Chapter 8 (Rupp)

Rupp and his friends learn of the outbreak and try to reach out to family.

After dragging the buck back to the cabin they loaded it onto the top of Derek's SUV. Rupp produced a few ratchet straps and secured the beast. Afterwards the boys stowed their firearms into the back of the vehicle and piled in. 

 Rupp ran up to the door of the cabin and entered to grab some beers. Pockets filled he exited and locked the door. Jumping off of the small porch Rupp opened the rear door and muscled his way onto the seat. "I hope you brought a lot of cash, Bobo." Rupp commented "Dragging deer is thirsty work."

 The group all opened and chugged celebratory beers as Derek spilled his own brew while trying to negotiate the rutted driveway. "Glovebox." Derek mentioned mildly while whisking spilled beer off of his parka. 

 Kreg opened the glovebox and removed a Ruger SR40C pistol. He handed it to Derek who casually tucked in into his belt. "We're in Indian Country, boys!” Soren yelled, for once being sociable.

 "Indians!?" Bobo shouted "Are we going to an Indian bar?"

 Jeers and boos were immediately shouted.

 "You know it, buddy. It's close and you can register your deer there. And we can take the backroads. The reservation police are  more tolerable and lax.” Rupp explained.

 "The women look like catfish." Bobo complained.

 "You smell like a f*****g catfish." Soren retorted.

 "I smell like whiskey and viscera." he boasted "From bagging a buck."

 With that being said the boys let Derek drive in silence while watching the aspens pass by dropping their final golden leaves.

 The Petit Cash was a dank hemlock sided shack in the heart of the Red Cliff Indian reservation. The muddy parking lot was awash with crushed beer cans and used condoms. It was owned by a wizened old man named Clarence Fast Foot who looked to be as Native as an Irishman. He did “Off Sale” after midnight. Kept a pygmy goat in the bar. And he sold the cheapest behind the bar beer in the county. Opening day was one of the busiest days of the season and as expected the tavern was full of Native and white hunters. Most of which were one drink away from pitching over onto the peanut shell covered floor.

 As Rupp shouldered his way to the bar Clarence filled a cardboard dish with peanuts and tossed it in front of the new arrivals. 

 "Haven't seen you in awhile. How was hunting? Any luck? This slush fucked it all up. For most guys anyway." the surly looking bartender said in a gigantic run-on sounding sentence.

 "One small buck. Could have been worse." Rupp replied.

 As usual Clarence kept minimal eye contact; instead staring at the peanuts as if they would transform into some sort of circus performers. 

 "Beers like usual? He can drink that in here." he said pointing to Bobo who was swigging from a pint bottle of whiskey "Just tell him he at least needs to order something from the bar. Otherwise he's just taking up my air. It's free outside. Not in here."

 "Fair enough." Rupp said while throwing a $20 on the bar "Five beers, please."

 Clarence grunted and shambled towards a refrigerator that was older than most of the patrons in the tavern. As he fetched the beers a hunchbacked woman with blackened nubs for teeth came around from behind the bar. 

 "Let's register that deer I heard you talking about. Clarence gives me a beer for every deer I register and I'm thirsty."

 While she shuffled towards the door Kreg went outside with her and Bobo to complete the legalities. Rupp passed out the beers to Soren and Derek while the goat rubbed against their legs and bleated. 

 "Jesus. You don't see that everyday." the architect mumbled.

 "Wait till someone gets it drunk." Rupp replied before taking a drink of his beer.

 The boys drank a few rounds of beers and shelled peanuts in near silence. Around them men bragged of deer seasons past and one man had a large revolver wrestled from him when he threatened to shoot the goat. 

 "These Indians are bat s**t crazy." Kreg said as he watched the shouting man being thrown out the back door.

 "They just want to drink and be left alone to their devices." Soren explained.

 "What exactly as these devices you speak of?" Derek asked.

 "Shooting goats mostly. And day drinking." 

 The boys watched as the revolver wielding man pounded on a rear window. Apparently he slipped on some mud because unexpectedly he slipped from view. That elicited a chuckle from Derek and he ordered another round.

 "Jesus would you look at that." a fat bearded man with a ruddy face mentioned to no one in particular.

 Rupp angled his face towards the TV and read the scrolling dialogue below a frazzled looking reporter. He scanned the words and digested them.

