Flee.. to nowhere,..

Posted on Mon Jun 24th, 2024 @ 9:11pm by Kimberley Hathaway
Edited on on Sat Jun 29th, 2024 @ 9:49pm

967 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Winter is Coming
Location: A roadhouse, just west of Boston
Timeline: 6 September 2010 - 08:45 a.m.

Kimberly drove, keeping to the backroads where possible, heading south. To a distant family friend who lived in florida. When her son’s had died, victims of the pandemic, she had sobbed in private, but deep down she knew that she would have to flee eventually. Flee from the house that she had built in her marriage and since the divorce had made into her personal haven and had, she knew, enjoyed doing so as she watched her sons take their first steps into adulthood. It worried her, the future but she would be damned if she would die in this house, as nice as it was, and as comfortable as it was.

So she had planned, she was always good at planning. Raising two boys with various sporting expectations and such, she had always planned as it was needed when one needed to be at Baseball and the other at Basketball. Even her ex-Husband had praised her organisation and planning. Even when she packed his things and kicked him out of their marital home.

So as the weeks got worse and the news was filled with panic and fear, Kimberly packed clothes, choosing items with care, clothing that could be worn in layers and had even risked a shoe store for two pairs of hiking boots, and then with her car locked in the attached garage, she lowered the back two rows of her seven seater Subaru Tribeca and placed a single mattress, from her youngest son’s room in the back with blankets and pillows. (Thanks TopGear for the idea - It was her eldest son’s favourite TV Show.)

She used her sewing skills and made blackout curtains for all the windows of the tribeca making it so the small solar lamp she had light would not be seen. Beside that makeshift bed, she stacked bags and boxes of food and supplies. She made sure she packed flour, sugar and other items that would last long and yet would be out of stock soon enough.She also packed the toolbox she and her eldest son, Edward had put together for her when the divorce happened. It had nails, hammer, and other items. On the roof racks she strapped down two spare jerry cans, she also dug out James’s old tent from his scout days (Shudder, she was not one for camping but beggars could not be choosers), and two boxes which held garden tools and some of her seeds from her seed store in her garden shed. She put one of her tools on her belt at the start and it was a Froe. She hoped she would not have to use it. But it was comforting to have it. If she could get to Florida,if she could get to the friends there, and then from there, head to another country, maybe she could find sanctuary. A place to settle down, rebuild, after all, she was 50 not 80. Kimberly fully believed that if she could make it, then she would be able to start again.

Kimberly was silent as neighbours panicked and ran, some not surviving she knew. But she continued with her plans. A box was slid under the lowered seats, holding family documents and cash. It held photos of her sons, and family. A cooler, large and filled with food and water, was on the passenger seat, and a large bag filled with snacks on the passenger seat floor, and on the 4th of September she left her home before dawn, her tribeca fully fueled, and with no lights, and slowly she left Lincoln and headed south. As dawn came on that first day, she focused on getting away. She ignored her phone which trilled with the call from her ex-husband. Calls that would get less and less until they suddenly stopped on the 6th of September 2010. Though she was not sure if it was because of failure of infrastructure or ... other reasons.

Even though it should have been a quick trip south, it was not. Roadblocks, check points. And more. She managed to follow a few large roadtrains through certain areas and she found her way as best she could.

She now found herself hunkered down in an empty Truckstop with Roadhouse, her SUV locked behind the garage part, next to an abandoned Truck and half covered trailer and she had managed to park her SUV and hid herself within, as she was not sure she would get any further.

An exploration of the Truckstop Roadhouse had shown her that while empty of people, there was a walk-in cooler, which still held food, albeit it was losing its coldness due to lack of power. So knowing that the food would start to smell, she resolved to clean it out when it was possible,as the stench might draw the unliving.. The kitchen had a gas stove and a furtive check showed the gas was empty which sucked but she could make do.

As Kimberly had arrived there late on the 5th, she had considered it a place to rest after driving for nearly 48 hours straight. She was woken by the sounds of Boston being bombed and had scampered into her SUV after sleeping in a booth. Hours passed. And as she slowly got out of the car and listened to the outside world, she noted that the beings people called Walkers were not coming near to her location. She set about securing the diner section of the Truckstop, hauling broken furniture to the windows and using the hammer from her tool box and the saw, as well as items from the small mechanics’ garage where she parked her SUV. It took hours, breaking apart the furniture and hammering it into position, blocking the windows and doors as best she could.

 

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