CHAPTER 16
Wednesday, September 14th
Northern Texas
The sun was low in the western sky as Kyle pulled his cart to the side of the road. He was two days removed from Lubbock and healing little by little, but still carried many painful reminders of the city’s unofficial “welcoming committee”. The warm, clear evening showed no sign of rain, so Kyle left his tent in the cart, found a soft spot of ground, and unrolled his sleeping bag. With some light still left in the day, Kyle pulled out the notebook Elijah had given him and began to write.
Day 12
This book is the property of Kyle Tait. If it comes into your possession, I ask that you please send it to my wife and children who live at 324 Deer Falls Trail, in Deer Creek, MT. Their names are Jennifer, David, Emma, and Spencer. This is a record of my attempt to return home after the EMP attack of Sept. 2nd.
Jennifer, if this notebook gets delivered to you, it more than likely means that I’ve failed in my efforts to return home. Please know I tried. If nothing else, this notebook gives me a chance to say goodbye, and let you know that being with the four of you was more important to me than life itself.
It has been 12 days since the attack, and by various means, I have managed to travel from Houston to a point just south of Dimmit, TX. Without a calendar or a watch, the days just blend together (which isn’t all bad, because now I don’t have to dread Monday mornings, though in a way, every day seems like a Monday). I’ve reverted to my caveman heritage and have simply started counting days since the attack, instead of trying to figure out dates, as that seems to be the easiest way for me to keep track of time. With next to no transportation available, I have resorted to walking but am fortunate enough to have a small cart, which I use to haul my supplies. If things go as planned, I expect it will take me between 70 and 80 days, putting me in Deer Creek towards the end of November.
Jennifer, how do I write something that you will probably only read if I’m dead? I want you to know that I love you. Looking back, I’m sure I never told you enough, and as I think about the possibility that I might never see you again, it completely rips my heart out. I know I took you for granted and never really took the time to think about what you meant to me. Thank you for being my wife, my love, my friend, my support, my partner. I want to see you so badly, to hold you in my arms, to kiss your face, and simply hold your hand. The thought of not being with you is almost unbearable. I know there’s a good chance I won’t make it, and if I don’t, please move on with your life and find someone else who will love you and make you happy.
David, you’re a son any father would be proud to have. I probably wasn’t as patient with you as I should have been, but I was a rookie dad, and I hope you know that your father loved you. I’m not sure under what circumstances you might see this notebook, or how old you’ll be, but please promise me you’ll live a good life and not let circumstances make you bitter. Take care of your mother, and be there for your sister and brother. They’ll need you. The world will need good people for leaders. Be one. Things may never be like they were before, but take on your challenges, stand up for your family, and make me a proud father.
Emma, you’ve always been my beautiful and sweet princess, just like your mother. I’ve missed your hugs and smiles; my days haven’t been nearly as bright without them. Your heart has always been especially tender, and I worry about you every day. Please don’t let the way things are keep you from living a happy life. I’ve realized in the past few days that we don’t need much to be happy, just good people to be with. Please know that I loved you more than you can understand. Keep smiling, and save some hugs for your dad.
Spencer, it breaks my heart to think I might not get to see you grow up and become the man I hope you’ll be. You probably won’t remember me, but know that your dad loved you enough to try to walk across the country to be with you. We named you after my father, your grandfather. He was a good man. Do his name proud. You’re smart and determined, full of energy and innocence. Do good things with your life. One way or another, I’ll be there to watch you grow up, if not as your father, then as your guardian angel. Help take care of your mother. She’ll need you to be strong.
My trip has been and will likely continue to be more difficult than I expected. People are scared, supplies are scarce, and it’s a long ways to walk, but I think I can do it.
I love you all.
The light was nearly gone when Kyle put his notebook away and lay down for the night. He felt a small weight lift from his shoulders, knowing that if he didn’t make it home there was a chance his family would know some of what happened to him and how he felt about them. He closed his eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep.