 "the major metro Minneaoplis/St. Paul area along with the surrounding communities: Stillwater, Fridley, Blaine, Coon Rapids, Anoka, Ramsey, Maple Grove, Plymouth, Chaska, Shakopee, Bloomington, and Apple Valley. Cases have also been reported in outlying areas such as Rochester, Mankato, New Ulm, and St. Cloud. Regardless of roadblocks put into place by the Highway Patrol and the National Guard this pandemic has literally sprung across the Mississippi into Wisconsin. Both New Richmond and River Falls are gripped in panic right now with reports coming in from as far east as Eau Claire and Rice Lake."

 "Clarence! Shut that jukebox down!" the ruddy faced man hollered.

 Fast Foot found the small juke remote and muted the machine. By now a decent portion of the tavern had read partial bits of the newsfeed and sensed the gravity of the situation. 

 "Another round of beers, Clarence!" Bobo yelled; though not needing to. The bar was nearly silent. 

 Clarence rummaged through a drawer and fished out a remote control for the TV. With shaking hands he jabbed at the buttons and raised the volume. Now the frazzled looking reporter could be heard. "What is happening; quite frankly cannot be explained." the disheveled man announced while holding the microphone in a white knuckled grip "Or rather, isn't being explained. Our very own MRIV Dave Flemming has made numerous calls to law enforcement, hospital administration, and National Guard headquarters only to be misguided and rebuked. What we do know from eyewitness reports is that we are dealing with something on a biological or pandemic scale. The hospitals have been shut down or quarantined. There are reports of shots being fired in multiple facilities. This can only be described as utter pandemonium."

 With that being said a large black SUV barreled into the rear quarter of the news van in the background. 

 "Jesus f*****g Christ!" the reporter screamed as he dropped the mic and covered his head with shaking hands.

 Splinters of the vehicles cascaded around the man and he moved away from the crash; obviously wary and staring at the camera with a slack jaw and a troubled expression.

 The live feed ended and the cameras focused on a woman reporter in an iridescent purple blouse who was shuffling a stack of papers at the studio.

 "An interesting scene." she tried to say in a calm fashion "This is very scary and confusing not only for our reporters but for the public as a whole. We're trying to keep you abreast with any new details. Unfortunately we at MRIV have been misled and ignored by law enforcement and our local government"

 The reporter faltered briefly; staring at the stack of papers for answers. She paled and looked for help. Suddenly a well dressed man with a sharp jawline walked onto the set and sat down next to her. Momentarily her spirits appeared to be lifted as the man calmly addressed the neatly piled papers in front of him.

 "Hi folks. Dave Flemming here. Reporting live with the latest."      At that another camera panned onto him and he shifted "I just got off the phone with a senior official at the Eau Claire Police Department who confirmed that we are dealing with a widespread and fast moving pandemic. Type unknown. Transmission unknown.” that was said with a frown and a shake of the head.

 “He did however confirm that like any other pandemic the best course of action is to remain indoors to reduce contraction. Avoid public areas such as train stations, airports, and supermarkets. And please remain calm and vigilant. “Vigilant of what?” I asked. His response "Lay low and pray. May God protect us." Very disturbing folks."

 The camera changed again and now the woman appeared on the screen. She had apparently received another stack of papers but had not improved at shuffling them. A few errant sheets sailed out of her hands but she seemed focused on the teleprompter. "Once again, if you are in the major metro area of the Twin Cities and the following communities…"

 With that small news report from a Minnesota station the world collapsed. Most of the tavern goers immediately had phones to their ears along with millions of others in the Midwest thus collapsing the network. People vacated bar stools and made a rush for the door. Clarence could be heard screaming at patrons for not settling up. Even the old drunk that had tried to shoot the goat had snuck back into the bar, only to repeatedly jab another patron in the ribs with a skinny elbow while muttering over and over "What the f**k is happening, eh?"

 The boys remained calm. Clarence bellowed at retreating customers while scooping bills off the bar. And the world as they knew it ended with the aroma of spilled beer punctuating a small Wisconsin tavern.

 

 The ride back to the camp was tense. After most of the customers had departed Rupp had squared up with Clarence and shook the man's hand. "Be safe and hold fast." 

 "You too. Long ride home. That's a lot of highway to get south again. And I don't know if south is a good idea. That's near them cities they were talking about."

