by Mark Scott
Chapter Fourteen
Sam led Martin up to a yellow house with a very large Canary Palm in the front yard. The house was a classic style from the late fifties or early sixties. They walked up the driveway and onto a carport. Sam knocked on the door. It was answered by an elderly woman with a head full of curly white hair. "Miss Susan, 'fraid I've got another one for ya. This here is Mister Bruce Martin, something of a celebrity these days." Miss Susan looked suspiciously at Martin. "A celebrity?" she inquired. "Yes mam, he was a reporter who discovered the virus and how it got here. He is the reporter that alerted the country as to what happened, at risks to his own life mind you."
"That so? C'mon in. I'm Susan, Mister Martin.""
"Alright then Bruce, I have a room back here", said Miss Susan stepping back from the door in a silent invitation to the men to enter. Sam and Martin walked into the house. It was immediately apparent that Miss Susan had a love for Japan. Martin was standing in a dining area. In front of him was a china cabinet filled with Japanese figurines and porcelain. Over to the right was a kitchen and past that, through a sliding glass door, was a Florida room with a large and dormant television. Through the windows of the Florida room Martin could see a large pool. Miss Susan led them through a comfortable living room and into a hallway.
"Here's a room for ya" said Miss Susan gesturing for Martin to step into the room. In the room was a single bed with a dresser over against on wall. On the dresser was a small flat screen television. White curtains fluttered in the breeze allowed in by a large window. Martin fell onto the bed. The effort produced the dreaded cough. Martin glanced around to see that nobody in the room reacted to the cough. His face must have betrayed his surprise at the lack of reaction as Miss Susan felt compelled to explain, "We've all had the flu. You are a late comer Bruce. A few weeks ago we had people two to a room and out on the couches and on the floors. You have it all to yourself with the exception of me and my niece. I lost my son to this damn thing. But good news for you, the virus seems to have lost some of its punch over the last few weeks. But make no mistake Bruce, it's gonna be a long, hard slog here, but we'll getcha through it."
Martin thanked her and slid further back into the bed and fell back. His eyes began to close but he forced them opened and half sitting up, he addressed Sam. "Sam can you please check on my friends at Saint Mary's?"
"Sure will, but I'm sure they're gonna be just fine, those Army medics are some of the best."
Martin laid his head down upon what seemed to be the softest pillow he had ever felt. He closed his eyes, already he could feel his chest tightening and his breathing was slowly becoming labored. He drifted off into a sleep that seemed to last for days. He had strange dreams of giant bouncing red balls and enormous, sweating glasses of ice water. Sweet water, he longed for it even in his sleep. Occasionally he saw specters, moving as shadows against brilliant shimmering light. Martin could hear voices calling his name. He opened his eyes to see a young woman looking at him. She spun around and ran to the room's door calling out to Miss Susan. Martin lifted his head and whispered in a harsh voice a single word, "water". Miss Susan whisked into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Martin. She slipped her hand under his head and lifted it slowly while putting a glass of water to his lips. With his head off of the pillow Martin could feel that his hair was drenched in sweat.
"Easy now, nice and slow. Looks like you beat it Bruce", said Miss Susan as she lowered Martin's head back down onto the pillow.
"How long?" Martin croaked.
"How long you been sick? Today is the sixth day. You've been pretty much out of it for six days. You rest now; tomorrow we'll help ya take a little stroll around the pool. Moving helps beat the pneumonia that can come after the flu. You've still got a couple of weeks before you're back up to speed, so you just rest." Martin nodded and closed his eyes. Just the brief interaction with Miss Susan had exhausted him. He breathed deeply and as he did he could feel his chest burn.
