by James Hunt
Right before they reached the trees, gunfire thundered behind them, and they all ducked instinctively. They weaved in serpentine motion through the trees, and even with his backpack and the duffel bag, Charlie still charged to the front of the pack. He didn’t stop running until the noise of the gunshots disappeared and he found himself alone.
Charlie panted, his chest heaving with every labored breath. He squinted between the trees and rocks and hills. “Doug? Mr. Collins?” There wasn’t a trace of them to be found, and he couldn’t even hear their footfalls. He grabbed the rifle and used the scope to search the rest of the woods.
The view through the scope was jerky as he hastily scanned the area. Still unable to locate the Collins men, Charlie removed his eye from the scope and started the trek back. But he only made it a few feet before heavy footfalls to his left caught his attention.
Charlie aimed the rifle toward the noise, unsure of who it could be, but he exhaled a sigh of relief when he saw Doug helping his father down an unsteady path of rocks. “You guys all right?”
“Yeah,” Doug said. “Dad twisted his ankle.”
Mr. Collins kept his left leg cocked up to avoid putting any pressure on it. “First the knee, now the damn ankle. Might as well chop the whole damn thing off. It’s useless.”
Charlie helped Doug carry his father down and then found a rock for Mr. Collins to catch his breath. Doug looked back to the hospital they’d escaped.
“I don’t think they’re going to follow,” he said. “They looked more concerned with just chasing us off.” He looked to Charlie, then at the supplies in his pack. “You better get back, huh?”
Mr. Collins massaged his leg by the knee and looked to his son. “We’ll catch up with you. Don’t need to be slowing you down.”
“Don’t wait too long,” Charlie said. “I don’t know what they have planned, but if they decide to send folks out to make sure the surrounding area is clear, then it’s best we consolidate our strength.”
“Yeah,” Doug said. “We’ll catch up.”
Charlie nodded, the adrenaline from the hospital fading, and that hollowness it had carved out in his bones was gone, filled up with a substance that he couldn’t name. He turned, walking quickly, then broke out into a jog and headed for the dirt bike.
9
Speeding past the orchard, Charlie focused on Doc’s house up ahead. Above, the storm clouds had grown more ominous, darkening with the fading afternoon light, which made the world outside more evening than afternoon.
Charlie turned the dirt bike up Doc’s drive and skidded to a stop, killing the engine, leaving the bike on its side. He adjusted the pack of supplies as he quickly opened the front door.
Doc and Ellen were in the living room, both of them changed out of the robes and pajamas that Charlie had seen them wearing that morning.
“I got everything.” Charlie swung the pack off his back, then set it down in the chair. “The pills, the tools, everything on the list.” He thrust his hand into the pack and removed the pills, but when he extended them to Doc, he didn’t take them. He frowned. “What? Are they wrong?”
Charlie hadn’t registered their grave expressions when he’d first entered, but examining them now, he saw that while Doc still had control over his emotions, Ellen couldn’t.
Doc walked over. “He’s gone.”
It took a moment for Doc’s words to sink in, and Charlie glanced down the hallway. “Is she still here?”
“Yes,” Doc answered.
Charlie handed the bag over to Doc. He hesitated, but then headed toward Amy and the room down the hall.
The door was open and he found her in the same position, kneeling at Don’s bedside. It was like she had remained frozen the entire time Charlie had been gone.
“He didn’t hesitate last night,” Amy said, her voice thick with phlegm, her gaze locked on her husband. “Once he saw those men with the guns, he just grabbed me and the boys and took us to the shed.” She laughed, but it was short and humorless. “I always told him that damn bunker was stupid, but when I helped him get the boys down, all of those jokes I made about him installing it were the farthest thing from my mind.” She wiped her nose, then returned them to the prayer-like position she’d held them before. “Before he shut the door and sealed us in, he told me not to open the door until morning, no matter what. But when I heard your voice,” she shrugged. “I figured it was all right. It didn’t even register why it was you coming to get me instead of Don.”
Charlie remained close to the door and kept quiet.
“I mean things like this just don’t happen, not here.” Amy shook her head. “It should have just been a bad dream, a terrible dream, and any moment I’d wake up in bed next to Don, and I’d go back to sleep. But when Jimmy started crying, I knew it wasn’t a dream.”
Amy finally turned to face Charlie, her eyes rheumy and red, though she retained a stoic expression. It was like the grief had just become a part of her natural state, and the coldness in her eyes froze Charlie to the core.
“I held his hand the whole time he was on Doc’s table,” Amy said. “I held on for so long, Charlie. Fourteen years we’ve been married, did you know that? Three beautiful boys, a home, and every year on our anniversary he’d always tell me that he wanted nothing else but another forty years, just the way we have it now—”
Amy stopped, choking on her own grief.
“I know he’s gone, but I can’t let go.” Amy squeezed her husband’s hand harder. “I can’t let go.”
Amy buried her face into the mattress, crying.
Charlie walked over, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Amy.” He knelt by her side, staying with her until she cried herself into exhaustion, and she let Charlie carry her out of the room, that last veil of strength pulled back and discarded.
Charlie said nothing as he found the next empty room and placed Amy on the bed, where she passed out.