 "South is home." Rupp replied as he finished his beer.

 "You bring your rifles with ya. You hear?" the old bartender shouted as he fished random bills off the floor. 

 That statement fell on deaf ears. The boys were gone.

 Presently the SUV was fishtailing around corners and most of the boys were glued to their phones in a frantic attempt to reach family and friends. 

 "F*****g useless!" Kreg shouted as he jammed his mobile into a parka pocket.

 "Reception has always been spotty at best." Rupp replied "We'll pack up and hit the highway. The signal is always better just south of here. Relax."

 "I don't need my clothes. Let's just go!" shouted Kreg; visibly upset.

 "First of all we need to be equipped. That means a spare vehicle, food and water, any extra ammo, and anything we can scavenge from the cabin. We'll get you to an airport. We'll get Bobo and Derek to Chicago. Rupp and me can deal in the meantime. Sound good?" Soren asked.

 Kreg nodded while pulling his phone from the parka to send another text message. While he was doing that Derek yanked the Ruger out of his waistband and fumbled with the wheel and the weapon trying to rack a round into the chamber. Bobo was looking slightly sobered and pale. After a small shudder he retrieved his pump action shotgun from the back and began loading the tubular magazine with rounds from his coat. Soren and Rupp followed suit. 

 "If s**t gets hairy there's going to be looting. We're probably safe way up here but stay sharp and aware. Let's grab everything we can and split the group into two vehicles. We'll take my pickup." Rump instructed. 

 He was met with a silent affirmation from the group. "Just stay close and make sure we get everything we need. No rushing. No flying off the handle."

 After a few silent moments the SUV turned onto the rutted driveway. As Derek wrestled the wheel over the ruts Kreg turned back in his seat to look at Rupp.

  "They'll be fine. They're all the way in Louisiana. Right?"

 "Right, brother. This thing is barely out of Minnesota. Just pack your stuff and you'll be on the phone with them in an hour."

 Rupp smiled reassuringly and Kreg turned around and settled back into his seat. He never would see his family again; much less speak to them.

 It took less than a half hour for the boys to pack up their luggage and to scavenge a few boxes worth of food, energy drinks, bottled water, and booze. Rupp located a snub nose .38 revolver and a vintage .22 pistol that he kept under a loose floorboard in his closet. He gave the .22 to Kreg along with a box of cartridges. 

 "Just in case." he said "Conceal it and keep it tight."

 Kreg tucked the pistol into his belt and shouldered his duffel. "How bad do you think it is?" he asked.

 "Piece of cake. Right now our biggest concern is phone reception. First world problems."

 Kreg smiled and left the bedroom to help Bobo with some boxes. Rubbing a clammy hand across his face he followed his brother.

 Rupp closed the dampener on the wood stove and watched the flames die. As the boys filed out of the cabin the blood red coals cast an ominous color on the floor. Leaving the cabin Rupp cast one backwards glance. Maybe they were wrong to leave. A horn sounded and he shouldered his duffel.

 “F**k it.”

 Derek's SUV was in the lead, briefly heading south on Highway 13 and then abruptly turning east onto Highway 2. Rupp followed close behind in his aged pickup, the yellow headlights tittering over bumps in the road. 

 The city of Ashland was sleepy and subdued. The traffic lights blinked as usual. The taverns were brightly lit and seemed busy. For the most part it was business as usual. After gassing up at a small service station at the edge of town they continued east.

 At Ironwood (seemingly unaffected also) they turned right and due south onto Highway 51. After roughly 60 miles and just north of Wausau they saw a large roadblock complete with floodlights and a line of congested traffic. The caravan veered east onto Highway 64 towards the small city of Antigo. 

 At one of the few traffic signals in the city the SUV pulled ahead due to a red light. While waiting for the light to change Soren and Rupp changed seats. 

 "Have a beer and get some sleep. I'll catch up with them." Soren suggested.

 Rupp nodded in appreciation and reclined the seat a few degrees. He dug the phone out of his blue jeans and grunted with frustration when he couldn't send a text to his brother in the SUV that slowly gaining way on them. 

 "Don't worry, dude. Light traffic. We'll catch up in a minute." Soren said trying to assuage Rupp's obvious anxiety.

 "Just run this f*****g light. Let's go." Rupp argued.