Saturday, September 17th
Northern Texas
Kyle set his cart down in the shade of a semi-truck emblazoned with the powder blue logo of Werner Enterprises. It was sometime in the early afternoon, and a light breeze blew but did nothing more than circulate the hot, stale air. During the month he’d been in Texas, he’d grown more accustomed to the heat and humidity, but still longed for the cool, dry air of Montana.
He pulled out a jug of water and took a long drink, then rolled out his sleeping bag on the ground for a pad, hoping to get a few minutes of rest in the shade of the truck. With a rolled-up pair of dirty jeans for a pillow, Kyle closed his eyes and was just drifting off when he heard a strange noise. In his semi-conscious state, he dismissed the unfamiliar sound, until he heard it a second time. The third time he heard the noise, his eyes popped open. Propping himself up on an elbow, he strained to listen and finally heard a soft moan coming from somewhere close by. Kyle rose to his knees and looked around, trying to spot the source of the moan, sure that it wasn’t coming from any of the animals he had become familiar with over the past two weeks.
Kyle put his hands to his mouth and yelled, then heard the sound again, this time louder. He jumped to his feet and scanned the surrounding area more thoroughly. As he looked around, he thought to himself how everything he loved about Montana, this area of Texas lacked. Instead of mountains, trees, rivers, and lakes, it was flat, barren and had just two dominant features: scrub brush and brown dirt. As far as the eye could see, scraggly, waist-high scrub brush dotted an ocean of brown dirt, and he had grown sick of it. When the wind blew, it got in his eyes, his ears, and his nose, and he seemed to taste it all of the time. Even in his dreams he saw and tasted the same never-ending, brown dirt.
Puzzled by the strange noise, Kyle continued to scan the area, but could see nothing that would account for it. Then he heard the sound again. He walked to the edge of the road and noticed a dry wash, thirty feet from where he stood, that connected to a culvert running under the road. He ran to it, knelt down on a knee, and peered inside.
Not a dozen feet from where Kyle knelt was a tiny, frail, old lady, staring back at him from the shelter of the culvert. She lay on her left side with her back against the side, as if she had been sitting with her back against the culvert and someone had simply pushed her over. She looked at Kyle and smiled weakly, her white teeth a stark contrast from the dirt that covered her face. “Can you help me?” she whispered through cracked lips, barely able to form the words.
Kyle knelt in front of the tunnel, stunned by his discovery. He scrambled forward into the cool shade and put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you hurt?” he asked, leaning his face in close to her ear.
“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I’m not hurt.” She paused, then struggled to speak again. “I’m thirsty…and hungry.” She swallowed with great effort. “I don’t think I’m going to make it much longer.” She reached out, put her hand on Kyle’s arm, and looked intently into his eyes. “Did you come to save me?” she asked.
“Let me get you some water.” Kyle crawled out of the culvert and ran back to his cart. He grabbed his last jug of water and returned to the tunnel where he set the jug down before helping the woman into a sitting position. Bracing her upright with his shoulder, Kyle lifted the jug, held it to her lips, and slowly poured the water into her mouth.
She drank in deliberate, careful swallows. Some of the water spilled down her cheeks and onto her blouse, leaving muddy brown spots. Kyle assumed the blouse had originally been white or beige, but it was now nearly as brown as the dirt that surrounded them.
“Thank you,” she said, pulling her head away. “I’ve been so thirsty.”
Kyle nodded and offered her the water again. She took another long drink, then held up her hand, and Kyle set the jug on the ground beside her. “Wait here,” he said without thinking. “I’ll be right back.”
Kyle ran to his cart, and then quickly returned to the culvert again with a handful of food that he dropped onto the ground beside the woman. “What would you like?” he asked.
She scanned the items and motioned to a package of donuts. Kyle tore the package open and fed the donuts to her. When they were gone, she ate a package of Twinkies, followed by a chocolate bar.
The woman ate slowly and said little. Finally, after about a half an hour of eating and drinking, she rested, her arms hanging limply by her side.
“Can I get you anything else?” Kyle asked.
She shook her head. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Kyle, “ he responded. “Who are you?”
“Louise Kennedy.”
