SurviRal (8 page)

“Did you catch any of the news while you were packing?” Harold asked.

“No, too busy. Hey, that’s a shotgun. You said small arms only, plus one good rifle.”

“This might be useful.” Harold closed the gun case and stowed it away, along with a tackle-box size case of shells.

“Maybe you’re right. Lots of quail in the Springfield area. Good thinking bringing all that birdshot.”

“Half of those are slugs.” He closed the rear hatch.

“Oh. Bear protection, huh? Well, there’s big bucks and even an occasional elk down there, too.”

Harold raised one eyebrow and gave Clint a look that made him feel stupid for some reason.

“Right,” Harold said. “Are we ready?”

Clint turned around. Jenny was now in the street jingling her set of house keys. She kept stopping and looking back. Finally she came over and unceremoniously climbed in the Subaru, into the only rear seat still available. Clint took the front passenger seat.

Harold drove them out of the townhome complex towards the nearest I-25 onramp. Harold was right—the streets of Denver were fast becoming something right out of an apocalyptic movie. Clint regretted letting Jenny go out alone earlier, and was suddenly glad to be leaving. The more he saw, the gladder he became.

“According to the news, there still hasn’t been any outbreak in any of the Great Plains states,” Jenny said from the back seat. “But Chicago is getting bad. They’re relatively close to us, and they just passed ten thousand deaths. They’re worried they’ll be like the big cities on the east and west coasts in a matter of days.”

“All the plains states are quarantined,” Harold said as he maneuvered around two abandoned cars on the highway onramp. “It’s hard to cross state lines now, and extremely difficult to get into the Great Plains. Not impossible, but difficult. Thank God we don’t have to. Reminds me of the plague in the middle ages.”

Clint reached back and grabbed ahold of Jenny’s hand. “You know what the worst part about all this is?” he said.

“Not knowing if our house will be safe?”

“No. Having to admit to Jake he was right.”

Chapter Six

Congressman Wade Bennett held the .22 rifle to his shoulder and took careful aim. It wasn’t much of a gun to protect your house from robbers with, but Wade was a good shot. He took his time, knowing a well-placed slug would bring an end to this particular thief’s stealing days.

The thief seemed to sense something. He moved. Damn. Stay with it. No need to lose your cool.

The thief froze in place again, long enough to seal his fate. Wade squeezed the trigger. The loud pop echoed from his side yard and the thief fell stiff.

“That’s an unlawful discharge, Congressman.”

Wade looked up to see his only close neighbor leaning over the fence that separated their properties. His bushy hair was unkempt, as usual.

“That’s why I live in West Springs, Charles. You planning on reporting me?”

“Nah. Glad to see you get him. Pretty sure he’s the one been breaking into my shed and stealing Sheila’s food.”

A dog barked in the background.

“Sounds like Sheila agrees,” Charles said. “You gonna leave him there for the crows?”

“Why? You want him?”

“Think so. Think I’ll skin him. Way things are going, pelts might become valuable currency again.”

“I’ll get him for you.” Wade walked the fence line, picked the dead raccoon up by the tail, and brought it back to his neighbor.

“Thanks. Say, shouldn’t you have better things to be doing then shooting varmints? Like saving the dang world or something?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Wade rested the gun barrel on his shoulder. He then noticed Charles staring at the microbrewery logo on his T-shirt.

“This is official office wear now. Your country’s legislators have taken to working in their pajamas. Oh sure, from the shoulders up we all look professional. Can’t tell if anyone has a stitch of clothing on below that. Heard a damned cat meow on yesterday’s session. Me, I cut the top part of an old sports jacket off and drape it over my shoulders. Duct-taped a shirt collar to it with half a tie hanging from it, just for fun.”

“How’s that going?” Charles asked.

“Full of technical difficulties, as I expected.”

“What’s the problem? Connection issues?”

“Yeah. Too many of us. All our pictures are in little squares across the bottom of the screen, arranged by state. You have to keep scrolling if you want to see everyone. Poor New Yorkers have lost half of theirs, and not having luck appointing replacements. Maybe they’ll get a few more by the time we reconvene.”

“So you’re off for a few days, then?”

“Yes, Charles. While the geeks try to fix the system better. A blessing for me. Now I can go check on my special project.”

“Not the dope fields.”

“Yep. Those Black Forest boys are raring to fire up the operation, if you’ll pardon the pun. My committee was all set to tack it on to a railway measure, of all things. Then the apocalypse started. Ruined all their plans. They’re still riding me pretty hard on it, so I need to visit them.”

“Hearing you talk like this makes me glad I didn’t vote for you last time.”

“I could have used that vote.”

“Well, it was only out of neighborly spite, you understand.” Charles spit—in his own yard, thankfully—before continuing. “Forget why you pissed me off. Probably shooting. It was such a landslide the first time, I figured it wouldn’t do no harm. Had I known the last one was going to be so close...”

 “Surprised me, too.” Wade shook his head. “That’s why I need to get in bed with a powerful special interest group. And these pot farming folks are suddenly wielding a pretty big crowbar. Lots of money in it.”

“How are they going to grow dope in all them pines?”

“Believe me, they have it all sorted. Land plots have been cleared, tilled, and fenced off. They’re set to go. They think they can produce as high a quality product as the warehouses, with twice the yield per acre. It’s a good location if you think about it, surrounded by trees. And the air force cadets can guard it for them. Got it all worked out with the academy. Now I just need to find a good bill to slip it in on, if we can only get past our current obstacles and resume business.”

“How long you gonna be gone for?”

“Not long. I have to be back for the new President’s airdrop program. Gotta deliver a blasted speech and sing his praises. I’m supposed to make people who are now dependent on begging food from the government be proud Americans again.”

