Hope Page 8

  Charlotte fought back the urge to strike him. To her he represented all the men who had killed her father and taken her away from her home. However, a thought came to her. If she and Hope had any chance of surviving, she would have to play nice. She lowered her head and sighed loudly. “Sorry, I’m…I’m just so sad.”

  “Hey, I get it, but time heals all wounds. I know what happened to your dad was hard to see, and it couldn’t have been easy to find out the truth, but if you and Hope wish to make it out of here, you’re gonna have to listen to me.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. Now go back to your room. It’s not safe for you to be snooping around; some of the guys are not as nice as me.”

  “Okay, but tell me how you have power?”

  “Not for you to worry about.”

  “And these backpacks, they belong to two brothers, I’ve seen them. Are they prisoners too?” she asked, darting over to the table and pointing to the objects that lay there.

  Drew advanced aggressively and ordered, “Stop asking questions and get back to the room, now.”

  His forceful approach gave her pause. Fearful, she stepped back but the table prevented her from going any further.

  He pointed to the back door and said, “Out.”

  “Fine, you don’t have to yell.” She stepped away from the table but not before she secretly scooped up the knife and slid it into her back pocket.

  Charlotte exited with Drew right behind her.

  Out of the shadows, Bob emerged. A huge grin graced his face as he said, “Aren’t you a feisty one. You’ll do, you’ll do nicely.”

  El Centro, CA

  Each time Neal drove the shovel into the ground, he came away with little to show for his effort. The arid climate of the desert had sucked every last drop of moisture out of the yard, and the intensely hot desert sun baked it until it was hard.

  He had been toiling away in Carlos’ backyard for three hours and hadn’t been able to dig more than a two-foot-deep by six-foot-long hole. At this rate he’d be digging for days. His hands ached and his back was screaming in pain, but the worst part was the diarrhea and vomiting he had been experiencing since the early morning hours.

  He wasn’t alone in being sick. Karen and Beth were also ill, but they were faring worse. Both of them had his symptoms but were also complaining of blurred vision, abdominal pain, and poor Beth was having a difficult time speaking coherently.

  Neal was concerned and tried to provide them with comfort, but burying his friends was something that had to be done.

  A strong feeling of nausea swept over him. He dropped the shovel and bent over next to the hole and heaved. Nothing came out but mucus and bile. He had emptied the contents of his stomach many hours ago and had been unable to eat since. Wiping his mouth, he continued with the task of digging the graves.

  With each swing of the shovel, he began to convince himself that burying them in a shallow grave would work for now until he was feeling better.

  After several more hours and three more interludes of vomiting, he was finished. He dropped the shovel and sauntered through the house. He stepped over to one of the attackers and wondered if more would come. He had to think that was possible; why wouldn’t they? He thought of what he should do with their bodies and decided to let them lie where they died, at least until he was capable of disposing of them.

  He slowly walked to his house. His mind spun with what they might have. Was this a flu? Was it some sort of biological weapon? Was this the second shoe that was dropping? They had survived the grid collapse only to be killed by some manmade bioweapon. It wasn’t that farfetched considering the world they were living in.

  He entered the house, and instantly he could smell sickness. It was thick, and it permeated everything and gave the house a somber feel.

  In the back room he heard Karen coughing, or was she vomiting again? It was hard for him to tell.

  A cold sweat clung to his brow. He felt horrible.

  When he reached the hallway, vertigo hit him hard. His vision blurred and he lost his balance. As he fell to his knees, he unsuccessfully grabbed for anything to keep him upright. His body slammed into the floor hard, with the side of his face smashing into the floorboard.

  “Karen,” he mumbled.

  She didn’t respond.

  All he could hear was her coughing loudly.

  He tried to crawl but found each inch to be excruciatingly difficult. Tired, sick, dizzy and on the verge of blacking out, he used what energy he had remaining to roll onto his side and rest. The last thing he remembered was taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.

  “Dada,” Beth cried.

  Neal opened his eyes. It was dark. He must have been asleep for hours.

  “Dada,” Beth again whimpered.

  “I’m coming, Bethie. Dada’s coming,” Neal called back. He struggled but eventually got to his knees. The nausea was still there, but now he had a piercing headache and a jabbing pain in his lower guts.

  “Dada,” Beth moaned.

  “I’m coming,” he said. He got to his feet and slowly moved down the hall until he reached Beth’s bedroom.

  “Dada.”

  “I’m here, Dada’s here,” Neal said, rushing towards the bed but tripping before he got there. He fell into the footboard and landed on his side. “Ouch, argh.”

  “Dada.”

  “Dada’s here, baby,” Neal replied, finally making it to her side.

  “My legs, I can’t really move them,” she whimpered.

  Neal couldn’t see well, so he found the flashlight he kept on her nightstand and clicked it on. He was shocked when he saw her.

  Beth’s face was already visibly gaunt. He pulled back the sheet covering her and discovered dark stains from seeping diarrhea beneath her.

  His heart ached seeing her like this. Ignoring his own plight, he began rubbing her legs, hoping all they needed was circulation.

