Harmonic: Resonance Page 11

  Powell and I finished loading the van with all the provisions we would need to last for at least two weeks, while Haley climbed into the back seat. I retrieved the map book from my dad’s truck, and we plotted our route around all of the already marked roads, sticking to those indicated as still functional. Beyond Powell’s destroyed house, the map was free of notes as none of us had ventured farther and returned. From that point on, our journey would be unpredictable. Randall suggested we take the high road instead of the highway—even though it was narrow and winding and didn’t reconnect to the highway at any point near Camp Herald, it would probably be less congested with abandoned vehicles, and it would offer an elevated view of the camp.

  Of the five of us, only three would be making the journey. Over the last week, Gary’s demeanor had softened to that of self-pity or perhaps shame, and Randall seemed to have found a new purpose. Randall had once again turned to The Bible, using it as a tool to help rid Gary of his demons, and as they sat and read together each day, both men were seemingly broken and remade. It was decided that Randall and Gary should stay and defend the house and all of our supplies so when we returned, we would have somewhere to return to.

  ***

  The van’s radio warned of patrols for unregistered N.L.D. and that any civilian met with military personnel must have valid picture ID.

  “… at checkpoints and during encounters with mobile military patrols, your cooperation is mandatory. Civil disobedience will not be tolerated.”

  As the highroad snaked around the cliffside, the radio signal was repeatedly lost to static until it became predominantly white noise and we shut it off. While Powell and I discussed our plans, I kept an eye on our precious cargo in the rear-view mirror. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her craning her neck to read my lips and catered my responses to ones more fitting for her attention. The periodic and censored offerings interjected more candid conversation directed to the scrolling cliffside. Haley soon lost interest in our pantomime of small talk and returned her gaze to the scenery outside her window.

  At certain points along the winding road, the trees fell away behind the ridge, revealing the expansive, uneven plain below and the highway carved through it. The highway stretched into the distance both ways and was littered with vehicles. From a distance, it was difficult to see if those vehicles were slow moving, stopped, or abandoned. In several places, the traffic had spilled off the road, onto the rocky terrain, and seemed to move only in relation to the scenery before and beyond.

  The high road had its fair share of rolled, crashed, or otherwise abandoned vehicles. We edged around obstructions either by scraping along the cliff’s face or by slowly crawling near the opposite cliff edge. Those vehicles we couldn’t go around were put in neutral and pushed, or rolled, off to the side. We marked each obstruction and each vehicle on the map for reference on our return journey, checking each for supplies before moving on to the next. The road devolved to a series of blind, debris-strewn corners, and at anything over fifty, a tap of the brake made the van skip and skid.

  What should have been a four-to five-hour drive was now more than a day’s travel, and as the sun was setting, we looked for a safe place to pull over for the night. We had talked about sleeping in shifts, but with the road conditions as treacherous as they were by daylight, we were not willing to take the added risk of driving in the dark. We had also discussed the unwanted attention a single set of headlights would attract—our lights would be visible for miles across the plains, and any chance of a “stealthy” approach would be lost.

  We pulled in along the cliffside, behind the wreckage of an SUV, and shut off the engine. Powell unpacked and unrolled the sleeping bags while I reclined the seats and packed the leftover travel snacks back into the plastic container. Before bedding down for the night, the three of us made our way to the ridge to watch the most beautiful display of color as the sun set over the plains, painting over the dry and treacherous landscape with pink and orange light. Viewed from so high above, the highway glistened and sparkled as though strewn with innumerable precious gemstones—a beautiful mirage created by nothing more precious than broken glass.

  ***

  I woke periodically throughout the night, turned the key in the ignition, and allowed the van to idle with the heat on. Powell had stirred each time as the engine coughed to life but never left the dream that made his mouth twitch around a smile. His kind smile followed me back into the beginnings of sleep, and I dreamed of things the way they were before. Dreams and memories mixed to reunite my father, Sam, and me. As we relived our precious moments together I realized Powell was there too, but I didn’t feel the need to ask how or why. I gave in to the warm embrace of a beautiful dream and perhaps, outside of sleep, I was smiling too.

  When I opened my eyes, we were moving again. The sun was up and shining bright through the windows, silhouetting the man who had shared my dream. As I yawned and shuffled to free my arms from the sleeping bag, Powell glanced over. “Good morning,” he said.

  “Morning.”

  I unzipped the sleeping bag to my waist and inclined my seat back to sitting position. In the mirror, I could see Haley, still curled up in soundless sleep on the rear bench seat.

  “She looks so peaceful,” I said.

  Powell offered a smile. “I made coffee on the grill before we left. Hopefully it’s still warm.”

  “Thank you.”

  The coffee was whitened and warm. As I sipped, my mind wandered back through the fading details of the dream. I don’t know if it was the dream or the fact we had slept next to each other in the van, but there was something more familiar about his smile, as though I’d known him all my life. I remembered Haley’s teasing and had to look away before the smile on my face prompted questions as to its cause. I pulled the map from the glove box and made an effort to shake the dream.

