Kyle Pratt - Through Many Fires

Maria sat on the porch swing with Adam, as Caden drove up to the guest house in a dark blue SUV. When he stepped from the car she said, “I wondered how we would get to Hansen.”

“The guys at the motor pool told me they have several dozen abandoned cars that were towed in. Some still had keys inside.” He leaned against it. “This was one of them.”

“And they just gave it to you?”

“Loaned.”

He picked up the bags beside Maria and they walked to the car.

“Getting a vehicle was not the problem, finding enough gas to fill the tank took me over an hour.”

“Is that enough gas to get us to your home?”

“Yes and hopefully we can get more after we get there.”

Caden retrieved their bags from the room and loaded them in the back of the car. Then, with Maria in the passenger seat and Adam on her lap, he drove to a parking lot near the old capitol. Several Humvees and Fuelers, a couple of APCs and a Stryker vehicle, filled the lot. “We’re heading south on the interstate with this convoy.”

As the line of vehicles moved out Maria asked, “Are they going to Hansen?”

“No, they’re heading farther south to refugee camps outside of Longview and Vancouver. We’ll have to leave before then and do the last part of the trip on our own.” Caden drove over and joined the convoy near the rear.

As they rolled onto the freeway Maria clutched Adam tight in her arms. “We should get a car seat.”

Caden chuckled. I may not be married or have a kid, but I’m going to look like it. “I’ll put it on the list of things we need.”

The slow progress of the convoy allowed Caden to observe much of the scene along the freeway. Boarded and burnt buildings, broken windows and yards strewn with trash were the mute reminders of the desperate exodus from Seattle and Tacoma just days ago. Humvees parked on many of the overpasses kept order on a largely empty freeway.

“I’ve often driven this route with my parents and when I was in college.” On his right a long line of rail cars covered with graffiti came into view. “It sure looks different now.”

Gradually the buildings gave way to forest. The wider shoulder and gradual slope allowed abandoned cars to be pushed off to the side. How many wrecked and burned cars have I seen today? As they drove by he counted a group of eight vehicles. Have we driven past a hundred? The convoy paused as soldiers pushed a burned truck out of the way. More than a hundred. How many people fled down this highway after the Seattle bomb? He recalled fleeing from Washington D.C. and then away from Atlanta. He remembered the body of Adam’s mother and finding the baby. So many people dead.

He recognized a home in a field along the freeway and pointed it out to Maria. “An old school friend lived there.” As they came close he saw the windows were broken, burn marks scared the walls and the front door hung haphazardly in the frame. Behind the home, a greenhouse stood with its door swinging in the wind.

I hope the family is okay…and my family. God, please let them be okay.

After nearly an hour the convoy rolled off the freeway and into the large parking lot of a truck stop. Children swarmed around the vehicles like bees around a hive. Adults from the tents walked toward the convoy as soldiers took up positions along it.

Fragments of plywood were scattered around the broken windows of the convenience store. Extension cords hung out the shattered windows and ran to several nearby RV’s.

Along the edges of the parking lot, cars of all descriptions sat randomly. Tents lined the grassy edges of the lot.

A group of children hovered around the SUV staring in the windows. Caden gently opened the door and stepped out.

“I’m hungry.” “Do you have food?” “Who are you?” “Are you in the Army?” “My Mom is sick—can you help?” “My Dad needs gas.” “Where did you get gas?” “When can we go home?”

Caden had few answers. Frustrated he walked on.

A child pointed east. “Are you going up the road there?”

“Yes, I’m going to Hansen.”

“There are robbers that way.”

Crunching broken glass under foot, Caden walked up to the store and peered in a large broken window. Only garbage, strewn on the floor, remained.

Maria came up beside him and looked in the window. “I guess they don’t have baby formula or diapers.”

Caden smiled weakly. “No, I think they’re out.” He turned away. “I need to speak to the officer-in-charge.” It didn’t take long to find him talking to other soldiers hemmed in by children.

Caden gradually pushed his way through. “This isn’t a camp. It’s a wide spot in the road. Why are all these people here?”

“This is where they ran out of gas and,” he pointed across the road to a church, “that congregation gave out food until they ran out. Many just stayed here hoping to survive until they can go home.”

“If we could get them fuel could they go home?”

The officer shook his head and motioned for Caden to follow him. Between two noisy trucks he said, “Most of them are from the Seattle red zone. Their homes were either destroyed by the blast or burned in the fires afterward.”

“They’ll die here.”

The officer nodded. “We’ve moved most to the southern refugee camp. These people won’t go for one reason or another. Hunger will eventually change their minds.” He looked east and west along the two lane country road. “Which way are you headed?”

“East to Hansen.”

“One of the refugees told me bandits have blocked the road that way.”

“I heard something similar. Who talked to you?”

He pointed and they walked over to a man sitting on an ice chest. Behind him was an older Ford minivan. A tarp duct taped to the top and supported by two tree limbs formed a canopy over him. It reminded Caden of the covering Maria made at Rucker.

“Henry, this is Major Westmore. He needs to get to Hansen.”

Henry shook his head.

“Can you tell him about the road block?”

“We heard there were farms out that way.” He pointed east. “Several of us pooled the little gas we had. We hoped to get food or maybe work for food. But, about ten miles in there is a causeway crossing a river…”

Caden nodded. “That is just a mile or so before Hansen.”

“…and on the far side two dozers blocked the road. I got a glimpse of several bandits with rifles.”

“How do you know they were criminals?”

“They shot at us.”

“How many shots?”

“Just one that I heard, but we didn’t stick around and let them improve their aim.”

“So no one was hit?”

“No. We slammed it in reverse and got out of there.”

Caden thanked him, started to turn away then paused. “Why are you staying here Henry? Wouldn’t it be better in the refugee camp?”

“I was up north with my family.” He pointed to a woman and two boys around a fire at the edge of the lot. “We were visiting friends when Washington was hit. We headed home to our farm in Oregon the next morning after Los Angles was bombed. None of us want to go to a FEMA camp. We just want to go home. If I can somehow get ten gallons of gas I’ll make it.” His head slumped down.

Caden had less than five gallons in his tank and no certainty of getting more.

As they walked away the officer asked, “Are you still going to Hansen?”

“Yes.”

“Good luck.”

Caden nodded and headed off to find Maria. It wasn’t hard; she was surrounded by children. After he got her away from the kids, he told her about the roadblock. “I’d like you to stay here while I find a way into Hansen.”