The Lone Traveler

Beneath barren trees that loomed high in what remained of the forest, Roddy held his breath and pushed his face deep into the wet mud as he crawled toward the peak of the mountain.

He pulled the map from his back pocket and opened it as drops of rain fell. He took a deep breath, his hands trembling in the cold. The map had been marked with all the places he’d looked, the miles and miles of places they could have taken her. The map was 200 miles radius of the area between Philadelphia and New York, with parts of Pennsylvania and New Jersey. He had found it at an abandoned rest stop that featured a picture of kids on a roller coaster. Every time he looked at it he thought of Sarah and hoped she was ok, and how the world had ended and how it all happened so quickly.

The camp lay in an opening beneath the mountain peak, covered by barbed wire fence. There were three rows of three tents, a building at the end, and on the opposite side of tents were long pieces of wood. Beneath them were the microphones, who’s cables ran all the way to the loud speakers at the entrance of the camp.

Roddy put his backpack on the ground, opened the bag and removed the gauze and bandages and alcohol. Then, he pulled the bandage from his arm, sprayed the cut with alcohol, and just as he started wrapping the cut with the new bandage, an erratic shuffling of leaves echoed in front of him.

Roddy ducked, pushing his face deep into the mud. He held his breath, listening as the sound of things inside the camp whispered amongst themselves, their language was something awful and inhuman. A collection of chewing and screaming and grinding teeth, the sound of which was awful enough to make someone go crazy.

“To the things below that were not invited and showed-up and announced and took everything we have – ”

Sirens echoed from the camp. The doors opened. The sound of desperate and heavy breathing and chewing echoed up the mountain. Roddy gripped the yellow grass coming from the dirt, wondering if she was here.

“Please leave. Leave in peace. Go back to your homes and let us rebuild,” the voice said.

Roddy had heard of these people before. Most of them were priests, who stood outside the Praise camps and asked the Intruders to leave.

“And to those stuck in the camp, awaiting eternal life, know that our God is – ”

An explosion echoed through the mountain. The sound of rocks falling bounced from the barren trees, and a few moments later those that were in the camp were not far from Roddy’s position in the mountain.

She has to be here, Roddy thought to himself.

Roddy held still. He knew if he was going to check the camp now, this would be the time. The gate was left open, there were two fewer of them now that they were looking for this zealot. This was his chance.

Slowly, he completed the gauze and bandages on his forearm, put the old ones back in the bag and tried to clean the area then make it look like no one had sat here. Then, he pulled the .38 gauge from his bag and placed in on his holster.

She’s here. She has to be here.

As he worked his way down the mountain, he heard the voice of the zealot amongst the chewing the intruders. He was telling them that he is not afraid. That he knows the awful things that they do. That he knows of the ritual, and that his voice will not be used to praise the sounds of other Gods. And that there is only one God.

The others said nothing, and as Roddy made his way down the mountain, he watched as they took the zealot from the mountain, and dragged him back to the camp.

I’m going to find you baby. Are you here baby. Please tell me if you are here. Daddy cannot do this too much longer.

The zealot turned silent as the men dragged him down the mountain. Roddy watched, trying to keep his mouth shut, using the madness as a distraction as he too descended down the mountain.

As they worked their way down, Roddy kept one eye the zealot, making sure that he was keeping his distance, while also looking down at the camp below. There were more guards now. They were testing the poles, turning on the microphones. When people started to come out from the tents, he tripped over a body.

He fell to the ground, his knee slamming to the ground and breaking a piece branch. When he tried to stand, he felt something in his ankle. A sharp pain, like daggers wrapping themselves around his bones, digging deeper and deeper.

“No,” Roddy said. “Please, No.”

The pain was so intense. He wondered if he broke it, snapped it and somehow and didn’t even realize.

I’m coming for you baby, he said to himself, as if repeating the words would somehow heal the growing pain wrapping itself around his body. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of footfalls. Then, a few moments later, of heavy breathing. The air all around him smelled of rot.

Hen crawled deeper, not quite sure where he was. The body next to him. The eyes were wide open and staring as if someone Roddy was the one who had scared him and not the other way around.

