Without (5 page)

Ripped out of a dead sleep, I fumbled for my shotgun. When I
rose to my knees, the rolling cabin threw me against the bulkhead. Hearing
rapid fire explosions all around me, I went down to the floor on my back. As if
I were trying to aim at a tennis ball during a match, I swung my weapon from
the door, to the window, and then back to the door.

Half awake, disoriented, and scared shitless, I held my
breath, waiting for the breach. When it didn’t come I focused on the porthole.
I steadied myself against the bunk bed, rising to my feet. Another violent roll
in the cabin almost put me down again.

I looked out the window; the water was boiling. Four foot
waves with brown, frothy caps were crashing into the side of the houseboat.
Hail the size of baseballs was drilling into the water – and everything else –
as if God were firing a machine gun from above.

Howling with a long breath, the wind was pushing the caramel
water over the small beach and into the woods. Limbs and branches were bending
toward the ground as the bombardment separated them from the treetops. It was
raining sideways.

A shiver ran up my spine as Mother Nature pitched her fit
outside. It wasn’t because I was scared. It was because I was freezing. Then,
as if she were at the end of her breath, the wind died; the hail stopped; the
rain eased; and the water settled. Then it went dark; it went midnight dark.

In the pitch black the only sounds were of my heavy
breathing and water gently lapping the hull. Her anger gave way to silence. It
was quiet. As the saying goes, too quiet. And then she inhaled.

The darkness was broken by an electric green hue. A
bulldozer of wind came from the opposite direction. It was too much for the
moorings as I felt the boat lurch, breaking free from the pier. Tall trees
surrendered to the attack, belly flopping into the water along the shoreline.

Another bulldozer slammed into the side of the boat,
spinning the large craft as if it were a canoe in a whirlpool. The violent
change in direction revealed the shore on the other side of the lake. The trees
across the water weren’t falling over – they were falling up.

When the opposite shore came into view – again – after the
boat rotated, debris was coloring the once invisible tornado black. As the
sound of a hundred trains reached my ears, the funnel had exploded in size to
damn near a mile wide. Like a chameleon, the giant storm went from black to
brown when it stepped into the water.

Grabbing my pry bar, I tore the planks blocking the door.
The houseboat lurched again, sending me into the bulkhead as it pitched. When I
made it to the sundeck, I could see the tornado changing colors again. It was
turning white as it created a hill in the lake, sucking up millions of gallons
of water.

As the houseboat pitched and yawed, I looked over the
railing. I could feel the large craft picking up speed, but it wasn’t being
pushed by the wind. It was being pulled by the water, advancing toward the
massive siphon.

Feeling helpless was my only option. The tornado in front of
me wasn’t moving. It was growing. Following its base from shore to shore, it
was at least two miles wide.

The only thing I could do was to slump down, bracing my back
against the rail. Moving even faster, the violence intensified. Huge trees were
skipping across the water as the suction showed no mercy. Rooftops from
vacation homes were being peeled away to join the parade of debris. It was even
becoming difficult to breathe as the pressure pulled the air from my lungs. I
turned in time to see the lounger looking to take my head off. I ducked as it
spun over me like the blades of a farmer’s combine, harvesting the rain.

And then it stopped.

As if somebody pulled its plug, the funnel disappeared. I
watched in disbelief as the mile-high column of water and debris hung suspended
in the air. For a moment time froze. It started again as the column ceased its
ascent, and changed course. What goes up must come down.

A shock of wind was the first thing to hit the boat. A
waterfall of debris and liquid was diving back to earth. I scanned over my head,
searching for danger. It didn’t take long to see the first projectile tracking
on a course for the bow. The basketball sized concrete bomb hit the deck,
pushing the stern out of the water. I scrambled below.

I dove under the table in the galley as the cabin began to
fall apart around me. My head slammed into a bench seat when the first wave of
water, churning with debris, slammed into my sitting duck. I hugged the pole
that supported the tabletop as the houseboat was pushed on its side. I couldn’t
hear my own screams from the deafening roar of water below and certain death
raining from above. The attack seemed to last for hours.

