Lone Survivor (Book 1): All That Remains Read online

  “Hold on a minute. But I thought we were looking at a few days, maybe a week or two at most. That’s how things went in the last snowstorm.”

  “Sara, a snowstorm didn’t cause this. We’ve just happened to have one at the same time. Lucky us, I guess,” he said. “No, what I’m talking about here is no electricity, no internet, no communication, no transportation, no deliveries, no water, no food. Do the math. Society will soon unravel. Maybe not today or next week but eventually. You don’t bounce back from this easily.”

  There was silence in the Scout except for the sound of tires crunching over snow.

  “But the landlines work,” she said.

  “Yeah, when people have the old ones. Ones that don’t rely on external power. Cordless models or any phone that relies on AC power are of no use. You, Janice, Hank just happen to have the old style. You specifically have the previous owners of that nineteenth century home to thank for that. Hell, I’m surprised you didn’t change it over.”

  “We were planning on getting rid of them and going strictly to cell phones.”

  “Anyway, just because you have one, that doesn’t mean someone else does. Most of society today have ditched landlines for modern phones.”

  “So how long will mine work?”

  “As long as there is backup power at the central office. Once that stops working, we’ll have to go back to message boards. Have some central message board in town and use handwritten messages.”

  “Are you serious?” She laughed unable to grasp the gravity of the situation. How could she? They’d never experienced this before.

  “You have a ham radio?”

  “No. Do you?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “And yet you bought a 1979 Scout to avoid an apocalyptic event?”

  “What can I say? It was an auction, a bargain.”

  Both of them laughed as they drove south on ME-166. However, Sara’s laughter soon faded at the seriousness of the event. What did this mean? How would they survive?

  “What about FEMA?”

  Jake sighed. “I like to think positively, Sara, but everything about this is pointing to an event I don’t think we’ll come back from, in which case, I’m sure camps will appear but they’ll probably start in the big cities and work their way out from there. My concern is surviving the now.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. She knew that whatever time he’d given to learn about such an event would have been minimal so she didn’t have high expectations, but at least it gave her some comfort to know that someone recognized the warning signs. Maybe they could use that to their advantage.

  “How much food and water do you have?”

  “Um,” she tried to think. “A pantry that we have for guests and some items for Christmas but it’s dwindled a lot. Usually we do a big shop nearer the end of February and stock up then in preparation for March’s guests. As for water. I told Max to fill the tubs and sinks and we have some cases of bottled water but that’s it.”

  “And money?”

  She wasn’t too sure she wanted to share that information with him. Then again maybe he already knew since he arrived that morning when she was holding five hundred.

  “Sara?” he asked again.

  “Roughly five hundred.”

  “Roughly?”

  “I mean on hand. Yeah.”

  “Good. You’ll need that. When we get back you need to stock up. Right now most are notching this up to the storm, thinking it will last a week at most. Once people get word of what’s really happening, shit’s gonna get really bad in town. The stores, the pharmacies, gas stations, all of it will be wiped out whether that be through people buying with cash or looting.”

  “Looting? You make it sound like…”

  “Do you have a gun?”

  Everything that came out of his mouth was throwing her off.

  “Sara. Do you have a gun?” he repeated himself.

  “Landon has a rifle.”

  “And you know how to fire it?”

  “Jake, you’re beginning to worry me. Just slow down. For all we know there might be a very good explanation for this.”

  “A power outage, yeah, I’m with you on that. Planes falling out of the sky? Ninety-five percent of vehicles no longer working? C’mon, Sara, you can’t be that naive.”

  Her brow furrowed. Had Landon said that to her she would have gone at him, and it would have ended in a big argument. Silence stretched between them and then Jake apologized. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No it’s not, I shouldn’t assume.”

  She shrugged. “So I blow five hundred dollars on food and water. What’s the worst that can happen, right?”

  He nodded and smiled. “Right.”

