by Mark Goodwin
“A little. No big deal. I won’t melt.”
“We’ve got some downtime. We should take advantage of it and try to get some rest. Do you think you could go to sleep right now?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it. My mind is racing, thinking about how we’re going to get home with no provisions.”
“Okay. Can you take first watch while I try to take a nap?”
“First watch? What if I get tired?”
“Then wake me up. We have to start sleeping in shifts. We’ll be sleeping in vehicles for the foreseeable future. We’re too exposed out in the open like this. We can’t take a chance on someone attacking us while we’re out.”
She changed positions with Emilio. “This trip just keeps getting better all the time.”
Emilio counted backward from 100 to distract his mind from all the troubles weighing on it. He was asleep before he reached 50.
When he finally awoke, he looked to the front of the cab. “It stopped raining?”
“Yeah. A while ago.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I couldn’t, you were sleeping so soundly. Besides, I was thinking, maybe we should just crash here for the night. Once we leave the interstate, we don’t know when we’ll find another tractor-trailer.”
“That’s true, but we can sleep in cars also.”
“Maybe you can, but if I have any chance at all of getting some rest, it needs to be somewhere I can stretch out.”
Emilio’s stomach growled. He opened the flip phone which currently served as his watch, since it had no other available functions. “It will be dark soon. I suppose this will have to do. Did you find anything in here to eat?”
“I haven’t looked.” She pointed at the cabinets overhead of the bunk. “You might find something up there.”
He reached up and opened the small cupboard. “Hot dog buns. Check the fridge.”
“I used to say that I’d never eat a hotdog. That was before I went to prison. Any day you got hotdogs was a good day.” She opened the tiny refrigerator door on the floor between them. “We’ve got some butter-flavored spread and a half a jar of pineapple jelly.”
“Pineapple jelly rolls it is, then.” Emilio tossed down the hotdog buns. “We’ve got garbage bags.”
“At least we can stay tidy.” She set the artificial butter and the jelly on the narrow counter.
Emilio sat on the edge of the bunk. “I was thinking that we could use them to carry any items we come across that we can use to get home.”
“Oh, yeah.” She found a butter knife along with a collection of utensils in a plastic cup sitting in the center console. She began applying the yellow-colored vegetable oil liberally to one of the buns.
Emilio took a spoon from the plastic cup. He looked down into the makeshift utensil storage container and immediately wished he hadn’t. A grimy dark ring at the bottom of the tumbler caused him to question whether or not the spoons, forks, and knives had been washed, or perhaps merely spit-shined. He didn’t mention it to Mackenzie who already had a catalog of complaints about their current circumstances. Instead, he used his shirttail to wipe down the surface of the spoon before placing it in the pineapple jelly. He sniffed the substance inside the jar prior to spreading it on his bun.
“Does it smell okay?” asked Mackenzie.
“I’ve never eaten pineapple jelly before, so I’m not the highest authority on how it should smell, but it doesn’t seem to be rancid.”
She handed him a napkin from the console. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
He looked at the fast-food logo on the napkin. He guessed the driver saved money on paper towels and napkins by stocking up anytime he stopped at a burger joint. Emilio picked a small blue spot of mold off of the end of the hotdog bun, held his breath, closed his eyes, and took a bite.
He tried not to think about the questionable meal while he chewed. However, he did examine the bread, looking for more mold spots.
Mackenzie finished chewing. “I never thought I’d miss those adventure meals so much.”
“If they had called them apocalypse meals, I think we’d have a good case for trademark infringement. Because this is obviously an apocalypse meal.” Emilio choked down the rest of his jelly roll.
Mackenzie tied off the remaining hotdog buns. “Yep. I’d take jail food over this culinary catastrophe.” She held up the package. “I’m assuming you don’t want another one right now.”
He held up his hand. “I’m good. But we’ll make up the rest of them before we head out tomorrow. When we get down the road and our bellies start rumbling, we’ll be glad we have them.”
CHAPTER 9
The city of confusion is broken down: every house is shut up, that no man may come in. There is a crying for wine in the streets; all joy is darkened, the mirth of the land is gone. In the city is left desolation, and the gate is smitten with destruction.
Isaiah 24:10-12
On Tuesday morning, Emilio went through the tiny closet of the semi. He found a sweatshirt and a thick flannel shirt which he folded neatly and placed in one of the trash bags. He found a pair of greasy work gloves in the glove compartment, and under them he found the bill of lading for the current haul.
“What’s that?” Mackenzie asked.
“It’s a list of what’s in the trailer.”
“Anything we can use?”
“I’m afraid not. Looks like it was all furniture.”
She began folding up the blanket on the bunk.
“That’s nice of you; cleaning up before we leave. I bet you had good ratings as a guest on Airbnb.”
She stuffed the folded blanket into one of the trash bags. “I’m taking it with us. If we sleep in a car tonight, it might not be as luxuriously furnished as the presidential suite here.”
“That’s not a bad idea. Did you see anything else that could be useful?”
“No. I searched and searched for a map but didn’t find one.”
