CHUCK
They walked on through the dark night, the way ahead illuminated by a pair of flashlights. The road had branched off through the forest into a more open area, where the trees gradually became more spaced out. As they slowly emerged from the woods, the path widened slightly before them. The moon provided only cursory illumination of the surroundings, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere. The smell of damp wood and vegetation filled the air. Strange, towering oaks soon replaced the more fragile trees of the woods.
Chuck and Ron carried the still-unconscious Bryan. The young man sometimes seemed to convulse slightly and even open his eyes, but it was probably just the moonlight playing tricks on them. Ron illuminated the path as best he could while holding the injured man's legs. Julia followed them, stumbling half the time, still shaking from the shock of the sinister accident. Indeed the entire group was still in shock; it had happened so quickly, with such violence. So many dead. Though they said nothing, inside, each of them struggled to accept it had happened.
According to Ron, the grocery store was about a mile away – the most difficult mile to cross, Chuck was certain. They struggled together with the awkward weight of Bryan's inert body. Fortunately, thanks to the makeshift tourniquet and bandages, the bleeding had diminished, and they could hear the ragged pulsing of Bryan's lungs. The hastily provided treatments for the injured man were working, at least for now. The truck driver had brought his thermos for Dutch courage, though he knew that drinking in these conditions would do him no good... That said, he was used to it...
An oppressive silence quickly settled in. They could barely hear their own footsteps. No light except for their two flashlights. A black and ominous horizon loomed before them.
Ron decided it was time to break the awkward silence.
"The grocery store is not far," he said. "I should say, I haven't properly introduced myself. Ron Bellinger, at your service. I'm one of the gamekeepers around here. So I know these woods fairly well."
Chuck Longman, the truck driver, introduced himself in turn, his muscles tensing with the effort of speaking while keeping Bryan aloft. Julia watched Bryan's face, her brow furrowed with concern. She didn't introduce herself, but Ron refrained from pushing the matter.
"A trucker, eh?" Ron continued, trying to establish some common ground.
"Yeah," replied Chuck, "I run my own transportation business out of Arkansas. But looks like I may need to switch to nursing, after all," he added with a wry smile.
Ron nodded, his expression slightly troubled. "I couldn't help but notice the weapon you're carrying," he said, his eyes fixed on Chuck.
"In my line of work, you tend to encounter all sorts of unexpected situations," Chuck explained, his breathing slightly labored. "You never know who you're dealing with, do you?"
Ron smiled, or at least grimaced. Chuck sensed a flicker of recognition in the other man, a shared understanding that needed no words. Ron was, in many ways, just like him - a sentinel, a hunter always on the lookout. The kind of man who had seen too much to ever sleep soundly again.
Chuck recalled a radio debate he had heard before the accident, in which someone had claimed that humans were capable of compassion and love. He had scoffed at the idea - in his experience, humans were no better than wolves; savage beasts that reveled in chaos and destruction. Once the order broke down, the law of the jungle took over, and all bets were off.
Ron's voice pulled him back to the present.
"You noticed..." he began, his tone serious. "That tanker truck. Why was it still moving when all our vehicles had stopped working?"
Chuck shook his head, frustration etched on his features. "I couldn't say for sure," he admitted. "All I could make out was that it was an old truck, a relic from a bygone era..."
"Like an old Peterbilt, maybe?" Ron interjected, his eyes alight with recognition.
Chuck nodded slowly. "Something like that… I didn't have much time to examine the wreckage in detail, what with the fire and all. Maybe it was a model from the 80s, or even earlier."
Ron fell silent for a moment before speaking again.
"It's curious, isn't it?" he mused.
Although not indifferent to this information, Chuck's preoccupation with the truck was quickly swept aside by a visceral thought that he could not shake from his mind: that damn helicopter crash. Had it really happened?
"I know it sounds crazy, but I'm certain I saw a military helicopter crash before the blackout. That was what made me take my eyes off the road, what led to the accident," Chuck added, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Tell me you saw the crash too."
The blood of the gamekeeper ran cold. "Oh my God... I saw some sort of light on the horizon a few moments before my vehicle suddenly stopped. Do you really think that flash came from an explosion? From the same craft that flew over our heads earlier?" Ron asked.
"I'm afraid so," Chuck replied, somewhat breathless, readjusting his grip on Bryan's motionless arms. "I saw the crash with my own eyes, just as I see you now."
Ron looked stunned. "I've been living here for over 20 years, and I have never, not once, seen a military helicopter fly over these parts."
Julia suddenly snapped out of her torpor. "Look over there, it looks like a faint light!"
"We're there," Ron encouraged them. "The grocery is around that bend. Just a little further."