Free The Borrowed World: A Novel of Post-Apocalyptic Collapse by Franklin Horton Page A

back of his car, heading for the passenger side, then stopped and stuck out his hand to shake.  “I’m Jack, by the way, and my wife there is Ruth.”
    I relaxed and took my hand off my weapon.  I took his hand and shook it.
    “I’m Jim.”
    Jack turned again and I followed him around to the passenger side of the car.  He leaned through the open passenger door and spoke to someone, then straightened and turned back to me.
    “My wife just had surgery yesterday at UVA at Charlottesville,” he said.  “They discharged her this morning and we were on our way back to Roanoke when we ran out of gas.  Every damn place we stopped was either out or wouldn’t sell us any.”
    “We ran into the same thing,” I explained.  “We’re trying to walk to the next exit.”
    “I thought to do the same thing,” he said.  “There’s no way my wife can make it though.  She’s too weak.  She’s got stitches from the surgery and is on medication.  I’m worried about her being out here.  We don’t have any food or water, or even any shade.”
    I dropped my pack and dug into it.  I had an 8-pack of 12 ounce water bottles that were part of my Get Home Bag.  I hadn’t touched them yet since things weren’t chaotic, but these folks were looking a little desperate.  I took out two water bottles and handed them to the man.
    “It’s not much,” I said.  “But it’s something.”
    “Oh, God bless you,” he said, uncapping a bottle and hurrying to put it to his wife’s lips. 
    I could tell she was weak; she didn’t even raise her own hand to help hold the bottle.  I started to ask the man what he was going to do, but it was clear that he didn’t know and I didn’t have any suggestions.  It was a question better left unasked.
    When the rest of my group topped the hill, I pointed them out to the man.  “Those folks are with me.  We were at a meeting in Richmond and are trying to get back home.”
    “How far do you have to go?” the man asked, opening his own water bottle now and taking a drink.
    “All the way across the state,” I said.  “Russell County.”
    The man shook his head.  “Long damn way.”
    “It’s a long way even if you’re driving,” I said.  “A lot longer if you’re walking.”
    When my group was together, I explained the situation to them and Randi said she wanted to look at the lady.
    “I’m an LPN,” she said, heading for the passenger door.
    “I didn’t know that,” I said to no one in particular.  “Good to know though.”
    Randi was back in a moment.  “She’s way too hot, and her pulse is weak.  He’s got some blankets and a pillow in the car.  I want to make her a bed on the ground beside the car, in the shade.  It will at least be out of the heat of that car.  It’s got to be 120 in there, even with the doors open.  Her clothes are soaked in sweat.”
    “You make the bed.  Gary and I will help Jack with getting her situated.”
    When we had the woman lifted out and comfortable, Alice approached me.  My chest constricted with tension the moment she drew near.  It was the first time we’d spoken directly since the earlier confrontation and I assumed she was ready to pick up where we left off.
    “Are we just going to leave them here?” she asked.
    “What do you propose?” I said, putting it back in her lap.
    “I don’t know,” she said.  “They’ll die if we leave them here.”
    “To be blunt, they’ll probably die anyway,” I said.  “At least the woman will.  If things are as bad as they said on the radio, people who require medication may not be able to depend on a regular supply much longer.”
    Alice looked me in the eye.  “That’s pretty harsh.  My mom is a diabetic,” she said.  “Are you saying she might not be able to live through this?”
    I ignored the comment, not wanting to speculate on the fate of her family.
    “They remind me of my own parents,” I said.  “I’d like to help them.  But that lady is over