The Last Tribe

by Brad Manuel

  “I would eat them raw. I’ve been living on franks and beans, power bars, and green beans for two months. Actual food is going to taste fantastic.”

  “You said you were eating cat food.” Rebecca frowned.

  “I said I almost ate cat food. That’s different. I never ate the cat food. It’s in my backpack.”

  “Can you get two paper plates and forks from over there? These cook quickly. I can’t leave them even for a second. I usually just eat out of the pan, saves room in the trash cans, but that’s gross with two of us.”

  Greg retrieved the plates. Rebecca spooned the eggs out equally. They sat at her small table and ate breakfast. Greg noticed she put a second placemat out for him while he was in the bathroom. Rebecca smiled and stared at Greg.

  She finally spoke. “Did you get as lonely as I did? I was starting to go a little insane.”

  “I talked to myself, not in a crazy way, like it was a conversation, but just to hear a voice. That helped, but in the end, yes, I was lonely.” Greg ate his eggs in less than a minute. “Do you mind if I cook something else? I’m still hungry. I’m sure I can find a house with food in this subdivision.”

  She smiled. “I don’t think you realize how much food I have.”

  Greg was intrigued by her comment and sly expression, but he was hungrier than interested.

  “How about this,” she told him. “I’ll make you some soup, and you take a bath so I can focus on the conversation instead of your smell. I will warn you, the bathroom is cold, so while the water will be warm, you are basically taking a bath in cold air.” She went to her cupboard.

  “Fair enough, I’ll get clean.” Greg could tell Rebecca enjoyed a plan. She kept her house spotless so rats and bugs did not come in. She kept her clothes and sheets clean to keep her humanity. He had a feeling she would go to Hanover, if he could show her it was the correct strategy. He had to convince her that leaving a food supply and a safe warm house made sense.

  Greg ate the soup while four pots of water warmed over the fire. He filled half the tub with the cold water from the tap, and enjoyed his first hot cleaning in two months. If he closed his eyes, it was almost as if the rapture had not happened. He had a full belly, a warm bath, a friend…

  He opened his eyes, looked at the disgusting gray water around him, and pulled the plug. He wrapped in a towel and bathrobe before putting on clean clothes placed neatly outside the door.

  Greg was ready for the day.

  “You’re even cuter when you’re clean!” Rebecca told him, blushing as she said it.

  “Okay, what do we need to do for the day. Do we need firewood? Do we need to feed the chickens? What chores do you normally do alone that I can help out with? Do you want to walk to that barn and get those blankets?” Helping her was the best way to steer the conversation away from being called cute.

  “It stopped raining. I have two bikes, let’s go over to the barn and get the blankets. I can show you some other stuff too. I have a few winter coats, one should fit you. They have hoods and will keep any rain off if it starts up again. I washed your clothes, including your jacket. I was bored after you went to sleep. They are hanging up to dry. I have a bike helmet, if you want it.”

  Greg found a black jacket in the coat closet that cost $500 before the rapture. The tags were still attached to the sleeve. He slipped it on and followed her back into the kitchen and through a door that led to the garage. There were eight bikes in the garage, four mountain and four road bikes. High end bikes in different sizes. “I collected things in case people showed up,” Rebecca explained. “It cut through the boredom, gave me something to do, and gave me hope.”

  It was a two car garage. In the far bay was an SUV hybrid which looked new. In the closer bay, next to the bikes, was just about everything Greg could imagine; snow shovels, clothes, jackets, gloves, tents, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, propane tanks, kettle grills, coolers, and camping gear upon camping gear. There were rain barrels and seed racks taken right from the stores. She had stacks of food; soups, noodles, flour, sugar, bottled water, energy drinks, enough to keep herself alive for years.

  Greg grabbed an expensive mountain bike and helmet. He followed Rebecca to the side door of the garage. The rain stopped, but it was cold and damp outside. They saw their breath as they road down the street. Greg stayed next to Rebecca.

  “Where did you get all that stuff?” He asked her.

