“Wow! Didn’t expect that,” Peter said aloud.
HONK!
Peter jerked his head around. Another car was approaching, and they were laying on the horn to force him out of the road. Peter pushed off and shuffled to the shoulder to avoid getting hit by the second car. This time, he got a better look at it. It was a late-model Mercedes.
Once again, he rubbed his eyes as if he were dreaming. Then he rubbed both hands on his thighs as if to confirm he was really standing by his bicycle. In the growing darkness, he studied the buildings around him. None of them showed signs of life, much less electricity. Yet two late-model cars had just sailed past him.
Peter took a deep breath and held it. He focused all of his senses on his surroundings, straining as he listened for any signs of machinery operating, whether it be another car or a small appliance. He cupped his hands to his ears in an effort to block out any ambient noise caused by the wind rustling through the trees. He concentrated.
Then he heard it. It was the low rumble of a truck approaching from behind him. He pushed his bicycle off the shoulder of the road behind a dumpster standing between a gas station and a barbeque restaurant.
Peter pulled his weapon and crouched next to it. Peering around the edge of the dumpster, Peter saw headlights appear on the road he’d just traveled along. The truck had lumbered up the hill and was coasting down the other side toward the stop sign. Only, he stopped, whereas Peter hadn’t.
After a second, the driver of the diesel farm truck began to drive past him, shifting gears as he picked up speed. Peter wanted to call out and ask him a simple question.
How?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Friday, November 1
Stokesdale, North Carolina
Peter eased up out of his crouch and assessed his surroundings. There were several older homes at the intersection together with an auto repair business on the back side of the gas station. The barbecue restaurant was attached to a hair salon. Despite the vehicles that had unexpectedly passed him, the rural crossroads was devoid of life except for a dog nosing around the back of the building.
Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He watched the dog sniffing around in search of food and wondered if the older pup might help him find something to eat as he suddenly realized how hungry he was.
The pup noticed him and immediately made a beeline to Peter’s side. Tail wagging and the tags on his collar jingling, the family pet turned scavenger used his friendly nature to introduce himself to Peter.
He crouched down and held his right hand out for the dog to sniff him. Peter spoke in a calm, reassuring tone. “Hey, buddy. Are you looking for some yummies?”
The dog responded by wagging his tail even faster. He sniffed at Peter’s arm and then sat down, eagerly allowing Peter to scrub on his neck. His panting and smiling face confirmed to Peter that he wasn’t likely to bite him.
“I wish I could help ya. I’m pretty sure the MRE bars I have would suck for you as much as they suck for me.”
Peter stood and rummaged through his bag in search of the Clif protein bars. Most of them had chocolate, but he found one that substituted carob, a powdered form of the dark brown pea produced by the carob tree that tasted like chocolate. He broke off a small piece and allowed the Heinz 57 pup to try it.
“Um, did you even taste that?” asked Peter with a chuckle. The dog panted, and his eyes seemed to ask for more. “All right, a couple more bites. Let’s not overload that stomach.”
Peter fed his new friend half and ate the other half for himself. It was hardly enough but satisfied him until he could find shelter. The dog raised his nose in the air and caught a scent of something. He darted off between the buildings and glanced back at Peter before disappearing.
He suddenly felt exposed. Thus far, he’d been riding along with very little human contact, thank goodness. Either the people he’d encountered had tried to kill him or they had already been dead. Peter had developed a survival mindset in which everyone was a threat and the world would be lacking any form of operating electronic device. Yet, here he was, roughly three hundred miles from Washington, and he’d just witnessed three vehicles that had survived the electromagnetic pulse generated by the nuclear warhead destroying the city.
Peter needed to process this as well as rest for the next day’s ride. He considered his options. Unlike the small communities he’d ridden through previously, these businesses didn’t appear to be looted. There was no electricity, at least as far as his eyes could see. This was puzzling to him as well. If the EMP didn’t impact the cars, why would it take down the electric grid here?
He paced back and forth behind the dumpster, contemplating all of this. Finally, he pushed his bicycle between the buildings. At the rear of the simple block building, which contained the restaurant and hair salon, there was another business that built storage sheds. They were the kind you found at most home improvement stores. Shaped like small cabins and Dutch barns, the simple structures could be loaded on the back of a flatbed delivery truck and installed on blocks just about anywhere the owner desired. They’d become popular for some as tiny houses, a way of living inexpensively and, in some cases, off the grid.
Now that he’d seen signs of activity in the form of moving vehicles, Peter assumed law enforcement was active as well. He was not comfortable breaking into the businesses to look for food and shelter. He looked to the inventory of storage barns as an option that might not draw the owner’s ire if he was discovered.
He checked the door handles of the first few floor models lining the front of the business. They were all unlocked. After a look around, he decided on a small, near-windowless storage building in the middle of the business’s inventory. The lack of windows would insulate him from the cold, and the centralized location within the property might give him a heads-up in the event somebody else had the same idea.
Operating vehicles meant people were more mobile. The lack of electricity meant they were still going to be desperate.
Peter wheeled his bicycle inside and unloaded the gear. Then he laid the bike crossways across the barn door and used his bungee cords to secure it to the interior door handles. This barricade would give him peace of mind as he slept.
After rebandaging his wounds, he laid out the various pills that had become part of his daily regimen. The Keflex followed by the potassium iodide. He also took a multivitamin, vitamin C, D, and E supplements as well as a zinc tablet, most of which helped build his body’s immunities to disease. He had a sufficient supply to last him six months although he was certain he’d be back at Driftwood Key by then. Meanwhile, as he traveled, he’d be more likely to encounter diseased animals or people. And, as he’d proven, the prospect of being injured was high as well. The vitamins and supplements would help protect him while his nutrition was lacking.
After settling in, Peter took a sip of the Chivas Regal scotch he’d packed at the golf course. It caused him to wince as it went down, but he allowed himself another swig. He chuckled to himself as he imagined a doctor assessing his mental state. On the one hand, he was taking extra precautions to keep his body safe with various supplements. On the other, he was swigging a premium scotch without regard to the countereffect on his medication.
“Sometimes, you gotta just say screw it. Right, Pete?”
He took another sip. Within minutes, the lack of food in his stomach immediately resulted in a buzz. Peter, who’d never been a heavy drinker, had become a survivalist much like his sister. He recognized the importance of keeping a clear head. He capped the bottle of Chivas and stored it away before he took one swig too many.