The World Bleeds: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 5) Read online

  “FEMA Camp? Why are folks attacking it? If the folks want out, can’t they just leave?” Blake asked.

  “Blake, there’s been a lot going on,” David spoke, and Blake sat there and soaked all the info in until his wife returned, an armload of supplies in her hands.

  “No food?” Blake asked her, puzzled.

  “No, we are storing that in the cellar, this is body wash, shampoo, razors… Oh and here’s some scissors.” Sandra told him, running her hands through his hair.

  “You going to give me a haircut or something?” he asked her smiling.

  “Haircut, shave, sponge bath,” she waggled her eyebrows and Blake almost tipped his chair over trying to stand.

  David laughed and steadied the chair as Blake stood.

  “Easy killer, I said bath, not shenanigans,” Sandra said with a sly smile.

  Patty turned slightly pink but smiled and dropped a wink to Sandra, who returned the look and nodded to her.

  Chapter 3 -

  Pinhoti Trail – Alabama

  “So, what do you think? Is it worth it?” Michael asked John.

  “Yeah… I mean, the clothing the kids have is wearing out. Their shoes are shot.”

  “I know I keep pushing for this John but…” Michael stammered, but his words cut off with John’s laughter.

  “There’s no way to know what’s out there, but I am ready to go too. Even though we lived in the sticks, we didn’t live like this,” John motioned to the campsite.

  “So we pack it up?”

  “Yeah, let’s give it a day to pack up and we’ll head out tomorrow morning.”

  +++++

  It didn’t take the four of them long to pack up the campsite. Linny was the one who did most of the work, pulling in the Trotline and they only kept one large fish from the day so they could have a light meal before heading out in the morning. What to take and what to leave took more thinking out loud between Michael and John than he expected. They also considered one of them going and the other watching the kids but in the end, they decided to stick together.

  The kids were excited at first, but as they hiked, they became quiet and somber. John had told them what they could expect, as much as possible. They stopped to use the bathrooms which hadn’t been touched surprisingly, but none of the water worked.

  “I miss my dad,” Linny said quietly as she looked at their car which now sat on a flat tire giving it an off balance look.

  “Me too,” Bret said.

  Michael didn’t say anything but decided to walk ahead a little bit, to avoid the chatter. He still felt guilty, and hadn’t been able to tell the kids that he was the one who killed their father. The guilt gnawed away at him at odd moments. He tried to comfort himself by saying it was in self defense, and it was… but the guilt was still there.

  “You go on ahead and check out the car,” John said before Michael was out of earshot.

  “Yeah, I won’t be long.”

  “You have a round in the chamber?” John asked.

  Michael turned and walked backwards a moment. He pulled the slide on the .45 back a little bit then nodded. He holstered his father’s pistol again, and patted his back pocket for the two spare magazines. In the end, Michael elected to keep most of his supplies at the camp, bringing only his daypack, some water bottles, his grandpa’s old grease gun with a ton of extra ammo, and all the spare magazines.

  “You know what, take this. I’m not sure if I can use it,” Michael said, stripping off the M2 and handing it to John.

  John nodded, and understood the pain the young man was still struggling with. It turned out that Michael had been a natural with the .45, and if he’d at least shot the M2 before John would have argued for the young man to keep it. As it was, he knew Michael would wear out faster carrying the carbine than John would.

  “Okay. You going to be all right?”

  “Yeah, it’s just—“ Michael looked at the kids and turned and walked again until he was almost out of sight.

  “Is Michael sad about our dad too?” Linny asked.

  “I think so. Come on, let’s stick together.”

  +++++

  Michael reached the Impala long before they did. He pulled the brush off the green tarp they’d used to cover it. Once he had that clear, he folded the tarp, fished the keys out of his pocket, then put the tarp and his pack in the trunk. The explosive heat almost made him wince. He knew the interior would be almost as bad so he opened the doors and rolled down the windows. He didn’t want to start it right away, knowing that everybody for miles would hear the throaty grumble of his motor. He just never got around to fixing that exhaust leak, making it sound like a like a hotrod to the kids in his class.

  Now, the thought of making that much noise made him nervous. The car was a magical instrument of travel… one more thing they’d taken for granted, until either nothing worked, or it made you a target like it had with the late Chief. The conversation about his old girlfriend’s father was another he was dreading if it ever came up. Almost against his will, he started to hum ‘I shot the sheriff’ knowing he had no other choice there either. Suddenly 17 felt a lot younger to Michael than he’d felt before, and for more than the first time, he wished his parents were here somewhere. He’d love to talk to his dad about this.

  “Good, did the lights turn on when you opened the doors?” John asked, emerging from the roadside.

  “Yeah, I think we should be fine. Want to store your stuff in the trunk?” Michael asked John.

  “No, I’ll keep it with me. Do you uh… Think we should go back for a booster or something?” John asked looking at Bret’s smiling face when he saw the car.

  “If we’re pulled over, I expect we’ll have bigger problems than the booster seat,” Michael said soberly, then realized the question was something of a joke.

  John smiled and held up his hand for the keys.

  “But…”

  “If things get hairy, I’m trained to drive like the devil. It’s safer.”

