Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey (2 page)
Fade to
Grey
*click*
Two bullets. That’s it. That’s all I have left. And it’s dark
where I’m at, pitch black. My flashlight batteries crapped out a couple of
hours ago. My ankle is still throbbing; it feels wet through my sock. I
probably ripped the stitches out. Again. And it’s night, I’m guessing around three
in the morning. They’re out there, the gray ones . . . searching for me. I
never thought I’d get my ticket punched like this. Heck, I’m only twenty-eight
years old. I guess I never really gave it much thought to how I’d actually go
out, not before the world changed anyhow. If I think back to when the world was
normal . . . well crap . . . I feel like I’m rambling again . . . Sorry. Anyhow,
if I think back and force myself to imagine a scenario—a “most likely to occur”
event that would claim my life—I guess it would be the typical things. Car
wreck, maybe cancer in fifty years, heart attack on the golf course when I’m seventy
. . . that kind of stuff. I used to know a guy in college, Willard Jeffrey
Adams, “Willie” for short. He was my Bio-lab partner for two semesters, at
least when he bothered to show up. I remember one time we were dissecting . . .
something. I stopped counting how many things we chopped up to see how they
ticked in the name of higher education. Anyhow, I made some comment to Willie
about how someday he might be pinned to a big tray in the name of science. That
started a conversation between us about life . . . and death. Willie had it all
figured out. He said, “I think the best way to go would be when I’m ninety-five
years old, and I get shot by a jealous husband.” Somehow, barricaded inside the
shampoo and grooming room in the back of a veterinarian’s office while waiting
for the infected to find me and tear me to shreds didn’t quite make my top ten.
It’s not looking good for the home team right now. I’m tired. I hurt. I hope
that somebody finds this recorder after I’m gone. I hope they listen to it. Maybe
that’s what I should do. I still have my ear buds—well half of them anyhow—so
much for stereo. Two bullets. I’m scared. I’m not afraid to say it, I’m
terrified. I’m terrified that when they do find me I won’t have the guts to use
one of the bullets on me. I think I can hear something outside the door. It’s
night; and like the line from the movie goes, “They mostly come at night . . . mostly.”
If but one or two deaths are what
you’ll enjoy, go visit the sword maker, his wares are what you’ll employ-
Three, four, five, maybe six or
seven, best get a gun to send them dancing quickly into heaven-
Aspirations even higher? Will a
whole town make your list? It’s so easily done, just ask any chemist-
Still thinking too small? A large
city will fall? Could nothing get you higher than a physicist’s atomic fire-
Yet if the world is your prize, (and
I’m sure it won’t be missed) you’ll only need the help of a microbiologist.
*click*
Testing, testing . . . can you hear me? . . . How does this
sound? . . . What if I hold it out here? . . . How about up close?
*click*
OK, I’ve just played back my sound check, and it seems like
this little recorder does pretty good if I hold it fairly close to my mouth
when I speak. When I hold it at a distance it doesn’t do so well, and no matter
where I hold it, it seems to pick up a lot of background noise. Oh well, what
do you expect for twenty-seven bucks on clearance. Well the day’s finally here.
I am in my truck and headed north up to Uncle Andy’s. I’ve been waiting for
this day for a long time. Over a month of vacation time is in front of me,
nothing but worries, bills and ex-girlfriends behind me. I’ve got my rods
packed, all the camping equipment is loaded, and besides Uncle Andy’s normal delivery
I’ve also got a little surprise for him. Of course my buddy Mad Max is with me.
I think he’s been looking forward to this trip more than I have.
“Hey buddy, are you ready to go see Uncle Andy? Speak . . . Speak
. . . Oh c’mon you know that one. Sit . . . Shake . . . OK, sit there and act
like an idiot while drooling all over my seat . . . good boy.”
Yeah, well, I apparently have the only 107 pound wolf/husky/shepherd/moose
hybrid that is media shy and won’t speak into this recorder; probably afraid
he’ll be misquoted and it will end up in Dog Fancy magazine. I know you can’t
see this, but Max is looking at this little recorder like he’s trying to decide
if it’s a treat that I’m teasing him with. It’s like I keep holding it up to my
mouth, but I haven’t eaten it yet. Dummy. Anyway, I was going to take a little
notebook with me to kind of keep a journal of my walkabout, but as I know, my
handwriting is atrocious, and since I’m the one who most likely would have been
reading the notebook twenty years from now, or rather trying to read it, I
decided to give this little micro recorder a try instead. The cool thing about
this is that I can download these audio files to my laptop later on. On the
record quality that I’ve picked I can supposedly record over 700 hours of audio
before the internal memory gets filled. Hmmm, we’ll see about that. Anyway,
enough for now.
