As Trev had feared all the full sized shovels had been taken, probably to be used as weapons. But in the camping section he found small folding shovels. They were poor quality and doing the job with them would be a huge pain, but he grabbed a few anyway. He also had his own shovel hidden with the other stuff he’d unloaded a mile down the road from the cache, and between them it would probably be enough. He also found a display of cheap can openers, the kind that never seemed to work properly, but with no other options he dumped all of them into his pack.
Having found what he’d came for he spent a little time browsing, hoping to find a knife to replace the one he’d lost at the roadblock even though he was sure they’d all been looted. As he was searching Matt emerged from the bathroom carrying one of those big rolls of brown paper towels from the hand-drying dispenser. “Score,” his friend said, grinning. “There were also a couple rolls of TP under the sink. I guess that wasn’t a priority for looters, although I bet it’ll become one as soon as they run out.”
Trev noticed that Matt’s hands were glistening slightly with hand sanitizer. “Leave a present behind?”
“Yeah, best poop I’ve had in a week.” His friend didn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed. “Sure there’s no water and it didn’t flush, but it beats squatting behind a bush.” he shrugged out of his pack to load it with the paper towels, which along with the toilet paper mostly filled it, and then together they continued on to the river to get water.
That evening they made their way back to I-15 to go the rest of the way south to Spanish Fork. Trev couldn’t help but notice that the FETF and law enforcement presences were greatly reduced from when they’d been this way last, although one convoy did pass them headed south, and the flow of refugees was also about half what it had been. Were the cities finally emptying out? The refugees he did see looked even more hungry and desperate than before, and he and Matt kept the bear spray close and gave other groups a wide berth.
“I don’t want to be a refugee,” April said quietly. “It’s terrible, the suffering and hopelessness. Once we get to Aspen Hill let’s stay there for good.”
Trev had to agree, although part of him wanted to point out that at the moment they pretty much were refugees. Sure they had a bit of food, and more waiting for them roughly two days away in his cache, but they were just as vulnerable as anyone else on the road.
Back on the highways, first I-15 and then Highway 6, their speed improved. Not just because it was a straight road to travel and they didn’t need to spend quite as much time scouting for danger but because April’s family was a bit more used to walking, even though hunger and fatigue were causing them to slow down. They still managed to make it the rest of the way to the cache by the end of the fifth day, going in two days nearly the same distance they had the previous three.
On the morning of the fifth day they finished off the last of the rose hips they’d gathered, along with a few other assorted weeds Matt and April had found along the way. Aside from a single scraggly raspberry bush with some overripe berries that was all they’d had since the FETF camp, and that day all anyone could talk about was the cache. In spite of their weariness they kept pushing forward, hoping to reach the cache before it got too dark to travel. Spurred on by that lure they consistently passed the other refugees following Highway 6, a comparatively smaller number than those on I-15 but still thousands of people.
They managed it, barely, at sunset making their way down the hill Trev had coasted down on an empty tank what seemed like years ago but was really only 20 days if he had his math right. The excitement at what lay at the bottom gave spring to all their steps, which combined with the downhill slope let them cover the distance quickly.
His poor car was in even worse condition than the last time he’d seen it, now with the tires slashed and the roof caved in as if a heavy person had jumped up and down on top of it. He had to wonder who had the energy for that sort of senseless destruction while racing against death by thirst or starvation.
There were a few refugees in a group ahead of them, and they’d passed others about fifteen minutes ago who’d catch up too soon, so they stopped for a while near his car to rest and wait until the coast was clear before hurrying down the steep slope to leading from the highway to the copse below, getting into the cover of the trees just as they caught sight of people coming into view on the road above. Trev could only hope they hadn’t been noticed as he led the group to the small clearing.
“So now we finally get to use those shovels and can openers you grabbed,” Matt said, staring at the ground where he’d dug the cache as if expecting an angel to rise out of it. “Please tell me you’ve got a ton of food in there.”
Trev grinned, barely caring how his legs nearly buckled as relief washed over him when he saw that his attempts to hide the hole he’d dug had succeeded. “Not quite a literal ton, but it’s enough to last me about a year. And that’s not counting the cartful of stuff I grabbed from a grocery store on the way down. That’s probably another two or three months easy. I’ve also got some cases of bottled water.”
“That’s amazing,” Terry muttered. “And you’ve had that much food just sitting here all this time?”
Trev shrugged as he set his pack down and dug out the shovels. “I didn’t really have a way of getting it down to Aspen Hill. I probably would’ve tried at some point but I had other things to do.”
“Like coming to help us,” April said, resting a hand on his arm. “And now you’re sharing all this with us. It’s a godsend, Trev. You’re a godsend.” Terry and Matt were quick to agree.
Doing his best to hide how his face flushed with embarrassment at the praise, Trev handed out the shovels and together they got to work. Even with the small, inadequate tools it only took a few minutes of frantic digging to get down to the cache, drawing on their last reserves of strength and driven by hunger.
Terry was first to hit it, pausing when his shovel struck dirt with a crinkling sound and throwing his shovel away. He dropped to his knees, staring at the spot in excitement. “I hit tarp!” he nearly shouted. He began digging with his bare hands, scrabbling to get a grip on the plastic mesh.
Trev put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “We’re going to have to do a lot more digging before we can uncover the tarp.”
Matt made a choking noise. “I know you told us how much there was, but it still hasn’t sunk in.” He got to work again in nearly a frenzy, digging down to the tarp and then expanding the hole around the edges. Trev joined him, and Terry retrieved his tool to continue as well. Finally they got enough of the tarp uncovered that working together at one end they managed to heave it and the remaining dirt off.
As Matt and Terry dropped the tarp and fell to their knees beside the hole Trev yanked on it one last time, partially displacing the blankets underneath, which the other two men pulled aside to reveal the things he’d cached nearly three weeks ago.
April also fell to her knees beside the hole, and together they all stared at the bags of food and other gear piled atop boxes and buckets with expressions of awe and almost desperate need. April was the first to reach into the cache, pulling out one of the tied shut grocery bags with a grunt of effort and ripping it open with her fingernails. She pulled out a can almost reverently. “Green beans,” she said, making a noise that was half laugh, half sob. “I hate green beans.”
In direct contradiction with what she’d just said the blond woman accepted the can opener Trev offered her and attacked the top with almost desperate frenzy. Once it was open she dropped to sit cross-legged with her two children crowding around her and pulled the lid away. The three of them immediately set to scooping in mouthfuls of the stringy food with their bare hands, dripping green bean juice all over their dirty clothes.