World War III (20 page)

“Get him onto the bed,” ordered Casey, before turning and running to the front of the cab, where he stopped and fired.

While Shannon and the kids struggled to move the stranger’s body from the driver’s seat to the bed in the back of the cab, Casey emptied his shotgun into the dark forest, concentrating his fire on the flashlights bobbing up and down. He heard painful screams coming from one of the soldiers, and realized that at least one of his shots had found its target.

“Come on!” Shannon pleaded from inside the truck.

With the shotgun empty, Casey jumped to his feet and ran for the cab. He quickly climbed up onto the driver’s seat and slammed the door behind him. As he weaved the truck around the bodies on the road, bullets peppered the side of the trailer and Casey hoped that none would find their mark. With the gas pedal pressed firmly to the floor, he glanced in the side mirror and noticed several dark figures emerge from the tree line. Brandishing automatic machineguns, the soldiers immediately opened fire on the large eighteen-wheeler, as they sped away into the night. With her children watching intently, Shannon immediately began bandaging the stranger’s wounds in the back of the cab.

Casey steered the truck through the streets of Portland and was shocked by what he saw. The city looked like it had been through a hell of a fire fight. People were running wild through the streets, looting and wreaking havoc on those who were too weak or slow to escape them. Those buildings which still stood were engulfed in fire and the bodies of both civilians and soldiers littered the streets. In some places the dead bodies were piled up so thick that Casey had no choice but to drive over them, causing the truck to bounce up and down. It was either that or stop, and Casey had no intention of stopping.

“Can you try and avoid those bumps in the road?” asked Shannon, hunched over the stranger in the back of the cab. “I’m having a hard enough time getting his bleeding under control.”

“Sorry,” said Casey, steering around a burning car positioned in the middle of the road. “I’m trying, but the streets are covered with debris. It’s impossible to avoid the bumps without getting out and clearing the road.”

“Then perhaps we should,” suggested Shannon. “We need more medical supplies too.”

“It’s not safe,” replied Casey. “We’ll have to re-supply in Salem.”

“He might not make it that long,” said Shannon, looking down at the stranger’s haggard face.

“We’ll have to take that chance,” declared Casey, as he watched a gang of thugs beating a man to death. “If we stop, none of us will make it very long.”

They drove on in silence, as Shannon did her best to clean and dress the stranger’s wounds, and Casey did his best to avoid the bodies lying in the road. They were nearing the city limits when Casey saw a road block up ahead. Based on the strategic way the automobiles were positioned, he could tell it wasn’t by mistake they’d been left in the middle of the road.

“Everybody hold on!” he said, pressing down on the gas pedal.

“What is it?” asked Shannon, sticking her head out from behind the cab’s curtain.

“It looks like an ambush,” explained Casey, as he scanned the buildings on either side of the street, looking for any signs of danger.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m not stopping,” replied Casey, “that’s exactly what they want us to do. Put your seat belts on and hold on, we’re gonna ram it!”

“Oh dear!” gasped Shannon, turning and securing both of her children with seatbelts, before strapping one around her own waist. “Hold on kids!” she screamed, grabbing hold of the stranger’s body with both hands, as Casey plowed into the cars blocking the road.

The dreadful sound of metal being torn apart mingled with that of tires screeching, as the eighteen-wheeler crashed through the roadblock. One of the cars blocking the road was hit so hard that it spun around in a complete circle, before smashing through the front window of a coffee shop.

As Casey slammed into the vehicles, he saw armed men emerge from several buildings. He could hear their shouts and thuds from their fists pounding on the side of the trailer as he drove by, followed by a few random shots.

“Is everyone okay?” Casey asked, glancing in the side mirror and relieved to see the last man giving up pursuit.

“Yes,” replied Shannon, smiling down at her wide eyed children, while checking the stranger’s vitals.

The small group made a quick stop in Salem to pick up more medical supplies, before continuing south to Albany where they stopped for the night. Shannon argued that if the stranger was going to live they would need to stop moving and allow his wounds to heal. Casey agreed to the request and the small group spent the next few days resting, but moved on quickly after hearing shocking stories from the locals.

The Communist Muslim Coalition was ravaging the coast. Each tale was different from the one before, describing Russian, Chinese and Muslim troops pillaging and killing indiscriminately, as they continued their assault. The most disturbing of the stories involved the capture and beheading of American citizens who refused to convert to Islam.

Casey knew they were lucky to have survived their encounter with the enemy. He headed south and stopped to trade with the towns of Eugene, Springfield and Roseburg, spending two days in each before moving on. They were just outside of Grants Pass when they encountered the old man for the first time.

The rain had finally stopped falling and the sky was clear and blue, with patches of white puffy clouds overhead. Sitting in the back of the cab, Shannon and her children were playing a game of cards while Casey drove. The stranger, whose name they’d learned was Tyler, was sitting next to Casey and helping him navigate. It had taken several days for Tyler’s wounds to heal enough that he could sit up on his own and move around a little. Although he was still very weak from the loss of blood, he made every effort to help with whatever he could, which wasn’t much.

Tyler had remained silent for the first couple of days and still had little to say. Several times Casey had tried to ask him about the night they’d found him, lying in the middle of the road, more dead than alive. But each time Tyler just shook his head, buried his face in his hands and began crying. Watching the grown man sob uncontrollably was awkward, so after a few failed attempts, Casey quit trying and left Tyler to deal with his nightmares on his own.

As they continued south on Interstate five, Casey noticed an old man standing on the side of the road. The man was dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet with a golden sash around his chest. His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire. In his hands he held a cardboard sign with the word ‘You’ scribbled in red.

Casey had no idea what it was supposed to mean. He gave the old man little more than a glance, as he drove by. If it was a ride the old man was seeking he’d have to wait for another, the cab was already getting crowded.

