around ten in the morning – once the sun’s vicious rays had a chance to send many of the flying pests into hiding – until about four in the afternoon, since we had to get camp set up before the droning cloud of hungry insects reappeared and again descended upon us.
At night, we’d cram ourselves into our four-person tent – all nine of us and Cashmere the cat. It was horrible to say the least. There was little sleeping, a lot of complaining, whining, and even some crying – mostly from the kids – and all in all, the next several days were pure hell.
We had used up almost all our bug repellant on the first day of the trek. Because of our lack of bug spray, and the presence of insects even during the day, we had to continue our hike wearing long sleeves, pants, and hats, even though the sweltering summer heat was intensely oppressive. Each of us – even Jason – was straddled with as many supplies as we could carry. Strapped to us were our food and water, weapons and ammunition, extra clothing and bedding, medical supplies, and anything else we could carry and that we thought we might need for when we reached Miami. This not only made for slow going, but we were sweating like crazy and rapidly burning through our fresh water supply. By the end of the second day of the hike, our clothing was drenched in our own moisture. We stunk, we were itchy, and we were angry – not at one another, but at the shitty situation. Unfortunately, we took much of our aggravation and frustration out upon one another simply because we had no other outlet. I endured the brunt of this frustration as people questioned why we had left Gordon and the safety of his cozy little spot on the coast to come all the way down here. I was even questioning it myself. But I had to persevere, and I kept reminding our crew that we were almost through this final leg of our trip to Miami and that we’d soon be enjoying the fruits of our labor.
I secretly prayed that what I was telling them was the truth.
Worse yet – as if it could get much worse – as we reached the outskirts of the Miami area, we came to find that it was like a war zone. As we worked our way into the Hialeah area, we took shelter near the Westland Mall. There was a sort of open air market there where merchants were bartering their wares, so Will and I left the rest of the group in the shelter of an abandoned ranch-style home and took a trip over to see what we could find out about the local situation as well as pick up some supplies.
We ended up talking to a middle-aged man who was working as a fresh fruit vendor at the market – Myron was his name. He seemed a decent enough guy. He’d been a dentist in his pre-flu life. He told us that he still fixed teeth occasionally, but his fruit stand was his bread and butter while the dentistry business was hit and miss.
“Not many people coming in for their six-month checkups anymore,” he shook his said sadly. “Mostly tooth extractions these days.”
As we chatted, he explained that some sort of power struggle was currently taking place in Miami. As he’d heard it, an outside group of mercenary sorts had come to the area and were currently vying for power. He said they’d come in with armored vehicles and bands of armed men and were pretty much laying down the law. Myron explained that these people had told him and the other vendors that they were going to have to pay a “security fee” each week and had given them a list of the goods and associated quantities with which they could pay. Myron said he wasn’t happy about the demands upon his already meager supplies, but he agreed that if these people actually provided the security they were promising, he was willing to give it a shot. He said he’d had problems with theft and robberies recently, and he felt that a little peace of mind was worth paying for these days.
After we were done chatting, we ended up trading
At night, we’d cram ourselves into our four-person tent – all nine of us and Cashmere the cat. It was horrible to say the least. There was little sleeping, a lot of complaining, whining, and even some crying – mostly from the kids – and all in all, the next several days were pure hell.
We had used up almost all our bug repellant on the first day of the trek. Because of our lack of bug spray, and the presence of insects even during the day, we had to continue our hike wearing long sleeves, pants, and hats, even though the sweltering summer heat was intensely oppressive. Each of us – even Jason – was straddled with as many supplies as we could carry. Strapped to us were our food and water, weapons and ammunition, extra clothing and bedding, medical supplies, and anything else we could carry and that we thought we might need for when we reached Miami. This not only made for slow going, but we were sweating like crazy and rapidly burning through our fresh water supply. By the end of the second day of the hike, our clothing was drenched in our own moisture. We stunk, we were itchy, and we were angry – not at one another, but at the shitty situation. Unfortunately, we took much of our aggravation and frustration out upon one another simply because we had no other outlet. I endured the brunt of this frustration as people questioned why we had left Gordon and the safety of his cozy little spot on the coast to come all the way down here. I was even questioning it myself. But I had to persevere, and I kept reminding our crew that we were almost through this final leg of our trip to Miami and that we’d soon be enjoying the fruits of our labor.
I secretly prayed that what I was telling them was the truth.
Worse yet – as if it could get much worse – as we reached the outskirts of the Miami area, we came to find that it was like a war zone. As we worked our way into the Hialeah area, we took shelter near the Westland Mall. There was a sort of open air market there where merchants were bartering their wares, so Will and I left the rest of the group in the shelter of an abandoned ranch-style home and took a trip over to see what we could find out about the local situation as well as pick up some supplies.
We ended up talking to a middle-aged man who was working as a fresh fruit vendor at the market – Myron was his name. He seemed a decent enough guy. He’d been a dentist in his pre-flu life. He told us that he still fixed teeth occasionally, but his fruit stand was his bread and butter while the dentistry business was hit and miss.
“Not many people coming in for their six-month checkups anymore,” he shook his said sadly. “Mostly tooth extractions these days.”
As we chatted, he explained that some sort of power struggle was currently taking place in Miami. As he’d heard it, an outside group of mercenary sorts had come to the area and were currently vying for power. He said they’d come in with armored vehicles and bands of armed men and were pretty much laying down the law. Myron explained that these people had told him and the other vendors that they were going to have to pay a “security fee” each week and had given them a list of the goods and associated quantities with which they could pay. Myron said he wasn’t happy about the demands upon his already meager supplies, but he agreed that if these people actually provided the security they were promising, he was willing to give it a shot. He said he’d had problems with theft and robberies recently, and he felt that a little peace of mind was worth paying for these days.
After we were done chatting, we ended up trading
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