Pavement Ends: The Exodus

by Kurt Gepner

  A wet cough drew Hank’s eye back to the man lying before him. Silas groaned. He grabbed a fist full of Hank’s shirt. "She’s okay?" Pulling the younger man close, Silas drilled his eyes into Hank’s soul. He coughed up blood. "Isn’t she?" Silas asked. "Isn’t she, Sir? They’re all okay, ain’t they?"

  Hank cradled Silas’ head. "You saved her life, Silas." He pulled Silas’ hand from his shirt and clasped it in his own. "You saved all of us. We’re all just fine. Now, you’ve got to take it easy. I want you to live, too!"

  Silas shook his head. "I’ve been dead for years." He coughed. "Now I know it wasn’t for nothin’."

  A few feet away, Kyle knelt and set his daughter’s feet on the ground. The other children ran to him and he held them all, protectively, reassuringly, fatherly. They clung to him, but he held his daughter out so he could look in her eyes. Izzy cried and clutched for his neck, but he shook his head. "No, Squeaky Bee, I’ve got to say something to you. I need you to listen. I need to tell you something important. Do you understand?"

  Izzy, eyes still streaming, nodded her understanding. She took a deep shuddering breath, but silently gave her attention.

  Kyle swallowed hard and said, "Do you see that man over there by Papa Hank?" The little girl looked over and nodded to her father. "He saved your life. And he’s hurt real bad. It’ll make him feel better if you go over and say thank you, right now."

  She shook her head. Kyle hugged his daughter to his chest. "It’s okay, Squeaky Bee, you don’t have to. But you might not get another chance. He might go away."

  Izzy pushed away so she could look at her daddy. "Go away?" She asked with a sniff. "Like Mommy?"

  Kyle looked at his daughter with heavy sorrow. "No, Princess. Like Aunty Wendy."

  Izzy looked horrified. "He’s going away like Aunty Wendy?"

  Nodding morosely, Kyle said, "Maybe, Squeaky Bee."

  Only a brief moment passed as the little girl ran her lifetime of experiences through her shocked little mind. Then she pulled away from her father and threw herself down by Silas. "My daddy said you saved me and I should thank you before you go away. What’s your name?"

  Silas’ forehead creased with pain as he looked at the little girl. He managed a strained smile. "My name’s Silas. I’m real glad you’re okay," he croaked.

  "I wish you wouldn’t go away, Silas," she said. "When my Aunty Wendy went away, I was sad and then she never came back. I miss her. But I might miss you more, even though I don’t know you, because you never gave me a spanking."

  Silas chuckled and turned his head away in a spasm of coughing. Then his eyes sagged shut and his body relaxed with a sigh.

  Hank checked for a pulse. After his moment of hope evaporated, he rested Silas’ hands across his chest. The other men stared, or turned away, or wept as their feelings guided them. Hank picked up his granddaughter. He carried her back to Kyle and said to her, "That meant everything to Silas, you know? Later, I’ll tell you why." He handed the little girl over to her father and looked him over. "You look pretty beat up. Anything broken?"

  "I’m fine," Kyle said as he took his daughter into his arms. "Did he just…?" He swallowed hard, unable to finish an unnecessary question.

  Hank nodded. It was strange, he noted to himself, that he did not feel as terrible about Silas’ death as he had for others. He knew the man had died with satisfaction. Silas had given his life, but six had been spared for it. He was given the ultimate reward for an old warrior. In a way, Hank was glad for Silas. He already missed him sorely, but he was glad, too.

  Hank saw that his son and the children were very distressed. Looking down upon the two red-headed children that clung to his son’s legs he commented, "It seems that you’ve got a couple new growths. Do they have names?"

  With relief in his eyes, Kyle squatted down and sat Izzy on her feet. With arms around the two, he made introductions. "These are my two D’s," he said with a bitter sweet smile. "I hadn’t mentioned it, because…." He looked up at his father, pleading for an understand that was already given. "You know…" he finished weakly.

  "You were seeing their mother?" Hank asked, with the barest glimmer of amusement over his son’s nervousness. It was his son’s first real step toward moving on, after his divorce. Through the morbid cloud of death and struggle, Hank began feeling a sense of hope. A strange, disassociated relief washed over him. His son had found someone.

