They did not travel far and they traveled at night.
Foster would say the hardest part of their journey was crossing the bridge. It was probably the scariest time of his life.
After he and Judith had survived the massacre at the senior citizen recreation area, they stayed at the apartment for a day, got cleaned up and rested, filled their bellies and then moved on.
But it was the next day that they started to hear shots.
Not occasional shots but continuous firing.
It was far in the distance and to the north of them, so they travelled away from the gunfire.
They didn’t know who was firing or what they were firing at. They just wanted to be safe and move forward.
The least amount of gunfire was at night and in the early morning. By moving at those times, it was easier to stay out of sight.
He held Judith’s hand and arm and led her. They stayed quiet while they moved. They had to.
The problem was they didn’t have a clue where they were or how far they had come. They also didn’t know how far they had to go.
On the fifth night they crossed the Goethal Bridge right off Stanton Island and made it into New Jersey.
It was dark, it was late, and the stars were hidden behind a veil of smoke that carried a stench in the night air.
It was time to stop for the night. It was pushing morning and daylight was hiding time.
There was a food warehouse just past the bridge near the underpass for the interstate. Foster saw the signs for it and thought it would be a safe place stay.
He brought them around the back to the loading dock area. One of the garage style doors was partially open.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” asked Judith.
“I don’t know,” Foster replied. “But it’s shelter and maybe food. We haven’t eaten since the day before yesterday.”
“I know. But the stores have already been hit. The soldiers are clearing them all out.”
“We have to try.”
In the days of journeying there were certain items that Foster had carried with him at all times. He carried them in a back pack. A blanket, can opener, water and flashlight. He also had a mini lantern.
He had a knife in his back pocket, but how much good that would do him, he didn’t know.
He told Judith to wait by the dock and he quietly climbed the stairs. Lying on his belly, he used his flashlight and peeked under the opening of the garage door. It seemed clear and he didn’t see anyone.
He opened it some, very slowly and almost without a noise and then walked down to Judith and escorted her.
“It looks empty. We can stay just inside the door, OK?”
Judith nodded. “I haven’t heard any shots in a while.”
“Me either. We can rest here.” Holding Judith’s arm he brought her up the six steps and to the door which he had raised about four feet. “You have to hunch down,” he instructed her. He did his best to guide her, holding his hand over her head, inching her inside. Then Foster slipped in.
He shut the garage door all the way and with flashlight in hand turned around.
The flashlight nearly toppled from his hand when he found himself and Judith facing a line of shotguns. But they weren’t soldiers. They were people in every day clothes, and most looked Hispanic.
Foster raised his hand. “We mean no harm.”
“What’s going on?” Judith asked.
“There are people here.” Foster told her.
“Soldiers?”
“No, they’re Americans,” Foster said.
The one man, possibly in is forties, and Hispanic, gave a nod of his head. “She blind?”
“Yes,” Foster replied. “She became blind in the attack. We just need to rest, to hide and to eat.”
Again, the man asked, “Anyone follow you?”
“No,” Foster said. “We were very careful. We move only at night.”
“Don’t we all.” He motioned his head to the others and then he lowered his gun. “I’m Manny.”
“Foster.”
“That your mom?” he asked.
“No, I found her.”
Judith spoke up. “And he has been nothing but a Godsend helping me.”
Manny sniffed. He was a barrel-chested man, strong and with no nonsense about him. His Mexican dialect was thick. “You can’t stay here.”
“Please,” Judith said. “Just for a spell, then we’ll be on our way. We need to stop and rest. Eat perhaps.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Manny said. “This warehouse hasn’t been hit by the Ranuelans. It won’t be long before they find it. They’re positioned about four miles north of here. We came to get what we could tonight. If you need to be safe, we can take you with us to our camp.”
“You don’t mind?” Foster asked.
“We’re all in this together, right?” Manny asked.
Foster nodded. “Thank you. We are.”
“For now, though, let the woman sit. I can use your help loading the trucks.”
“I’ll do what I can, but aren’t you afraid driving trucks at night?”
“We move slowly and we move without lights. We have a twenty mile journey, but we have to get this food. We won’t be spotted if we move fast. Like I said, they are four miles north of here. They don’t come at night. We do. Let’s move.”
Manny gave a swing of his arm to his men and turned. Foster had so much to ask, so many questions. He was in the dark in so many ways. And he was certain he would get the answers. But first he had to help these men with the trucks, get Judith to their camp, and then he would see what he could find out.
For the first time in days, he felt safe and a bit relieved that one leg of his struggles was over.
Utah Man was his code name and using a national FEMA frequency he was able to broadcast to those hidden or stuck. Anyone with a radio, any kind of radio, could pick him up.
His songs were clues; he took the idea from the New York radio stations that were hijacked from the enemy.
He was the one that put out the word to everyone, very early on, to only move at night. He used the song Maneater, and after the end of the song, he reiterated with a chuckle, “That’s right folks, only come out at night.”
Two nights prior, he announced a push from American soldiers, calling them Sam’s kids, and sending out a Matchbox Twenty song.
He played other stuff, too, to make sure no one took the songs as weird warnings. His code was precise.
So precise, in fact, that the Committee, as they deemed themselves at The Tap, were marking a map. Those in Agabarn relied heavily on what Utah Man said. They were deep into the newly occupied territory but they hadn’t heard any shots at all, only planes that constantly flew during the day.
Harry wasn’t on that committee, but liked to listen in. Everyone did. He wondered, after viewing the map, when the push would not only come from inland toward the occupied territory but from the ocean as well.
“If I decoded right,” George said. “They hit several of our airfields overseas. We lost a lot of planes. We’ll have to regroup.”
Harry peered at his watch. He knew Utah Man would be signing off soon; it was nearly six A.M. and he never aired after that time. Six A.M. was bed time. Sipping the last of his wine, Harry looked at Tyler. The boy never left his side.
“Almost bedtime you know,” Harry told him.
Tyler was drawing. “I’m not tired. I want to finish this.”
Harry peered at the drawing, the date was on there, and it showed a soldier with a gun. Behind him was a United States flag and the soldier was firing at the state of New Jersey. “Ah, you listened to Utah Man tonight.”
“I think he said we’re tight in those Jerseys. I took it as New Jersey.”