a sergeant stepped to the gate. “Halt.”
The other soldiers all pointed their weapons at him. “My name is Neal Evans. I met Major Franklin south of here in Lebanon. I have a message for his commanding officer.” Neal pointed to the letter extending above his shirt pocket. I should have had it in my hand. Neal slowly retrieved it and held it up.
The sergeant stepped forward.
Neal snapped his hand back. “I was told by the major to deliver it to his commanding officer, not you.” Although certain the sergeant would deliver the letter, Neal hoped to talk to the officer and perhaps get a ride home.
The sergeant frowned but nodded and retreated to an antique field telephone. Neal couldn’t hear the words, but the soldier soon returned to the gate.
“Approach with your hands where I can see them.”
Neal continued across the street.
“Remove your shotgun and any other weapons.” The sergeant stepped closer. “I’ll need to inspect your backpack.”
Ginger growled.
“Calm down, girl,” Neal said in soft tones. “It’s okay.”
“Will the dog bite?”
Neal shrugged. “She hasn’t bitten me.”
The sergeant kept his distance. “Hand me your backpack and weapon. You’ll get your gun back when you leave.”
Moments later, Neal and Ginger sat in the back seat of a jeep, zipping across the compound. It felt strange to hear the rumble of the engine around him and feel the wind on his face. The jeep turned down a gray, industrial street and stopped at a four-story office building nestled tight between two old brick-and-mortar warehouses.
A soldier stepped from the office building, “Neal Evans? I’m Lieutenant Pool. I’ll take you to General Sattler.”
“Stay.” Neal left Ginger with the driver and then followed the lieutenant into the building.
As they stepped inside, the lieutenant spoke again, “We started holding an orientation briefing for new soldiers, marines, and their families who straggle in every day. The general is in the conference room, speaking with them right now. I’ll introduce you when he’s done.”