  "Yeah," Kyle admitted. "We’ve been dating for a couple months."

  Hank was inwardly surprised that he hadn’t figured out that his son was involved with someone, but he didn’t let it show. "So, your two D’s… do they have longer names?" he asked as he spread a gap between his thumb and forefinger. "Names that are different from each other, I hope?"

  With a hiccough like chuckle, Kyle said, "Yeah." Nudging the stricken girl forward, he said, "This is Desiree…" The girl buried her head in his shoulder while watching Hank from the corner of her eye. "And this," he said as he nudged the boy forward, "is Douglas." Kyle smiled. "We call them Dizzy and Duggy. You know, like Buggy?"

  His heart stopped. The ephemeral wisp of gladness that he had dared to feel billowed into a maelstrom of gloom. Hank had heard those exact words once before. The fist of despair clenched at his throat. He couldn’t swallow. The unnaturally red hair. He looked at the twins with wide, agonized eyes. His mind leaped to the mangled, gold frames that were in his pocket. The pocket of his drover’s coat. The coat that was lying under a dead man.

  Kyle was talking. He was looking at the children and talking. Hank couldn’t follow his son’s words. Something about meeting her at the daycare. That was how they met. Their kids went to the same daycare.

  Hank tried to swallow again, but his mouth was dry and the fist was still in his throat. The woman he killed. The woman with the gray skirt and unnaturally red hair. That woman was the woman his son had been dating. The woman who he had left to rot in the hot sun… She was…

  "Dad!" Kyle was looking him in the eyes. Concern was engraved in his gaze. Hank’s attention snapped back to the present. "Are you okay?" Kyle asked.

  Unable to look at his son, Hank tore his eyes away. Instead, his sight landed on Silas’ corpse.

  Staring at his father, Kyle asked again, "Are…"

  "Why don’t you take them for a walk," Hank managed to choke out.

  Kyle followed his father’s eyes and saw them locked upon the dead man. Assuming that his father was grief stricken by the man’s death, he nodded his understanding and said, "Yeah. That’s a good idea. Come on, kids." And he led his small herd toward the ravine.

  More than a few minutes passed before he was able to compose himself. "Camille," Hank called out. "How are you feeling?"

  The old man was no longer jovial. The old man didn’t grace the world with his toothless smile. The old man simply answered his son-in-law. "I’m fine, Hank," he said.

  "Go with Kyle. I want you to lead the Caravan back here." Hank commanded his father-in-law.

  "Sure, Hank," Camille said. "Sounds like a plan."

  Before the old man had taken two steps, Hank added, "Wait for me by the road, before you get going. I’ll be there in a few minutes."

  Camille, his grandson and great-granddaughter, along with Kyle’s foster children, left the meadow and the carnage behind. Hank, on the other hand, stood and surveyed that carnage, wondering how his worst fears had so quickly come true.

  For a brief moment, the whole world of events smashed down upon him. His world had been turned upside down, in an instant, in a day, in a week... Friends and family were dead. So much was lost. The very foundations of civilization were crumbled into digital dust. His best friend, whom he had also called wife, had left him. And he had unwittingly killed the woman his son loved. It was all too much.

  Hank couldn’t hold it all. He couldn’t cope. Nearly collapsing, he caught himself, planting his palms against his knees. His stomach heaved. There was nothing to give up. He hadn’t eaten dinner. He hadn’t eaten
since yesterday morning. He heaved again and again. And finally, it passed, along with a mouth full of bitter, acrid bile.

  With body shaking, Hank stood and blinked at the dawning sun. He wiped his mouth and made the conscious decision to focus on only what was before him. It was the only way he could go on. The only way he could cope with the past and tend to the future was to focus intently on the present. He didn’t feel like dealing with anything, but some inner necessity compelled him to. He assessed the landscape before him.

  Where he had predicted, behind a rock outcrop, two men had been keeping watch. They had been huddled together, wrapped in a blanket for warmth and holding a garbage bag over their heads to keep dry. One man hadn’t even been able to escape the blanket before he was shot dead. The other was sprawled with his face in the mud.

  By chance, another man had been on the other side. He was there, not as a guard, but to relieve his bladder. He was lying flat on his face, unarmed and with his pants undone.

