From Near Extinction Page 2

  Screams in the distance pierced the night-time quiet. A woman’s screams.

  Leroy blinked his eyes open to find the interior of his tent still pitch black. He raised his left arm and glanced at the dull green glow of the hands on his watch. Two-thirty. Unsure of whether he had been dreaming, he remained flat on his back and listened. He heard a pop from the fire’s dying embers. The stridulating chirp of a male cricket started up, and then just as suddenly went silent. Something scrambled through the dry scrub-grass near his tent. Probably a lizard. A woman screamed. Though in the distance, it still drowned out all the other night sounds.

  Leroy unzipped the section of tent mesh near his head and the corresponding section of the rain fly. Still dressed in multicams and Garmont tactical boots, he slid his one hundred and seventy pound, five-foot ten inch frame through the opening, dragging his backpack. He sat the pack on the ground and then reached back into the tent. His hand came out with his Glock 17 pistol, secured in a Kydex holster. He slid the holster’s quick clip inside his waistband, slipped his arms inside the pack straps, and slung the pack to his back as he stood up straight. With another series of screams, he turned his head to the north, toward Interstate 40. He stepped off in that direction along the streambed.

  Stars and the moon provided enough light as Leroy traversed the sand, rocks, and dry vegetation in stealth mode. He stepped fast and kept low, making sure to never silhouette against the lighter sky. Moving quickly, but pausing frequently, it took fifteen minutes to cover the distance to the highway. He heard screams twice more along the way. He went prone against a mound of sand, only forty yards from the highway, and carefully raised his eyes above the crest.

  Headlights from a car illuminated the median and the scene. Five men and a woman. One of the men had the completely nude woman bent over the hood, raping her from behind. The man’s pants gathered at his ankles. As flesh slapped against flesh, the woman pressed her face into the hood and winced with each thrust. Two of the men cajoled the rapist to hurry up. Apparently they were waiting their turn. The fourth man watched quietly, the corners of his mouth were turned up in a smirk. Leroy figured he had already finished his turn. And the fifth man, the largest of the five men, stood back from the others. He held the arms of two children, a boy and a girl. Both appeared to be under ten years of age. Both were crying.

  Twenty yards or so behind the car, Leroy spotted what appeared to be a sixth man. He was face-down on the pavement, lifeless. It appeared the five men had come across an entire family, or vice versa. It was unclear whether the car belonged to the family or the five men. Didn’t really matter. Leroy also thought it odd that an entire family had survived the epidemic. How did they do that? Where did they live? Leroy wagged his head back and forth. The hows and wheres didn’t matter either at this point.

  Leroy’s scrutiny turned back to the five live men. Three wore sidearms. Leroy had no doubt that all five had access to weapons, including rifles, most likely.

  The visuals of the family being accosted were actually mild compared to other things Leroy had seen over the prior two years, but just the same, murder and rape were still wrong.

  Leroy contemplated his next move. In his mind’s imagination, he saw himself scramble over the fence that lined the highway. He ran directly across the pavement, gun drawn. Then what? Any gunfire would likely result in a couple of dead men, maybe three. But the woman and the kids were just as likely to get hit. The remaining men would likely get some rounds off. With no cover, Leroy would be a sitting duck. A dead duck. Tactically, it was a bad move.

  He then saw himself circling around to the opposite side of the group, and approaching from the north. But then he imagined the crack of a limb under his boot, or the scuffling of a rock. Either was likely and would alert the men. Plus, moving around and in from the north would take time. It was no better than approaching from the south. Worse, really.

  Leroy ran through various scenarios, but each time he saw himself dead or wounded. One man with a pistol, against five armed men in the open, amounted to a lousy chance of success, unless suicide was the goal.

  The family being caught in the open was exactly why Leroy opted to travel parallel to, but well off, the highway. He glanced at the car. After two years of no production, gasoline capable of running an internal combustion engine was a precious commodity. Leroy estimated they were sixty miles outside of Amarillo, in the middle of nowhere. Either the five men were traveling somewhere, or the family was. Where and why, again, didn’t really matter, so Leroy didn’t dwell further on the possibilities.