My world came to a violent stop when the houseboat crashed
into the surviving trees along the shore. Tearing me from the pole, the impact
sent me sliding across the floor and into a cabinet. The unforgiving mahogany
buried my nose into my face. A blinding white light – followed by intense pain
– left no question it was broken. I curled up into a tight ball, waiting for
the next round of destruction.

It didn’t come.

Blinking several times, trying to clear the haze, I couldn’t
find the floor to stand. It was at a forty-five degree angle beside me. With
one foot on the cabinet and the other on the deck, I took baby steps to get
back to the room with my gear.

When I opened the door, water was cascading in from the
missing window. My pack was easy enough to find. (I designed it to float.) Finding
the shotgun took a few minutes of poking around in the black water. Like a kid
finding an Easter egg full of money, I exhaled when I wrapped my fingers around
the barrel. I’d make sure we weren’t separated again.

Gripping my shotgun in one hand – and pinching my gushing
nose with the other – I made my way outside. (I wanted to get off that death
trap as soon as possible.) When I cleared the doorway on the stern, I didn’t
recognize the landscape. Everything had changed.

Clouds parted and the mist cleared as if blown by a
celestial wind. Over half of the trees were down, crushing – killing – anything
underneath. A huge swath of earth was gouged by the tornado, stripping
everything off the surface and leaving a red trench of Georgia clay. It wasn’t
just the most incredibly violent storm I’d ever seen. It was the most
incredibly violent storm I’d ever heard of.

I changed my attitude about the floating death trap. That
thing saved my life. If I had been on shore, I don’t think ducking for cover
would’ve worked. I jumped from the stern, sinking into mud up to my knees. It
felt like it took me an hour to find solid ground.

With the trails erased it was slow trekking to the highway.
As I crossed over a surviving bridge, I had a bird’s eye view of the tent city
I had passed on my way to the houseboat the day before. I only experienced it
from movies and photos, but I now had a better idea of what the beaches at
Normandy must have looked like on D-Day. Tents and bodies were pulverized from
the murderous hail and falling debris.

Mother Nature hit the snooze bar on the alarm this morning,
sparing my life – once again – but she didn’t spare countless others from her
wrath. She taught me another lesson when she woke me up. If I ever wanted to
sleep peacefully again, I needed to do it under a solid roof. Making a little
more room in my pack, I tossed my tiny tent into a ditch.

Walking in the cooled air sped up my pace, but the searing
heat returned by early afternoon. According to my map, I put another fourteen
miles behind me as the sun let me know my hellish day was coming to an end.
Familiar with the area, I decided to head for shelter at a place that held good
memories.

Darkness was creeping across the manicured fairways when the
clubhouse came into view. My first thought was of Sam, decked out in the
brightest colors she could find in any pro shop. With a baby blue collar pulled
up, a neon pink visor, and lime green golf shoes, I looked at the tee box where
she took her first swing. I remember the laughter as the ball sat defiant on
the tee. She sailed it true on the next. Sam was a natural.

Taking the normal precautions, I walked around the perimeter
of the building, checking for movement before reaching for a door handle. I
didn’t need to use my key as it opened with a turn. My shotgun leading the way,
I took a few steps inside.

I scanned the main lobby and saw no movement. I then began
the process of clearing every room in the clubhouse. As I stepped out into the
hall leading to the locker room, he was standing in front of the door with a
raised weapon. (I think it was a seven iron.)

I know he saw my shotgun, but he didn’t back down. He took a
few steps toward me. This guy had balls. I liked him before he said a word.
When those words came, I liked him even more.

“Nothin’ in here that belongs to you,” said the club.
“Nothin’ in here worth a smashed skull.”

I lowered my gun. “I’m not looking to take from you or hurt
you. What’s your name?”

“Earl Tucker. I’m the head greenskeeper here. All this is my
responsibility.”

“What’s your favorite hole, Earl?”

“Huh?”

“You’re the head greenskeeper, right?”