  “How far are we?” I asked.

  “We passed Cole Creek about ten minutes ago,” he said.

  I traced a finger along the snaking line on the page until I found Cole Creek. “It doesn’t look to be that much farther on the map, but it doesn’t look like we’ve come that far either,” I said.

  I scanned the road ahead on the map, looking for any distinct curves or recognizable features we could use to check our progress. The van slowed to a crawl. “What is it?” I asked.

  “Just glass and debris.” He parked the van, leaving it to idle, and climbed out.

  Powell picked up the larger pieces and carried them over to join the wreckage at the side of the road, while I dragged my foot through the glass to clear a path.

  “Where’s the other car?” I asked.

  “What other car?”

  “The one that this one crashed into,” I said and made my way to the cliff edge. There was a flattened gap in the foliage. The snapped limbs tunneled downward, framing the remains of a van, wedged precariously between two large trees, overhanging the plain far below. The van looked like ours and even more like the van Sean and Sarah had taken.

  “Powell?”

  “What is it?” he asked and made his way to join me at the edge.

  “Is that them?” I asked.

  As Powell scrutinized the vehicle, I scrutinized his face for any sign of confirmation. My throat tightened and I felt the hot sting of tears as they began to well. His mouth opened and then closed again.

  “Powell?”

  When he turned to face me, his expression held no answers or reassurance. He rushed to our van, opened the back hatch, and returned with the binoculars. I held my breath while he stared intently at the wreckage.

  “It’s not them.”

  I let out the breath and closed my eyes. Warm tears rolled over my cheeks and turned cold as they ran down my face. “You’re sure?” I asked, almost in a whisper.

  “I’m sure. It’s not them,” he said and put his arms around me.

  ***

  We continued along the path of broken glass, each colored cube like a breadcru
mb leading us to the next mangled obstruction. Haley was awake and snacking on dried fruit and nuts, while Powell and I sat listening for any new information over the radio. The broadcasts were the same as before, sporadic warnings about compliance and cooperation, fading over and under static. The radio served as an audible anchor, tethering one of my senses to reality and periodically pulling my wandering mind back from the cliff edge. Each mental glimpse of the wedged van began the internal mantra of it wasn’t them … it wasn’t them … which slowly evolved into what if it had been?

  My attention snapped back to the passenger dash. The broadcast devolved to a catfight—zipping, whistling, and hissing—before returning to the monotone delivery of registration protocols. I glanced down at the map and out at the road in front, trying to gauge how far we had come. The high road straightened out, running parallel now with the highway below. We were almost there.

  The radio voice was shushed again by white noise and was soon replaced by a low oscillating tone, which climbed in volume and pitch into an unbearable squeal. As I reached for the radio’s volume dial, its display grew bright, along with the lights behind the instrument panel. There was a pop from the speaker, and a final high whir as the van’s engine revved and then cut out completely.

  The new silence was interrupted by a hollow click as the steering lock engaged. Powell pumped the brake, but the van ignored his efforts and coasted up onto the sloping wall of the cliff. The van leaned before turning back toward the road and the sheer drop beyond.

  With a white-knuckle grip on the wheel, Powell pushed a foot down on the emergency brake, arching his back as it clicked all the way down. The van skipped and skidded, throwing Haley into the back of Powell’s seat and me hard against the dash, as we shuddered to a halt.

  “You okay?” Powell stammered in time to the rhythm of his shaking hands.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I managed and mouthed the same question to Haley. She nodded.

  “What just happened?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Everything just shut off.” He let out a long breath and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. “It’s dead.”

  “So what now? How are we going to get back?” I asked.

  “Hopefully, we can find another working vehicle. Even if we can find one that’s out of gas, we can maybe coast back down the hill and fill up from here,” Powell said.

  I thought about how close we had come to coasting over the edge and to our death, but I pushed it quickly from my mind. The choice between a slim hope and complete despair was no choice at all. Hope was the most needed element for our basic survival, and hope would be necessary for me to be able to look Haley in the eyes and tell her everything would be okay.

  “We should take what we need and pick the rest up on the way back then,” I said.

  We climbed out of the van, and I explained what had happened to Haley, while she frowned at my lips. She wrote in her notepad and handed it to me.

  “Not far. We should be able to see the camp from the top of the hill,” I replied.

  She took her notepad back and scrawled another message, handed it to me, and waited. It was not a question but an offer to help carry our supplies. I took her in my arms and gave her a squeeze. I had to smile at how simple our predicament was to her—our vehicle had stopped working, so now we had to walk. I remembered my conversation with Randall and thought how simple and beautiful life would be if the meek were to inherit the earth.

