The Sound

by James Sperl

  CHAPTER 32

  A log on the fire popped loudly, spewing a chunk of fire-red ember into the dirt in front of Jon. He casually tamped it out with the heel of his boot then leaned back onto a different log he used as a recliner.

  They had chosen a good campsite. Well off the main road, a forest track wended for more than five miles before it opened into an isolated clearing. From that location, only sparse flickers of distant campfire light dotted the darkened landscape.

  Clarissa rubbed her belly contentedly from the disarming comfort of her campfire chair. “It's been a while since I've said this, but I'm full.”

  “I know, right?” said Rachel. “Jon scored big time for us. Yeah, Jon!”

  A limp round of applause followed, but Jon ate it up all the same. He held up his hands in a phony gesture of acceptance.

  “Please, please. It was nothing. I was just doing my job.”

  Evan launched part of a hot dog bun at his father, who dodged it successfully through a wide smile. He had a right to be cheerful. The day's gas excursion had turned into a windfall in the grocery-getting department, all due to Jon's intuition and attention to detail.

  He and Valentina had had limited success acquiring fuel; most cars were either empty or nearing it. But something about an unassuming Volkswagen Golf drew Jon to it. He didn't know why. The car wasn't in the best shape. Besides the dented and scratched exterior, the vehicle also suffered from a caved in right front quarter panel. The windows were lightly tinted, but not so a person couldn't peer through the glass to see inside. So Jon did, and he discovered a box.

  A Graco stroller product box—like the kind available from a children's supply store—took up the Golf's entire trunk space. The back seats had to be laid down to accommodate it. Jon almost walked away when he saw it, but a revelatory question leaped to his mind and stopped him: “Why would a person be transporting baby supplies when everyone else had packed everything but the kitchen sink?”

  The question, it turned out, was worth answering.

  As Jon suspected, no stroller filled the box. Instead, weeks worth of food crammed it to the point of bulging. And still, some had been removed. Whoever had taken the time to stash it hadn't planned on becoming stranded on a major highway. The owner had been forced to make some tough decisions when that happened. Jon wondered what he would've done in such a situation: Was it better to go on foot with others and take all he could carry, or did he remain with the stash of food and hope traffic miraculously cleared? Both options seemed like losers, but since no one was around, it seemed fairly obvious the driver of the vehicle had selected option one.

  “Valentina deserves some credit too,” he said, sitting forward. “If it wasn't for her constant griping and complaining, I might've never looked away in irritation to see the car in the first place.”

  Valentina wrinkled her nose and smirked. “Ha ha. You love me, and you know it. Besides, getting gas sucks.”

  “No pun intended,” Evan quipped.

  Everyone laughed while Valentina rolled her eyes. Even in the firelight, they were dark islands of fatigue. She climbed swiftly to her feet and dusted herself off.

  “On that note, I, uh...” She stooped suddenly and snatched up her purse with a jittery hand as if forgetting it had been an oversight. “I need to use the ladies' room.” She tried to smile cheerily, but it came off counterfeit. “Be right back.” Surrendering her attempt to appear sunny, she spun and traipsed off into the dark woods.

  Evan frowned and followed her with his eyes until the forest pitch engulfed her. He turned back to the group. “Doesn't she need a flashlight or anything? Or toilet paper?”

  “She'll be fine,” Clarissa said, as she stared into the fire.

  A wave of realization rolled over Evan. “Ah. We talking about the Problem That Shan't Be Named again?”

  “Evan,” Jon said. He locked eyes with his son and shook his head.

  “What? We all know what's going on, Dad. It's no secret Val's got a drug problem that's only getting worse.”

  Jon shot forward. “Evan! Enough.”

  “It's okay, Jon,” Clarissa said, staying him with a hand. “Evan's right. We can't keep tiptoeing around this.”

  Andrew collected several dirty paper plates and stuffed them into a plastic bag. “How bad has it become?”

