by Julia Shupe
But tonight something was off. Tonight his hands weren’t the same.
“Dad, your hands. You’re shaking.”
He peered into his father’s eyes and allowed his suspicions to rise to the surface. For several weeks Jeremy had worked hard to misdirect his mind from fully contemplating what he knew to be true. People often did that. Funny, he thought absently. Funny how people could deceive themselves. Funny how they could believe only what they wished and ignore what truly was. But now the truth was standing right in front of him and the scattered pieces suddenly slid into place. His fears spread wings and took flight. Many times over the past few weeks, Jeremy had caught his father standing at the kitchen counter, a funny twitch at the corner of his mouth, swaying as he stared at a bottle of pills he held in his hand. Deep in thought, he’d remove the cap, shake a few into his palm, and roll them around as he gazed out over the landscape. He’d peer first at the pills and then at Sam, watching her as she played in a warm square of sunlight that shone from the large picture window.
Liam held his son’s gaze and didn’t blink.
“I just shot two men,” he said slowly. “I suppose I’m a bit shaken up is all.
Beneath the pale light, Jeremy stared at his father. He hadn’t really looked at him—not for quite a while. Not this close. He seemed drawn. Pinched. Though not gaunt, he’d certainly lost too much weight. His cheeks had hollowed and the line of his chin had become more distinct. The flesh beneath his eyes had puffed and deepened in color.
Jeremy felt a clenching in his gut. No. Please not this. This he couldn’t face. This was for people out there. Not people who had planned. Not people who had so much. His father was a stubborn man, but he was also a deeply devoted one. Too devoted. So devoted that he would play the role of martyr? Jeremy somehow found his voice as Susan stepped closer and laid a hand on his back.
“Dad, please,” he whispered. “Don’t do this. You don’t have to. Please tell me you haven’t stopped taking the pills. We can figure this out. Please don’t sacrifice yourself for Sam.”
Part 5
I cannot tarry longer.
The sea that calls all things unto her calls me.
―Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
Chapter 20
November 8th, 2176
Odessa, Texas
1,010 Miles to San Diego
Sam’s rear tire was the first to run flat. Jeremy crouched low and inspected it with a frown. There must have been a pinhole leak, a small rupture that had been seeping air for miles. She’d awakened early that morning, gently roused Jeremy and pointed to the meter at her belly. Her eyes had been sad and hollow.
“Zero percent,” she’d whispered softly.
With a nod he’d wordlessly fished the last disk from his pocket, his sense of dread so profound it nearly threatened to overwhelm him. Quietly he’d injected the thin tube and pressed the plunger.
“Thirty days,” he’d murmured beneath his breath.
She hadn’t replied to that. Instead she’d tucked in her shirt, peered over at Seth and appraised him with a discerning eye.
“He slept straight through the night. And he didn’t wake up with sweat-soaked clothes this time. I think it’s a win. I think his body has finally gotten rid of the infection.”
“Yup. Seems so.” Jeremy fished a container from his pack and handed it her. “Why don’t you heat a kettle outside and make some oats.”
She’d scrunched her nose. “They’re gross. Now that we’ve used up all the Splenda they taste like cardboard.”
“True,” he agreed then raised his chin and nodded in Seth’s direction. “But they’ll help put some weight back on his bones. We need to make sure he eats five times a day. At least until he regains a bit of strength.”
She’d acknowledged the request, exited the front door, and moved toward the collection of wood and smaller sticks they’d set in a pile the night before. He had waited until she crouched before the ashen heap, waited for her to pull the lighter from her pocket and ignite the flame, before he dared edge closer to Seth and lean in for a more intimate inspection. He’d cupped a palm around the back of Seth’s neck and touched beneath his arms. A smile had broken across his face. She was right. Indeed Seth wasn’t drenched in sweat like he’d been the last few mornings. The lack of sweat was an improvement to put it lightly. For over a week, the infection had raged, and despite the fact that he’d been fever-free close to seven days, his body was still working to expel the last of it by way of his sweat glands. Several times a night he’d awaken, hair drenched and plastered to his scalp. Shivering in the brisk air, he’d tiptoe around the room, strip to his underwear, and drape his damp clothing over fallen counters or broken shelves. He’d rummage through his pack, locate a dry shirt, then slip back to his mat and roll into his blankets. His body was working so hard to recuperate that he’d often resume his soft snoring within minutes.
