Fuel (Best Laid Plans Book 1) (7 page)

And, a painful parting, half the ammo he'd packed. It didn't take up much space but pound for pound was the heaviest thing he was carrying. He wrapped everything in the tarp and stowed the bundle between two big boulders along the side of the road that made a wedge-shaped depression, then covered it with smaller rocks to build sort of a cairn that completely covered it. Hopefully nobody would give it a second look and poke around, but if so there wasn't much he could do about it.

Shedding the excess weight took off more than 20 pounds, and more importantly gave him room to put everything in the pack instead of having to carry some of it in his hands, which would make walking and balancing much easier. The pack still felt agonizing when he shrugged back into the straps and belted it on, but at least it was manageable compared to what it had been.

This was his reward for being unprepared and making poor decisions. 26 miles into the trip and he'd already cached just about everything he had that wasn't in Lewis's shelter.

Spurred on by that cheery thought, Trev continued on down the road as the sun sank towards the horizon slightly behind him and to his right. He had less than 5 hours of daylight left and a long, long way to go. With no other choice he took it one step at a time, doing his best to ignore the complaints of his muscles and keep up a good pace. He was forced to stop frequently for rest, drinking more water but avoiding eating more food to prevent cramps.

The distance seemed to crawl by compared to when he'd been driving, and his assumption that he'd be able to walk the usual pace of 3 miles an hour was replaced by the grim reality that with his heavy burden he was having trouble going 1. All the while he watched the sun sinking and realized that far from being able to reach Aspen Hill sometime tomorrow, it would probably be the day after that at best.

By the time the sun started to set Trev was beyond tired. He knew he was exhausted too, and for more reasons than because he was panting like a bellows and his muscles felt like rubber. He'd started to stagger a bit with every step, even more off balance thanks to his pack, and common sense told him he should stop for the night or at least pause to rest more. But he was already resting every few minutes and it was eating up time he didn't have.

He could stop when he got home, and the faster he went the faster he'd get there. If he couldn't push past exhaustion when it really mattered and keep a good pace then he wasn't ready for the end of the world. In retrospect he should have realized that was a stupid way to look at things, but in his state he wasn't exactly thinking clearly.

At least he'd reached another downhill slope in the road. It presented its own work on the muscles, sure, but still felt almost like a vacation compared to the brutal uphill slog. His speed even increased slightly.

The help of gravity gave him the boost he needed to keep going as the sun disappeared and twilight began sinking into full night. There was no sign of the moon rising, and Trev kind of wished he'd paid attention to what phase it was in so he'd know when he could expect to get a little light. As it was he didn't want to give away his position with a flashlight, even though there probably wasn't too much danger from lawless elements before things had even started to go sideways. Even with the light fading he could still see the road he was on and keep following it, which was all he really needed.

Besides, he might need the flashlight batteries in the future.

Looking at it later Trev could blame inexperience and impatience for this series of poor decisions that seemed rational at the time, and giving in to exhaustion and blind stubbornness rather than thinking things through certainly didn't help. But either way he had no one to blame but himself as he stumbled along the downhill slope and suddenly found his right ankle giving out on him in a blaze of pain.

Before he quite knew what was happening he collapsed onto his right knee, slamming it hard into the pavement, and then sprawled sideways from the weight of his pack. That extra weight worsened what might have otherwise been minor injuries, and he ended up curled up on his side in the middle of the road cursing through gritted teeth and doing his best to ride the wave of excruciating pain throbbing through his body from his ankle and knee. To distract himself from it he scrabbled blindly around on the road with his hands, searching for what had made him fall.

At first he passed over the culprit entirely, sure it couldn't be responsible, but after another minute of searching with his hands he found nothing but smooth pavement. What had made him stumble couldn't even be called a pothole, barely more than a dip in the road an inch or so deep. He would've missed it entirely if he'd been walking a foot to the left or right.

A pothole. He'd injured himself on a pothole in the middle of a smooth road. How stupid was that? Pain giving way to anger, Trev tried to force himself onto his feet to keep going.

He immediately collapsed back to the road again, falling into a seated position leaning back against his pack, and his cursing gave way to a frustrated moan. His rubbery muscles couldn't support his weight, but more importantly the moment he tried to stand on his right leg it reminded him of his new injuries with sharp jolts of agony. He was done for the night, and with an injury like this he might be laid up for a week.

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Who was he even kidding anyway? He'd felt so smug about how prepared he was for the end of the world, laying up a few supplies in a backpack and defending himself against an idiot who hadn't even known how to use a gun. But for all his “foresight” he hadn't even stored enough gasoline for the drive home in case of an emergency, and used up what little he had in a greedy bid for more he didn't need.