  Clarissa shook her head. “I don't know, but I'm pretty sure we've moved on to the hard stuff.” She peered into the patch of trees where Valentina had disappeared. Once confident her friend wasn't there, she leaned onto her knees and lowered her voice. “I've been checking. Believe me. I've been through her purse and belongings several times, but I haven't found anything. Pretty sure she's hiding it other places.”

  “Clarissa!” Rachel hissed as she recoiled. “You're going through her things! That's invasion of privacy.”

  “No,” Andrew corrected. “It's self-preservation—for all of us. Valentina is becoming—has become—a liability. She's undependable. Unreliable. Moody. Critical. Annoying. Hell, I wish there was a way to reward Jon for all the times he's had to endure her at gas stops.”

  Clarissa bristled. “Okay, take it easy, Andrew. That's still my friend you're talking about.”

  Andrew held a prolonged blink then angled his head apologetically. “You're right. I'm sorry. I don't mean to come down on her so hard. But you know what I'm saying is true. She's got a problem. A big one. And it could very well cost us something—or someone—if we don't address it.”

  Clarissa nodded furiously, the issue one she had given serious thought. “Look, everyone. I know we need to do something about her. I just haven't come up with a solution yet. There aren't too many rehab facilities around these days, so I'm still working on a plan B. I keep hoping she just plain runs out of whatever she's got and is forced to go cold turkey, but she always seems to find something to string her along.”

  Elenora, who had been sitting in a chair comfortably tucked under a wool blanket, tried to get up. Cesare rushed to her side and helped her the rest of the way.

  “If I may ask, Clarissa,” she began, as she snugged the blanket around herself and approached the fire, “how long have you known Valentina?”

  “Val? God,” Clarissa said, rolling her eyes at the sweet sadness of time's velocity. “Forever it seems. Since grade school.” She cast her eyes at Rachel. “This one since high school. We've all been pretty tight since. Always calling and texting one another, sharing pictures, chatting. Come to think of it, we're still a lot like those skinny little girls from almost two decades ago, only now we have the benefit of technology and social acceptance to stay silly.”

  Rachel chuckled. “You mean so you can stay silly.” She looked at everyone in camp. “I swear, I must've gotten, like, twenty texts a day from Clarissa before the Sound, and most were all about nothing.”

  Elenora glimpsed Rachel through the camp fire and beamed. “I envy your generation. I do.” She found Cesare over her shoulder and smiled at him before returning to Clarissa. “I often wonder how it would have been for people my age if we would have had the ability way back when to stay in touch so readily with the people we've met throughout our lives. The mind soars.”

  “You still can,” Rachel said. “I mean, obviously not right now, but once thing's get back to normal, it's there for you. The technology's not closed off to certain age groups. Anyone can use it.”

  Clarissa watched Elenora's bright smile dim. She was secretly thankful the conversation had diverged from Valentina's drug habit onto something else, but she felt pity for Elenora. Clarissa wondered if her melancholic expression resulted from the acceptance that she had to live out her twilight years through a doomsday scenario, or if she felt sadness for Rachel for believing that things would ever return to normal.

  “Yes, of course, I know that,” Elenora responded. “However, people my age aren't so quick to embrace new things. And those who are still around seem to prefer to stay that way. But I'm able to see and talk with the people I love, w
hich is much more than these old bones could have ever asked for.”

  Cesare put his hands on this grandmother's shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  “My nonna,” he said proudly.

  “What about you, Clarissa?” Elenora said, as she patted Cesare's hand. “I imagine your parents must be thrilled to be able to speak and hear from you so regularly. Present situations excluded, of course.”

  “Actually,” Clarissa said, shifting uncomfortably, “they're, uh, not around anymore. I never knew my dad. He left when I was around two. And my mom died of ovarian cancer three years ago. So...”

  Elenora's mouth eased open. Her eyes welled with tears, but they only hung on the precipice of her lids.

  “How can it be so many young people have lost their parents?” she said. “Any brothers or sisters?”

  “No. It was just me.”

  Elenora's frame slackened. “How alone you must feel. To have no one to call on for advice. To share your successes with. It's...I'm so sorry.”