  Hank realized that the blonde stranger was watching him. More like scrutinizing him. He was sitting cross-legged next to his burly, dark haired friend. The burly man had stretched out with his back on the ground and was moaning.

  "Is he injured?" Hank asked the blonde man and crossed the clearing to stand next to the pair.

  The blonde man said nothing until Hank opened his mouth to ask again. "No," he said.

  "Well, what’s wrong with him?" Hank was asking only to take his mind off of the horror that was spread out behind him.

  "He’s dramatic," the blonde man answered.

  "Dramatic, my ass! I can’t stand the sight of blood." The burly man rolled over and climbed to his feet. His ruddy face was bold, with stark, thick eyebrows and thick lips under a coarse, full beard. He thrust out his hand. With a gruff, almost laughing voice, he said, "Thaddeus Ambrose Tate… the Third… Esquire. And I’m real glad you came, Hank!"

  Shaking his hand, Hank assumed Thaddeus knew his name because Stewart had mentioned it. He asked, "Can you tell me what happened?"

  Thaddeus opened his mouth and held it open after the blonde man interrupted him. "Do you want the whole novel or the Cliff Notes?"

  "And you are?" Hank asked, quite brusquely. The blonde man, whose face showed no more than three days growth and who wore his hair cropped short, put Hank on edge with his ever analyzing eyes.

  "Forgive my laconic friend," Thaddeus said. "Allow me to introduce my esteemed colleague, Doctor Artemis Bartholomew Caruthers." Then he flinched as he caught sight of his friend’s glare from the corner of his eye. "But he gets a little jacked up, unless you call him Abe." Then, as if to clarify, he said, "Abe is short for A, B, C."

  Before a spark of hope could spring to life in Hank, Abe addressed the unasked question. "Doctor of Philosophy, not medicine."

  Hank let out a disappointed sigh and said, "Just the Cliff Notes, please."

  Abe spoke with very little inflection. His voice was not monotone, but cold and almost void of emotion. "We’ve watched you for years," he began.

  "Yeah," Thaddeus immediately interjected. "We tried to fix it when the wind blew in your roof. And we even gave you a house warming present when you finished."

  "The cast iron?" Hank asked, more as a statement of fact than a question.

  Thaddeus glowed and tugged his shirt straight. "Yep!"

  "So you were helping me out all along?" Hank asked, even though he had already put the pieces together.

  It was difficult, but Thaddeus responded with even more pride. "Yep!"

  Hank found it difficult to be surprised. Duped again, he thought. Stewart had played him right from the beginning. He had been a master of conniving, concocting and convincing. Abe shot his friend a vicious look and when he was certain that Thaddeus would not interrupt him again, he pointed over his shoulder toward a bare crag about a half mile distant. "We live up there. The other guy," he said as he pointed at Stewart’s corpse, "showed up last summer."

  "Stewart?" Hank asked with furrowed brow.

  "Yeah," Abe confirmed with a nod. "When we saw him beat the shit out of that guy with those kids, we knew he wasn’t your friend."

  "How did you figure that?" Hank asked.

  "Because you’ve been here with that guy," he pointed at Kyle. "But Stewart always came here without you. And he always brought young boys with him." Abe’s mouth clinched shut for a long moment. Hank blanched at the connotations of that news. Just as he was about to prompt Abe on, the blonde man began speaking again. "We came down to spy on them, but Thad is a klutz and we got caught."

  "It’s not my fault!" Thaddeus interjected. "I have a condition."

  Continuing his narrative Abe said, "Then Stewart, tied us up. He wanted to save his bullets for you. He said that you would be dead by noon and then he would shoot us. That was before dark, yesterday."

  Hank waited until he was certain that Abe had no more to say. Then he slowly nodded. "That was definitely concise," he commented. "Can you guys hang out for a while? We could really use your help to… Uh, clean up, before the others get here."

  "What’s the deal?" Thaddeus asked. "That Stewart guy said that a bunch of people would be showing up, but it was hard to ask him why with a rag stuffed in my mouth."

  Hank rapidly looked from one man to the other and cocked his head to the side. "You don’t know what happened? You don’t use electricity, do you?"

  "Uh… nope. We live cave-man style," Thaddeus said with an ignorant shake of his head and a grin.

