The Survivors
John and Anne

Rawlins, Wyoming

February 11th

1

“You’re not fooling me. You don’t know who to call, even if you do fix it.”

John Harmon MD flinched at his wife’s voice echoing across the living room. He put a hand to his chest, trying to catch his breath.

“Sorry.”

“Uh-huh.” John studied his wife; he was glad she had finally gained a little weight while they’d been hiding in their home. Anne was half of his 240lbs, with hair still brown instead of his salt and pepper. She was beautiful for fifty-eight. He hadn’t been as lucky. “You did that on purpose.”

Anne’s brown eyes flashed concern above fine age lines. She set the large green afghan she was knitting on the recliner’s matching brown end table. “I had to. You’re sad again.”

Stalling, he took off his glasses and laid them on the device he really didn’t know how to repair. He stared through the only window in the large two-story farmhouse they hadn’t covered in thick layers of plastic. John frowned at the Discovery Channel special going on in their muddy yard. Their neighbor’s dog had collapsed and died near the barn yesterday. The collie’s carcass was now a carpet of ants. Their bloated bodies twitched in effort and obvious communication as they struggled to cut up and relocate the food. Backdropped by a sunset view of the hazy Rocky Mountains, the foraging ants were each the size of a quarter.

They were the biggest John had seen around here yet; their bodies were constantly changing from the contaminated carrion they were ingesting. All the nests were getting regular doses of contaminated Miracle Gro from the rain and snow. John hated to think about what it was doing to the rats and spiders, who could hatch or birth young every few weeks.

Once nature finished cleaning, leaving only bones, predators would change to other food sources, like people. The death toll from this hell wouldn’t end for a century or more. Everything had changed. It had been thirty-eight years since he and Anne were in the army at the same MASH unit. He had to remember what had kept him alive then, so they could use it now. “We have to pack up and go. The weather’s not as bad now that two months have passed. We’ve cleaned out the local stock.”

Anne stared.

John was sure he had caught her off guard with his words. He didn’t know where they would end up, or if they would even be able to make the trip. It definitely wouldn’t be a blow off. Their hometown of Rawlins was no longer safe, but the temperatures were still falling too. They couldn’t stay here. The food would cover them for another month and a half, but nature wouldn’t wait.

The lonely echo of his wife’s shoes on the bare floor made John wonder what the footsteps sounded like as they floated down to the dark, flooded tunnels of their barricaded basement. Was it a dinner bell to those open dark ways and everything that might now be calling that nasty area home? They heard noises sometimes. He was never sure if it was the moment that they would have to defend themselves. They didn’t go down there. They also didn’t take down the boards he’d used to seal the door, but they did occasionally tense and glance that way. John was glad Anne knew how to use the shotgun and the rifle he kept by her chair. Not that a firearm would be effective against sewer rats.

“But why, Johnnie? We get along here.”

“We’ve seen no sign of anyone coming to save us.” John sighed. “And because of the basement.”

Scratch. Sniff…sniff.

As if to prove his point, they heard the curious, hungry rodents near the door. The sewer grates at the other end of the treeless land kept out the bigger problems, but the rats had come in by the hundreds after the war. He and his wife had sealed off the unused parts of their home. The rats were too big to get under the floors, but their pups weren’t. John expected to see them in substantial numbers soon.

“Where would we go? Other than those men with the guns, we ain’t seen a healthy person in nigh on two weeks.”

John forced his hand away from his aching stomach, gaze still on the yard. He hoped that ugly green twilight would finish setting and hide the view so Anne wouldn’t get upset.

“Johnnie?”

The thought of leaving their home obviously hadn’t occurred to her. John felt that terror too, but it wasn’t strong enough to get him to change his mind. She had to do things his way now. Her life depended on it. “To NORAD, for starters. We’ll surrender to the draft.”

“What if it’s all like here, or worse?”

She was referring to the dead pets, dead police, dead crops, and of course, dead friends and neighbors they’d known all their lives. He knew the horror was still fresh for her–especially the memory of passing a neighbor’s wrecked truck on the two-lane dirt road to their farm. Both doors had been open, and they’d seen the bullet holes in the windshield as they returned from their burning office to avoid the panic gripping their town, their country. Anne had wanted to stop, but there hadn’t been a reason to. The elderly couple was dead, brains blown all over the road.

“We’ll have to do some searching. Other healthy survivors are out there. I know it doesn’t feel that way when you look out the window.” John winced at his reference.

“But we’re old; they won’t want us. Shouldn’t we stay hidden?”

“That, my dear Anne, is exactly what most people will do, and they will die. What the weather and disease don’t take, the gangs and starvation will. All these threats are lessened when humanity comes together. Despite the flaws, we are not better off without society.”

When she leaned toward him, tan slacks rustling, John gently surrounded her with his arms, hoping she wouldn’t notice his racing pulse. “You’re a nurse. I’m a doctor. It’s wrong of us to deny them our help. They need us now more than ever.” He kissed her wrinkled hand. “Our age will make us more valuable because of our experience.”

John played his trump card without guilt, knowing her inability to get pregnant, which he believed to be his fault, would keep her from arguing more. “There are a lot of kids out there too, Anna, kids who are alone and hurting. They need us. Trust me, my sweet, I do this for you.”