About a mile or so down the road he saw another old man standing on the side of the road and holding a cardboard sign. The man was identical to the first, which was impossible unless they were twins. The only difference between the two men was the word on the sign. On his sign the word ‘are’ was scribbled in the same red color.

Casey rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing clearly. He didn’t feel tired or like he was hallucinating, but then again what were the chances of seeing two identical men more than a mile apart? A couple more miles passed by before he saw the same old man, once again standing on the side of the road holding a cardboard sign, this time with the word ‘’headed’ written in red.

“Is that the same old man?” Casey asked Tyler, as they passed him by.

“What old man?” Tyler asked, scanning the road ahead. “I didn’t see anyone?”

“The old man with the cardboard sign,” replied Casey, wondering how Tyler could have missed seeing the man, standing right out in the open the way he was.

“I didn’t see a man or a sign,” said Tyler.

A few more miles passed, when Casey saw the old man again, still standing on the side of the road holding a cardboard sign. This time the word ‘the’ was scrawled in red. “There!” shouted Casey, pointing at the old man. “Do you see him?”

Tyler looked left and then right, before turning to look at Casey with a worried look upon his face. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Of course!” exclaimed Casey. “I feel fine. Do you see the old man or don’t you?”

“I don’t,” admitted Tyler. “Perhaps I should drive for a while, while you get some rest?”

“I’m fine,” said Casey. “I’m not the one who can’t see what’s right in front of me!”

Just a few more miles down the road, the old man appeared for a fifth time, but this time Casey kept it to himself. He wasn’t sure if Tyler was messing with him or if he was actually seeing people that didn’t exist. Casey glanced at Tyler out of the corner of his eye, as they passed the old man holding a cardboard sign with the word ‘wrong’ printed in red. Once again, Tyler showed no evidence that he could see the old man.

Casey rubbed his eyes again and began to wonder if he was going crazy. How was it possible that he was the only one who could see the old man? And even more bizarre was the mystery of how the old man was able to appear ahead of them over and over again? None of it made any sense. When Casey saw the old man again, holding yet another cardboard sign, he turned and pulled back the curtain separating the front of the cab from the back.

“Shannon, Sam, Sandy?”

“Yes,” they all answered in unison.

“Do you see anyone standing on the side of the road up ahead?” asked Casey.

Shannon and her kids peered at the road ahead, looking left and then right, but seeing nothing.

“Nopie, nope, nope,” said Sandy, her interest returning to the game of cards.

“I don’t see anything,” agreed Sam, keeping a watchful eye on Sandy and the cards in her hands.

“I’m afraid I don’t see anyone either,” said Shannon, glancing from Casey to Tyler. Seeing the worry in his eyes, her gaze lingered on Tyler for a moment, before shifting back to Casey. “Who did you see?"

“He keeps seeing an old man with a cardboard sign,” mocked Tyler, before Casey had the chance to respond.

“Are you feeling alright?” Shannon asked, feeling Casey’s forehead for a temperature.

Ignoring both Tyler’s comment and Shannon’s soft touch, Casey stared down at the old man as he drove by. This time the sign had the word ‘way!’ etched in red. Casey quickly put all of the words together and mumbled, “You are headed the wrong way!”

“What did you say?” asked Tyler.

“Who’s headed the wrong way?” asked Shannon.

“That’s what the words written on the cardboard signs spells out,” replied Casey, repeating the phrase over and over again in his head. What did it mean?

“So an imaginary old man, who only you can see, has appeared out of nowhere and advised you that we’re headed in the wrong direction?” asked Tyler. “Do you have any idea how absurd that sounds?”

“Yes,” agreed Casey, “but nevertheless that is what I saw.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Shannon.

“We can’t go back,” stated Tyler, matter of fact. “Remember, the countryside is swarming with enemy troops. We should head east, away from the coast and the invading army.”

Casey didn’t respond. His mind was still trying to decipher the meaning behind the old man’s warning. You are headed the wrong way! You are headed the wrong way! You are headed the wrong way! He silently repeated the phrase over and over, as if the words themselves would suddenly break open and reveal their meaning.

“Grants Pass is only a few miles ahead,” said Tyler, looking at an atlas of the United States. “You’re gonna want to veer left at the fork ahead. If we stay on the interstate, we’ll eventually connect with highway eighty-nine and we can head due east from there. What do you say?”

Casey was only half listening to Tyler’s suggestion, when he saw the same old man standing at the fork in the road ahead. Instead of holding a cardboard sign, this time the old man carried a long wooden staff. He was standing in the center of the fork with his arm and staff stretched out toward the right-side of the fork.

“There!” Casey shouted, pointing at the old man ahead. Ignoring Tyler’s advice, he quickly turned the steering wheel and chose the right-side of the fork.

“You’re headed the wrong way!” said Tyler, as Casey pressed down on the brakes and brought the truck to an abrupt stop.

“Did you see him?” he asked, opening the driver-side door.

“See who?” asked Tyler, as Casey climbed down from the cab. “Not the imaginary old man again?”

Casey turned and ran back to where the old man was standing, but found no one there. He shook his head in frustration, wondering if he truly was going crazy. He was about to turn and head back to the truck when he noticed a pair of foot prints in the mud where the old man had been standing. He bent down to examine the footprints and started laughing, glad to know that he wasn’t losing his mind.

“He’s lost it,” mumbled Tyler, as he watched Casey from inside the truck.

“I’m not so sure,” said Shannon, pointing at the road ahead.

Tyler turned his head to see what she was pointing at and his mouth dropped open in surprise. Standing in the road, less than ten feet in front of the truck, was an old man with snow white hair and a matching beard. He wore a white robe, the bottom of which was covered in mud from where it dragged on the ground, and in his hand he carried a long wooden staff.