Boston slid the last bolt into place and sat back to admire his new AR. It was the first one he’d built himself, and he took a moment to bask in the accomplishment. Looking around his basement hideaway, he took comfort in the pallet of MRE’s sitting in the corner and the fifty-gallon drums of water. He felt he was missing something important, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He shrugged, it would come to him eventually. Heading upstairs, he checked out the hazy window to see if his wife was home from work yet and saw the deputy’s car pulling into his driveway.
“Hey Mike,” he said, stepping onto the porch. “What’cha doing way up here?”
“Haven’t you been listening to the radio, Bost? The Mt. Asheville fire’s changed direction and we need everyone up here to evacuate.” Said the deputy.
He’d been smelling the smoke for days and it finally occurred to Boston what his hindbrain was trying to tell him. He had the bug-out-bag, what he was missing was the bug-out plan.
The deputy was still speaking “… we can give you 30 minutes, but after that we can’t guarantee your safety.”
“How the hell am I supposed to save anything in 30 minutes?” asked Boston.
“You’re supposed to save yourself, it shouldn’t take that long.” said the harried cop, getting back into his car. “You’d better hurry, it’s moving fast.” He added before driving off.
Boston ran back inside and grabbed his bug-out-bag. Running out to the truck, he threw it inside. Shit, he needed to call his wife. But the phone system just gave a message about call overload. He kept mashing at the buttons anyway as he grabbed her medication and some of her clothes. Glancing out the window he saw the thick smoke and sparks flying up from behind the ridge. He didn’t have any time left, he needed to get out. Running downstairs he heard barking from the backyard. Duke! In his rush he’d forgotten the damn dog. The smoke was making it hard to breathe, and he wasted costly moments as a coughing fit overtook him. Boston finally got the lunging dog free of his chain and dragged him over to the truck. He heaved Duke into the cab and jumped in after him. The smoke was thicker now and making it difficult to see, but Boston thought he saw the first edges of flame along the road.
“Honey?” he said over the phone, finally getting through. “I’m coming through on Ashford now. I think I’m through the worst of it.”
“Oh, thank God! Meet me at rally point two.”
“Wha-huh?”
“In your bag, I added a binder with rally points, an escape plan, emergency contacts… It was like, six months ago. Didn’t you read it?”
“Er…” said Boston, digging through his bag until he found it.
She sighed, “Turn to page thirty-two and follow the directions. I’ll meet you there.”
Lucid Stories 