Jeremy had pressed a palm to the boy’s chest and nodded at the progress. His breathing was less labored; his cheeks now flushed a healthy peach-pink. But what about the wound? He’d lifted Seth’s left pant leg and examined the laceration, now fully covered with a thick and impenetrable scar. The flesh around it was flat and smooth and finally cool to the touch. Satisfied, Jeremy had dropped from his crouch. He’d settled on the linoleum opposite the frail boy and perched to reflect on their options. His fingers had drummed a silent beat against his heels as he considered where they were versus where they had planned to be.
They’d been lucky. This all could have gone different and so much worse. Though he hadn’t said as much to Sam, he really hadn’t known what he was doing with Seth. He’d only done what seemed right, applied the kind of treatments that seemed to make the most sense. It was a miracle that Seth had finally healed, but it was the medicine that had done the work—not Jeremy.
Medicines they were out of, he reminded himself with a frown.
Fondly he had reached over and tousled the boy’s hair. Once he and Sam had seen Seth’s goofy smile again, things had gotten better. They were reminded once more of the importance of the mission, of the end game and how important each of them was in reaching the goal. And though Jeremy was glad Sam had convinced him to stay and wait, his gut still clenched when he considered the amount of time they’d lost. In total, it had been two weeks, and though Jeremy knew Seth was improving, he’d clawed at the walls of that 7-Eleven like a caged beast. Two weeks. Two ridiculous and excruciation weeks. He’d panic anew if he dwelled on it long enough. Dear God. Two full weeks and no progress. It was debilitating to think about.
He’d shivered in the morning air as he watched the boy’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Thankfully Seth had begun to show improvement that second week, for if he hadn’t, Jeremy wasn’t sure he would have waited him out. But all that was behind them now. They’d been through the worst and seen it through to the end. Now they were left to manage whatever consequences came as a result.
Jeremy was actually proud of himself. For once he’d shut his mouth, clenched his jaw, and let Sam run the show for a change. And he was pretty sure she was grateful, that maybe he had even regained a bit of her trust.
Though the fever had drained Seth to the point of exhaustion, once his temperature normalized, he regained his strength rather quickly. He’d begun to eat solid food, drink copious amounts of rainwater and take short walks. In truth, he’d been insatiable those first few days and Jeremy had worried that they might need to ration the rest of the food. Mealtimes had become debriefings. Seth demanded to know everything about the time he was ill. During the worst of it he’d completely lost his sense of space and time. He queried them about the details with a nervousness that troubled Jeremy. When he was ill, a week had seemed like a day, and when Jeremy had finally told him how much time really passed, it was like a projectile explosive had suddenly punched him in his gut. Eyes ablaze, he’d awkwardly pushed himself to his feet, swayed, and turned in circles as though he were seeing the inside of
the convenience mart for the first time.
“That’s not possible,” he’d argued. “Two weeks isn’t possible. Two weeks?” He’d held his hands in front of his face then dropped his gaze and pulled his sagging pants away from his waist. “I’m thin,” he’d stammered. “I mean I’m really thin.”
“You’ve always been really thin, Merlin” Sam joked. “Now you’re just scrawny. You’re the size of a tiny toothpick.”
His eyes had gone wider at the sound of her voice, had darted to her face and focused on her belly. He’d tottered to her side and fallen to his right knee, hesitantly lifted the corner of her shirt, and gasped. “Twenty-four percent.” His voice had wavered as if he were on the verge of tears. He was like a deer caught in headlights as his eyes found Jeremy.