“I do, Johnnie. You know that. I always have.”

John gritted his teeth against a wave of pain that settled deep into his guts. “Good. We’ll leave this week.”

Anne turned her head.

John tensed, expecting a bad reaction as her eyes landed on the gruesome scene outside.

She shuddered.

He opened his mouth to comfort her.

“I never did like that damned dog. It barked too much.” Anne returned to her knitting, leaving him with a shocked look on his lightly bearded face.

Even after all these years, she was still capable of surprising him. John was happier than he could say that they had survived the actual war together. There’s no one I’d rather be with as I die.

2

A while later, John was still at the window. The big ants and most of their dinner were gone. Freezing rain was falling again, but John didn’t see it. He dwelled on his wife, on the half-truths he’d told her. He never lied, but he sometimes left things out and this time it was huge. He would tell her soon, though. She had a right to know that this next year together would probably be their last. He had to get her to some kind of safety, and he had to do it now. She would refuse to budge if he told her why they were really going.

Movement in the dimness caught John’s attention, mostly because there was so little of it now. He watched a shadow limp across their driveway, keeping to the line of dormant bushes around the edge of the long porch. He and Anne had seen a lot of radiation victims right after the war, in the initial stages where travel was still possible. John tensed, expecting one of the walking dead.

Tall and thin, with dirty curls under goggles, the young woman wore a muddy coat that came to the top of her boots. Should I call to her? She looked healthy, other than a slight limp.

Before John could decide, she turned toward the window.

Her mouth opened in fear, panicked feet slipping on muddy debris, and then she was gone, disappearing into the hazy darkness.

John rose to go to the door anyway.

Another lance of burning pain struck. He dropped back into the chair, breath stolen. He held his swollen stomach, wishing the pills would hurry. He needed a lab that still had power, so he could run some tests. It would be easier to plan his wife’s future if he knew how long he had before the cancer took him.

John sighed again. He wouldn’t stop until he found someone to protect his sweet, gentle mate. Anne would never last in this hard, new world alone.

Anne tied the last knot of string on the blanket and then began to put away her supplies. She didn’t look at her husband. She didn’t need to see him to know he was in pain and gunny sacking to keep her from replaceing out. He could try to distract her with talk of kids all he wanted–she did feel a bit of regret that she had never been able to bear him a son and hadn’t wanted to take one in that wasn’t theirs–but it didn’t keep her from noticing things.

His eating and sleeping habits had changed drastically; she’d seen the empty pill bottles in the trash. He was protecting her, like he always did from the dreadful things. She would do what he wanted and pretend she didn’t have a clue, but Anne knew he was sick and hunting for a place to leave her. John wanted to be alone when he died. He’d said it many times. He claimed it would hurt too much to say goodbye, and while she would do anything for him, she simply couldn’t allow that. Leaving him alone to die would be a betrayal of their life together, and now, after all that had happened, any betrayal of life was wrong. When we go, it will be together.

A week later

“Go faster! Faster!”

“Hold on!” The horrified doctor swung the wagon into the dark woods that lined the road and killed the engine a few yards in. He was glad for the heavy fog and cover of night. “Get down! Low as you can!”

The elderly couple shoved themselves onto the floorboard as best they could.

John stifled a groan at the cramped position, glasses sliding from his face as the engines grew closer.

Pop-Pop!

Screeechh!

Headlights flashed their way. The gunshots and engines echoed as the storm rolled overhead.

“I love you, Johnnie. Have since we was kids.”

A cold hand locked onto his hairy wrist through the sleeve of his plaid shirt. John covered it with his own shaking fingers, afraid he might wet himself despite all his determination not to. “I adore you, my sweet.”

The large group of vehicles began to fly by.

The couple froze, listening to the gunshots, wincing at each whine and ricochet.

Drunken shouts echoed, along with thuds of metal hitting, scraping. Rain thumped on the roof; a tire squealed.

A bullet pinged off their bumper, making them both flinch. Their grip on each other tightened, both aware the fog was the only thing keeping them from certain, painful death. A long two minutes later, the gang was out of sight; their noises faded to silence.

Terrified it was a trick, John kept them still for another fifteen minutes. He finally moved when the bands of pain in his stomach caused tears to slip from his eyes.

Driving without lights, John took them west on 40, away from the gang. They would still go to Cheyenne Mountain. They would just take a different path. They’d been on the road for five days now. John had been careful to use methods that didn’t require much physical labor. They weren’t spring chickens. He wasn’t taking any more chances than he had to. So far, they were a bit stiff and a little sore, but they both felt more alert than they had in years.

“How long will this add?”

John slid his glasses into place. “Couple hours. We have to get off these frontage roads, but we’ll still make Routt Ridge by dawn.”

Anne nodded, wrinkled fingers turning on the heat and defroster before digging into the kit behind his seat. “Take these.” She dropped two white pills into his wrinkled hand and held out an open mason jar of clear liquid.