  “Why are we sick?” Beth asked, her voice faint.

  “It must be the flu. Let me get some medicine, okay? Um, have you been drinking any water?”

  She shook her head.

  “You have to drink. You have to stay hydrated,” he said, knowing that he too needed to heed his advice.

  “I’ll be right back.” He quickly stood and realized that was a mistake as the feeling of vertigo struck him again. He weaved and sat back down quickly.

  Beth reached for him and tugged his arm.

  “I’m going, honey,” he said.

  “Where’s Momma?”

  He took her hand and answered, “Mommy’s sick too. She’s in her room.”

  “I want Momma,” Beth cried.

  “Let me go get you some water and medicine. I’ll also find some crackers for you to eat,” Neal said as he slowly stood. Finding his legs, he exited the room and made his way to the kitchen. There he found an LED lantern and turned it on. He found the crackers, water and the children’s Advil, thinking it would help.

  Walking back to Beth, he stopped by his bedroom and looked in.

  Karen was asleep. On the floor beside the bed was a large bowl, most likely for vomiting into.

  With her fast asleep, he made his way back to Beth.

  “Here, you need to eat a few crackers,” he said, offering her a single saltine.

  Beth took the cracker and nibbled. “Ouch,” she groaned.

  “What is it?”

  “My stomach, it hurts so bad.”

  “Here, let’s get some water into you,” he said, placing the bottle of water to her parched lips.

  She sipped a little then gave up.

  “More, you need to drink more,” he insisted.

  Doing as he instructed, she took a few more sips.

  “I brought some medicine.”

  “Neal!” Karen hollered from the other room.

  “You’re awake. How are you feeling?” Neal yelled back.

  “Come here,” she pleaded.

  Neal handed Beth the water and headed
to Karen.

  The back and forth was beginning to wear on him. His legs were weak and his entire body ached.

  He sat next to her and asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “Felicia, you have to go check on Felicia,” Karen said.

  “Okay, I will, tomorrow.”

  “Lucky you,” Karen said.

  This comment surprised him. “Lucky me? Why am I lucky?”

  “You’re not going to get sick,” she said.

  “Too late for that,” he informed her.

  “How? I don’t understand. It’s impossible,” Karen said, her head shaking in doubt.

  He placed his palm on her forehead. Her head felt cool, which shocked him because she should have a fever. He then recalled Beth wasn’t hot either. “I’m sick, very sick.”

  “But you didn’t eat any. It doesn’t make any sense. I’ve been lying here, I’ve been racking my brain thinking what could make me and Beth so sick, and the only thing I can think that makes sense is—”

  “The peaches,” he said, interrupting her. It did make sense. This wasn’t the flu, this was some form of food poisoning.

  “But you didn’t eat any,” Karen said.

  “You’re right that I didn’t eat any, but I did drink the juice from Beth’s bowl,” Neal informed her.

  “How bad are you?” Karen asked.

  Already he could tell her tone had dropped. The brief spike in energy she had was fast depleting.

  “Sick, but not nearly as bad as you. Poor Bethie is real bad. She says she can’t feel her legs.”

  “I have to see my baby,” Karen said and pushed away her sheets.

  “No, no, you need to rest. You also need to eat and drink water; it’s critically important.”

  “We’ll be fine. It’s just food poisoning. It will be gone in a day, no more,” Karen said, dismissing their illness.

  “Regardless, you need to rest,” Neal said, pushing her back down and covering her with the sheet. “I’ll be right back. I want to go check on Beth and get her cleaned up.” Neal got up slowly and left Karen.

  His mind was spinning. He knew food poisoning was mostly an annoyance in the modern age, but those days were gone. A fear that plagued him often was contracting an illness, one that was common and easily eradicated before but now would prove fatal. He needed to address their symptoms, including his own, and find out what sort of food poisoning would partially paralyze Beth’s legs.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Hope is the last thing a person does before they are defeated.”

  – Henry Rollins

  Guatay, CA

  Charlotte rose out of necessity and again left the sanctuary of her room. Listening to Drew’s snoring was unbearable, and even though she had promised to stay put, she felt better knowing she had a knife for protection.

  Again she was greeted with the dry, cool, crisp air. She sat down, resting her back against the cool wall, and took a deep breath. “Ahh.”

  This morning she had brought a friend, her diary.

  Drew never returned it, and now she was happy to have it. She had found solace in the pages before, and now she hoped it would do the same.

  She flipped to her last entry and began to read.

  Those words jarred her emotionally as it took her back to that morning, that day she had lost her father and what was left of her innocence. A few tears gathered in the corner of her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away.

  She turned to the next empty page and started to write.

  “Whatcha doing?” Bob asked, seeming to appear from nowhere.

  Charlotte looked up, startled; she hadn’t heard him step out. “You’re so sneaky.”

  “Good morning to you too.”

  “I have a question for you,” Charlotte said.

  “Now that doesn’t surprise me,” Bob quipped as he lit a cigarette.

  “Do you live in there?” she asked, pointing towards the smaller building.

  “Yeah.”

  “But you work over at the house, cooking?”

