Luis carried my backpacks because I still carried Tag. But as we approached the steps, Tag wanted to walk. I placed him down but kept him right in front of me. We followed Luis onto the bus. Craig was right. It was pretty empty.
“Where is he?” I asked Craig who was behind me. “Show the guy who made you look. I wanted to thank him.”
“Can’t miss him. Right in the back.”
Luis blocked my view and I peered around the right of him to check out the stranger. When I did, my heart pounded out of control and for the first time in days, I genuinely smiled.
It was Sam.
He peered out the window and before I could call his name he spotted me.
“Son of a bitch.” He shrieked out and stood. “You did it. You made it. I knew it.”
Luis turned around and looked at me. “You know him?”
“That’s Sam. He left me his car.”
Sam appeared impatient for us to get back there. He stood bouncing back and forth. But somehow, I believed he didn’t know ‘you’ was actually ‘we’. Upon that realization, I leaned down, lifted Tag.
Tag called out. “Sam!”
Sam’s eyes widened and he fell backwards. I swore and feared he had a heart attack at the shock of seeing Tag.
It was a lot for him. His hands went to his face and I heard a slight whimper come from him. Sliding his fingers across his face, Sam peered upwards and mouthed the words, ‘thank you’.
Luis slipped with the supplies into the seat in front of Sam and I bolted the remaining distance with Tag.
At that moment, Sam stood, arms extended and grabbed onto Tag. His murmured ‘Oh my God,’ over and over as he clutched Tag and plastered him with grateful kisses.
Then he reached to me and brought me into him. Sam was crying.
The reunion was awesome, but the bus jolted and we were told to take our seats. We did. Tag sat on Sam’s lap.
“Where are the girls? Liam? Josh?” I asked.
“They are on the New Haven Transport. That’s the final destination. This one I don’t know where it’s going, but I’m told we should be able to get to New Haven.”
“How will we find them?”
Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a paper. “Got their numbers. We’ll find them. I sent them ahead. I wanted them on a bus. I wanted to make sure they were headed to safety. They’re with Reverend Ray and…and Bill.”
“Bill? Our neighbor?”
“Yep, he said he wasn’t sick. He was right.”
“That’s good. Real good. How did you end up here?” I asked.
“I wanted to wait. I wanted to wait until the very last minute to go. Just in case, you know, you showed up and someone would be here to tell you what was going on. I kept hoping you’d be here. Gotta tell you…this…” He kissed Tag. “Is a surprise. A great one.”
“We woke up yesterday and the fever broke.”
“So it wasn’t the flu?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I do know I would not be on this bus if it wasn’t for Luis.” I reached up and tapped Luis on the shoulder. “Luis?”
He turned around.
“Sam, meet my friend Luis.”
Luis extended his hand back to Sam. “Pleasure.”
“Thank you for getting our girl and boy here,” Sam said. “Are you alone?”
Before he could answer, I did. “No Sam, he’s with us now. Is that okay, Luis? You’ll travel with us and our family.”
“I would like that.”
“So would we.” I exhaled. Luis turned back around, slid into his seat. I could see he was finally relieved after the insane attempt to get to the transport. He rested his head against the window.
With Tag on Sam’s lap, I too relaxed and tilted my head to his shoulder. I was so damn grateful and moved beyond belief that Sam hadn’t given up on us. He had a lot of information to share, things he learned while waiting on me. We had a long trip ahead and a lot of time for me to listen.
FORTY-ONE - RETAINED
Chaos, confusion and misinterpretation were the things Sam said he heard about. While waiting for me and the last transport, he spoke to anyone that would talk to him. He found out that the country was thrown into a plethora of emotions and for the first couple days things went out of control. They tried to instill law and order and after several days they had a plan.
“We heard the west coast was gone,” a soldier told us. “It wasn’t until people started coming east, that everyone realized it wasn’t wiped out.”
“So they knew what happened?” I asked.
“Pretty much, we knew right away. The EMP it caused wiped out most of the electronics. Only those who saw it coming were ready. They got a message out to FEMA. It was a domino effect. Once one place got power, others did. Not a lot but enough to keep getting the word out.”
His word, he claimed, was not gospel. Most of what he got was third or fourth hand information. When it hit he was working his day job at a gas station. At the realization that it was something big, he hurried to the reserve base. It took two days after that for him to be officially activated. The soldier was from Missouri.
Initially it was believed the cloud of smoke would move with the fire. But as of recently, information Sam hadn’t received, the cloud had moved north to north east.
It moved north of Los Angeles into Nevada, from Denver to Minnesota. Rendering everything above that line a dead zone, covered by a thick smoke that blocked out any light.
Once the fire reached its furthest distance, the hole in the ozone layer would keep it simmering. Until the cloud cleared, the north would be thrust into an ice age, and eventually that cloud, though thinner would encircle the globe, causing everyone to live in a gray colder world for at least two years.
