Ferryman

by Jonathon Wise

  Chuck started clanging the bell on the platform as fast as he could.

  Andy was the first to show. He slung himself out of the house next door while balancing the hunting rifle that Chuck gave him in one hand and trying to pull on his left shoe with the other. He tripped going down the steps and lost the rifle just as he hit the dirt. One dusty roll later his athleticism brought him back under control. He snapped the rifle off the ground as he sprang to his feet and sprinted over to Chuck. “Where are they?” he panted.

  Chuck calmed him with a raise of his hand. “It’s okay, it’s not Jason. I have news for everyone.”

  Andy bent over and grabbed his knees while Chuck signaled for the others to stay calm. With the initial fear that they were under attack quenched, everyone proceeded to gather around the platform in an orderly fashion. As their numbers began to grow, so did their curiosity about what was going on.

  Chuck raised his hands and the murmur of questions and concern died out. First off he said, “Jason and his men are not attacking.” He followed that with a smile that couldn’t be contained any longer, “I think I know why we survived. The genetic defect that the scientists talked about.” He looked across their faces as a sudden hush fell across the fourteen souls gathered around him.

  Cindy stood with the others around the platform, but there was no look of curiosity on her face, only a smile. A smile meant to convey more than just excitement over what he was about to say. Last night she told him that she loved him. He held her and kissed her, but hadn’t told her what should have been said—that he loved her too.

  Chuck glanced over at Lori and Kyle with an eye of discovery. He found Sara standing with Jim Sinclair, and down in front he saw young Robby—held still by his sister who was standing behind him. There were four redheads in a group of fifteen. He looked at the others. Brandt Watson, Julie McAllister, little Mike Donaldson, Cathy Ferguson and the rest. His grin kept growing. Finally he said, “This is really important…so I want you to think before you answer. How many of you know where your ancestors came from?”

  A few raised their hands right off. Others were slower to respond, but after a couple of seconds almost a third of the hands were showing.

  Chuck held his hands out and spread them apart. “I want you guys to separate—hands in the air to the left, others to the right.”

  Jeff Neilson asked, “What is it Chuck? What are you looking for?”

  “You guys still remember when everyone was dying, after the first one pulled through the doctors speculated that it was because of some genetic defect the woman had.” He saw a few nods in the crowd. “I remember the comparison they used to explain it. They talked about how people in some part of Africa had this genetic defect in their blood that caused Sickle-Cell Anemia, but that the same defect also made them less susceptible to malaria. What if we lived because of something like that?”

  The crowd started looking around at one another. Chuck pointed to the group on the left, “Where’d your ancestors come from?”

  The new arrival Jamie Ross, spoke up first, “My father always claimed we were Scottish.”

  Julie glanced at Jamie before looking back at Chuck. “I’m part Scottish or Irish…don’t know for sure which one.”

  Teresa was still holding Robby to keep him from wandering. She said, “We used to go to the Scottish festival at Military Park every year. My dad said that we should be proud of where we came from.”

  Chuck met Kyle Thomson’s eyes and a nod told him all he needed. He looked at those standing to the right, Cindy among them. “Ms. McKay,” he said with a smile. Like he was taking a headcount, he pointed at each individual standing to the right and announced their surnames to the group. “There may be no way to tell for sure, but I think it’s a safe bet that we all share a common tie. Maybe not full blood—but at least some part of all our family trees came from Scotland. Enough of it anyway that we all carry the same genetic defect. The same genetic defect that enabled us to survive the bug and the End.”

  Cindy was the first to voice the obvious challenge to his logic. With a look of question on her face, she asked, “Why did I lose my family then?”

  Lori Wilson echoed the same question about her brother.

  Chuck raised his hands for silence again as the group started to get restless. “The doctors didn’t say anything about being immune. They only talked about being less susceptible. If we were immune we probably wouldn’t have gone through the same symptoms as everyone else.” Chuck pointed to Andy and asked, “Did you go down with the convulsions before passing out?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Didn’t we all go down with the symptoms? Didn’t our parents, our brothers and our sisters all go down with the same symptoms?”