He could hear the sound of the zealot screaming again, as though his voices were some kind of warning. And the footfalls of the prisoners coming from the camp. And in front of him and on top of him, he could hear the things that were not human. The intruders.

The sounds of the their voice were something awful.

He laid still in the dirt, held his breath. Behind him, the stench of the bodies were so bad he thought he was going to vomit. He closed his eyes but opened them because he thought he was going to be sick and when he opened them, little ants and bugs were crawling out of the eyes of someone’s mouth.

They talked again, and this time, Roddy was convinced that they were getting ready to back away. But he stayed there, and waited, and as they poked and prodded with their spears and other sharp metal objects, all Roddy could do was think about the his girl. How he had left her right there at the doorstep of the house when he went to grab his and keys and when he returned she wasn’t there anymore and how when he ran something had jumped up and got him. And how he grabbed the map and the gun and watched and followed as the caravans came up the road, and how other places and towns reported the same thing, and then everyone got sick and died. The things, the intruders, they had brought with them illnesses that no one was ready for. It wasn’t a full-on military battle. It was quick, methodical, unending. And you couldn’t stop it.

Satisfied, the two that had brolken off from the group returned, and Roddy made his way down to the camp. Inside, they were starting already. The poles had been greased. The microphones were on. They had picked someone as the first victim.

I promise that won’t be you. I’m coming for you baby. I’m coming for you.

They greased up the pole, because that made it easier for the body to be inserted. They turned on the microphone as Roddy reached to into his back-pack and pulled out the pliers.

Then, he scanned the area by the camp. There was tent about a half-mile away with toys outside of it laying on the ground.

I hope you are there, he told himself. Please God. I hope you are there.

The guards, if you can call them that, had their back toward Roddy as he pulled the pliers from his bag. It was starting to rain now, the cold and wetness weakening his grip on the rusted pliers. And he was already drenched in sweat, his body stressed from the sprain or fracture after falling. And as he cut the gate open, he watched as the zealot stood next in line as one man was hoisted up on the pole.

The zealot started to speak for him. Praising God and praying that his pain would be washed away, and the zealot asked for him to try to keep quiet so his screams would not be used to honor what ever Pagan Gods these men believed in.

It worked for a while, until the poles had been inserted in earnest. His body shaking from the pain, his hands clenched, tears spilling from his eyes. By the time Roddy had made it through the gate the man was already screaming, the guards and those in the camp were praying to their God, giving thanks in whatever awful language they spoke. It was as though they had been hypnotized.

This was his chance. This was his opportunity. If he didn’t act now and knew he wouldn’t be successful, they way they were chanting and screaming, so focused on the suffering one of man.

He stood up, feeling the aches and pains that shot up and down his leg. He wanted to run, needed to run, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move as fast as he wanted and right as he stood up, there were other guards making their way to more tents.

I’m coming baby, I’m really coming this time, Roddy said to himself.

He dived into the tent as blood spewed from his leg. Even as he walked in he had no idea if there was going to be anyway he was going to make it out of this. The way back, even just to the gate, assuming he was going to be able to get past the guards just looked too long.

There was no way, he told himself. There was just absolutely no way.

Still, he crawled inside the tent as the screaming went on behind him and those that were in attendance were on their knees, screaming too, but also giving thanks to the man who was screaming, who was horrified. The pain because something so awful.

The kids were all lined up in cots. Wooden toy and books. Hungry and exhausted bodies and even though it had only been six months, Roddy worried what had happened to her in that time. If he was still going to be able to recognize her.

When he reached the end of the tent, his came to a girl that was sitting down, looking at book that had small writing on it. It was a small picture and that’s he looked at her for a bit longer and said to her, Sarah?

She didn’t say anything, but as Roddy looked down at her eyes and took a few more steps forward, he knew it was her. It had to be her because he had given her that small book on her sixth birthday and even though that was over a year ago, it was still in good condition.

