by Kurt Gepner
CHAPTER TWO
It was Friday morning, May twenty-fourth, at nine-twelve anti-meridians. Traveling eastbound in a nineteen sixty-five Ford F-250, painted primary green and yellow, pulling a twenty-six-foot U-haul, a baby blue nineteen seventy-two Volkswagon Minibus and a sixteen-foot dual-axle trailer, Hank lead a group of thirty refugees away from the sanctuary on Thirty-Second and Jasmine Street to make a new home in the distant mountains of the Gifford Pinchot National Forrest.
Among them were twelve children, nine girls and three boys, ranging from one to eleven years old. Two adolescent boys, craving masculine respect, were scouting ahead on their motorized scooters. Of the eleven women, six were under thirty years old. Five of the six men were over forty-five. The only man below that age was injured.
Hank eased the train of vehicles ahead and turned right on 33rd Avenue. They traveled no faster than a walk. With the application of a few more RPMs they crested the overpass that crossed Interstate Five. Hank coasted past the street where Salvador had saved Amanda. After rolling on for two more blocks they came to the first bottleneck of cars.
Hank shut down the truck and climbed out. From behind the cab, he pulled a six-foot-long steel pry bar. Silas was the first to join him, followed immediately by Dale and Camille. Tom came up next and then the two scouts, Jeremy and Brody. "Okay," Hank said perfunctorily. "Let’s see if we can just put them in neutral and push them off to the side of the road before..."
"Hey!" A shout rang down from the crest of the overpass. A lone man was waving down at them. Hank waved back and the man jogged toward him. As he approached, they saw that he was wearing a hiking pack, toting a duffle bag over his left shoulder and an M-16 over his right. Around his waist was a military utility belt, with a canteen, survival knife and ammo pouches. He wore a red T-shirt, tan shorts and low-top hiking boots.
Silas and Tom identified him as their former co-worker TJ. He was a little out of breath as he trotted to a halt. "Hey, Guys, I want to come with you," was the first thing he said.
Silas stepped forward and laid his hand on TJs shoulder. "How’s your momma, TJ?" He seemed gravely concerned.
The young man smiled and said, "She’s all right. The garage is about thirty feet away from the house and it didn’t burn down." He was grinning as he spoke. "My mom and her boyfriend are living in there. He sells Army surplus and MREs on the internet and he’s been using the garage as storage since they met, last month." TJ laughed. "They’re set for, like, a year. Plus, he’s got knives and guns and he’s even got grenades. I’m hooked up!" He un-slung the rifle and offered it to Silas.
Silas threw up his hands and backed away, shaking his head. "Oh no!" Silas said. "I don’t want that thing." His deep voice was an octave higher than its normal register. "We’ve got a long history together and I want no part of it."
TJ looked hurt and withdrew the rifle. "But, Silas, I thought you… I mean… I got this for you."
Swallowing hard and nodding, Silas took another step back. "I’m sure you did, Son. But this old soldier don’t dance with that girl, no more." His head slowly shook from side to side. "Un-uh. There’s too many things you wouldn’t understand." He turned his back to TJ and hung his head low. "Get that thing away from me… Please."
Crestfallen, TJ looked around at the people who had gathered. Hank, too, looked around. He stepped forward and nodded purposefully toward Silas, then back at the crowd. He waved his hands to shoo them off. Dale took the initiative to holler, "Okay, boys! Let’s roll some cars!" He headed off toward their first roadblock followed by Camille, Tom, Jeremy and Brody.
The rest of the refugees had gathered around the new arrival and Evie ushered the women and children back toward the U-haul. "Now that we’re really on the move," she said, "let’s try to figure out who’s going to do what, along the way."
When Hank was alone with TJ and Silas, he spoke with compassion to Silas’ back. "Listen, this isn’t about war and we’re not trying to rehash the past. More than any other time in the history of mankind, this moment is about the future." Silas put his hands on the fender of the Duck Truck and leaned against it, heavily. When it was apparent that he was going to remain silent, Hank continued. "Not a soul knows what you’ve gone through, Silas, but some of us can just barely imagine the possibilities."
"You can’t imagine," Silas interjected.