A world still survivable with preparation. Unfortunately, people out east, were holding on to what they had, not giving into survival migration and hoping for the best.
Sam said he heard there were ‘gray’ areas. “No pun intended to the clouds,” he said. “Places that experts don’t know if they will be affected. Meaning western parts of some states like Pennsylvania.”
Darkness and clouds were the least of the worries, the easiest battle. The new flu was a killer in more ways than one. It was a variation of the bird flu. When the birds and the people migrated, they pushed the flu into new territories. There were also multiple cases of Hantavirus as well from the migration of rodents from the heat.
The disease spread faster than the fire and smoke. Bringing illness and death as far as the refugees went. No one knew if the flu started because of the event or if the event just expedited something that had already begun.
Did it matter?
There were no resources put into fighting the flu. Just treating those who were sick. The majority of effort had to be placed on a long term survival plan and finding locations for millions who had relocated.
Of course, that was the word from those in the middle of the country. Most had not even been east. There were rumors, because the east was only decimated by illness and lack of power, that they were still battling chaos and violence.
“We are moved in phases,” Sam said. “Your travel stopping points will depend on where your displacement camp is located. From what I heard they been expediting camps for four days. Not a lot of time.”
“So we don’t know where this transport is going?” I asked.
Someone from the bus heard my question and answered, “Heard because we’re small, we’re going to New Brunswick. That’s where a lot of the volunteers are going after they wrap up their stations.”
The volunteers were moving in waves across the country as we were. The Arena was originally a medical holding place while waiting on transport. Anyone too ill to travel would wait for the next transport. The medical people and their resources had moved out a day earlier.
I was confused and hated the fact that I wouldn’t have any concrete information until I arrived wherever I was going. I didn’t really kno
w what was happening to the north, no one really did.
Our first leg of the trip came to an end late afternoon at Holloman Air Force Base, New Mexico. It was one of seven transport stops in the area, but the only one remaining open. The stopping station had electricity, it was wonderful, and running water. I asked if I could bathe, and was told it was a good idea.
Did I smell?
We’d stay there for the rest of the day and leave at the very earliest the next morning. It all depended on if there were still a lot of ill at the next stopping point.
“They don’t want to run the healthy into the sick,” a doctor told me. “Once that wave of people moves out, we can move in there.”
A doctor.
He was young, almost too young for my liking. I didn’t ask his credentials and didn’t know if he were military or a local doctor. I was escorted to him, along with Tag because we were pale and looked ill.
More so me, I was told. That surprised me considering Tag was the one who’d been at death’s door.
Immediately when we arrived we were given blood tests. Not everyone, just a select few. Then after a couple hours we were brought in to be examined by the young doctor, named Jesse.
Tag was checked out first. I told the doctor that I believed he didn’t have the flu, because he survived. I was corrected. The blood tests showed he had immunities, meaning he had the virus.
“He’s made it through the worst of it. There were low levels of radiation exposure. Very low, under one hundred rad,” he said. “He may experience some symptoms considering his low immunities. But nothing he won’t handle. That’s one tough boy.”
“Yes, he is.”
“You on the other hand…”
Me? I knew I was not feeling well. I told the girls I was sick. I truly believed that had to do more so with my emotional state.
Until I was examined.
It was my first post delivery check up since I lost the baby four days earlier.
Jesse expressed how he was sorry to hear about my loss, then ran down his laundry list.
“You were exposed to radiation as well. The other fellow, too. Luis? Nothing we can’t treat. Probably because the three of you were in the hot zone. Your platelets are down. Loss of blood will do that. That’s one of the reasons you are so pale.”
“I stopped bleeding.” I said. “What’s the other reason?”
“When I examined you, something didn’t feel right. The loss of the baby was abrupt. The placenta detached, probably a day or so before the loss. And you have what we call a retained placenta. Meaning part of it is still in the uterus. It started an infection. We need to do an extraction then get you on antibiotics. Another day and you would have died.”
I knew I wasn’t well, but that ill? I was surprised to hear it. Jesse explained that if I wasn’t better by the time the transport was ready to leave, I’d have to wait until the facility packed up and left.
Another delay.
I didn’t want to wait any longer. I wanted Tag to be reunited with Nicole. She was carrying the grief of losing her child and needed to know he was alright.
We needed to lift that from her.
I realized I needed to get better and Tag needed to stop, rest and heal as well. I just hoped the delay didn’t complicate finding Nicole and Julie.
Getting east to survive wasn’t my goal. My goal was to get my entire family back together to take on survival as a whole.
FORTY-TWO - WAITING GAME
Fort Ticonderoga, NY
September 24 – Two months later
Our departure was not only delayed due to my health, but we were stuck waiting until the stopping point was packed up and ready to go as well. It was four days before we left, and following that was another three day delay in Hays, Kansas.
That delay wasn’t due to illness, but rather civil unrest that developed in the east.
