“Beats me; just people gettin’ outta Dodge, same as us,” said Jack.
“Curious, just the same…”
The Captain spoke up despite his tight body windings, “Come on… the answer is right in front of you. They landed here when they were ordered down, unlike us.”
“Makes sense, I guess. Far enough away to feel like a refuge,” commented Jack.
“And the end of commercial flying… maybe forever,” replied the Captain.
“Refuge and a nice town… once,” said Pappy, “really decent, friendly people, but so almighty dependent. They needed tourist money and Denali climbers in summer and welfare checks for groceries and beer in the winter. Town never really offered much except tie-dyed tee-shirts and artwork by a few starving artists. Nothing much for tourists either except a great ride over Denali slopes, a muddy river beach, and a little herpes. Hell, most of us spent half a lifetime cutting enough firewood to last the winter. This has always been a hand to mouth town. Just look at my place… they took everything!”
“Doesn’t sound like you want to hang around here any longer,” said Mac.
“Damn right, I don’t… remember my floatplane? We should have arrived at my fantasy lodge by now.”
“Is that still where you think we should go?” asked Judy.
“Sure, what better place? Until spring anyway.”
“Pappy… you still whining about that damn floatplane… it’s gone, man! Let’s move on.” Jack never tolerated a melancholy, regretful mood in anyone.
“Well I wasn’t talking about the damn airplane, and I was moving on. So stuff a sock in it for awhile Jack.” Judy projected more anger than the men had ever heard.
“Damn, guys! We need to decide where we intend to go from here. We haven’t tackled that yet. So, Pappy, tell us about your lodge.”
Jack rolled his eyes.
Pappy answered with his precious image in mind, “Picture a big timber cabin on a shallow meadow lake with superb year round fishing, great hunting for caribou, moose, even Dall sheep, good water and natural hot springs for bathing, great soils for a root garden with an apple orchard, and surrounded by majestic snow-covered volcanic peaks across the Cook Inlet and inaccessible except by air. It would make the perfect refuge away from people until things blow over… if we could just find a way to get there,” Pappy added.
“It sounds like just what we need. Know of any other place we might reach without your airplane?” asked Judy.
“Well, perhaps a lodge we might share a long way off on another lake.”
“So… share a refuge a long way off,” said Judy. “That’s all you know of?”
“I know my lodge would be perfect… everything else would be chancy.”
Abrupt changes and unpredictable readjustments now defined their existence. All of them were reasonably resourceful, but surviving without benefit of society challenged skills and personalities, sometimes causing friction.
The constructive event of the evening was that Tony restored use of the old cabin shotgun by filing a sewing needle to fit as a new firing pin. Mac was satisfied with their progress, realizing that only yesterday morning they had been burned out of their last refuge but were already sleeping in another. Maybe the good life was just a matter of a calm, uncomplaining acceptance of fate.
30
Christiansen Lake, Talkeetna, October 14th. Jack and Tony scouted the neighborhood searching for gasoline for the motorhome. Only three yard cars were found with enough gasoline to collectively fill a quarter-tank in the motor home.
Looking at overgrown lawns, untended flower beds, and the proliferation of windblown belongings, Tony said, “Looks damn depressing. Nothing’s moving, not even a stray dog, and the cars left behind aren’t worth a nickel. Might ‘a been a good neighborhood once but sure looks like every house got plundered.”
“Truth be told, the whole town’s likely a hungry place,” added Jack. “Too many scroungers from those airplanes got here before us. Let’s get back.”
After breakfast, the little band debated again whether to remain or leave. Pappy said, “There’s nothing here to sustain us. My home has little appeal, even to me. With that old motorhome, we can check out the countryside in style. Let’s drive the Spur highway. We’ll get gas where I always do. We can dip the gas station tank if we have to… then decide where we go.”
Headed to the highway, Mac dozed, enjoying being driven. His bus stopped while Pappy and Jack checked some problem ahead but they returned in ten minutes.
