15 Miles From Home (Perilous Miles Book 2) Read online

  As he was talking, Elliott demonstrated the technique he used. Then, he took the edge of the dough and pulled a small section off. Rolling it between his hands he said, "They call this choking them off; I'm not real sure why. I guess it's because you kind of pull it from the rest with a choking motion." He demonstrated the move with an imaginary reach, then closed his hand into a fist. "Now, make a ball, pat it down a little to flatten it, then put it in your pan. Aaron, get that big skillet hanging on the wall and pour some of that bacon grease on the stove into it. Kind of tilt it around to cover the bottom."

  Aaron did as he was told, then took the skillet to his grandfather. With floured hands, Elliott set the skillet next to the board on the table. He gently placed the first biscuit in the pan against the edge. Looking up at the boys, he asked, "Well, what are you waiting for? Give it a try. Get some flour on your hands first."

  Cameron stepped in first, patted his hand in the flour on the board, then grabbed the edge of the dough. He pulled off a piece bigger than his fist and started rolling it. Elliott shook his head. "Nope, that's too big, Cam. Maybe a little more than half of that."

  "But I like big biscuits, Pap," Cameron replied. "Yours is going to be about two bites, maybe three."

  Elliott chuckled. "They puff up when they bake, just like the ones from the can. There you go, that's more like it."

  Cameron had pulled about a third of the dough off and formed a ball with what was left. He patted it flat like he had seen his grandfather do then set it in the skillet about an inch away from the one Elliott had placed in it. Elliott picked Cameron's biscuit up and placed it next to his own. At the questioning look on his grandson's face, Elliott said, "They puff up better when they're right next to each other. I'm sure there's some kind of science behind that; all I know is it works. Your turn, Aaron."

  Cameron stepped back with a satisfied grin on his face and watched his older brother perform the task. Aaron's attempt was almost identical to Elliott's, and Elliott congratulated him on doing it in one try. Aaron stood behind his grandfather and mouthed to Cameron, "Got it in one," holding up a flour-covered index finger as he did. Cameron held up a single finger at his brother, flipping him off, dropping it quickly when Elliott's head came up. In doing so, he rubbed his shirt and left a trail of flour down the front. Aaron snickered softly.

  "Okay, you fellas finish them biscuits and I'll fry some country ham to go in them. Cameron, you've got flour on your shirt. That's a good sign. All good cooks are messy — at least that's what my mama always said." Elliott dusted his hands over the remaining dough. Cameron beamed at the comment.

  The boys formed the remaining dough into biscuits and took the skillet to Elliott at the stove. Elliott placed it in the oven and walked the boys through how to clean up the area. The bowl he had made the dough in was lined in flour. He took it as is and placed it in the cabinet. He carried the dough board to the sink and brushed it off with his hand. He explained to the boys that the pieces worked best if only lightly cleaned.

  Cameron asked, "How come you're showing us all this stuff now, Pap? We've been out here lots of times and you never showed us this stuff, or how you make biscuits, or how to shoot…"

  Elliott looked lost in thought. Still, he replied, "I'm not sure why I never showed you how to do those things before. Maybe I thought your mom, or your grandma, would teach you how to cook. Boys need to know how to cook as much as girls do. As for the shooting, I knew how your mom felt about guns. I didn't want to step on anybody's toes. But everything is changed now. You need to know how to do all kinds of stuff you didn't before."

  "You've got a lot of old stuff, Pap," Aaron remarked as he slid the board back into the spot where it was kept.

  "Yep, I was an only child after my twin brother died when we was little, and so was my mama, so all their stuff came to me when they passed on. Your daddy was an only child, too, but I don't think he'd be interested in any of this stuff, so you boys can fight over it when I'm gone."

  At the mention of their father, Cameron looked at Aaron. Aaron shook his head and mouthed the word "no" then turned his attention back to his grandfather. Cameron, however, had other ideas.

  "Have you heard from him lately, Pap? Our dad?" Cameron asked, as his older brother stared daggers at him.