  “The Concord Mall is about 10 miles away. I used to drive my dad’s delivery truck sometimes, just a few blocks, back when there was a world. I know how to drive. I took the delivery van and ‘shopped’ for things. The government was not focused on a single truck driving around Concord, N.H. I went through people’s houses, mainly their basements and garages.” She turned and gave him the look that meant she stayed away from bedrooms with dead bodies.

  “I have a lot of stuff in the house, mostly in the garage and on the second floor. I keep additional canned goods in the basement. I don’t like clutter. I space supplies out to make them accessible but also so I won’t be climbing over things.” She rode at a leisurely pace, making it easy to talk during their ride. “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t act like I’m 13 years old.”

  That was exactly what Greg was thinking.

  “It was just me and my parents. They owned the grocery store. They used me for a lot of errands, stocking shelves, running the register, cleaning. I did just about everything to help them out. I like to work and learn. It’s hard for me to stay still. They made me do volleyball at school so I would interact with kids, rather than come straight home and work at the store. When the world ended, well, I focused on getting stuff I might need, as well as what people who found me might need too.”

  She turned left onto a country road. “Here’s the barn up ahead. “

  Greg listened, “I didn’t think you were too young to do all this stuff. We’ve both probably grown up a lot in the last few months. I lost my mother, some of my cousins, my aunts, my grandparents. You don’t go through that kind of loss without getting stronger. I’m 14, a sophomore in high school, I should be going to football games and dances. Instead I’m in Concord, N.H. riding a bike in the rain getting horse blankets to keep one room in a model home warm enough to stay alive.” He shook his head. “We’ve both grown up. I think you figured it out a lot faster than I did, which is why I asked. I would still be in my dorm room eating beans, playing spy, sleeping under my bunk, if I didn’t have a purpose. If I didn’t want to find other people and my family.”

  They were in front of the barn. Greg began to cry again. He did not realize how lonely and sad he was, how much he missed his mother, how much the idea of never seeing any of his friends weighed on him. He did not realize how much he missed his old life. He was living in the moment every second since the phone call with his father, since the world became sick. He was too busy staying alive to grieve.

  “Why did this happen?” Greg said through his tears. “Why did I live? Why am I alone so far from my family?” He sobbed like a child, sucking in his breath, sniffing his nose. His shoulders bounced as he wept.

  Rebecca stood over her bike, watching him cry. She laid it down on the ground, went over to him, and gave him a hug. He hugged her back. The night before, when she hugged him, he put his arms around her, but he had not been hugging her, it was a polite response. Now he hugged her, held her tightly, like a lifeline or life jacket that was keeping him afloat.

  “I miss my Mom so much.” He said to her. “I miss my whole family.”

  “I miss my parents too.” She replied, gripping him tightly, “but no matter what, it looks like we have each other now. Two has to be easier than one, Greg Dixon from Hightower.“ She paused, “Our new name is officially Greg and Rebecca. We are going to get through this together.” She pulled back from their hug and smiled, giving a little bit of a giggle.

  “I’m not saying this isn’t going to be hard, but it has to be easier together. It has to.” She took tissues
from her pocket and gave him a few.

  “Seriously,” he said, still sobbing, “why do you have all this stuff? Tissues? The world ends and you keep tissues in your pocket?” He laughed. Rebecca was a girl with a plan.

  “I always keep tissues in my pocket. You’ll see. I’ll start to rub off on you, and you’ll be more prepared.” She flashed a smile, and walked towards the barn. The teeny bopper girl from last night was gone. Greg realized the frenetic questioning and apparent helplessness was an act. The real Rebecca, the girl who kept a spotless house and tissues in her pocket, was no teeny bopper. This new girl acted like an adult trapped in a teen’s body.

  Rebecca approached a side door with a slide bolt lock at the bottom. A latch door handle, a long piece of metal slipped into a notch, kept the door shut. Rebecca undid the bottom bolts, opened the door, and went inside. A second later her head popped back out the door. “Are you coming or what?”