Jack explained, “Hundreds of wrecks are jammed in that intersection. You won’t believe it ‘til you see it. There ain’t no way around in this tin lizzie. We’re goin’ back to town to look for a four-wheel drive… if we get lucky.”
“You mean a quarantine roadblock?” Mac asked.
“Not that we could see… just a mess of abandoned wrecks.”
They parked in Talkeetna and wandered together down Main Street which had been barricaded to traffic. Jack insisted they stay together. Town was hauntingly silent, empty and despoiled with trash. Some buildings were marked with a crude red ‘X’, leaving no doubt as to what that meant. Consequently, they stayed on the street, littered everywhere with despair, but without the bodies everyone feared.
Town smelled of damp charcoal… acrid and moldy from buildings burned to their foundations and from the smoldering core of a huge tree stump.
Having walked the few short blocks to the river park, they found not a single automobile or truck remaining, and turned back.
While about town, they had deliberately avoided a corpse prominently hanging on a lamppost. Crossing the street together with Judy to remain upwind, Mac yielded to his morbid curiosity to have a good look.
The corpse, ravaged by ravens, had a scrawled ‘looter’ sign pinned to its clothing which looked somehow familiar – the ribbon gathered hair and denim clothing. Shocked, Mac recognized the corpse as that of their outcast passenger from the Otter, flash tempered Craig. He glanced at Judy and realized that she had also made the connection and was choking back tears as the only one among them who knew the man. Sometime within the past month, rural Talkeetna became vigilante minded. Craig must have made as many friends in town as he made in camp.
Pappy insisted they investigate the airport. Aircraft had been abandoned wherever space could be found to shut down. Tents had been pitched beneath wings with gear and litter scattered to the wind. Pappy found a temporary airport military post. Only a stack of olive drab pallets, a large army tent and fortified lime packets remained.
“So… not even a jeep. Any other ideas?” asked Jack.
“If we could find a way around those wrecks, why not take this motorhome?” asked the Captain. “I’m sure it will burn avgas and here are hundreds of wing tanks that should still have some.”
“Two reasons why not,” said Jack. “Once we leave, there won’t be wings handy when we run out. T’other is the highway wrecks. If it’s this bad way out here, there’ll likely be more as we get closer to Anchorage and we won’t get past them driving this.”
“Back to square one!” said Pappy. “So, I’m looking for a floatplane.”
“And I’m workin’ on an idea… so let me drive,” said Tony.
Finding his way onto the runway, Tony pulled up adjacent to the airfield snowplow and got out to investigate. Puzzled, everyone joined him. The machine was a large Caterpillar grader specially equipped to remove snow from the tarmac. A heavy vee-nosed blade was mounted on front, two adaptable side blades fully retracted, and hanging beneath, another blade and steel rack with a full complement of tire chains and tools.
Tony climbed aboard tapping the fuel tank. “Full,” he bellowed.
Mac said patiently, “Tony, I think that’s diesel, this buggy burns gas.”
Tony smiled and
said with a twinkle, “Aw shucks, gimme a break,” and continued inspecting the cat. When he rejoined the others, he said, “She’s been disabled, but I can fix that in no time.”
“Just why would you do that?” asked Mac.
“Cause you’re looking at our new taxi,” he answered.
Surprised, Jack said, “I get it… you want us to trade in this nice motorhome for our very own yellow cab! Tony, I thought your sluice box was out there, but this! What’n hell are you thinkin’?”
“Really! You, of all people should get it. How we gonna get past that wreckage d’ya think?”
“All right, I’m game...”
“Goes anywhere, right… fog liftin’ a little?”
“I got it… six-wheel drive with a hellava view…”
Pappy interrupted, “Ah… anybody else count more than one seat in that thing… or is it the ultimate tow truck when we run outta gas?”
“Tow truck,” replied Tony with irritation in his voice. “See anything else to drive, smart guy? They took your pickup and even your precious Beaver, so if you gotta better idea, don’t hold back. Fact is… you gotta hundred choices for a ride ‘round here, so have at it, Sky Cap.”