“It’s okay,” Jeremy lied. “She’ll be fine. Let’s just get you better so we can get back on the road.”
“But how many miles do we have to go?”
“You let me worry about that. We need you strong, and if you’re strong enough then we’ll make up the time with no problem. We’ll push ourselves harder; try to cover more ground to make up the difference. Okay? Can you push extra hard for Sam?”
He’d nodded slowly; still not convinced this wasn’t his fault. “Yeah. Okay. We’ll push ourselves harder. We will. I’ll be fine. I can do it.”
Oddly the guilt he suffered seemed to better focus his goals. He was determined to regain strength quickly. He’d eaten his food dutifully, stretched, and taken long walks around the neighborhood. He kept the rain catchers empty, even took on the task of tending to the water purification. He double-strained it, boiled it, and bottled it all by himself.
With a swat of his hand, he’d chastised Jeremy. “Wait till it cools. It isn’t safe to pour hot water into a plastic container. It leaches the chemicals from the plastic. It causes cancer.”
Jeremy suppressed a smile. “Where do you kids learn this stuff?”
It was important to Seth to prove himself, to demonstrate his worth and resilience, his ability to pick up and move on. Jeremy didn’t know if it was the benefits of youth or Seth’s deep affection for Sam, but whatever the case, it was just a few short days before they’d packed their bags and set off down the road. And from there, central Texas had come and gone in a blur. He’d meant to push them, and push them he had. Hard. They had quite a bit of ground to cover and time was ticking fast.
Not surprisingly Seth kept his word. Those first few days they stopped more frequently than Jeremy would have liked, but soon enough they rediscovered their former rhythm. Red-faced and cheeks puffing, Seth kept his eyes on the road and pedaled as fast as he could. Sweat dripping from his forehead, he attacked the miles aggressively, as if he were punishing himself or making up for some unspoken failure.
Though Seth would never voice a request, at times Jeremy would force them to stop, rest, and eat. The last thing Jeremy wanted was for Seth to exert himself beyond his ability to recuperate overnight. And they needed their strength now. All of them. More than ever. The path, of late, had become more challenging. The three of them quickly learned that the eastern half of the United States was lower than the west. It was a gradient that began at sea level, an insidious incline so gradual that they didn’t notice it till just outside Texas. But once they did, it was all they could think about. The effort required to travel the same fifty miles in the east was incrementally higher in the west and evident by their unquenchable thirst, tangible in the burning of their legs. And it would only get harder from here, Jeremy thought. New Mexico and Arizona were higher still, and oxygen levels tended to parallel with increased elevation. As they crossed the miles the air would become thinner and thinner.
But they’d made decent progress and Jeremy was starting to feel good again. Until now. They were fifteen miles outside Odessa and Sam’s tire had blown. She’d swerved dangerously, yelping as she skidded to an ungraceful stop. And now here they were, stuck again and wondering how to proceed.
“Shit,” Jeremy swore aloud.
With an audible snap he clamped his mouth shut, unable to bite back the curse. He was such a damn fool. He hadn’t packed a spare. Damn it all to hell! Of all the foolish things he’d ever done, this had to rank among the top five. How could he have been so careless? How could he have forgotten something as important as this? Immediately his thoughts returned to the gleaming bikes set in pretty little rows—the ones in the dark supply closet of that U.T. dormitory over a thousand miles away. Good God, how he wanted to punch himself or tear his hair out. If only his father could see him now. Very impressive, he sneered at himself. Piss poor planning at it’s finest. Great work.
“You said a bad word,” Seth muttered absently. His eyes were fixed on the flattened rubber.
“Dad?” Sam’s eyes sparkled with fear. “What do we do now?”
Jeremy’s mind raced as he met her gaze. She’d been quiet since early that morning, reticent since he’d implanted the final disk. The reality of the situation seemed to weigh heavier on her mind with each passing day. He rolled his shoulders, tried to downplay the catastrophe, but the serrated edge of his voice gave him away. He forced himself to uncurl his fists.