*click*
Well, that was quick. Reminder to self . . . look at the gas
gauge before starting a long trip. I made it to the station with probably about
four ounces of fumes in the tank. This truck has a thirty-five gallon gas tank
. . . getting pricey to fill it up. So I’m sitting here in the truck waiting
for the tank to fill. I’ve got one of those slow pumps—figures. Anyway, I’m in
the truck listening to the radio . . . I know, I know . . . you’re not supposed
to get in and out of the vehicle while it’s fueling. Anyhow, some news report
came on . . . something about a problem along the border between North and
South Korea. I didn’t catch most of it, but it said something about sporadic
exchanges of gunfire along the DMZ. Now I wasn’t a political science major, but
from what I remember reading, North Korea’s main problem is being able to feed
its people. And what does their tin pot dictator do, he starts his troops
shooting across the border or kicks out the latest nuclear weapons inspectors,
and then the U.S. tries to reason with him by giving him money and food. It’s
an endless cycle. It kind of feels like we’re enabling him . . . that we’re
teaching him that all he has to do to get food and money is to be a dick to us.
Heck with it. That’s just one more thing that I don’t have to listen to or care
about for the next forty-odd days.
*click*
All right, I’m about 120 miles into my trip now; about
another 70 to go. Of course the last few miles of that will be very slow going.
I do have the new winch installed on the front of the truck in case I have to
pull any trees out of the way, or pull myself out of the mud. There’s been the
normal amount of rain lately, and I imagine that the road up to Uncle Andy’s is
going to be a bit soupy. I think I’m going to hit some tunes for awhile. Later.
*click*
OK, this is weird. There’s not many radio stations that I can
pick up right now. Nothing out of the ordinary there, I’m just in the middle of
nowhere in North Dakota about fifty miles from the Canadian border. What’s
weird is that of the three that I know I can get most of the way up to Uncle
Andy’s, two of them are playing that repeated carrier tone and a recorded
message saying to stay tuned for an important news bulletin. The third one is just
static. My station search will lock on to it, but it’s nothing but white noise.
I hit scan again and managed to find a station that was still broadcasting, but
it was playing country music . . . old country music, real old. Well they say
ignorance is bliss, so off the radio goes. I want to stop and top off the tank
before I hit the dirt road, maybe grab a snack.
*click*
There’s nothing quite like powdered doughnuts. I just stuffed
two packs of them into my face. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to read the
ingredients label—probably about five days worth of saturated fat, but you know
what, I don’t care, I’m on vacation. Max got a Slim Jim, although they didn’t
have the regular kind and I had to get him a spicy one. I just left the last
gas station on my way up to Uncle Andy’s—the one at Sheldon’s Marina and Bait Shop.
There were probably about thirty to forty cars, pickups and SUV’s in the gravel
parking lot across the road. Most of them had empty boat trailers—probably out
on the lake already—although there was a group of five guys just backing down
the ramp to put their pontoon in the water. I kinda felt like I should stop and
check their license info, but hey, I’m off the clock. I didn’t see Walter at the
bait store either. I would’ve liked to say hi, but there was some young kid
whose name tag read “Marty” behind the counter. Another five miles and I’ll hit
the turnoff, and then about three and a half miles along the gravel road before
I come to—drum roll please—the dirt road. I’m going to have to creep along that
slower than normal. I’ve got 150 gallons of fuel divided between three barrels
. . . 50 of diesel and 100 of gas. It’ll cause a major mess if it spills, but I
know that Uncle Andy can really use it.
*click*
I’m about halfway up the dirt road. I just pulled over on a
solid spot to make sure that the ratchet straps around the barrels were still
secure; seemed good to me. Reminder to self . . . never give Max spicy Slim Jims.
Oh man, my stomach is churning. I don’t understand how he can eat something
that is spicy barbeque flavored and pass gas that smells like fermented oranges.
It might be OK if I had some warning, but these are the “silent giant” version.
Wow! Anyway, the dirt road seems drier than it has been. Maybe they got less
rain up here than we did at home. Dry is good. I’m gonna take a few minutes to get
out and stretch . . . maybe look around too. This dirt road always brings back
a lot of memories . . . some of them not too fond. I remember leaving the cabin
to run my trap line every day at 4:00 AM, and walking all the way to where this
road hits the gravel—almost four miles—and then back to the cabin. Uncle Andy
went with me the first few times, but after that I was on my own. I learned a
lot on those eight mile hikes in the dark, a lot about me and my intestinal fortitude
(or lack thereof when I was younger) but I also learned a lot about the
wilderness, which is probably why I do what I do today. There are several moss
covered boulders near a little wet weather spring about one hundred yards from
where I am. I caught a lot of raccoons over the years in traps I set there, and
those boulders are still one of my favorite places to take a quick break. If
you put your feet on one particular rock and line up your back along another
section, it conforms to the shape of your body like you were sitting in a
recliner, pretty comfortable actually. I’m going to go pay them a visit.
