Remnants of the Day- The Lost Years

by Matthew Gilman

  “Jackpot,” he said tossing everything he could find in his bag. “Hey you guys should look behind the counter for antibiotics.”

  “Like what?” Collins asked.

  “Amoxicillin, penicillin, bactrim, you never took antibiotics?”

  “Why don’t you look? We’ll stand guard,” Collins replied.

  At least I’m the one doing the thinking now, John thought to himself.

  He went behind the counter and looked at the mess on the floor. He read the labels and stuffed partially open bottles into his bag. He thought the full bottles must have been taken. Still sealed, they would last longer until opened. He found several antibiotics.

  When John was finished he rushed the group through the other buildings in the area. They didn’t find much but almost filled the trunk with the odds and ends they carried away.

  Once back at the church John didn’t stick around to help hand out the food. He went straight to Chris' tent to find the extra water bottle still full and Chris exactly where he was before.

  “No I didn’t die,” Chris said opening his eyes and looking at his friend.

  “I found some Tamiflu. You should take it.” John said digging into his bag.

  He took a couple of capsules out and handed them to Chris.

  “This would be better with beer,” Chris said.

  “Beer makes everything better,” John said almost bringing a smile to Chris' face.

  A few days later Chris was out of his tent and making a quick recovery. By that time John was starting to feel under the weather. He knew he got it from Chris, but kept it to himself.

  Collins had told the Reverend about the sick people they were coming across while searching for food. The Reverend mentioned it in his last service.

  “I was informed today of a plague going through our city. Mr. Collins tells me the unbelievers and sinners of this city are inflicted with an illness the likes of which he has never seen. This is the lord helping us. He is clearing away the filth of this land so that we, his faithful servants, can claim it back. The new promise land is upon us. I say on to you, those who are inflicted with the disease of the unfaithful and the perverted are no true believers of the lord.”

  The Reverend from that day on had his food prepared separately from the rest of the congregation. He no longer shook hands with people after service and spent as much time as possible in his office.

  John told Chris he was coming down with the flu.

  “Are you sure?” Chris said.

  “Ya, with as crazy Collins and the Rev are I think they might have killed you if they knew about it. I’m screwed,” John said.

  “We can hide you in a tent like I did.” Chris said.

  “I’ve been taking the medicine, but this is a persistent little bastard,” John said.

  Laying in his tent he often thought about the men flooding in through the entrance and dragging him out. He pictured the mock trial and the forms of execution. Would they burn him at the stake, or crucify him on the giant cross built into the frame of the church? The Reverend could get creative. John had a feeling the Reverend's style wasn’t of old school execution.

  The zipper opened on the tent and Chris popped his head in.

  “Hey, I brought water,” Chris said before being pulled back out of the entrance.

  Collins head popped inside.

  “Look what we have here.”

  Just as John had pictured, he was dragged out of the tent. Three days is what it took for him to be found. Across the yard he let them take all the burden of his weight. If they were going through all of this trouble they would have to work for it.

  Inside the church the congregation was already waiting.

  “There is a demon among us. A hell spawn that fails our attempts to find food and restore this great land to it’s former glory.”

  People were already throwing items at him and spitting on him.

  He was dropped before the alter as the Reverend talked.

  “I said before this plague was a sign from God as to who the real sinners and non believers are. Here is your proof. This man was not one of us. He came here in a attempt to use us for his own survival. He offered me this blood money trying to bribe me and I knew better than to trust this spawn of Satan.”

  Is he listening to himself? He took the money, it’s in his hands. But he is right, I am here for my own survival.

  John continued to listen for just the right moment.

  “Unless we can drive the demon from him our church will fall into damnation,” the Reverend continued. “Do you accept the lord Jesus Christ as your personal lord and savior?”

  Now was the time for his show.

  “yes, yes I do. I accept Jesus as my savior,” John started. He turned around to the congregation and looked around the room. “I have been a sinner. I have done horrible things. I have killed men and women. I have refused to help the poor and the sick.” The last comment poked at the Reverend. “I am a horrible human being and with Jesus in my heart I shall be risen again.” John collapsed on the floor.

  The congregation stood up staring down at the sick man brought before them.

  John's body shook and convulsed on the floor. His body pushed up, face arching to the ceiling. Foam bubbled from his mouth and loud horrific scream came from him. He looked at nothing while veins bulged from his forehead. He continued to shake and convulse on the floor until he felt the hands of the Reverend on him.

  Now you have to play along. To not save me takes away your power.

  John continued to shake as the Reverend called out.

  “Lord Jesus save this fallen man with your mighty hand. Save his soul and return our fallen brother to us.”

  Only then did John stop. He pretended to be unconscious until they rolled him over and the Reverend slapped him. He gasped in air and looked around pretending to not know where he was.

  “Where am I?” John said.

  “Oh praise Jesus,” a woman said.

  The Reverend leaned towards him whispering “you son of a bitch.”