Hank gave the man’s back a brisk nod. "All right, we won’t even go there. But where we will go is here and now. I’m not asking you to take up that weapon. I remember enough about how to use one. What I am asking you to do is remember why you came along." Hank spoke with an uncannily accurate inflection of Silas’ speech. "Any time a man can be useful, I’d suppose he’d be wrong not to offer." Clearing his throat, he went on. "Well, Mister, if you still want to be useful, you can get your ass out there with the other guys and get those cars out of the way!"
Silas turned around and grinned at Hank. "Yes, Sir!" he said and trotted off to help the other men. Hank watched him go then spun to face the younger man. TJ looked awash with regret. Giving the younger man a wary smile, Hank drew in a deep breath, clapped his hands and vigorously rubbed them together as he hissed out his air. "Okay. Let’s see what you’ve got."
In addition to seven, full, thirty-round magazines for his M-16, TJ had a bayonet, three fragmentation grenades and a certified authentic Rambo survival knife. His duffle bag was stuffed to capacity with Meals-Ready-to-Eat, better known as MREs. In his backpack, and strapped to it, he had everything one might need to enjoy an indefinite camping expedition. There was a small tarp, a one-man tent, sleeping bag, multi-fuel single-burner stove and every variety of cooking and eating implements. He had three sets of clothes and some cold-weather gear, as well. He even had a small collapsible fishing rod packed away with a well-outfitted tackle box.
Hank whistled appreciatively, "Well, TJ, it looks like you bring a lot to the table." The younger man grinned. "But this is just stuff," Hank said with a dismissive wave. Twice in ten minutes TJ was crestfallen.
"What do you mean," TJ asked.
"I mean," Hank answered, "that these things are useful, for sure. In fact, some might argue, they’re indispensable. But these things can be found, traded for, stolen or otherwise procured. They are valuable," he said with a nod, "but not they’re not what I’m looking for."
"What?" TJ asked with confusion.
Hank plowed on. "I need men, TJ. If you haven’t noticed, we have a shortage." Hank lifted his chin in the direction of the other men who were laboring down the road.
"I’m a man," TJ said with a defensively high pitch.
Nodding, Hank said, "Maybe. But having a dick isn’t what I mean. I’m looking for somebody with a set of balls." With mouth agape, TJ regarded the middle-aged man. Hank went on. "I’m going to spell it out to you. I see that your hands are soft and you took the time this morning to put some jell in your hair." Hank observed the last with derision. "You’re wearing a gold chain around your neck, Ray-Ban sunglasses, an Eddie Bauer shirt and Nike hiking boots. In short, you’re nothing more than a pretty-boy, a dandy. In my book, that makes you a liability."
TJ’s jaw jacked up and down several times before he managed to say, "Uh…" Hank didn’t wait for the younger man to finish his sentence.
"Times have changed," Hank said in a conversational tone. "Wouldn’t you agree?" TJ nodded. "You’ve been given a full serving of perks, so far as I can tell. You’ve had all of the advantages that life could really offer, even up until today." Hank looked the younger man in the eye and asked, "Would you honestly disagree with me?"
TJ immediately looked away and said, "No."
"Well, I don’t see that as a problem," Hank said. TJ’s head snapped back in Hanks direction as the older man went on. His confusion was clearly compounding. "The way I see it, and feel free to disagree with me, nature favors the advantaged." TJ’s brow furrowed, bringing a half-grin to Hank’s lips before he went on. "You see, TJ, all of that easy living has done one o
f two things. It’s either made you wimp… or it’s given you an edge.
"Right now, you want to join up with the group that you think has the best chance for survival… or why else would you have left your mother’s boyfriend and all of those weapons and food?"
TJ looked thoughtful, but remained silent. Hank continued his monologue with a self-affirming nod. "You have more to prove than most. I want you to take those soft hands of yours and go out there with those men. I want you to show them how to bust ass and I want you to be an example for them. Will you do that?"
Working his tongue along his gums, TJ looked down the street, toward the men who were pushing a Volvo station wagon out of the road, about three blocks ahead. "You think I can’t work, because I’m good looking?" He said it without vanity, just a statement of fact. Hank pursed his lips and nodded. "I can work," TJ said as he set his gear against the front tire of the Duck Truck. He gave Hank a half-hearted sneer and said, "I look good, because I work out and take care of myself. I’m in better shape than anybody out there."