The next day, true to her word Miss Susan and her niece drug a reluctant Martin from his bed and helped him feebly shuffle around the pool. The brilliant sunlight of a glorious early spring day assaulted the sensitive eyes of Martin. While the fresh air burned his battered lungs, it felt refreshing, almost as though it infused life into a half dead man. The routine continued for over a week until Martin was able to walk by himself. He would sit on a little concrete bench and watch the shifting patterns of light dance in the aqua water of the pool, reflected onto the shadowed wall behind him. Martin rejoiced at being alive. The song of moving water, the sounds of kids playing and birds singing, the wind stimulating wind chimes to ring in random harmonies, all brought a great joy to Bruce Martin. He had conquered his enemy! One warm and sunny afternoon Miss Susan came out and announced that Martin had visitors.
Miss Susan stepped out of the house, a broad smile on her face. Coming out behind her was Leah and Father Ryan. Martin's heart leapt within his chest. His vision became blurred with joy as tears spontaneously welled within his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Leah walked briskly over to him and embraced him. Father Ryan, wearing a broad smile also embraced him.
"You look great Bruce", Leah said, still smiling, "a little thinner, but good."
"You too. How are you guys doing?" inquired Martin. His eyes eagerly swept over Leah, she was just as beautiful as ever, a little thinner and paler but to Martin she was the Madonna.
"We're O.K. Thank God for you Bruce, the corpsmen came to us and after that it was only a couple of days before we were out of the woods", said Leah.
Father Ryan told Martin that they knew that he had taken care of them and buried their companions.
"How awful that must have been, all alone and sick," observed Leah.
"God was with you Bruce", said Father Ryan as the three friends sat down at a round little picnic table under a large white umbrella.
"Ya think Father? I believe he was, he gave me courage and strength. Not just when the flu came to us but before. I cannot believe that I have been able to do the things that I have done. I thought that religion was just a tool to control people but I have seen things and kind of, kind of knew things. Father does God move in our lives, I mean on a daily basis, individually? I mean, I believe that he has moved in my life and has guided me, or was it just delusions?"
"Hasn't that always been an ongoing question? Was Christ delusional? John the Baptist? Joan of Arc, Martin Luther King? I mean it's a question of faith. Either you believe in God and his majesty and power or you believe that it's all mumbo jumbo. It comes down to faith."
"Then I guess I have faith! I never knew it before, but I do believe in the power of God and that he does have an interest in us."
"Amen! God has moved in our lives and I believe he has helped our country!" declared Leah. Martin looked at her, a little surprised for she had never been outwardly vocal about any religious beliefs that she held. But Martin surmised that the events of the past months was enough to either solidify one's faith or to utterly destroy it. He smiled at Leah.
"When are you leaving here Bruce?" inquired the Priest.
"Well, I guess that I never really thought of it I guess that I could leave any time now, I feel really good, I get tired easy, but I feel good."
"Well", said Leah, "Your friends at the armory wanted us to bring you by to see them. They said that they would give you a ride back to your old apartment since it's quite a distance from here."
"My old apartment," mumbled Martin. His mind did not find comfort in the thought of returning to his old home. Just then Miss Susan burst from the house, her arms extended in the air over her head.
"Lord God almighty!" she cried, "The electricity is back on!"
"Wow" chuckled Leah, "after all this time, how weird this is going to feel."
Father Ryan stood up, "I heard that it will be rolling black outs. Most neighborhoods will have electricity from noon to ten in the evening, every other day."
"I heard that our friend
s the French helped us out tremendously. They say that Turkey Creek nearly had a meltdown because most of their technicians were either sick or had died. Since we were hit first and the flu hadn't really gotten up to speed yet overseas the French sent their nuclear technicians. God bless them, they helped us in the beginning, then we helped them in World War Two and now they have returned the favor once again."
"Yes, the flu is only now getting to be as grim in Europe as it is here, strange."
Martin stood and turned to Miss Susan. "Miss Susan, I want to thank you for what you have done for me. I mean how can I ever thank you enough, or repay you? You saved my life."
"Bruce" returned Miss Susan, "I did no such thing. I just nursed you. If the good Lord wanted you, then you would have gone home, but it looks like you still have some work down here."