And he'd never bothered to prepare himself for walking long distances, especially not while carrying a heavy backpack. Not to mention he didn't know the first thing about first aid. And even though he had the tools he needed for a situation, like a flashlight, he was too stupid to use them.

And the rifle and pistol he was so proud of? He was barely competent with them, going out to the range a few times a year and firing off fifty or so rounds. He barely ever practiced drawing and holstering, he'd mostly ignored Lewis's advice on dry fire practice, and he still had problems with anticipating the recoil and actually hitting the target.

Ready for the end of the world? He was a joke, barely more prepared than Matt or the others he'd left behind. Overloading his pack, pushing himself past exhaustion and walking in pitch black just begging for an injury that would keep him off his feet just when he needed to be moving, with no idea the proper way to treat the injury. Even common sense should've helped him more than this.

With some effort Trev dragged himself over to the sparse grass at the side of the road, doing his best to favor his right leg and not make the problem even worse. He hadn't seen another car since that one that had roared past earlier, and with crippling fuel shortages it was anyone's guess whether he would, but it wasn't like he wanted to camp in the middle of the road anyway.

The thought of trying to set up the tent in his pack made him groan. It was difficult enough just to unbuckle the belts and shrug out of it, then root around inside for his sleeping bag. With his hurt leg it took forever to scoot inside and ended up being a miserably painful experience. And if it did rain or dew in the night he'd stupidly left his tarp behind to shed less than a pound of weight, because he'd assumed he'd have the energy or even ability to set up his tent.

As he lay awkwardly on the rocky roadside, gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his leg and staring up at a clear, starry sky, he came to a realization he should have had a long time ago: it wasn't supplies that spelled the difference between life and death in a real disaster. Once those ran out or if they were stolen or, in his situation, if he couldn't even carry them, he'd be in the same situation he would've been in not having them at all.

It was knowledge and learned skills he needed to survive long term, and survive any situation life threw at him. That and deliberate, educated consideration of the situation to avoid making possibly fatal mistakes. He should've taken a page from Lewis's book and learned all the things his cousin was learning, mimicked his pragmatic and thoughtful approach to life.

Maybe, like Matt, Trev hadn't really believed this day would ever come. Or maybe he'd assumed that preparing with some supplies would be a good enough substitute for knowledge and skills. Or maybe, arrogantly, he'd been thinking that if he needed any of that knowledge or those skills Lewis would be around to help him.

As he did his best to fall asleep in spite of his intense discomfort he decided he was going to need to learn some important things, and quick. And he needed to be ready to solve his own problems because he couldn't always count on someone else being there to help him.

For crying out loud, he hadn't even thought to pack painkillers!

Chapter Four

Day Seven: Morning

In spite of a sleepless night and waking up to find his ankle and knee bruised and swollen Trev felt a lot more hopeful the next morning, the second day after the attack.

He had the food to rest and heal up for as long as he needed, and enough water for another day or so as well as a top quality purifier. He'd also gotten ahead of himself in survivalist mode and forgotten that most of the rest of the world thought this was going to be a temporary disaster, and the bad news had only been sprung yesterday anyway. Power was still running, which meant water too, and there might even be a car coming by that he could hitch a ride with.

All in all even if it was the end of the world, it wasn't the end of the world. The important thing now was to focus on doing what he could for his leg and plan out his next moves. He'd gone just over 30 miles yesterday, which meant that he just had 45 left to go. And a lot of his problems the day before had come from lack of sleep and tiring himself out digging the cache, so he was more optimistic he'd get farther if he saved all his energy for walking. He could up his speed from just over a mile an hour to at least 2, maybe more.

Once he was back on his feet he could make it the rest of the way in two or three days even if he moved at a snail's pace, as long as he moved constantly. He'd also take it slower and rest when needed to prevent exhaustion and any future injuries.

A tortoise could beat a hair with a broken leg any day.

First things first was to test his leg. The knee was heavily swollen and bruised and bending it was excruciating, but the ankle was what really worried him. He thought he'd just rolled it, but carrying that much weight while falling he might've actually broken it instead. With the muscles stiff from swelling and not moving all night it was painful to try to move his foot at all, but he grit his teeth and did his best to try moving and rotating it. In spite of the ache he was able to, which ruled out a broken ankle and made him feel a bit more hopeful.

