by Mark Scott
Chapter Fifteen
The door slowly opened to reveal Father Ryan. "Bruce! This is a surprise, is everything alright?"
"Yea Father I was, uhm, well I was wondering if I can stay in my old cabin out back."
"Well sure but what happened to your place? Oh my, was it looted?"
"No Father, it just reminds me of how it used to be, of how I used to be. I'm different now and it just seems, I dunno, weird, it makes me uncomfortable, ya know?"
"I'm sure that many people feel that way these days Bruce, we've all changed, everything has changed. Come on in and I'll get the key" said the Priest as he opened the drawer of the small table next to the couch. "Here ya go Bruce", said the clergyman as he handed Martin the keys to the cabin. Martin bid him a good night. He walked along the familiar path back to the warm and safe shelter of the little cabin. The reflections of lights now danced upon the water of the bay. Arriving at the cabin, he opened the windows, a warm breeze flowed into the little house, the wind carried the scent of the sea. He tossed his backpack onto the threadbare couch and rummaged through it to pull out several books. He sorted through them before selecting one, the Lord of the Flies. Martin read deep into the night.
Dawn of the next day found Martin already up and sitting on the front porch. There was a symphony of the early morning ringing all around the little cabin. Birds sang in the trees. Choruses of cicada celebrated the warm summer air and off in the distance the deep resonant barking of dogs. Martin rocked slowly in the weathered old rocking chair while contemplating how he should make a living in this new world.
"Mornin' Bruce!", a familiar voice called out.
Martin looked out across the grass field still sparkling with dew in the warm early light of a summer morning. He focused on a lone figure strolling along the path; it was Leah. Standing, Martin waved to her.
"Hey, Father Ryan said you were here. What's up?? Everything OK?"
"Yeah, I just couldn't stand being in my old place. I dunno, it's weird, like I didn't like my old life, or even who I was back then, ya know? I just sat there thinking about that terrible night when those cops came for me and how you and I barely got away and I dunno, this place just seems calm and peaceful. Like I said, it's weird."
"Yeah, I can see that", Leah said as she hopped up onto the porch railing. "We've all changed a great deal. I mean, nobody is the same as before all of this happened. Listen, you're gonna need some food. Father Ryan and I are going to the neighborhood co-op, ya wanna come?"
"The what?"
"The co-op, you know the neighborhood co-op, it's like a farmers market from the neighborhood farms and peoples gardens. There's also meat there, mostly game. Got any gold?"
Martin shook his head to indicate that he had none. "Back home I have some rings and stuff."
"I'll buy this time. They also do a bartering system, food for labor or whatever you have to offer. Money isn't worth much these days."
"The dollar wasn't worth much before the attack either", chuckled Martin.
"Got any of those plastic shopping bags lying around?"
"Yea I do!" Martin retired to the cabin interior and returned a moment later with a handful of bags.
"Great! You'll need 'em. Ready?"
The two friends met the Priest and together they left the sanctuary that was Saint Mary's and strolled down the streets of Miami. Before long the streets became busier with people, bikes and even the odd truck loaded with produce. After a half hour's walk they arrived at Bicentennial Park. Tents and canopies were scattered all across the park. The breeze off of the Bay wafted the smells of cooking food through the swirling crowd. The air was bustling with the voices of barter. Moving through the crowd was soldiers, carrying weapons slung over their shoulders. It was the greatest crowd of people that Martin had seen in many months. Leah stopped at one tent that had loaves of bread scattered across long tables.
"What's that loaf there?" Leah inquired, pointing to a loaf of bread.
"Country, white" replied a robust, red faced woman brandishing a broad smile.
"How much?" asked Leah.
"A link, if ya have it."
Leah dug out of a little change purse a single link of a gold chain. She handed it to the lady who then inspected it closely and bit it.
"Very good then, 'ere ya go", said the lady as she bagged up the loaf of bread and handed it to Leah.
