by Jay Vielle
“Scriptures?” asked Mark.
“You believe in God, don’t you son?” asked Wes.
“Well, yeah, of course. But, I mean, there’s a lot of room for interpretation,” said Mark.
“That’s what the liberals want you to believe, Mark. That way they can press their agendas on you. They ignore the blatant wording about sodomy and abortion, and focus on the unconditional love part. Of course they would. They pick and choose their wording of the Bible. Don’t fall into their trap.”
“Sodomy and abortion?” asked Mark.
“Do you know any other ways gays have sex?” asked Wes.
“I think we’re digressing a little, Wes. I’m not an authority on gay sex. I don’t pretend to be that big an authority on the Bible. I teach history and political science. I know a lot of history, and much of the Bible involves documented historical events, but I think there’s more to it than that.”
“Of course there is. Word of God. It’s more than history. Glad we agree on that,” said Wes.
Lou Orville entered the principal’s office and nodded to Mark. Mark nodded back.
“Lou! How are you feeling, my boy? Did you get some ice on that noggin of yours? The ladies said we still had plenty of ice, and I think medical use precludes everything else,” said Wes.
“Yeah, Wes. It’s better. Thanks. Melanie sent me to tell you that she’s got a notebook written now with everybody’s name and some personal information about everyone who’s still here, just like you requested,” Lou said.
“Fantastic. Thanks, lad. Let me take a look at that bump,” said Wes. Lou parted his hair and displayed a lump on his skull, swollen to the size of a half dollar.
“Ouch,” said Wes. “Reminds me of a goose egg I got one time after I got hit by a golf ball. Either of you two play golf?” Lou nodded; Mark shrugged as if to say ‘a little.’
“I play at the country club all the time,” said Wes. “And before you ask me how I afford it as a teacher, the wife’s family has the money. They gave us lifetime memberships as a wedding present.”
“I play with some of the football coaches,” said Lou. “Well, I mean, I used to.” The mood went somber quickly, as each of the faces in the room deflated a little with a reminder of their current situation.
“Now don’t you worry, Lou,” said Wes. “We’re all going to get out of this alright. Things might be tough, but America will rebound, and we’ll rebuild it better than ever.”
Mark smiled at Wes’ enthusiasm, and nodded in agreement. “Yes, yes we will,” he said. It was Wes Kent’s enthusiasm that had attracted Mark to his side in the first place, along with what seemed like his own natural rivalry with Jake Fisher. Fisher had always been such a realist, seemed so cynical, so quick to assume the worst in people in a crisis. He also thought Fisher was a bit of a bully. He always did whatever he wanted, and others just seemed to gravitate towards that, and it always drove Mark crazy. Fisher was the department chair, always throwing his authority around. Why should Fisher get all of the popularity and attention? Mark felt that he was just as smart. Probably smarter. He was glad to see someone put Fisher in his place. Wes was more upbeat than Jake anyway. Some of his religious ideas seemed a little out there, but it was kind of par for this area. Western Maryland—from Carroll County just south of Gettysburg, all the way out to Deep Creek Lake on the West Virginia border—was always very conservative. Lots of Christian right in this region of what had always been generally a very liberal blue state. Mark had been raised by old time conservatives who liked the idea of small government, fewer taxes, and people taking care of themselves. So naturally, he often voted for the same people Wes did. He could do without Wes’ sermonizing, but he figured that it was because Wes was so much older than he was. Older people always like to preach. They seemed to act like they’d earned the right to be heard just because they had lived longer. At twenty-nine years of age, Mark was at the peak of his own physical health. Decently built, good-looking, intelligent. He felt that some of the old guard power brokers in the school really didn’t deserve all of the influence they swung around. At least Wes Kent was giving pep talks and avoiding the rash actions of a Jake Fisher.
