Ray Gorham - 77 Days in September

If power lines had been repaired, then that meant there was a good chance that phone lines were working as well. Assuming there was a phone in the house, he could be talking to Jennifer in just a couple of minutes. It had been almost six weeks since they had last spoken, and he had so many questions. Was everyone safe? Did they have enough to eat? How had they survived? Did they think he was alive? The questions tumbled around his brain in a burst of unbridled excitement.

Kyle reached a gate at the edge of the property where an electric bulb on a post bathed the yard in a pale white glow. He paused and stared at the light, laughing to himself with excitement. For everything it might mean, that light was the most glorious thing he had seen in a long time. Racing across the yard, Kyle leapt up the porch stairs three at a time, halting briefly at the top to catch his breath. From inside the house, Kyle heard music and voices. His heart pounded as he knocked sharply on the door. “Hello!” he called out.

The voices stopped instantly, and the music was silenced. A dog began to bark, but nobody answered.

Kyle knocked again. “Hello? Can you help me?” he shouted through the door.

Footsteps approached the door, and he heard someone clear their throat. “Just a minute, please,” a woman called hesitantly.

Kyle waited on the porch, the prospect of talking to Jennifer filling his mind, but the door didn’t open. He stepped back and tried to look through the window, all the while bouncing on his toes to keep warm as the cool night air seeped through his sweaty t-shirt.

As he was about to raise his hand to knock again, Kyle heard a voice from the far end of the porch. “Raise your hands above your head!” it ordered.

Kyle turned and saw, in a shadow to the side of the house, a glint of light reflect off of the barrel of a rifle.

“I told you to raise your hands!!” a young man shouted in a voice that was firm but laced with fear.

Kyle held both hands out in front of him and slowly raised them over his head. He could see that a second gun was also pointed in his direction, but the guns’ owners were both obscured in the darkness. “I saw the lights. I thought you could help me.” Kyle said, his eyes on the guns.

“Why would we help you?”

“Your electricity,” Kyle said, confused. “You’ve got electricity. Do they have things fixed?”

“What are you talking about?” demanded the person who had been issuing the orders. Two figures emerged from the shadows, and Kyle could see that his captors were two large, teenage boys. The bigger one seemed to be in charge and looked about seventeen years old. His companion, likely a brother based on the resemblance, looked two or three years younger.

“Are you talking about the government?” the older one asked, the expression on his face showing how utterly preposterous he thought Kyle’s question to be.

Kyle nodded, embarrassed to have let his judgment become clouded by hope for what he now knew was impossible.

“The government screwed everything up, and you think they’re going to hurry and fix it for us? They’re living comfortable and safe in their shelters, shelters they built using money they stole from the people they were supposed to serve. Why would they be in a rush to get anything done? The longer they wait, the fewer of us there’ll be and the more they’ll be able to take.” The young man walked towards Kyle, shaking his head like someone scolding a puppy. “Get off our porch!” he ordered,

“Please don’t shoot me,” Kyle pleaded as he backed down the steps. “I’m not dangerous at all.”

The older boy watched Kyle carefully, his gun aimed at Kyle’s chest. “Put your hands behind your back!!” he ordered when Kyle reached the bottom step. He turned to his brother. “Stand over there,” he said, indicating a spot by a tall tree a few feet away. “If he tries anything, shoot him!”

The younger boy nodded and backed away towards the designated tree. Kyle watched the boy and could tell by the way he held the gun that he knew how to use it. In contrast to the older boy, Kyle didn’t sense any fear in this one, just a calm, steady gaze and a finger poised by the trigger.

Kyle’s hands were jerked backwards, and a rope was wrapped around his wrists. “I’m not trying to hurt any…” Kyle protested.

“Shut up!” ordered the older boy. “I don’t want to listen to you.”

The rope was pulled painfully tight, cutting into Kyle’s wrists. “Listen,” Kyle pleaded, “if you just let me go, you’ll never see me again. I’ll be gone. I promise.”

“I told you to be quiet. Now get on your knees.”

Kyle dropped to his knees and another rope was wrapped around his ankles.

“What’s this?!” the boy demanded.

“What’s what?”

“This!” yelled the boy as he pulled up the leg on Kyle’s pants, revealing the large hunting knife strapped to Kyle’s leg. “What did you plan to do with that?”

“I carry it for protection.”

“You bang on our door late at night, and you think you need protection? I should have shot you like my dad told me to do if any strangers came around.”

“Look,” said Kyle, “I understand you’re scared. I am too. That’s why I carry the knife. If I hadn’t thought that the power was back on, I never would have bothered you. I’ve got a pistol stuck in the front of my pants. It’s not loaded, but I have a full clip in my back pocket. I’m not trying to hide anything.”

A hand patted Kyle’s back pocket, and the clip was removed, then the boy stepped cautiously in front of Kyle and pulled up Kyle’s shirt, revealing the handle of the gun. “Just trying to get some help, were you?” the boy mocked, pulling the gun from Kyle’s pants.

“Please,” Kyle said, “I know this seems bad. If I were in your place, I’d probably be doing the same thing. But I just want to tell you, if you hurt me, you’ll be hurting an innocent man.”

The boy tugged again on the knots that secured Kyle’s limbs, then walked to the door and pounded on it with his fist. “Mom!” he called out. “Open the door.”

Kyle heard the deadbolt slide and watched the door swing open. A middle-aged woman stepped onto the porch. “Are you okay, Daniel?” she asked in a soft voice.

The boy nodded. “He didn’t fight. Said he just wanted some help, but I found these on him.” He held out the knife and gun he’d taken from Kyle.

The woman looked at Kyle, her expression hidden by the shadows cast from the light in the yard. “What are you doing here?” she asked as she stepped into the light.

Kyle studied the woman before answering, trying to find anything that might give him something to relate to. She wore jeans and a simple white, cotton blouse, and her long, dark hair was pulled neatly into a ponytail. Her face was plain, with a prominent nose and narrow cheeks, and her skin was dark, like she’d spent much of her time in the sun. Her eyes sparkled in the light, and Kyle could tell by the way her eyes moved back and forth between her boys that she was obviously concerned about her sons.

He cleared his throat before answering her question. “I’m going back home, back to Montana. I was in Texas when the attack happened, and I’ve been walking for five weeks. I haven’t had much contact with people lately, so when I saw your lights, I thought that maybe things were fixed. I thought I might not have to walk all the way home.” Kyle’s voice trailed off, and he tried to keep the emotions he was feeling from showing in his voice. “I have a wife and three kids that I need to get back to. I’m sure you understand…”

The woman watched Kyle, her eyes searching his as he spoke, and then she turned to her sons. “Bring him inside.”