by Kurt Gepner
Andrea stood like a statue glaring down at the two. Evie and Val ushered the other children to the back of the U-haul. Norah and Sarah followed. Tom stepped next to Andrea and asked Jessie, "What medication does she take?"
"Abilify," answered Jessie.
"What’s it do?" Hank asked.
"It’s an anti-depressant," she answered. "A mood leveler."
Hank nodded and tugged on his beard and looked at Theresa, who had knelt beside the two women and was examining Phim Pham. Hank asked, "Can you sedate her?"
Theresa nodded. "Yes, but that would put her out of commission." Regarding the sobbing woman, she asked Jessie, "What kind of alcohol does she like to drink?"
Jessie looked perplexed. "What? She can’t drink when she’s on Abilify…"
"Yeah," Theresa said, with a nod. "But she’s not taking it right now. So I need to know what she likes to drink." As an afterthought, she also asked, "And how much does she weigh?"
Jessie shook her head in dismay. "I don’t get it. Why are you asking this?"
For a moment Theresa looked off at a distant cloud. Impatience played across her features. "Look," she said as she squatted next to the two women. "We’ve got to get moving. I don’t have any Abilify lying around just now and she needs to be functional. Alcohol is a depressant."
"No shit," Jessie said. "And she gets real nasty when she’s drunk."
Shaking her head, Theresa said, "That’s why we’ll give her alcohol medicinally."
"That makes sense," Hank commented with a nod. He likened himself an amateur herbalist, so the idea of medicinal alcohol was not a far reach for his mind.
Frowning, Jessie asked, "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Theresa said, "I give you a flask and you give her a measured shot, every so often. It should moderate her mood and keep her from wigging out. Even if she’s a little sad, she needs to walk and help out."
Sounding hopeful, Jessie said, "It might work. She likes Tequila and she weighs about ninety-five pounds."
Hank scowled. "Figures."
"Why do you say that," TJ asked.
"We can’t make Tequila," Hank said matter-of-factly as he got up and climbed into the back of the Duck Truck. He rooted around for a moment, clanking bottles and fumbling about. Then he hopped down with a fancy, leather-wrapped flask and handed it to Jessie. The lid was a stainless steel shot glass held in place by a leather strap that snapped to the front.
"Give her two shots, right now," Theresa said. "And then one shot every half hour. Silas, can we borrow your watch?" Silas popped the lever and slid the time-piece off his wrist in one deft motion. Theresa took the Rolex and pressed it into Jessie’s hand. "Get her on her feet and walking," she said, looking her directly in the eye. "Keep an eye on her behavior and adjust the dose if necessary."
"All right, people!" Hank shouted toward the back of the caravan, not wanting to waste more time with this situation. "Let’s roll!" He climbed into the cab of the Duck Truck and brought it back to life. As soon as the engine was rumbling smoothly, he got out and told Camille to drive. "I want to be out looking for things," he said.
Camille chuckled. "You just don’t think old men can walk as far as young ones."
Hank smiled. "I think old men like to stir up trouble. Now get this show on the road." Camille chortled and climbed in the cab. "By the way," Hank said, through the window, "Have you seen the crowbar?"
Shrugging and shaking his head, Camille said, "You didn’t bring it back when you went shopping."
"Damn!" Hank suddenly remembered going back for the cigarettes. God, that was a stupid move! He admonished himself. "Okay. When I wave, ease into it."
Camille gave him a toothless grin and nodded. Hank slid the long pry bar behind the cab and looked down the caravan. Everyone, including Phim Pham and Jessie, were ready to move out. Hank took a position about twenty feet in front of the Duck Truck and held his hand up high. Without looking back, he swirled his fist once in a circle and threw his hand out in front of himself.
Dale joined him within a block and in a quiet voice asked, "What in the fuck are you doing?"
"You’ll have to be more specific," Hank said, while looking straight ahead.
"That girl is a schitzo! Send her to the doctors," he said a little loudly, thrusting his arm back along the trail they were blazing. "Right now is the time to do it!"
Not slowing, or looking at his companion, Hank spoke with a deliberately modulated tone. "Do you know how medical doctors treat what she suffers from?"