Martin walked over to the nurse and embraced her. "I think I should not impose on you any further. I think it's time for me to go home now."
Miss Susan just looked at him with a broad smile and nodded her concurrence. Martin and Miss Susan walked with Leah and Father Ryan out onto the carport. The two climbed onto bikes.
"Where did you get the bikes?" inquired Martin.
"Bought 'em. It's the only way to get around. There is no gas and most all of the batteries in the cars are dead since they've sat for so long." The two friends bid Martin farewell and rode off into a brilliant spring day. "Come by when you get a chance Bruce, I'm back home!" called Leah. Martin nodded and waved. A young boy of ten or so came riding by on a bike when Miss Susan called out to him.
"Hey you! Boy!"
The boy rode his bike over to Miss Susan. "You one of the messengers in this neighborhood?" Miss Susan asked.
"Yes mam" the boy replied.
"Then I'll tell you what, here is five bucks. You go over to the armory and tell them that our celebrity here is ready for his ride home. Got that?"
"What celebrity is that?" inquired the boy.
"Why Mister Martin here", Miss Susan responded.
The boy looked suspiciously at Martin through squinted eyes. "Don't look like no celebrity to me", retorted the boy.
"You just do as I asked young man. Now go on, I don't have all day!"
The boy took off on his bike, slowly careening back and forth across the road until he gained speed and then shot off, straight as an arrow down the street.
"What is this messenger stuff Miss Susan?" asked Martin.
"Well there isn't any phone service. Not line or cell so some enterprising kids all over the city make money by delivering messages. Believe it or not it is a pretty reliable and efficient means of communicating."
Within an hour an olive drab Humvee pulled up in front of Miss Susan's house. The messenger hopped out of the front seat. A soldier handed him his bike. The boy knocked on Miss Susan's door.
"I got them here mam", said the boy.
"Excellent work son" complimented Miss Susan. The boy nodded all the while wearing a broad smile.
Several soldiers left the Humvee and walked across the brown crunchy grass that had, in earlier times been a lush green lawn. Martin walked out with Miss Susan to greet them. Martin saw that one of the soldiers was the Colonel. The officer extended his hand to shake Martin's, all the while smiling.
"Well, it's good to see you again Bruce. You were looking pretty rough the last time I saw you. How ya doin'?"
"I'm doin' good. I still feel a little puny but all in all not bad, considerin'."
"Great, great. You remember some of my men," said the Colonel motioning with a sweep of his arm towards the soldiers standing at the Humvee.
"Sure", responded Martin nodding and smiling to the men.
"Well, shall we go? If you'll just tell us where to go we'd be honored to give a national hero a ride back home", smiled the Colonel.
Martin climbed into the back of the Humvee with the soldiers. They immediately began to chatter excitedly amongst themselves.
"Man that is so cool that we've got some electricity again. I miss TV." declared a young soldier.
"How do ya know that they are even broadcasting?" inquired another.
A third soldier injected himself into the conversation, "They are! People are saying that they are showing old movies. I love some of those old black and white movies. Hey Colonel, you grew up here right?" The Colonel nodded in the affirmative. "Ya remember channel six's Night Owl Theatre with Big Wilson?" The Colonel spun around in the front passenger seat and draping his arm over the back of the seat he stared at the soldier in disbelief for a moment before speaking.
"Wow! Man, I haven't heard that name in years. Decades!"
"Yea, I used to love those Pink Pussycat commercials...remember those? They were pretty risqué for the seventies. I was such a weird kid."
"You grew up to be a weird adult!" joked the first young soldier.
"Yea, yea, have some respect for your elders junior!" laughed the soldier swatting his younger cohort on the arm. Martin felt his heart racing in his chest. As the vehicle drew closer and closer to Martin's old apartment, he grew closer to confronting what he once was. His anxiety increased as the distance to his old home decreased. The Colonel, perhaps sensing that something was bothering Martin, turned around once again.
