Fuel (Best Laid Plans Book 1) (27 page)

As soon as he was sure he was covered he pushed to his feet and bolted across the yard to vault the fence into the backyard of the house behind it, where he ducked down against the wall and sank into a sitting position with his back against it, panting.

Matt sank down beside him a few seconds later. “I don't know if that was close but it scared me half to death,” he whispered.

“Me too.” Trev sucked in a couple more breaths, fighting hard to calm himself. “You know what would be great to have right now? My 1911.”

“Dude, seriously?” his friend demanded. “You want to go into that again here? Are you ever going to let it go?”

“Sure. When I get my head blown off by someone I can't defend myself against.” Before his friend could think of a comeback Trev pushed up into a crouch and made his way cautiously across the backyard, looking around to make sure there were no threats in sight. When he reached the house he hugged the wall around to the front yard, where he stopped and turned to his friend. “We still going the right way?”

“Yeah.” Matt started forward, taking the lead, and Trev obediently followed.

They went another mile like that, as the light around them quickly faded to the point where visibility was starting to be a problem. About this time the street lamps should've come on, and it felt weird to be walking along without their light. Weird and definitely inconvenient, although Trev guessed they'd still manage to get where they were going before it became too dark to see.

After another block the street they were following reached an elementary school, looming undamaged and silent in the darkness. The intersection in front of it was mostly blocked by the burned, blackened husk of a tipped over truck.

“That's a FETF truck,” Matt said in a low voice, staring at the gutted wreck. Trev nodded. Today they'd seen their first moving vehicle in a long time, driving north fast along the left lane of the highway blaring its horn to get people to clear the way. An undamaged version of this one. His friend continued. “Do you think that was an accident or were they attacked by rioters?”

Before Trev could answer he saw movement in the back of the truck, and he froze and slowly ducked back behind the bushes they'd taken cover behind, peeking his head down low to see beneath the branches. A moment later a grimy, soot-stained figure in a hoody and jeans dropped down onto the street, clutching a garbage bag full of who knew what gleaned from the burned remains of whatever supplies the truck had held. The figure looked around furtively, then darted towards the nearest cover against the elementary school's wall.

Before he reached it a chorus of howls rose from the direction he was running and half a dozen people burst through the school's front door, pinning the scavenger with flashlight beams. The figure froze like a deer caught in the headlights, and Trev caught a glimpse of a pale, dirty face beneath the hood. Then the would-be looter turned and sprinted the other way, clutching the garbage bag to his chest.

His pursuers followed hard on his hills, still whooping and screaming in a way that made every hair on Trev's body stand on edge. They almost didn't sound human. The figure stumbled and in desperation threw his loot away, hoping they'd leave him alone, but only one of his pursuers stopped to grab the bag while the others sprinted after him.

For about half a block Trev thought the guy was going to escape, but then he glanced back to see how close his pursuers were and a flashlight beam caught him right in the eyes. The scavenger flinched away, blinded but still running at a full sprint, and stumbled over a curb with a cry of pain. He went down hard clutching at his ankle, and in moments his pursuers closed the remaining distance, kicking him and beating him with bats, golf clubs, and gardening tools.

The sheer brutality of the scene sickened Trev, and it went on way longer than it should have. He shut his eyes but the sounds were nearly as horrible, and he didn't dare move in the irrational fear that in spite of the fading light, the distance, and the noise the thugs were making one of them would see or hear him.

Finally he heard a shout louder than the others and opened his eyes to see that the thug who'd picked up the looter's bag was crouched over it rummaging inside with one hand and shining his flashlight in to see with the other. “It's all junk!” he shouted. “The moron didn't find anything better than we did. He must've been hungry enough to eat charcoal.”

The mob around the downed looter broke up in disappointment, hurling obscenities as they made their way back to the school. Their victim remained unmoving on the sidewalk, and Trev was glad it was too dark to see any details.

He jumped when Matt rested a hand on his shoulder. “Come on,” his friend whispered. “Let's get out of here.”