John took them gratefully. His gut was on fire; the blood in his veins was pounding in rhythm with his pain. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Anne flipped on the CB and went back to checking channels. He was her man, her love, and she wouldn’t let him suffer. She had a good idea what was wrong. She had been a nurse long enough to read the signs he couldn’t hide on this journey. Now, it wasn’t a secret anymore.

John scanned the foggy landscape, able to see faint outlines of dude ranches and hunting lodges. Other than those, and the occasional farm or dead vehicle in the road, there was nothing around here. It had been isolated before. Now, it was desolate. Wind howled through the shadowy darkness around their vehicle, warning of more ugliness to come.

4

Damn. John swept the ugly scene coming up in front of them. It had been a group of travelers, or maybe a large family, and the gang had killed them all. The trail was leading straight to NORAD. Has the gang been there too?

John winced as another bump jarred him against a spring sticking out of the seat. He shifted, trying to avoid it as the wagon chugged along the smoldering streets of Granby, Colorado. He hoped Anne stayed asleep. The gentle snoring coming from the blanket filled passenger seat gave him hope that she might get to miss this particular stretch. One glance out the foggy window would reveal that they were in danger again. Signs of a battle littered the area. The winners had marked their victory with devastation. Homes were in flames–even trees on front lawns were burning. Cheery Christmas lights had melted onto the branches. Cars had been rammed through buildings, and bodies lay where they’d been shot. The blood hadn’t dried yet.

The doctor was horrified to see their tires leaving bloody tracks, but the puddles were unavoidable. So was the smell. Even with the windows up, it was revolting.

John lowered the glass, stopping to listen for survivors.

He heard only wind and crackling flames. The equality state was no longer that. Now, only the strongest would survive.

And those with them. John scanned his wife once more before sending his attention back to the apocalyptic road. He and Anne had been that type in their youth, but now, he could only hope to replace people who would protect her.

John continued to look for survivors, but the gang had been thorough. After another long minute, he got out of the area. Granby was just a huge cemetery without a marker now.

Dawn was starting to break as he cleared the city limits. The dusty sky barely hinted at light. John knew he couldn’t go another full day without sleep, but they weren’t stopping near here, not even for a stretch. Those men might–

“Want me to drive? I’ve got my glasses.”

John jumped. He hid the pain from it with a tight smile while loosening the belt over his swollen abdomen. “We’ll switch after brunch. I’ll snooze in your warm spot.”

Anne adjusted her silk shawl tighter over her sweater, then shut her eyes and laid on the pillow against the locked door. Instead of giving him hell about not telling her he was sick, she had adjusted to caring for him as they traveled. She was handling the journey well. Was I a little bored, a little restless? Hell of a way to have an adventure.

The rain began to solidify into snow.

John wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t stop. There had already been a bite to the wind that warned they would be running the heater the entire trip. John was glad to have the cans of gas on the luggage rack. Three hours at a station with a foot pump had given him a nasty backache, but they were good for two weeks of driving. He hoped to replace a safe place long before it ran out. Along with the gang they had hidden from, there had also been other dangers on this trip–like the radiation victim that had snuck up on them in the fog three days ago and almost got the door open before John could get the wagon into drive.

Talk about taking some years off my life, John thought with a touch of bitterness. The weather was also hard to drive in, but at least the acid rain would force the rest of the mortally injured to hole up somewhere and finish dying.

John scanned the tarp in the rear of the wagon that hid their belongings, the last remnants of their life before the war. He desperately wanted to replace a group of people like themselves... John knew they were out there, gathering somewhere. He could feel the pull of their calls, but he saw no one.

The old Ford kept on chugging.

5

An hour after dawn lit the sky, the snow had lightened, and the wagon sat on Routt Ridge. The older couple observed in silence, hope gone. NORAD had fallen.

“Check the radio again. Maybe we’ll hear survivors.”

Anne did it slowly, but they heard nothing as she flipped through...

John caught something. He put a gentle hand on his wife’s wrist to keep her from changing to the next channel. “Wait.”

A second later, the radio lit up with heavy static and a man’s calm words.

“Safe Haven… Red Cross... Welcome all survivors... follow… clear means closer.”

They lost the transmission. The radio went to full static.

John looked over Routt Ridge, not needing to see the horrors in the bunker to know they were there.

“Whatever you think, Johnnie.” Anne’s voice was shaky, but there was confidence too–confidence in him.

John considered. They could at least check the new people out from a distance. With NORAD gone, there was nowhere else John could think of to try. If that complex had fallen, no place was safe.

John turned around and headed the wagon west, sure they couldn’t have heard the transmission if the new people were south. The mountains wouldn’t allow the waves to carry that well on their cheap radio. He would narrow it down by the clarity of the calls, and then determine if this so-called Safe Haven was aptly named.

John still believed leaving their home had been the right thing to do. They had started seeing rats the day before. His last memory of the home they’d shared for so long was of nailing the Warning! Rodents! sign on the front door. They would probably be sick from rat bites by now if they’d stayed. He had waited as long as he could.

John assumed the group they ended up with wouldn’t be exactly what he was hoping for, but if his beloved wife would be safe and have a good place after he was gone, he would offer his services in exchange.

If that doesn’t work, I’ll get on my knees and beg.