The Last Tribe

by Brad Manuel

  “Are you ready for another piece of Hank Dixon luck?” Paul was grinning. “There is a woodstove back there, a working woodstove. I don’t want to fire it up tonight, I’m too tired, but tomorrow morning? I bet the stove will make the kitchen warm and cozy.”

  “Now I am starting to think I’m a genius for stopping.” Hank said back. He stood by the fire with his hands on his hips to take stock of the lobby. The hotel was a converted Victorian Mansion. Hank and Paul stood in the combination lobby and breakfast eating area. The good news was the room had a fireplace. The bad news was the room was large and would be difficult to heat from a single fire source. Hank eyed two full length couches facing each other in front of the fireplace.

  “Hey, Paul, let’s move these right next to the fire and facing the heat. I bet it will be just as cozy tonight as your kitchen will be tomorrow morning.” He grabbed one end of a couch. Paul grabbed the other. They faced the first couch towards the fire two feet from the fire screen. They moved the other couch in a similar diagonal position. The top of each couch touched in the middle four feet away from the fireplace, creating a ‘V’ shaped wall to trap heat.

  Paul pulled the tops off of two cans of soup, poured the contents into the pot, dumped the instant rice into the mixture, and placed the pot next to the roaring fire. “The wood is dry, it’s burning well.”

  Hank unpacked the rolling cart, stacking the wood on the hearth. “I’m going to grab another cart of wood so we have some more inside. I want to make sure you have some to make my breakfast tomorrow morning. Do you think you can find some blankets and sheets upstairs, or do you want to use our sleeping bags?”

  “I’m on it.” Paul said, jumping up from next to the fire. “I want to take my coat and boots off once, let’s get all our stuff together right now. I’ll get some bowls and spoons too.” Paul wore a headlamp similar to Hank’s. He turned the headlamp on and grabbed a flashlight from his backpack. He walked to a set of stairs on the wall opposite the front door and followed them to the second floor. He did not feel like entering any rooms for fear the rooms were still ‘occupied.’ He stood at the top of the stairs, pointing his flashlight down a long hallway. Brass numbers hung on several doors running down the length of the hall. Paul noticed two of the doors did not have numbers, and guessed correctly the doors were closets. The first closet held cleaning supplies and paper products. The second closet housed sheets and several thick polyester blankets encountered in modestly priced hotels.

  “Jackpot” Paul said to himself.

  He walked back downstairs, dropped the linen on one of the sofas, and went into the kitchen to retrieve spoons and bowls. As he opened cupboards he found a well organized kitchen and an extremely well stocked pantry. His hunger prevented him from spending too much time admiring. He grabbed a large stirring spoon, two bowls, two soup spoons, paper towels, and headed back into the living room. As he came through the swinging door he noticed a distinct difference in the temperature. It was cold in the kitchen, but it was close to tolerable in the living room. The fire took the chill and dampness out of the air.

  He put the bowls and spoons on the floor, stirred the soup in the pot, and moved the pot to the other side of the fireplace so the cooler side faced the heat. He noticed a coffee table and pulled it next to the hearth, between the couches and the fire. They could use it as a dinner table, allowing the brothers to sit on the large hearth or on the couches while they enjoyed hot soup and soaked in the warmth of the fire. Paul unzipped his jacket, untied his boots, and settled in for the night.

  Hank opened the front door and came in with a third cart of wood. His shoulders and hair were white with snow from the 25 yard walk to the carport.

  “I bet there’s an inch down already, and it’s snowing harder.” Hank did not look happy. “You think they have early plow service? If not, we might be here until June.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s eat, sleep, and come up with a plan, if needed, tomorrow.” Paul poured potato and bacon soup into each bowl. The mixture was thick and lumpy with rice.

  Hank unzipped his coat, took off his boots, and walked over to the hearth. “Wow, I’m almost ‘not cold’ for the first time today. That has to count for something.” He looked at his bowl. “No tiny stars in my soup tonight?” He still teased his brother for serving him children’s style chicken noodle soup the first night.