Charlie closed the door to Amy’s room, and when he turned toward Don’s room, he saw Doc pulling the sheet over the body before he joined Charlie in the hallway.
“In my thirty-five years practicing veterinary medicine, I’ve heard quite a few people grieve whenever a sick pet or animal with sentimental value had to be put down.” Doc’s voice cracked and he bowed his head, the loose skin from his neck wobbling as he gave a gentle shake. “But I’ve never heard a woman cry like she did.” He exhaled. “Best to keep her here until she’s had a minute to calm herself down. Don’t want her to frighten the boys.”
And then, as if the moment of humanity had passed between them, Doc turned to Charlie, switching gears immediately. “We’ll need to determine what to do with the body. Cremation would obviously be the most efficient method, but if Amy prefers him to be buried, then we’ll need to do it quickly. With no air conditioning and in this summer heat, the body isn’t going to keep for very long, and I don’t think that will help Amy or the boys in grieving for their father. Plus, there’s the sanitary aspect to contend with.”
“Right,” Charlie said. “I’ll ask Amy what she wants to do when she’s calmed down a little. The boys are fine for now, they’re back at the house.”
“Good. Good.” Doc mirrored Charlie’s nod. He took one last glance at Don in bed and then placed his heavy hand on Charlie’s shoulder. He gave it a firm pat and walked away.
Charlie lingered in Don’s room for a minute, trying to remember the last time he’d seen his neighbor. It had probably been a week ago, maybe two. Don had come over to the house to borrow a table saw, trying to fix something one of the boys had broken, but Charlie couldn’t remember what it was.
And while Don had been upset over what his boys had done, the father couldn’t help but smile when he brought up their names and started bragging about how his oldest had hit a double on his Little League team last Saturday, or how his youngest managed to eat an entire tube of cookie dough last night right under their noses.
Don had been a good man, a
nd a good father.
While Charlie couldn’t predict the future, he doubled down on his resolve then and there. No one else was going to die on his watch. There wouldn’t be any more sheets pulled over the faces of the people he cared about.
After Charlie helped Doc wrap up Don’s body with the bedsheets, he placed him out back, then walked into Liz’s room and sat with her, the pair holding hands.
“Don makes four,” Charlie said, counting the number of people that he’d lost under his charge. The number had plagued him for the past hour.
“It’s not going to get easier,” Liz said. “But you do get used to it.”
Charlie gently massaged the top of her hand. She had long, slender fingers, and while she was tired, he knew there was strength in those hands.
Adelyn’s giggles drifted through the living room. It was the first time either of them had heard the little girl saying anything since Charlie delivered the news.
“You did good with her,” Liz said.
Charlie nodded, praying that he never had to bury a little one in the ground. He wasn’t sure if he could come back from something like that. “How did you deal with it? Watching people die at work?”
“Everything happens so quickly in the hospital, especially when I worked the ER. All you could do was jump from one patient to the next and treat them with the skill, knowledge, and supplies you had in the time you had them. And then you moved on.”
Charlie turned toward the bedroom window, the curtains open, giving him a view of the road out front. “One of the worst things that can happen to a farmer is rot.” He frowned. “It’s contagious, and it spreads, and it can affect the very soil the plant was growing in.” He gestured toward the window. “There was another orchard a few miles south of us, kind of a competitor over the years, but they were good people. About eight years ago one of their trees contracted the rot, and they thought they caught it in time. They removed the tree, inspected the soil, and then checked the rest of the trees to make sure it hadn’t already spread. And after their due diligence, and not finding anything, they thought they were free and clear.”
The creases in Charlie’s forehead deepened as he remembered the news articles that came out after the farm had gone under.
“But the one thing they didn’t check was the water lines that were feeding the trees,” Charlie said. “A fungus had grown into their water supply, and by the time they realized what happened, the whole damn farm was infected. They couldn’t salvage a single tree, and the soil was so bad that they were buried in debt even after they sold everything.”
“That’s terrible,” Liz said.
Charlie nodded, then looked away from the window and back toward Liz. “I remember what it did to the family. It was like the rot had gotten into them too. They just withered away and died like the land they’d live on and worked for so many years. I don’t know what happened to them afterward. Moved to Kansas, or Iowa, somewhere like that. But I do remember feeling ashamed after they left.”
“Why?” Liz asked.
“Because I was just glad it didn’t happen to me,” Charlie said. “I wouldn’t have thought to check the water supply, hell, no one would. It was an act of God.” He squeezed her hand. “That kind of event changes you. It shakes you down to the core, strips away everything else save for the bones you were born with. And I didn’t understand that until now. I didn’t understand how something that big could linger.” He bowed his head, doubt creeping back into his mind. “What if I can’t shake it?”
“Hey,” Liz said, and when Charlie didn’t look up, she placed her fingers beneath his chin and lifted his face to meet her gaze. “You might not shake it. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Use it. Have it make you stronger instead of weaker. Re-define that feeling to suit you, instead of having it define you.”
Charlie leaned his cheek into her palm and shut his eyes, then kissed her wrist and pulled back. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Liz said. “And you would have thought to check the water.”