Fisher’s actual departure, however, was a bit of a surprise. When Wes had proposed different leadership while Jake, Eddie Reyes, and Lou had gone to Wal Mart, Mark was all for it. He saw his chance to move to the forefront, even if it meant hitching his wagon to Wes Kent for it. He and Wes agreed on a number of things, which was what he had been trying to say before Lou walked in. He had not imagined that Wes would suggest Fisher leave. That seemed extreme, considering the harsh conditions of the outside world. But before he could moderate that stance, Fisher had agreed and left on his own. Since then he’d been trying to convince himself all of it was going to happen that way anyway, and that things had worked out. Then Wes started preaching, which always made him a bit uncomfortable. But Wes’ optimism was contagious, and he felt better about everything that had happened now.
“Wes, I have that list you wanted,” said Melanie Richmond, walking towards the office.
“Thanks Melanie,” said Wes. “Lou told me you’d finished. This will be a big help in getting to know everyone here. How on Earth did you accomplish it this fast?”
“I just spoke with everyone while we were eating brunch. Told them that we all wanted to get to know each other better and learn things about one another. Most people were eager to talk. Just having conversations again about anything besides the state of the world. I think they liked that,” she said.
“Of course they did,” said Wes. “That was the idea. Thanks so much,” he said, taking the notebook. “I’m going to get to work on this right now,” he said. “I need to study up on people. See what we’re working with here.”
He leaned back in the tall, black, padded office chair and propped his feet up on the desk again.
“This will give me a place to start from while talking with these folks,” he said. “Get to know our flock better.”
Flock, thought Mark. There’s that word again.
“You ever been on a farm, Lou?” asked Wes.
“Yeah,” said Lou. “My family had some sheep when I was little. We sold the farm before I got into high school though. Why do you ask?”
“My grandfather owned several cattle ranches. Just wondering if you understand the concept of ‘thinning the herd.’ Sometimes you have to thin the herd to ensure their survival. Remove undesirables from the general flock, to make sure their overall health is secure.”
“Yeah,” said Lou. “My dad used to say that too. Why do you ask?”
“Our flock here got thinner with the departure of Jake Fisher and his undesirables. We’re now stronger because of it. I just want to make sure we don’t need to thin the herd a bit more,” said Wes. “This notebook will help me get a much better handle on that.”
Mark stirred in his seat uncomfortably again.
CHAPTER 10
“How much further until Lexington?” I asked. “Are we close?”
“Yes,” said Jake. “About 5 miles now.”
We had driven past large towns and one small city. I was insanely curious about who was alive, where people might be, if any of those orange things we saw were anywhere else--but Jake was driving like a man possessed. There was absolutely no one else on the highway, which was eerie. Maureen would comment every now and then about a restaurant that she and her ex had eaten in, or a town they had visited on the way to some baseball stadium in the minor leagues. Then she would comment about wondering if he had been secretly visiting girlfriends there when she wasn’t around, get morose, and shut down for a few minutes. Al was there to console her. They seemed to have moved past whatever awkwardness they had been feeling from whatever rendezvous they had previously had. Jada and Glen were holding hands a lot as well—the only teenagers around. Glen was a senior, Jada a freshman—which, under ordinary circumstances might have been a little awkward—but Jada was built like an adult,
and according to Glen, she was a year older than most freshman at fifteen, and Glen, while built like a Mack truck, was a youngish senior. Besides that, we seemed to be the only people in the world.
Estela had quieted down as well. We would talk in Spanish every now and then, but she seemed as if she might be regretting her decision. I’m not sure how she would have fared back in Emmitsburg alone, though. Maybe being an immigrant these days is tougher than I realize. It’s ironic, because everyone presumes that I’m an immigrant based on how I look. I am clearly Hispanic, and I do speak Spanish, but I was born in the U.S. to two people with advanced graduate degrees, so my experience here was nothing like Estela’s. At least, that’s what I was presuming. She wasn’t opening up. Not yet at least. But I hoped to get her to talk a little more about herself soon.