Hank gave the younger man’s physique an appraisal, nodding with approval. "It’s true, you’ve got good muscle tone. You’re nicely formed. But I bet you can’t even out work Camille. He’s eighty-three."
"Ha! You’re kidding, right?" TJ’s smirk said it all.
With a pleasant little smile, Hank said, "Go tell Camille that I want him to show you the ropes. If you can hang with him for the day, then I’ll reconsider my opinion of you."
"You’re serious?" TJ’s tone was reluctant.
"I’m serious that you’re wasting time," Hank said sternly.
TJ shook his head. "I can’t believe you’re teaming me up with an old man."
Hank snatched up the steel pry-bar that he’d rested against the truck door. He pushed past TJ and said, "Get the hell out of here, or do as I say!" Then he trudged on toward the other men, who were now five blocks ahead.
Within ten paces, TJ trotted past him. "Sorry, Hank," he said. "I didn’t think you were serious." Without waiting for a response, TJ jogged on until he’d caught up to Camille.
Norah had taken her daughters to join her mother for the strategy session, leaving Salvador to sit alone. From the cab of the U-haul, Salvador watched and listened to everything that had transpired between the men. He was amazed by how Hank had pulled the strings of that new guy.
Before now, Salvador hadn’t spent much time around the older man and Norah rarely talked about her parents, so Salvador had never respected him. If anything he hated his father-in-law, because the man always acted like he was right about everything and he rubbed it in everyone’s face, all the time. Now, Salvador’s view of so many things had changed.
Last night, while he was savoring the lingering aroma of barbequed steaks, Salvador had overheard what Hank said about him making a bad decision. He had felt a lump form in his gut when Hank called him a liability. Salvador wanted to be angry about what Hank had said, but he couldn’t. He knew that his father-in-law was right.
The guilt he felt for getting himself hurt weighed heavily on his mind. As he watched and listened to Hank manipulating the guy named TJ, Salvador realized that his father-in-law was establishing his authority. That was something Salvador could understand. He had always wound up working for some incompetent bastard, who couldn’t make a decision. In that regard, Salvador held his father-in-law in high esteem. Not only was Hank able to make a decision, but he was able to get people to do what he wanted them to do. It would be one thing if he was paying them, but Hank had nothing over these people. He just got people to do things.
Right now, he was getting this guy to go out and bust his ass moving cars. The hell of it was that the guy didn’t need to do anything that Hank said. He had everything he needed to make it on his own! But Hank had just acted like the guy had dumped a load of crap on the ground. Salvador shook his head as he watched the new guy pile all his stuff up against the front wheel of the Duck Truck and run up the road.
He hated that he couldn’t be out there helping. The women were in the back, doing whatever, and here he was stuck in the cab of a gutted out U-haul that stank of gasoline. His pain medication was making him drowsy, but he didn’t want to be caught sleeping when the men got back. If they could go out and work, he could keep his eyes open. It was getting difficult though and he couldn’t shake his head or slap his own face. Squeezing his eyes shut and opening them wide caused pain to stab into his jaw.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a motion. Looking over, Salvador saw a couple of heads poking out from behind a tree that was next to a fence. One was looking down the road, toward the men while the other was looking back toward the women. Through the mist of his medication, Salvador thought something about the people seemed out of place.
The head that was looking back belonged to a girl of about fifteen, with her hair pulled into a pony-tail. She was saying, "It’s clear… Still clear… Still clear…," her florescent green braces flashing each time. The other was a man with long graying hair, also tied into a pony-tail. He was saying, "Just wait… Wait… Wait… Okay, go!" It only took a couple of seconds, but it took that long before Salvador realized what was going on.
When the man said, "Go" they both dashed from their hiding place. In a heartbeat they were to the Duck Truck. Salvador pushed open his door and swung his legs out. The sound of his door alerted the man, who grabbed up the M-16 and pointed it at Salvador. Salvador put his hands up high enough to be seen and the man jabbed a finger at him. Then the man drew back his pointing finger and pressed it to his lips, indicating silence. After that, he pointed again at Salvador and then slashed his finger across his throat, to say, "If you aren’t quiet, I’ll kill you." Salvador nodded.