 Two miles ahead the SUV was quickly spreading the gap. Derek was tired and nervous. As the result his foot became heavier on the gas pedal and the speedometer was nearing 80 miles per hour. Bobo and Kreg were both engrossed in their phones. Texting and failing due to the crashing network. Suddenly a humanoid figure darted across the road in front of the SUV's headlights. 

 "Jesus f*****g Christ!" Derek yelled as he jerked the wheel to the right.

 The vehicle teetered on disaster for a mere second then righted itself. 

 "Did you f*****g see that?" he screamed.

 Kreg and Bobo craned their necks and stared into the darkness. "See what?" Bobo asked as he started to fumble for his phone that he had dropped during the swerve.

 "F*****g guy was naked!" Derek yelled "Totally f*****g naked in the Goddamned woods! Jesus. Just running in the woods naked!"

 A chill entered the SUV. It was dark. The moon was a fingernail sliver with little light entering the skeletal canopy of the trees. Bobo looked around warily. 

 "Hey, let's slow down. I don't see…"

 "F**k!" Derek screamed as he jammed the break pedal to the floor. 

 Once again the SUV shuddered and listed to the side. They had just rounded a corner and in the middle of the road was an overturned rusty Ford Explorer. Surprisingly there was little debris or signs on wreckage. There were three police cars on the scene; only one of which had it's flashing lights activated.

 On the south end of the highway a young looking cop lit a road flare, thought better of it, then tossed the bright red flaming stick into the ditch. Another two cops stood near the wreck. Looking shell shocked and immobile. 

 Then they saw it. A single skinny white arm. It was flapping around like a fish on a pier. Solitary. Scary. Just a random arm protruding from a window rolled partially down. It was grasping for something. And it wasn't giving up.

 "What in the f**k." Derek whispered.

 Then a bright light was shining into their eyes.

 "Would you shut that rig down, please." a pleasant voice requested from the passenger side window.

 They jerked in fright. Though not frightened enough to take their eyes off that terrible skinny arm.

 "Might as well kill those lights too. All you're doing is blinding Newhall and Jasper."

 Derek fumbled with the FOB and killed the engine and lights. The engine ticked slowly and rhythmically while the boys stared at that grasping arm. 

 The flashlight slowly traveled the interior of the car and halted when it found the AR-10. 

 "Whoa. That's some serious hardware." the officer said while laughing "I hope that's not loaded. You are aware it is a crime to transport a loaded weapon?"

 He was met with silence. The boys were still staring at the flailing arm. 

 "You fellas are going to leave those weapons where they are and step out of the vehicle." This was said while making random and nervous clucks of his tongue.

  There was a moment of silence. 

 "Now!" the officer bellowed.

 Derek tried opening a locked door latch. Bobo and Kreg faltered. The cop slowly fumed. His grey hair almost glowing electric in the mixture of hazard and headlights.

 "Get the f**k out now." the grey haired officer seethed. 

 Derek finally unlocked the door and spilled out. He was completely transfixed by the scene before him. Bobo and Kreg cautiously exited the vehicle. Apprehensive and jittery. Within seconds Derek had a service weapon pressed against his neck.  

 "What else you have in that rig of yours you dandy f**k, eh?" the officer sneered.

 Derek's face reddened and the veins bulged in his neck. Bobo and Kreg stepped forward but the officer jammed the pistol deeper into his neck. When he winced the boys stepped back in submission. "That's right you f*****g city f*****s. You stay right there. Newhall! Get your a*s over here!"

 One of the young cops that was standing near the wreck loped over and displayed a lopsided grin. 

 "What do you need Mr. Deering?" 

 "I need that Goddamned scattergun you cross eyed son of a b***h!" the grey haired man roared.

 Hesitantly the lanky officer started towards one of the police cruisers. He fumbled with his keys and opened the driver's door. After a moment he unlocked the weapon and trotted back towards his superior. 

 "One in the tube. None in the pipe." he wheezed. 

 Deering pulled away from Derek and holstered his sidearm. Relieved, Derek slid back against the hood of the SUV and clutched at his neck.

 When Deering racked a round into the pipe of the Remington 870 the boys winced. Deering smiled. 

 "Now where'd you boys get all that hardware and where're you going?'

 "South." Derek wheezed. 

 "I'll tell you what's south, pretty boy." 

 At that Officer Deering lit a Swisher Sweet and moved in.

 

Author's Note