  It smelled like rotting hay inside. Greg did not like it, but he followed Rebecca over to a set of lockers next to the horse stalls.

  “I let the horses go two weeks after the town got sick. No one could feed or tend to them. I thought they might be better out in the wild. I don’t know if that’s true, but if they stayed here, well, they were going to starve.” She opened one of the locker doors. It was empty. She continued opening lockers until she found blankets. “Here we go.” She grabbed an armful, “well, come on, let’s get back before it starts to rain again. These smell fine now, but wet wool blankets? I won’t hang those in the house.”

  “So if you can drive,” Greg started “why didn’t we bring the truck over here? Why did I have to ride a bike in the cold and now balance blankets on my handle bars?” Greg questioned some of the girl’s story.

  “I have no idea how long gas stays viable, and as far as I can tell, we have a finite amount of it. I am not wasting gas when we can ride to get blankets. Keeping yourself fit, making sure you don’t just lay around the house, getting out into the fresh air? It’s important. Plus” she looked at him as they got back on their bikes “I wanted to go on a bike ride with a cute boy. It’s been a long time since I have done that.” She started back to the house, quicker than she rode over.

  ‘Greg and Rebecca’ he thought to himself. ‘I like it.’ She was getting ahead of him. Greg jumped on his bike and pedaled hard to catch up.

  15

  Paul and Hank Dixon left Dayton, Ohio the day after Paul arrived. They headed East, travelling as far as possible during the freakishly warm December. Hank’s neighbor had two Honda Goldwing motorcycles with large saddle compartments. The brothers, despite their questionable motorcycle capabilities, rode the bikes out of town early that next morning. They knew motorcycle riding was more dangerous and colder than using a car, but taking two bikes meant one could breakdown without stranding them. Motorcycles were easier to navigate through potential road blocks, accidents, and traffic jams.

  They stayed on large four-lane highways, riding along US 70 the first day. The roads were clear, and they kept their speed at a constant 75 miles per hour. Paul did not have the confidence to ride faster. They stopped briefly for lunch and to siphon gas from abandoned cars. They finished their day on the north side of Harrisburg, PA. The first four houses they searched had the odor of death. The fifth smelled clear. Exhausted, they ate cold beef and noodle soup from cans before climbing into their sleeping bags just after the sun went down. Paul and Hank exchanged no more than 100 words the entire day.

  The next morning they turned north towards Albany, NY. The clouds rolled in and a light snow began to fall before noon. They avoided New York City, and moved into the snow belt of New England. They adjusted their speed to safely navigate the dusting of powder and rolled into Rutland, Vt, in the afternoon. They were only an hour or so away from Hanover, but on the wrong side of several large mountains.

  It was the shortest day of the year, the sun was almost gone, and it was snowing.

  The snow melted as it hit the ground in New York, but Vermont’s streets disappeared under a blanket of white. Riding motorcycles, dangerous before because of their novice abilities, was quickly becoming too great a risk.

  Hank slowed his bike to a stop. Paul pulled next to him. “Let’s stop here, I can’t ride anymore. It’s dark. I’m tired and hungry.” Hank was exhausted.

  “We’re an hour away, I think we can push through and make it.” Paul was equally tired, but wanted to get to Hanover.

  “Paul” Hank yelled through the increasing loud and blowing wind. “It’s snowing. We’re in the mountains on motorcycles. It’s pitch black. Best case we get to Hanover in the complete dark. Let’s find a place to bunk here, stay out of this mini storm, get up there tomorrow. I’m beat, and we may only be 50 miles away, but in this weather, on bikes, it’s going to take us two hours, maybe more.”

  Paul conceded the night. They stood over their bikes at the intersection of rural routes 4 and 7. The roads met at a ‘T,’ with 4 merging into 7 with a left turn. In front of them was a concrete wall with a small hill continuing behind it. Paul looked down the street, Main Street conveniently enough. To their right and slightly up the hill was a large white house with an enormous wraparound porch. A sign hung on metal eyelets off a white wooden sign post. Paul could not make out the wording through the falling snow.