“We find a tire shop. That’s all. We need to find a new inner tube or a whole new tire, but then we’ll be on our way again. It’s no big deal.” He forced a smile. “In fact, we may as well stock up while we’re at it. We’ll grab several tires. One for each of us. Just in case.”
“Yeah,” Seth added brightly. He seemed to sense Jeremy’s desperation and attempted to lighten the mood. “We’ll each get one and wear it on our backs like a sombrero.” He peered at the road sign ahead and pointed. “It says sixteen miles to Odessa. Is that a town?”
“Yup, that’s a town. So that’s where we’re headed.”
Sam’s caginess was dogged. “Dad, sixteen miles? We have to walk the bikes sixteen miles? That’ll take us all day. Can’t we do better than that?”
Jeremy considered their options. She had a point. On one hand maybe he should ride there himself, but what if one of his tires popped along the way? Given the number of miles they’d put on these tires, the fact that this hadn’t happened yet was quite remarkable. Each bike was likely to lose a tire at one point on this journey—twice or three times. They’d really just been lucky. He glanced at the sun, low and heavy in the west, and bit his lip. No. He couldn’t risk leaving the two of them here alone. That wasn’t an option. Night was approaching and though Odessa was only sixteen miles away, he had no idea where he’d go once he reached the city limits. He’d need to find a bike shop, sports store, or Walmart—one that wasn’t pillaged or picked over at that. The whole thing could take hours. Hell, it could even take days. He didn’t know what to expect.
He took a steadying breath and walked over to Sam’s bike. Okay. So all he had to do was get them to the city limits. Once he got them there, he could stash the bikes, locate a map, and begin to organize a search grid. They just had to get there, and to Sam’s point, each moment was precious. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered the minimal resources at hand.
“Well, I suppose the first thing we need to do is get this tire off and assess the damage beneath the rim.”
Sam backed away as he flipped the bike over and balanced it against the handlebars. He removed the tire by releasing the clamps then struggled to pull the rubber casing from the rim. The deflated tube was a limp eel inside the tread. He removed it disdainfully, stood and appraised the damage. Sam sure as hell couldn’t ride rubber-to-rim all the way to Odessa. So what then? Carefully he lifted the tube, held it to his ear, and listened for the spot where air whistled through rubber. Hearing nothing, he pinched and pushed at the remaining air till he located the leak. It was just a small hole and thankfully not a long tear. Hopefully he could temporarily plug it. He raised his glance to Sam.
“Got a hair tie?”
She pulled the elastic from her ponytail and passed it to him with pursed lips. With the b
lade of his pocketknife he sliced the band, looped it several times around the ruptured section of tube and secured it with a double knot. Through the hole, he blew as much air as he could manage, and frowned at the foul taste and grime that stuck to his tongue. At least he’d trapped air in the section without punctures. If this worked then the majority of the tube could remain inflated. Now all he had to do was come up with a plan for the part that was flat.
He set down the tire at his feet and glanced at their surroundings. Stalled and rusted cars ran the length of the freeway on both sides. In one of them would he be able to find some type of material to pack the rubber with? Not likely.
“What are you thinking?” Seth asked cautiously.
Jeremy set his hands to his hips. “Only three quarters of the inner tube is inflated. That only leaves a small section of the tire still flat against the rim. We can’t afford to damage the rim, but somehow we need to be able to ride the bikes to town. So we need to find something soft, something yielding, something we can use to pack inside that portion of the rim. Just to even it out,” he added. “Just so we can make it sixteen miles.”
Seth didn’t skip a beat. He turned toward the sun, lifted a hand to his brow, and peered at the shoulder of the road.
“Okay. What about grass? Grass is soft. Or Leaves? Mushy roots or plants or something?”
Jeremy arched a brow. “Not bad, kid. Okay. Let’s try it.” He followed Seth’s gaze to the rough shoulder of I-20 and frowned. “But there isn’t much grass around here. We’ve reached the beginning of what’s about to be miles and miles of desert.”