Ray Gorham - 77 Days in September

Doug scrambled on the floor, searching in the darkness for his knife. His found it and stood up and turned towards David, who had backed across the room but was still threatening him.

Jennifer found the gun and raised it in front of her. “David, get out! Doug, back off! You get out of my house! I’ve got a gun!” she yelled. She could see well enough in the dark room to know she’d be able to hit her target.

Both of the men ignored her commands, and Doug lunged at David, who was standing near the doorway.

Jennifer pulled the trigger, but nothing happened.

David swung at Doug, hitting him on the cheek, at the same time that the blade pierced his abdomen. As Doug pulled the knife back, David dropped his hands to his belly and found it warm and wet. He lifted his hand in front of his eyes and saw that it was covered in something dark, then wiped it on his shirt and raised his fists defensively in front of himself again.

Jennifer screamed in horror. She shook the gun in her hand. “Work!” she shrieked, and then she remembered the safety. She fumbled for the button, found it with her shaking fingers, and released it as she desperately raised the gun again.

Jennifer heard David’s voice and could tell he was in a lot of pain. “I said stay away from my mother,” he repeated.

Doug stood back a few steps from David and could see the stain of blood spreading on the boy’s shirt. The situation had spiraled completely out of control and he let out a gasp. “You’re too brave, kid,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to die.” As Doug dropped the knife and stepped towards David, he heard a gunshot and felt something hot strike him in the shoulder and throw him against the wall. He turned to where he’d seen the flash and saw another one, then a third.

Doug dropped to his knees, feeling like a mule had kicked him in the chest with both feet. He tried to speak, to tell Jennifer he was sorry, that no one was supposed to get hurt, but all he heard was the gurgling noise from his chest. Then his eyes closed, and he collapsed to the ground.

With the sound of gunshots still ringing in her ears, Jennifer discarded the gun under the bed and leapt across the room to David. He had dropped to his knees and was clutching his stomach with both hands. “David!” she cried out. “Oh, David! How bad is it?”

“I think he stabbed me, Mom. There’s blood, and it hurts bad.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Jennifer sobbed. “Lay down and try to relax. I have to get Carol. She can help you. Keep pressure on it, okay, honey?”

David spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ll try, Mom, but I don’t feel so good.”

Jennifer ran to Emma, who was still hiding by the bed with a pillow over her head, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Sweetie! You’ve got to stop crying! I need your help. David is hurt. Do you understand me?’

Emma nodded, her face twisted in fear.

“I’m going to get Mrs. Anderson next door, then the doctor. I need you to help hold a shirt on David’s stomach until we get back,” she said as she yanked open her dresser. “You’ve got to help your brother. It’s very important.”

Emma nodded and took the t-shirt from her mother, her hands trembling.

Jennifer found her sweatshirt and pants on the floor where Doug had tossed them, dressed, then stepped around Doug’s nearly naked body and knelt on the floor beside her children. “Hold it like this,” she instructed Emma as she folded the shirt over a couple of times and placed it on the wound, pressing down and making David flinch. “Emma, press hard and don’t look around. Just look at David and talk to him. Whatever you do, don’t let him fall asleep, okay? David, keep talking to your sister and make sure she doesn’t look at anything but you.”

Jennifer rushed into the hall, the smell of gunpowder burning her nose and reminding her of the nightmare she was living. At the end of the hall, Spencer was crying hysterically in his bedroom. Jennifer called to him as she ran to the front door. “Spencer, it’s going to be alright. I’ll be back soon.” Then she ran out into the night.

Saturday, November 12 th

East of Butte, Montana

Day 71

I made a decision two days ago that I hope I won’t regret. I left my cart behind so I can get through the hills and mountains easier. I’ve second-guessed myself ever since, but so far, things have worked out. I think with the short distance I have left to travel, I can make a good hard push to get there. My backpack is all that I’ve got, and I feel naked. As long as I can find shelter at night, I should be alright. The last few days have been nice after some cold and snow. I’m so close now I can hardly sleep.

I love you all

Monday, November 14 th

Deer Creek, Montana

Day 73

I made it through Butte yesterday without incident, even got a hot meal at a church. People seem to have settled into some sort of acceptance of their condition, although hollow eyes and hungry faces are the norm. Some look like the walking dead. Even the children have little life in them. I only see the people near the highway, so I hope that they are the exception, but it’s hard to tell. Yesterday the priest at the church said that the government’s broadcasts don’t offer much hope, that they often play the same message for 2 or 3 days in a row. I know lots of people don’t have much hope, but I do. In three days, God willing, I’ll see my family again. Words can’t express how that makes me feel. On the other hand, the fear that something might happen to me after coming so far is a constant worry. I can’t wait to touch your faces, hold your hands, tuck the kids in bed—all joys worth walking twice the distance for.

I love you all.

Thursday, November 17th

Deer Creek, Montana

The green mile markers counted down to Kyle’s exit. For the past three days, he’d been walking on roads that he’d driven a hundred times before. Never had it looked so beautiful, and never had it taken so long to cover the distance. The anticipation of arriving home compelled him to push his limits, walking until well after dark, waking before sunrise to head off, and stopping for only a few minutes to eat what meager food he could scavenge. He had abandoned his cart on the east side of Butte when the mountains there rose up to greet him. Without the cart, he was making better time but was having to adjust to the absence of the security the cart had provided.

The larger backpack Rose had insisted he take had proven immensely helpful, enabling him to carry enough supplies to make the final dash home, and now he was almost there. Mile marker 120. He imagined, for the five thousandth time, bursting through the front door, Spencer and Emma running into his arms, Jennifer, standing, waiting for him to run to her, David, acting cool and unimpressed, sauntering over to give him a one-armed hug… 119… How had his family done without him? What had they eaten? Were they safe?… 118… The fall colors in Montana were just as beautiful as he remembered, the mountains as majestic, the sky as blue… 117… The businesses on the frontage road looked rough, most of them vandalized, with windows missing, and the insides stripped of anything valuable… 116… The sun was setting. It was going to be late when he got there. He hoped the kids would still be awake… 115… His stomach rumbled with hunger, but he was too anxious to stop. The sign at the gas station at his exit was now in view… 114… Just one more mile on the highway, the off-ramp now in full view… 113.

Kyle walked slowly down the off-ramp of exit 113, his head swimming in ecstasy at all the sights that were so familiar to him: the gas station he usually filled up at, the road he drove everyday to work, the street going north to his best friend’s house, and the dark shadow of Missoula in the distance. He stopped at the bottom of the ramp and fought to hold back the tears. This was his home, where his heart belonged, where he would find his family. The last fingers of sunlight lit the scene for him, one of the most beautiful vistas he could remember. Kyle noticed the cars dead at the pumps and the doors of the gas station broken open. In the dim light he could see that the store was gutted and the diner across the street was likewise ransacked. The scene reminded him that suffering and chaos existed in his town too. He had somehow thought, or hoped, that the people in Deer Creek would be a little more civilized, a little more capable of handling the situation, but realized they too would do what they needed to, to survive.