Nodding, he followed as his friend moved slowly and quietly back the way they'd come, heading down to the last intersection they'd crossed so they could loop wide around the school and its vicious denizens. Once they were a few blocks away his friend sagged back against the house they'd taken cover behind and leaned his head against the wall.

“I can't believe they beat that guy to death right in front of us,” he whispered. “Did that seriously just happen?” Trev made no response, too shaken to say anything, and his friend continued. “Even if they're desperate and hungry how do people get like that? It's only been about two weeks since the attack. Before that they were probably all decent, law abiding citizens.”

Trev shook his head grimly. “I don't know about decent. Some people are just waiting for society to break down so they'll have the chance to try the things they've always wanted to do but didn't for fear of the consequences. Others are just going along with the crowd, since something about chaotic situations makes people more willing to do things they wouldn't normally dream of doing. Either way there's been plenty of other disasters where the rioting and looting started in days, so it's not like it's surprising to see it two weeks into the slow collapse of our country.”

Matt sucked in a final breath. “This isn't the end of the US just yet. I have to believe things will get back to normal. The government's still going on the new refineries, right?”

“Maybe. But think of what we just saw, think of Utah Valley mostly gone up in flames. How long do you think it'll take for things to get back to normal from that?”

“Let's get to April's house,” his friend said in answer, pushing away from the wall. “It's almost dark.”

They continued on, hurrying in spite of their hunger and exhaustion. The only thing that slowed them down was caution as they constantly looked around for signs of danger, one hand on their flashlight and the other on their pepper spray. The closest they came to running into other people was when they saw moving lights in one of the FETF evacuated houses and heard the sound of things breaking and people shouting. They went out of their way to go around the disturbance and hurried on.

Finally, just as Trev's adrenaline was starting to give out and he'd begun shaking slightly from tension and exhaustion Matt led the way to one house along the middle of the block. Its windows were dark and there were FETF notices on the door, just like all the others.

“I think that confirms where April's family is,” Trev whispered as he followed his friend onto the porch and pulled down one of the papers. It was too dark to read but he could just barely make out the familiar large, blocky letters.

“Yeah, I think so,” Matt answered grimly, trying the door. It was locked, but before Trev could suggest breaking the window pane above the doorknob his friend crouched down and pulled a false rock from among the others strewn beneath a carefully manicured rosebush. It felt like it took forever for him to fumble out the key and unlock the door in the dark, and then they slipped inside, ears straining for signs of movement inside the house.

“April?” Matt called, just loudly enough to be heard through most of the house. “Terry?”

After ten seconds or so of near absolute silence aside from their own strained breathing Trev rested a hand on his friend's arm. “They're not here,” he said quietly.

Matt nodded. “Let's keep our lights off.” He was probably thinking of the looters' lights they'd seen in the other house and how clearly obvious they were. “Come on, this place has a basement.”

His friend started to move, and Trev could barely make out his silhouette vanishing along the entryway, leading him down the hall before turning hard right at a door and pulling it open. Trev edged cautiously through the doorway so he wouldn't end up falling down the stairs, making sure the door was shut behind him, and together they made their way down. “Any windows down here?”

In answer Matt flicked on his flashlight, revealing a small children's playroom with a door to one side leading into an office.

They quickly searched the basement, partly shielding the flashlights while going into each new room just in case there was a window Matt had forgotten about, but they didn't see any. Beyond the office was a closet the family had been using for food storage, completely bare and with even the carpet ripped up. The small bathroom next to it had a bathtub half-filled with water.

April had taken Matt's advice about stocking up on water, which was good because Trev had been worried about how they were going to refill their water bottles. Especially heading up to Antelope Island since around the Great Salt Lake fresh water might be hard to come by. But because the water had been sitting for who knew how long Trev insisted on filtering it just to be safe.

After that they agreed it was too risky to search the rest of the house, and besides that they were both too exhausted and shaken by what they'd seen in the last hour. Since they knew the family wasn't there anyway they decided to save further exploration for morning and go to sleep.

That was easier said than done, as Trev curled up on a futon in the office while Matt took the couch in the playroom. Now that they'd stopped walking hunger pangs were hitting him hard, reminding him that it had been over 24 hours since he'd eaten and he'd spent a large portion of that time walking.

