Grief has a way of making you physically feel your pain, as if it were a true physical pain. It hurt as much, and thinking of Jeremy was stabbing.
“Mera?” Bill laid a hand on my knee. “You all right?”
“Yeah, I just . . . I just was thinking of Jeremy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I took a deep breath. “He’s in a better place than we are right now.”
“If you believe in that,” Bill said.
“Dude, really.” Danny snapped. “Not cool. You’re supposed to be compassionate at this moment.”
“I’m sorry, that was wrong.” Bill waved out his hand.
“It’s fine,” I said softy. Really, it wasn’t. My heart was still broken in a million pieces and would never heal. I was that person that believed in God but refused to believe what was going on was His doing. Believing in God and believing He’d see us through and that my son was in a better place was all I had to hold on to.
I felt myself sinking again, something that happened easily and often. I needed a change of topic. “What did you do for a living, Bill?”
“Oh, I created video games,” Bill answered.
“Whoa . . .” Danny chimed as if impressed. “Wait. Why aren’t you rich? Weren’t your games popular?”
“A few were, one especially. But my school loans, a wife who didn’t work but went to school, getting out of debt.”
I turned my head and looked at him. “Don’t have to worry about that now, or at least for a little bit.”
Bill cracked a half smile. “No, I don’t.”
“Which game?” Danny asked. “Which was your best game?”
“Ironically . . .” Bill paused to chuckle. “Rapture.”
“Dude! No!” Danny shrieked with enthusiasm. “That was like the best game. Hard as hell to beat.”
“I know.” Bill nodded.
“The entire concept rocked,” Danny continued. “Finding survival supplies after you’ve been left behind. Beating demons. The best is when you beat the game and the bonus feature where you get to play the whole game again as Jesus. Kicking minion butts and defeating the devil. Only doesn’t matter how much you died, you just came back.”
“That last tidbit was all my idea. The Easter Egg.”
“That was sweet.”
“Thanks.”
“Wait.” I finally caught up to the conversation. “You, the atheist, invented a video game call Rapture?”
“Yeah.”
I looked at Danny. “And you played this game?”
“You bought it for me.”
I gasped. “I had no idea it was a blasphemous game. I would never have purchased it for you had I known.”
Danny laughed.
He laughed. It was genuine. And that made me smile at him. It worked, changing the subject. The mood had shifted, but only briefly.
Two duffle bags and a small suitcase dropped right behind Bill. They were our clothes and were delivered by soldier. I didn’t get to see much of him; my eyes stayed focused on our bags.
“You’re detained until zero six hundred hours. Then you can go. Those are your personal belongings. The rest we have kept.”
Bill had barely muttered out a ‘thank you’ and the soldier had turned, walked away and moved straight into that partitioned-off section.
All of my life I had been a contradiction, unpredictable, but always strong. I’d fight one moment then cave in the next. But I had strength nonetheless.
I heard Danny and Bill talking about being grateful for not being arrested, but I didn’t absorb all their words because focusing on their bags did something to me. I felt my blood get hot and swore I could feel it pumping through my veins.
“How?” The word slipped from my mouth. I wasn’t expecting an answer.
“Mom? How what?”
I stood up. “I’ll be back.”
Bill reached up for me. “Mera, where are you going?”
“To find whoever is in charge.”
“We’re not under arrest,” Bill said. “That’s a good thing. We’re free to go in the morning.”
“Yeah, but how are we supposed to go? They took our stuff.”
“We’ll get other stuff,” Bill replied.
“Yeah, mom, we’re resourceful.”
“I’m sure.” I nodded. “But I want our stuff. Excuse me.” Focused on that partition curtain, I walked that way, ignoring Bill’s statement to Danny that for sure we’d end up arrested.
The partition curtain was closed as best as it could be. Muffled voices carried out to me and had there been a way to knock, I would have. But there wasn’t so I simply slipped through.
The area was small and I faced the backs of four soldiers; they were talking to someone, a meeting of sorts.
I’d wait. Eventually they would move away.
“Can I help you?” the deep male voice asked, silencing the other soldiers who were talking. The voice was softer, yet a bit hoarse, probably just lack of sleep lately.
Before I knew it, the four soldiers before me sidestepped and parted like the Red Sea to expose the light-skinned black man seated behind the desk. He wasn’t wearing the full military camo jacket, just a tee shirt and oddly, a shoulder harness with a revolver. I couldn’t tell his age. He wasn’t young but he wasn’t old. The expedient lighting that dangled in the makeshift partition office reflected some specks of gray in his buzzed close to the scalp cut.
His body hovered over papers and he didn’t stand, only raised his eyes and repeated. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” My voice cracked, I cleared my throat. “Yes, I need to speak to the person in charge.”
One of the soldiers stated, “She’s a detainee, sir.”
“Which one?”
“The class four offense.”
The man behind the desk nodded and stated, “Give us a moment, gentlemen. Thank you.”
They walked by me and out.
Once they cleared the area, his eyes returned to his paperwork and said, “I’m in charge. What can I do for you?”
“I would like our stuff back.”
