Beyond an improvised wall of wooden crates, they found a field kitchen stockpiled with food. Wooden pallets were stacked with crates of potatoes, onions, and apples. Dozens of unopened cardboard boxes held cooking oil, tinned meat, packaged flour and canned vegetables. More pallets remained bundled and plastic wrapped. Ernie was surprised by the bounty.
“Must have been recently resupplied,” said Ernie. “Probably explains that Hercules transport at the pump station. We’re in luck, but let’s finish our tour!”
The dingy office had been cleared of most of the trappings of the previous business except that pegs high on the wall still held an assortment of fan belts and dusty black radiator hoses. Topographic maps and hooked clipboards with assorted documents hung on the wall above stacked boxes of medical supplies.
A single field desk stood at the opposite end of the room surrounded by five canvas folding chairs. The desk top held only two objects, a portable military radio and a cardboard box. The box caught Ernie’s attention.
“Jesus, Laz… look at this.” Ernie upturned its contents onto the desk. Countless metal dog tags spread out before him. “You must know what these tags are… but you might not know that every grunt wears two of ‘em. Somewhere all these guys are buried. One stays with the body.”
“I guess I’d heard of this before, but… they’re all buried? You sure?”
“Buried… the Army way. Who would carry ‘em away, considering?”
“I suppose that explains what happened to the troops, but what about all those travelers and truckers?”
“Probably buried them as well.”
“I don’t have to mention that not everyone could have been buried.”
“They’re probably still in the camp infirmary.”
Nearby, eight large camp tents had been erected surrounding a cluster of trees. The graveyard was a hundred yards beyond, clearly identified by an abandoned backhoe parked next to a dozen open excavated graves. A crude white painted cross was suspended from the mechanical arm of the machine. Simple stakes marked mounded graves, stunning in number. Ernie paused and bowed his head. Lazlo caught the gesture and both remained silent.
Ernie reflected, “God help ‘em. Can you imagine what it was like for a whole company of men to get sick out here in the middle of nowhere? Damned lonely place to die thinking you’ve forsaken your family back home.”
Ernie’s comment was too close to home for Lazlo and he avoided any more talk of families. “You mentioned riots and chaos in the cities,” replied Lazlo. “Everything here seems orderly and trouble free.”
“I’d say they had first class leadership and didn’t panic through the thick of things.”
“Getting past dark thoughts?”
“The morning has been invigorating despite that graveyard.”
Walking on, they skirted a white tent emblazoned with a classic Red Cross.
While the men were out, Christie enjoyed her first hot sponge bath in weeks. As she finished washing her hair, she began to feel ill. The only receptacle available was the very pot of warm water she had been using to wash. She vomited breakfast into the pot.
Disgusted with herself, she went outside to wash the pot. Getting sick in the wilderness was no small matter and she was concerned enough to take her temperature. It was normal. Thank God for that, she thought, puzzled. She very seldom got sick. She’d had nothing for breakfast that was likely to make her ill… so what was it?
When was her last period? She’d lost track during their struggles, but then remembered it was before she left on her walking circuit at Toolik Station… and then her pills were locked in her dormitory room, forgotten in the fright. Now… out here? Damn!
She began the overdue task of sorting clothing trying to put thoughts of pregnancy out of her mind. They needed to find clothing replacements for Ernie, and spares for them all. She found nothing sized for Lazlo. For Ernie, it was only a matter of trying them on. There was ample selection for him.
Thoughts of children occupied her mind. She needed a safe refuge for birthing, and for a newborn. Sorting clothes did not put pregnancy out of her mind… she could think of little else.
Along the river in a row of old boatsheds, the men found a makeshift garage of Army equipment. Ernie halted, pointing to an olive drab machine on wheels and said excitedly, “There’s our ticket outta here!”
“Cool,” said Lazlo doubtfully. “What is it?”
“A generator for starting everything else… and it’s got a pull starter.”
“Right… and about as easy to start as my bloody lawnmower, I’ll bet.”
“Let’s see.” Ernie opened the metal flaps and knowingly adjusted the controls. He gave the handle a hefty pull. It started after three attempts with a cloud of smoke, then settled into a smooth idle. Ernie let the engine run for a minute, then shut it down.
“That thing run on gasoline?” asked Lazlo.
“Yea, but we don’t touch the gas in this one; it’s too valuable. Fair enough?”
“If you say so; but look in that next boatshed. Are those bear traps and such? I’m thinking of food and bear trouble. Those might solve both.”
“Must be, but I haven’t been trapping in my life,” replied Ernie.
“Neither have I, and I rather like both my hands, so let’s move on.”
“I’m still looking for another building… the armory. No building we’ve seen here has been secure enough. Must be in a locker somewhere.”
Ernie found a steel shipping container. “I’m thinking by the markings, this is the armory.”
“Looks tough enough,” said Lazlo. “Be a bitch getting through all that steel.”
“Might have ammunition for the deuces, but later for that. Damn fine conclusion to the morning,” Ernie said. “Let’s go check on Christie.”
