Above the Hush Read online

“This can’t be all the way down.” Vomit Man swung his arm out, pointing to the wreckage.

  “I made it beyond the wreckage,” I said. “Only cars are there with people in them, some off the road.”

  “Look across the road, Jeff,” Ralph said to Vomit Man. “There are cars and trucks there, too.” He turned his head to another man who emerged from the wreckage, he was calm, rubbing his chin. “Shane?” Ralph asked. “What are you thinking?”

  “Had to be an EMP or something like it. Powered down the cars, they were going full speed, probably couldn’t stop,” Shane replied

  “Why do our cars work?” a woman asked.

  “EMP’s are theoretical. In theory anything that’s not running will continue to run and some old vehicles will,” he pointed to my truck.

  “No.” Jeff tossed out his arms as if disagreeing. “If it was an EMP, nuclear weapon, whatever … why are these people dead? Surely someone would have survived the crash. Why is Charlie dead? Whatever happened here killed these people while they were driving.”

  His words brought a silence that spoke volumes.

  “We’re close to D.C., maybe not that close,” Ralph said. “But close enough that something could have happened like a chemical attack, and we were safe in the gully. But I am betting, whatever it is, we’re smack dab in the center of ground-zero.”

  “I agree about ground-zero, however, I’m not an expert,” Shane said. “But those people didn’t die from any chemical weapon I've heard about. Then again, I didn’t examine any of the bodies too closely.”

  “What do we do?” a woman asked.

  “Tell you what we do,” Ralph replied. “We assume there was an attack.”

  “So help is out there?” the same woman asked.

  Ralph shook his head. “I don’t know about any help, but my family is out there. If this thing is local, then considering we’re from Indian, I am gonna assume they’re fine. I’m … I’m gonna grab my wife and head home to my family.”

  Family.

  As everyone commented and said something about where they were from and how they wondered how far it went, if it was local, all those things, it hit me … family.

  My insides shook because not once did it dawn on me that my family could be affected. I hoped and prayed at that very moment that Ralph was right, and we were at ground zero. That my husband and my daughter were safe ninety miles away.

  And Michael … my God, where was he? Was he in the middle of it?

  My deep thoughts caused me to gasp in horror and my hand covered my mouth before I could scream.

  Ralph was walking by me and he stopped. “What is it?”

  “I was … I was thinking about my family. My son.”

  He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sure they’re fine. Good luck to you.”

  “You, too,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Everyone got back in their cars and trucks, each passing on wishes of luck.

  How strange, we were a group of strangers standing together in some sort of major event. Yet, every single one of us left and went our own direction as if sticking together wasn’t even an option. Why would it be? To us all, we were at ground zero and we just needed to get out. Once we did, everything would be alright.

  6 – A SMALL DIVIDE

  Unlike the others, I didn’t go back to the camp. I didn’t need to. Everything I had brought with me I had already placed in the back of the pick up. I wanted and needed to go home. It wasn’t that far away. I lived in a small community almost smack dab in the center of the state of Virginia. A small town with fifteen thousand people, give or take a few. To many that might sound bigger than small town, but it really wasn’t.

  I saw the same people every day at the store, the gas station and the local Arby’s.

  I prayed that our little, hidden gem of a town was spared any of this event.

  To get there I had to take the highway, at least that was the fastest way. But the pile up blocked the eastbound lanes. I was grateful that Ken’s truck handled the ‘off the road’ stuff so well. The wreckage spanned about two-thirds of a mile leaving me no choice but to head into the median area. The median strip was wide, but it bent inward like the letter V. Nothing about it was easy, it was overgrown with foliage and filled with ditches. I pulled into the area slowly, fearing at any time something would break on the truck. But it was my only option to get past the pile-up. I made it around the tractor trailer that sealed off the final portion of the wreckage. I suppose I could have gone on the other side of the road, but the truck was doing just fine. Once I was back on the highway it was just a matter of weaving my way in and out of the stopped cars. Whatever occurred had to have happened early before the roads were completely filled with traffic.

  While I was concerned for my family’s safety, I didn’t fear for their lives. I had no real reason to. As far as I was concerned the event was contained. Contained to the area where I happened to be. It didn’t take long in my journey down the highway for all my thinking to change.

  The thin line of black smoke I saw earlier traveling up to the sky grew thicker and wider with each mile that I traveled. I believed it was another accident, a bigger one, until I arrived at the source of the smoke. Then I believed at least for that portion of the journey, I had reached the end of the line. It was blocked, even more so than the pile up. There was no way through. None at all.

  It was as if God had gotten ahold of one of those laser guns from science fiction and seared a line straight across the highway, extending horizontally from deep within the wooded area that lined one side of the highway, straight through the median completely across the eastbound lanes. Flames expelled an enormous amount of heat as they mixed with thick black smoke across the entire line. And the highway wasn’t just on fire, it was damaged.

  I didn’t need to be close to see the long and narrow crater that pushed the asphalt outward, causing rock and debris all over the place.