  There were nods and solemn confirmations to Chuck’s question as some started thinking about the last days before the End.

  “It may be like how a cold or flu hits some of us harder than others. Luck had a play in it. By chance you survived where your brother or sister didn’t quite make it.”

  Chuck watched as the group finally started taking hold of what he was saying. First there were subdued nods of thoughtful acceptance. Then a few smiles and hugs between friends. It continued to build as laughter of both surprise and acceptance broke out. The giant burden of guilt everyone felt was being lifted from their shoulders. They finally had a reason for why they survived when their friends and loved ones didn’t.

  Cindy looked up at Chuck and held out her hand. In an instant he was on the ground with her, holding her in his arms. But their private moment was short lived as others came around and started slapping Chuck on the back, or wrapping their arms around the both of them in one giant hug. A moment later, Chuck and Cindy were mingling and rejoicing with the rest. It was the most uplifting time in their lives since it happened.

  After several minutes of joyful ruckus and play, Chuck made his way through the others back to the platform. He stepped up barely able to contain his own joy. Without wasting any time in trying to still the group with his hands, he rang the bell and after few seconds they all took control of their emotions. Sharing their excitement and about to burst himself, he yelled out, “Do you know what this means?”

  A hush came over everyone as they looked up at Chuck, unable to follow the path he was laying before them. Julie spoke up. “What…what do you mean?”

  Chuck was a little surprised that he had to say it. “It means that we could find civilization in Scotland. Now there’s no guarantee, but logic would suggest that the number of survivors may be much greater there. And if that’s true, there may still be civilization close to what it was like before the End.” The reaction wasn’t what he expected. He stood and watched as strange looks and questionable glances were exchanged between most of those standing before the platform. “Don’t you guys understand?”

  “But Chuck,” Jeff seemed to speak for everyone, “why would we even try to go to Scotland? We have everything we need right here.”

  Chuck shook his head in frustration. “You’re right…you have what you need to live—the necessities anyway. But what you don’t have is a future. Obstacles are going to come up that we don’t have the numbers or the knowledge to overcome. I probably use the library more than any of you, but it can only help us so much. No matter how much we read we’re never going to be doctors or engineers. We can’t just think about the here and now.” He paused long enough to make eye contact with all the adults. “Can any of you honestly tell me that you’ve spent any time thinking about what the future holds for these kids…or the future of the world?” With a scowl, he continued, “We survived by the grace of some genetic anomaly, but are we to be the end of it? Is Mankind destined to die out with us? Are we just going to sit back and accept that we can’t have any children?” He drove in the thought with a pause and discerning look. “Not me! And I can’t believe that you folks would accept it either. In fact I won’t!” he barked out. “We’ve been through too much to simply g
ive up on a future.”

  Cathy Ferguson raised her head and said, “But no one has had a baby that lived.”

  “I know, I know, but that doesn’t mean we won’t or can’t. I KNOW that someday a child will be born—a baby will live. And our burden isn’t just the genetic anomaly that allowed us to live. Our burden, our purpose is to ensure that when it happens, that there will still be a world for that child to grow up in. It’s our responsibility to start over, not to give up. If we can’t dream of a future, how can we ever expect those who come after us to? I know that we could all use a sign, something to base our hope in.” Chuck paused as he pictured the boy standing with Cindy in his dream. “It will come. But while we wait, we need to take the next step.” With a heart-felt stare, he shared his strength and conviction with each individual until they slowly started nodding with him. “The next step is going to a place where there’s enough people to overcome any obstacles thrown at us.”