  The two men ate in silence, letting the fire and food warm their bodies. Hank, utterly exhausted, found the bathroom, threw two more logs on the fire, and lay down on one of the couches. He pulled two of the fuzzy blankets Paul draped over the back of the couch on top of him. “If you wake up, throw another log on the fire.” Hank yawned as he said fire. He was asleep before he finished his yawn.

  “Sleep well old man.” Paul responded in a whisper.

  Before he went to bed Paul proactively built a fire in the woodstove for the next morning. He was not far behind Hank in the exhausted department. He blew out the few tea lights that remained lit, and curled up under the blankets on his couch. Paul’s head was inches from Hank’s, separated by the arms of their couches at the top of the ‘V’ formation. Paul ignored Hank’s light snoring, and soon fell fast asleep.

  Hank awoke in the dark. Embers from the fire cast flickers of light onto the ceiling and the room. Paul was asleep next to him. All was quiet and safe. He got up, threw three logs on the fire, went to the bathroom, and fell back into a deep sleep. Paul awoke and had a similar experience later in the morning. Aside from the single wake, both men slept soundly throughout the night.

  Hank awoke to a bright room. The sun was out, shining through a bank of windows on the dining side of the lobby. He sat up and stretched his arms. The fire was still burning. Red embers kicked off enough heat to keep the hearth area warm. The couches, faced towards the fire, collected heat throughout the night. Hank slept warmly for the first time in months. He stood to put a fresh log on the fire.

  “Do we care what time it is?” Paul said from his couch. He lay on his back and stretched his arms in front of his head, letting out a slight groan. “I have to get up too. I’m starving and I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “I haven’t slept that well in a long, long time. I was warm. I felt safe. I knew I couldn’t go anywhere, and I wasn’t in a hurry to get to the next place. That was my best night’s sleep in probably five months, since I read about the flu in Brazil.” Hank sat on the hearth in navy long johns and a red waffle shirt.

  “Yeah, I know. Even two nights ago in Harrisburg, I was antsy to get to Hanover. I didn’t sleep well. And, well, it wasn’t comfortable. This fireplace is awesome.” Paul sat up on his couch. “I’ll brave the kitchen and light the woodstove. I made it after you went to bed, should just take a match.” He stood and went into the other room.

  Hank walked to the front of the house. He looked out the bank of windows. “Holy shit.” He said to himself. The sun was shining, but everything outside was white. There was at least a foot of snow on the ground, probably more. He and Paul were not going to Hanover today, not on motorcycles.

  Paul came back through the door. “Fire is on. The kitchen will be warm soon, and we’ll be eating something good.”

  “I hope we have a lot of food here, because unless we find a snowcat, or wrecker with a plow, we might be here a while. I know I was joking when I said June, but, well, it might be June.”

  Paul was used to Hank exaggerating and being too serious, “Okay, calm down. I’m sure we’ll be able to get going…” Paul walked across the room to look out the window. He let out a small gasp. “Well, we do have a lot of food in the kitchen, and I mean a lot of food.” He picked up a digital thermometer on one of the window sills in the dining area. It read 11 degrees. “Look at the temp. It dropped 40 degrees from lunch yesterday.” Paul let out a small chuckle. “Hey, no school.”

  Hank was not amused.

  “Where the hell are we anyway? Rutland? There has to be a tourist map or info sheet in
this place. It’s a hotel. I’m going to investigate while you make breakfast. I’m sure we can find a truck to get us over the mountains to Hanover. Worst case is we’re stuck here for a while. It’s 11 outside, but I bet it’s 60 in here, warmer on the couches. As long as we have wood, we are going to be warm and dry.” The feeling of calm and happiness Hank felt when he woke were gone, replaced by panic. He felt trapped.

  “Let me give you the good news then.” Paul placed his hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Grab your headlamp. You have to see this kitchen.”

  Hank grabbed his headlamp and a flashlight and followed his brother into the kitchen. Hank had not been in the room yet. He was impressed with how nice a kitchen it was, outfitted in high-end, restaurant grade appliances. It was immaculate, and noticeably warmer than the front room. The woodstove kept in the corner as a novelty heated the backroom quickly and efficiently.