Charlie smiled. “How do you know that?”
“Because you’re smarter than you think, Charlie Decker.”
The pair smiled at one another, and if Charlie didn’t have a thousand other items on his to-do list, he would have stayed with her all day.
“I’ll let you get your rest.” Charlie let go of Liz’s hand and headed toward the living room, finding Amy playing with Adelyn on the floor, the mourning wife smiling at the little girl’s playful antics.
Ellen and Doc watched the two from the couch, and when Charlie entered, Doc stood and walked over.
“Let me talk to you out back,” Doc said.
Charlie nodded, lingering at the sight of happiness that had grown rare over the past few days. He finally joined Doc and found the old vet with a cigarette to his lips.
“Don’t tell Ellen,” Doc said.
Charlie raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t even know you smoked.”
Doc took another drag and nodded. “We’re living in a surprising world now.” He turned to Charlie, shaking his head. “You did what you could. Even if you made it back with the supplies, I don’t think he would have survived.”
Charlie nodded, but Doc’s words didn’t make him feel any better about it.
“How do you want to handle the body?” Doc asked.
“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “I thought I’d leave that up to Amy.”
“Not to sound like a miser, but the sooner we get him in the ground, the better.” Doc took another drag. “The last thing that family needs is to remember the stink of Don’s body when they buried him.”
Charlie watched Doc smoke for a minute and then looked up at the darkened skies threatening rain. It was a rain he had hoped for back in Seattle when he had just stepped out of the bank. Rain washed everything away, made it new again.
“Hey.”
Charlie and Doc turned toward the back door, surprised to find Amy standing behind the screen.
“Everything all right?” Charlie asked.
Amy nodded, her eyes still red from crying, but she forced a smile. “I was thinking about burying Don back by the big oak tree on the edge of our property. It’d be nice for the boys to have a place where they can go and visit him.”
“Of course,” Charlie said.
“It’s a wonderful idea, Amy,” Doc said.
Amy smiled and then returned to the living room.
Doc dropped the cigarette on the small patch of concrete outside the back door. “You need help taking the body over?”
“I’ll have Mario help me,” Charlie answered.
Doc chuckled. “I guess that’s the nice way of saying you don’t think I can carry him.” He clapped Charlie on the shoulder. “But you’re probably right.”
After Doc walked inside, Charlie lingered outside the back of the house, then walked to the dirt bike and headed home.
He chose to walk, instead of ride, wanting to conserve the fuel. Plus, he didn’t mind the alone time. Everything had been full throttle for him over the past few hours, and he needed a break.
Thunder cracked in the distance, the noise rolling toward him in ominous waves, and Charlie’s gaze wavered between the sky, the forest, the pavement, and the rifle on his shoulder. Over the course of the past two days, he’d carried a weapon on him more than any other time in his life. And in that time frame, it already felt a part of him like his hands.
When Charlie neared the house he ditched the dirt bike on the back side of the house, then entered through the back door, kicking the dirt off his boots on the staircase before going inside.
The kids’ laughter pulled Charlie into the living room, where he found them setting up a board game. The workers filed in after him, each of them tracking dirt into the house.
A series of apologies were uttered to Martha, the grown men bowing their heads like little boys who knew they’d done something wrong, the shame as clear on their faces as their nose and mou
th.
Charlie watched the men interact with their families, all of them speaking in their native Spanish. He imagined that was most of their communication at home, and Charlie was glad that they all felt comfortable enough to speak it here.
But as he watched the families cluster together in the living room, he was pulled from the moment by a tug on his left pant leg. And when he looked down and saw Don’s youngest staring up at him, Charlie’s stomach soured.
“Where’s my mommy?” Dillon Bigelow asked. His face was covered in freckles, the bright orange of his hair a floppy mess on his head. He had his mother’s eyes, and Charlie remembered Amy back at Doc’s house, waiting for him to return with Mario or one of the other workers to carry her husband back to their house to be buried.
Martha came up behind Charlie, piggybacking onto Dillon’s question. “Yeah, how’s Don doing? Did you get Doc what he nee—” She cut herself off when Charlie turned his head to look at her.
Martha glanced down at Dillon, and then to his older brothers who were playing with Mario’s kids on the rug. She cleared her throat and then squeezed Charlie’s shoulder before she took hold of Dillon’s hand and led him over to join his siblings.
Knowing the longer he waited to put it off, the worse it would be, Charlie caught Mario’s attention and beckoned him into the kitchen.
The weathered field hand placed both hands on his hips like he did whenever he listened intently, striking the serious tone which had granted him the authority and respect of the position his father had given him. In all respects, Mario was the right hand at the orchard. Without him, it fell apart.
“Don passed,” Charlie answered.
Mario simply nodded, the news registering slowly on his face.
“I need you to come and help me move the body back to their house. Amy wants to bury him there. We’ll have a service when she’s ready.”
Mario nodded, and they headed to Doc’s house. Moisture clung to the air, the rainfall just a matter of time, and neither of them spoke on the walk back to Doc’s place. Charlie suspected that Mario was mentally preparing himself for carrying the body of a dead man. That’s what Charlie was doing.