  They continued on driving the last stretch of the journey home along Castine Road that was parallel to Penobscot Bay and the town of Penobscot. “You think we can swing by my mother’s on the way back? I want her to be with us at the house.”

  “Yeah, sure, no problem.”

  They veered around stalled vehicles. The roads in their neck of the woods were barren as the weather was too cold to be walking. She was out of her mind with worry about her mother. The low temperatures, her mother’s memory not being that great… she was concerned for her welfare. “Jake. Don’t you think the town needs to know?”

  “They will.”

  “No, I mean soon.”

  “Sara. I’m all for sounding the alarm bell but take how you took the news. You think everyone will believe a tow guy? Besides even if they did, all hell will break loose after that. No, we need to keep this between us until we have your mother, and we’ve stocked up on food and water.”

  “What happens when the water runs out?”

  “Rivers, streams, collecting rainwater then purifying it.”

  As they pulled up outside her mother’s home, Jake said he would wait outside as he didn’t want to leave the Scout. “Just make it quick, okay?”

  She nodded and hurried into the house, letting herself in with her key. As soon as she walked in, she noticed how cold it was. Her breath formed in front of her mouth like she was outside. “Mom. Mom?” There was no answer. She went into the living room and noticed two of the windows were ajar. She went over and closed them, shivering and still calling for her mother. Sara hurried up the stairs to the next floor and entered her bedroom. “Mom?” Her mother was in bed and looked as if she was asleep, except the color of her skin was deathly pale. Sara walked over and touched her hand; it was like ice. Shock set in, then she cried out in anguish.

  15

  He drifted. The pain rolled over him and then he drifted into oblivion. The radio played lightly in the background and then nothing but static. A grandfather clock ticked and he’d heard it chime multiple times. He tried to keep count of the hours passing but went unconscious between. The dog. That damn dog hadn’t taken its eyes off him. Surely it should be gnawing on a bone, curled up into a deep sleep or chasing its tail. No. Like a guard waiting to change shift, it remained stoic, unmoving. What was going through its mind? What if she didn’t return? Did anyone else know he was here? Could it smell his blood? Would it gnaw on his legs out of hunger? Strange thoughts played in the theater of his mind as the painkillers wreaked havoc in his system. It was a wicked combination of relief and torture. He’d never been one for taking medication. Sara would literally have to sneak it into food like an owner might with a pet after surgery. It wasn’t the bitter taste but the side effects, the stomach pain, the nausea.

  Landon propped himself up on his elbow and reached over to take another two pills. He pawed at the side table trying to reach them while avoiding falling out of bed. His fingers clamped around the plastic container and he sank back, clutching them tightly. It was easier to swallow with the soup. At least it masked the flavor.

  He swept back his sheets and looked at his deformed legs which were a funky shade of purp
le and clay. He’d touched the skin, staring at the lumpy shape. Thirty-nine years and he’d never once broken a bone. He’d often wondered what the pain felt like and now he wished he could forget.

  After swallowing, Landon lay back, looking at the ceiling, listening to the howling wind of winter. In the hours since Beth left, he’d shivered and sweated, drifting in and out of sleep only to awake with the pain of loss that felt like dull and sharp knives being driven into him over and over again. Tears fell and he wrestled with dark thoughts of self-harm. He’d heard about parents losing their kids but nothing could prepare him for the trauma or the barrage of what-ifs. If he hadn’t taken her. If he’d just listened to Sara. If he’d got on that flight the next day, perhaps…

  From outside came the first sounds of Beth returning. At least he hoped it was her. Crunching snow. Barely audible conversation. A male voice. Landon snagged up the Winchester and aimed it at the wooden door across the way, expecting the worst. Although she was a stranger, he was helpless without her. It seemed ironic that he found himself relying on someone younger than him when he prided himself on being self-reliant and rarely needing the help of others. Flying to far-flung countries required more than skill, it demanded absolute confidence in one’s ability to handle extreme situations alone. And yet here he was at the mercy of a teen.