As the three friends wondered through the milling crowd Martin began to realize that he was witnessing something special. It was that quintessential American characteristic of self-reliance. Instead of American society crumbling the communities came together. There was a real sense of community and respect for one another and a display of patriotism, as flags flew everywhere. Talking to people in the crowd Martin got a sense that they were proud of the fact that they had taken their country back from the "elites" as they were now referred. It soon became apparent to Martin on just how he would support himself in the revitalized Miami; he was going to start a newspaper, one reporting unbiased straightforward news. Martin's thoughts were shattered by the sound of a train coming into the park's station. People began moving in mass towards the station; something was going on.
When Martin and company arrived in front of the station he could see a middle aged man standing on something that elevated him slightly above the crowd. He wore a blue dress shirt with no tie and the collar unbuttoned. The sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and the shirt was darkened here and there by perspiration. The man held a hand aloft to signal silence. The crowd complied with his mute request. "I am the interim secretary of Transportation of this great nation of ours", he began. "Now is the time to reshape our nation and it has fallen to us to repair the decades of neglect by those who occupied Washington prior to this horrific attack. But, being Americans we shall rise to the challenge as we always have and we will improve our nation in the form that our fore fathers envisioned and dedicate ourselves to the principles and morals which has made this nation great. I am calling upon all of you to serve. President Kennedy said it best all those years ago, 'Ask not what your country can do for you, but ask what you can do for your country.' Your country needs each and every one of you and so does your fellow citizens. Take a look around you. Look into the face of your fellow citizens standing here with us today. God has ordained that we should survive this horrible plague. Why? I believe it is upon us to rebuild the greatest experiment in the history of humanity; a nation governed by the people and for the people." The crowd burst into a thunderous applause. The Secretary continued, "I urge all of you to employ the skills you have to improve your community and to help all of us attain the same..." the Secretary halted his speech and dropped his head momentarily as though searching for the right words,
"..Make that, a higher standard of living than we had before. A better life, one closer to our God and our environment and our community, our families and one another. I am here to recruit any who have construction experience. All levels of experience from engineers to laborers, all are needed and just as important as the next, for without the strong backs to implement the vision of an engineer, the project cannot happen. Your nation is working on a new interstate system, rail system, dams and much, much more.
For some of the specifics on pay, boarding et cetera, we have some handouts here. If you are interested we can certainly use you. If not on a national level, I urge all of you to serve in your communities any way you can; your country and your neighbors need you!"
The Secretary continued to speak but his voice was subdued by Martin's thoughts. Bruce Martin realized that he was living through one of humanity's most momentous events. This was history and it presented an extraordinarily unique opportunity to participate in these events. He had been a journalist and was a very good journalist but had always been suppressed by the agenda of the press. He now knew how he would support himself in the new America; he would start a newspaper, a real newspaper. This paper would be filled with real news and actual facts unlike the pa
pers of yesterday. The excitement ripped through him as he became conscious of Leah's voice.
"You ready to head back Bruce? I've got everything I needed for dinner. Father Ryan has a guest, another priest, coming."
The three walked back to Saint Mary's, Martin mulling over his plan in his mind while Father Ryan and Leah chatted about the projects the nation and towns were undertaking. "OK, see you later Father. Dinner will be around five."
Martin was surprised that they were already at the back of the church. He was so deep in thought that he scarcely remembered the walk or any of the conversation. Entering eah's apartment he sat down at the table and began to jot down ideas for the name of his paper. Leah pulled out some venison that she had bought at the market.
"Bruce could you be a dear and pick me some Blackberries that are growing behind your cottage. I hope they are still there."
Martin stopped his scribbling and looked up. "Yeah they're still there. What a ya gonna do with berries? You making a pie?"
"No, it's for a sauce that goes with the venison. It's from a recipe I saw once on the old cooking show Two Fat Ladies."
"Oh yeah, I remember them. I enjoyed that show even though I'm not much of a cook. How many berries do ya need?" he asked laying his pencil down.
"About half full", she said handing him an old Easter basket.
"OK but aren't you starting dinner early?"