“Christ, Tony, I was just kiddin’.”
“Well, this ain’t no time for two-bit humor. You said you wanted outta here.”
Jack said, “Sorry. It started with me and I should ‘a known better. Learned years ago not to make fun of Tony’s ideas.”
“So… find me a shop and come help. The rest of ya… well… just piss off… Sorry, ‘cept Judy!”
Tony couldn’t be mollified or allow anyone to help. Judy talked him into having a meal but no one was permitted near the work. Soon, they heard the cat crank up and they followed in the motorhome across the tarmac to a shop hangar. Tony drove inside and closed the overhead door to prevent snooping, leaving Pappy to scout airplanes again.
When Pappy returned looking grim, Mac asked, “With that snow plow out of the runway, why not take one of the larger airplanes? Surely we could collect enough fuel to fly anywhere you chose… even to your lodge.”
“Only a floatplane could get to my hideaway… and only a two seat Citabria is left. Not surprising, I guess… every pilot in town must’ve had the same idea. So did the bastard who took mine. But who says we have to go to my lodge? We could go anywhere with something bigger, or maybe even splash down in my lake.”
“We don’t need a repetition of landing at that mine camp,” Judy replied. “So I ask a different question. Where’s safe, not just where’s available?”
“Wouldn’t it make sense to look for something safe from the air?” Mac asked.
“Mac, how are we going to check out a building from the air?” asked Pappy. “We’d have to land and then check. I’m thinkin’ Judy won’t buy dropping in cold… and we’d need a clear day, not like today with this haze.”
“Other than finding Pappy’s lodge, I haven’t heard one reason why flying makes any sense,” said Judy.
“Could we put floats on one of these smaller airplanes,” Mac asked?
“I’ve thought of that,” replied Pappy, “but I can’t find floats except on the Citabria and flying that would take four trips to get us all there.”
“Oh… and what could possibly go wrong with that idea?” said the Captain.
At the close of the day, the miners refused to discuss their project.
“Pappy, we still welcome at your house?” asked Judy.
“How about a big timber hotel overlooking town, instead? Nice place with lots of comforts and a hellava view of the mountains. Let’s check it out.”
“Okay Pappy, then you drive.”
The entrance road to the hotel had been barricaded with concrete block and an earthwork berm next to a narrow gate of stacked sandbags. The five men quickly moved the sandbags aside and Pappy drove under the hotel’s elaborate entrance portal in front of lobby doors. Plywood panels covered every ground floor window, no doubt to thwart trouble. Tony levered open the front doors cautiously checking for telltale odors. Only chilly air greeted him.
The lobby looked immaculate, preserved for the day it would reopen. A river rock fireplace towered to an elaborate timbered roof where clerestory windows captured evening light.
Apparently the hotel had been occupied by defenders. They weren’t tidy residents, leaving their trash, dozens of empty wine bottles and mounds of unwashed dishes in the spacious dining room. They also left a handy supply of firewood stacked on the porch.
Finding no evidence of the plague, the little band searched for food. A rank smell near a walk-in refrigerator warned them away. But the dry goods pantry yielded biscuit mix and white flour, a large sack of potatoes, and cans of salmon, fruit, vegetables and sauces. Best of all… they discovered a huge wine ‘cellar’ that outlasted the plunder of earlier guardians.
Jack laid a fire in the lobby where everyone gathered while Tony investigated the building’s utilities. “Say,” he said, “there’s still a little gas and good water pressure, so the bathrooms and the kitchen stove will work to heat water.”
“Marvelous!” said Judy. “I’m going for a hot bath, and then we’ll fix a nice dinner for a change.”
“We’ll clean up the mess and gather the best food this place has to offer,” added the Captain.