  Michael grinned and tossed him the keys before opening his door and let the kids into the backseat.

  “If he’s driving like the devil, you both better put on your seatbelts,” Michael said.

  “I said if things get hairy—“ John started to say.

  “But you are hairy,” Linny spoke up.

  “I’m putting my belt on,” Bret said, cracking them all up.

  John threw his hands up in mock surrender and fired up the car when everyone was buckled in. The throaty V8 made itself heard and John goosed the gas pedal until the motor ran smoothly. They put the car in gear and started their way slowly towards Choccolocco. The closer they got to the town the quieter they all got. John pointed out the window and tendrils of smoke rising from the distance.

  “What’s that smell?” Linny asked, her voice tiny in the backseat, almost too quiet to hear over the Impala’s open exhaust.

  “I don’t know kiddo,” John lied.

  They could all smell it, and John shared a look with Michael. The smell was of decay, like the time they had left a pile of fish guts out in the sun and forgot to throw the rest into the lake to chum. Within a couple days they found the pile again by smell, and it was horrid in the Alabama heat. They had scraped it into a hastily dug hole and covered it. This smell was like that.

  “Where are we headed first?” Michael asked John, as they rolled into town.

  “Let’s go check out our houses. See if—“

  “Yeah.” Michael replied.

  “Do you guys have more games for my DS?” Brett asked.

  “I do, but it isn’t going to work,” Michael said, leaning back to look over the front seats.

  “I know,” Bret said in a huff, “Just checking.”

  “Hey, somebody broke those houses,” Linny said pointing out a sight that had both men wincing already.

  The houses in their neighborhood were shells of what they once were. It wasn’t the big fires that had ruined them, but people by the looks of thing
s. Michael’s front door was busted off its hinges and the garage door was up. They pulled into the driveway.

  “Oh man.” John said as he turned off the motor and got the M2 out with him. “You stay with the kids for a sec, would ya?”

  “It’s my house,” Michael stepped out of the car and pulled his .45 so he could be ready for everything.

  “Just stick by the car, ok?”

  “All right,” Michael said and John entered through the broken front door.

  “Is Uncle John going to be right back?” Linny asked through an open side window.

  “Yeah, he’s a pretty tough dude.” Michael told her and reached in to muss her hair.

  “Your garage is all messy. My dad doesn’t have a messy garage like that,” Bret said.

  Michael had realized that already. Somebody or somebodies had torn through there. His rolling tool chest was still there, but every drawer was open and all the tools were missing. Boxes that had been stacked on wire shelving were open and clothes he’d outgrown were strewn around. The door that connected to the house was open and without moving from beside the car, he could see large holes punched through the sheetrock.

  “Your house didn’t look like this when you left, did it?” Linny asked.

  Michael was choked up. He could only imagine what the rest of the house looked like, and all he kept thinking about was what would his parents think.

  “Did they make it back here to find this? I should have left them a note. I wish I would have said more than a quick goodbye,” Were the thoughts that kept playing over and over in Michael’s head and the kids questions fell silent as they realized he wasn’t listening anymore. A form materialized in the connecting doorway. It was John, and he looked at Michael with apologetic eyes.

  “It’s pretty trashed in there. Somebody was looking for food and –“John’s words broke off as they heard the sound of motors heading their way.

  “Oh shit,” John muttered running for the car.

  Instead of jumping in, he turned the key and put the car in neutral. Michael immediately understood the play and opened the passenger door and pushed. Bret and Linny slid out and Bret went to the back of the car and pushed. Linny stood there puzzled for a second and finally the big Impala finally moved with the combined weight of the three of them. As soon as the rear bumper passed the garage door tracks, John gave a hoarse yell to Linny to pull the cord down.

  She snapped out of her confusion and was able to get the door in place. The rumble of the steel door coming down wouldn’t be alarming but now it was the loudest noise besides whatever was coming this way.

  “Do you think they saw us?” Michael whispered.

  “I don’t know. Did you see what it was?” John asked him, going to a small window in the garage door and looking out to either side.”

  “No, I didn’t see anything. It happened so fast.” Michael replied.

  They stood there in the dark and Bret worked his way next to Michael, fitting his small hand into the older boys. Michael gave the hand a squeeze and pulled Linny close into a one armed hug. The sound grew closer and everyone fell silent, hoping they hadn’t been noticed.

  Chapter 4 -

  Homestead Kentucky

  It had been close to two weeks and Blake slowly regained his strength. His shoulder and arm weren’t worth much, but he could now leave the porch and travel around the homestead with his bum leg. Chris suggested they keep one of the quads nearby for him, and the Four-Trax was set aside for him. Everybody at the homestead was busy. There were now more people on his property than he even knew what to do with. Duncan and Sandra working on scheduling things. Everyone knew winter was coming and the two squads of soldiers were invaluable for their manpower and firepower.

  Firewood was cut, some by chainsaw, some by the hand tools and the one hundred years of tools and junk in the barn. Blake’s kitchen was always full with somebody running the canner. Outside the house in the shade, an area had been shoveled flat by the French drains and many propane burners were setup. The same portable kind that folks used as turkey fryers. Supplies were scavenged in town and they started a seven man scouting party to scavenge, scout and look for survivors. Several of the local pharmacies were emptied, although the pain killers and psych medications had all ready been looted. Stockpiles of supplies were collected.