"Would ya like world news update Bruce? Ya been kind of outta the loop for a while."
"Sure", responded Martin dryly.
"Well, Pakistan decided that the US was distracted and that it was a good time to go into Afghanistan again. That alarmed India who then massed troops along the border. Pakistan actually responded by hitting the border with a tactical nuke. Big mistake India unleashed and, well, let's just say that Pakistan doesn't exist anymore. There are skirmishes and wars starting all over the globe. Mexico was one of the key components of the U.N. forces that came into the U.S. We now have our army all along that border. Oh yeah, remember that big ol' meteorite on the night they found you?"
Martin nodded. "Wormwood!" cried one of the soldiers.
"Yeah, people started calling it Wormwood, ya know from Revelations, in the Bible. Anyhow that thing landed over in the Ukraine somewhere and really tore that place up. The thing exploded before hitting the ground and killed tens of thousands of people. Burned the towns, forest, crops, the water was contaminated by all of the acidic ash, a real mess. Oh here we are!" Martin hopped out of the Humvee and thanked the soldiers, shaking each one's hand in turn. "Ya need anything you let me know. Just grab a courier, all of the neighborhoods have them, I'll be here in fifteen minutes. You stay in touch O.K. Bruce?" Martin promised that he would. He stood in the parking lot and watched the Humvee until it was out of sight. He stood there staring at his old apartment building, not really wanting to go inside for he felt that to enter his old apartment would be like entering a portal into his past. Martin didn't like who he once was. The pandemic and mayhem had liberated him in a strange way. The pretenses of a convoluted society had somehow subdued his soul. The plague had freed him. As he begrudgingly walked towards his apartment he realized that he had no keys. He had fled with literally the clothes on his back that awful night. The memory of it made his heart race. He stopped, remembering that he had a car. He walked over to his old parking space and his car was indeed there. But the gas tank had been forced open. He tried the door handle and it was still locked. Martin walked back to the apartment building and up to his old door. He tried the door knob. It was locked. A familiar voice startled him.
"Eet's locked Meester Martin. I locked eet for yous." Martin spun around to see Rueben, the supervisor. Martin despised him. Rueben had a long history of stirring up trouble and was something of a bully, harassing the tenants while kissing up to the owners of the units. Rueben also detested Martin, only because he was a successful college graduate. It seemed to bother Rueben because over the years he had made several references to "privileged college boys." Rueben had come over on the Mariel boatlift. He was an ugly little man. He was as wide as he was tall. He had greasy, wavy, jet black
hair even though he was in his sixties. He always wore a wife beater t-shirt and he always had the stump of a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. Rueben stepped forward and inserted a key into Martin's lock. He swung the door open and stood squinting at Martin as he spoke in his squeaky voice.
"Eet wahs a crime scene for a few weeks, until the flu. Theen everybody, they talk about you helping the country by warning on thee computers. So I keep an eye on your place for yous. You see!" he said gesturing with a sweep of his arm towards Martin's living room. There was lots of looters but I shoots at them."
"Thanks", said Martin. "Guess it was kind of rough here huh?"
Rueben nodded. "Almost all left the city after a couple of weeks, no electricity, no water. They left for the country. I tried to but the interstate was all blocked with abandoned cars. So I took off on foot down US1 but was ambushed. I hads to run for my life. Once the U.N. Soldiers came I just stayed here. Welcome back."
