Tomorrow, I’m going to pack up every scrap of food in the apartment that I can lay my hands on. Then I’ll go to the store and use any remaining script I have to buy food. Come Sunday night, I’ll stake out the jail where Dylan is being held. I’ll note who comes and goes from the building so that I’ll have a better idea of what I’m up against. I’ll keep the pickup truck I used today nearby, loaded with all our supplies. They have more than enough vehicles at the garden, and most of the work being done there right now is harvesting, so it won’t be missed. People borrow them all the time for little jobs or errands.
Once I see the security detail leave with Dylan to take him to the execution site (I still can’t believe they’re going through with this), I’ll give them a head start and then follow them. I’ll have to be careful, otherwise they’ll see me, and my cover will be blown. If they see the truck and find me driving it, they’ll know immediately that something is up, and I’ll never have a chance of getting my boy back. Once they get wherever they’re going, I’ll park where they can’t see me and hike to the site of the execution. I’ll have to balance my approach carefully. I’ll need to be stealthy enough not to be noticed, but quick enough not to be too late. Hopefully there won’t be more than a couple men there to carry out the execution. If there are more, my already slim chance of success will be next to nothing.
I figure they won’t be expecting an escape attempt. If there was a brave father in the picture or older brothers, they might be on the lookout for someone to try something. But with me – a pregnant woman – being Dylan’s only relative, I can only pray that they won’t be thinking along those lines.
AND I have an ace up my sleeve.
Sunday afternoon, before I begin my stakeout later in the night, I’m going to stagger across the hallway to Lamar’s apartment. I’m going to tell him that I’m having pains relating to my pregnancy and need assistance.
After the mini-outbreak outside Atlanta, Gerald is usually involved in any medical issues that arise to ensure that the rest of the community isn’t affected. His wife Carolyn (the town gossip), typically accompanies him. Not only was Carolyn a nurse in her younger days, but her nosiness won’t allow her to not to be involved in whatever is going on. When they arrive, I’ll tell them that I’m feeling better, but that the pregnancy has been a tough one (they’re aware of my bouts of morning sickness) and that Dylan’s trial and resulting death-sentence has taken so great a toll on me that I’m suffering from exhaustion. I think I can pull it off. It will make them think that I’m too weak to try anything, and Carolyn (being the busybody that she is) will ensure that the news of my “delicate” condition rapidly spreads around town. If my theorizing works out the way I hope, this will leave the guards more complacent when taking Dylan to his execution.
If there are three or four men at the execution, I have a shot. I’m pretty sure I can take out at least two before they realize what’s going on. It’s all in God’s hands from there. Maybe Dylan will be able to make a brake for it. Maybe the other guards will flee at the first signs of trouble. I have no idea. But if I can get Dylan back to the pickup truck and safely out of town, we’re gone for good and there’s no looking back. I figure we’ll head south, maybe to Florida. Or maybe we’ll go west into Alabama. I don’t know. At this point, I’m not worried about that. All I’m focused on is Monday. If we get past that, THEN I’ll deal with the future.
All I know for sure is that I’m going to get Dylan…or die trying. I just hate that I have to risk my unborn child in the process. But in this horrible new world of ours, maybe it’s just as well.
Sunday, August 17 th
6:44 p.m.
Right now, I’m in a sort of waiting game. I’m sitting on the floor of an upstairs room in an empty building overlooking the jail where Dylan is being held. It’s dusty, dirty, and hotter than hell in here, and the flies keep bombarding me since there’s little else to attract them. They’re driving me crazy. I keep flashing back to the old days when I’d be sitting comfortably in my air-conditioned condo and those commercials for starving children in Africa would come on the television. They’d have flies crawling on them – sometimes on their faces or around their eyes – and it didn’t even seem to bother them. Poor things. I felt for them then, and I have far more sympathy for them now. I’d open a window, but I’m afraid that doing so would alert people to my presence here.
I’m eating a dry peanut butter sandwich even though I’m not very hungry. I only have a little water to wash it down, so that makes it even less appetizing. But I want to keep my strength up for what I know is coming.
I took one last opportunity earlier today to stop by and talk to Violet. I told her that I might have to leave her. I didn’t want to scare her, and it was incredibly difficult, but I did my best to explain that I needed to help her brother, and that doing so might mean having to leave town.
I know it probably sounds ridiculous, justifying myself to a girl whose physical presence is no longer here, but I felt I owed it to her. I told her that if she could still hear me, not to be afraid, that she was in a better place now and that even though her earthly body would remain in Glasgow, her spirit and her memory will forever travel with us.
The thought of never being able to visit her grave again breaks my heart. I know that deep down, it’s silly to think that way, but I can’t help it. It’s almost as though I’m losing her all over again. Being able to visit her grave and talk to her has become a regular routine. It’s the one thing – the ONLY thing (other than Lamar) – I’ll miss about Glasgow.
8:35 p.m.
The last bits of daylight are fading fast. I brought a sleeping bag (not that I’ll need it for anything more than the comfort its cushioning provides with as hot as it is) and a pillow so I can continue my vigil.