The flames had held tight, devouring what was left of the land out west. There was no longer a blue sky, and the days of sweating were long gone.
Temperatures had dropped to an average of fifty.
Farmers across the country were scurrying to save what they could of supplies, while countless others worked on a plan to grow food in the cold.
Traveling with the Holloman crew had its perks. There were a lot of important military personnel, along with doctors. I believed we were surrounded by valuable resources that could help me find my children. Especially since they kept on telling us they’d help once we got settled.
Our eastern end destination was no longer New Brunswick, but the historical Fort Ticonderoga, NY. When we arrived the on the first of August, I wondered if another type of apocalypse was about to occur. The wide old walls of the main complex looked like some sort of fort erected to protect against a zombie outbreak.
I was assured it wasn’t and it was now the main government hub because it was easy to secure the officials from the unrest, and far enough away.
We were in a camp three miles away from the fort. Fortunately, we were able to ride down to the New Haven site. I was hopeful, until we arrived. Tens of thousands of white trailers packed the small area.
We gave the girls’ numbers to the main desk.
They were never there.
Check.
Check again.
They never arrived. It was possible, someone told me that, like us, they got delayed and ended up going somewhere else.
Our best hope was to stay close to Fort Ticonderoga, because eventually all information would flow there.
We were issued a small trailer for me, Sam, Luis and Tag. Every day I walked to the main complex, hoping and asking if someone could help me find my daughters. It was useless because there were no computers with a major database. Just paperwork that didn’t always make its way to us.
Finally, Luis took a job as a food truck driver. It was one of the most dangerous jobs there was. But he claimed he was bored and it was a risk worth taking because he would cover the most area and could look for the girls.
By mid August, the snow started to fall. Luis would return every four days. Rest a day then go back out again. Each time we’d hear the truck, we’d race to the window to look.
Did he find them? Was he alone?
Each time he returned he was hopeful. “Not yet, but next trip is to Boston.”
Or whatever place he was scheduled to go.
We were secluded up in that area, but the population wasn’t restricted to the camps. Those who lived in the east stayed in their homes and many left the camps for a better place. I couldn’t see the girls leaving a registered place. Not when they knew Sam was out there.
We celebrated Labor Day with a massive snowstorm that officially marked the start to the nuclear winter.
The next day was the last day I saw Luis. He went for a run and didn’t return.
Still, snow piled high, I walked to the complex, every day. They knew me by name.
No word about my girls. No word about Luis.
As time rolled by, not only did the weather become worse, but with each desolate looking day that passed, I lost hope.
FORTY-THREE - SARDINES
November 8
We were fortunate. We had lucked into a privileged area. Government, military and important people lived in and around Fort Ticonderoga. I was told our food rations were outstanding compared to other places.
That surprised me. I was always hungry. At the beginning of the month we were given one case of MRE’s and weekly we would pick up rations. Rations that included minimal water, fresh flat bread, beans and some sort meat. Whether it was canned or fresh.
We held high hopes for fresh vegetables that were being grown in the greenhouse and hydro farms.
Having much more than anyone else placed us in a high security area. Although the bad weather kept the marauders away.
Sam had taken a job at the complex as a radio monitor, and I took a job separating rations. A job that not only got me an extra can or two as pay, but kept me
in the loop of looking for my family.
The three of us, Sam, me and Tag walked to the complex. Every morning it was the same thing.
“Morning, Donna,” I’d say. “Any connections made?”
“Sorry, Tess. Not yet.”
Then the evening would come with me asking Sam the same questions. Only to get the same answer.
Nothing.
Twenty-seven million people had moved. Some registered some not.
Finding them was going to be nearly impossible.
I was working my job, sitting at my desk behind the little window. Men and women who ran the trucks from one stock to another would drop off supplies at that window. No one was allowed to come into that room. I would register the supplies and shelve them accordingly.
If it were an item grabbed from stockpile, they’d state it and I’d call out what they turned in.
‘Wilson Warehouse, case of unknown soup,’ they’d say. Or whatever item they brought.
‘Wilson Warehouse, case of unknown soup.’ I’d repeat, mark the item and put it away. A routine that made me at times robotic.
If they grabbed it from a home or abandoned shop, they were marked as such and handed out immediately because their freshness was unknown.
A woman named Susan was an ace at finding stuff. She would clutter my counter with items every time she arrived.
“Dead prepper,” she said and placed a box on the counter. “I didn’t look inside thoroughly. There are six more.”
“Are you shitting me?” I asked.
“No. Came across the house. Owner was dead, had tons of dried stuff in the basement. Gold mine.”
“Good job.”
Susan proudly handed each box to me. I counted the items out loud, wrote them down, when I finished, she signed the sheet. It was close to Thanksgiving, some of the dried goods would be a treat.
“Hey,” she said and slipped her gloved hand forward. “For Tag.” She lifted her hand and exposed a bag of M and M’s.
By Way of Autumn Page 16