  Chuck had done what he could. The only thing left to do was to give them the time to decide. He waited on the platform as several simultaneous discussions broke out in the gathering. After several minutes he was about to head over for the comfort of the porch swing when the discussions broke long enough for Kyle to speak up. “Suppose you’re right. We find more survivors there and together we learn how to overcome the obstacles you’re talking about. Then what?”

  Chuck dipped his head and put some thought into his answer. “Then you take what you’ve learned and go back out to the rest of the world and save as many as you can. You bring hope back to those who’ve lost it.”

  Discussion picked up again for several minutes. It was only natural that he was nervous as he watched his friends slowly make up their minds and turn back to the platform. He trusted his instincts and he trusted his belief in the dream. But when it came down to it, the only thing that truly mattered at that moment was whether they trusted him. With that decision at hand, he yelled one more time. “Now do you know what this means?”

  Andy pumped his fist into the air and answered in an equally loud and determined yell that was meant to instill a like belief in the others, “We’re going to Scotland!”

  Someone else yelled Scotland. Chuck smiled and pumped his fist into the air, “Scotland!”

  Sara joined in and proclaimed, “I’m not going to give up!”

  “None of us are!” erupted someone anonymously in the crowd as the momentum continued to build.

  A question asked in a soft voice broke through the growing enthusiasm. “But how will we get there?” It was Teresa.

  Silence fell over the crowd again as all eyes turned to Chuck. This time he saw something different in the faces that awaited his response. Gone was the look of giving up. In its place was something else—a look he could embrace. They all shared the familiar face of a child who has just had a present dangled before his face and now wants it more than anything else in the world. It was the look of hope. He yelled out, “Does anyone know how to sail?” A hand slowly rose in the middle of the crowd. Chuck pointed to the individual and announced, “Everyone, I give you Mr. Jim Sinclair!” and the crowd erupted into celebration.

  Chuck jumped down and made his way through the joyful hugs, handshakes and backslaps until he found Cindy. There, in a sea of commotion, he wrapped his arms around her, looked into her eyes and said, “I love you.”

  She let out a whimper of joy and excitement in return as she clutched him in her arms and feverishly kissed his face.

  Chapter 38

  Mike prayed that Bill would remain unconscious this time. He had already endured Bill coming out of it three times, and each time it was the same horrific experience. While Bill was still groggy there would be the low, drawn-out, incoherent moans of pain that would give Mike a chance to prepare himself. Then Bill would once again realize that his left hand had been sawn off just above the wrist and those godforsaken screams of hysteria would start. Short shrills at the top of Bill’s lungs followed by quick, sobbing, gasps for breath that cut off as quickly as they started by more nerve shattering shrills.

  Mike tensed up like a board each time. Still tied to the car and unable to help, all he could do was shut his eyes and try to block the horrible sounds from his mind. When that didn’t help, he would try to drown out Bill’s cries by screaming so loud himself that he could feel the vibrations in his skull. Then not more than two or three after that, the cries of pain would stop as Bill would pass out again. Mike’s stomach would ease back down and he would wait, unable to sleep, preparing himself for the next time Bill woke. That’s how the first night went.

  Mike woke early the next day when Jason, Mark and a few others emerged from the hotel across the street. The light of predawn gave the whole ordeal a nightmarish quality. The sight of the small, square-bladed saw in Mark’s hand forced Mike to remember that the nightmare was all too real. As they walked past him on their way toward Bill, Mike yelled, “Jason, come on, how fucking sick is this.”

  As if he were expecting it, Jason paused and slowly turned around. Mark stayed with him as the others walked on over to prepare Bill. Jason smiled and said, “Good morning! Hope the night wasn’t too harsh.”

  “Don’t hurt him anymore.”

  “Hey, if you want me to end his pain, all you have to do is tell me where the others are?”

  “I told you. It was just me and him. The others took off.”

  “Very well. Let’s hope your friend never needs to pick up anything,” Jason said with a grin before heading on over to Bill with Mark.

  “Goddamn it Jason! You’re a fucking lunatic!”