  "As a matter fact, he called me a couple of weeks ago, out of the blue; hadn't heard from him in years," Elliott answered.

  "Oh yeah? I wonder why," Cameron replied. Aaron was making a slashing motion at his throat. Cameron ignored him.

  "Wondered that myself, so I flat out asked him. He said he missed his family, and he was calling to see if it would be all right if he stopped by sometime. I told him I reckoned that would be okay, then asked when he thought he might be coming. He said sometime soon but didn't say exactly when. I doubt he'll come; he said he was coming before and never did." There was a sadness in Elliott's tone as he spoke. Cameron started to speak, but Aaron cut him off.

  "It's all right, Pap. We're here. Come on, Cam, let's get some more wood up on the back porch. We'll be back in a few minutes." Aaron nudged Cameron towards the back door. They put on their coats and walked out. Once they were away from the house, Aaron turned on his brother.

  "I told you not to say anything," he said through gritted teeth. "What part of that did you not understand?"

  Cameron was indignant. "You're not my boss! You can't tell me what to do! Didn't you see how sad Pap was talking about him? That's his son, his only child. Whether he was a shitty dad or not doesn't matter. Pap should know."

  "Know what? That he's making promises to you, too, more broken promises? Cam, you'll just get his hopes up, then when Ethan doesn't show up — and he won't — it will be worse than if he never knew. Seriously, please don't say anything … at least not now. We've got enough going on without bringing him into it." Aaron's voice had taken on a pleading tone.

  Cameron sighed. "Fine, we'll do it your way, for now. But not forever. Just know that."

  Aaron smiled at his little brother. "I can live with that. Let's go get that wood."

  "You were serious about that? We hauled a shit ton in this morning."

  "Apparently, this is our life now. Awesome, huh?"

  Cameron shoved his hands deeper in his pockets as he started toward the shed. "Not in any way."

  Chapter 16

  Damon made good time until he got close to Baltimore. There were many more abandoned cars on the road which he was forced to weave around and even had to physically push a couple out of his path. The closer he got to the city limits, the more people he saw, and the more people who saw him. A functioning vehicle in an otherwise quiet area tends to attract attention. He decided it might be a good idea to try to skirt as much of the city as he could, so he got on the I-695 bypass. This would commit him to a long bridge crossing the Patapsco River, but being much further away from downtown, he hoped it would lead to fewer abandoned vehicles. There was an added benefit to the fact that he would pass a US Army Reserve Depot and a US Coast Guard facility before getting to the bridge. Hopefully, someone in one of those two places would know what kind of shape it was in before he committed to the crossing.

  He stopped for a moment to look at a map of the area. While he could see the depot on the map, he couldn't see an easy way to get there as there wasn't an exit close. The Coast Guard area looked much more accessible, so he decided he would pull off there. He put the Humvee back in drive, instinctively checking for traffic, then continued down the highway.

  That section of I-695, also known as the Baltimore Beltway, became a toll road soon after crossing Curtis Creek. Damon wondered for a moment whether he would have to break down the barrier that should be across the lane at the first tollbooth. When he reached it, he found that task had already been done by someone or something else. The arm was snapped off and lying beside the road. Knowing there were other vehicles on the road, but not knowing who was in them, had him double checking the Sig and Beretta.

  He took th
e exit for Quarantine Road then made a right on Hawkins Point Road. The first Coast Guard facility he came to was a logistics center. He figured that was as good a place as any to start.

  Incoming traffic was barricaded to funnel past the guard shack, but the oncoming lane was still open, so Damon drove around. As he passed the guard shack on the other end, he saw that it was empty. He was not surprised to see a couple of vehicles in the parking lot in front of the logistics center. He parked, got out and locked the Humvee, and started for the door, the signed memo from General Everley in his hand. He had a feeling he would need it to get any information. Being met at the door by a Coast Guard police officer in full tactical gear told him he was right.

  "Hold it right there. State your business, Major," the officer called out through the door.