"Oh no, just trimming the venison and prepping, we have a guest tonight. Father Ryan has a new priest who just arrived from somewhere in the Caribbean. He is being recalled to the Vatican but they are not quite sure how he is going to get there."
"Being recalled? Is he in some kind of trouble or what?"
Father Ryan said that the Holy Father has asked for him. Apparently the Holy Father has the flu and of course that is not good."
"The Pope is sick with the flu? What is this guy, some kind of doctor or something? That's kinda weird; I mean to have the flu at the Pope's age. This flu hits mostly young or middle aged people." Leah just shrugged and with that Martin departed heading back to the woods behind his cottage to pick blackberries.
Martin soon returned with the basket full of Blackberries. Opening the door he was greeted with the delightful aroma of frying venison and baking bread. Leah was standing over the oven, wooden spoon in hand, tending to a skillet full of sizzling medallions of meat. "Oh, thanks Bruce, just set them there", she said pointing to the counter. Leah walked over and dumped the berries into a colander and began rinsing them. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Martin asked. "No, I'm good, we should be eating in a half hour or so", said Leah. Martin responded, "Think I'll go wash up, it's pretty warm and I was sweating in the woods."
Martin returned to Leah's just as the sun began its descent towards the western horizon. The dust which was thrown into the atmosphere by Wormwood filtered the light so that the sun became persimmon red with each dawn and sunset. He politely knocked on the door and was greeted by a smiling Leah.
"Bruce, this is Father Ryan's guest, Father Dlugozima." Martin walked over to the priest and shook his hand. The priest was rather tall with sweeping white hair. His eye's, which were framed by glasses, were deep blue and seemed intense to Martin but the man's demeanor was very calm, laid back. " Nice to meet you Bruce." Martin extended his hand then the four sat down to dinner. As they ate the conversation turned to Martin and his attempts to alert the nation to the attack.
"So Bruce, may I call you Bruce?" Martin nodded his approval. Father Dlugozima continued, "I hear that you are quite a rare breed of journalist. I heard that you actually warned the country that the flu was, in fact, a biological attack."
"Yes", responded Martin as he slid the bramble jelly off of the venison before cutting it.
"It started out as a story on the Coast Guard."
"Speaking of the Coast Guard, did you ever find out what happened to the Courageous? "Leah inquired.
"No. Nobody seems to know a thing about them. They just disappeared."
"Most likely eliminated would be my guess", said Father Dlugozima.
"Well, now", interjected Father Ryan, "Let's hope not. Perhaps they have been deployed somewhere. Nothing is as it should be in these hard times ya know. Leah the food is heavenly and I should know, I'm a priest", chuckled Father Ryan.
"That's bad", remarked Father Dlugozima. Father Ryan seemed a little put off by the other priest negative comments. "You must forgive Father Dlugozima. His job has exposed him to the evil in the world and I'm afraid it has jaded him."
"You are probably right" replied Father Dlugozima.
"Oh, what is your job Father?" Martin inquired.
But before the priest could answer Father Ryan responded, "He is something of a specialist among priest. What is this meat Leah? Like I said it is great"
Martin's curiosity was not put off by Father Ryan's clumsy attempt to divert attention away from Dlugozim'a specialty. "So Father, just what exactly is your specialty?"
Martin noticed that the question had stopped Father Ryan's fork mid-way to his mouth. The two priests exchanged nervous glances before Dlugozima sat erect in his chair and looked Martin squarely in the eyes and answered, "I am an exorcist"
"Wow!", exclaimed Leah most unexpectedly. "You mean like in the movie? That must be fascinating. Do tell me more. How many have you performed? Where? Here in America?"
"The Caribbean most recently but all around the world. Evil manifest itself everywhere Leah. Your curiosity surprises me" said Dlugozima. "And no it is not as in the movies, it is nowhere near as dramatic. Evil often manifests itself in very subtle ways, although some demons are very aggressive, but let us speak of more pleasant things." Leah persisted, "Forgive me Father but I think that I have seen something, or someone...I don't really know who or what but I keep seeing this person, I can't tell if it is a man or a woman but it is beautiful." Martin was cutting his meat and stopped in mid stroke, keen to hear Leah's description of what he himself had seen. "Oh really?" asked Father Dlugozima skeptically.
