The Last Tribe

by Brad Manuel

  Craig was excited to meet the new people. His father pulled him aside. “Craig,” John started, “you’re an important part of this group. We want the kids to feel safe and excited to come with us. Make sure you are friendly. Let’s get you a bag of candy, maybe some lollipops or something that you can hand out.” Craig nodded, keeping focused as his insides danced with excitement.

  “You won’t need candy.” Kelly overheard. “Bottles of water are needed more than lollipops or candy bars.”

  Craig was handed a box of juice pouches.

  Peter walked to his fishing buddy, Craig. “You and I are the two friendly faces in our group. Your dad and Solange are serious enough for the four of us.” The old man laughed, rubbing Craig’s hair like old men like to do.

  “I can be nice. I just have not found people I would like to be nice to yet.” Solange said to Peter, smiling at the tall white haired gentleman. The young woman and old man continued to trade one liners as Craig opened the door to the truck and moved into the third row.

  Craig examined the new woman sitting in the second row. She did not say anything. She sat in the Suburban and stared. The SUV was on and warm inside. The woman leaned her head back, enjoying relief from her hunger and cold for the first time in months. Craig liked her even though he had not spoken to her yet. She had a kind face, and long, pretty blond hair. Her hair was filthy but beautiful. It stuck through the back of a Minnesota Twins baseball cap, dangling into the third row area.

  Kelly turned around to look at Craig. “Hello, my name is Kelly. What’s yours?” She smiled at him.

  “My name is Craig Dixon.”

  “Another Dixon? Did your entire family survive?” She continued to smile as she asked.

  “My mom died, and so did two of my aunts. My brother and uncles are alive in New Hampshire. We have to go find them when the snow thaws. Until the snow melts, we are looking for people like you.” Craig explained.

  “I’m sorry about your mother.” Kelly frowned, as if she said something wrong. “I’m glad you found me. There are three young kids, two girls and a boy, who will be very excited to meet you.”

  “Awesome.” Craig said back.

  “It is awesome.” Kelly agreed, nodding. Her eyes moved from looking at Craig to something over his shoulder. Craig turned around to follow her eyes. She was staring at Hubba as the bulldog hopped down the steps of the RV.

  “That’s our dog, Hubba. My Aunt Emily rescued him. He probably smelled the chili. He doesn’t do much, sleeps most of the time.”

  Kelly had her hand cupped over her mouth. She moved out of her seat in the SUV and opened the door, running passed Peter, Solange, and John as they moved toward the Suburban to leave. Kelly’s hand was still over her mouth. Hubba’s nose was high in the air sniffing the chili.

  Kelly crouched down onto the tips of her toes and hugged the dog. Emily watched. “Um, that’s our dog, Hubba.” She paused. “Are you okay?”

  Kelly was crying, rocking and hugging the dog. Hubba licked her tears, finding something tasty in the young woman’s dirty face.

  “I’m a veterinarian. I haven’t seen a dog in half a year.” She turned and faced Hubba. The dog still licked her face. “You’re a good boy, what a good boy.”

  “Hubba’s my miracle dog. For obvious reasons, but also because I found him on a house tour, half dead, locked in the governor’s mansion. He’s made a full recovery, as you can see.” Hubba enjoyed the attention and the salty tear face. If he had a tail, it would have been wagging.

  “I didn’t think I’d get to see a dog again.” Kelly smiled and backed away. “I can’t believe you found a dog.” She rubbed Hubba behind the ears.

  “Kelly? We should get going.” John said from the driver’s side of the Suburban. “Hubba will be here when you get back. Trust me, he doesn’t go anywhere.”

  Kelly stood and looked at Emily. “Thank you. Thank you for coming for us. Thank you for feeding me. Thank you for having a dog.” She stepped forward and hugged Emily.

  “You’re welcome.” Emily replied, surprised by the emotion, and embracing the stranger.

  Kelly let go. “Okay, I’m off.” She looked down at Hubba, sitting at the feet of his new friend. “A dog. An entire family and a dog. Unbelievable.” She shook her head as she went back to the Suburban.

