Jacqueline Druga - Reset

“Right.”

“So I’m guessing you have mad survival skills.”

Nora laughed. “Hardly.”

“But don’t they teach you that stuff in the service?”

“Yes, they do. I have some. But not like you would think.”

“I thought you saw combat.” Jason said

“I did. I was a radio operator.” I said. “So I have some technical skills. I also am pretty smart to know that we shouldn’t drink the water unless we find it in a fresh well. Even then, we should run it through our purifier bottles.”

Following what normally was inane conversation, they ate their breakfast and packed up what little things they had set up as a camp. Things would look bright. The sun was shining pretty well, the weather was perfect and the slight breeze would keep it cool.

Within hours they would have the first of their answers. Because within hours… they would be at Jason’s home.

Malcolm lost a good hour and a half of travel. He figured that out because when they began their journey they were heading west. Amy’s family was the first stop. Now, since her passing, all that had changed.

He switched gears, and direction. He now headed north. And then he would head more westward when he neared where he had to be. He figured by the end of his day’s journey, he would be west of St. Louis and a little bit closer to home.

It was more gut instinct that told Malcolm it was a good thing they didn’t head north to begin with. That Nashville was a bust. It wasn’t just the closed highways that would head that way, but something more telling. The most ominous thing he saw was the green ‘miles to go’ sign. A simple guide for travelers became a source of sadness for Malcolm. On the green sign, in red paint, not only was ‘Nashville’ crossed out, but in droopy red spray paint across the top, were the words, “all dead there.”

Of all the signs on the road, all the city names he had seen, not once did another sign have a town crossed out.

He took the back roads, which added to his time. That was fine with him. After the run in with the crazy Cindy lady, Malcolm didn’t want to meet another person. In fact, he pulled out his revolver that had been packed for him, from the “just in case” supplies. He placed it next to him on the passenger seat. He wouldn’t hesitate to use it. It was loaded and ready to go. After that incident, he wasn’t giving anyone a chance to countdown his death.

His travels were filled with semi-clear roads, dusty roads, and nearly impossible to drive across roads. It was discouraging when he ran into those patches and had to hold his breath that the buggy would make it through. Just about two hours in his trip on the road, Malcolm felt a twinge of hunger in his stomach. He knew he should’ve eaten before he left. But he just wanted to move ahead. The faster he got ready and drove, the faster he would get home. He was making remarkable time and hated to stop. But his lower back was killing him and his knees ached from being cramped. He waited until he found a clear spot and then he pulled over into the brush.

Again he didn’t want to take a chance of being spotted or running into another crazy person. Obviously, if there was one, like Cindy, there were others.

He paused only briefly to eat quickly, walk off his aches, and then he got back into the buggy.

Another mile down the road he ran into a stoppage.

“Not again,” he said out loud

Another barrier. Workhorses painted yellow with some sort of faded signs were on them. It wasn’t the first time he ran into a road barrier, and it would not be the last.

As he had done every time before, he put the buggy in gear, stepped out and walked towards the barrier that ran across the road. It looked easier than the others. There weren’t many cars there. In fact he had to stop and remember where he was, what city was nearby, the road barriers tended to block off exits and sections before any towns.

He walked to the barrier. There were only two to move.

‘Those have been there while,’ he thought. He visually assessed them. They were overgrown and the weeds were entangled around them. He wasn’t thinking. It had become a habit. A new routine. It was close to the tenth time he had to stop.

Malcolm grabbed hold of the first horse then shoved it to the side and when he grabbed hold of the second one he felt the searing, burning, rip to the side of his forearm. He whipped back his hand, with a, “God damn it” and shake of his arm. Blood flowed from it, seething at the sliced.

Was it a nail? Maybe a shard of wood, he didn’t know. He couldn’t even see if there was a large splinter in his arm, the blood flowed so profusely.

It irritated him.

He returned to the buggy quickly, rinsed it with some water, and wrapped it in a cloth. He hurriedly went back to the road barriers and cleared them away. His arm was a secondary thought.

He didn’t need another obstacle, or another delay. He just wanted to keep moving.

Unlike Malcolm’s buggy, Nora and Jason had to heavily rely on the sun to keep their buggy going. Theirs didn’t have a dual battery system so they only had about four hours’ worth of driving power. That was, if they didn’t hit any heavy cloud coverage areas.

As it dribbled on the last of their power, dragging at a speed of twenty mph, they made it to the upscale neighborhood of Indian Hills, located just outside of Louisville, Kentucky.

They made it.

They pulled the buggy over to the side of the road carefully removing the battery, taking it with them so they could place it in the sunlight to recharge. Then they made their way on foot to the gated community.

Jason perked with excitement when he saw the gates closed, some of them vine covered, some bushes had grown up among it. But it wasn’t a lot of foliage. A large hand-painted, keep out, sign hung on the gate and there were signs that there was at one time an armed guard. A SUV was parked by the gate. It was black and expensive looking, a symbol of those who lived inside. The door to the SUV was open, the windows were broken, a rifle lay by it and everything was dusty.

“They tried to fend off the virus,” Jason said with enthusiasm. “They had guards.”

Nora only nodded. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to tell him that meant nothing. She didn’t want to squash his hopes.

The gate was a bust. They had to find another way in. Jason knew a back way. A wall did not encircle the entire property. On the outskirts of the community, all around it, was a forest planted by the developers to add a lush look and a natural privacy. It was better than a cold hard wall. On foot they made their way to the east side of the community. Jason told Nora they’d make their way up the Bowens Family backyard and to Main Street.

As if she knew who the Bowens were.

Nora couldn’t believe the homes.

They’re all the same, but different shades of white and brown. All of them modern all with long winding driveways. They must of each cost upwards of six figures, more than likely seven.

“There.” Jason pointed up the road. “That’s my home.” He stopped walking, put his hands on his knees, and bent over slightly, with his head cocked gazing outward.

“You okay?” Nora asked

“Just taking a moment.” Jason said. “I’m frightened.”

“You need to make yourself a promise right now.”

Jason stood upright. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I mean you need to face the fact that everything just may not be alright.” Nora cringed when she said that, waiting for backlash.

“I am.”

“Are you?” Nora asked. “I don’t mean to sound cold, or callous, but I am getting prepared myself. You should, too.”