  Leroy had survived the last two years by staying low and not getting involved, no matter how incensed he might have gotten over the depths to which humanity had sunk. The United States, the world probably, had devolved to a time before civilization. Without the means or inclination to enforce rules and laws, man had reverted to his darker nature. Some men; not all. Leroy watched what amounted to another example of just that.

  Leroy reconciled himself to the fact that he couldn’t help these people. The odds were too much against him. He would simply end up dead if he tried. Leroy had survived the last two years by avoiding stupid, like traveling down the middle of a highway in the open, in the midst of an apocalypse, with still too many unrestrained men and women with guns.

  Snickering grunts, the woman’s pathetic groans, and the children’s whimpering continued from the median as Leroy back-crawled into the streambed. He got to his feet and stepped off toward his camp. Twenty minutes later, as he stopped next to his tent and dropped his backpack to the ground, he heard three gunshots. Leroy turned toward the highway and then shook his head as he dropped his chin. A couple of minutes later he heard the roar of an engine and saw the light from the headlights move east. As the sound of the car’s engine melted into the night, the staccato chirping of a lone cricket started up. Leroy slid back into his tent.

  CHAPTER 3

  Leroy couldn’t help but feel some guilt as he stared down at the man, woman, and two kids in the early morning light. The man and woman were in their late thirties, ten years younger than Leroy. Based on their clothes, they had likely been members of the upper middle class, with good jobs and a nice home before the sickness. A family. But that was then. Now, they lay in the sand alongside a desolate highway, each with a single bullet hole in their head. Leroy rubbed the stubble along his jaw and chin, shook his head, and tightened his lips. He closed his eyes and hoped they could now find peace. At least they were together.

  Leroy took a deep breath as he looked up and scanned the horizons. Seeing nothing moving, he slid his pack off and dropped it to the ground. Remaining in the open for too long was a risk. But it was a risk Leroy felt compelled to take. It was the least he could do. He removed the small camp shovel from the pack and stepped a few feet farther into the median, where the sand was softer. He started digging.

  An hour later he stared at the four mounds of darker soil. He stood for a moment in silence. He then strapped the shovel to his pack, slung the pack over his shoulders, and stepped off to the south with one final glance at the graves. He crossed the fence and marched through the calf-high scrub-grass until he was about a mile off the highway. He adjusted his hat, shifted his pack until it felt more comfortable, and then headed off toward the sun.

  He stepped carefully, mindful of where he placed each foot. Rattlesnakes were common in the area and they blended with the brown grass. The last thing he needed was a snake bite, so he kept his eyes peeled.

  He had only a general idea of where he was headed. East. Months earlier, before he left California, he heard rumors of a movement back east to reestablish some form of government. Leroy didn’t know who, what, or where, but if the rumors were true, at least someone was trying. He was sure the military, or what was left of the military, would be playing a part. Leroy thought he could help. Since his only goal was to survive, he thought he might as well move east while he did it.

  Leroy wasn’t the only one headed in th
at direction. He had seen all manner of transport along the highway. Mostly people walking. Lots of walkers, just like Leroy. Some pulled wagons, but most just carried their belongings. Men, women, and children. He had also seen the occasional bicycle, decked out with the usual totes and bags of a trekker. He had even seen a horse or two. Rarely, like the night before, he saw a car or truck. Word of something happening back east had gotten around. People were migrating, looking for a better life. Unfortunately, many would be culled by the harsh environment, or the nature of bad men that seemed to exist everywhere. Leroy thought of the four graves he had just dug. There would likely be more.

  As Leroy stepped to the crest of a small hill, he paused and peered north, through the shimmering bands of heat rising off the land and the concrete highway in the distance. He made sure to check his distance from the highway from time to time, to make sure he didn’t wander too far south. Without a point of reference as he traveled, it would be easy to get lost in the wide open landscape, where each hill looked like the last.