“Yes, sir. I am.”

“What’s your favorite hole?”

“Fourteen. Why?”

“Par 5 with a dogleg right,” I said. “A sneaky sand trap on
the turn will steal your ball every time you think you can cut it. And even if
you clear that trap, you guys put two more on the backside of the green that
you can’t see until it’s too late. By the way, nice job not putting the actual
size of the traps on the course map. That was brilliant.”

“You a member?” asked Earl, lowering his club.

“No, sir. I can’t afford the fees. But this is one of my
favorite courses. I taught my lady how to play here. It’s why I considered it a
safe place to rest tonight.”

“I love fourteen,” said Earl. “That’s my baby.”

“I don’t want to take anything from this place. I’m just
looking for a solid roof over my head after the storm today.”

“That was somethin’, wasn’t it? Never seen nothin’ like that
in my life. Well, I ain’t seen nothin’ like anything over the past three days.
You know about what’s going on?”

“I really don’t, Earl. All I know is that I don’t want to
sleep outside. I’ll take a closet if you’re okay with it. If not, I’ll be on
way, sir.”

“Well, tonight you don’t have to sleep outside,” said Earl.
“You know fourteen. Anybody who respects her is okay with me.”

I could see the apprehension in his eyes. He knew he brought
a club to a gunfight, but it didn’t matter. This was his house. Yeah, I liked
Earl.

“Sun’s goin’ down,” said Earl. “I haven’t started supper yet
on account of the heat. I make a mean spare rib. You’re welcome to put your bag
down anywhere you like and join me. I have a fire going out back.”

I liked Earl a lot.

After putting my pack in a small office that would serve as
my bunk room for the night, I joined Earl on the large deck overlooking the golf
course. During happier times I remember sitting around the huge fire pit in the
middle of the deck with Sam. We’d enjoy a few cold ones after a day of golf,
watching the stragglers finishing up on the eighteenth hole at sunset.

I walked up to Earl who was cooking over the massive stone
grill on the corner of the deck, slathering sauce on ten pounds of ribs. I
thought about Ms. Emma bringing out her best meat to feed a stranger. I
considered myself lucky Earl was just as hospitable.

“Good thing I skipped lunch,” I said, peering over his
shoulder.

“Yes, sir,” Earl, laughed. “Doesn’t look like the power’s
coming back on anytime soon. Everything in the freezers is startin’ to thaw.
Gotta cook it all up. This’ll make a nice lunch for you on the road tomorrow.
Where you headin’, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

“Northwest to the mountains,” I said. “My parents’ place.”

“That sounds nice. At least you got somewhere to go. Most
folks just holed up in their houses, waitn’ to get saved.”

“Why aren’t you at home, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, I am at home,” said Earl. “I’m third generation here at
the club. I started workin’ here when I was nine years old. Cleanin’ up,
shinin’ shoes, whatever I could do to make a few pennies. My daddy was the
assistant greenskeeper here. His daddy never made it past shinin’ shoes, but
that was a different time, you see. Besides, my wife died ten years ago and my
two boys have no dreams to walk in my shoes. One’s in New Orleans workin’ at
the newspaper, and the other’s in Chicago runnin’ a restaurant. His restaurant.
Ain’t that somethin’?”

“It is. They sound like fine boys.”

“They are, truly. Me and my family, we’ve come a long way.”

He turned back to the ribs. I’m sure he was thinking about
his boys and if they were okay. New Orleans and Chicago were just too far to
walk. Earl didn’t seem like the type to dwell on tough thoughts.

“Go get you a drink,” said Earl, pointing at a cooler
between two chairs at the pit.

I was impressed with his resourcefulness when I opened the
cooler. Sitting under a layer of hail were ice cold beers, water, and soda. He
heard me laughing.

“When life hands you lemons,” said Earl. “Got four more big
coolers full of that stuff inside.”

“Brilliant.”

