by J. D. Palmer
“I’m Josey. I didn’t agree with Don but I also didn’t say anything. That’s on me and I’d like to apologize.” His voice is soft and contrite. Eyes filled with sorrow and a desire to make amends.
And that was that. I was too tired of being angry to make an issue out of it. And he was one of the guys who helped Theo back at the clubhouse. He had helped John and Steven chase after Don and Alderman.
What else can I ask him to do?
I don’t trust people but I trust him. He has no duplicity in him, a soul laid bare for the world to read. I mumbled something about how he showed up in the end and he grins and shakes my hand again.
Fucker knows how to make us laugh, too. In the evenings we make a small fire and make dinner and he sings lewd songs on a beat up old guitar. His real talent is to find a movie that none of us have seen, or most of us haven’t seen, and to tell it to us as if it were an original story.
It helps the time go by. I wonder if there will come a day where people think that these movies are real stories and someone will write a new religious book about how there used to be dragons before the world broke.
I worry about stupid things.
Steven is giving me a tattoo. Or tattoos. He started on my left wrist, simply grabbing it one night and holding the ink gun out and looking into my eyes until I nodded.
He is an artist and the body is his canvas. And there is a need to create now, to dispel the demons that follow events such as these. His brother’s near death has taken a toll on him. So he paints permanence on my body and the pain helps me and the art helps him and I would like to think there is something right in that.
He did a thick black band that took a whole day and then added pine trees. Mountains take form in the background. Each night he spends a couple hours adding to his creation. My sleeves take on pieces of Montana as well as themes from our time together in Los Angeles and on the road. He inscribes Wing’s name and I marvel at his balls; he is unafraid of touching on any subject.
Theo heals quickly once his appetite returns. He tries to help with the cooking but is horrible at it. So he washes the dishes, slowly so as not to strain his side, and rumbles his deep laugh at Josey’s stories. He barely can bring himself to look at Beryl. The man carries his guilt like a gigantic boulder on his shoulders. I’ve never seen a person so humbled.
We don’t talk about what happened in the desert. Or about our fights. I don’t know what we would say, anyways. Theo doesn’t voice an opinion when we discuss the day’s work. He barely speaks, nodding along from behind Josey or Steven. Whatever interest he had in being in charge is apparently gone.
John’s recovery is stilted, marked by high fevers and a low appetite. He complains that his arm feels cold constantly. It has very little mobility and I doubt he will ever be able to lift much with his left hand anymore. It doesn’t seem to deter his spirits. He seems happy, proud even that we did what we did, as if voting for a thing makes it right. Or more right.
Three weeks in which I’m antsy. My kid will be born in a couple months. I think. November fifth was the due date. But I don’t know what day or even what month it is and I actively avoid finding out. Better for me that way.
“We should leave soon.” Beryl speaks. A quiet whisper that sneaks into a moment of silence between Josey’s stories. No one really responds, they all look at me.
“What?” I say.
John heaves a heavy sigh. “We have to leave soon or else you’ll lose your mind.”
It’s true but I’m quick to scoff at the words. “We have to wait until you are ready.”
“I’m ready to ride, can’t hike twenty miles.” John looks at Theo. “How about you?”
Theo stares at the ground in front of him, hands twiddling with the fork in his hand. “I have something to say,” he rumbles.
John is best at this. “Okay,” he says softly, “whenever you’re ready.”
“I know I am not a part of this group. I know I… messed up. But I would like to come with you. I would like to see Montana, and I would like to offer my… I would like to be your…” He struggles with the words.
“Spit it out.”
Three sets of eyes glare at me but Theo just takes a deep breath and looks up at Beryl. “I would like to protect you.”
He continues to stare at the ground in the silence. No one, least of all Beryl, knows what to make of this.
“Y’all probably don’t want me along. Least of all him.” He nods his head in my direction. He finally looks up and scans the group, beseeching eyes filled with the beginnings of tears. It’s so freaking odd, this monster of a man laced with muscle. Crying. I almost laugh.
“I did what I did before because I felt like I belonged to something. It reminded me of… reminded me of football.” He knows that what he is saying makes him sound simple but he plows ahead, uncaring. He is being honest and that’s all that matters to him.
“I liked what we had and I enjoyed being in charge. Before… I used to fight and it was a problem. Here I was, you know, encouraged. And I got carried away. Please.” He slowly stands up and walks to Beryl and drops to a knee, one large hand holding onto his side. “I’d like to make right with you.”
It’s all on Beryl. Whatever decision she makes I’ll adhere to. I don’t show it but I’m all for Theo coming along. Whatever anger I had against him I got out when I bashed my forehead into his face. And he is harder on himself than anything I could bring against him. I still have whispers of doubt about myself, especially late at night, in which I wonder what I would have done had I not met Beryl.
I look at her now. She still seems shocked by what Theo has said. Shocked, and something else. Anger? He is kneeling in front of her, head down, like some old Teutonic knight begging to receive his queen’s benediction. She sneaks a peek at me and I just raise my eyebrows and smile.
She looks down at the giant man and I see her mouth open, the struggle to dredge up words still difficult for her.
