The Endless Struggle, page 4
part #3 of Random Survival Series
“You lost the radio?”
“I, uh, guess. No, wait, I might have left it in the truck with our overnight bags.”
Bobby sighed. “All right. I’ll call when I get to the truck.” Nothing was ever easy; not a simple hunt, or a radio call. He hoped all the setbacks were behind them, but for some reason, that didn’t seem likely.
Eight
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go?” Becca asked.
“No, the fewer men around Caryn right now, the better, and might help her recover. Try to keep Myron out of sight. If you can find anything cold to put on her to keep the fever down, that might help for a while.”
“Okay, brother, be careful.” She hugged him.
“I’ll be back soon.”
He left the clearing at a jog.
Mel and Myron packed up their belongings, then picked up the blanket stretcher. Ready to go, Mel noticed Caryn standing over the body of her attacker. In a sudden burst of anger, she kicked the body repeatedly until Becca stood next to her.
Caryn stopped. She couldn’t take her eyes from the dead man.
Becca said, “Get it all out, Caryn. Let it build up and take one more ferocious kick, then we have to get Tara to safety.”
Caryn looked at her. As Becca watched, a transformation came over the woman. Caryn looked at the body again, wound up and delivered a solid kick. “Bastard!”
“Yep, but he’s a dead bastard now.” Becca put an arm around her and guided her toward the corn. “We need to hurry before it gets dark.”
“Okay.” Her body straightened as if a new resolve had been reached.
The caravan moved out at a slow pace. After thirty minutes Becca relieved Myron. Twenty minutes later they reached the road.
“Let’s set her down,” Becca said to Mel. With her burden relieved, Becca walked forward to see the farmhouse. After studying the area, she said, “Myron, carry the stretcher.” She turned to Caryn. “Can you carry the front?”
“Of course I can.” Her tone was indignant. “Why are you asking me that? Do I look feeble? Am I inept?”
Mel put an arm around her. “Caryn, she didn’t mean that? I think she has some plan that’s all.”
“Sorry if I insulted you, but save the attitude for when we’re safe inside.” She pointed at Mel. “I need you to lead them through the corn until you’re even with the house.” Nodding at the rifle, she said, “Can you hit anything with that?”
“Most things.”
“I’ll cross and make sure it’s safe. If I run into trouble, I’ll need you to cover me.” Looking at Caryn, Becca said, “That’s why I asked you about carrying your friend because she has a rifle. See, nothing personal.”
Becca gave another long look at the grounds around the house. “Okay, I’m moving out now.” She ran across the road in a crouch, stopping behind a tree on the other side of the driveway. Dusk had fallen, dragging darkness behind it. Becca wanted to get inside the house before she couldn’t see anything.
Peering around the trunk, she picked her next safe spot and raced to it. Moving from tree to tree Becca ended twenty feet from the house. She pulled out small binoculars from her pocket and aimed them at the windows. Satisfied no one was watching she ran to the porch. There she squatted and peered through the windows. The door was locked. She would have to break a window to get in, but if anyone was inside they’d be alerted. Becca saw no other option. She had to be faster than anyone who challenged her.
Sliding to the farthest window from the door, she used the butt of her handgun to smash the glass. She swept the gun around the frame to clear as many shards as possible then stepped through. Once inside, she ducked at the end of a sofa and waited. Minutes later, when nothing moved, Becca walked through the house.
Upstairs were four bedrooms and a bathroom. The smell hit her like a hammer when she opened the last door in the hallway. Becca pulled the door closed and gagged. Dropping to her knees, trying not to retch, she fought to draw in air and force the stench from her nostrils. Someone had died in that room. No, she corrected herself, someone was dead in that room.
Feeling stronger, Becca went back downstairs. It could’ve been worse. There could’ve been a zombie. In a pantry, she found a case of bottled water. Opening one, she drank it down. Out the back door, in the fast fading light, Becca signaled the others, hoping they could see her.