"Oh yes", continued Leah. He or she, or whatever is very alluring, very sensual. It's like I said, I can't tell if it's a man or a woman. I see him here and there, just a glimpse", said Leah turning to Martin. "The first time was the night the Sun burned down, I saw him in the crowd as we drove by. He looked right at me and smiled."
Martin just sat there, staring at Leah as if he were struck dumb. Father Dlugozima noticed Martin's reaction. "You have seen him too?" Martin blinked. Then Father Dlugozima turned to Father Ryan who was happily stuffing venison down his throat. "Well Father Ryan, it seems that God has delivered two of his treasures to you."
Father Ryan stopped eating, "this is what you believe? Do you really think that they can see Satin?"
"Yes," responded Father Dlugozima as he pushed himself away from the table and stood. "The end times are near. The forces of darkness move across the world, becoming more brazen with each passing day. Just look at what has become of the world man! You are sitting in the ruins of a once modern city. Wormwood has fulfilled the prophecies and decimated a third of the planet. Plagues and wars are everywhere."
"You are the expert; I am but a parish priest".
Father Dlugozima turned to Martin, "You are a journalist. It seems that you have favor with God. You too Leah. Would the two of you care to join me on my trip to the Vatican?"
"Why?" asked Martin. "I mean, that's very generous of you but why do you want us to go?"
"There is a story there, one of the greatest ever known to humanity. The Holy Father is ill and has summoned me. I leave in two days."
"How? There are no flights, are you going by ship?"
"No, a Vatican jet is being sent for me."
"But what about the travel restrictions?"
"I would love to go!", exclaimed Leah. "Bruce isn't this exciting? Come on Bruce, say you'll go!"
"I can't, my paper, it's just getting off the ground. I really couldn't."
"Oh come on Bruce", coaxed Lea
h.
Father Ryan set his knife and fork down and after wiping his mouth with his napkin he announced, "Well Bruce, this was supposed to be something of a surprise but I am afraid that I must inform you before you go off to Italy. They are planning on having a big Fourth of July bash in your honor, here at Saint Mary's! There will be a barbecue, fireworks and a plaque recognizing your cabin as a national historic site."
"Wow Bruce! That is so cool!" chirped Leah.
"Yeah but you were right there with me, it was you who knew how to get it on the internet", Martin protested. Leah just smiled at him but Martin was not smiling.
Martin had enjoyed the shelter that his little cottage had provided. He felt rather betrayed by Father Ryan. After all, he had sought sanctuary and now his sanctuary was to be thrown open to the world. Finishing his dinner Martin rose to his feet and thanked Leah for a nice meal. He bade the two priests a good night. Father Ryan, oblivious to Martin's distress continued, "What? So soon? We were going to watch the Wild Wild West! Channel Six is showing all the old shows."
"No thanks Father. I'm pretty tired. I think I'll just head home." Arriving at his cottage Martin plopped down onto his worn and comfortably familiar couch. He turned on the TV. and watched the Wild Wild West.
For the next two days Martin occupied himself by roaming the streets of Miami seeking out stories. But for Martin, who happened upon one of the greatest stories in history, writing about the new face of Miami was less than thrilling. On the afternoon of Leah's departure he wandered back towards Saint Mary's with a heavy heart. The Priest and his friend were scheduled to depart at seven thirty. Martin wandered along the path that they had walked together so many times. He sat on his seat which overlooked Biscayne Bay. The flotilla of every sort of vessel imaginable had disappeared, even the banker's boat. Martin wondered what had become of it. He wondered what had become of the Banker's children who he was so worried about. He wondered if his mother had survived the plague. She would now be in her sixties so he guessed that the virus had probably skipped her as it targeted the young and healthy. He wondered about all of the people he had encountered in his life. He wondered what would now become of Leah. He wondered what would become of him? Martin was lost in deep thoughts when he noticed that the air had assumed a golden glow, that light which heralds the approaching nightfall. He twisted his wrist to glance at his watch. He had a sickening feeling of sadness and profound loneliness when he saw that it was now seven fifteen. He rose and strode through the mangroves which arched over the path standing on bundles of spindly legs. The air became cool, almost chilly. The world was no longer the same. The summer evenings, even as far south as Miami, now carried a chill, as all of life seem to be devoid of warmth.