  “So, you really like dogs, huh?” John said, smiling.

  “I am, or was, a vet, large animals mainly, horses really. I worked at the Aqueduct racetrack and at Belmont racetrack, and I volunteered for the NYSPCA a lot too.”

  “Sounds like an exciting job.” Peter chimed in.

  Kelly was suddenly at ease with the group, less reserved than she was before she met Hubba. “Well, most of the horse owners and trainers had their own vets. I was just on call. It’s how I got the job at such a young age. I didn’t get to do much. I’ve only been a vet for a year. I was the assistant vet, doing a large animal residency at the racetracks.”

  “Well, we are glad to meet you. As I said, my name is John Dixon. My son, Craig, is behind you. Before we take off down Fifth Avenue, can you tell me where I am going? I’m not from Manhattan. When you say ‘Chelsea’ I have no idea what you are talking about, other than knowing I can hit golf balls there.”

  “Okay,” Kelly laughed. “You are going to stay on Fifth Ave until you get to Madison Square Garden. Take a right onto 21st just past the Garden. 21st goes right to the seminary.”

  “And we’re off.” John said as he put the Suburban into gear.

  31

  “Eleven more people.” Todd said to Emily and Melanie, shaking his head as he watched the SUV drive away. “This is going to cut into our food in a serious way. We can feast tonight, maybe for a few days, but we will need to stop in some towns and scavenge for food stores on our way to Boston.”

  “We’ll do what we need to do. I knew taking on more people was a risk, but think about the upside of having twenty four people heading to Hanover rather than seven. We have fifteen adults now. Let’s get through the next few meals. We can figure out what to do.” Emily was not worried. They had enough food in the RV’s to feed the group for a month. She also believed they would find food as soon as they left New York City.

  “And you picked up a doctor.” Melanie smiled, hinting she was part of the described upside.

  “I know, I know, I just worry about the food. We have enough.” He stared at the pot of chili. “We’ll let the kids eat this chili now, and I’ll get started on something else. How long do you think I have? An hour?”

  Emily and Melanie shrugged their shoulders and held up their hands in the universal “we don’t know,” gesture.

  Matt was busy directing the younger kids in preparation for the arrival of the new group. He was tasked with setting up chairs, getting the other tables out from under the RV’s, getting paper plates and flatware ready. They had two fire pits that needed to be set up and set ablaze.

  Matt pulled the kids into a tight circle around himself.

  “Okay guys and gals, let’s go eat and then be ready to help when the new people come to camp. Eat until you are full so you aren’t thinking about food later. Great job on setting up the tables and making the camp inviting.”

  “Do we know if they like soccer?” Brian asked excitedly about the kids coming to the camp.

  “No, we don’t. I don’t know their ages either.” Matt answered questions, as off the wall as they were.

  “So there might be another little girl?” Casey asked hopefully.

  “Um, I’m a girl.” Jaclyn said quickly.

  “You’re not little though, and you like sports.” Casey clarified.

  Matt jumped in to avoid a problem. “I don’t know the ages or whether they are boys or girls. I don’t know if they like soccer either, but we will find out soon.” He handed bowls of chili out as the kids walked up to him.

  “Are they going to come with us to Hanover like Jaclyn, Jacob, and Casey?” Jay asked between large spoonfuls of chili. Socce
r made him hungry, and he was afraid he would have to share his food with the new people.

  “We don’t know.” Emily said as Matt struggled to answer. “All we can do is be nice, and ask them to come with us. They will decide on their own.” She patted Matt on the back, and left him to run the group.

  Todd and Melanie were inside the RV preparing food. They ate bites of chili as they worked. Emily came inside to join them.

  Todd made spaghetti with meat sauce. It was kid friendly and easy to prepare. The meal also saved well, allowing him to make more than he thought necessary and put leftovers in the fridge. He was not sure how much the new people would eat, and he prepared enough for an army.

  “I wonder why they stayed in New York City if they didn’t have enough food.” Melanie said as she opened cans of green beans and poured them into a pot. She always insisted on serving a vegetable.