  A droplet of sweat trickled down the side of his face as the door swung open and a ramp of snow blew in followed by Beth and a bundled-up figure carrying a thick, creased brown leather bag in one hand and crutches in the other. The dog scampered over, bouncing around in excitement. “Yes, yes, hello there,” she said, grinning before glancing at Landon. He lowered the barrel of the gun. “I brought a doctor with me,” she said placing down two steel poles.

  The doctor revealed his face as he flung back his hood. “Hello there,” he said. “I’m Dr. Gregory Banks. And you must be Landon. You’re looking a little worse for wear.” The doctor was around five foot eight, a barrel-chested man with a round face, a full head of white hair, and salt-and-pepper beard. He shook off snow from his coat, removed his boots and made his way over. “Beth. I’ll need some towels, and hot water. Can you get that?”

  She set off to collect the items while he extended a hand. “Well let’s take a look at you.” He flung back the woolly covers and nodded slowly. “That doesn’t look good at all.”

  “It’s broken, right?”

  The doctor’s brow furrowed. “Oh, it’s broken but to what extent is hard to know. Unfortunately we don’t have access to an X-ray machine to get a better look which is what we would usually do in situations like this. Getting you down the mountain in this condition would be problematic and liable to cause more harm than good. And even if we could, we only have a generator to run a few items. Most of the electronic equipment is fried at the medical center, and the hospital is a car ride away. No cars. No travel.” He touched his legs a few times and Landon jerked back before he pulled back the covers.

  “No power? No cars? What are you talking about?”

  Gregory looked at him. “You don’t know?”

  He shook his head, confused.

  “Your plane crashed two days ago, yes?”

  He nodded.

  “There were several other planes that crashed nearby at the same time the power went out. From what I’ve learned, this has affected the entire country.”

  “Entire country!” he said, hoisting himself up onto his elbows only to groan in pain. Gregory encouraged him to sit still. “What the hell happened? Was it a terrorist attack?”

  “No clue. The only information released so far has been general at best.” He sniffed hard. “You’re lucky Beth found you. What brought you this way?” he said reaching over to his brown bag and unclipping it open. He spread it apart and dug around inside and removed a stethoscope.

  “I was trying to get home. I live in Maine.”

  He placed the drum of the stethoscope against his body in various places and asked him to inhale and exhale. The doctor continued to probe him with questions, making small talk. “Beth said you had your daughter with you.”

  His chin lowered and the doctor registered it and quickly changed the subject as he felt his shoulder and caused him to grimace in pain. He then shone a light in his eyes, checked his ears and got close to his face. “Your shoulder will need some ice and a sling, plenty of painkillers but should improve over the next six weeks with a full recovery in twelve but the legs…” He looked back down. “That will take some time.” He sucked in air and got up and went over to the poles on the ground and returned and set them up beside the bed. It was an IV pole. “We need to replace fluids and electrolytes before and after surgery.”

  Landon gripped him. “Surgery? What? How?”

  His mind was bombarded by questions. He wasn’t stupid, he didn’t expect to lay in bed for a few weeks and everything to be fine but if it was true and there was no electricity, how would they do that?

  “My best guess without seeing inside is that you have a broken tibia and fibula, and the other leg has some small fracture as it doesn’t look or feel as bad. In these cases we usually X-ray, then depending on the location, complexity and severity of the break — as well as the patient’s age and health — determine how to proceed from there. For fibulas it can be as simple as placing the lower leg and ankle in a cast for six to eight weeks to immobilize the bone. However, depending on how severe or complicated the fracture is, patients often have what is known as an ORIF — an open reduction and internal fixation surgery. This is where we insert metal rods or pins into the bone if it requires an internal fix. Alternatively there are external fixes which hold bone fragments in place and allow for alignment.”

  His eyes widened at the thought of going under the knife.

  Gregory continued. “There are different kinds of breaks. Stable, displaced, stress, spiral, comminuted.”

  “What do I have?”

  “I don’t have X-ray vision. Hard to tell. Though I think your left leg has probably a stable fracture whereas the other one is probably spiral or comminuted. Either, you need some surgery.”