“Me either,” said Emilio. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today. I’d like to find our way across the river and back to I-65 before it gets dark. I suppose we should get moving.”
Mackenzie tied a knot in the trash bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Ready when you are.”
The two of them headed west along I-64 for another mile. They reached the exit for State Road 62 and followed it south. A few miles down the road, they saw a small sign on the side of the road which read, Ohio River Scenic Byway.
“Now that’s encouraging,” Mackenzie commented.
“Yes, it is,” Emilio agreed.
The day wore on, and seven miles later, they’d seen no indication that they were anywhere near a river. Emilio surveilled the surrounding rural landscape. “I’m afraid we may have overestimated the common sense of whoever was in charge of naming this particular stretch of pavement. I’m beginning to have doubts that there are any scenes of the Ohio River on the scenic byway named after that particular body of water.”
“We could ask someone,” Mackenzie suggested.
Emilio looked at the locals who were posted up under rudimentary shelters. Some were under simple lean-to structures, built from the remains of their collapsed homes. Others were gathered under large tarps hung over long ropes strung between trees. But all of them watched Emilio and Mackenzie passing through with suspicion. “I think it’s best if we don’t bother these kind folks.”
“Look!” Mackenzie pointed to an intersection. “Another state road. 211. It goes east. It has to hit the river, doesn’t it? We’re way south of the I-65 Bridge. We have to be.”
Emilio couldn’t deny Mackenzie’s logic, but by his estimation, they should have reached the river long ago. “Possibly, unless it’s another meandering path to nowhere.”
“It can’t hurt to check it out, right?”
The corners of his mouth turned down. “Unless we get more lost than we already are.” Feeling discouraged about the day’s progress, Emilio consented to venturing down anot
her unknown roadway.
The simple two-lane road traveled by a few desolate farms, then through a densely wooded section. “We’ll give it another couple of miles, then we have to turn back,” said Emilio.
“We’ve only been on this road for a mile,” said Mackenzie. “We’re not lost. Give it a chance.”
Then, just as suddenly as the road had begun, it ended, terminating at yet another country road which ran north and south. Emilio sighed. “It’s no use. We’re lost.”
Mackenzie stared at the road sign which read 111. “I don’t understand. If we’re traveling south and east, we have to hit the river.”
Emilio turned around. “Come on. Let’s head back.”
“Back where?” Mackenzie asked.
“Back to the highway. We could be walking in circles out here with no map.” Emilio returned the way they had come.
“Wait,” said Mackenzie. “Look.”
He turned to face east in the direction she was pointing.
She asked, “What do you see?”
“An open field and trees.”
“What’s behind the trees?”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly!” she said. “Everywhere else you look, there’s a hill or a mountain or something. Behind those trees, there’s nothing.”
“What’s your point?”
“I think that’s the river!”
“It’s a mirage.” Emilio turned around once more.
“Come on! You said a few more miles.”
“I meant down this road, not an additional rabbit trail.”
“Five miles. We’ll go south. If we don’t find anything, we’ll turn back.”
Emilio stopped. “Three miles.”
“I’ll take it!” exclaimed Mackenzie. “This is it. I can feel it in my bones.”
Emilio reluctantly followed her. “Further down the spiral.”
They continued south about half a mile and came to a small building that had fallen down in the quake. The marquee lay on the ground between the building and the road. Mackenzie walked up a small hill to read the sign which was facing skyward. “Riverside Church!” she exclaimed.
Emilio failed to get excited.
“Riverside, as in at the side of a river!” she pleaded.
“I understand the concept. I’m wondering if the people around here in charge of naming things see the implied correlation between the geographical features and titles of roads and churches.”
She turned away from the small church and peered across the street. She stared diligently over the open field to the east. She squinted for a moment, as if not sure what she was looking at in the dim light of the darkened days. However, her eyes grew wider, and her expression brightened.
Emilio turned his attention to what Mackenzie was so enraptured with. Then, he saw it. Between a hedge of lifeless trees, the faint glow of the brownish-red sky reflecting off the surface of the water. “You did it! Mackenzie, you did it! You found the river!”
She turned back to face him. “So that’s it? You’ll listen to me from now on?”
He set out to walk down the dirt trail leading between the two fields. “Your input has always been considered. It always will be. Nothing has changed.”
The trail continued about 300 yards and then arrived at the bank of the Ohio River. Emilio stared across to Kentucky.
Mackenzie stood beside him. “Now what?”
“Now we find a way to the other side.” He looked in both directions but saw nothing in the way of a watercraft. “Come on. We’ll go back to the road and keep following it south.”
“We’re already in farm country,” she said.
“So? What’s your point?”
“If we keep walking away from civilization, we’re only likely to find more farms.”
He didn’t want to admit it, but she had a valid point…again. “And no boats. Alright. We’ll head north.”
“Really? You’re going to take my advice, just like that?”
“I meant what I said. Your input has always been considered. But…”
“Ah! Here it comes.”
He continued. “But, stay alert. Be ready to draw your weapon. We’re essentially heading into enemy territory.”
