Kyle Pratt: Through Many Fires

Caden knew it was unlikely. “How about a couple of General Mobile transceivers?”

“GMRS? Sure.” The clerk took four off a nearby shelf. “These are the best model that I carry.”

Caden watched as he again set the extras behind the counter.

Looking up, the big man smiled, “I’ll probably sell out today and I want some for my family.”

“Do you have cell phones? Mine doesn’t seem to be working well since….”

“Where you close to D.C.?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Too close really.”

“The Electromagnetic Pulse probably fried or at least damaged your phone. I can hook you up with a new one.”

Caden had heard something about EMP years before. Now he wished he had paid more attention.

He put his new phone in his pants pocket, but left everything else in the bag as he walked from the shop. Back at his vehicle, he set the new things down on the floor in front of the passenger seat just as two cars raced by him. He watched the vehicles stop at a nearby grocery store. Already dozens of cars were out in front. It’s going to be a very busy shopping day. As he drove by, a clerk put up a handwritten sign that read, “No out of town checks.”

Caden continued south on the state highway out of town. Traffic had been heavy, but as the sun rose towards its zenith, the northbound volume appeared less. Still, cars full of adults, children, dogs, cats and suitcases zoomed past in the opposite lane. There were mini-vans and SUVs filled with boxes, their luggage racks full and pulling trailers. He marveled at the number of RVs heading north in the dead of winter. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. Where are they all going?

A man walking north with a gas can prompted Caden to look down at his dashboard. His tank was three quarters full and he was going sixty. Speeding for the first time since the attack.

Starting into a turn, he looked up. Smoke and fire billowed just ahead. He slammed on the brakes. Caden gripped the wheel as the car slid.

Mere inches from the edge of the flame, his vehicle stopped. He could feel the heat. Caden looked over his shoulder and backed away and off to the side a safe distance. Cars continued past using the shoulder to slip by the accident one-by-one. That’s why northbound traffic seemed lighter.

He yanked the door open and jumped from the car. The smell of burning oil, gas and flesh thrust memories from dark corners of his mind, but with it came instinct and training. He pushed the memories aside and assessed the situation. There were no bodies or injured on the pavement. A pickup truck was engulfed in flame. In it he saw one body, blackened and burned beyond hope of life. Were there any passengers? Flames swirled around the truck. They had either fled or were dead. But this is at least a two car accident. He climbed up the slope to view the other car. From this vantage point he surveyed the accident. Apparently, a northbound SUV had passed in the curve and hit the pickup. The front of the SUV was also on fire. If anyone was in the back of that car they were dead from heat and smoke. But there was a third car, a two-door compact. Flames were just feet away but it was not on fire—yet.

Cars slipped by going north and south using the wide shoulder. Occasionally, one stopped. He could see some people trying to use their cell phones. He doubted if they were able to contact emergency services.

A car stopped. The driver yelled, “Are there any injured?”

He looked over the scene once again. He shook his head and mumbled, “All dead.” Then louder, “I don’t think there is anything we can do.”

The man nodded and then drove on.

Caden wanted to continue his journey, but hesitated. It felt wrong to leave so quickly. He reached into his pocket for his new cell phone. He would at least attempt to report the accident.

Something moved in the third car. He stepped forward struggling to peer through the smoke. A woman struggled to sit up in the vehicle. She held her head.

“Are you okay?” Caden took tentative steps down the slope, into the smoke and heat.

She was an older, gray-haired, woman. She looked at him with dazed eyes.

“I’ll be right there.”

She opened the car door and fell hard to the pavement.

Instinctively he dialed 911 and was surprised when he got through. He described the situation as he reached the woman. Quickly he pulled her upwind out of the smoke and heat.

“What is your location?”

“Where am I?” He looked around in panic. Several cars stopped, but no one was close enough to ask. A rusted pickup truck heading north pulled into the southbound lane and stopped. A large lumberjack of a man stepped out.

Still holding the phone to his ear, Caden shouted, “Where are we?”

“Just north of Beckley on Highway 19,” the big man said.

Caden repeated the words then cushioned the woman’s head.

“Is she alive?”

Moving his fingers along the side of her neck he said, “She was a bit ago.” Caden found a weak pulse. A black and blue lump marked her forehead and blood matted the right side of her head where she hit the pavement. She’s going to have an awful headache.

The big man got a blanket from his truck and covered the woman.

“Thanks.” Caden said.

The man nodded. He looked at the cars going past. “They’re all afraid. Running as fast as they can to somewhere…anywhere.” He looked Caden in the eye. “I’ve seen this fear….” His eyes seemed to look far away. “Iraq, Afghanistan. I never thought I’d see it in America.”

The wail of a siren came on the breeze. Normally, Caden tensed at the sound, but not today. Now it was the sound of comfort.

Paramedics arrived followed closely by a fire engine. Within seconds, the injured woman was being treated.

Yes, they were treating her and that was good, but it was more than that. We are not islands in a storm, each separately enduring whatever is thrown in our direction. We are still citizens bound together by ethics and laws. We help each other.

Caden walked a few feet up the slope, away from the madness of the road, and dropped to the ground in the shade of tree. Leaning his head against the trunk, he suddenly felt exhausted. He yawned and watched with heavy eyes as the medics loaded the woman into the van and whisked her away. He gazed at the flow of traffic north. But how many cars passed without helping?

The big man folded his blanket, nodded to Caden and resumed his trip north.

Well, some of us help each other.

Caden retrieved the liter soda bottle, still filled with water from his apartment toilet tank and splashed it liberally on his face.

Only as he resumed his journey south did he think of the nearly thirty gallons of gasoline he carried in the car and the inferno that might have been. He shuddered and drove onward with more care. Traffic thinned as the day waned. Caden passed numerous stations with signs out front reading, “No Gas.” The sun was a yellow smudge on the horizon as he approached the Georgia border. Rounding a corner, bright lights nearly blinded him and he slowed to a crawl. A soldier stepped forward, his hand held out signaling Caden to stop.

Caden rolled down his window as the man came alongside.

“We’ve set up a roadblock here. This county is now under martial law and a dusk to dawn curfew.”

Caden’s confusion must have been apparent.

“It’s a precaution against looting and lawlessness.”

Gradually his eyes adjusted to the spotlights. He saw a Georgia State Patrol and county sheriff car in the shadows. He glanced at the soldier’s insignia and name badge, Lieutenant Turner. Caden looked at the road ahead. Two Stryker vehicles with their 50 caliber guns pointed in his direction sat in the center of the road.