As the glorious aroma of the sizzling meat wafted towards me,
I couldn’t help but think about Ms. Emma. Sitting in a comfortable chair,
drinking a cold beer, I remember her telling me,
You just gotta trust in
people sometimes. You gotta trust that there’s good in their hearts
. I
wished she were sitting there with us so she could say that she told me so. I
was sad she wasn’t. But like Earl, no sense dwelling on tough thoughts.

“Lookey here,” said Earl, turning with a pan full of ribs
and a beaming smile. “You’re in for a treat now.”

He sat in the chair beside me, placing the pan between us.
“This meal is meant to be shared with your fingers. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, sir, it is,” I said, handing him a beer and diving into
the pan.

It had to be at least an hour of gorging before we both
leaned back in our chairs, ready to burst. We saw a flicker of green light in
the distance. This time, nobody went inside. The light storms were just part of
our lives now.

“What do you think that is?” asked Earl.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But whatever it is, I’m sure it has
something to do with draining all our power. It’s some type of electrical
storm, but I really don’t know.”

“Me, I think it’s a reset button,” said Earl.

“A what?”

“Hee, hee. I said I think it’s a reset button. You know,
like God is tryin’ to make things right again because we took for granted what
we had. We think we built this planet. We think we own the place. He’s
reminding us of who really does.”

“That’s the best explanation I’ve heard so far, Earl. You’re
a very wise man.”

“Aw, I’m an old fool, that’s all. But I know the hand of God
when I see it. All this is a reckonin’. I’m not sayin’ Judgment Day is comin’.
I’m just sayin’ He’s gonna put some challenges in front of us and see what we
do. You know, as people. He’s gonna see how we treat each other when the times
get tough.”

“What if I was looking to take from you? What if I was evil
coming through your front door?”

“Then the hand of God would’ve helped me put that club
upside your head,” said Earl. “You would’ve become one of those challenges.”

Smiling at him, I leaned back into my chair. Earl reminded
me of my grandfather. They were both kind, gentle, strong men who’d give a person
every chance to earn their respect. My grandfather would give the shirt off his
back and make a stranger feel like part of his family. On the flip side, if
someone was hurting one of his, he’d bring a golf club to a gunfight – and win.

“Thanks for not clubbing me,” I said.

“Thanks for not shootin’ me,” said Earl. “Now I’ve got a
question for –”

I turned my head after raising a finger to my mouth. Earl
leaned forward to look around me at the three shadows walking across the
putting green. As they made their way to the edge of the deck, I saw two of
them had rifles slung across their shoulders. The third had a large revolver
stuffed in his belt.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” said the pistol. “My name is
Todd. This here is Billy and John. We saw your fire and thought we’d say
hello.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Earl. “But the clubhouse is closed
up.”

“Aw, hell, boy. Everything is closed.”

Shit.

“Then what can we do for you?” asked Earl.

“We’s walkin’ around, just bein’ friendly,” said Todd. “I
will say that barbeque smells mighty good. We was sniffin’ it before we even
saw your fire. Is it just you two fellas here?”

When I saw their eyes in the firelight, that feeling came to
me again. When he asked that question, there was no doubt in my mind. Evil had
just walked through our front door.

“We just finished up all we can eat,” said Earl. “Help
yourself to what’s left. We got cold beers to wash it down with. Why don’t you
grab some chairs and join us.”

Good, Earl. Very smart. Make them comfortable. Let them
relax. Put something else in their hands besides those guns.

“What y’all make of all this,” said Todd, pulling chairs up
to the fire. “You think it’s terrorists?”

“Could be,” said Earl. “I don’t really know. I don’t think
most folks know.”

“What about you?” asked Todd, looking at me. “What’s your
take on all this?”

“I think it’s the hand of God,” I said, offering him the pan
of ribs. “I think it’s a reckoning.”

“A what?” said Todd, laughing, looking toward Billy and
John. “What are you, some kind of preacher man? Next thing you gonna say is
that we’re payin’ for our sins, right?”

Billy and John joined in the laughter. Todd was the coward
in charge. Todd made the plan, telling the other two to follow his lead. When
he gave the signal, they’d shoot us.