“If I’m not mistaken, your things were returned just a few moments ago.”
“Some of our things were returned,” I stated. “I would like all of our things back.”
“What could be returned was.” He continued to work.
“Not . . .” I paused. Was he even paying attention? I took a breath with my irritation. “Will you please look at me when we’re speaking Mister . . .”
“Major.”
“Mr. Major, can you . . .”
“No,” he interrupted. “You called me Mister, call me Major, please.”
“Okay, does being a Major excuse you from being polite?”
He set down his pen, rubbed his eyes and looked up to me. “I’m sorry. You’re correct. I was being rude. Now, I’m being honest. What can be returned was. I have to get back to work. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
“No,” I said. “No, I will not excuse you to get back to work.”
“Ma’am.” He rubbed his eyes; he was tired. I could tell.
“I need our stuff. It was our stuff. My SUV, I made the payments on it, I didn’t steal it. We are not thieves and I don’t appreciate being treated like a class four offender, whatever that means.”
“It means you are looters and are considered dangerous.”
That made me laugh. “Do I look dangerous to you? Really. Just be human. Give us back our stuff.”
“You were lucky we gave you back what we did. You had stolen guns . . .”
I scoffed. “Please. They weren’t stolen. Roy would have given them to us if he wasn’t in some sort of viral zone. He passed them out like candy. Big Chuck Heston supporter.”
I noticed he wasn’t amused by me. He just stared.
“Okay, fine.” I told him. “Keep the guns. Give me my vehicle and food and other supplies. Okay? The food was mine.”
“It was?” He bobbed his he
ad in a nod with a tightly closed mouth. “So I should assume that you always have in your home super large cans of fruit cocktail and cling peaches with the name Marie’s Restaurant on them?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “No. I borrowed them.”
“Like the gas. The packs of candy and cupcakes. You broke the law.”
I laughed, it wasn’t a long laugh. Just enough to make him more irritated.
“And that’s funny to you?
“Yeah, actually it is. Have you been out there? Law and order. It’s a joke. No one is there! No one. Law and order for what?”
He rose to a stand in his argument with me. I wish he would have reminded seated. Somehow there was a lot of intimidation when he stood. He was tall, but it wasn’t his height; it was simply the fact that he was big. “Have you even seen or run into a Sleeper?”
“A what?”
“A Sleeper. The ones that had what they call the sleeping sickness. They’re dangerous.”
“Not all. I saw them. I know some can be dangerous, I was choked by my husband.”
His head lowered some. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“But the rest just wander.”
“Mrs. Stevens,” With closed eyes he shook his head slowly. “Answer me this question. When was the last time you saw a Sleeper?”
I had to think, it was early and I told him, “Six hours ago, I dunno. Not up close.”
“That’s what I thought. Things changed. That is why we have law and order. And Martial Law is more for your protection. Now . . .” More adamant, he walked around his desk and stated. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“So you’re going to get my stuff.”
“What?” he choked off a laugh of ridicule. “No.”
“What are we supposed to do, just stay here in the middle of Ohio? Oh, wait, no we’ll find another car. Or should we just plan, for the sake of not getting arrested, to walk to the state of Washington?”
“Those rumors haven’t been confirmed. No one knows for sure if it’s better out west than here. Communication . . .”
“I know nothing about rumors, Major. I care about my daughter, who I know at this moment in time is fine in Seattle. But for how long, I don’t know. It’s my flesh and blood. My child.” I spoke passionately, my fist close to my chest. “I lost one child already to this madness and I won’t lose another. And every second, hour, day, that you and your law and order cost me is another second, day or hour that my child is at risk. If it was your child out there wouldn’t you do everything you could to get to her? If it was your child out there how well would you deal with being arrested over a few cans of fruit from a roadside diner? Of course, if it were your child, you wouldn’t be standing here preaching law and order, I can guarantee it. You’d be like me forgetting law and order just to get to your kid.”
His eyes shifted some and I looked over my shoulder. Two soldiers had entered the curtained area. I guess my voice carried. I shook my head slowly, turned from the Major and spoke to the soldiers. “I know I’m a dangerous criminal. But he’s fine. No need for back-up.” Another shake of my head in disgust, not to mention feely terribly defeated, I left that area.
What did I expect? Really. That I would just march into that little area, ask to speak to whoever was in charge and they’d grant my request? It was stupid all that was happening. The world was fast becoming vacant and I didn’t give too much thought to the Major’s news about the Sleepers either. My thoughts were on Jessie.
I returned to our little section of the fire hall. I was fired up, disappointed, and every other negative feeling I could think of.
Bill was still seated on the floor. Not like I was gone all that long. He peered up to me. “What?” I asked with a snap.
He waved out his hand and shook his head. “Nothing. I’m not saying anything.”
I plopped down to the floor and immediately grabbed the bag I knew was mine. Angrily I unzipped it and reached inside. It wasn’t there and would have been easy enough to find. I felt around again as if I were missing it with my fingers.
“Son of a bitch.” I tossed my bag to the side. “They took my bourbon. All I wanted was a drink. No, I need a drink.