He also found himself listening intently for any sound other than his own breathing and the slight noises his friend made in the other room. Luckily he didn't hear anything at all from outside since that would've definitely kept him awake, but between hunger and hyper-alertness it took him almost an hour to fall asleep, especially after about a half hour when he drifted off only to half dream he saw someone coming down the stairs in the blackness and he started awake in a panic.

That completely woke Trev up, and he sat up listening wild-eyed for any sounds on the stairs or in the other room beside his friend's soft snoring. He didn't hear anything, but that wasn't enough so he got up and padded to the stairs, climbing them to the door and listening at it, then opening it quietly and checking the house's entryway. The door creaked slightly, which was a bit of a relief since he thought he'd hear that if anyone tried to come downstairs.

The image of the poor looter being savagely beaten to death wouldn't leave his mind as he got back in his sleeping bag, and he half wondered if they shouldn't start sleeping in shifts. But he was too exhausted at the moment and this was a relatively safe place. It was something to consider if they had to spend a night somewhere more exposed, though.

His last thought as he fell asleep was to wonder if Matt had locked the front door.

Chapter Thirteen

Antelope Island

A quick search of the house high and low the next morning confirmed it was abandoned.

In spite of the disarray in the master bedroom and the room where Matt's nephews had slept it didn't look like they'd been ransacked, more like hurried packing. They also discovered that like the bathroom in the basement all the other bathtubs and sinks in the house were stopped, and a few even had some water left in them.

That all pointed to April's family heading to the refugee camp like they'd assumed, which meant there wasn't anything left to do in Midvale. They refilled their water bottles and drank as much as possible one last time, and after that Matt decided to do one last tour of the house, even checking the attic, before leaving. Last of all they poked around the yard to see if anything stood out.

Matt sat down on one of the tiny swings on the little swing set, looking tired. Trev wondered if he'd slept poorly too, or maybe was really starting to feel the hunger. Trev certainly was: this morning his gut felt like it was eating a hole through his belly, a constant gnawing pain that seemed to get worse and worse.

His friend spoke up. “If it's like the roadblock down in Spanish Fork, if hoarding more than two weeks' worth of food is now a crime, then my sister and her husband were definitely guilty. FETF will have confiscated it just like the police did with our food. After that they wouldn't have had much choice but to go to the FETF camp or try to make their way south and we didn't see them on the road. Which doesn't necessarily mean they hadn't been there, but it's obvious our next move is to head to Antelope Island and check it just to be sure.”

Trev nodded. “At that point if we haven't found April's family then all the possibilities I can think of will be exhausted. Our best bet will be to head back home and pray to find them there.”

“Right.” Matt stood, and after one last look around the yard started for the gate. “Is the island a peninsula right now? If so it's probably around 30 to 40 miles to reach it. Otherwise we'll have to take the long way around to get there by the causeway in Syracuse, almost double the distance.”

Trev frowned as he followed his friend. He hadn't considered that. “If they've set up a refugee camp big enough to take in people from the entire Salt Lake Valley it's hard to believe the causeway would be enough to handle the incoming traffic. The water level has to be low enough to make it a peninsula.”

“Fingers crossed. If it's not too deep we could probably wade it anyway.”

They carefully checked the street before hurrying through the gate and making for the nearest source of cover. After what he'd seen last night Trev was eager to get out of Midvale. But at the neatly trimmed hedge that followed the driveway down to the street his friend ducked low and stopped, forcing him to stop as well.

“I just want to make sure we're clear on where we're going,” Matt said in a low voice. “Do we make our way back to I-15 and follow it north as far as we can before cutting west to Antelope Island, or take the more direct route northwest through West Valley City and part of SLC?”

“The Interstate,” Trev answered immediately. “Even if it's the longer route I don't want to go through the cities any more than we have to. Not after last night. And following the highway we might find a FETF presence directing refugees all the way to Antelope Island, which means the same sort of protection we'd find on the Interstate itself.”