“How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know,” she answered after some thought. She spoke slowly and formed each word carefully, as if she had just awakened from a deep sleep. “My car quit. That was more than a week ago.”
“Why didn’t you go somewhere for help?”
“I was afraid. I thought that someone would come to help, but no one did.” Her voice trailed off as a tear slowly ran down her cheek, turning to mud before it reached her chin. Louise reached feebly for Kyle’s hand. “By the time I decided that I should go, I was already out of food.”
“How long has it been since you ate?” he asked, patting her hand.
“I’m not sure -- four, maybe five days.” Her voice was tired and lifeless. “I was going to see my grandkids and had some treats for them. I didn’t want to eat them, but I was so hungry.”
Kyle patted Louise’s hand. “Did you have water?”
“I had a little with me, and there’s a truck that I’ve been getting some from. When the driver left it, he told me that I could help myself. He tried to get me to go with him. I think he thought I was crazy when I wouldn’t, but it’s too far for me to walk. I guess I should have tried, but I didn’t know I would be here so long.”
“Don’t feel bad. It’s hard to know what’s best right now. I don’t think anyone knows how to act.” Kyle let go of her hand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said and shuffled out of the dark tunnel, the sunlight blinding him as his eyes once again adjusted to the bright afternoon sunlight. He scanned the road and saw the truck Louise had mentioned, a red, Coke delivery truck about a half-mile to the North. There was a faint path worn in the dirt leading from the culvert to where the truck had stopped.
Kyle walked back to his cart, his mind wrestling with the situation he was in. He was anxious to get moving and wanted to make good time, at least as good as he could in the condition he was in. Winter could hit Montana at any time in the fall. There might even be snow in the mountains already, for all he knew. Under normal circumstances he would’ve simply made a phone call and waited for an ambulance. Hell, under normal circumstances he’d be in Montana and Louise would be back home. What if he hadn’t stopped to rest where he did? What if he’d noticed the Coke truck further down the road and simply continued on to that point? Then he’d know nothing about Louise and wouldn’t be faced with this dilemma. He wondered how many other stranded people he had unknowingly passed.
None of those “what ifs” mattered now. He had stopped where he had, and her life was in his hands. It would be easy to load up his cart and go. There would be no way for her to stop him. Could anyone blame him for leaving her, as old and feeble as she was? His food and water were limited, and his body was sore from walking and pulling, let alone the bruises and cuts that were still healing. Would she even be able to walk if he took her with him? She was weak and no doubt slow. How far would his obligation run? Where would he take her, and who would take her in? Were there even any shelters operating?
His other option was to leave her. In a day or two, the heat and hunger would get her, if the animals didn’t first. There would be no real consequences for him if he left. Other than Louise, no one would know he’d been there. If he did leave, it would likely be years, if ever, before anyone discovered what happened to the old woman. There were probably thousands of people like her who had or would die on the side of the road, most probably younger than she was. No, he decided, he wouldn’t really be guilty of any crime if he were to leave Louise behind. The only thing he’d have to deal with would be his conscience.
Kyle felt sick to his stomach. Life and death decisions weren’t supposed to fall into his hands. They were the domain of doctors and judges and soldiers, people who had been trained to deal with those matters. He was a simple power company field supervisor. The decisions he made were easy, like who to schedule for what job, or whether to run overtime on a project, not whether someone was going to live or die. Kyle sat down on his sleeping bag in the shade of the truck. The sun was on its downward arc, and the line of shade had shifted noticeably since he had stopped. He knew there were still several hours of daylight left, and he could travel a long ways in that time, at least he could if he was traveling alone.
Kyle leaned back against the wheel of the semi and thought of his family in Montana, without him. As he did dozens of times each day, he wondered how they were doing. He’d give anything for a one-minute phone call. Pulling a handcart gave a person too much time to think.
Sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Kyle got up, quickly repacked his handcart, and pulled it towards him, the handle chattering noisily on the ground as he did. He lifted the handle and started to pull. Every nail and screw in the cart seemed to protest in unison, screaming loudly across the barren landscape.
From the culvert, he heard the faint voice of an old lady. “Kyle?!”