The first shot hit Stan in the chest, spun him slightly to his left, and knocked him back a step. Kyle was pulling the trigger as fast as the semi-automatic would allow, and with his target standing less than ten feet away, he knew he wasn’t missing. On the third shot, Stan dropped his guns, and the fourth shot finally brought him down, sending him toppling backwards onto the freeway where he struck his head on the ground with a sick, hollow thud. Kyle pulled the trigger once more as Stan fell and heard the metallic click of an empty chamber.
With no shots left, Kyle ducked behind the pickup again, scared that somehow the man had survived the barrage and would be coming after him. As Kyle leaned back against the front wheel of the truck, his hands started shaking, and his rifle slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground once again. Kyle gasped for air, unsure how long it had been since he last took a breath. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air and a thin, blue haze from the gunfire slowly drifted away to the east.
Kyle waited for what seemed like a lifetime, listening for movement, but heard only the sounds of birds and insects coming back to life now that the shooting had ceased. He circled around the back of the pickup on his hands and knees and slowly approached the man, every sense on alert for any signs of danger, but the man lay motionless in a pool of blood that was spreading towards the median. Kyle, still frightened, rose to his feet and braced himself, prepared to flee, until at last he got to a spot where he could look down at the man’s face. Although the rise and fall of the man’s chest was barely perceptible, to Kyle’s surprise, the man’s eyes were open and followed Kyle as he moved. The dying man’s guns lay by his feet, and Kyle kicked them away.
Turning back to face the body, Kyle felt himself growing numb. If not for the pain in his arm, he wouldn’t have felt anything at all. Stan’s eyes still followed Kyle’s movements, and Kyle returned the gaze, wanting to say something, but not knowing what he could say that would mean anything. Emotions tumbled around inside his head: pity, anger, fear, isolation, but none of them moved him to speak. At his feet lay a man — a man who minutes ago had tried to take Kyle’s life, but was now himself dying. There was no ambulance to call or aid to administer, no police to wait for, and no family to contact. There was just Kyle and this stranger whose life was draining away, together on an empty stretch of interstate in the middle of Colorado.
Stan’s breathing became more shallow, and an occasional wet cough sprayed blood on his face. Kyle walked over and recovered his own rifle, then gathered up Stan’s guns. He thought he should end the man’s suffering, but to take such overt action against a human life, without active fear and rage to motivate him, was beyond Kyle’s capabilities. Kyle watched the man whose life was slowly ebbing away with questions flooding his own mind that he knew would never be answered. Who was he? Who did he leave behind? Why did it have to end this way? The man coughed loudly again, then his chest quit moving and his eyes lost their focus and stared into space.
Kyle turned and walked away. He crossed over the median, forcing himself not to look back at the body that lay on the ground behind him. He walked to his cart, then sank to his knees and held onto it, shocked by the sense of security the touch of the cart brought him as the price paid to reclaim it ran through his mind. Kyle stood up, his shaking legs and aching stomach reminding him of his weakened condition, the adrenaline from the morning’s events no longer carrying him along.
Searching his cart for food, he found that what had been there yesterday was now mostly gone. Kyle rifled through the duffle bag that had belonged to the dead man and found a change of clothes, a box and a half of ammunition, a bloodstained hunting knife, and a few pieces of gold jewelry, but no food. He wanted to discard everything associated with the man, but instinct told him to hold on to them.
Kyle walked back along the highway and retrieved the sling of food he had left on the side of the road. He carried it back to the cart, sat down and ate, then did what he could to bandage his arm with the supplies from his first aid kit. His arm ached, but the wound was less severe than he feared. Upon inspecting his rifle, Kyle found that it had been the stock of his rifle that had deflected the bullet so that the slug had only passed through his flesh while thankfully missing the bone, avoiding more serious damage to his arm.
Kyle loaded his cart with the contents of the duffel bag and his cans of food, then turned to take one final glance at the body in the road. Magpies had already found the corpse and were picking at its face, their black feathers shining in the sun as they scavenged and tore away pieces of flesh. Kyle fired a shot in the direction of the birds and scattered them, but he knew they would soon return as soon as he was gone.
Monday, October 3rd
Northern Colorado
Day 31
It’s good to be alive. Today the sky seems bluer and the air fresher than it ever has before. Denver is in my rear view mirror, but Colorado is a state I will never forget. I’m over my illness, having experienced an unbelievably quick recovery, and am fairly well stocked with food. I’ve even acquired a couple of new guns that might come in handy. The area ahead of me is a little more populated, which always worries me. Not a lot of farmland around, so I hope people are not too desperately hungry.
Kids, I just want to say again, I love you. I know I wasn’t a perfect dad, but I hope you know that I tried to do what I thought was best for you. Jennifer, you are probably tired of me writing this all the time, but I love you. If nothing else, please know that you are the best thing that ever happened to me.
There are a lot of things that make a person think about mortality, and some of the people you meet really make you think about it. If something happens to me before I make it home, please know I’m glad I’ve lived the life I have. Sure there are regrets, but I know that I had it good, and I hope it doesn’t have to end yet. I’ve seen a lot of fresh graves, and people tell me that hospitals are shut down. It’s been over a month since everything stopped, and I guess without power, drugs, and people willing to work, even simple things like infections and sickness are proving fatal, let alone the hunger and lawlessness
Being this close to the mountains reminds me of home. I sure wish I was there.
I love you all.
CHAPTER 22
Wednesday, September 28th
Deer Creek, Montana
Jennifer sat quietly at a large wooden table in Connie Bolan’s dining room. With Gabe sick, the location of their weekly council meeting had been moved, and Connie, as the council’s new vice president, had agreed to host the meeting. Connie’s large house was decorated in an old-fashioned, country style, with lots of mauve and country blue, a soft contrast to Connie’s hard, aggressive personality, evident after just one week on the council.
As she waited for the meeting to begin, Jennifer watched the door for arrivals. It had been a rough few days since her encounter with Doug, spent under a self-imposed house arrest with Kyle’s handgun as a constant companion. Sleep had been fitful and hard to come by, and she had found herself losing her temper with her children far too easily.
Jennifer wanted to bring up her run-in with Doug at the meeting, but wasn’t sure what, exactly, to complain about. “Doug kissed me, pays me too much attention, thinks I’m nice, and copped a feel of my boobs,” she imagined herself saying. It wasn’t something she could call the police about under normal circumstances, and besides that, he was the police. She continued toying with the idea of bringing it up, but decided against it after an extended, internal debate. She was an adult and would handle it herself. Besides, maybe Doug had gotten the message this time. She hadn’t seen him since Friday’s encounter.