  If survivors were found, they were checked over by one of soldiers who used to be an EMT in a former life. If anything serious came up, Martha was called or the survivor was brought closer to the homestead and Martha came out to meet with them. More than that though, they all kept an ear out. Chatter started to fill the military channels and none of the men recognized the (CALL SIGNS) of the foreign sounding voices. Whenever they tried to contact their commanding officers, they were ordered to return to their guard unit’s armory for re-assignment. The problem was, none of them believed what they were hearing.

  All the hustle and bustle had Blake itching to jump in, but he still couldn’t. Some days he ended up sitting on his porch with Chris, playing a board game until one of the other kids came up to have him come play. When that happened, he headed inside and sat with David and Patty. They usually unplugged their headphones so he could listen in on what was going on. It was on a day like this that he found a new outlet for his creativity that had been sitting dormant awaiting him to help.

  “Hello?” A young woman’s voice came out of the radio, clear and without distortion, “Can anybody hear me?”

  Patty grabbed the transmitter and spoke, “I can hear you, are you ok?”

  “Yeah, I just found this radio and decided to try it out. Dumb luck huh?”

  “Yeah, I guess it is. Is it a big radio?”

  “Oh no, it’s a hand held radio. I found it under a dead soldier. I thought it was a weird thing to hold on to since all the electronics died…”

  “From what we can tell, most military radio pieces work fine, but tell me,” Patty paused and looked at the men, “why was the soldier dead?”

  “It was from the group that got into a gunfight with the biker’s out here.”

  “Where’s here?”

  “Charlotte. Listen, I have to go find some water somewhere. I’ll be back later on. It’s nice talking to people who aren’t out to hurt me.”

  “Thanks. I’m Patty. I’ll be right here.”

  “Thanks Patty, call me Z.”

  “Z?”

  “I have a weird name.” Z said.

  “Ask her if she knows about the water heaters?” Blake said, becoming interested.

  “Hey Z, real quick, do you know about water heaters?” Patty asked, her expression puzzled as she looked at Blake.

  “No, what about them? They quit working when the gas quit.”

  Blake grabbed the microphone and pressed the transmit button.

  “This is Blake, the water heater is still a holding tank. There’s a valve at the bottom for maintenance. I’m willing to bet if you’re around a ton of empty houses you can find one or two that are full. That’s probably more water than you’d need…”

  “I have to go,” Z said and the radio went silent except for a little feedback.

  “Wow, I never would have thought of that Blake,” David said standing up and stretching. “You want my seat for a bit? I’m going to head to the barracks and see if Ms. Corinne’s sourdough starter worked.”

  “Sure,” Blake said, scooting closer to the radio.”

  “But what about me? I don’t—“ Patty started to say in a panicked voice.

  “You’ll do fine, besides, the squad and guard units have their own communications gear now. We’ve just got a bigger reach with this base unit and antenna system they rigged up.”

  Patty took a deep breath and nodded, and David headed out.

  “You know how to run this?” Patty asked Blake.

  “Somewhat. I haven’t done much with it though.”

  “Hey, uh… Blake, this is Z.” The voice came out of the radio, but you could tell she was whisperi
ng.

  “Go ahead, I’m still here.”

  “I think you saved me. I haven’t had water for a day and a half now. I’m in somebodies basement and found it just like you said. Thank you.”

  “No problem. Just call back on this channel if you need to brainstorm or talk or—“

  “Blake,” A new voice came out of the radio, cutting him off, “Thanks for the tip also, it’s something… Oops, my lady says I just walked all over your transmission. Thanks,”

  Three more voices spoke up, different than Z, calling in from across the country one by one thanking him. Blake was shocked and surprised.

  “Maybe you should do this more often?” Patty said, a rare smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  “Yeah, I agree,” Lisa said, and they turned to see her coming out of the kitchen, mitts on her hands from handling the canners.

  “We need a name for it, something cool,” Patty was all out smiling now.

  “Guerilla Radio? Lisa said, pulling the mitts off and walking to Blake.

  “Why Guerilla Radio?” Blake asked his mother in law.

  “I don’t know. Rage Against the Machine had this song and it reminded me of it.” Lisa said.

  Patty cracked up all the way and when she quit the giggles she looked up at Lisa, “Rage Against the Machine? You?”

  “Yeah, me. What?”

  Blake chuckled, “I’m not sure it needs a name.”

  “Hey world, what do you think of the name, Guerilla Radio for a regularly scheduled broadcast on tips and help? An old school radio version of the internet or Wikipedia?” Patty said into the mic.

  “Rebel Radio,” Z’s voice came through loud and clear.

  Her sentiments were echoed by more voices than had called in earlier and when a familiar voice got on, Blake sat up, his smile even bigger.

  “Blake hon, I think it’s a great idea. Let’s find an unused frequency and we’ll start sharing it with the world,” Sandra said.

  “Rebel Radio?” Blake asked.