When Martin arrived at the little row of apartments he saw that the two priests were already putting luggage into the trunk. Leah, tall and slender was standing off to the side. She seemed to sense that Martin was there. She turned and smiled at him, the chilly breeze sweeping her hair across her face. She pulled her hair back and approached Martin. He stood still, his senses seeming to have abandoned him. He was unaware of anything but the vision of Leah walking towards him, seemingly in slow motion. She spoke, "Well my dear friend, I am not going to cry because I am not going to say goodbye. I'll be back." Martin managed a feeble smile. "Ya OK?" she inquired. Again Martin smiled weakly and said, "Yeah. I sure am going to miss you Leah." and he stopped short, daring not to say more for fear of his voice cracking and betraying his anguish. He looked into her eyes as green and warm as summer grass. She leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek. Father Dlugozima stepped forward and shaking Martin's hand bade him farewell. The car slowly turned and drove down the dirt road towards the old gate. The scene became blurred under a welling of emotion in Martin's eyes, only to become clear once more as the emotions breached his eyelid and flowed across his cheeks. He turned and walked back towards the bay. He sat at his spot overlooking the water and watched as the west reveled in veils of swirling and shifting pink and gold and orange. The blue to the east steadily became darker and darker as it flowed ever westwards chasing the lights, pushing them closer and closer to the horizon. The gentle lapping of the waves was suddenly disrupted by a strange sound. A sound that would have been familiar enough just six months ago but this noise had all but disappeared; it was the sound of a jet. Martin rose to his feet and turned to watch it climbing up into the darkness. "It's gotta be Leah's jet", he thought. He watched until the sound was overwhelmed by the crickets and the blinking red lights of the plane were consumed by the night. Martin walked back to his cabin completely alone in the world.
On the morning of July the third Martin was awakened by the sound of hammering accompanied by voices. Still half asleep, he walked across the tiny living room and out onto the front porch, shielding his eyes against the brilliant morning light. All across the field was groups of workers erecting tents and tables. Next to the shore they were building a wooden stage. After a breakfast of a grapefruit and tea, Martin grabbed a ring that had belonged to his mother and set out towards the city.
Martin was going to an old car lot that was now selling bicycles. The cars were still there, unattended to and rusting useless hulks as gasoline was still a rare and precious commodity. The bikes, now more valuable that the cars were kept inside on the showroom floor. Martin entered the show room and began walking up and down the rows of bicycles when a man approached him. "In the market for a bike?" he inquired with a broad smile. Martin nodded, "I like this one", he said pointing to a mountain bike. "My job", he continued, "will take me all over the city. This will be perfect."
"Old job or new job?" asked the salesman.
"Pardon?" responded Martin.
"Are you still doing what you did before the flu or have you reinvented yourself like most have."
"Same, well a little different. I was a reporter and now I have started my own paper."
"Without bias I hope."
"That is what the whole premise of my paper is based on."
"Well that's good. I am in a similar situation. I used to own the car dealership, well still do, I guess. Ya see nobody wants those cars out there. Detroit no longer exist and the property is mortgaged but the banks are all gone, so who knows what is going on. But I figured that people still need to get around so I started gathering and reconditioning bikes and have done alright."
"Good deal, ya gotta be flexible these days huh?" said Martin.
The salesman nodded his concurrence as he rolled the bike over to Martin. Want to take her around the salesroom, see how ya like it?"
"Sure."
After a quick loop around the showroom Martin rolled up to the man, brakes squealing him to a stop. Throwing his leg over the bike Martin dismounted and thrust his hand into his pocket to produce his mother's ring. "That should cover it. That is a carat emerald there and 24 carat gold."