  “This place is fantastic.” Hank said as he looked around. Hank was an avid cook before the rapture. “I could do some damage here.”

  Paul’s voice could be heard from behind a large open door. “That’s not what I want you to see. Check out the pantry I found last night.” Hank saw a metal door with a large silver handle. It looked like a walk in freezer, but was instead a pantry large enough for a mini cooper or punch buggy. Hank walked to the other side of the door to inspect the storage room. Paul stood in the middle, his arms outstretched to either side to emphasize the amazing find.

  There was more food in the pantry than either of them could imagine, good canned food in perfect condition. There were vegetables, fruits, canned meats, canned fish, broths, and coffees. The pantry went from floor to ceiling with shelves eight feet high and two feet deep. There appeared to be six to twelve months of food.

  “What do you think? Were these people preppers? Did they plan for the apocalypse?” Paul picked up a can of salmon.

  “I bet they stocked up for the high season, made sure they had plenty of food for the winter months, maybe used their cash at the end of the previous year to stock up on things for next year. If they bought throughout the summer and kept things in here, they wouldn’t have to worry about food prices or their winter cash flow as much. I don’t know.” Hank picked up a light blue can, turning the label to show Paul. “Do you really think preppers would stock high end organic broth? People prepping for the end of the world are about utility, not gourmet.” Hank was impressed with the quality of the ingredients. He was also excited to see meat and fruit. He had eaten enough soup and instant rice for a while.

  “Look at the pastry section; flour, yeast, sugar. I am making bread tonight, oh man, I haven’t had a piece of bread in three months.” Hank pointed at the dry goods shelves with excitement. He grabbed a box of pancake mix. “Hey, how about pancakes? Let’s do pancakes!” He was as giddy as a little kid. It was a wild Maine blueberry pancake mix. “We don’t have eggs, but we can do without eggs. Oh man, real syrup, pancakes. Being stranded with you might not be so bad.” Hank’s mood changed again. He was no longer scared and trapped. He had warmth, shelter, food, and companionship.

  “Ummm, okay, you’re scaring me a little. Are you really that fired up about blueberry pancakes?” Paul was excited to find the food, but Hank’s enthusiasm bordered on maniacal. “You’re acting like you haven’t eaten real food in months.”

  “I haven’t!” Hank shouted back. He left the pantry in search of a bowl to mix his pancakes. “Pull out that mini solar radio thing. Let’s get some music going. I want a full belly before I think about being stuck in Rutland, Vermont for the next four months.” Hank, having found a bowl, opened drawers looking for measuring cups.

  Paul tried the door next to the pantry and found steps that led to a wine cellar and additional food, including cured meats and cheeses imported from Italy and France. The Rutland Inn was a jackpot.

  Hank was right about the owners. Their names were Steve and Nicole. Running the B&B was their second career. They left lives in academia at the ages of 50. The Inn catered to skiers in the winter and leaf peepers in the fall. Each spring they used their cash to purchase food throughout the summer months, whenever high end items were on sale. The couple took in a few boarders in the spring and summer months, but mostly prepared for the high season of October through April. Every July and August Steve and Nicole closed the Inn and travelled to Europe. They did not make it back to the U.S. this trip, dying in a Venice hotel from the rapture one day apart. No one thought to loot a three star bed and breakfast on a busy street in Rutland. The Inn remained untouched until Paul and Hank stumbled into the front door that December, a door left unlocked by the friend who was collecting packages, fliers, and newspapers. Rutland was a safe town. People seldom locked their doors anyway.

  The blueberry pancakes were Nicole’s favorite brand. Hank and Paul would never know the story of the people who saved their lives in Rutland that winter. They would never know that Nicole taught psychology at Indiana University, while Steve taught English Literature at the local community college. No one was alive to remember how Steve declined repeated offers to teach at several Universities, believing community colleges filled an educational void when state colleges decided to compete with private universities for money and rankings. Nicole was a trained pastry chef. Steve was a triathlete. Their story was gone, like billions of other stories taken from the world in just five short months by a disease no one saw coming or had time to understand. Steve’s favorite picture of the couple hung in the lobby, taken as they stood on the steps of a random old building in Italy.