  Hank looked from one man to the other and then said, "The Cliff Notes version is: Civilization has collapsed and I’ve lead a group of people up here to survive."

  Thaddeus and Abe pointedly looked at each other. Then Thaddeus stomped his feet in a rage. "Oh, great! Just, fucking, great! God damn it! Of all the fucking, rotten luck!" He stomped off into the field, cursing and screaming.

  Abe watched his friend with the slightest hint of amusement, and then he turned to Hank. "Forgive my theatrical friend," he said. "We liked having you as a neighbor, but we didn’t want more. Don’t worry, we’ll help you."

  Hank thanked him and turned to the small dwelling that he had built with his own hands. It was a simple, round structure of stacked stones, fifteen feet across. It had two small square shuttered windows, one on either side of the door, a chimney and a thatched roof. Although quite primitive in appearance, it was very spacious and energy efficient.

  Inside the hut, Hank found Stewart’s friends dead on the floor. One man and two women. He couldn’t remember their names. They were with Stewart when they had first met and Hank knew they had been introduced, but their names were lost to him.

  The hut was not in bad shape, considering the battle it had just seen. The worst of the damage was from the blood that seemed to cover everything. Hank closed his mind to the gruesome scene and opened his pantry. The uninvited guests had put a dent in his stores, but there was still plenty for him and his men to eat.

  Hank didn’t feel practical, right now. He had no appetite and didn’t expect his men to have one, either. But they had expended an enormous amount of energy since their dinner of the night before and they had a lot more to do.

  Rummaging around, he brought out a Tupperware container full of crackers, a few vacuum-sealed bags of jerky and a tub of honey. As an afterthought, he moved a few cans of chili aside and pulled out one of three mason jars. It was three-quarter full of a clear liquid and the lid was screwed down over plastic wrap. Dropping everything in a wicker basket, he grabbed the four coffee mugs that he kept on a shelf and left the hut.

  "Come on," he said to his men, striding purposefully toward the rock shelf that lead out of the meadow.

  "You want us to just leave him?" TJ, kneeling beside Silas, asked with voice strained by grief.

  "We’ll be back," Hank said in response.

  "But…" TJ resisted. His face was a mask of grief.

  Tom and Dale stood next to the young man. Tom put out his hand to TJ and tenderly said,
"Come on. He’ll be here when we get back."

  "Hey," Abe called out. "I’ll watch the body."

  TJ was uncertain for a moment, then took the proffered hand and they all retraced their steps to the glade. Hank stopped at the stream and they all rinsed off blood and sweat. Then they crossed the Glade and joined Camille, Kyle and Izzy.

  "Son," Hank grimly addressed Kyle as he approached. He still couldn’t look directly at him. "We need a few minutes. Why don’t you head over to the stream and get cleaned up?"

  Kyle, whose face was swollen, bruised and flecked with dried blood, nodded and picked up his daughter. "Come on, Squeaky Bee," he said in a gentle and loving voice. "Daddy Bee needs a bath." Izzy pressed her head into her father’s shoulder and clung to him without a word. The twins followed him holding each other’s hands.

  Hank faced his men and handed each a coffee mug. As he poured a few ounces into each mug, he said, "It has been a soldier’s tradition, from the dawn of time, to drink a toast to their fallen comrades. And even though we didn’t enlist and we don’t wear a uniform, a soldier is one who is willing to fight and die for his people and land. You men are soldiers," he said with a stoic frown. "Silas was the greatest among us!"

  They all lifted their mugs and sipped from them. Hank drank from the jar. Dale and Camille had already sampled Hank’s moonshine and knew what to expect. Tom had enough experience to anticipate it, but TJ choked and sputtered after swallowing a mouth full of the contraband whiskey. "What is this stuff?" He gagged.

  "It’s white lightning," Dale said with a sideways grin that was both amused and wounded with grief. "Made good from a bad batch of Hank’s blackberry wine." He shook his head. "There’s nothing else like it and nothing more that I need right now." He lifted his mug. "Silas was a hell of a man. We didn’t see eye to eye, at first. But as a father who lost his family, he gave me words to help me deal with Jeremy’s death…" His mouth worked without sound, for a moment. His face flushed and his eyes filled with tears. "I’ll never forget."