  Damon opened the folded paper and replied, "My mission is to get to New York City. I didn't want to go through Baltimore with everything that's happened. I was hoping someone here could let me know if the bridge is passable."

  The officer peered through the door at the missive Damon held up for him to read. He gave a curt nod and said, "Very well, Sir," and unlocked the door. He held it open for Damon to enter and locked it behind them. Motioning down the hall, he said, "Captain Rogers is the first door on the left. I believe she has the information you're looking for." With that, the officer turned back and faced the door.

  Damon knocked on the indicated door and was met with a terse, "Enter!" from the other side. He did and was met with a surprise. The volume of the voice had given him a mental picture of a tall, mannish-built woman. She was anything but that. She stood when he came in and couldn't have been more than five feet tall. Dark blond hair was pulled back in a loose bun that seemed to be coming apart. She tugged at her shirt, which was a bit wrinkled, apparently trying to smooth it out. He was amazed at the big voice that had bellowed through the door from this little woman.

  Captain Jeanna Rogers looked up as Damon came through the door. Seeing the gold oak leaves, she rose from her chair and stood at attention. Damon smiled and took the few steps across her small office with his hand outstretched.

  "At ease, Captain," Damon said. "My name is Damon Sorley and I just need a quick minute of your time. I'm hoping to get some information from you regarding the state of the bridge across the river. I'm on my way to New York and getting stuck on a bridge that long is not on my itinerary."

  Jeanna relaxed and shook his proffered hand. "Jeanna Rogers. My pleasure, Sir. Please have a seat," she replied, indicating the chair across from her.

  Damon sat, taking in the simplistic decor and the tired-looking woman across from him. "Looks like you've had a long day already, Captain."

  "Actually, a long night," she said. "I've been here since midnight. Doesn't look like my relief will be showing up anytime soon." She tried again to smooth the wrinkles from the front of her uniform shirt.

  "Just you and CGPD out there manning this post?" Damon asked.

  She nodded. "Sunday is usually the quietest night we have around here. I think we've taken quiet to a whole new level. Do you have any idea what the situation is, Sir?"

  "I only know we were hit with an EMP in the upper atmosphere, that the whole country is in the dark, and that it was probably North Korea who did it."

  She didn't try to hide the look of shock on her face. "Are you saying we're at war then?"

  "So it would seem, but I don't know if there's been a declaration yet. Has anyone been by to brief you on your orders?"

  She shook her head. "No one. We saw the flash about zero five hundred this morning then everything went dark. No cars, no choppers, nothing moving, even on the water. I sent Sloan down to the harbor and I hoofed it to the bridge. He said there were some folks wandering the docks but the few boats on the water seemed to be adrift. I put in a couple of miles on the bridge, but all the cars were sitting still." She paused then went on. "They always said it would never happen. That no one could get a missile close enough to do this to us. And yet here we are. This is going to be bad, isn't it, Sir?"

  As much as Damon wanted to tell her how bad it truly could become, particularly in regard to the president and his agenda, he knew that wouldn't help anyone right now. Instead, he gave her a pat answer. "I don't know, Captain, but it certainly won't be good. Were you able to tell if the bridge is passable?"

  "From what I could see, I think you can make it across. You might have to clear a couple of vehicles out of the way, but I'm sure that won't be a problem in the Humvee you're driving." At his raised eyebrow, she smiled and went on. "When the world is quiet, any sound gets your attention. I heard you pull up outside."

  He nodded grimly and replied, "Yes, that's one of the reasons why I'd like to skirt around the big cities between here and New York. I don't want to get myself into a situation where I'd have to fight to keep my ride, or worse, lose my ride in the fight."

  "Well, this route will get you around Baltimore, but you've got Philadelphia after that. You have a plan for there as well?"

  "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, no pun intended," he said with a grin. He stood and extended his hand across the desk to her again. "Thank you for your time, Captain. Good luck to you. I think we're all going to need it."

  She smiled at his first remark then her face turned solemn at the second as she shook his hand again. "I think you're right, Sir. God help us all."