  Clarissa pursed her lips together into a semblance of a smile.

  “It's okay, Elenora. Really. I miss my mom, but I've had some time to deal with it. It's made me stronger for sure. More self-reliant. But I won't lie to you and say that it doesn't stink not to have a family. At least I've got my adopted sisters.” She smiled at Rachel, who palmed a runner from her cheek. “And now, all of you.”

  Elenora leaned toward Clarissa as far forward as her body would allow. “That you do.” She reached out a wrinkled and age-spotted hand. The skin reminded Clarissa of the decaying body she had found in the car earlier in the day, but Elenora's hand was warm and radiated love.

  “And what about you, Rachel?” Elenora said, angling for a view of Rachel over the fire. “Dare I ask how your family is?”

  Rachel pulled her jacket zipper up to her neck. “Last I heard they were just fine. I haven't talked to them since the phones went down, but I like to think they're okay. They live in New Mexico. Thanks to what Andrew learned about sleeping in watches, I'm pretty sure they're still okay.”

  Elenora exhaled as if she had been holding her breath the entire time. “That's wonderful to hear.”

  “Yeah. My folks have a lot of friends, and Dad made it sound like they were all pulling together. With any luck, I'll be able to join up with them soon. I would've gone there already, but, you know, I've got my friends here to think about.”

  Elenora straightened. “If they heeded your advice, I have no doubt they're doing just fine.” She smiled broadly then sought out Andrew on the other side of the fire. “What about you, Andrew?” she began. “Even after all these weeks, I don't think I've ever asked you about your family.” Andrew looked up sharply from jabbing at the fire with a long stick. “I saw some pictures of you with a beautiful woman in your home. Can I assume that's your wife?”

  Clarissa had caught Andrew's darting glance toward her before he looked back at Elenora. The woman meant well, and she was right—even after more than two months of cohabitation, the group knew precious little about one another. It was time to play a more thorough round of meet and greet. But Elenora's excursion down Andrew's memory lane, though well-intended, was a dark avenue fraught with terrible encounters.

  Andrew looked from Elenora into the fire. “Yes,” he replied. “She was my wife.”

  “I see,” she continued. She crossed her hands over her lap and cocked her head in a maternally inquisitive manner. “May I be so bold as to ask where she is?”

  Andrew glared at the fire as if directing his discomfort toward the indifferent flames that lapped at black air. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, standing, he tossed the stick into the fire and said, “Creekside Cemetery.”

  The mood around the campfire became glum. Elenora remained contemplatively silent after Andrew left, which was too bad. His history was a delicate subject, and Clarissa understood why he didn't want to talk about it, but she was intrigued to learn more about everyone. She supposed if she wanted the Q and A to continue, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

  “All right, Jon Boy, you're up,” she said, twisting in her chair to face him. “I can't believe I don't know it already, but what's your story?”

  Jon looked over like he had been caught stealing.

  “Me?” he winced. “Ah, you know. Nothing special. Just your run-of-the-mill disappointment. Fiercely Baptist parents plus queer son does not equal good times. Though I did earn a little street cred when I enlisted. Got a reserved smile out of Pops on that one, and our relationship got better once I got back from the war. So that was good.”

  “And your mom?” Clarissa said, leaning onto an elbow.

  “My mom's my mom, which means she loves me no matter what, although the fact that I'll never give her a legitimate grandchild never fails to come up every time I go home.”

  “And where is that?” Rachel asked.

  “South Carolina. Just outside of Columbia.”

  Jon winced again. Clarissa noticed.

  “Columbia that bad?” she said.

  “What? No, no...” Jon held up his wounded arm and flexed his hand. “Damn thing's bugging me again.”

  “Hmm,” Clarissa said, frowning. “I'd hoped it would've felt better by now.”

  “Well, it did,” he said, peeling back his shirt sleeve to reveal a fresh bandage spotted with blood. “Until this happened.”