  “Look at the big brain on Brad,” he joked.

  “Huh?”

  “Oops, that was an old culture reference from a movie before your time,” Bob said.

  “So why a cook?” Charlotte asked. She was interested in how he came to be there.

  Bob walked over and sat down opposite her, his back against the retaining wall. “It was either cook for them or die.”

  “They gave you an ultimatum?”

  “I gave myself an ultimatum. Once the EMP hit, my business and my other skill sets became obsolete. There’s no need for retail centers now.”

  “Wait—”

  “So you see, I’m here because I told them I was a chef and had gone to culinary school, blah, blah, blah. Anyway, the boss loves his food and I cook him a delicious meal three times per day and make sure he has snacks too. I also cook up the family-style stuff for the other guys.”

  “Hold on—”

  “Now, what’s your story? I’ve told you mine.”

  “Just one minute, you said something about an EP,” Charlotte said, frustrated that he kept cutting her off.

  “The EMP? That’s what turned everything off.”

  “What is it?”

  “Something to do with a nuke or something, I guess. I don’t know all the specifics but it’s the reason nothing works.”

  “Who did it?”

  “Now that’s where stuff gets tricky. There are rumors everywhere. Some say it was the Russians, others say it was the Chinese, and some even say our government did it.”

  “Why, why would someone do that?” Charlotte asked.

  “Why? Why does anyone do what they do? Why does a bank robber rob a bank? Or why does someone rape someone? Everyone has their reasons and motives, but whoever did it wanted to get something out of it and were willing to go far to get it. It’s hard to say, but does it really matter now? It’s a done deal. We live in their world now and have to play by the rules that have been set for us,” Bob said. His brow lowered and his jaws clenched, gone was the carefree tone he normally displayed.

  “It’s crazy.”

  “It sure is.”

  “If this EMP stopped everything from working, how are those refrigerators working in there?” she asked.

  “Generators, solar ones, we have the panels on the roof.”

  “Why don’t we have power in here?”

  “Why waste the juice on keeping the cells lit?” Bob replied with a rhetorical question.

  “Where did you get them?”

  “God, you ask endless questions, don’t you?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  “Like before, you can get anything if you know where to get it. Tony has his connections. He makes trades for stuff. He got them along with all the kitchen and storage equipment months ago.”

  It made sense to Charlotte. The whole world wasn’t suffering, so operational electronic devices would slowly make their way back.

  He stared off towards the trees above them in a daze, his mind drifting to other thoughts.

  Charlotte noticed he was adrift and brought him back by answering his question. “My sister and I were kidnapped, taken from our house after Tony and his people killed my dad.”

  He looked at her and said, “I know.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “To see what you’d say.”

  “What else do you think you know about me?”

  “I know you’re thinking about escaping.”

  Charlotte’s face turned ashen.

  “Right there, I see it, I’m right. Girl, if you’re going to make it in this world, you need to have a poker face, you need to hide what you’re really thinking or feeling.”

  Annoyed and equally scared, she jumped up. “You don’t know me.”

  “I know you better than you think.”

  “What if I go tell Drew, or worse tell Tony, you lied and that you’re not really a chef? Huh? What would happen to you?”


  “You won’t do that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “First, you don’t know if I’m full of shit, and second, I have something on you.”

  “Oh, that you think I’m going to try to escape? Really, that’s what you’re going to tell them? Of course it would only be natural to think about it.”

  Bob stood and tossed the butt of his cigarette; he stepped up to her and leaned close to her face.

  Not wanting him to think she was frightened, she stood her ground and didn’t flinch.

  “You won’t say anything because I don’t think you’d want me to tell the boss you stole a knife and might be angling to use it in some grand escape plan.”

  Charlotte’s face turned white.

  He lifted his finger and pointed it in her face. “Again you show your cards. Girl, I won’t hurt you.”

  “Please don’t tell them.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Thank you.”

  Bob stepped away, but before going back inside he turned and said, “Do you want to know why I won’t tell them?”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not because you have something on me, nope, it’s not that. It’s because you and me have the same objective.”

  “We do?”

  “I want to get the hell out of here just as bad as you do.”

  El Centro, CA

  Neal woke suddenly. Was it something he heard? Did he sense someone? He looked right and out towards the living room from the big chair he had positioned himself in during the night in an attempt to stand watch.

  He looked on the floor and saw his rifle at his feet. Maybe it was a noise; maybe it was his rifle falling to the floor.

  The midday sun beamed in and hurt his eyes. He squinted, raised his hand to shade his face, and tried to stand, but found it almost impossible. His legs felt heavy. Using his arms, he rubbed them. “What the hell?” he grumbled.

  The house was eerily quiet.

  “Karen,” he called out.

  Nothing.

  “Bethie, you up?”

  Still nothing.

  His legs felt odd, like they were asleep but without the pins and needles. He looked around for something to grab hold of but saw nothing within reach. Looking down, he saw his rifle. An idea came, so he grabbed it and, with its muzzle down, used it like a crutch to lift himself out of the chair. He grunted until he stood tall.