"If I knew that, I would be a medical doctor," Dale retorted.
For the first time in their conversation, Hank looked at him. Hank’s expression made Dale apologize for being snide. Hank didn’t acknowledge the amends, but instead answered his own question. "Medical doctors send people with mental health problems to psychiatric doctors. And psychiatric doctors prescribe medicines made by pharmaceutical companies."
"Get to the point," Dale blurted.
"That girl will be a bi-polar schizophrenic no matter where she goes. If I turn her away, because she’s ill, I guess I should turn Theresa away and Salvador, too."
"That’s different, they’ll get better," Dale said defensively.
Hank shrugged. "Did you see Bertel pick up that little girl?" Dale nodded that he had. "She’s in pain. I don’t know if it’s her back, or hips, but she’s got something wrong with her. Probably arthritis. And what it boils down to is old age. Should I turn her out? Or Silas, because he won’t touch an M-16?"
"No, but…" Hank stopped and faced his neighbor.
"What if you lose an arm, or a leg?" Hank demanded. Dale scowled. Hank ignored him. "The point is I’m not going to turn her away just because she makes you feel uncomfortable. So deal with it!"
OhWoooga!
The Duck Truck had crept to a halt just a few feet away from Dale and Hank. Hank broke off the stare that had locked their eyes. He turned and stormed off ahead of the Duck Truck. Dale was a little slower to clear the way, but went to the rear of the caravan in an equally agitated state. Camille seemed oblivious to the whole encounter and started the train rolling again.
On their way to the intersection of Thirty-Third and St. John’s Boulevard, many people had come out from wherever they had sheltered for the night and were now lining the streets, as if by-standers at a parade. Most looked haggard, beaten and desperate. Some wore blankets across their shoulders, like shawls. Others barely had clothes. Most saw the shotgun at Hank’s side and kept their distance. Some called out to them for food, or to be allowed to join, or to take their children. After one bold woman ran up to the rear of the Duck Truck and snatched something, Hank decided to carry Whisper resting against his shoulder. The sight of a big man, with a broad-brimmed hat and a pistol-grip shotgun seemed to be an adequate deterrent for the rest of the observers.
Once at the intersection, the caravan had to stop again due to blocking cars. Hank gathered the men, including his son-in-law, for a quick meeting. "Okay, Guys, we can’t have another episode like our last stop, so here’s what we’re going to do: Find out which of the women can handle a rifle; they’ll be on the roof of the U-haul…" Silas shot a disapproving look at Hank. "Don’t worry, we’re not going to make the same mistake twice. We," he said, swirling his finger to indicate the group of men, "will clear two blocks at a time and no more.
"It means a lot more starting and stopping, I know, but it’s better to make progress slowly and safely than to lose assets or people." The men nodded and Hank continued. "Now we don’t have an instruction manual for making an exodus with a caravan, so when we fail to anticipate a situation, we’ve got to learn from it on the first mistake." Hearty agreement sounded among the men. "Aside from not having an armed lookout and getting too far away from the group, can anyone think of any other mistakes we made?"
"I don’t think we’re using the scouts to our best advantage," Tom said.
"How’s that?" asked Dale.
"Everybody knows that Wal-
Mart always put a greeter at the door to prevent theft, right?" Tom asked of the huddled men. Empty expressions gave Tom his reply. "Well, they did it, to make people feel recognized." Still getting nothing, Tom spelled it out for them. "In other words, more people were less likely to steal, because they felt like they would get caught. The scouts can travel twice as fast as any of us can run. If they stay in motion, zooming a block ahead and then a block behind, they’ll discourage thieves."
TJ hummed his understanding and said, "And anyone stupid enough to try something gets shot by the lookout on the U-haul."
"Right! Sounds good. When we’re in residential areas, the scouts will ride around the Caravan." Hank was enthusiastic about the plan, but also feeling the pressure of lost time. "Now let’s get to work. I want to get around this curve and down Grand Avenue by lunch time."
"Whoa!" Dale sounded stunned. "Why down Grand? SR 500 is right there," he said with a gesture toward the onramp less than fifty yards to the north.