“I do wish you luck with that.”

“Thanks, Charles.”

* * *

“Are we sure this car is going to make it?” Jenny asked.

Clint cringed. He knew Harold was proud of his wagon, and expected him to be insulted.

But he only laughed. “This is probably the most reliable vehicle on the highway, Jenny.”

“That’s not saying much right now,” Jenny said as they passed another tow truck on I-25. Those were out in force, having a field day removing abandoned vehicles. Clint supposed all these cars must have all ran out of gas. He was amazed at the number of tow truck drivers out working. Perhaps there wouldn’t be any trouble with the roads remaining clear.

Harold patted his dashboard. “She may be twenty years old, but there’s less than 100,000 miles on her. I take good care of my things. And there’s no better car for Colorado winters.”

“We’ll be coming back long before winter, won’t we?” Jenny asked. She looked at Clint.

“We all hope so, honey. Hmm. Flashing lights ahead. More tow trucks?”

“Looks like state troopers,” Harold said.

That’s what they were all right. Three of them had their lights on and went racing by on the northbound side of the highway. A short while later, two more did the same.

“Wonder where they’re all going,” Jenny said.

Harold pointed his thumb backwards. “Must be something urgent to attend around Denver. Could be our exit was just in time to avoid whatever problems are brewing there.”

“I don’t know.” Jenny sounded nervous. “If all the police are headed back that way, who’s going to keep the roads safe where we’re headed?”

Clint chuckled. “The roads seem fine, honey. And there’ll be more troopers around Colorado Springs. We’re making pretty good time.” He tried to use a confident tone of voice, though he realized Jenny brought up a valid concern.

They passed three hitchhikers. Twenty-somethings, two of them female. One was on her knees with her hands folded, as if she were begging. Clint made an exaggerated shrugging motion as they passed. Hopefully, they would see there was simply no room in the car.

A short ways later, they hit traffic and slowed. Soon it was stop-and-go.

“What could be causing this?” Clint asked. “We’re practically parked. You think there’s road construction?”

“I don’t know,” Harold said. “Seems unlikely.”

Jenny squirmed in her seat. “I don’t like it.”

“Hmm.” Harold scratched his beard. “We could go back to Castle Rock and take the 86 over to Highway 83. It’s only five or six miles back. That’s a much smaller road, though, and goes through rural areas. Usually less traffic. Only…”

“Only what?” Clint asked.

“Has Jenny ever fired a pistol?”

“That’s a hell of a thing to ask, Harold. You know she’s already nervous. You’re the one who talked us into making this trip. If you’re going to start scaremongering, or talking like my brother, we’d just as soon turn around and go home.”

“Let’s stay on the interstate,” Jenny said. There was determination in her voice now rather than fear. “And for your information, Harold, I’m a pretty good shot with the thirty-eight special my wonderful loving husband bought me.”

“Did you bring it?” Harold asked.

Clint laughed. “Man, you’ve got to be kidding. With all the guns you probably smuggled aboard? Of course not.”

“That’s okay. You’re right, Clint. I brought a couple pistols. A nine and a forty-five. The nine will be good for her.”

“Please stop it, Harold.”

Several tow trucks with cars hitched passed them on the shoulder. The landscape in this area was mostly gravel and rock, being as they were currently up in a pass. The highway would shortly descend to the Bear Dance golf course area, right before the small town of Larkspur. But the passage narrowed here. A side-road and the railway tracks ran alongside the highway to their right.

The two lanes of southbound traffic continued to move agonizingly slow. It did seem like some kind of construction must be happening, as they advanced only one car length each time they went forward. After a while, they could see three men standing ahead directing traffic. They were burly, tough-looking guys.

That’s when Clint noticed all the tow trucks stopped on both sides of the road, most of them hooked to cars. They, too, appeared to be stacked up waiting for the road to reopen. The center median and shoulder of the highway were now completely blocked by them. The two lines of southbound cars were trapped, closed-in by the tow trucks. Nothing to do now but wait it out, and keep moving ahead when they could.

The highway men came up to the driver’s window of each car and briefly talked to drivers before directing them into either the left or right lane going forward.

“There’s a wire fence separating these two lanes ahead,” Clint said.

“Huh?” Harold squinted. “Yeah, you’re right. Looks temporary, standing on the lane marker. Wonder what that’s about.”

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough. Think we’re only five cars back now.”

Harold was in the left lane. The three of them watched as the driver at the head of the line in the right lane finished talking with the man on the road. He was directed into the left lane ahead.

“The left lane’s moving,” Clint said. “The right one isn’t. Sure hope we don’t get funneled into that one.”

“Oh my gosh, they’re taking bribes,” Jenny blurted.

“What’s that?” Clint turned around.

“I saw the person in the car up front hand the man something. It looked like cash. They were then put in the left lane.”

Clint laughed. “I’m sure you’re imagining things, honey.”

“I don’t know,” Harold said. “Now that she mentions it, I think I saw that driver hand him something, too. I can see the lead car in our lane now from my side. It looks like the driver is arguing with the construction guy.”

They watched as the lead car in the left lane was then directed to the right lane, between the fence and the right shoulder, where cars were hardly moving at all.

“There must be a normal explanation for this,” Clint said.

They moved up, and were now only two cars from the front. The men talking to the drivers weren’t wearing hardhats or orange vests as construction workers usually do. They would bend down, talk to the driver through the window, and then direct the car into one of the two lanes—either the one that was moving on the left side of the fence, or the one on the right that wasn’t. And that one wasn’t moving at all. People were now outside of their cars on the right side, some talking to each other and others who seemed angry, shouting and throwing their hands in the air.