  “That has some chimneys.” He pointed at the house. “Maybe it’s a B&B or an old hotel. We can get a fire going.”

  “Sounds good.” Hank nodded and turned his bike towards the white home. The snow was accumulating quickly. They half rode, half walked their bikes to the bottom of the hill and up the steep driveway. Their tires spun in the new snow. Hank read the sign as he walked passed, The Rutland Inn.

  Paul and Hank pulled their bikes against the hotel in hopes the overhang would offer some protection from the snow. They walked up three steps onto the porch and tried the front door. It was unlocked.

  “Hello?” Paul said loudly into the pitch black lobby. He could tell the hotel was empty. The inside temperature matched the outdoor temperature. There was no smell of decaying bodies. The white house on the hill appeared to be uninhabited and clean.

  “Wow, it’s really coming down now.” Hank pointed two flashlights towards the outside. He pulled out a box of tea candles and a lighter from his backpack, and began lighting the main room of the hotel. “I saw wood under a cover in back. You want to grab some? I’ll light the room and find a fireplace.”

  “Got it.” Paul replied. They had been on the road for just two days, and seldom spoke, but found they worked well together. He went back outside. It was colder than it had been just an hour ago. The snow was falling much harder. “Hank made a good call stopping.” He mumbled to himself. Paul found the wood, grabbed an armful, and went back inside.

  Paul kicked open the door and the gust of wind that followed him blew out half of Hank’s tea candles. The few that remained lit cast enough light to show Hank kneeling inside a large fire place with one arm stuck up the chimney. “I think this is our best bet tonight. I opened the flue. We can get it going with a quick light log and your first armful of wood.”

  Hank and Paul packed synthetic logs in their motorcycles to start fires quickly and easily. The quick starting logs meant not worrying about kindling or paper, and gave them an hour of steady light and fire to gather additional wood.

  The snow came down harder. The wind began to howl through the open front door, pushing through a cloud of frozen powder.

  Paul pushed the door shut. “You know I don’t like to feed your ego, but it was the right decision to stop. You may have saved us. Can you imagine getting stuck on Mount Kilington in this crap? Who knows how long we would have lasted up there.” Paul unzipped his backpack and pulled out soup, a bag of instant rice, and a liter of bottled water.

  “I wish I could claim intelligence, but I’m just tired. There wasn’t thought put into it other than me not being able to go any further. Don’t forget, I’m old.”


  “We should move the bikes behind the hotel. They are getting pelted next to the building.” The structure behind the hotel where Paul found the wood was a four bay carport.

  “Good idea. They might get snowed in where they are. Of course, they will get snowed in over there too, but at least they will be dry.” Hank agreed, sitting on the hearth and rubbing off the black ash from the flue now covering his hands.

  Paul went back outside. He wheeled his bike towards a bay in the carport. Firewood was stacked to the ceiling in one of the bays. The wood was dry and ready to burn. “Look at that, nice New England people ready for the winter.” Paul said to his brother, walking behind him and pushing his motorcycle.

  “Let’s hope we don’t need much of it.” Hank replied as he parked his bike against the back wall.

  Tonight was not about settling down for the long haul. Tonight was about eating, getting warm, and sleeping with as much comfort as possible before they made the final push to Hanover.

  It was their third night together. They worked as a well practiced team. Paul grabbed the quick starting log from Hank’s saddlebag and went back to the house. Hank spied a log carrier with wheels and pulled it over to the stacks of wood. He filled the roller with as many logs as he could and pulled it into the house. Paul lit the synthetic log and placed three wood logs on top of it to start their fire. When the fire caught, Paul searched for a kitchen to locate a pot to warm their rice and soup.

  The front room was bright with light from the fire and tea light candles. Hank snapped on a head lamp before he moved his bike and gathered wood. He clicked it to off when he walked into the hotel lobby with the log carrier.

  Paul came back into the room through a swinging door that led to the kitchen.