I saw several truckloads of people leave town about 15 minutes ago. It’s the Olsten mission heading out for their night raid. They’re planning to torch the entire town. Real nice…much more productive than trying to talk to the people. I saw Chase climb into one of the trucks with his mechanic’s assistant to accompany the convoy. I don’t even care at this point – good riddance.
I find myself torn between trying to get some rest so that I have energy for tomorrow and staying awake to watch the jail. Dylan isn’t supposed to be moved until tomorrow, but I don’t want to fall asleep and have him be relocated without my knowledge. I’d never forgive myself if I miss my only opportunity to save him. But at the same time, I don’t want to be so exhausted when tomorrow comes that I do something foolish and foul up my one chance.
Right now, there is a sole guard on watch inside the jail. I thought about trying to break Dylan out tonight, but I know the guard would be instantly alert upon my arrival. And I also know that they keep the jail’s entry doors locked at night, so I don’t know if I’d even be admitted. Right now is when I find myself wishing I had help. I could go ask Lamar, but I’ve been burned so badly by the people in this town, I find myself distrustful of everyone.
I guess I’m on my own. I’m so nervous right now that I don’t think I could sleep even if I wanted to.
Monday, August 18 th
6:25 a.m.
It’s finally light enough to write, and I have so much to say. For once, I have something positive…no, make that downright FABULOUS to report! Dylan is safe and we are on the road out of Glasgow, hopefully never to see nor hear of that dust pile again.
And when I say “we”, I don’t just mean Dylan and me.
I can’t believe I’m saying this (and I feel guilty as hell about the thoughts I wrote down earlier regarding the father of my unborn child), but Chase came to our rescue.
Last night, about two hours after the Olsten convoy departed, a lone pickup truck returned and parked around the corner from the jail. I was just starting to doze in and out of consciousness, but I was instantly alert at the presence of the new arrival. Frankly, it terrified me. I wasn’t sure whether my concerns about Dylan being moved had
come to fruition or if it was the start of some vigilantly justice led by Erika, or maybe if it was something else altogether.
The sun had already set, making it difficult to see, but the person that exited the vehicle looked a hell of a lot like Chase (even in the dark). Therefore, I stealthily made my way downstairs and across the street to where I could get a better view. I hid myself around the corner of the jail, about ten feet from its front entrance. Within a minute, maybe two, Chase (I could tell it was him now from my new vantage point), came hustling out of the jail with Dylan in tow. I couldn’t believe it, and I was instantly wary of his motives. I thought that maybe Erika had convinced him to go get Dylan so that she could torture him or hold him captive and exact her sick revenge in the worst possible way (I certainly wouldn’t put it past her). But at the same time, I saw an opportunity – Dylan was free from his cell, guarded by a lone individual. It was the chance I’d been looking for, and best of all, there was a waiting vehicle right there.
As soon as Chase had Dylan loaded into the passenger side of the truck, I made my move. From the shadows of the position where I’d been hidden, I confronted Chase, holding him at bay with my loaded .38 aimed at his chest. He seemed surprise to see me, but not in a bad way. In fact, he seemed happy, even relieved.
He told me to get inside the truck and he’d explain everything, but that we had to be fast. I half wanted to believe him, but the other half was suspicious after the way he’d been acting over the past few days. But I figured we could discuss it inside vehicle. I told him to get in beside Dylan; I’d drive.
He was fine with it, but he said he didn’t know how much time we had. As I pulled away from the jail, he quickly explained that he’d just overpowered the jail’s security guard and quickly tied him up. He wasn’t sure how long it’d take the jailer to free himself, so we had to make the most of the next few minutes.
I drove straight back to our apartment. Chase continued to talk as we made the short trip back, headlights off. He said that he’d left the Olsten convoy on the pretense of having forgotten several of his most important tools. He told his assistant to stay with the convoy in case they needed help and that he’d catch up with them. Then he had waited for darkness to fall before returning to town. Once he was sure the town was quiet, he went to the jail, telling the guard that he wanted to drop off a late-night snack for Dylan – a “last meal” of sorts. As soon as he saw his chance, Chase had hit the guard, overpowered him, and tied him up. Then he took his keys and released Dylan from his cell. In hindsight, he wished he had put the guard in Dylan’s cell and locked him in. He just hadn’t thought of it at the time. But I didn’t care. All I cared about was Dylan being free.
I parked behind our apartment building and told Dylan to get out and lay flat in the back of the pickup’s bed. He got out silently and did exactly as directed. Once we were alone, Chase took my hand. There in the darkness, he apologized profusely for being so distant over the past few days. He said that initially he was trying to get Erika to do the right thing and find Dylan innocent, butter her up so to speak. But as soon as he realized there was no hope of getting her to change her mind, he realized that his only hope of helping Dylan would be to make the rest of the town think that we had split – that this thing with Barker and Reggie had driven us apart. Then, with the town under the assumption that I was on the outs, it’d give him the chance he needed – and tonight was that chance.