*click*
Holy crap and LMAO . . . So I walked over to where the little
spring crosses the road, followed it upstream to the boulders . . . and sitting
there on my “recliner” was a hard plastic cooler filled with ice and several
longneck beers. Taped to the cooler was a note from Uncle Andy that said;
“You’re
so predictable Eric. But since you’re here, you might as well enjoy a few cold
ones. I would have left a manly beer for you, but I know you’re a candy ass, so
I left you light beer.”
Well, candy ass or not, I sat there and enjoyed
three of the four beers in the cooler. Max chewed on the ice cubes.
*click*
Only about a half mile left until I get to the cabin. The
road really hasn’t been that bad, most of the trouble spots have been filled in
by me and Uncle Andy with softball sized rocks over the years—nothing a semi-decent
four wheel drive can’t handle. It also looks like some type of tractor or
backhoe has been used recently. I haven’t been up here for almost . . . ten
months I guess, and this is the most passable the road has been that I can ever
remember. Anyway, I know Uncle Andy is going to appreciate the fuel I’m
bringing—he only asked for three empty barrels that he could use to help
transport fuel back to the cabin since the delivery truck won’t come this far
out. I imagine between his truck and mine we’ll be able to top off all of his
fuel tanks in just two or three trips. As much as he’s going to like the gas
and diesel I’m bringing with me, I’m pretty sure he is going to go ballistic
about his big surprise. Since his cabin is so remote, off the grid as they say,
his main source of power through the years has been generators. A few years ago
he invested in a small solar array with a battery bank, charge controller, and
inverter. It’s a 400 total watt system, but in the back of my truck I have
additional panels that will double his total wattage. I also have several more
high quality batteries to add to the battery bank. Well I’m almost there so I’m
going to stop recording for now.
*click*
I was right. Uncle Andy was floored when I showed him the
full barrels of fuel, and the solar panels made him grin from ear to ear. He’s
been without power for about five days now; well that’s not exactly true. He
thinks that there’s something wrong in the inverter or charge controller, but
he hasn’t had time to mess with it. Besides, he’d have plenty of power if he
just ran the generators, but he’s been working in his garden and around the
cabin and hasn’t spent any time on the computer lately, so no need for power he
says. It’s about 11:00 PM right now, and I’m sitting by the edge of the small
lake near his cabin. He went to bed a few hours ago, after we made plans to try
and find out what’s wrong with his solar system tomorrow, and assuming we can
do that, then we’ll hook up the new panels and batteries. The day after that
we’re gonna spend transporting fuel to top off his storage tanks. He’s got a
400 gallon diesel tank and two 300 gallon gas tanks. He’s also got four of the one
hundred pound propane tanks that we’ll have to take in to get filled, although
he thinks two of them are still full. While I’m in a talkative mood, I should
mention that the mystery of the tire tracks on the dirt road, as well as the
upgraded condition that the road seemed to be in has been solved. When I pulled
in here, I immediately noticed that Uncle Andy has been a busy beaver since the
last time I saw him. He had put up a new metal outbuilding, one of those prefab
pole barns. I’m guessing it’s about twenty-five by forty. Sitting next to it
was one of those little termite backhoes. I say little, but he told me it was
the largest diesel engine one they make. I’ve never been on one, but it looks
like fun. I think they’re actually called Terramite, not termite. Hmmm . . . I
like termite better. He’s also got the supports in place . . . what do you call
them—pillars or pylons or something—for the dock he’s building. I think he's
most proud of his garden, though. This year he has lots of raised beds and a
huge area (probably almost an acre) that he has “moose-fenced” in, as he calls
it. Basically it means that he has it field-fenced in with an additional hot
wire six feet off the ground that runs off of a solar fence charger. Well, I’m
getting tired, so later.
*click*
Did you ever have that feeling in your stomach, kind of that
sense of unease? Well, I’ve got it now. It’s a little after 2:00 AM and I’m slightly
buzzed. It’s been awhile since I’ve had more than two or three beers in a night;
but that’s not what’s making me uneasy in my stomach. I came out to my truck to
get my poncho liner that I use for a blanket—I had it up front with me because
it was a last minute addition and didn’t get packed in the duffel. Anyway, I
don’t know why I did it, but I turned the key to accessory and turned the radio
on. I hit scan and stopped at the first station that came in semi-clear. It was
in the middle of a broadcast about danger in Korea, Japan, and Mexico. The
report wasn’t very clear, almost as if they were reporting on something that
they heard from somebody else who heard it from another person. What I was able
to gather didn’t make sense to me. They talked about firefights along the DMZ
in Korea and evacuations in Seoul, South Korea. The reporter also went on about
outbreaks in Mexico and Japan, and something about air travel restrictions and
quarantine zones. That’s about all I could pick out before the station faded. I
almost want to go in and tell Uncle Andy to fire up the generator and turn on
his computer. I’ve still got a couple beers on ice here in the cooler, I think
I’m going to sit here for awhile and see if I can pick up any more stations.