The man had a deeply pitted face full of harsh creases. While he was focused on Salvador, the girl was shouldering the hiking pack. It was almost too much for her, but she managed to pull it up and tug the straps tight. She said nothing, once it was on, but ran back into the bushes. At that point the man bent down and pick up the utility belt. He calmly laid it over his right shoulder and then picked up the duffle bag and swung it over his left shoulder. Giving Salvador a nod, he ran into the bushes behind the girl.
As the man’s back vanished from sight, Salvador cursed and climbed out of the cab. "Shun-uf-a-bish!" He tried to yell back to Evie, but with his jaw bandaged shut, he couldn’t produce enough volume. "Shun-uf-a-bish!" He hobbled up to the Duck Truck, reached through the window and hit the horn. OhhWoooga! OhhWoooga! He pushed it over and over, cursing the idiotic sound. The women were by him in an instant, but the men had cleared a lane almost twenty blocks long, at that point. It took several minutes for TJ to arrive and several more before they had all returned.
"Ich gone," is all he said when TJ asked about his belongings. Once the others had joined them, Salvador explained what happened. Talking lit his jaw on fire, but he refused to show even a hint of pain.
"You stupid asshole!" TJ screamed vehemently in Salvador’s face. "I could have caught them, if you’d told me right away!"
Salvador’s brow lowered with ire, but he couldn’t shout back. Instead, he glanced at his father-in-law, who was already moving in on TJ. In a split second, the young man was on his toes, back against the truck, with Hank’s forearm pressed into his throat. Hank held up his right index finger and slowly tilted it until it was pointing directly between TJ’s eyes. "You knock that shit off," Hank said, tapping the young man’s forehead on each syllable. He eased the pressure on TJ’s throat as he said, "Salvador saved your life."
Once Hank had taken a step back, TJ bent over coughing and rubbing his throat. "What’s wrong with you?" He demanded. "How in Hell do you think he saved my life?"
Hank scoffed. "Because, Dumb-ass, you would have been unarmed, chasing down somebody with a gun. He’d have had to shoot you, if you’d caught up with him."
TJ grimaced as he stood upright. "Well… I guess I can’t argue with that…" He looked at Salvador and shrugged
contritely. "Sorry I got in your face, Buddy. I was a little tweaked. I shouldn’t have pulled a base coach on you."
"Ich oh-kay," Salvador said with a wave.
At that moment, a cackle sprang from the cluster of women and children. "Itch, Okay! Itch, Okay! Itch, Okay!" Another peel of maniacal laughter shrieked forth. A circle formed with Phim Pham and Jessie at its center.
Jessie was pulling Phim Pham close and patting her back. "Come on, Phimy," she said. "We can’t do this now, Honey."
The circle grew larger as the men melded into its circumference. Kimberly, one of the four-year-old girls in Bertel’s care, began to cry. Bertel dropped to a knee and hugged the girl to her shoulder. "Oh, there there," she said as she patted the tiny back. "There’s nothing to cry about," Bertel reassured the girl.
Phim Pham looked down at the child, as if from a far away place. The whites of her eyes glinted beneath her dark lashes. She pushed Jessie aside and gently floated over to the crying child, lightly kneeling beside her. "Oh, look," she said, dreamily. "I laugh and she cries."
"No, Phimy," Jessie said and tugged on Phim Pham’s arm. Suddenly, Phim Pham was prone, on her back and Andrea stood between her and the child.
"You, back off!" Andrea had knocked Phim Pham away and stood like a sentinel between the girl and the prone woman.
Tears began rolling down Phim Pham’s cheeks. Jessie was on the ground, cradling her partner’s head. "You didn’t need to do that," she hissed up at Andrea. "She wouldn’t hurt anybody."
"Look, Little Girl," Phim Pham said from her place on the road. "I’m crying, so now you should laugh." Kimberly bawled into her guardian’s shoulder. Bertel stood, with choppy, painful motions. She lifted the girl up with her and carried her to the back of the caravan.
As Bertel left the scene, Andrea asked, "What’s wrong with her?" The question was an accusation.
"She hasn’t had her meds in two days," Jessie defended. "She’s sick." Phim Pham cried, pitifully, as Jessie slowly rocked her. "She’s bi-polar and schizophrenic. She’ll be fine in a minute."