“I do not need… protection.”
He doesn’t move, absorbing the rejection in silence before slowly standing up and walking away from the circle.
“But.”
She says the word and it freezes him.
“Still come… come with us.”
His shoulders twitch and he does not turn around. But I do not need to see his face to know his relief.
We have a map from one of the glove compartments of the cars. Tonight we make a plan.
There is excitement in the air, everyone is looking forward not only to change but to get away from this place so soaked in bloodshed. We get out a couple bottles of liquor and make toasts to a trip we have yet to complete towards a land filled with who knows what.
I’m elated.
I am a little buzzed and I spend the first fifteen minutes telling everyone about the land and the people and god knows what else.
“There will be deer and elk to hunt, and we don’t even know how many cows we can corral. We can have farms. My family…”
I look around the circle and realize everyone is smiling. It makes me happy too, knowing they are on board with this trip.
I propose that we take two vehicles. I have two loaded with food and water and extra gas.
“If we don’t hit any snags I figure we can make it to Utah before we need to look for new cars. We can shoot for Orem, or Salt Lake City even, there should be lots of supplies there.”
Josey is skeptical. “I know you’re in a hurry man, but that’s a lot of desert out there. I lived in Vegas. I’ve driven this route. You don’t want to get caught out in the middle.”
“Fuck, you want us to take another route?” I look at the map, a weird body with blue veins of highways and tumors of mountains.
“Yeah. I think we should.”
His face hardens, his visage stony and distant. He doesn’t speak for a long moment, doing whatever it is he needs to do to keep his emotions in check.
“The power has never gone down in Vegas. Ever. Bu
t it eventually did and that city is built on electricity. Fuck man. No AC, no water. It bakes into you until you feel like your bones are dust. And the bodies don’t rot. They looked like mummies, just sitting out there in front of casinos and homes. Just… lost.” He gives a little shake and comes back from his memory.
“The freeway was packed. That will be hard to get around.”
I nod. I’m convinced but words keep spilling out of him.
“I just want us to be careful.”
Then, in a whisper. “I said goodbye to it.”
I feel a kinship with the man. Not with his behavior, but with his reticence and joy about home. And it touches on my own fears. What about my family? What happened up there? If you had no way of knowing if your loved ones lived, but you knew the odds, would you rush there? Or would you find reasons to take it slow? To give yourself time? What if you were almost positive that the love of your life’s blood type was O? And some random doctor painted you a picture of a world that would kill her? Would you still rush back? A brave man would. I want to. I question myself with these people. Do I care for them? Or am I simply putting off heartache?
“No rushing. We will take our time.” I give them a wan smile. “My family is tough. If we two weeks instead of one they’ll be fine.”
Who did I just lie to?
It takes us awhile to escape the spiderweb of cracks and holes and sunken concrete made by the earthquake. I ride with Beryl and Theo. The car behind us is driven by Josey with the brothers. They follow my swerving and backtracking and reckless fording of shallow holes with dwindling patience.
It’s not lost on me.
I take them out into a desert that, even in the morning, seems intent on cooking us alive. That this place was already an apocalypse is hardly heart lifting. We pass a sign for Death Valley and I make a joke about mankind gathering together there to rebuild civilization.
“It’s ironic.”
I get nothing from them so I shut my mouth. I think Theo is carsick.
Day fucking one.
We head northeast towards Bakersfield. There we will weave through town and hit the 5 Freeway. Fast travel north up the coast with plenty of small towns. Plenty of green, less desert to be seen. That’s what Josey said.
We drive an old Bronco. Roomy, comfortable. Not going to last long but it was what we had. And it carries a shit ton of supplies.
Theo sits in the back. He barely looks outside, eyes either on the floor or closed tight. I see him grimace every time I hit a pothole or swerve suddenly. I hope he doesn’t puke. I keep slowing down, only to find my foot pressing hard on the pedal five minutes later. He doesn’t say anything.
Beryl has a leg hanging out the open window, the pant leg rolled up above the black hiking boots she wears. Sunlight gleams off of the light, silky hairs on her leg. She watches the countryside as we drive, mouth twisted in a small smile. But for the gun in her lap this would have the feel of a casual road trip.
God it feels good to be moving.
As miles go by we see less and less earthquake damage to the road. The highway is also devoid of cars. A smooth ride empty of traffic or obstacles, the wind blowing fresh air through windows rolled down, small knots of tension slowly easing from in between my shoulders.
I could almost be happy.
The plan is to drive up to the outskirts of Sacramento. From there we will cut across smaller roads to avoid possible congestion in the city before taking the 80 freeway east past Lake Tahoe.
Southern California falls into our rearview mirror as we cruise next to the Sierra mountain range. I keep the speed at 55 to conserve gas. It’s not easy for me to do.
We stop after four hours to limber up and eat some food. Steven changes out his brother’s bandages and I’m surprised to see Beryl helping Theo with his. Or, she hands him an ointment and his bottle of antibiotics. She isn’t willing to touch anyone unless she has to, but this is more than I expected. She smiles as he tells her a story about the first time he came home from school with a bloody knee and his mother thought he was going to die. I feel a pang of jealousy, completely aware of how misguided it is.