  The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he thought of how ironic it was that he would be migrating, along with other people, east along this section of Interstate 40. It was along this very route that people migrated west to escape the dust bowl of the nineteen thirties. This was their primary route. Back then it was only two lanes, but it had an iconic name. Route 66. It stretched from Chicago to Santa Monica. The 1960s television show with the same name came out a full ten years before Leroy was even born, but he knew of the show. He had even watched an episode or two on Youtube. Leroy closed his eyes and bobbed his chin in beat with the show’s theme song.

  Suddenly he opened his eyes, removed his hat, and glanced up at the sun. Heat must be getting to me. He smoothed his hair with one hand and replaced the hat. He looked off to the east and started walking.

  As he walked, his mind drifted. He found himself ticking off the food left in his backpack, and how many days he could continue before he would be forced to replenish. He had several cans of beans, a couple of cans of chili, one tin of tuna, and two cans of peaches. He also had some beef jerky and beef sticks left. He could travel several more days before he would have to start looking. Water was the bigger problem. In this parched section of the country, sources of open water were few and far between. Luckily, his army survival training had taught him how to find water, if there was any to be found. So far, he had found enough.

  Leroy paused at the top of a sand hill and scanned his surroundings as he lifted the water bottle from its satchel. He held the bottle up and contemplated the contents and his level of dehydration. Only a quarter was left. He twisted the cap off and drained the contents into his mouth. He replaced the empty bottle as he continued walking.

  He was daydreaming about swimming in his California home’s pool when the rattle penetrated his consciousness. The sound of a grass hopper or cricket was similar, but the rattle of a diamondback’s tail was distinct. It was the latter that immediately brought his mind back to the here and now, and his gait to an abrupt halt. The rattling droned on but less intense, which meant that Leroy’s stop had an effect on the snake. He was close. Somewhere off to the right. As the rattling ceased all together, Leroy checked every patch of brown grass within ten feet. He saw nothing, until his eyes caught the slight movement of the snake’s head. He was eight feet ahead, slightly off the right side of the small animal trail Leroy had been following. If Leroy had kept walking, he would surely have been struck.

  Based on the circumference of the snake’s curled body, he was big. He looked mean, with his head lifted off the ground and his dark, piercing eyes watching Leroy’s every move. The brownish diamond patterns along his body matched the surrounding grass perfectly. This was his terrain.

  Normally Leroy would simply bypass the creature, but in this instance, the snake represented a food source. It offered considerable protein to Leroy’s mostly bean diet. Since he didn’t want to waste a bullet, and didn’t want to alert anyone within miles to his location, Leroy reached across his body with his right hand and wrapped his fingers around the handle of his Bark River Golok in its sheath just behind the water satchel. Much longer than a knife, but considerably shorter than a machete, Leroy wasn’t sure the twelve inch blade was the right tool. The snake could strike a lot farther than twelve inches. He thought of the shovel strapped to his pack, but folded out, the shovel was only an inch or two longer than the Golok. He needed a long stick.

  Leroy glanced around at the treeless surroundings, devoid of anything longer or thicker than a twig. If Leroy hadn’t needed a branch, he was sure he’d be tripping over them. Since he needed a branch, there were none to be found.

  While Leroy continued to think, the snake started up his rattling again and raised his head higher. More ominous. He obviously wanted Leroy to move on.

  The next best thing to a long stick was a large rock. Leroy scanned the ground and saw plenty of pebbles, but no large rocks.

  He then gazed at the snake. “This is your lucky day, my friend,” he said, as he removed his hat, scratched his head, and then replaced the hat. He stepped off in a direction that gave the snake a wide berth. He kept his eyes glued to the ground while he thought about how well the snake blended with the grass. He also gave some thought to walking on the highway where snakes would be much easier to spot. He finally decided he was just being paranoid. Remaining off the highway was tactically the better option.