His friend looked relieved as he continued down the hedge. “I'm glad we agree because the highway definitely gets my vote. You were right about the cities being like a war zone.”

Trev nodded, following. “The military presence along the highway is actually a relief. Those evacuating refugees would be getting picked apart like a savannah carcass if someone wasn't around to protect them.”

“I'm just worried about what happens to them when they get out of the cities, away from FETF protection,” Matt mused, pausing at the end of the driveway to look around again before leading the way to the next source of cover. “Especially if their guns are being confiscated by overzealous law enforcement. I bet highway banditry is going to run rampant.”

“I bet it already is. That's something we're going to have to worry about more on our way south with your family. Especially now that our guns are gone.”

His friend gave him an irritated look, and Trev wondered if he wasn't needling him too much about what had happened at the roadblock. He
was
still pissed about losing his 1911, but stupid as Matt's idea to approach it directly had been he was also partially to blame for going along.

But Matt let the issue drop. “Should we forage as we go?” he asked. “I can't remember ever being this hungry. My head's killing me.”

Trev hesitated, really tempted by the suggestion, but after only a moment he shook his head. “We wouldn't find food easily and searching would just put us in danger. Besides, it's only been about thirty-seven hours or so. Even though we spent most of those hours either walking or sleeping and used up a lot of energy we should still be able to go a bit farther. If we can reach Antelope Island they should have food for us.”

“I hope,” his friend muttered. “What if they're in as bad shape as everywhere else?”

Trev didn't have any answers. “Let's go. I'd rather be walking towards our goal than talking about how hungry I am.”

In a way making their way through the city in daylight was twice as hair raising as it had been last night. Trev felt exposed every time they left cover, and found himself running to get out of the open, expecting to hear gunshots or feel a bullet in him at any moment. Twice they
did
hear gunshots, although thankfully nowhere near them, and on one occasion they had to swing wide around a block where a large group of looters, possibly the people from the school, were breaking into the evacuated houses and trashing them as they searched for anything of value.

The only upside he could think of was that at least it was light enough to see clearly. No jumping at shadows like they had last night, wondering if any shape sticking out from a tree or bush might be an enemy.

In spite of their hunger the night's rest had done them a lot of good, and even moving cautiously they were able to reach I-15 in good time. It seemed odd to be moving openly around so many people after the terror of going through the “populated” areas, but in spite of Trev's wariness around law enforcement and FETF soldiers it was actually a relief to have them around keeping the peace.

He noticed that Matt kept trying to speed up their pace, either in a hurry to find his family or hoping for that meal Trev had guessed at. Trev had to keep telling him to slow down, reminding him that it took less time to move a bit slower than to have to take frequent breaks. His friend grumbled a bit, but he slowed down whenever Trev mentioned it. Either way they were still outpacing everyone on the road aside from the patrols.

Without food and with hunger hollowing out their insides it was the longest day yet. The constant walking over the last few days was also starting to take its toll on their bodies in spite of the relatively mild pace they'd set, and even with Trev's arguments about the benefits of going slower they ended up having to take a break every few hours after all, to slump in whatever shade they could find and drink a bit of water.

The only other change that day was that several FETF convoys passed by, all headed south on the other side of the median. Every time one passed the FETF patrols would go into a frenzy clearing the road of refugees, showing every sign of opening fire at anyone who so much as took a step towards the vehicles. The convoys were mostly made up of food trucks, but there were a few armored transports at the front and back of the line with soldiers leaning out with automatic weapons looking ready to fire at the slightest provocation.

“They're looking a bit jumpy,” Matt mentioned several hours into their hike while watching the fifth convoy of the day pass. “Not sure I like seeing soldiers on the verge of opening fire on civilians. This is Utah, not some place in the Middle East.”

Trev shrugged. “Wouldn't surprise me if convoys have been getting attacked. That's a lot of food and other vital supplies driving past. If people are willing to murder some guy with a garbage bag full of charcoal from a burned out truck they'd go for these too if they had the numbers and equipment.”

“It's insane,” Matt said with a shake of his head. “Just over two weeks and this place is already like a war torn third world country.”