No one moved, so she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. Seconds later the procession was in the open and moving toward the house. Becca kept watch, scanning the land around the house and the outbuildings.
She put her arms under the wounded woman as Caryn and Myron climbed the stairs. Inside, they laid her on a couch and sat down to catch their breath. Becca dug out water for each person, then rooted through the cupboards. She smiled on discovering cans of assorted soups, veggies and fruits filled one shelf in neat, organized rows. The shelf above contained boxed foods, from cakes and cornbread, to rice dishes and mac and cheese.
Back in the living room, Becca found everyone collapsed, exhausted from the trip and the ordeal. “The good news is there’s plenty of food. We’ll have to find a way to cook some of it, or eat it cold. It’s up to you.”
No one spoke.
“Well, it’s there when you need it. Oh, don’t open the last door upstairs. There’s a body in there.”
Becca looked outside and found a propane grill on the ground to the side of the back porch. Grabbing two cans of chicken and rice soup with pull tabs, she poured the contents into a pot. Taking a wooden spoon, she went outside to heat up dinner. Ten minutes later she determined the propane canister was empty.
“Damn!” She looked at the soup, sighed and ate it cold.
Nine
Darkness surrounded Bobby by the time he reached the road where they’d left the truck. He stepped onto the cement and headed east. The truck shouldn’t be far ahead. As he walked Bobby replayed the events of the day. They started off hunting deer. Instead, they bagged three women. But that was all right. They might have struck out on finding food, but they saved three people.
A sound filtered through his thoughts. Bobby stopped to listen, not sure what he’d heard. As a precaution, he moved to the side of the road, just outside the cornstalks. After minutes passed he felt foolish and started walking again but stayed in the long grass next to and below the pavement. This time, he stayed focused. A minute later someone barked out a laugh, followed by a second, high-pitched laugh.
Bobby ducked and froze. At least two people were somewhere in front of him. Were they near the truck? He waited and heard what sounded like the creak of a door opening. Fifty yards away the interior light flashed on, extinguished by the closing door. The brief illumination silhouetted three forms. A flash of panic shot through him. They were stealing the truck.
Staying crouched, Bobby moved faster. As the engine coughed, he broke into a run. The engine sparked again without catching, but the third time the motor turned over. Red brake lights flashed twenty yards in front of him. He couldn’t let them take their ride. The wounded woman depended on Bobby getting her to Doc.
Climbing to the road, he increased his speed as the headlights flicked to life. The truck pulled forward. “No!” Bobby said. He pulled up and aimed the rifle at a rear tire. But without a spare, that would leave the truck unusable. The truck increased speed. Bobby kept running, closing the distance. But, as he grew tired and the truck accelerated, he stopped. Trying to steady his breath, he lifted the rifle, took careful aim at the driver’s head through the rear window and fired. However, as he squeezed the trigger, the truck made a sudden left turn. The bullet whizzed past without making contact.
He felt hope fade but took up the chase again. Leaving the road on the opposite side, he cut diagonally across the corner of land toward the intersecting road. Ahead, the taillights shone brightly against the blackness. The two red dots seemed to float in mid-air moving away at a steady pace. The gap grew, yet still Bobby gave chase. Two blocks away, Bobby was about to give up when the brake lights flashed on. He slowed his pace and watched as the truck turned left, the lights disappearing. The thieves had either turned onto another road, in which case the truck was gone or, they turned up a driveway, where Bobby had a chance to take the truck back.
Keeping his eyes on the approximate spot where the truck vanished, Bobby increased his speed again. He passed several houses, giving him renewed hope. The distance melted away. He walked rifle in hand and ready as he drew close and moved to the right to be across the street from whatever he might find. As he did, he passed a sign that said, County Road F. His heart sank. A crossroad. He stood staring down the darkened length. No red dots danced before him. His heart and hopes sank. Now what?