  “That’s a great question. I don’t know. Maybe they were trapped by snow until recently. Maybe they thought they had enough food to get through the winter and miscalculated. We’ll have to ask them. “ Todd placed two pots of water on the stove to boil.

  “Kelly seemed nice for the five minutes we got to speak with her.” Emily looked out the window at the kids, who laughed as they ate. “I just realized I haven’t had dinner.” She opened the door and walked out to the chili, filling a bowl and grabbing two cornbread muffins.

  “Who’s ready to meet some new people?” She asked the table.

  “Us!” the group replied enthusiastically.

  Emily winked at Matt. “I am too.” She said. “I am too.”

  32

  Rebecca turned the cottage’s dining room into a project center. The bathtub was still next to the fireplace because of the hole they cut into the floor, but chairs were no longer stacked on the large table. A computer, books, maps, and charts were spread out in their place. Print outs and models adorned the alcove’s walls.

  Inputting information was the new favorite pastime of the house. They had eight laptop computers. Four were plugged into solar chargers and placed near a window, while the other four were used to input data. Rebecca selected a topic for the day. She would simply say “rainfall” and the group would input rainfall statistics from the past 25 years by month for North America. The days of copying and pasting large datasets from the internet were gone. Inputting the information by hand was the new reality. Their use of the computers was limited. They would charge batteries on the solar chargers during the day, and input for the two or so hours the battery life allowed. It was a frustratingly slow system, but it was working. They had climate, animal, insect, reptile, amphibian, and crop information inputted. They used thumb drives to move the data from each of their laptops onto Rebecca’s master computer.

  Rebecca, Paul, Hank, and Greg discussed relevant statistics endlessly. The most subjective factor was “availability.” What did that mean? Could they realistically get to Australia if they needed to get to Australia? Was Okinawa a realistic destination? Was the Mediterranean? Days were spent debating their ability to move to California as opposed to Virginia. Should travel be incorporated into the model? Did moving 500 miles require the same effort and difficulty as moving 2,000 miles?

  The cottage did not spend all of their time working on the model. They had to survive. Greg had become a skilled trapper in the last few months. The shotguns and rifles were considered a finite resource, and the group relied more on trapping or bow hunting rather than bullets. They did not know how to fill shotgun shells or make gun powder. The guns would soon be as obsolete as cars.

  As the weather turned warmer, they were able to fish. Soft spots opened on Occom Pond and the surrounding lakes. They cut holes in the ice and dropped lines. Hank and Greg spent hours trying to catch fish and game for dinner, while Paul and Rebecca stayed in the cottage working on the “destination model.”

  Hank and John were brothers, and they loved each other, but they were not close friends. They did not see each other outside of family events like weddings or anniversaries. The brothers drifted apart over the last 30 years, as did their families. As a result, Hank did not know his nephew well. They spent much of their time getting to know each other.

  Greg enjoyed his Uncle Hank. They had a mutual love of baseball, and talked endlessly about statistics and players. Hank had seen most of the players Greg idolized.

  The snow was melting at the beginning of April. Hank and Greg enjoyed their first 45 degree sunny day, and joked about how it felt like 80 degrees after the long cold winter. They drove a Jeep Wrangler to a trout club on the other side of the Connecticut River. A pier was left in the frozen lake, extending out into deep water. Using heavy rocks and long sticks, Hank and Greg made holes in the thinning ice at the end of the pier. They caught five rainbow trout using bait and hooks. Hank commented at how aghast his father would be if he were alive to see bobbers and bait at the esteemed dry fly club.

  The lake was owned by a trout fishing club, tucked away in Norwich, Vermont, across the Connecticut River from Hanover. Heavy snow had prevented access to the lake except by snowmobile, and upon arrival they would have to dig a path onto the lake, and use a chainsaw to cut through the thick ice. It was an arduous method for fish, and took the entire day to yield a few if any trout. As the snow melted and the ice thinned, the journey became easier, and the fishing more rewarding. Now that Hank and Greg had better access, they fished the well stocked lake often.