  Wiping the alka-seltzer from his face he looked around as everyone was amazed at his miraculous recovery. John was still sick. His body was still recovering but he was able to fake it until bed time. The man saved by Jesus was the toast at the dinner table. As John received extra helpings of different dishes he sensed eyes upon him. He looked across the table to see Isabel staring at him.

  Isabel winked and with her lips said, “nice.” She went back to joking and listening to her father and the other men on her end of the table. It was then he realized she wasn’t a fool like the others. She might be the Reverend's daughter, but she knew how to play along with the crowd like anyone else.

  One of the men in the group was a mason before the Day. With the help of the Impala he gathered a few materials and was able to attach a fire place to the church for winter. Without any other work it only took him three days to complete the job. Soon the whole congregation had moved into the church and by then the flu was over. A handful of other people had gotten sick. John had the feeling the Reverend learned his lesson. Aside from a few whispers nothing happened to the others who came down with the flu. John handed out the rest of the medication he had taken from the pharmacy and the others recovered. Winter consisted of gathering firewood and telling stories. Usually from the bible.

  John kept to himself and read his own books in the corner. He was able to find a few here and there while on searches for food. He made sure to look over book shelves for anything that caught his eye.

  “Anything good?” Isabel said standing in John's light.

  “Maybe,” John said turning the cover.

  “A Farewell to Arms,” Isabel nodded her head, impressed that the man before her was reading Hemingway. She sat down next to him. “I have to thank you for the entertainment a few weeks back. The alka-seltzer was a great bonus.”

  “Why didn’t you tell your father?” John asked.

  “And ruin my only form of ente
rtainment. I haven’t seen such a scene since Collins professed his ‘love for the lord’” she said.

  “You are not what I expected,” John said.

  “Oh the stuck up daddy’s girl,” She said moving closer to his ear. “I maybe the Reverend's daughter, but I still know how to have a good time.”

  She patted him on the thigh and stood up. As she walked away she turned to him and winked.

  “That girl is going to be trouble,” John said to himself finding his place in the book again.

  Chapter 11

  As the winter months rolled in the population of the neighborhood became condensed into a few houses with working fireplaces. Hartman kept his eyes on the people. Hunting parties were sent out in search of fresh food. When a group came back that had been in contact with outsiders from the area, he grew concerned.

  “Did you touch any of outsiders?” Hartman asked.

  The people looked around at one another.

  “I shook hands with the oldest man,” one of the hunters responded.

  Hartman thought about putting the man in quarantine, but didn’t know where to put him if he did or if he would even agree to it. He hoped the people they came across were free of any diseases. The hunter who shook hands was stuck in bed with what appeared to be a flu virus. It took less than a week for the virus to set in.

  By now Hartman had already run out of alcohol solution and was left with washing his hands between every patient that appeared to contract the illness.

  There were times he would curse himself after realizing he was wiping his nose or rubbing his eyes with his wrist. These were not the conditions he was accustomed to. Things were so much easier in the ER. He had no rubber gloves, no pharmacy, no nurse to hand the patient care off to. He was on his own. His wife offered to help but he refused ordering her stay away.

  Once the illness traveled to the other houses he designated one house for the sick and the other houses to be cleaned before the healthy people moved in. By that pointed it didn’t matter. The people who already had the virus weren’t showing symptoms yet and had moved in. When they showed signs the others were already infected.

  By January, Hartman had the virus. A handful of people had died. Their bodies removed to the cold outside where they would be taken care of in spring. He told the others how to take care of the sick while he was in bed unable to move. Sanitation became an issue with no bedpans available and the toilets not working. Outhouses had been made months before but the sick were unable to make the journey to them.

  The number of dead rose over the weeks and by the time the flu was over half of the residents of the neighborhood were gone. The only upside to this was the expansion of food supply that had taken place. The amount of food that had been stored wasn’t enough for the population to survive through the winter even with rationing. They were depending on hunting to get them through. While the death toll was horrible it kept the survivors alive until the green of spring started to show in their yards.

  A weak, thinner, Hartman helped bury the bodies in the early weeks of spring. Still partially frozen they were able to identify most of the people they put in the ground and guessed at the others while marking the graves. The other people were busy planting seeds in cold frames for early crops and putting seedlings in the windows.

  With the lower population the question of the extra houses came up. With no way to heat them in the winter they were essentially worthless. The windows were removed and turned into extra cold frames, increasing the number of early crops. Cars were also turned into greenhouses with water bottles painted black to absorb sunlight and heat the vehicles overnight. In one driveway a three year old Lexus was being used to grow lettuce.

  In the later spring months Hartman found himself back in school. In one of the unoccupied house a book called Healing with Whole Foods was found and given to Hartman. He wanted to toss it away as pseudo science mumbo jumbo, but read through it anyway. He had nothing else to go on. All of his knowledge of modern medicine was useless. He realized that he no longer could remain a modern doctor. He also had to become a botanist, nutritionist, physical therapist, and doctor at the same time. Much of his learning would be done as he went along. As things happened new questions would be answered and theories would be tried. Fortunately he had educational guessing to go by and few mistakes were made along the way. It was still a large burden to undertake.