"That's way too much", said the man. "You could buy three bikes for that much. Let me go get my scales and some chain and we can strike us a deal I'm sure."
"No, no need. It's a ring from somebody I really don't much care for. Thanks and good luck in your new business."
"Ok if you're sure", said the man waving.
Martin rode the bike all over the city. He watched the work going on along the old cruise ship terminals where crews were digging up roads and turning them into canals for fish farms. Martin watched as parks were turned into communal farms. By the time artin returned to Saint Mary's that evening he had rode many miles. Parking his bike on his front porch he plopped down on his couch and fell asleep.
The next morning Martin was awakened by a rapping on his door. "Morning Bruce", grinned Father Ryan. "What time is it Father?" Martin asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Seven thirty. I made breakfast for us. It's your big day, ya know." Martin enjoyed a large breakfast of eggs and fried bologna. Father Ryan and Martin visited as they had in the beginning of the nightmare. Martin rather enjoyed the Priest's company and found a solace th
at he had not felt for some time. When the noon hour arrived the two friends made their way along the path with dozens of strangers, all moving towards the field and Martin's little cabin. Martin felt very uncomfortable with so many intruders in his sanctuary.
Arriving at the stage Martin experienced a wave of anxiety when he saw a couple of hundred people scattered across the field. After the mayor and acting governor made their obligatory speeches they beckoned Martin to join them on the stage. They handed Martin a silver plaque which read, "In recognition of the selfless bravery and patriotism exhibited by Bruce Martin, journalist. In the finest tradition of true journalism and at great risk to his personal safety, Bruce warned his fellow Americans that a great influenza pandemic was, in fact, an act of terrorism. This was in direct contradiction to the official explanation of the corrupt government officials." Martin managed a feeble smile and a wave to the cheering crowd. He scampered down the steps of the stage and was besieged by a swirling crowd of well-wishers. As he moved through the crowd his hand was grabbed and shook, his back was slapped in a congratulatory gesture. Martin saw on young man push his way up through the mob. He reached down and grabbed Martin's hand and began shaking it vigorously.
"So you Bruce Martin?", asked the young man anxiously. Martin nodded.
"So you live in that little house over there by those woods?" Martin nodded again. The young man tightened his grip on Martin's hand and yanked him towards him while simultaneously punching him in the stomach. Martin was confused. He felt the dull ache that such a blow produces. He looked into the young man's eye. He looked back into Martin's. Martin felt something warm and wet running down his legs. He looked down and saw the black hilt of a large butcher knife protruding from his stomach. At the same time he heard screams and yells. As he swooned and fell to his knees he was jostled by people rushing past him to subdue his assailant. Martin could hear the young man screaming, "He killed my brother. He shot my brother." Martin could hear other cries for paramedics. He saw Father Ryan's face leaning over him as the priest eased him onto his back, while cradling his head in the crook of his arm. Martin was now experiencing intense pain when it was suddenly swept away by the arrival of a realization. The boy must be the brother of the man Martin had shot months ago. Martin now feared for his soul. He had killed another human being. He lifted his head to look at the young man. He saw him being drug away, kicking wildly and still screaming, "He killed my brother." Martin wanted to ask the priest for absolution but his mind became a jumble of thoughts and emotions. His head dropped back down. He could feel paramedics working on him and moving him but he heard and saw nothing. He felt an intense cold creep steadily into his body. He managed to ask for the priest.
"I'm right here Bruce."
"I shot his brother", Martin whispered. "They tried to take my cabin. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. Forgive me, forgive me Christ. I'm afraid to die." Exhausted, his breathing became labored and shallow and he closed his eyes. He felt the Priest touching his forehead as he administered the last rights. Martin opened his eyes and took a long deep breath. Father Ryan leaned over Martin and saw that his eyes were devoid of life. They stared blankly up at a flawless blue sky. Bruce Martin had left this world. He would come to be considered lucky.