  Hank and Paul sat at one of the tables in the dining area. The fire was going strong. They were comfortable in pants and long-sleeved shirts. Their empty pancake plates in front of them as they looked outside at the snow.

  “We’re not going anywhere today.” Paul said, breaking their silence. “I’m tired. Let’s enjoy the day at the hotel. We have food. We’re 50 miles from Hanover. I say we take a break. I’d like a break. I’ve been stressed out and planning crap for months. I want a day off.”

  “You know what? I agree. I might research the area with the maps and guide books from the lobby desk, but you’re right. Let’s enjoy the day.” Hank sipped his coffee. “When was the last time you had coffee? It’s been three months for me. Man, I miss coffee.”

  “Seriously? It’s only been three days for me. I had coffee the morning I rode up to see you. Not all of us lived in a hole in the ground for two months. Actually, I lived quite nicely. I had food and music. I read books. I was lonely and bored, but I had coffee and some of the finer things in life to keep me comfortable.”

  “Asshole. I didn’t have coffee. I drank dirty water most of the time. It was purified, but it had dirt in it.”

  Paul stared at his brother, “I’m sorry about your family, Hank. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”

  “You lost too, Paul. We both lost everything. I won’t forget, but I have to move on.” He took another sip of coffee. “I cried a lot. I still hurt, but I have to fight forward.”

  “Yeah, I know. “ Paul nodded and looked down at his feet. “So,” he said, looking back up. “Why, exactly, were you living in a hole for two months? What the hell were you thinking?” Paul was dying to ask Hank the question for the last three days, but they never had the time to talk. Riding motorcycles tandem across the country was not conducive to long conversations.

  “I was trying to lose weight. If I had stayed in my house, like you did, I would have continued to live my unhealthy lifestyle. Think of my hole as a self imposed eating intervention.” Hank’s wry smile emphasized his sarcasm.

  “I’m all for the new trimmer Hank, but seriously, were there government roundups in Dayton or something? Was the military patrolling? What’s up?” Paul did not have issues in Cincinnati. His house was off the beaten path. Hank’s house was two blocks from a hospital, next to a school, near a highway, near stores. Hank was not downtown Washington DC, but his house was more conspicuous than most.

  “You
know the golf course was my social network, right?” Hank started.

  “Yeah, and a few work people.” Paul replied.

  “Yeah, but work was pretty far away. When all the crap hit the fan, I was in Dayton. There were five of us that weren’t getting sick. Panic was pretty much everywhere. Cell phones still worked. The five of us would keep in touch.” He paused. “The girls were sick. I spent my time caring for them, although as you know, there wasn’t much to do. They didn’t eat anything, or hardly anything, and they weren’t uncomfortable. I was more or less just spending time with them, trying to nurse them back to health, keep them alive for a cure. Enjoying my last days with them.” Hank sighed.

  “Anyway, I would keep tabs on my friends, who was sick, who was already dead, what people planned to do. Like I said, there were five of us that were healthy, or at least five of us that weren’t sick yet. We were conferencing in with each other, three of the guys hadn’t eaten in a day or so, but they didn’t have fevers. They were telling us they were okay, just not hungry from all the excitement and worry. I knew they were dead, I’m sure they knew too, but you tell yourself whatever you need to tell yourself to get up the next morning.” He took another sip of coffee.

  “So Fritzie is one of these five people, and we’re all on the phone together. He is talking about how he is eating, he’s not sick, he’s been out and about recently, went to one of the government meetings going on every night. He asked me to go, but I stayed home with the girls. He said they had scanners you walked through when you came into the hall, checking body temps, seeing if anyone was contagious. He is literally the only person that pops a 98.6, everyone else is 100 degrees or more. He was laughing about it to us, how funny it was.” Hank set his cup down.

  “He’s on the phone and his doorbell rings. He slips his phone into his pocket. The rest of us can hear what’s happening. We hear him answering the door. I’m screaming, don’t answer the door, hide, run, don’t get the door, but he ignores my screams. All we hear is him saying ‘yes officers’ and then we hear a scuffle and the phone is dead. He was gone.”