  After the flu was gone and the spring was in full swing travelers appeared at the end of the road. They were a couple wearing hiking packs and using walking sticks. After the flu season people who saw these two were reluctant to approached them. The woman waved at the locals as they worked their yards. The awkward standoff ended when one of the locals recognized the two travelers.

  “Elizabeth?” a woman screamed as she ran down the road and hugged the woman. The two groups came together as they discovered Elizabeth was the woman’s daughter. Hope rose in the hearts of the community seeing one of their children return after a year. Hartman wondered if his children would make the long journey back home. He hoped they wouldn’t knowing how dangerous a trip like that would be. A selfish part of him wanted to see them again even if it was for one last time. There were things he never told them that he should have. There were things he said that he wished he hadn’t. The Day took away his chance to correct his mistakes and now he was left with his guilt and a hope that he would be able to make it right again.

  That summer no other children returned home. Elizabeth and her husband where the only ones that made the trip. By the end of the summer Elizabeth was pregnant with the first child born in their community.

  The community was starting to show the entire circle of life again. Trade opened with the outsiders. They agreed after the first encounter they would have a designated spot where items would be placed for trade and prices would be negotiated. At first both sides blamed each other for the flu. The argument was dropped with the need for trade being more important than who was correct. After that winter, shaking hands had become taboo in the area and a friendly nod replaced the gesture.

  A year and a half after the Day gave a second chance to the community on preparing for winter. Food storage had almost doubled and things were looking bright for the long winter months. Books were traded back and forth. The flu didn’t appear again with a handful of people coming down with the common cold instead. The next spring would see the birth of Elizabeth’s baby. For the first time in two years the population of the neighborhood grew by one.

  Chapter12

  In the spring refugees from the eastern part of the state started to come into town. Many approached the church seeing people running it and were hoping for help. They brought news of an army coming.

  “They are crucifying people on the highway,” one man reported. Later, others came by with the same news.

  At first the Reverend didn’t care much for the news. When the reports stated it was an army of Muslims his ears perked up.

  “These demons must be removed from our promised land,” he told the congregation. By now an armory had be created but most of it was hunting rifles and shotguns.

  The Reverend sent the Impala to the eastern bridge in the city overlooking the highway. They were told only to come back when the army was approaching. It was only days before the Impala showed up in the church parking lot.

  “They’re coming,” one of the men said.

  “How many?” John asked.

  “I don’t know, a lot?” the man replied.

  John was already frustrated with their lack of intelligence.

  “Men, arm yourselves,” the Reverend called out.

  John never agreed with the Reverend's plan. If it were up to John every man and woman would be marching to the highway.

  When Chris sat in the driver’s seat of the Impala Collins walked up.

  “Hey, I’m going to have you stay here and watch over the church.” Collins told Chris.

  “What?” Chris shook his head and stepped out of t
he car. “I don’t believe this shit. I used to kick in doors in Iraq and now I’m cleaning fucking latrines,” Chris said to John.

  “He’s going to get people slaughtered,” John said.

  “So make sure it doesn’t happen,” Chris said. “Not like I can do much working for stupid.”

  John liked the phrase Chris always used. He never understood why the least equipped to run things were always the people in power.

  John gathered his gear, double and triple checking his magazines. His Glock was loaded along with the M4. He was ready to go. Gray clouds blanketed the sky on that cold spring morning. The rain has been coming almost daily, melting the snow, filling the air with fog. It was a miserable existence. The food that was left in the supplies was quickly dwindling. While groups should have been out foraging for supplies they were instead waiting on the line for the army coming their way.

  Word spread by escaping refugees about the Muslim horde making its way across the southern end of the state. Aside from the Mackinaw bridge and the Ambassador bridge to Windsor the lower half of the state would be isolated from the rest of the country. The Islamic army had a plan. Time would tell if it would work. The fact that they had a plan was already dangerous and nerve racking for the men that waited for them to appear.

  John waited toward the back. He was the farthest he could be and still have a decent view of what was happening. He gripped his M4 that he knew so well. He spent nights tearing it apart and rebuilding it while blind folded. Only when he would drop a part on the floor and fight to find it in the pitch black would he finally give up and try to remember how many times he rebuilt his rifle.

  Hours passed by. Men doze off as they lay against the gravel and dirt. The adrenaline rush of waiting caught up to them quickly. The first time in battle is a war on the hormones and nerves. When they found their spots and decided on their cover their hearts raced. Sweat dripped from their brows. Hands shook as they checked and recheck their rifles. Then time passed and their anxiety left. Soon men were sleeping in the dirt worn out from the stress of waiting. Their minds, never truly shut off from the surrounding world, they would wake up to the sound of any foreign noise.