Martin walked into his old apartment and closed the door behind him. It seemed as if it was years rather than months since he had been there. It was musty smelling. Martin found his bedroom just as he left it, the laptop still open and laying on the unmade bed. Martin threw the lights on. There was electricity. He plopped onto the bed and plugged his in computer. He tried to access the internet in an attempt to get some news but there was no internet to log onto. He turned the TV. on. Flipping through the channels he found only static. The soldiers were wrong thought Martin, there were no old movies, and there was no television. Martin fell onto his bed. He thought of his cozy cottage at Saint Mary's. His apartment seemed as sterile and gloomy as the Dedlock's Lincolnshire estate. The little cottage on the bay burned as warm and inviting in his thoughts as Mister Peggotty's boat. Martin stood up and walked over to his refrigerator. He opened it to retrieve some bottles of water. The stench of the rotten food made him nearly vomit. He slammed the door closed. He retrieved an old thermos, some pictures of his family and some clothes which he tossed into a garbage bag. He slung the bag over his shoulder and walked out of his apartment and opened his car. Tossing the bag into the back he turned the key. The engine turned over!
The Volkswagen rolled out of the parking lot and out onto the empty streets of Miami. It felt strange after so long to be back behind the wheel. The car was yet another reminder of his previous life. Martin's life prior to his asylum at Saint Mary's made him extraordinarily uncomfortable. For the life prior to the plague was simply an existence, the condition of which was dictated by others. He felt ashamed that he had not stood on the principals upon which he had grown up, those instilled in him by his father and by his community. Martin drove past relics of the old Miami and evidence of the violence that had erupted during the flu. The veneer of civilization was extremely thin. Abandoned cars littered the road and Martin slalomed amongst the relics. Onward Martin drove progressing down empty streets, passing only couriers on bikes and motorcycles. Martin now came upon a large open area overgrown in weeds and knee high grass. He slowed his car, stunned as he realized that this was once a country club's golf course, now wild with neglect.
Unaccustomed to driving Martin suddenly realized that he had best check his gas. "Oh crap." He muttered to himself when he saw that the gas gauge read "empty." His only option was to press on until he ran out of gas. Martin turned on his radio in an effort to distract himself from the inevitable. There was only dead air on the FM band. He switched over to AM and was surprised to discover that there actually was a man reporting on a massive earthquake in Missouri and to Martin's astonishment he learned that the Arc had collapsed. "What the hell is going on with the world?" he muttered. He turned off the radio. He had no idea where he could find gas so he drove on. Looking up he was alarmed to see that the road ahead was blocked by a car and two pickups. He slowed the car as he approached the road block. His apprehension grew as he saw men hopping down out of the pickups and some were armed with shotguns. One of them stepped in front of his car and raised his hand to signal him to stop.
"How ya doin?" asked the man in the road.
"Alright. What's goin' on?"
The man leaned down to get a better look at Martin. He glanced over his shoulder at the others who were standing behind him. "Why this is the neighborhood road block. Ya know about the road blocks don't ya?"
"Well, not really, this is my first time driving in a long time. I was at my church."
"Oh, I see. Well pretty much every neighborhood will have a road block or two around the roads coming into the neighborhood. It's to watch for looters or punks but that has pretty much calmed down since the city and the communities have executed a lot of trash. Where you headin'?"
"My church, Saint Mary's."
One of the men leaning against a truck spoke, "I know where that's at. That's down by the causeway, by the bay."
The first man spoke, "You'll probably go through a couple more roads blocks. Don't stop for anybody on the road. There are still some bad seeds hiding out there."
"O.K., thanks." responded Martin. The man stepped back and Martin drove onward.
Martin had not driven very far down the empty roads when the car sputtered and gasped before the engine died altogether. Martin struggled against the now stiff steering wheel to guide it over to the side of the road to join the dozens of other abandoned vehicles which lined the roads of Miami. Martin stepped out of his car and surveyed his surroundings; he still had a ways to go. There was not another person to be seen. Martin grabbed his bag full of clothes from the back seat. He began to walk along the road, noticing mute testaments to the violence that had occurred. The death and cruelty that was ushered in by the virus now seemed to have retreated under the light of a new day but a day that was beginning to fade and Martin was still on foot in the streets of Miami. If he kept a steady pace he figured that he would arrive at Saint Mary's just before sunset.