The Colonel was coming back to life and becoming more animated. He must have really been in bad shape. He had downed four bottles of water and eaten three granola bars. Ordinarily in survival situations, that might raise some red flags, but we all agreed that these were exceptional circumstances. The Colonel was telling us a little about the workings of Fort Detrick. He was very careful, however, not to divulge anything even remotely classified. Col. Raymond Cannaveral was in his sixties, in very good shape for someone his age, with a tightly cropped military haircut and wire-rimmed glasses. He was friendly, if a bit stiff, and was awkwardly dyed-in-the-wool Army all the way. The army had a handbook on everything, and for every possible problem that came up, the Colonel would quote some military field guide, whose answer to everything was superior—and in our situation, nearly impossible to complete due to our unlikely circumstances in a post-Apocalyptic style nuclear war.
Wendy could not seem to get enough of Jake. She too, had recovered like Ray, but she had not seemed quite as affected by starvation and dehydration as her boss. She had moved to the front of the bus to talk with Jake and was spilling her entire life story to him. She was immediately pretty for a woman of her age, which seemed to be in the early forties. She had long black hair, had a thin, athletic body, beautiful skin, and expressive eyes. She was clearly Asian in background, but with softened, rounded facial features. We discovered that was because her mother was a white American woman who had met her father on a student exchange program in Japan. Dad had taken a great deal of heat at home for falling in love with and marrying a Gaijin—essentially a foreign white person—and they had moved to the states to make a life in Washington. Wendy had been a hundred different things in a hundred different places and had a hundred different jobs. The conversation she was having with Jake was a punch-counter punch between world travelers who had done unusual things. Each time Jake casually mentioned an experience he’d had, Wendy would identify with a similar one of her own. I wouldn’t say that I knew for certain that Jake was attracted to her. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about any of that yet. But it was clear that they were mutually interested. They were glued to each other conversationally, and had been so for almost four hours now. I had been listening in, contributing mildly when I could, because my attempts to get Estela talking hadn’t worked, and Al and Maureen had paired off, and the teens kept to themselves as well. I felt like a third wheel, but I found Wendy fascinating myself, and I wasn’t attracted to her for obvious reasons. To be honest, I can’t believe anyone wouldn’t have been attracted to her. She was almost too good to be true. At any rate, Jake was smiling, talking, and speeding like a madman on interstate 81, and we were approaching our destination.
“The exit to I-64 is coming up, Marine,” said the Colonel.
“I know Colonel, but I’m going to get my boy first. He’s only a couple of miles ahead at VMI.”
The Colonel frowned slightly, thought about Jake’s answer, and eventually nodded.
“VMI, huh? Good institution. Not West Point of course. I was hoping to get this information to someone soon, son. Didn’t want to dilly-dally with so much at stake,” said Ray.
“All due respect sir, but this is my trip. I’m not gonna come within a couple of miles of half of my reason for coming here and then drive an hour out of my way to West Virginia,” said Jake.
“Seriously, Ray. This is his son,” said Wendy admonishingly. The Colonel gave a mild scowl at the rebuke.
As we exited the highway and got onto Route 11, an incredibly scenic road in Virginia akin to the famed Route 66 out West, the greenery exploded and the hills appeared. Vibrantly green fields rolled to either side, trees abounded, and houses began to look more and more like Southern mansions. It was gorgeous down here. Not that different really from Emmitsburg, but somehow cleaner, classier, and more historic. As we got closer to Lexington, we saw something we had not seen the entire trip.
Life.
People were walking on the street, heading to the grocery store, buying gas, living life. This town did not seem to have been affected in any way. Suddenly I wondered if we had stopped in Harrisonburg or Staunton if we would have seen the same thing. Jake slowed, and everyone’s mouths seemed to drop a little.
“There’s people everywhere,” said Glen. “It’s like…normal here.”