He looked down at her again and told her that it was Daddy. That it was time to go. He had to tell himself that this was her. That this was his daughter because even those it was her eyes it was a different look than he had seen before. There was something about it, perhaps it was the fear or the isolation or the impending death or the weather or the sound of the men screaming out there that had given her so much pain, that had changed her face so much.

“We don’t have much time,” Roddy said.

The girl just looked at him, said nothing.

“We have to go baby,” Roddy said. “We have to go right now.

She didn’t say anything, but as he lifted her up she looked up and said,

“I can run. I can run.”

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to tell her how so how he was for letting her go just in that instance. There were a thousand things he wanted to say to her because in his mind he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to make it out of here, and certainly wasn’t going to be able to make it all the way to the gate.

He wanted to tell her how much he loved her and how sorry he was and how he hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. But it was too late for all that now. He didn’t have that luxury anymore. Didn’t have that choice. It was time to go. It was time to go right now.

***

Roddy grabbed Sarah’s hand as he peaked his head out from beside the tent. There were more men now, on the poles, their screams getting captured by the microphones and the intruders on the ground praying.

When he took another step out, he saw a man step from the line, turn his head to the left, and then turn his head to the right before finally sprinting toward the gate.

A few of the guards yelled. An alarm went off. One of the intruders pulled a weapon of his back, aimed it, and fired. The bullet hadn’t seemed to kill him, but he simply froze and fell out their in the field and left Roddy wantering what sort of extra pain this man might be in for.

He looked down at Sarah and said, “When I say go. We have to go. There is no looking back. Stay with me, do you understand. Stay with me,”

“Dad,” Sarah said.

“We don’t have much time baby,” Roddy said.

“You look hurt. You look really hurt and I’m scared,” Sarah said.

Roddy told her to just trust and know that I’ll be right here with you and there is no reason at all to be afraid.

“Don’t be scared baby. Don’t be scared at all.”

***

He pulled the opening away from the tent and peered outside. The tent was still full of children and he wondered what would become of them, and part of him, a big part of him wanted to help save all of them, but given the situation with his leg and foot the whole thing had become untenable. It seemed unlikely he would be able to make it to the fence, let alone out of the camp.

There was somewhere else to go. He had heard about it. A place toward the mid-west where the intruders hadn’t quite gotten to yet. If someone how he made it out of the camp alive and with her, even though all of that seemed so unlikely, this would be where he wanted to go.

As he peered out he could hear the zealot. He was quoting the words he had not heard in a while. Something about fishers of men and how God had saved his only son.

The fence was not far away not now.

He turned toward Sarah and said asked her if she was ready.

“I don’t want to get caught Daddy,” she said. “They do bad things to us. Really bad things to us.”

The thought of something or someone hurting his daughter was just not something he had given serious thought to. But he knew it had happened. That it must have happened. Everyone has lost something in this world, he thought. Everyone has been through pain.

“I promise you,” Roddy said. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

As soon as they ran out of the tent they were on him. He couldn’t see them. The intruders, the things that were chasing them, they were too awful to look at. But he could hear their breathing and he could smell them, the awfulness of their beath.

He ran hard. But his legs didn’t take him as far or as fast as he wanted to go. She was running faster than him but not by much, and as he ran he looked to his left.

They were lining up the women now. The first one had already been strung up, and she was screaming so badly now that her throat must be burning. And the next person in line was a woman, a young girl, about half her age. Perhaps 10 years older than Sarah. Her belly was protruding through her shirt as she robbed it. He was not sure how far along she was, four or five months perhaps.

He kept running, but he saw the look in her eyes. The look of fear, not for himself, but for him. And his daughter, as though they were running after something that no matter what happened was going to find them and chase them down.

They were right on him when he looked at the woman. There was a cross around her neck and she seemed to smile at him, and at that moment, perhaps it was the fact that he saw his Sarah speeding up toward the fence, or zealot grinding his teeth and not saying anything, or that the woman was whispering to herself as well, just as the zealot had, calling down something.

He had always believed in God, but now, as he ran faster, the pain in his leg seemed to subside, and he ran as fast as he could toward the gate, trying to think of what they would do and who they would tell once they were free.