"Because," Hank said slowly, "I want to maximize our possibility of salvaging useful supplies. What better way than going down Fourth Plain Boulevard, which is full of stores and restaurants?"
"Yeah," Dale voiced agreement as he negatively shook his head. "It’s also full of subsidized apartment buildings and drug houses. Besides," he said with a sweep of his arm, "have you noticed all of the desperate, hungry people standing around?" They all looked around at the throngs of people who had all but surrounded them. "They wouldn’t be looking at us like barbequed spare ribs if there was something worth getting out of those stores. We need to go down SR 500 and get away from here, now!"
Hank looked uncertain. The men had obviously sided with Dale on this issue. He could press it, but the fact was that he also agreed with Dale. There was no way that he could tell them his real reason for planning that route. Hank wanted to find his son and granddaughter and Fourth Plain ran within two blocks of their apartment. Finally he nodded. "You’re right, Dale. That makes perfect sense. Let’s get these cars cleared and get on the highway."
Among the women, three were skilled shots with a riffle: Evie, Val and Andrea. They worked out a rotation between them, with Andrea volunteering to take the lion’s share of time. She claimed to be a horrible cook and uncomfortable around children. If the other women didn’t mind, and they didn’t, she would feel a lot more useful sitting on the roof, with a gun. As an improvised accoutrement, a plastic lawn chair was nailed down to the roof of the U-haul. On the inside, the nails were bent over to hold them fast.
When she took up her post, Andrea aimed down the road they had just traveled and fired a round from the 30-30 into the Yellow Rose street sign. A small stampede ensued throughout the bystanders in that area as they ran for shelter. With cool competence, Andrea selected a golf ball sized ornament on the tip of a car’s antennae, another half block down the road. A moment later the ornament was a puff of dust and more of the assembled crowd vanished from sight. She took a step back with one foot and pivoted on the other, so she was facing the front of the caravan. People that had gathered on the far side of the intersection had already begun to scatter, but after the street sign on that side was left shivering by a near bull’s eye, the sidewalks were completely evacuated.
"Sorry for wasting ammo," Andrea called down to Hank, who stood with his mouth wide open. "I just wanted to familiarize myself with the weapon." After a long moment of deafening silence, Silas filled the air with a howl of booming laughter. A moment later, the air roiled with laughter from everyone in the caravan. Andrea took a seat, like a queen, in her lawnchair-cum-throne and watched over the men as they pushed a path through the steel carcasses lying in the road.
CHAPTER THREE
State Route 500 at the St. John’s Boulevard onramp was almost entirely devoid of cars or people. It seemed that, when everything quit, most people on this stretch just coasted to the side of the road. A spattering of deserted cars remained in the middle, but they proved to be no obstacle. A few of the hybrid and all-electric cars had burst into acidic fireballs, burning hot enough to leave mounds of slag where there had once been metal, plastic and rubber. It was impossible to tell if the occupants had escaped those vehicles and nobody looked close enough to be sure.
The two scouts were overjoyed at the clear, long roads. They went to Hank, who gave them permission to ride down any side road as long as they kept SR 500 in sight. He wanted reports every thirty minutes and he wanted them to ride together.
Within a few minutes the two boys had gained the first crossroad and turned right, toward the community center. As the Caravan fell out of view, Brody shouted, "Woo Hoo! J. Man an’ B. Dawg! The Super Scouts of the Shumway Wagon Train!" Jeremy laughed and returned a primal shout of camaraderie. At the first street, Brody caught Jeremy’s eye and nodded that they should turn. Jeremy shook his head, but followed Brody when he raced off down the road. A block and a half in, Brody pulled to the curb and shut down his scooter. Jeremy followed suit.
Only a few lots had been developed. The majority of the street was bordered by briars and trees. The houses that did occupy the small neighborhood were set back from the road with large well groomed lawns. It was next to a wide frontage of trees where Brody had pulled off. When Jeremy’s scooter was silent, Brody didn’t say anything. He simply flashed Jeremy a wicked smile and pointed toward the copse of trees.
"What the hell are you doing?" Jeremy called after his friend. But Brody had already disappeared down a dirt path before Jeremy had laid his scooter down. For the briefest moment Jeremy hesitated and then he tore after Brody.