The excitement was a little contagious. Considering what the people on our bus had been through the last several days, this type of normalcy was almost shocking.
“We need fuel,” said Jake. “I’m pulling in.”
Jake got out, opened the bus doors, and everyone rushed out into the fresh air. People stared at us. We must have looked strange, taking in deep gulps of air and looking around with fresh eyes. Lexington was a small town, but populated enough to be a complete one. There were two colleges there: Washington & Lee University, and Virginia Military Institute. It was also a historic place in terms of the Civil War, so there was enough commerce along Route 11 for things to seem very different from the places we had just left.
“Shit,” Jake said, with a gas hose in his hands. “I didn’t think of this.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“We need fuel, but I don’t have any money. Just credit cards. And in a world with no electricity or internet…”
“Look around, Jake. These people have electricity. Hell, they might even have internet,” I said. “Why don’t we ask them?”
I walked inside the station where a grizzled old southern man was waiting behind a counter. Off to the side, distinct smells of bacon and gravy were wafting heavily in the air, and a couple of tables sat in front of a large grill on one side of the station.
“Howdy. May I help y’all?” asked the man.
“Yes, thanks,” I answered. “We’re coming from up north a little ways, and we didn’t have electricity there, and you all seem to have it. Are you able to take credit cards to pay for things?”
“Kinda depends on the card. Some have, some haven’t. Guessin’ it has to do with what city the banks have all their computers and such as to whether they work. It’s been hit or miss the past few days. We heard tell of all the trouble, bombs and all. Thank God none of that happened here. Guess the country’s gonna be tryin’ to climb back out over the next year or so,” said the man.
“Um, so what do we do if none of our cards work?” I asked.
The man grinned a gap-toothed smile, reached down to a shelf behind the counter, and pulled out a small imprint machine and slapped it down in front of me.
“You’re probably not old enough to know what this is, young feller, but this is what we used in my time. It still works. You gotta mail the slips in, but they transfer the money eventually.”
“But, are you sure that’s gonna happen…now?” I asked.
“That’s what credit is, sonny. It’s people trustin’ that eventually they’ll make good on what they owe. ‘Round here for years, we’d buy stuff on nothin’ more than a feller’s word, and at the end of the month he’d pay what he could. Then credit cards and computers changed all that. Now all it takes is a good blackout for us to go right back to ‘em. Your generation ain’t as trustin’ as mine. Maybe that’s a good
thing,” he said. “Anyway, go get y’all’s gas, and bring y’all’s card back if it don’t work out there and we’ll take care of you.”
I gave Jake the thumbs up and he started putting diesel fuel into the bus. We hadn’t used as much as I thought we might, but the bus was shorter than the normal size. It was one used for transporting Life Skills and Autistic kids to the local ARC after school. The Association for Retarded Citizens was a haven for those kids, helping to find them work, helping their families adapt to their children moving on after high school, and being supportive in general to as much mainstreaming as possible. I felt a little guilty that we had taken their bus, but as Jake pointed out, whoever had been driving it had left it wide open with keys dangling, and with the current state of things, it would be a while before it was missed—if it was even missed at all.
“Here’s your receipt, young man,” said the attendant, leaning past the counter to give it to me.
“What are things like up north?” he said. “We don’t hear much. Nobody seems to have land lines anymore except for businesses. I tried calling my sister in Fairfax at her job, but nobody’s answering.”
“I can’t speak for Fairfax, but things up by us were pretty bad,” I said. We were holed up in the high school where we work for a few days before our driver decided to come down and look for his son here at VMI, but the town had started falling apart. Power was off and on back home. There was looting, violence. Bad stuff. Those folks,” I said pointing to Wendy and the Colonel, “they had it even worse. They were at Fort Detrick in Frederick. A lot of death in that city.”
I decided not to mention the orange creatures at the moment. I wasn’t even sure I believed my own eyes, and I certainly was having trouble processing the crazy tale told to us by our two guest riders.