We are making good time. If we keep up this pace we can be past Sacramento before nightfall. I look around. Steven is rubbing John’s arm down by the forearm, a concerned look on his face. John is shaking his head and grimacing. So maybe we’ll be stopping sooner rather than later.
We climb back into vehicles, limbs already tight after four hours of driving. I want to stay behind the wheel even though Theo offers to drive. He and I are still weird. He goes out of his way to defer to what I say, whereas I try to ask very little of him.
The miles go by and eventually we tire of the howl of the wind and roll up the windows. I think it would be nice to speak but now I don’t know what to say. I hate small-talk, and I hate being fake. But I want to bridge the gulf between myself and the rest of the group. I don’t want to keep being quiet, even if it isn’t a genuine interest.
“So, Theo. You know how to fish?”
He barks a laugh from the back seat that almost startles me.
“You kidding me man?” He gives another little chortle, a strange sound coming from a big man. “Ah man, that shit is funny. Nah, I ain’t ever fished. Or hunted. You’re gonna have to teach me all that.”
I smile. “I'm not very good at it. Jessica, my girl, she’ll teach you. She'll also teach you how to farm. Maybe she’ll get you on a horse.”
If she’s alive.
A lump forms in my throat.
“You and your girl been together a long time?”
It’s weird talking to them about Jessica, but I do. The more I talk the more things I remember. Some good, some bad. Most just remind me of my absence. I lapse into silence, a dark mood stealing over me.
Beryl speaks, her shy, tentative voice dropping into the silence as if from nowhere.
“Will you take me skiing?”
I shoot a glance at her, I know my face must look incredulous. She looks back at me, cheeks flushed, and raises her chin.
“What? Montana has skiing, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, “of course they have skiing and of course I’ll take you. We’ll have to hike the hill though, I don’t think the chairlifts will be working.”
We share a laugh at that. Theo says he has never even seen snow, a comment that makes me swerve as I turn around to look at him.
“Are you fucking serious?” I say. He nods, looking embarrassed.
“Never seen it.”
“Well shit, I need to find an old video recorder to put that moment in history down.”
I can’t help but think of the time before. Of videos made at home or on our phone or silly shit found on the internet. So many photos and videos documenting happy times, real or pretended, all gone now.
I don’t have a single picture of Jessica.
“I’ve never skied before. My foster group would get passes, once a year… Mammoth Mountain. I would sled. I…I loved it.”
It’s the most I’ve ever heard Beryl speak at one time. She leans back in her seat with a distant smile on her face. I exchange glances with Theo. He lets loose a little laugh.
“Damn Beryl, you’re talking our ears off.”
She laughs. Thank God.
She is coming out of her shell. I don’t know if it’s the miles we are putting between us and the hell that we went through, or if it’s just the idea of Montana. A fresh start. A safe place. Either way I hope I’m not leading them to ruin.
We stop a couple hours before sundown at a KOA just off of the 99 highway in a town called Visalia. Abandoned RV’s sit in the parking lot. I wonder if it would be worth it to try to find one that works.
There is a row of small brown cabins next to the main office and we set up residence there. No bodies but plenty of ants. Beryl, Theo and I walk the perimeter looking for signs of anyone else. But it’s quiet here, nothing but the hiss of grass and creak of trees in the gentle wind.
Dinn
er is a silent affair, even Josey looks tired. It’s surprising how much driving takes it out of you.
John and Steven take a cabin to themselves. Josey looks uncomfortable.
“Would anyone be offended if I took a cabin to myself?”
We all slowly shake our heads. It had never occurred to me to seek out a space apart. I had become so used to having Beryl near. And I think part of me always worried that once alone, I might never find them again.
Theo finds his own space and I set my stuff down next to the bed that Beryl picks out.
“I’ll take the first watch. I’ll wake you up next.”
She sticks her tongue out at me as she makes a nest of the blankets on the floor.
I walk across the grass towards the parking lot and enjoy the subtle change in the climate. A sense that here is just a little less desert. Less sand and more grass. More trees and less cacti. One step closer to home.
I cross to an RV and climb the ladder on its back to get onto the roof. Stars erupt into the sky above me and the moon is large and bright in the sky. A shooting star flashes over the horizon. Then another one, this one slower and thicker than the one before. My mind drifts back to the immolated birds at the solar panel tower. I close my eyes and see the puffs of white smoke against the blue sky, the small trail of grey as the small bodies plummet to earth. What was it that made them fly too close to the heat? Perhaps they were diving and swooping in a headlong rush to discover what mysteries the shiny sea before them held. Or maybe they were simply hurrying home to their families before being caught in the sun’s harsh grip.
Why must I dwell on this?
I settle back and do my best to watch the fleeting bits of light make their dash into the cosmos. I don’t want to think about birds. I don’t want to think about the dead cats. Or the dead people. Or Don. Or Stuart. I know that these things have left their mark on me. Defined, in a way, who I am at this moment, and there is no way I can ever forget them.
But please, don’t let them stop me from seeing the beauty that’s left in this world. Please just let me watch the sky in peace, at least for a minute.