  However, it wasn’t anything from science fiction, nor was it an act of God that caused the crater or the intense fire. It was burning jet fuel.

  I could smell it and it burned my nostrils.

  A plane had crashed or fallen right there on the highway. The aircraft had broken apart and only a handful of pieces were big enough to identify. A door, a section of three windows and two joined seats tossed aside still containing their dead occupants.

  The rest of the plane looked like it had shattered into a million pieces. Mixed among the debris were recognizable body parts. Arms, legs, torsos. Like the plane, nothing was together.

  The day had been one shocking sight after another. One huge emotional blow. I was filled with pity for those poor people on the plane and hoped that they never felt a thing.

  Everything was hard to comprehend because none of it made sense.

  There were no answers as to why everything came to a screeching and deadly stop. The only thing I knew for certain was that more than anything I had to get home. I had to find out about my family, and even though I was fearful, a huge part of me believed they were fine.

  I had two choices.

  I could wait it out until the flames subsided, or I could backtrack and find another way.

  I got back in my truck, turned around and headed back to square one. It didn’t matter how long or what it took … I would get home.

  7 - EYES WIDE

  My journey home would take on a new spin, with a new direction. Clearly, I couldn’t take any heavily traveled roads. I had to find another route. My problem was I relied so heavily on GPS that having a map in the glove box was a thing of the past.

  Since I was headed back, my best bet was to return to Gridlock Camp and see if Charlie had a map somewhere. Plus, even though I failed miserably at riding that bike down the path, I had calmed down some. I needed to get another bike. Not only just in case every route was blocked, but in case I ran out of gas.

  While the world was more than likely fine away from this area of the attack, I could
n’t bank on a gas station being open.

  Then something happened not three miles from the airplane wreckage. I didn’t know if it was because I was focused on the road ahead or looking the wrong way, but I spotted a motorcycle on the side of the road.

  My foot slammed on the brake as fast as my heart slammed into my stomach.

  Michael had left early. Without any clear cut knowledge of when the event occurred, I didn’t even think about the possibility that he got caught up in it, that my son could very well be on that stretch of road.

  I hesitated before getting out of the truck, scared to death to get a closer look. But I knew as soon as I saw it, that it wasn’t my son’s. Just to be sure I looked at the license plate. I knew his plate number by heart. He had the bike for three years and I was the person that renewed his plate, I was also the person that reported him missing when I hadn’t heard from him for days and every text and call went unanswered.

  The plate was not his and I breathed in a short-lived sigh of relief.

  There was a chance that Michael made it through before the attack, but there was a chance he hadn’t. Until I arrived home and saw him safe and sound at my house or one of the many places he couch-surfed, I couldn’t operate on the assumption he was fine.

  As emotionally hard as it was, I had to keep my eyes peeled, I had to look everywhere, and I knew I had to start with the pile up on I-64.

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  I tried not to look at the bodies. No amount of trying was enough. They stared back at me. Men, women ... children. Some were mangled from the crash, but most had succumbed from something mysterious.

  I went from car to car, truck to truck. I looked in between, under and around, searching for a motorcycle. I wanted to be absolutely sure and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my son was there or he wasn’t. I didn’t want to leave having it hang somewhere in the back of my mind that I could have searched better, and maybe just maybe I might have missed him.

  I believed I accomplished that task.

  Michael wasn’t there, his motorcycle wasn’t there. He had at least made it beyond the downed aircraft. If by chance I didn’t find him back home, then I would scour that stretch of highway.

  More than likely, by the time I made it back, search parties would be out.

  While I didn’t see my son, I saw so much that would stay with me for the rest of my life. Countless lives senselessly lost. Dying in such a way, I wondered if they had felt pain. There was a horrifying look on everyone’s face, even the children. As if for one split second, the last split second, they had the thought, ‘My God I am going to die.” I wished I had the medical knowledge to figure out what had happened. I was at a loss. As many others probably were as well. Much like the group from Gridlock Camp.

  Most of them were probably on their way home. I hadn’t seen a single one of them. Then again, I was the only one who hadn’t returned to the camp to pack up.

  Confident that I had searched the best and as thorough as I could, I headed back to my truck that was parked in the median of the road.

  The highway ran straight through the mountain, the turn off for the camp was only a few miles away.

  I steadily drove west on the east bound lane. I didn’t drive fast, I wanted to make sure I scanned left and right as I drove.

  My eyesight wasn’t the best, but my searching skills were honed in. I was looking for a motorcycle, not people, so I was surprised when I saw a figure walking in the distance.

  The person moved toward me. They were far enough away that I was in no danger of hitting them. They must have spotted me because they started waving their arms to get me to stop.

  It didn’t shock me that I saw someone. In fact, it made me feel better and more confident about the event having been confined to one area.

  When I was close enough I noticed it was a man.

  He carried a large backpack, wore a canvas jacket that was probably too warm for the weather, his hair was buried under an old and dirty baseball cap.