He decided to continue down the same street, in case he’d been wrong about where the truck turned. A short distance further, across the street, he could make out a driveway. Bobby crossed to it. With only dim starlight above he couldn’t see a house anywhere close. Bobby kept walking down the street. A few minutes later he stopped.
Bobby exhaled a long breath. The truck was long gone by now. He turned to walk back, his head hanging. It would take the rest of the night to find Becca. By that time, the wounded woman might be dead.
As he passed the driveway, a quick flash of red froze him in his tracks. He stared up its length. The lights did not show again. Had he imagined it? No matter, he would check it out anyway.
Holding the rifle waist high and pointed forward, Bobby advanced at a slow steady pace, his eyes trying to pierce the darkness ahead. If he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see him. The driveway apparently went a long way. After a while, a large, darker shadow loomed off to the right. The closer he got the more he realized the structure was most likely a house.
The voices made him freeze, then drop to the ground. In front of him was another smaller building he guessed was a garage. Since that was where he saw the lights, Bobby headed there.
The voices sounded louder. Realizing they were coming toward him, his pulse quickened. Bobby rolled off the drive into the grass on the side. There he aimed the rifle in front and waited.
“I’ll check it out in the morning,” someone said.
“That’s cool. I can’t believe someone left it there,” a second man said.
A flashlight sparked to life, the small cone danced along the path twenty yards in front of him.
A third said, “That means there’s someone alive out there somewhere.”
The first man said, “Maybe we should go looking for whoever it is.”
“Whatchu gonna do then? It’s hard enough to find food for us. Best just to let them be.”
“Yeah, but what if it’s a woman?”
The light turned, moving away from him. The men laughed. One made a comment Bobby couldn’t hear.
The men walked away, following a path that led to toward the house, their voices trailing off in the distance. The light played on steps and a front porch. It stopped for a moment, illuminating the front door. Bobby waited, giving them time to get inside. Thinking it safe now, he climbed to his feet and moved forward. Twenty-five yards further, he was outside the garage. A sliver of light seeped out through a covered window. A generator rumbled someplace close, explaining the light glowing inside. Bobby slid along the wall until he was next to the window. He peered through the slim space the piece of cardboard didn’t cover.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust before Bobby saw a man in mechanics coveralls, leaning over the engine. His back was to him so Bobby took the opportunity to scan as much of the interior as he could. On a work bench across from him sat their three backpacks. Each one held extra food and water as well as a change of clothes. They also held extra ammo and various equipment they might need for an extended stay.
He had been foolish to allow his sister to talk him out of carrying the bags. “We’re only going for a short hike,” she had argued. “They’ll just slow us down and make too much noise going through the stalks.” Yeah, like big foot Myron didn’t make enough noise anyway. The thought of Myron brought him back to his big blunder. Bobby leaned sideways and scanned the bench. To his great relief, he saw the two-way radio.
Bobby remembered telling his father they might be gone overnight so he wouldn’t be worried about them not returning until the next evening. No help would be coming. He was on his own and a woman’s life depended on him. Now, if he could figure out a way to get the truck back, without getting killed.
Ten
After eating her cold meal, Becca went inside. The blonde was kneeling next to the unconscious woman. The other woman sat on the sofa at a ninety-degree angle to the first, her head in her hands. Myron was exploring upstairs.
“How’s she doing?” Becca asked, trying to recall her name. The blonde, Caryn, that was it, turned.
“Not good … she’s burning up and I can’t help her.”
The other woman lifted her head to listen.
Becca had an idea. “Myron!”
“Yeah,”
“Check the bathroom for any medicine.”
“K.”
Becca went into the downstairs bathroom. She found Band-Aids, toothpaste, nasal spray and all the normal things one might find in a medicine cabinet, but nothing that would help the ailing woman.
From there she searched the kitchen. In a cupboard, she found vitamins, aspirin, and various bottles of supplements. Becca took four aspirin and one vitamin and ground them to powder between two tablespoons. She took them to Caryn. “Put this under her tongue.” The woman took the spoon. While she opened the injured woman’s mouth, Becca lifted her shirt to look at the wound. Pulling off the bandage, she studied the angry red skin that surrounded the cut. A faint odor rose to her nostrils. She crinkled her nose.