Martin strolled down the middle of Biscayne Avenue, now devoid of the bustle and congestion and resplendent in nature. The evening sea breeze stirred the palm fronds in a rustling chorus accompanied by songbirds. Martin was startled by the sound of voices. He froze where he was, looking about in a panic for the source of the voices. He saw a woman talking to a young girl on a bike across the street from where he stood. Martin watched as the woman patted the girl on her back and said, "Be quick about it now. Off with you! Be careful dear!" The girl peddled past Martin, smiling as she passed him. Martin now saw the back pack on her and realized that she was a courier. The woman went to turn back down the street she was standing on when she noticed Martin. She walked towards him and Martin met her half way.
"How ya doin'?", she said with a broad smile. She was a short and chubby woman, obviously Cuban. Her salt and pepper hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a bright floral shirt and olive drab Bermuda shorts with slip on white tennis shoes. "My name's Consuelo, everybody calls me Connie. I'm the neighborhood warden here", she said extending her hand.
Martin took it smiling as he said, "I'm Bruce. Bruce Martin."
"Pleased to meet you Bruce, where ya comin' from?"
"Miami Shores."
"Oh my, you must a been walkin' all day!"
"No, my car ran out of gas about three or four miles back."
"Where ya headin', if ya don't mind my askin'."
"I'm trying to get to my church, Saint Mary's."
"Is that the church on the bay just past the causeway?"
"Yea that's the one."
"Yea, I know that church. You still have a way to go and the day is getting on. Come with me Bruce and I'll getcha a ride."
"Wow! I appreciate that."
"No problem. Just up the street here are some of my friends at a road block. We'll get one of 'em to get ya to your church," she said looking up at Martin, her eyes squinting against the bright rays of a sinking sun. "I was a teacher before the flu. What did you do?" Connie inquired.
"A reporter," Martin responded. Connie stopped short, her whole demeanor changing. She
stared suspiciously at Martin.
"Yea", continued Martin, "I worked for the Biscayne Sun. I stumbled upon the story of the flu while doing a story on the Coast Guard. It came into the country in cocaine ya know. I tried to warn people, I put everything that I knew on YouTube but the government came after me. I went into hiding."
"Yea, yea I've heard of you! You're the reporter that alerted everybody to what was going on, even when the government was feeding us the typical bunch of crap. You are something of a celebrity ya know." Connie's defensive posture melted away as she spoke. "We're almost there, c'mon just a little further." The two walked a little further down the road until they came upon several trucks blocking the road. A dozen heavily armed men and women milled around the trucks.
Connie raised her hand to greet the people. They responded in kind. Connie introduced Martin to the group. They too were gathered around a radio. Connie explained to Martin that Saint Louis had been devastated by an earthquake. She went on to explain that they were all also praying for Eastern Europe.
"What happened in Europe?" asked Martin. Connie looked at him in disbelief. "You kiddin' me? The asteroid!"
"What asteroid?"
"You're serious. The Ukraine area was hit by a big asteroid. We all saw it streaking across the sky at night, a few weeks ago."
"Oooh! Yeah, I remember seeing that!" exclaimed Martin realizing that he too had witnessed the asteroid the night that he had ventured into the city and was captured by the National Guard.
"Yeah," continued Connie, "it threw so much dust into the atmosphere that it contaminated most of the lakes and rivers in Europe and most of Asia, crazy times huh? A lot of people swear that it is the end times. Just watch the sunset, the sky seems to be on fire. They say it's because of all of the dust in the sky."
"I've heard several people comment on the comet..."
"Asteroid!" injected Connie.
"Asteroid," continued Martin, "calling it Wormwood from the book of Revelations."
"Who knows? If they're calling it Wormwood then it is Wormwood! Strange and frightening times," said Connie.
"Speaking of the end, it's nearly the end of the day...we had better get you to where you need to be before it gets dark. Enrique, can you please give Mister Martin here a ride down to the causeway. Do you know Saint Mary's, the old Catholic church down there?"