They’d grown accustomed to sleeping in close quarters and without Choc lending a sense of security, remaining together would be safer. So, despite having a choice of a hundred fine hotel rooms, they decided to sleep together in the lobby near its huge fireplace. They rearranged the furniture so six beds could be muscled around the hearth. A blazing log fire added welcome cheer especially when the heavy timber roof began to creak and snap with the cold.
Gathered around the fire and plied with wine, the miners stonewalled all questions about their project. They offered only the hint that everyone should gather whatever useful hotel supplies might be found regardless of the weight.
Judy seemed pensive and unusually quiet. Mac asked her, “Tongue tied or tired?”
“Boys will be boys,” she said.
“Meaning what… listen up boys?”
“Something like that…but first, please pass that bottle around for a refill. Sorry to break up your evening muse, dear boys, but I want to get back to the question of why you’re fixing that abominable snow machine. This hotel seems perfectly suitable to me and should take care of all our needs with room to grow. So I ask… why should we leave? And where are we going that’s better than this? And this time Jack, we aren’t going to avoid the subject. This time I want to be sure we’re doing the right thing.”
The five men stared at the fire and didn’t reply.
“What? Five men in full without a voice among ‘em,” said Judy crossly.
“Whoa… easy does it, Judy,” said Pappy, “I guess I’m the instigator, so I’ll give it a shot and answer the easy question first. I’m leaving because I don’t want to live here any longer. Without interesting people, all that’s left is a jerkwater town with snowbound winters. It’s been plundered bare with nothing left except maybe a little game. By spring, we’d likely be half-starved. While we still have our wits about us, I applaud what Tony and Jack are doing. But where we’re going is a mystery to me. I’d still rather go to my lodge if we can find a floatplane. And I’m still keeping my eyes open for floats.”
No one else spoke.
“This time, no one gets away. We’re at a major decision point,” said Judy, “so Captain… it’s your turn.”
“Well, I’m the oldest, no doubt… I’ve spent a lifetime of flying sitting on my backside so I’m in the worst physical shape of any of us. When it came to the hard road, I was the one following, not leading, as we all know. I need something more civilized than living in the bush.
&nb
sp; “The truth is… I don’t know where we should go from here. Here or there doesn’t matter so long as it’s substantial and permanent. I don’t have a family any longer, the way it looks…” The Captain paused and took a deep breath… “So now I’m just along for the ride. I can only hope that there’s life with dignity left for me. Maybe all I’m good for is to be grandfather to Judy’s baby if she’ll tolerate me, and preserve tradition as a grandfather should. That’s all I’ll have to say and I won’t talk about such personal matters again.”
Everyone sipped wine quietly.
Judy waited and said, “Jack.”
Jack glowered, “Well, I dislike talkin’ about personal matters even more’n Cap. I’ve never been to group therapy and I damn well ain’t startin’ now.
“My reason for leaving Nome was simple… I didn’t wantta die. My reason for leaving here is the same… we can’t make it here. This town has been stripped clean of everything we need. While we still have resources to travel, we should take advantage before they’re gone… and there’s damn little time left this late in the season.
“Where are we going and why? My answer is… somewhere more practical than this plundered town. I want practical. I’ll know it when I see it. Somewhere better for bootstrapping… pro’bly south of here… maybe clear back to the lower forty-eight. I know… it’d be tough gettin’ that far and might take next summer to get there. But wherever we go, we should pick the best ground for ourselves just like the pioneers did the first time around. So as I say, I’m movin’ on.”
After a pause all eyes turned to Tony. “Me?” Everyone nervously chuckled.
“I’ve got nothin’ t’say. I don’t know where we should go. What’s happened is hard for me to understand. Maybe that weird nun got it right; it’s the Apocalypse after all, I jus’ don’t know. I didn’t have family even before... so I go where my pard goes. I jus’ try to do what people wantta get done. I take one day at a time and try to do the best job that I can, God willin’. I wonder why He chose me to live when so many better people died. If He has somethin’ in mind for me, I jus’ don’t know what it is yet. That’s all I’ve got to say.”
Flight To Pandemonium Page 27