  Jason stopped again but kept his back to Mike.

  “You’re always fucking with people, asking them if they’re the one that will stop you. Well ask me again you fucking bastard! I’ll give you the answer you’re looking for!”

  Mark flared out his chest and started for Mike in a fit of anger, but Jason stopped him with a simple hand gesture. “Okay…” drawing out its pronunciation to where its meaning was more ominous than a simple reply. He turned around and Mike saw the most unnatural stare as he walked over. He stopped three feet away and asked in a calm and steady voice, “Are you the one that will stop me?”

  Mike’s thoughts started swimming in confusion and doubt as he was suddenly given the opportunity. If he ever wanted to kill a man, it was no more than now. The suffering had to end. But was he the one that could accomplish what others couldn’t? He had seen so much since the End, and some of what he had seen was unbelievable. Jason had an unnatural hold on his men. They believe that Jason was enforcing the will of God and that until God’s wrath is complete—no harm can come to him. They had all stood witness to events that supported that belief as truth, including himself. Could he stop Jason? His fear was founded in doubt. Like a seed starting to germinate, he sensed a feeling from deep within that he was not the one. In that same sense there was a reassuring thought that he knew who was. Still, he had to try. He pushed his chin out and said defiantly, “You’re damn right I am!”

  The three men that were preparing Bill heard the challenge and came running over to watch. Jason said, “You know the deal. You kill me and my men will let you and that poor cripple go free. But you only get one try, anything else and we’ll make sure that fuck never forgets that you’re the reason we wouldn’t let him die.”

  Mike pushed out his jaw and said, “Cut me lose you fucking asshole!”

  One of the men stepped over, whipped out a knife and cut the ropes holding Mike to the car.

  Mike’s legs were so stiff and lethargic that as soon as he lost the support of the ropes around his wrist, his weight almost pulled him crashing down to the asphalt. At the last second he caught himself and slowly managed to stand. Swaying under the push of the gentlest of breezes, he fought to steady himself as he rubbed the burn marks around his wrists. He would only have one shot, so he couldn’t afford to miss. He studied the weapon each man was holding and quickly pointed to the man standing to the rig
ht of Mark. “I’ll take his shotgun.”

  Jason looked at the man and nodded. The man walked over to Mike and pumped all five shells out of his Browning 12 gauge. He gathered up the shells and laid them on the ground at Mike’s feet along with the shotgun. Mike took his eyes off Jason and the others as he kneeled down and inspected each of the shells. He picked out the one that looked like a winner, grabbed the shotgun and stood up. The others stepped out of the line of fire as he loaded the one shell.

  While Mike pumped the shotgun, Mark pointed at him with his burly finger and spit out, “You who stand in the path of God’s wrath shall fail!” While the others in the tribe started running over, he swung his finger toward Jason and continued for all to hear, “For he is the hand of God!”

  Jason pushed his chest out and clapped his hands behind his back. As Mike aimed the shotgun at him he yelled, “Are you the one that will stop me!”

  Fatigue had taken its toll on Mike and it was hard enough holding the shotgun steady without thinking about what would happen next. He had watched this from the other side of the fence once before. Out of all the times Jason asked that question, he had only seen one other man stand up and say yes. It was shortly after the End. Jason was gathering his people when one of the men tried to challenge his authority. To get a rise out of him, the man made an unsavory comment about how Jason’s fiancée died. That was all it took. Jason was on him like a wild-man. In his entire life, Mike had never seen such a savage attack on another human being. But the scariest part was that right in the middle of the beating—Jason stopped and climbed off. While the man slowly pushed back up to his feet, Jason started crying and threw the man his gun. He told the man to stop him. In fact he begged the man to stop him. And the man tried. The man fired a 45 caliber Colt at Jason’s head from less than fifteen feet away, but somehow missed. Mike found it difficult to swallow as he remembered what Jason did to that man.