Before returning to the cabin, the men revisited the military kitchen. They assembled one crate of Bisquick, canned milk, sugar, and powdered eggs, and another of apples, red potatoes and a few onions. Each one hefted a crate and walked across the highway.
Christie was delighted. “I’ll make apple pie tonight!”
“Nothin’ doin’,” Ernie replied. “My job.”
“Alright… I need to fit you both for new clothing… but first tell me where you found all this.”
“We found the company headquarters.”
“Company?” asked Christie.
“The military command post,” replied Ernie. When Ernie related the morning’s experience, Christie asked about medical supplies. She wanted all unopened packages relocated to the cabin for safekeeping.
“We’ll make medical supplies the first duty for the truck when we get one running,” promised Lazlo. He was determined that the work of restoring several trucks to running order wasn’t to be subordinated to anything else. His restlessness had returned. Ernie was right… they needed stability and peace of mind foremost.
Christie instantly sensed Lazlo’s renewed impatience. “Laz, before we take any more unnecessary risks, we should have good reason. We’re better off right here in this warm cabin for now. That broken bridge is keeping us safe.”
Lazlo glanced long at Ernie and said, “Tonight then, Christie. Let’s put our cards on the table and talk this out.”
“Looks to me like the two of you already have. But, there are three… of us… and it’s high time we talk together!” Christie nearly stumbled on the word ‘three.’
“I’ll prepare a proper candlelight dinner to put us in a mellow mood,” said Ernie. “Too bad there’s no wine. Sounds like we might enjoy a bottle.”
Lazlo was determined to deliver a working truck to their doorstep before dinner. The pair towed the generator within reach of the best equipped ‘deuce and a half.’ Ernie had nursed such a truck to life hundreds of tim
es and was soon rewarded with a deep throated roar. After checking fluids and speeding a few turns around headquarters, Ernie pronounced the truck fit and returned for the medical supplies. Near dusk, the two arrived at the porch with a whoop, calling Christie outside.
“Oh, this is marvelous,” she said as they unloaded box after box of dressings, swabs, bandages, ointments and antiseptics, sealed packets of surgical instruments, antibiotics, and pain killers. Lazlo didn’t share Christie’s elation, but the joyful expression on her face as he helped her stash everything away was his reward.
Meanwhile, Ernie prepared his candlelight dinner of compromise. He set up a military propane stove on the porch and set a formal table. Christie smiled at his blue tarp table cloth, candelabrum of warming candles formed with military utensils, and the best table service within…twenty feet!
After a hearty meal of vegetable moose stew and deep dish apple pie, Ernie sensed the moment was right. “Dinner is intended to thank you both for rescuing me from myself and from certain death. I had just about given up… in fact almost lost my mind when you found me. I think I’m back from the brink, thanks to you.”
“You do sound much better,” said Christie, “but that was your own doing, not ours. So what have you two been scheming?”
“Just where we should go from here,” said Lazlo, “but without a solid plan.”
“Doesn’t that hefty truck speak for itself?” asked Christie.
“Just how, not where.”
“Maybe we should ask why, don’t you think?”
“Look,” said Ernie, “I don’t want to act as referee because I’m the one who probably brought this on. I told Lazlo that I wanted to get on with new life... settle my mind. I don’t want to visit the dark side ever again.”
“This place is just temporary,” said Lazlo. “If we stay here, sooner or later, we’ll consume everything we’ve found. We should use that godsend to our advantage while we travel to somewhere permanent… somewhere with kinder weather… hopefully with other survivors. That’s the best I can do for ‘why’ just now.”
“So where is that?” asked Christie.
“South, I suppose… away from trouble.”
“My ancestors lived here for thousands of years. It can be done comfortably.”
“Is that what you want, Christie… to live here?” asked Lazlo.
“I didn’t say that! Laz, you’re not getting it. I want good reason to move on. First why, then where, then when! We’re safe and comfortable for now.”
“Somewhere warmer… with other people…where we can grow food, raise a family together… start over!”
“Lazlo… you haven’t even asked if that’s okay with me!”
Lazlo was acutely embarrassed, stammered an incoherent answer and then was silent for a few moments. “Well then, I’m asking! Will you come with me… so we can share a new life together?”
Christie’s face softened and she whispered fondly, “Yes, Laz, of course I will. I needed to have you ask. “Companion” isn’t enough, especially now.”
“That’s the damnedest proposal I’ve ever heard,” said Ernie, “but I guess three was company and I should have taken my dinner on the porch.”
“You might try sleeping there,” said Lazlo quietly.
“Not until…” But Ernie restrained his humor just in time. The matter of family in Seattle might still be in the air. Recovering, he asked, “So, where does that leave us? Where and when?”
“Soon as freeze-up happens, I would think,” replied Lazlo.
“And then the weather will be bitterly cold and a terrible time to travel,” said Christie. “My family always waited while the weather moderated. While we can keep this cabin warm, we should wait.”
“Until when?”
“For warmer weather in spring.”
