Through the Storm(45)

Ashley wiped her eyes. “I’ve been thinking these last few days … my parents … they aren’t coming home, are they?”

Drake squeezed her hand. Maybe they were both orphans, alone in a broken world.

*

Portland, Oregon, Saturday, September 9th

Neal awoke to Ginger growling. Rubbing his eyes, he recalled that he’d gone to find a tree near the observation post to wait for the bridge to open. He blinked at the morning sunlight. Ginger stood at the end of her rope, snarling at a sentry.

“The bridge is open. Refugees from the Washington state side say a gang war broke out last night. There seems to be a ceasefire right now, but are you sure you want to walk into that?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Neal grimaced as he stood. Walking into a battle reminded him of the park near the Lebanon Walmart. Images of dead flashed through his mind. Still, he had to go. His boys needed him. Neal gathered his gear. With Ginger trotting at his side, they jogged to the bridge.

A steady flow of people plodded from the chaos and violence of Vancouver across the bridge into the relative peace of Portland. The sentries inspected those heading south, into Portland, and all but ignored Neal and the few others heading north into Washington state.

When he reached the far side, Neal stopped and drew in a deep breath of Washington air. He estimated that maybe two days of hiking remained ahead of him, but he could almost feel the end of the journey. He would soon be home with his sons. A weight of worry lifted from him. However, before he left Vancouver, he would have a quick visit with his old navy buddy, Josh.

Neal walked several miles along a highway clear of vehicles. A few dozen men, women, and children, some in family groups, hiked along the pavement as if it were a wide sidewalk. Everyone avoided Neal, and occasional growls from Ginger reinforced his isolation. Neal liked that fine because he wanted to move fast.

In the rural areas, Neal expected quiet but, with only the rustle of the breeze in his ears as he walked along the urban highway, the silence felt unnatural, even foreboding. The dark office buildings that lined the freeway only added to the uneasiness within him.

A drizzle of rain tapped his face. Remembering the fires that burned Eugene, he thanked God he didn’t have to run ahead of flames.

After a few miles of hiking along the freeway, Neal spotted the exit to Josh’s home and hastened down the off ramp to the side streets. At the first intersection, he looked right and then left. Probably because he had always driven here, and from a different direction, distances and directions seemed longer and unfamiliar. He started down one street but decided it didn’t look right and walked the other way. Doors hung ajar, and windows were broken on many of the homes. As he passed, armed guards watched from several streets.

The drizzle increased to a light rain. Dark clouds billowed above. Neal hurried in the hope of finding Josh and a safe haven from the rain.

Minutes later, he turned left onto Josh’s street. The doors of several houses swayed back and forth in the breeze; others hung by a single hinge. Bullet holes punctured windows and walls. Some homes might have been looted, but others appeared untouched.

Plywood covered the living room window of Josh’s single-story red home. Everything else appeared normal. Had Josh put it there? Had his window been shot and broken?

“Come on, Ginger, let’s investigate.” The rain increased as Neal crossed the lawn to the front of the home. His first knock on the door caused it to creak open. “Josh? Are you okay?” he mumbled and stepped into the dark house. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he turned toward the living room.

Floorboards squeaked.

“Is that you, Josh? It’s me—”

Something slammed into the back of his head.

Stars danced across his vision.

His knees buckled.

Neal collapsed.

*

West of Cle Elum, Washington, Friday, September 9th

The air grew cool as the truck rumbled toward the pass. Refugees, most on foot, some on bikes and a few in cars and trucks, dotted the freeway. Conner pointed as an ancient school bus, packed with people and belongings, rolled east toward Cle Elum.

The temperature continued to fall and soon Conner spotted Keechelus Lake. They would soon reach the summit. He looked for a sign or something that announced the pass, but sitting in the bed of the truck, he saw only the back of road signs. However, buildings and a clear slope marked the ski resort. Soon afterward, he could tell the truck had gone over the pass and now rolled down the western slope.

Due to the rush of the wind, Conner moved close and spoke in Madison’s ear. “We’re over the summit.”

She nodded and smiled.

Conner did some quick figuring in his head. Depending upon how far they traveled by truck, he could be home in two days or less. He smiled. They might reach Madison’s home in just over a day. He stared at her face, trying to fix every bit of it in his memory.

She turned and smiled at him.

His face warmed.

She kissed him on the cheek.

Conner hugged her tight. “We need to stay warm.” He grinned. If this would be his last full day with her, he’d try to enjoy it.

After traveling several more miles Jason pulled the truck off at a wide spot in the road.

Grateful for the chance to stretch, Conner stood.

“Why are we stopping?” Madison asked.

Jason held up a thermos and cup. “Too much coffee.” He disappeared into nearby woods, while his son Tim stood next to the pickup with his shotgun.