Even though he'd tossed his clothes he'd kept his extra pairs of socks, since experience had shown him what it was like taking an extended hiking trip with dirty socks and the problems they could cause with blisters and other nuisances. He took a moment to put on another sock and wedge his sheathed skinning knife between the two as a crude splint. Once he'd put his shoe back on and tied a short length of rope around the hilt higher up the ankle it kept his foot fairly straight.

He couldn't do anything for his knee at the moment besides take his only other piece of clothing, a sweater in case it got cold, and wrap it tightly around the joint and then tie it off. That would keep it from bending too much, at least. All in all it was a pretty pathetic bit of first aid, but he thought it might be enough to let him limp a few feet. He carefully levered himself up on his good leg, straightening awkwardly, and took a few careful steps.

It hurt, and he had to almost completely favor his right leg, but he could walk. Leaving his pack behind he limped down the side of the road to a spot with a wider shoulder where trees grew up the steep hillside almost to the road. There he gathered the straightest sticks he could find to make a more proper splint, then went back and laboriously dragged his pack down to the trees as far from the road as he could get and still have a level surface, where it took him way too long to set up his tent.

For most of that day he rested, keeping his leg still and occasionally dozing. He called Lewis to let him know what had happened and that he'd be later than expected, noting when he did that his phone was nearly dead. Another thing he hadn't thought of. His cousin chewed him out for his carelessness while looking over his injuries from a few photos of them that Trev sent him, in between discussing specific details. As far as they could tell the knee was just bruised and the ankle was heavily rolled.

The good news there was that neither would prevent him from walking, although Lewis still advised that he rest a few days, then be careful and take it slow. Trev hung up and shut off his phone to save the battery in case of an emergency, then did as the doctor ordered. For the rest of the day boredom was a bigger problem than discomfort, although he tried to make the most of the time by practicing drawing and holstering his 1911 in the few positions he could manage without being able to stand or kneel.

The morning of the third day he was relieved to find that the swelling had gone down significantly, and after a bit of careful stretching his leg and limbering up he was able to walk around. His muscles were sore from the first day's exertion, but by noon he'd decided he was ready to set out again and packed up his camp.

He managed to go a few hours before he found himself tottering on his feet, his knee a mass of pain even though he couldn't bend it through the splint. Learning from his earlier mistake he immediately stopped to rest for another few hours, then continued on until sundown at a very slow, deliberate pace.

The morning of the fourth day after the attack he found the swelling was almost gone and he could walk with barely any pain. He didn't even need the splint anymore. He was able to make a bit better time, although still nothing like he would've wanted. He hadn't seen a single car since that one on the first day.

His worry that day was water. He'd been drinking less than he should on the previous days to conserve his supply, which was a bad idea, but he'd still run out last night and had woken up thirsty several times. But luckily after only a few hours of walking he found a house surrounded by a log fence and with a gravel driveway built well off the road. The residents were willing to let him refill his water bottles, and while he was there Trev also got a good long drink.

He asked the family if they had any spare gas, since depending on how much they had it might open up all sorts of options. But if they did have any they weren't willing to admit it, and although he would've like to talk to them about what was going on in the world they seemed edgy and uncomfortable, maybe because of the rifle case on his pack that the wife kept looking at. So as soon as his bottles were filled Trev thanked them and continued on his way.

By that point his injuries were actually less of a concern than fatigue. He'd been doing his best to take it slow, but carrying the heavy pack for extended periods of time was taking its toll and he wasn't getting many chances to rest his muscles. He decided to rest most of the fifth day and continue on the sixth.

While he was resting he found a pond on some private property but didn't see any sign of a house or any other way to contact the owner. He got his first opportunity to break out his water filter and read the instructions on how to use it properly. It was surprisingly simple, but he still had to wonder how long it would've taken him to figure it out on his own.

The day of rest helped him more than he realized, even though he woke up on the sixth day sore and feeling like he had zero energy. In spite of that he made good speed, managing to travel most of the rest of the way to Aspen Hill before dark. It was the first day he'd really gone any sort of significant distance, although still far slower than he would've preferred.

Finally on the seventh day, an entire grueling week since the attack, he woke and packed up camp, passing the sign he'd slept beneath informing him that the turnoff for Aspen Hill was only 5 miles away, with the town itself another 4 miles along that road with the mountains of Manti-La Sal looming farther to the west.

50 miles carrying a pack that stretched him to the limits of his strength had turned out to be a much farther distance than he'd expected, especially while nursing injuries, but with any luck he'd be there sometime in the afternoon.

* * * * *

Professor Vasquez wasn't there when Matt arrived for his first class seventh day after the attack. According to Heidi, his TA, the professor hadn't shown up for any of his classes yesterday afternoon either, his office was empty and locked up, and he couldn't be reached on his cell phone.