“What about breakup and crossing the river?” asked Lazlo.
“Spring begins well before breakup,” replied Christie. Ernie nodded agreement.
“And use all our food waiting until spring?” asked Lazlo doubtfully.
“We’ll have plenty to eat all winter right here,” she said emphatically.
“Alright, then where?” asked Ernie.
“Not Fairbanks,” said Christie firmly.
“Naw, further south… maybe the Matanuska Valley… find an abandoned farm,” said Lazlo. “Someplace with a decent growing season and good soil…like Palmer.”
“None of us knows farming,” said Christie. “We’ll need help starting a farm.”
“Hopefully, there’ll be others,” said Ernie. “Contentment is more than farming.”
“We’ll make do. I had a great garden every year in Seattle,” said Lazlo.
Christie replied, “I don’t think he’s talking about farming or gardening, Laz.”
“You’re right,” said Ernie. “I’m talking about getting back an orderly life, maybe with a family, not just finding a new occupation.”
Christie reflected on the moment… should I, she wondered?
Puppy interrupted with an outburst of barking, pawing the door to be let out. Instead, Christie collared her as the men grabbed rifles. Lazlo held up a candle and peered through the window.
“There’s someone standing just off the porch! Woman, maybe. Ernie, cover me in case there are more.” Lazlo stepped outside, followed by Ernie. The woman was dressed in native clothing, stooped over and downcast, so Lazlo couldn’t clearly see her face. Her clothing was soiled with mud and ice. She was strangely silent.
Lazlo asked without thinking, “You need help?”
Silence.
39
Chickaloon, Matanuska River, October 22nd. Mac regained consciousness feeling a throbbing pain on the side of his head. Still woozy, he reached to touch his face but found his head swathed in bandages.
Darkness troubled him. Had he lost his sight? Feeling about, he realized that he was lying on a camp cot. He heard Judy’s voice, but understanding her was difficult.
“How ya doing?” she asked again.
“Headache,” was all he could bring himself to say.
“Here, take this… and go back to sleep.” He swallowed and soon faded away.
Morning light awakened him and he was thankful that he could see after all. He sat up feeling… very thirsty. He drank deeply from a nearby canteen… and then was nauseous. He urgently needed to relieve himself, but attempting to rise, he nearly swooned, and fell back onto the cot with a groan.
Alerted, Judy entered the tent.
“Gotta go,” he muttered.
She handed him a bucket and said, “Just pee sitting down if you can. Need help?”
He realized he was naked. She helped steady him on the edge of his cot while using the bucket.
“So… how does your head feel?”
“I’ll live.” Talking was painful.
“Sounds like you will,” she said, smiling.
When his head cleared a bit, he remembered his last fully conscious moments. “How’re the others?”
“Captain was shot in the hand, but everyone else is fine, thank God.”
“That militia punk behind us. Did I…?”
“Yes.”
“Good!” he said too forcefully, causing more throbbing.
“You up for talking a bit?” Judy asked softly.
“Maybe listening.”
“Mac, I’ve got to tell you that you’re missing most of your right ear… and I had to stitch up a lot of ragged skin. The right side of your head is badly bruised, but that’s all. You were barely grazed. A quarter of an inch closer and… well, you get the picture. I’ll need to change your dressings morning and night.”
“Where are we?”
“Miles away and far off the highway. They
have a watch going, and we’ve heard nothing so far. Tony and Jack are working on the cat and the tanker… lots of damage.”
Rubbing his forehead, Mac whispered, “Damn… that was so… senseless.”
“I’m so glad we rescued Onita from that bunch.”
“How’s she?”
“Great! Out and about… much better.”
Mac looked about the tent sheepishly. “Jeez, where’re my clothes?”
“They’re being soaked to get the blood out. You bled over everything. Lie back, cover up, and I’ll bring dry clothes later.”
“Can you see me racing to the cat?” Talking renewed his head throbbing.
“Hopefully, no more surprises. We’re here for a day or two.”
“Any soup?”
“Whoa, easy does it. Have some water and another nap. Soup later. Okay?”
Out of the tent the next day, all Mac could manage was to sit in a chair and sip warm soup. The salty taste was wonderful. Judy handed him everything he needed and he felt like an invalid. The side of his face was so swollen talking brought pain. This was ‘recovery’ according to Judy and good news. He was glad there wasn’t bad news.
While Judy changed his dressings, Mac asked for a mirror to look at his ear. She handed him her old compact and seeing his image shocked him. The entire side of his face including both eyes and neck was mottled purple. Judy had shaved his hair and beard so that dozens of stitches and what little remained of his ear were fully exposed. Was he really that man in the mirror?
Without bandages, Mac realized that he still couldn’t hear with his right ear. He would remember what damage powerful rifles could do while only grazing him.
Camp was a buzz of activity. The exposed motorcycle had been damaged beyond repair. The tanker and cat had absorbed many slugs, and the cat’s pneumatic lines had been severed. Without brakes, Tony had driven the rig as far as he dared.
Flight To Pandemonium Page 37