They followed the road north, venturing over to the river bank from the road every couple of miles looking for a boat or canoe to get them to the other side.
Emilio stared out at the muddy water. “Barges are stranded up and down the banks. I suppose they broke loose during the shaking. I don’t see anything we can use.”
“What if we pushed one back out into the river? Couldn’t we float to the other side?”
He shook his head. “Those things probably weigh a hundred tons or more. It’s not going to be like pushing a pontoon boat back into the lake after stopping for a picnic. Even if we could, without a way to propel it to the other side, it’s just going to drift in the current. It might eventually drift to the Kentucky bank, but it could just as easily end up on this side again. And who knows how far downriver we might be when that happens.”
“Let’s keep looking, then.” Mackenzie looked discouraged as she turned to go back to the road.
They’d traveled about eight miles when they came to a sign on the side of the entrance of a drive. Emilio read it. “It’s a tugboat repair company.” He looked around for people. “This might be our chance.”
“We’re going to steal a tugboat?”
“Borrow. We’ll get across the river and tie it off. The owners can pick it up downriver.”
Mackenzie looked at dark plumes of smoke coming up from Louisville. The black soot from the fires in the city mingled with the haze in the already-brown sky. “If we cross here, we’ll be walking into abject chaos.”
“We’ll follow the river south, at least back down to where we saw the church. Maybe a little farther.” Emilio lowered his voice as they walked down the gravel road leading to the riverside shop.
“So, are you planning to hotwire the boat?”
“Why, because I’m Mexican? That automatically means I know how to boost anything with a motor?” He glared at her.
“No! That’s not what I meant!”
“I’m just kidding. I’m not that sensitive.” He cracked a smile.
“No! Because when you guys were retelling the story of when you busted Nicole and me out of prison, they said you were the one who hotwired the CDC van.”
Emilio instantly lost his playfulness at being reminded of Nicole’s absence.
Mackenzie continued. “You have to believe me. I was one of the most politically correct people you’ve ever met. I was the one making sure you used the right pronoun for people, policing speech, and making sure no one was ever offended by anything.”
Emilio hid his pain. “Yeah, I kind of figured as much. That’s why I razzed you about it.”
She frowned. “I guess it was sort of silly, all of that.”
Emilio heard the low murmur of nearby voices. He pointed toward the large rusted metal building which was still partially standing. “We’ve got people over there. We don’t know if they are the shop owners or just some folks using the garage as a shelter. Either way, we need to get out to the dock and on a boat without attracting their attention.”
Mackenzie nodded and followed Emilio through the maze of discarded boat hulls and engine parts. They reached the dock. Emilio peered from behind an upside-down hull. “I count four of them. They’re talking amongst themselves and don’t seem to be paying attention, but they’re looking out toward the river.”
“Can we get out on the dock?” she asked.
“Yeah, but we’re going to have to crawl.” Emilio tied the length of his garbage bag to shorten it as much as possible. Mackenzie did the same with her hobo’s knapsack. The pair kept low and navigated out onto the weathered boards of the dock. One of the dilapidated sections of wood gave way under the weight of Emilio’s hand. He held his breath, hoping it wouldn’t make enough noise to draw the attention of
the men in the garage.
He listened a while before moving again. He looked back at Mackenzie. “The earthquake shifted the pilings. We’re going to have to cross on that single board, like a tight rope.”
“On our hands and knees?” she whispered.
Emilio considered the precariousness of the situation. “We’ll stand up, but keep crouched over as much as possible.”
He got up, held his belongings close to his chest so the weight wouldn’t knock him off balance and into the murky water. Once over the disjointed section of dock, he made a leap into the battered old tugboat. He made a small bump when he landed in the craft, but hoped it wasn’t so loud as to be heard by the men. He held out his hand for Mackenzie. “Toss your bag to me first. That way, you have both hands free.”
She nodded and threw her garbage bag to Emilio. He placed it on the floor of the boat and reached out to catch her. She wobbled as she crossed the perilous plank. She then jumped forward. Emilio grabbed hold of her waist, barely preventing her from falling in the water. He got her in the boat, however, her foot had caught the side with a loud thump.
She held her foot as if in pain from the impact. “I bet they heard that.”
Emilio nodded. “Quick! Untie the rope. I’ll try to get the engine started. He checked compartments around the steering wheel until he found a pair of pliers and a screwdriver. The craft was old, so he first tried a brute force attack by shoving the screwdriver into the ignition and turning it. “Nothing!” He looked back toward the half-standing garage. “They’re coming!” He pointed at a long pole with a hook at the end. “Quick! Use that to push us away from the dock!”
Mackenzie followed his instructions, pushing with all of her might until the tug began to drift away from the piling it had been tied to.
Emilio continued trying to start the engine. He heard the voices of the men coming closer.
He could make out the words of one. “I know I heard somethin’ over here.”
Another answered, “Probably one of them stray cats Skip used to feed. He liked having them around. Keeps the river rats away. They’d get nests in all these…hey, that boat is floating away!”