  He ran to my driver’s door the second I stopped.

  “Oh thank God, someone else,” he said, his voice was tired and rough. He took a moment, clenched the edge of the window and he truly looked grateful to see me.

  “You can’t get very far on this road,” I told him. ‘Huge accident is up ahead, beyond that a plane crashed and took out the highway. It’s still on fire.”

  “Is that where the smoke is coming from?”

  “Yes.”

  “What the hell is happening?’

  He was asking a rhetorical question, but somehow I missed that it was and started to reply. ‘I don’t know.”

  “So you came from that way? What is it like where you’re from? Is it the same thing?”

  “I don’t know. I left from here. I never made it very far. I turned around. I had to find another way.”

  “Which way are you headed?” he asked.

  “East. A town called Waynesboro. I had to go around and find secondary roads.”

  “So you are headed back in that direction?”

  “Yes, I am. I have to make a stop at my campground first.”

  “Great. Excellent. That’s a lot better than on foot. I’ll throw this in the back.”

  Before I could respond he had tossed his bag in the back with a ‘thump’ and opened the passenger’s door.

  “Whoa wait,” I said. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting in. Since we’re both headed in the same direction.”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “Why does that matter?” he asked, slipping inside.

  “You could be dangerous.”

  “About right now, does it matter? I think there’s something far worse and more dangerous happening.”

  I kept my hands on the wheel.

  “Just drive. I’m not gonna hurt you, I can help you along the way,” he said. “Besides, think about it. It’s the smart thing to do.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know this. No one should be traveling alone. That includes you and me. No one. I’ve learned out there it’s true. Safety in numbers.”

  I could have debated a little bit longer about his uninvited presence in the truck, but time was ticking away. I already used a lot of time looking through the pile-up, and I didn’t want to waste anymore. At the rate I was going, darkness would slip up on me.

  Saying no more, and resolving myself to his presence, I put the truck in gear and drove on.

  8 – SAFETY IN NUMBERS

  I made it clear I wasn’t looking for a travel buddy and that I didn’t need any help, I just had to get home.

  He got it. Or so he said.

  I didn’t see the point at first about traveling with someone. But the more I thought about it, the more it did make sense. We were trying to get out of a dangerous area.

  His name was Carl West, but introduced himself as just West. He looked rough around the edges and like he hadn’t shaved in a while. His age was hard to gauge, he didn’t look that old, but his voice sounded as if he had been shouting his entire life. He told me he had been camping in the area, didn’t even know anything had happened until he went to get his car that was parked in the public lot. When he got there he saw that a truck had veered off the road and smashed into it. It was when he walked to get some help for the guy in the truck he started seeing the cars with those who had died inside.

  Like me, he had his freak out moment, got his act together and moved on.

  He fit that information all in within the eight minutes it took to get back to Gridlock.

  There were still two cars in the lot. One of which I knew belonged to Ralph and Doris.

  “You stayed here?” he asked.

  “Yeah, last night.” I shut off the truck and opened the door.

  “I looked into this place, it’s pretty pricey.”

  “It is. But it’s off the grid.”

  He stepped from the truck. “Yeah, well, anywhere in this area
is off grid once you get into the woods. That’s what I do. Why are you back? Did you forget something?”

  “I want to get a bike. With the roads blocked, I don’t want to take a chance on having to walk if I can’t drive through. I don’t know how far this goes.”

  “That’s good thinking,” he said.

  “Also a map. I’m hoping there’s a map in the office.”

  “I have a map,” he said.

  “You have a map?”

  “Yeah, doesn’t everyone have a map in their car?”

  “No,” I answered quickly. “Not since GPS.”

  “Well, that’s pretty dumb to rely on that. You never know when it will not be available. Like now.”

  “Where’s your map now?” I asked.

  “In my pack. I took it out of my car when I had to walk.”

  We arrived at the check-in cabin and I stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “The guy, Charlie, that runs this place. He’s dead in there.”

  “You want me to go inside and you get the bikes?”

  I faced him. “If you have a map, I guess there’s no reason to go inside.”

  “Then let’s get the bikes.”

  As we stepped closer to the porch of the cabin, surprisingly, Shane stepped out. He paused and looked at us shocked. He had something in his hand.

  “I thought you headed home already,” he said to me.

  “Highway is completely blocked. Get this … a plane crashed there and I can’t get through,” I replied. “I came back for bikes. I thought you left.”

  He lifted his hand and in it was a folded paper. “I wanted to see if Charlie had any maps. GPS ruined me, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t.” West added. “You should always have a map.”

  “Who is this?” Shane asked. “I don’t remember seeing him when we went to the highway.”

  I shook my head. “No, he was walking. Ralph and Doris …” I pointed back to the parking lot. “Are they okay?”

  “Yeah, another reason I haven’t left. They’ve been here a few days so they have a lot to pack up. I just wanted to make sure they got off okay.”