A tall elderly Hispanic man with curly salt and pepper hair hopped down out of the bed of an old truck. Martin recognized him instantly as classic Little Havana, a white t- shirt, faded jeans and leather sandals.
"Yes, I know the place", he said while seizing up Martin. The man motioned towards his truck, inviting Martin to get in. The truck was an old truck, a very old truck but in pristine condition. Getting in Martin felt as though he had just entered a portal into nineteen sixty nine. "Nice truck." commented Martin.
"Thanks, I restored it all myself." said Enrique with obvious pride. "This used to be my job."
"What do you do now?"
"I work with the community redevelopment workforce; I'm a heavy equipment operator...that is when we can find enough diesel."
"Community workforce, what is that?"
"Local governments have volunteers, well some are volunteers, some get paid, mostly in food or something else, money isn't worth a whole lot right now. But anyhow there are groups organized to kind of redo the city. Miami is all sprawled out but now the different neighborhoods are tearing down old apartments buildings, strip malls that kind of thing. Even the Pork and Beans neighborhood is into this. You haven't heard of this?" Martin shook his head. As the truck rolled along the shadows of late evening interrupted the golden light here and there. "Yea," Enrique continued, "I heard that they are over by the old port tearing up roads and digging canals where the road used to be. Eventually they will open it up into the bay so it floods with sea water. These are going to be aquaculture. I know that an old rundown apartment building that we ripped up is a farm...Miami is changing! What do you do Mister Martin?"
"Nothing as constructive as that. Actually nothing. I used to be a reporter." Enrique's eye brows raised in surprise. "I know, I know," explained Martin, "that people hate reporters and with good cause. They had become not much more than propagandist, but it was me that first stumbled on the flu and went on the internet to warn everybody."
"I have heard of you, not by name but of a reporter that tried to warn us all but we heard that the government had killed you."
"They tried, I had to hide out and then my friends all came down with the flu."
"They tried to get anybody who did not submit to them and when that was pretty much the whole country they called their commy friends in the U.N. The U.N. actually sent troops, mostly Mexicans, but the people gave those wimps a real quick shellacking'! Man, I'm a marieleeto and I mean to tell ya that I never thought that once I got out of Cuba I would be havin' the government come after me again! Crazy Times!"
Martin nodded his concurrence. Enrique turned off the road onto a side road and slowed as the rolled up to what looked to be a park. "Look, see!" said Enrique pointing into the park. Martin chuckled at the sight of a white armored vehicle and a white battered helicopter. "U.N., both caught by local militias."
"What happened to the soldiers?"
"They were sent home."
"Dead?"
"As door nails" said Enrique as they continued on. "We took the vehicle and chopper and turned them into a memorial for those who died fighting the globalist."
"How many?" asked Martin.
Enrique shrugged, "Don't know, I think like a dozen or so."
"It's a sad time we live in", commented Martin. "I've seen a lot of memorials but mostly of the flu victims."
"Yes, I lost my wife to the flu. My son and his family live in Virginia so I do not know how they are. How about you?"
"I have no family. My Father passed away years ago and my mom bailed on me."
The old truck rolled up to the Saint Mary's parking lot. "Here you go Mister Martin, safe and sound."
"Thanks Enrique, good luck to you."
"There is no such thing as luck, only what we make of our situations and God's blessings."
"Then God bless you Enrique", said Martin with a smile as he shut the door. The old truck rolled on into the long shadows of late afternoon. Martin turned and walked back towards the gate. The sun was falling rapidly. It's brilliance filtered by the dust of Wormwood. Once again Martin marveled at the bipolarity of Earth. Before him was a beautiful sunset created by an event that brought death to millions. Slipping through the gate he walked into the darkness of the oak hammock. He came upon the old coquina wall surrounding the graveyard. The graves that he had dug were adorned with fresh flowers. Martin walked up to father Ryan's door and knocked.