“We’re gonna have to reopen this,” Becca said. The other women looked at her. “I’m no doctor, but we need to disinfect the wound somehow. It stinks like she’s rotting. We need to find any disinfectant we can. Do you have anything?”
“I’ll look,” the stockier woman said. She opened her pack and sifted through it. Becca went back to the kitchen. In a knife block, she found a pair of scissors. Returning to the woman, who Becca now felt was near death, she carefully snipped the threads. As she pulled the wound apart, she turned her head. The smell almost made her gag. Pus seeped out. Becca ran back to the kitchen as much to get paper towels as to breathe clean air.
Behind her she heard, “Oh Mel, what are we going to do?”
If Mel responded, Becca didn’t hear.
Returning, she wiped the pus away, as Myron descended with an armful of medications. He placed them on the table next to the sofa. Caryn rummaged through the pile. “Iodine,” she held up a bottle. “Here’s a spray disinfectant.”
“That’s good,” Becca said, “but I need something to clean this wound out with. We can spray that afterward.”
The other woman spoke up. “We can use soap or we have some anti-bacterial cream.”
Becca thought. “Let’s use both. I’ll use the soap, then the iodine, then the spray and the cream.” She looked from face to face. “Well, it can’t hurt, can it?”
Since all she got was shrugs, Becca took charge. “Myron, find something to put water in, then bring soap and a washcloth.” She turned to the woman on the couch. “Can you find a thermometer and some clean white clothes, like t-shirt material?”
Mel nodded and ran upstairs. She returned, her arms filled with white t-shirts. “Must have been the only thing the man wore.” She laid them next to Becca.
Myron brought the soap and towels. Caryn placed a large bowl on the floor and opened and poured water. Everything in place, Becca looked over the gathered items. “Can anyone think of anything else we might need?”
Caryn said, “What about needle and thread to sew her up?”
Becca shook her head. “I think we should leave it open for a few days. We might need to repeat the process. I hope my brother gets here fast. Myron, go upstairs and keep watch. We don’t need anyone sneaking up on us.” She pulled off her jacket and tossed it to him. “Take the binoculars from the pocket.”
Myron nodded, took one look at the injured woman and paled. Averting his eyes, he went upstairs. Becca smiled inwardly knowing she had just done him a favor. She didn’t need him fainting. Releasing a deep sigh, she put the washcloth in the water. While she rubbed a bar of soap with the wet cloth, she said, “I need someone to hold the wound open.”
Without hesitation, Caryn leaned forward, gripped the two sides and pulled them apart. The odor was more pungent now, causing all of them to blow out a breath.
Becca dribbled water over the infected area, then slid the cloth inside. Holding and pulling on each end, she dragged the rough material back and forth over the wound. She repeated the process three more times. Then, using a cup, poured water inside several times. She had no idea if that would help or not. At this point, she was winging the treatment. Using a t-shirt to wipe away the blood, she blotted the flesh dry.
Next, she opened the bottle of iodine and poured some onto a paper towel and wiped it over and around the jagged edge of the wound. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure of the benefits, if any, of the iodine, but would rather take the chance on it helping then not use it. For a brief second, the woman moaned. Becca took that as a good sign. Becca sprayed the disinfectant inside, then applied a generous coating of the anti-bacterial cream, figuring, at this point more was better.
Using some white medical tape, Becca artfully placed strips across the cut to hold the ends together. Taking a large gauze pad, she pressed it against the cut and taped it in place. Finished, she sat back and breathed out. Wiping her forehead, she was surprised at how much sweat had formed.
The other two women stared at her. “I guess that’s the best we can do for now. Maybe we should empty this bowl and fill it with fresh water. We can take turns keeping a compress on her head.”
The women nodded.