  Despite his growing fatigue, his mind remained ever vigilant as he jerked his head back and forth along the animal trail. It took some time to shake the feeling that snakes lurked in every patch of grass just waiting for Leroy to get closer, but finally his mind relaxed and he thought of other things as he walked.

  A few miles farther on, Leroy came to what looked like an abandoned farm. Walking a mile or so off the highway, Leroy often came upon farms and ranches. For the most part he avoided both, even if obviously abandoned. It was always possible someone could be lurking with a rifle and an itchy trigger finger.

  The fields, arranged in large circles making them easier to water, were obvious in the dirt, despite their lack of greenery. The sprinkler system pipes, raised above the fields, looked as though they hadn’t been used in years. This particular property looked more abandoned than most, so Leroy decided to walk through, rather than around.

  Each strike of a boot against the baked dirt field brought a cloud of dust that swirled around his pants legs as he pressed on toward a structure in the far distance. While most farmers didn’t actually live at their fields, there was always a shed for storing tools and to house the pump for the irrigation system. Leroy was sure that such a shed was what he saw in the distance.

  The sun, shining from over his right shoulder, lit the white building in stark contrast to the dark ground. The open door swung side-to-side in the light breeze. Off to the right a few yards was a round, metal trough about twice the diameter of a child’s blow-up swimming pool and three times deeper. Some rain did pass through several days earlier and it was possible water had accumulated in the trough faster than it could evaporate.

  Leroy checked the shed first. He stuck his head in the open doorway and waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the relative darkness inside. He didn’t want to just blunder inside. The shed provided one of the few spots for miles around where animals and snakes could get out of the sun. The little shed, built over a concrete slab, was empty, except for an old full-sized shovel, an axe, and a plastic bucket. He could have used the shovel during his altercation with the snake.

  He walked the few feet to the trough and was surprised to find it half-full of standing water. Clear water. It wouldn’t be safe to drink directly, probably brimmed with bacteria, but it would be fine for his water filter.

  He looked over his shoulder at the sun, still well above the horizon, and decided he had walked enough for the day.

  He returned to the shed, slung his pack off his shoulders, and lowered it to the dusty concrete f
loor. He looked around the grounds until he spotted a couple of old boards lying in the dirt. He could break those up for firewood. Tonight he would have a cooked meal.

  He thought about using the trough to wash his clothes and himself. Neither had been washed in weeks. But then he thought about the growing reports of flesh-eating bacteria he had heard about before the sickness. Such reports drove Leroy to avoid all bodies of water. Most cases occurred in warmer climates, like Florida. And it seemed that particular bacteria lived mostly in brackish waters. People with compromised immune systems were most at risk. Another result of poor diets and the overuse of antibiotics. Leroy stared at the half-filled trough of water. He wasn’t standing in Florida and the trough water wasn’t brackish. Plus, exposing water to intense sunlight was one way to purify against bacteria. The sunlight had certainly been intense lately. Leroy decided to take the chance.

  From his pack, Leroy retrieved the water filter, pot, and the nearly empty two-liter water bottle. At the trough, he assembled the filter, placed one tube in the trough, the other in the water bottle, and pumped. He found that it took much longer to filter the water, probably because the ceramic filter inside was clogged from the sandy water he’d filtered the day before. To work at its best, the filter needed to be cleaned often. He filled both water bottles to the brim and then filled the cooking pot. He drank his fill during the process.

  He then disassembled the filter and used the water from the pot to clean the ceramic cylinder inside. The kit included its own scrub pad. Once cleaned, he let the cylinder dry before reassembling the filter.

  Next, he obtained the bucket from the shed, a bar of soap from his pack, and the one extra set of multicams, along with underwear and socks. He carried everything to the trough, stripped off the clothing he was wearing, and proceeded to wash everything, one article at a time, in the bucket. Once cleaned and rinsed, he draped the clothing over the edge of the trough to dry.