Danny cringed. “Mom, shh.”
“No! It was my bottle. I didn’t steal it. Assholes.” Like an angry child, I pulled my knees into my chest and pouted.
Bill whistled. “Okay, wow. It’s all right. We’ll get more. I know you’re upset.”
I don’t believe my eyes ever felt so heavy, it felt like they were filled with sand and all I could do for relief was close them. The moment I did I started to cry. I couldn’t help it, and I buried my face to hide the tears.
“Mom.” Danny called my name softly. “You tried. You really did. I think you handled it well. We could hear. We’ll deal with this as soon as they release us in the morning.”
“Yeah,” Bill said. “We’ll get another car. We’ll get what we need. This is only a delay, it’s not stopping us.”
“Mom, it’s okay.”
I felt Danny’s hand reach to mine and I gripped it, then my head fell to my knees. It wasn’t okay; it would never be okay again. Jeremy was gone, who knew about Daniel, and my poor Jessie was alone. Even at nineteen she was just a child, my child.
My entire being wanted to crumble. I wanted to wake up from the madness and find my life the way it was. But for the time being, I just wanted to be left alone. Wanted no one to talk to me. Just let my head rest against my knees and be left alone.
How long was I sitting there like that? Not long. I felt the tap to my head and the soft, ‘hey’.
Slowly I lifted my head and the corner of my eye caught a bottle of bourbon. I followed the bottle to the hand and then up the long legs to the deliverer. I swiped my hand over my face to remove the tears.
It was the Major.
“Here,” he said. “Take it. I don’t know what they did with your bottle, but you can have this.”
With slight apprehension, I took it. “Thank you.”
“And.” He crouched down to be at my level. “You’re right. If it were my child, I would do anything to find her.” He handed over my keys.
I’m sure my shocked expression said it all. I was speechless.
“I’ll have your other items released. Not sure about the weapons, but the food and the gas will be returned. They’ll be by your vehicle in the morning. It’s in the back lot by the garages.”
My mouth moved and soon all I could get out was. “Why?”
“I lost my son and daughter in the event.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “More than a soldier, more than an enforcer, I am a father. Find your daughter.”
Barely had I said, ‘Thank you’ and he stood up, walking off.
I clutched the keys in one hand and the bottle in the other. I took a drink. Only one and passed the bottle to Bill.
Suddenly I felt better and as if I could rest. I would need to sleep. I wanted to sleep because I wanted to be my all first thing in the morning when we left for Jessie.
14. Randy Briggs
Even though Danny and Bill took advantage of the cots that were given to us, I couldn’t. I used the blanket to somewhat soften the floor, lay on my side and rested my head on my bag. Despite their ongoing conversation regarding a plan of action, Danny and Bill’s voices faded and I was out like a light before long.
For as hard and as deep as I slept, I thought for sure when I opened my eyes, I would be greeted by a morning buzz of people. But it was silent. Danny and Bill slept. I had no idea what time it was but knew, I couldn’t go back to sleep again if I tried. It was so hot in the Fire Hall I could barely breathe. The air was humid and thick and my nose was congested. Every inhale was sluggish and loud, leaving my mouth as my only option for breathing.
I knew I needed fresh air and was certain that would help. First I went to the ladies’ room to try to clear my nose. I worried that yet another form of a virus had been delivered and I was the next victim. I reasoned that fear away.
Not feeling sick, just stuffy, I attributed it to the lack of a good night’s sleep, heat and crying.
The bathroom trip helped my nose some, but not enough. Again, really feeling like fresh air would do the trick I walked across the eerily quiet refugee center to the main door. It was held open slightly by an old ashtray and a soldier stood there.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Can I just go out and get some air. It’s really hot in here.”
“That’s fine. But stay close to the building under the lights,” he instructed.
“I’m not gonna run away,” I told him. “Really.”
“It has nothing to do with you running away.” He paused. “Really. Just stay close.”
His young face, no older than twenty-five held a look of sincerity. When he held the door for me, I knew for sure that it was a safety rule, one I would follow.
For some reason, I felt scared when I heard that door hit against that metal ashtray. Things were different out there. There was a sense of emptiness. I heard shouting in the distance but couldn’t make out what the voices were saying. I peered out across the dark parking lot. At the edge was a long line of military vehicles forming almost a blockade and beyond them, the dancing beams of flashlights.
What was going on?
The shouting didn’t send off warning signals to me. Perhaps they were looking for someone or something.
Thinking I was alone, the single sniff caused me to jolt and turn to my left.
He sat there on one of those folding camping chairs, but he seemed too large for it. He looked in his fifties, I couldn’t tell nor could I tell his height, but he was stocky. He wore old blue jeans and a white tee shirt. He turned about the same time I spotted him, ran his fingers through his bushy hair, hair that reminded me of Daniel’s.
“I’m sorry,” he said and stood. “Did you want to sit?”
“No, no, thank you.” I waved my hand. “I’m good. I came out for air. It was really hot in here.”
“Tell me about it,” He returned to his seat. “It’s better out here. Have that breeze. But it carries that stench with it.”
Sleepers Page 7