Read Online The Enduring: Stories of Surviving the Apocalypse by Nicholas Ryan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nicholas Ryan
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full of hazards in search of somewhere safer – more isolated.
I asked him.
“See the land?” he snatched one of his hands from out of the pocket of his jacket and pointed.
“Yes.” I looked away through the trees to a low lying series of undulations, studded with woods. The trees were brown, the grass a patchwork of dying grass and dirt. It was as if the earth had been scorched with acid.
“Does that answer your question?” Mike pressed his lips into a thin contemptible line, like the question annoyed him.
I shook my head. Okay. Jackson was a man of few words and clearly I wasn’t the person he wanted to waste those words on. But I was here for a reason, dammit – and that was to give him the opportunity to share his harrowing survival story with what was left of the world. I turned on him, feeling my face darken with frustration.
I had my notebook in my hand, my pen poised. I stuffed them into my pocket. “Listen, Mr. Jackson,” I said with restraint. “I came all the way here to Virginia so you could share your story – so you could tell me how you and your family endured the ‘Affliction’ and survived the Apocalypse. I’m not a local; I don’t have your life experiences. It’s not going to help if you treat me like an outsider. I’m not trying to pry… I’m trying to understand .”
Mike Jackson turned his face to mine and it was like swinging the double barrels of a shotgun on to a target. I could see a flash of temper in his face. I went on belligerently. “So you either use this opportunity to talk to me and share your experience, or I’ll just drive away. There are other people I can speak to. I came to visit you because I thought your situation was unique and worthy of sharing with those who endured.”
We glared at each other across the short space that separated us for a long moment of crackling tension. Mike Jackson’s face stayed hard as granite, but something in his eyes altered. He nodded his head slowly, as if I had passed some unspoken test.
“Fair enough,” he said.
I let out a breath that had been seized in my chest, suffocating me. Mike turned away again and fixed his gaze on the nearest line of tall trees.
When he spoke at last, there was something haunted and strained in his voice. “Before the ‘Affliction’ I worked maintenance at a truck stop,” he began talking in stilted words. “At about three o’clock in the afternoon, a police car pulled up out front of the workshop. It was a friend of mine. He came running at me, with his gun drawn. He was shouting. At first I thought he had been called to a robbery inside the building. His face was flushed, his features all wrenched up so he looked like he was in pain. I threw down my spanners and went towards him.”
“At that time you still didn’t know why the policeman was there?”
“No.”
“But you knew about the spread of the ‘Affliction’, right?”
“Sure,” Mike grimaced. “It had been all over the television for days. I saw the news reports as it started to spread from the south. But the media was full of those fear-mongering reports; Ebola, Zika,” he shrugged his broad shoulders. “I didn’t pay much attention.”
“And then?”
“And then my law enforcement buddy came into the workshop. He told me what was happening. The local police forces were all over the streets, lights flashing and sirens wailing. Two other black and whites pulled up and they evacuated the entire truck stop.”
“The infection had spread that close?”
Again, Mike shrugged his shoulders. “No one knew. My buddy said Danville had already reported its first cases. That was when shit got real.”
“What did you do?”
“I paused,” Mike said. I widened my eyes in surprise. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would hesitate in the face of a crisis.
“What?”
“I paused,” he said again, and the shape and line of his mouth turned down at the corners. His gaze became clouded.
“Why?”
“I
I asked him.
“See the land?” he snatched one of his hands from out of the pocket of his jacket and pointed.
“Yes.” I looked away through the trees to a low lying series of undulations, studded with woods. The trees were brown, the grass a patchwork of dying grass and dirt. It was as if the earth had been scorched with acid.
“Does that answer your question?” Mike pressed his lips into a thin contemptible line, like the question annoyed him.
I shook my head. Okay. Jackson was a man of few words and clearly I wasn’t the person he wanted to waste those words on. But I was here for a reason, dammit – and that was to give him the opportunity to share his harrowing survival story with what was left of the world. I turned on him, feeling my face darken with frustration.
I had my notebook in my hand, my pen poised. I stuffed them into my pocket. “Listen, Mr. Jackson,” I said with restraint. “I came all the way here to Virginia so you could share your story – so you could tell me how you and your family endured the ‘Affliction’ and survived the Apocalypse. I’m not a local; I don’t have your life experiences. It’s not going to help if you treat me like an outsider. I’m not trying to pry… I’m trying to understand .”
Mike Jackson turned his face to mine and it was like swinging the double barrels of a shotgun on to a target. I could see a flash of temper in his face. I went on belligerently. “So you either use this opportunity to talk to me and share your experience, or I’ll just drive away. There are other people I can speak to. I came to visit you because I thought your situation was unique and worthy of sharing with those who endured.”
We glared at each other across the short space that separated us for a long moment of crackling tension. Mike Jackson’s face stayed hard as granite, but something in his eyes altered. He nodded his head slowly, as if I had passed some unspoken test.
“Fair enough,” he said.
I let out a breath that had been seized in my chest, suffocating me. Mike turned away again and fixed his gaze on the nearest line of tall trees.
When he spoke at last, there was something haunted and strained in his voice. “Before the ‘Affliction’ I worked maintenance at a truck stop,” he began talking in stilted words. “At about three o’clock in the afternoon, a police car pulled up out front of the workshop. It was a friend of mine. He came running at me, with his gun drawn. He was shouting. At first I thought he had been called to a robbery inside the building. His face was flushed, his features all wrenched up so he looked like he was in pain. I threw down my spanners and went towards him.”
“At that time you still didn’t know why the policeman was there?”
“No.”
“But you knew about the spread of the ‘Affliction’, right?”
“Sure,” Mike grimaced. “It had been all over the television for days. I saw the news reports as it started to spread from the south. But the media was full of those fear-mongering reports; Ebola, Zika,” he shrugged his broad shoulders. “I didn’t pay much attention.”
“And then?”
“And then my law enforcement buddy came into the workshop. He told me what was happening. The local police forces were all over the streets, lights flashing and sirens wailing. Two other black and whites pulled up and they evacuated the entire truck stop.”
“The infection had spread that close?”
Again, Mike shrugged his shoulders. “No one knew. My buddy said Danville had already reported its first cases. That was when shit got real.”
“What did you do?”
“I paused,” Mike said. I widened my eyes in surprise. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would hesitate in the face of a crisis.
“What?”
“I paused,” he said again, and the shape and line of his mouth turned down at the corners. His gaze became clouded.
“Why?”
“I
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