The Spanish teacher was in good company considering that less than a quarter of the enrolled students had shown up for class. That made three of Matt's seven classes canceled, and in Chemistry they'd just spent the last few days watching the news while Dr. Harris spouted off his opinions on who'd been behind the attack and what the future of the US held, theories that made Trev's dire predictions seem sane in comparison.

All things considered Matt wouldn't be surprised if his remaining classes folded within the next few days, and he finally decided to accept reality and not even bother attending them. He had a feeling that no matter what he might want his college experience had pretty much been put on hiatus.

He couldn't believe the change the university had gone through in just a week. It seemed like everybody had just given up on things returning to normal. The students and faculty who still remained spent most of their time huddled in groups talking about the situation or watching the news: ironically in spite of the heavy electricity restrictions being enforced by campus administration all the lounges were lit pretty much 24/7 and every TV turned on to various channels.

On his way back to his dorm Matt passed through the bookstore, more out of curiosity than because he needed anything. All the books were still there, but the stands that had held food or impulse buy nicknacks were disconcertingly empty, although he did find several empty 2-liter soda bottles that he gathered up to take back to the dorm with him.

Even the big bulk candy dispensary against one wall was cleaned out, aside from an array of flat multi-colored splotches on the floor around it that painted a pretty good picture of what had happened since he'd last been through here. He could just imagine students pushing and shoving to fill their backpacks as candy spilled everywhere to be trampled underfoot.

Not that the cafeteria was any better. Most of the restaurants had closed and all the various food stands and shelves were empty. The only business booming there was the ration line managed by the administration, which stretched back across the cavernous space in spite of the fact that they scanned your card to limit you to a once a day visit and you got barely a cup of food, usually oatmeal or some nuts and dried fruit.

Matt had already been through it not half an hour ago before heading to the class that turned out to be canceled. While in line he'd done his best to read his textbooks as he shuffled forward with the other students and faculty jostling impatiently around him. The pitiful meal had barely seemed worth the effort, but his dorm's kitchen was looking pretty bare in spite of the couple weeks' worth of cheap food he and his roommates had had on hand and the scrounging he and Chad had done the first day. He wanted to conserve what was left for as long as possible.

A fight had broken out just after he got his food, ending up in a mad shove forward that had turned the meandering line into a blob around the food counter as people clamored to get their share before the chaos made the ration dispenser close. In that odd way of things the desperate effort to try to prevent something ended up being the cause of it, and within minutes the people manning the counter fled back into the kitchen and locked the door, leaving the crowd to fight over the abandoned food.

For all he knew the ration line was closed for good now, just like his classes were shutting down. How long before the campus became a refugee camp as students and faculty with nowhere else to go struggled to survive?

Ironically in spite of everything that conspired to make up Matt's mind to finally give in and go home, the way Trev had warned him a week ago that he should, he'd stubbornly stayed waiting for the straw that broke the camel's back. Had it finally arrived with what he'd seen in the ration line followed by the cancelation of his Spanish class? Deep in his mind he knew it had, although he wasn't consciously ready to admit he was returning to his dorm from classes for the last time.

The campus was eerily deserted, with the sort of hush that reminded Matt of the tension in a crowded room just after somebody shouted angrily and was escorted out. Or around groups of fans from different teams before a fight broke out. Either way the stillness gave Matt the willies, and he hurried from the bookstore to his dorm.

He found the lounge packed with students as usual, not only because power to the rest of the building was shut off during the day but because news developments literally occurred hourly to be displayed on the several large screens. Sometimes minutely. Ironically while the physical world ground to a standstill the internet kept going a mile a minute, at least until the power ran out, so even though news teams couldn't physically go out to where events were occurring they could still get video footage from people at the scene. The background behind the newscasters was usually dominated by shaky camera clips urgently narrated by their breathless, usually barely audible owners.

He paused to watch the news for a while, although the developing stories and video feeds were so similar they could've come from one place instead of all over the nation. It turned out the “wait and see” policy the President had advocated on the first day after the attack wasn't much better than Matt's own. In less than a week Matt had been proven wrong about people holding together until things could get back to normal, but the Commander-in-Chief's resolution hadn't even lasted that long.

An official nationwide state of emergency had been declared just 3 days after the attack, after the first riots started and the first cities began reporting food shortages critical enough that already tens of thousands of their citizens were going without meals. Martial law and a strict curfew had been imposed on the cities with the largest populations and the President had appeared back on TV for another speech.