  “How long?”

  “Recovery is different for everyone. Some heal fast, others slow. General rule of thumb is that it can take three to six months, and with stress fractures around six to eight weeks. But rest is crucial. You try attempting to walk or run before you can, you’re looking at longer.”

  “Three months?” He balked at the news. He couldn’t lay around for three months. Sara. Max. They would need him.

  “Or longer. Though quite often patients are back up and walking with crutches after seven weeks. Therapy begins around the six-week mark to prevent stiffness in the knee.”

  He stared at him as if expecting him to give the thumbs-up or laugh but laughter was the farthest thing from his mind. It was another blow, a crack in the armor he once wore.

  “I need to go home.”

  “I expect you do,” he replied taking out more items from his bag. “However, you’re not going anywhere for at least three months, not until that is healed.”

  Landon was having difficulty processing it all. A part of him wished he’d died in the crash, at least then he could be with his daughter, at least then he wouldn’t have to be tortured every waking hour by the weight of it all.

  “There must be times when surgery isn’t possible. Money. A person’s age or health, or a power outage. What do you do then?” Landon asked, reaching for a glimmer of hope.

  “Landon, no matter what decision is made, the bone has to be aligned and immobilized for it to heal properly. Right now it looks as if it’s aligned, thanks to Beth’s quick thinking, but without an X-ray or opening the leg I can’t be one hundred percent positive about the severity. Can wrenching the leg to alignment and immobilizing it with common sticks and sheets lead to a fix? Of course, the vast majority of fractures will heal without the need for surgery. Long before invasive surgeries were performed that’s often the way it had to be done. Howeve
r that did lead to legs being amputated due to infection. And those who were fortunate to avoid infection often ended up with a loss of mobility that was either partial or total. The concern that most physicians have is in regards to internal bleeding.”

  Landon sighed as Gregory continued to help him understand the gravity of the situation. “There are displaced and non-displaced fractures. Think about it like this. If you hold a chicken drumstick in your hands and you bend it until you hear a faint crack, the outside might look fine and it can feel solid but you know there is a break. That’s a non-displaced fracture. The bone can be set fairly easily using nothing more than a cast because that bone can line up. Then on the other end of the spectrum you snap that drumstick. Now you have part of it flapping around. This is displaced and the two parts might not line up so well and might even overlap. Your left leg, I’m guessing is non-displaced but that right one, Landon…” He didn’t have to say any more, he understood, but he continued. Gregory inhaled deeply. “The body has this amazing way of healing itself over time but that doesn’t mean it will heal properly, and it may lead to disability or discomfort later.”

  Beth returned with towels in hand and a bowl of warm water. She set them down nearby and stood back looking over Gregory’s shoulder. Landon met her gaze. He appreciated everything she was doing but in that moment his pain wasn’t just physical, it was so much more and that clouded his judgment.

  “Recovery would be faster without surgery, yes?”

  Gregory groaned. “You won’t be able to hike out of here in a month if that’s what you’re thinking. Often without surgery it can take longer, seven, maybe eight months. You’ve got to remember that leg must be immobilized and you need to restrict activity with bed rest. The fastest I’ve seen someone walking was around the two-month mark and that was with surgery.”

  “But you said people do recover from this without surgery.”

  “Not properly, but yes.” He tipped his head back and ran a hand over his beard. “Look, I’m a doctor, Landon. Nearly retired but a doctor nevertheless. I’m just relaying what is common today. In the past that was another thing entirely. The ancient Hindus treated fractures with nothing more than bamboo splints and exercise to prevent muscle atrophy while immobilized, similar to the way we deal with dislocated shoulders today. The Greeks used waxes and resins on bandages to create their own form of a cast while using splints so it all stiffened. Arabians used lime from seashells and albumen from egg whites to stiffen and create their bandaged casts. It worked then. Today we can see inside, determine the severity and internally or externally fix it to enable and facilitate healing.”