  Hank parked the Jeep, tricked out with large tires and giant treads, at the bottom of Wheelock Street. The street’s intimidating hill was still covered in snow and ice. It was an invitation to wrecking the Jeep, and injuring the drivers. They opted to walk the half mile to and from the cottage each time they fished for trout.

  Today was their third outing to the trout club in the last week.

  Hank used the trip to the club to teach Greg how to drive. They practiced going to and from Norwich, sometimes two or three times each trip.

  “Don’t get too used to driving. We’re going to run out of gas, or the gas we have is going to go bad soon. Unless we find a person who knows how to refine oil, we’ll be riding bikes and horses from here out.” Hank teased.

  “I’m glad I learned to drive before cars become useless. I’ll always be able to say ‘back when we drove cars…” Greg bragged.

  They finished the steep walk up Wheelock hill and turned left on Main Street heading to the cottage. The five large fish swung from the chain creel hanging from Greg’s hip. They were friends more than uncle and nephew, and talked about baseball as they made their way home.

  “I saw Randy Johnson pitch in Cincinnati. He was with the Diamondbacks, and was incredible. First of all he’s like eight feet tall, and he’s only 60 feet away from you and standing on a mound, then he’s throwing heat that breaks, then he’s throwing a pitch with the same arm motion that is like 80 m.p.h. I don’t know how the Reds’ batters put wood on the ball.” Hank enjoyed talking about his baseball experiences. Greg soaked it up.

  “That’s crazy. So he’s the best you’ve ever seen?” Greg could listen to stories about baseball all day. Growing up in South Carolina meant he did not have access to the major leagues. Even though he spent the last year near Boston, he did not see any Red Sox games.

  “He was up there. I saw a lot of guys though. Maddux would give up hits, but he never gave up runs, so he was totally different. He’d throw 80 pitches and be done in 2 hours. Such a rare pitcher, he didn’t waste pitches.” Hank finished his comments as they reached the cottage. It was noon, and he was hungry.

  Hank swung the interior mudroom door open and felt the warm dry air blow out of the cottage. “The wood stove is definitely on.” He said to Greg.

  “Hey!” Rebecca waved to them excitedly from her seat at the computer. “We’ve narrowed our move to a few places. I think we’ll end up near the ocean in Virginia or make the long trek out to Northern California. I can’t decide if earthquakes are worse than hurricanes. Both are about
as likely. It depends on how long we want it to take to get to our final spot, and if we want to incorporate finding other survivors into our model.”

  “My dream of living in Hawaii is gone?” Greg lamented.

  “It’s too far. We don’t have boats or planes. I mean, I guess we have boats, but we don’t have anyone to captain the boat to get us there.” She explained systematically. “So yes, it’s over Greg, sorry.”

  “I was so close. So close.” He laughed.

  “Hey, Rebecca, how is the morning going?” Hank asked. The angry, sad, paranoid man who arrived at the cottage two months ago was melting away, replaced by a happy and relaxed father figure. Rebecca’s optimistic and infectious view of life was the leading cause of Hank’s rebirth.

  “I don’t know. Am I eating trout for lunch?” She asked.

  Hank held up the five large fish. “Lunch and dinner.”

  “Then I am having a great day.” She said with a smile. “Paul and I can tweak the model more, but I don’t think the results will change. Greg is right, Hawaii would be our number one choice if we could get there, but given the travel limitations, California or Virginia are our next best options. Also, Hawaii probably means not finding new people.”

  “But if we can get to Hawaii?” Greg asked.

  “Well, if we can get there, then we should go. Kauai has chickens, wild boar, fish, few insects, no snakes, no predators, it is always the same temperature. It always rains on one part of the island. It’s always sunny on the other part. The growing season is 12 months. If we bring seeds and livestock, we could create a sustainable colony. Other than sunburn, it will be the best place to move. I can’t see how we can get there without modern equipment, but if we can get there, pack your bags.” Rebecca spoke with authority and confidence.