  He replied, "Let's hope so, but He's got his work cut out for Him."

  As the captain had predicted, aside from some nudging to a few of the abandoned cars, Damon was able to cross the bridge. There were a few pedestrians crossing as well who tried to wave him down, but he didn't stop. Stopping would serve no purpose. He couldn't help them. He couldn't tell them much more than they should have figured out by themselves at that point, and he was on a mission.

  He saw a country club to his left and wondered how long it would be until people could do leisurely things like that again. He was pretty sure no one would be taking the time to work on their putting for quite a while. To his right, the Back River seemed undisturbed by the upheaval the country had been thrust into. Mile after mile, everything he saw made him imagine what would become of that restaurant, that gas station, that sedan, that ski boat — things that no longer worked and, in the case of the vehicles, probably never would again. The electrical systems were toast, and even if the factories started back up tomorrow, it was likely it would cost more to replace the damaged parts than to just buy a new car. He couldn't fathom the effort it would take to clear all of them, nor where they would put them if they could. Billions of dollars in vehicles reduced to scrap metal in one blast. The thought was frustrating because it made him angry, yet he knew there was nothing he could do about it. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and continued on his way.

  As the Beltway turned slightly in a northwesterly direction, he could see smoke to his right. The area was a mix of residential and commercial. The closer he got the thicker the smoke got. He slowed down to a crawl trying to see what was going on. Just before the tree line obscured his view, he could see what appeared to be multiple mobile homes on fire. He had just passed the ramp that went that direction, and it had a lot of people on it who seemed to be trying to get away from the fires. Seeing his military vehicle, they rushed toward him waving their hands, screaming for him to stop. He didn't. In fact, he sped up, narrowly missing a couple of teenagers who had almost made it to the Humvee. He stared straight ahead but glanced into the rearview mirror to see them chasing him and flipping him off. One picked a beer bottle up from the side of the road and threw it at him. It didn't come close to hitting him, but he didn't slow down again except to get around dead vehicles.

  When he got near the interchange that would put him back on I-95, he passed a parking lot that served a Home Depot, Walmart, and Sam's Club. There were people everywhere carrying off items that had obviously been looted from the stores. Even with the windows up, he could hear them yelling at each
other, fighting over supplies in panic-laced voices. When they heard the engine of the Humvee, many heads turned in his direction. He heard a gunshot, then another, then screaming from the crowd. He pressed the gas pedal harder and drove as fast as the stalled cars would allow to get away from the chaos that he knew had just begun.

  This is the outskirts of Baltimore, nowhere near downtown. What is Philly going to be like? Even worse, what about New York? The thoughts going through his mind were not comforting. He decided he would pull off at the next spot he found with no one around to take another look at the map. I need to find a way around Philly first. If I make it out of there, then I'll worry about New York. Big if.

  Chapter 17

  Will figured they had about two miles to get to the Kroger at Appling and Summer Avenue. He thought briefly about trying to figure a way to skirt around the area since he was sure it would be as bad, if not worse, than Walmart, but the Bartlett Police department was right next door, so he hoped they would have that place under control if nothing else.

  They kept up a slow but steady pace through the industrial/commercial area. Will wasn't surprised that they didn't run into anyone on the way. There wasn't really anything on that road that should interest looters. They also kept up a steady conversation, each sharing with the other stories about their families, friends, and lives. Will was entranced with this woman, and he felt — actually, hoped — the feeling was mutual. The two miles passed quickly.

  There was no mistaking when they got close to the large grocery store. The number of people in the area was much greater than the quiet commercial street they had just been on. Apparently, folks had figured out this was something more than ice on the power lines. The ones he had encountered on the highway hadn't put all the pieces together yet, not that soon. As more and more people added up the things that weren't working, they had no choice but to come to the conclusion that this wasn't going to end today, tomorrow, or even next week. With those ideas came the realization that most of them were woefully unprepared for a situation such as they now found themselves in. Their survival instinct went into overdrive, and they headed to the closest store to try to get food for themselves and their families … along with hundreds of others in the area.