  “Jon!” Clarissa shot to her feet and met Rachel by his side. “What the hell happened? When did this happen?” She dropped to a knee and slowly eased off the bandage.

  “It's just a stupid...” He shook his head as if embarrassed by his culpability in the injury. “I did it while hunting for gas last week. Caught the end of a piece of rebar. Turned around right into it. Right on the goddamned...” He shook his head again, this time in anger instead of damaged pride.

  “You should've said something,” Clarissa chastised. She inspected the wound but stopped shy of touching it. The injury was fresh and directly over the top of the recently—and only mostly—healed gunshot wound Jon had sustained. A swollen red gash cut an angry path over the new tissue, the area around it a lipsticked grimace of trauma roughly two inches long. Clarissa had no doubt it was infected.

  “What were you thinking?” she said. “This is bad, Jon. You know that, right? Why didn't you say anything?”

  Jon shrugged, the gesture void of ignorance.

  “I didn't want to be a burden—again. You guys pulled so much of my weight while I was on the mend the first time, I didn't...I don't know. I just didn't want you all to have to cover me for a second go around.”

  Cesare arrived beside Rachel and peered at Jon's arm. No one noticed him place his hands tenderly on her shoulders.

  “Eesh,” he said. “I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure if you don't get started on some antibiotics soon, not contributing is going to be the least of your worries.”

  “Agreed,” Jon said, “Now if we only had some antibiotics.”

  Rachel sat up, hopeful. “I saw a sign today. On the road. For a trading post. I think it was eleven miles or so. They might have something. We could be there in half an hour.”

  Clarissa already nodded. “I saw it too. And I agree. We'll go there first thing in the morning. With any luck, we can trade for some meds.”

  “Out of the question.”

  It was Andrew. His voice preceded his body, which materialized out of the darkness seconds later.

  “No people,” he said, reaching the fire. He leaned over to look at Jon's arm. “We'll have to come up with an alternate plan.”

  Clarissa half-smiled and half-scowled at the same time.

  “An 'alternate plan?' And just what would that be, Andrew? Jon needs antibiotics now, and we used up everything we brought with us weeks ago. That trading post is our best bet to find more.”

  Andrew sank to a knee and inspected Jon's arm.

  “Look, I understand the gravity of this situation.”

  “Do
you?” Clarissa countered.

  “Yes. I do. But a large part of the reason we've been able to make it this far is because we've avoided public places—places like this trading post. Times were desperate before, and they've only gotten worse. It won't be good.”

  Clarissa sat back on her calves. “So then what are you suggesting we do?”

  “I say we head away from main roads and find a remote town. Even the smallest place will have a pharmacy. With any luck, we can loot some antibiotics there.”

  Jon drew down his sleeve. “And if we don't find anything at this hypothetical town? Or the one after that? Or the five after that? I hear what you're saying, Andrew. Staying safe should remain our top priority, and while I realize that I've put us in a bind, I don't want us to burn what's left of our fuel on what could be a wild goose chase all on account of me.” Andrew looked at the ground while he considered Jon's position.

  “The post is nearby,” Jon went on. “It's our best option to get this done quickly.” He passed his eyes over everyone in front of him. “I'm sorry guys. I know this screws things up, but I think if we're careful, we can get what we need and be gone before there's any problem.”

  Andrew stood. “But you can't guarantee that.”

  Jon stared at Andrew a long moment before he answered: “No.”

  Andrew crossed his arms. “You all know how I feel,” he said, “but this isn't a dictatorship.”

  Clarissa didn't need to think about it. Jon was worth the risk.

  “I say we try the post. Aside from medicine, it might be good to backfill our food stores. Jon's find today was a big win, but it won't last forever. We could use the opportunity to make a run and set ourselves up for awhile. We've got lots of gas to trade. We could stock up on food, meds, what have you.”

  Rachel bobbed her head enthusiastically, as she looked from person to person. “I think so too. It may be dangerous, but then again, it may not be. It's been awhile since we've engaged with others. Might be time to give it a go. Either way, I think we have to try.”