“I expected that kind of religious mumbo jumbo from him,”
said Todd, turning back to me. “Naw, God’s got nothin’ to do with this. This
has to do with thinnin’ the herd. You know, survival of the fittest.”

“Thinnin’ of the herd?” asked Earl.

“Hell, yeah, boy,” said Todd, sucking on his fingers. “Too
many people on earth. That’s why we have shit like AIDS to get rid of the
faggots and wars to get rid of the weak. The only problem is, neither of those
was workin’ fast enough. Naw, this shit here is happenin’ so the strong are the
only ones left. You see, men like me and these two here, we gonna thrive.”

“And us,” said Earl, forcing a smile.

Todd leaned back howling with laughter. “Shit, no offense,
but old niggers and preacher men ain’t gonna make it in this world. Men who
know how to hunt, fight, and live off the land are.”

Say nigger one more time.

Billy put his rifle beside his chair as he ate and laughed.
John had his across his lap. He didn’t take his hand off of it while chugging
his beer. He also didn’t take his eyes off of Earl. Todd had a fist full of
meat in one hand and his beer in the other. The order was set.

“Now, I’m not saying you two don’t have a chance,” said
Todd, finishing his first beer and receiving another from Earl. “And when I say
nigger, I don’t mean –”

John was first.

Leaning forward in a fake laugh, I had easy access to the
Glocks. It was too late for John when he saw both barrels swinging around. He
was eight feet away on the other side of the fire when I dropped to a knee and
put two in his face.

I watched as Earl fell back in his chair to get away from
the gun battle he already knew was coming. With wide eyes – full of fear – Todd
fumbled for his pistol with his greasy fingers. Before he pulled it, I put four
in his chest. He was number two.

As Earl rolled across the deck, Billy was screaming with his
hands in the air, still holding his beer and a rib. He never made a move for
his gun. The gesture was inadequate. The only thing he did was allow me to
steady my aim. Number three in the order took one to the forehead.

All three were dead in as many seconds.

Earl made it all the way to edge of the deck before the
grill stopped him. I checked our guests to make sure a miracle didn’t happen
for them. When I confirmed it didn’t, I holstered my guns.

“They’re dead, Earl. All clear.

“Earl.

“Earl?”

He was on his stomach with his hands covering his face. It
was probably the first time he experienced something that traumatic. My hands
weren’t even trembling.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” I said, leaning down and putting my hand
on his shoulder. “They were going to kill us for sure…Earl?”

Rolling him over, I saw the hole in his white shirt. I
didn’t see the larger hole in the back of his dark club jacket. His eyes were
open, unblinking. I checked his neck for a pulse, hoping for that miracle. He
didn’t get one either.

With his finger near the trigger guard, I didn’t think John
would find it and squeeze before I killed him. It never came off his lap. I
don’t remember hearing the shot. I can only guess it happened when I was firing
mine.

I dragged the three cowards down to the lake for the fish. I
carried Earl to Fourteen. I had the time and the energy to bury him.

With Sam standing beside me, holding my hand, I said a few
words for my friend. I buried Earl on the fairway near his favorite sand trap.
I don’t think he would’ve had a problem with that.

It was time for me to start taking from the dead. I wouldn’t
take anything from Earl, but I took Billy’s hunting rifle. The time for
concealing weapons was coming to an end. The time for warning others I was well
armed had started. Having a high-powered rifle with a long-range scope was a
valuable item to carry.

Sitting on the deck, watching the green waves crash
overhead, I waited until the fire died before heading into the clubhouse. After
a terrifying morning, a long walk, and a burial, I was exhausted.

I found two pieces of lumber and some nails. I pulled a
couple massage table pads onto the floor for my bedding. After securing the
door, locking the windows, and curling up with my sawed-off teddy bear, sleep
came slow.

As I closed my eyes – feet against the door – images since
8:13 were flying through my head as if they were being powered by the tornado
that tried to end me. How many more Todds would I face on my journey to find
hope? How many more Earls would I have to bury?

Was this new world even worth trying to survive in
?