“What do you mean, “like?” Trev asked. It wasn't completely a joke. He immediately felt bad about the flippant remark, but after being confronted by a barrage of awful things he felt like if he couldn't laugh at something he'd go insane.

His friend wasn't ready to let the remark go, though. He stopped and turned to glare at Trev. “Do you just hate our country or something? I haven't heard you say a single good thing about our government, and the sight of all this suffering doesn't seem to bother you.”

The question offended Trev, but he did his best to keep his anger in check. “The government isn't the country. I love the US, but by that I mean the people and the culture and the places I've visited. I love the communities I've lived in, especially Aspen Hill, and want to help them however I can. I also wholeheartedly support those willing to uphold the just and and moral laws of the land. But I also support the Founding Fathers' ideas on the role of government, and you have to admit that ours has long since expanded beyond that role. Especially in the last few decades.”

Trev looked at the stream of refugees around them. “As for this suffering of course it bothers me. It's just that when you've accepted that the nation is heading towards some sort of collapse, when it actually happens it doesn't come as quite a shock and it's easier to acknowledge reality. And thanks to Lewis and my own observations I accepted that long before the Gulf refineries attack.” Trev turned back to his friend. “It doesn't make it any easier to see, but what choice do we have but to keep going?”

His friend looked away, and after a moment started going again. Trev caught up and they walked for a while in silence.

Salt Lake City was in even worse shape than Provo-Orem had been. Fires didn't seem to have been quite as much of a problem, but in their place had come other destruction. Some of the skyscrapers were burned out wrecks, their steel cores skeletal, but for the most part they were unburned but nearly every window was shattered. The streets were filled with rubbish, as if looters had emptied out buildings to sort through the junk for anything of value, and the few people he saw moving along the sidewalks or weaving through the permanently stalled cars in the streets had the furtive look of the hunted. Across one intersection a streetcar had been tipped over, and its heavily dented roof suggested it had borne the fury of kicking feet and blunt instruments.

The only relief was that they didn't see any bodies, either because someone was taking them away for respectful disposal or, less likely, not as many people had died in the violence as Trev feared. Either way it was a relief to get through downtown.

In the early afternoon they reached the junction where I-80 split from I-15 going west, and there they found a FETF station with several water trucks offering a place to refill their bottles and emergency medical aid for those who needed it. That was also where FETF directed them down I-80 towards the refugee camp with a promise of a meal when they arrived. It turned out Antelope Island was indeed a peninsula at the moment, dry and clear with only a few places of inch-deep water.

While Trev and Matt had a long drink and refilled the few bottles they'd emptied on the morning's hike, Trev noticed that most of the traffic heading north with them was turning east towards Antelope Island, leaving a much thinner stream of humanity to continue on up I-15. Another thing he noticed was that there was almost no one coming east along I-80: the traffic was all one-way. Which made sense considering that west of here was nothing but salt flats and desert most of the way to California. He was pretty sure none of the people leaving I-15 were planning on going anywhere but Antelope Island.

There was nowhere else to go in that direction.

They followed I-80 past Salt Lake City International Airport, which surprisingly enough had a few flights taking off and landing. Transports bringing desperately needed supplies to FETF for the camp, Trev was certain. Not too far beyond the airport another FETF station turned them all due north on the final stretch to Antelope Island. As he had guessed not a single person kept going west past that point, and they followed along in the sea of humanity like bits of driftwood.

It was nearing late afternoon as he and Matt made their way up a slight rise that they noticed people stopping at the top of it, clumping together and murmuring to themselves in relief, surprise, and in a lot of cases dismay. They discovered why once they finished making the climb and saw the view below.

Antelope Island was big, covering a larger area than all of Salt Lake City. Because of that size it might've been tempting to assume that the camp huddled up against a fence topped with barbed wire stretching all the way across the end of the peninsula to close it off wasn't all that large. Only it was. Large enough to hold the population of Aspen Hill a hundred times over, maybe more.

“What are we going to do?” Matt mumbled, staring at the sprawling carpet of tents in despair. “There's got to be tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of people in there! There's no way we'll find April and Terry and their boys in all that!”