There in the darkness, I could hear the sincerity in his voice as he apologized for what he’d had to do, but he had seen no other way. It was something I could sense, something that only someone who has spent time with Chase, slept next to him, talked to him and listened to his words dozens of time in the dark, conceived a child with him, loved him, would be able to feel.
But I couldn’t linger on the fact that he was here, helping us…at least not then. So we made a quick but quiet trip upstairs and collected the few supplies I’d been able to set aside. On the way out, I slipped a pre-written note for Lamar under his door. It wouldn’t make total sense to him since I had written it with the plan of trying to rescue Dylan on the day of his execution, but I didn’t have time to re-write it. More than anything, I just wanted him to know that I appreciated his friendship and would miss him.
Then we threw everything in the back of Chase’s truck, along with the few supplies Chase had prepared, got Dylan back up front with us, and hit the road.
We’ve been driving the back roads of Georgia ever since. We don’t dare stop until we’re far enough from Glasgow that we’re sure we won’t be followed.
So here we are, almost a year after this whole mess began back in Chicago, on the road once again. But I don’t care, in fact, I can’t remember many times in my life where I’ve been happier. I have Dylan, I have Chase, and I have a new baby brewing inside me…and best of all, we’re free! Free of that horrid town, free of those people, and we have the opportunity to make a completely new life for ourselves…OUR life, the way WE want it, not how someone else wants it. I truly feel like pandemic pioneers. It’s terrifying yet exhilarating all at the same time.
After talking with Chase as we drove, I think we’ll shoot for Alabama…maybe somewhere along the coast.
I was so mad at Chase, but now I’m so thankful he’s back. It probably sounds like I’m being fickle, but I think I had good reason to be mad at him at the time and with the way he was acting. I mean, I thought he’d completely abandoned us!
He explained that he was afraid to tell me what he was doing. He thought that if I knew the truth, the way I would act toward him would not be convincing enough for the other townspeople to believe. While he realized that what he was doing to me was terrible at the time, he needed me to look like I’d really been dumped by the man I loved. It was crucial that it look realistic. He even took to sleeping in a recliner he’d put in the back of the gas station where his repair shop was located so that he wouldn’t be seen coming home to our apartment. He said that being away from me, and Dylan, and our unborn baby under such circumstances was one of the worst things he’d ever endured, and that he was terrified I might not take him back when he finally explained what he’d been trying to do.
And while I hate him for putting me through all that, I have to admit, he’s probably right. I don’t think that even the best actor could have looked as miserable as I did during that time.
But knowing what I know now, and seeing what Chase did for us and what he’s risked for me and Dylan, there’s no way I can stay mad at him. I totally get why he was acting the way he was. He’s gone from being at the top of my shit list to my knight in shining armor. How have I been so lucky as to have found TWO men willing to risk their lives for me? First with Chris giving his life to save us in Chicago, and now with Chase having abandoned the people he new and grew up with to turn a bleak situation into one where there is finally hope, and not just hope for me, but hope for Dylan, hope for the baby, hope for our FAMILY. I finally feel confident in calling us that after what Chase has done.
March 2 nd
2:02 p.m.
I have no idea what day of the week it is. I suppose I could go back through my previous journal entries and figure it out, but it’s not worth it. Frankly, it’s lucky I know the date considering I can’t exactly pick up a wall calendar at the local bank anymore. And the only reason I know the date is due to Chase’s watch that keeps track; otherwise, none of us would have a clue. When the watch battery dies, I guess we won’t even know the date anymore. I suppose by that point, it won’t really matter.
I’m glad that we know it now, though, because we can assign a birthday to the new addition to the family…our lovely new baby – Daisy. Chase and I choose the name in honor of my other darling, Violet. Plus, we felt the name was such a fresh, upbeat, shiny and bright sounding name for what we hope to be a similar start to our new lives.
After we left Glasgow, we drove for several days looking for a new place to settle. We ended up in a secluded spot along Miss
issippi’s gulf coast. The area is lightly populated (and when I say ‘lightly’, I mean LIGHTLY!). I’d say we’ve encountered just a couple dozen people in the half year we’ve lived here. Most of them live within a ten miles radius of our own little homestead. We see our neighbors occasionally (they seem like decent people), but we have largely adopted a relatively secluded subsistence lifestyle. It seems to be the safest route to go these days, especially after our previous attempts at living in a more organized community.
We enjoy our solitude, but that’s not to say there aren’t still people and cities. Biloxi is a relative ghost town, but Mobile has people, people with jobs and products they produce. But with more people come more problems. There are reports of high crime there, continued infighting between the residents, power plays among the city’s various leadership factions, and constant outbreaks of things like cholera, malaria, West Nile virus, salmonella, and dysentery from the poor living conditions. It’s pretty much a cesspool of sickness. If a tooth needs pulled or you have an extreme health issue that needs to be treated by one of the few remaining medical professionals then you go to Mobile, get your fix, and beat it the hell out of there. Mostly the city is only good for vices – booze, drugs, and picking up a venereal disease or two from the local prostitutes (a profession that’s been kicked into high gear since the collapse of civilization). Otherwise, you do your best to stay away.
The Pandemic Diaries [Books 1-3] Page 38