  We pulled our packs from the back of the van, rolled up the sleeping bags, and strapped them down. The packs contained everything we would need to survive for a short time according to Gary, who had written the list for what should be included in each bug-out bag. There were enough for us all, and the bags were kept “ready to go” in case we had to abandon the house and retreat into the wilderness. Powell fastened the first-aid bag and binoculars to one side of his pack and the shotgun to the other. I strapped the rifle to my own, rolled up the map, slipped it into a side pocket, and then helped Haley with her pack—one of Gary’s everyday carry bags that had been catered for her size.

  We covered the rest of our supplies with a spare blanket. It wasn’t enough to shield our provisions to anything more than a passing glance through the window, but it was all we could do. There hadn’t been another living person on the road throughout our journey, and the chance of any stragglers choosing our vehicle for a thorough inspection seemed slim. Powell took out the small camping grill, closed the hatch, and pressed the button on the key fob. He shook his head and used the key to lock it manually before checking and locking the rest of the doors.

  The three of us walked at Haley’s pace up the hill.

  “The world will never go back to the way it was, will it?” I asked, although it was a question that didn’t need an answer.

  ***

  The van was far behind us, but the crest of the hill seemed no closer. What had looked to be less than an hour’s walk had already taken several and felt like much more. With each and every step, the pack grew heavier and I grew weaker. The only parts of me that were still dry were my mouth and lips, and my head began to throb.

  When I mentioned it to Powell, he suggested we take a break to rehydrate and recuperate. Part of me wanted to push on, but there was little fight left in me. I relented and removed my pack before helping Haley with hers. She appeared no worse for wear but was glad for the break and the water. We sat in silence on the dry dirt and drank, each of us awash with sweat and breathing heavy.

  Powell removed the binoculars from his pack, got to his feet, and made his way to the cliff edge. He followed the edge to a break in the trees then signaled for me to join him. I asked Haley to wait with our things and gave her a bag of trail mix to snack on while we were gone.

  “What is it?” I asked, as I made my way to Powell.

  “Take a look,” he said and held out the binoculars.

  “Is that the camp?” I asked.

  “Looks like it.”

  “It’s a lot bigger than I thought it would be,” I said.

  The lines of people waiting to get in seemed to stretch on for miles and in several directions. “There are more people here than they have space for. What are they going to do with the rest?”

  Soldiers walked the columns of people, tidying the edges by ushering people back in line and by removing some—escorting them to a separate building on the outskirts of the compound. While those at the front of the column shuffled forward, those farther back didn’t seem to move at all.

  “I didn’t see anyone I recognize,” Powell said. “You?”

  I shook my head. “There are thousands of people down there. How are we going to find them?”

  The people inside the camp looked thin and frail, worse than those they had shown on television. Some stared back through the fence, perhaps waiting for loved ones in the lineup, and others sat with books or bowls of food. In the large fenced-in yard were long rows of bench tables where groups huddled together, talking, laughing, or playing cards.

  “Well, they don’t look like prisoners,” I said.

  There was movement at the gate. A few of the soldiers grouped together, and I followed them through the binoculars as they approached a man in the lineup. The man beckoned the soldiers using frantic gestures, waving and pointing to something farther back. The soldiers quickened their pace, and the man led them to a young boy, lying on the ground beside a kneeling woman. The first soldier held a bottle to the boy’s lips and then picked him up. The woman and child were led off to another of the surrounding buildings, while the man was made to rejoin the column.

  At the gate, another group was ushered through and was met inside with a swarm of hugs and kisses from waiting friends or relatives.

  “What are you smiling at?” asked Powell.

  “The people that were just let in—looks like they found their family waiting for them.” I handed the binoculars back to Powell. “I should probably go and check on Haley and let her know tha
t we’ve found the camp,” I said.

  Haley was sitting cross-legged in the dirt, looking up at the trees. I followed her gaze to a blue Jay perched on a low branch. She looked at me and smiled.

  “We can see the camp from here,” I said.

  She wrote in her notepad and turned the page to face me.

  I shook my head. “We haven’t seen them yet, but there are a lot of people down there. We’ll find them.”

  She seemed disappointed but not surprised.

  I sat down next to her and gestured to the bird. “It’s a blue jay.”

  She nodded, gave a little smile, then shuffled closer, and tucked herself into my waiting arms.

  A few minutes later, Powell returned, shaking his head. “At the rate they’re moving them through, we should wait an hour or so, then go back and check the lineup.”

  “Okay.”

  He pulled three cans from his pack, opened them, and set them on the grill. “We’ll have to slow cook so there’s no smoke,” he said, and pushed the igniter. The switch made a loud click, which reverberated through the open lid of the grill, but there was no spark.

  “I guess the igniter’s dead too.” He rummaged through his pack and pulled out a lighter. The leaked gas lit with a whoosh, and Powell closed the lid as far as the cans would allow before turning the flame down to low.

  “We’ll go back after we eat,” he said and then turned his attention to Haley.

  “I have something for you,” he said and reached back into his pack. “The Chronicles of Narnia. I found it on the back seat of one of the cars on the way. Here,” he said and handed the book to Haley.

  Haley stared at the book’s cover and then pointed at her own chest.