In less than twenty yards he found a clearing that opened beneath a trio of broad oak trees. There were structures in each of the trees and rope bridges spanned the distance between each of them. Brody was just vanishing into the open portal of the nearest one, having reached the peak of a thick, knotted rope. Jeremy followed after him, but more slowly than his athletic friend.
Brody helped Jeremy the last foot into the tree house, laughing with giddy delight as he handed his best friend a cold can of Coors Light. Jeremy took the beer with an astonished grin and popped it open. He didn’t actually care for the taste of beer, but the fact that it was cold prompted him to chug half of it before asking, "What the hell?"
"This is Aaron Hasteng’s place," Brody said, with a sparkle in his eye.
Jeremy’s brow furrowed as he played through his memory on the subject of Aaron Hasteng. "Didn’t he go to a funeral, or something? And how come this place didn’t burn down?"
Brody nodded with brows held high as he took another pull on his own beer. "Yeah," he said after a huge gulp, "Why didn’t it?" Jeremy looked at him, expressionless. "Because," Brody went on when he realized that Jeremy wasn’t taking the bait. "They always turn off power to the out buildings when they go out of town," he said with a shrug.
"Anyways… His cousin Frances, fucking hung herself from the rafters of her family’s barn." He took another pull on his beer and Jeremy emulated him. Brody drained his can then went over to a corner of the tree house and opened the freezer door of a stainless steel refrigerator. After four days, it still had a patchy layer of frost across the surface of its walls. Inside were five six-packs of beer and three six-packs of Coke. Brody popped another beer and then went on with his story.
"They had a huge Catholic wake for her that lasted three days." Brody took a swig of his fresh beer. "Way I figure it, Aaron was in the air on their way back when everything went pop." He snapped his fingers for emphasis. Brody took a deep sad breath and then, in the next instant, grinned at his friend. "Any-hoo… He was planning to have his own wake when he got back, ‘cause what nobody but me knew was that Frances hung herself because of him."
"What?!" Jeremy drained his beer and Brody handed him another.
"Yeah," Brody confirmed. He leaned in conspiratorially, "She had just took the test." He held his index fingers up in a plus sign. "She was pregnant… with his kid!"
"No way!" Jeremy took an
other pull on his beer.
"Yep," Brody confirmed. "He got her cherry over Christmas and they did it again over Easter. As soon as she missed her monthly, she checked." With a cluck of his tongue, he added, "The rest is on the History Channel."
Jeremy looked at his beer with reverence. "Can you imagine…" Jeremy’s voice trailed off, not finishing whatever he might have intended to say.
The two boys were silent for a moment and then Brody pulled a small metal container from his pocket. "This is what I figure," he said as he popped open the lid that had "Altoids" printed across the top. "We need to light one up for Aaron. He never got his wake."
Jeremy’s eyes were riveted on the container. "We’re supposed to be scouting," he said with a half-hearted sense of responsibility.
Brody nodded. "Yeah. But here we are, in Aaron’s pad, drinking the beer he was going to drink. You know he would have lit up, don’t you?" Jeremy nodded with mouth agape. "Well, we have an obligation to take care of our friend," Brody said solemnly. "You know his soul won’t rest, if we don’t," he added with a hallowed tone in his voice.
For a moment, Jeremy looked at Brody with the same solemn reverence. Then he burst into laughter. "You’re such an ass-wipe! You just want to get baked!"
Brody grinned and said, "Yeah… Plus this place is loaded." He pulled a Twix candy bar from a cabinet and tossed it to Jeremy. "I say we smoke a quick bowl, chow down on a bunch of goodies and then go get the team to collect up the bounty." He slapped Jeremy’s chest with the back of his hand. "We’ll be heroes," Brody said with a confident nod.
"Won’t they smell the weed and the beer on our breath?" Jeremy asked, fearfully, through a mouth full of Twix.
Brody beaned him with a bag of Cheetos. "Dooffus! We don’t have to bring them up here for a half an hour. And besides," he walked out of the tree house and stepped onto a rope bridge. "Follow me," he called back to Jeremy.