The Last Town on Earth

by Thomas Mullen

  Dr. Banes has assured me the chances that the soldier carries the flu are exceedingly slim. We are taking these precautions only because it would be folly not to. I have always marveled at your ability to continue unperturbed by any obstacles, and can honestly say that if there is one person in this town best suited to the unusual task before you, it is you.

  Remember, too, that because there are guards stationed by the building, there are always people within earshot should you need help. Neither I nor anyone else knows who this visitor to our town is. The fact that he is a soldier makes me confident he is a man to be trusted, though it is regrettably true that not all of them are the doughty souls we would hope them to be. Also, I assume that you still have a rifle in the building with you—if the rifle’s presence concerns you, you could always slip it outside the door. In any case, I trust that you will take care of yourself in the same steely way you always have.

  I regret that Dr. Banes has forbidden us to retrieve any notes from you, but it will not be long before we can speak in person.

  Your sister sends her love, as does your mother, as do I.

  Father

  Philip felt the knot in the back of his throat again. He was unfamiliar with hearing Charles express such sentiments. During his first few months in the Worthy clan—months of being treated with extra care as he recovered from his injuries, recovered from his loss, taught himself how to walk again—Charles had been especially attentive, helping Philip with his studies so he could keep up, showing him around the Worthy mill in Everett, teaching him how the whole operation worked. But once the novelty wore off and the family grew comfortable in its new shape, Charles became more distant. Many were the nights when he was at the mill past his children’s bedtimes, fewer were the fishing trips or the rides into town to see a moving picture. And when Charles was at home, he expressed just enough interest in his son to show that he wanted him to succeed—were his studies going well? was he making new friends?—but nothing more. He seemed to see his role as shepherding Philip into his new life, and now that young Philip was secure enough to walk on his own, Charles could retreat back into his adult world, his books and charts.

  Philip reread Charles’s comments about the rifle. Ever since he had won himself food and shelter, the soldier had acted quite uninterested in causing trouble, but now that he was warm, rested, and well fed, perhaps he would become a threat again.

  The soldier started ascending the stairs, and Philip slipped the letter into his pocket.

  “Well, the good news is, I found a bucket. The bad news is, it’s a small bucket. Lucky for you I haven’t eaten much over the last three days.”

  “You’ve been in the woods that long?”

  The soldier sat down and exhaled deeply. “Yes. I walked all over looking for shelter, unsuccessfully, till yesterday. I did find a cabin two nights ago, with some beans in the kitchen—about one meal’s worth.”

  “Sounds like you’re pretty lost.”

  “They don’t really teach us tracking skills over there. Just how to follow orders.”

  The soldier certainly smelled like someone who had been wandering around for a couple of days. Philip was grateful for the smoky scent of the fire.

  “You said it was a naval accident?”

  The soldier nodded. “I don’t know what happened, though—it was at night, and I was below deck. Suddenly, everyone was hollering, telling us to get to the lifeboats. Some people were saying it was sabotage, a German spy or something. I don’t know.”

  “Like a U-boat?” People all along the Northwest coast had been worried about a naval invasion—a German U-boat or even a Japanese warship, the yellow menace deciding to use Europe’s Great War as the perfect cloak beneath which to launch its long-desired takeover of the coastal states. There had already been several false rumors circulating about U-boats sinking commercial vessels in the waters off Washington and Oregon, and no matter how many times they were disproved by the patriotic press, the fears remained.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t see anything, though.”

  “What happened to the other soldiers?”

  Philip had the sense that the man would rather drop the subject, but he wanted to know more. After reading those kids’ books about doughboys and fighter pilots, after seeing the news clips before the moving pictures, here he was with a real, live, honest-to-God soldier.

  “I don’t know. Me and one other guy were in our lifeboat, and all the boats got separated. We were a ways from the coast, and the weather was bad. I don’t know where the others landed. If they landed.”

  One other guy in the lifeboat. Philip fixated on that comment. Surely that was the soldier Graham had shot. And surely this man had figured that out, had realized it when Philip showed him the grave. Philip hoped they weren’t good friends, that this man wasn’t looking for vengeance.

  “So how’d you lose that foot?” the soldier asked.

  Philip looked at him carefully, as he often did when someone mentioned his injury. But the soldier didn’t appear to be trolling for a weakness or looking for an easy joke or insult.

  “Automobile accident,” Philip said, looking away. “I was trapped in a snowstorm. It got frostbite pretty bad, so they had to take it off.”

  “When was that?”

  “Five years ago.”

  The soldier nodded. “You walk pretty good for a guy with one foot.”

  “They gave me a block. I have to wear boots, so I can lace ’em up to my shins real tight. A shoe would come right off.”

  “So you’re a guy who’s lost a foot from being left out in the cold, but you were still going to make me sleep out in the cold last night?”

  “You were going to shoot me, so don’t think you can make me feel guilty.”

  “I could have shot you dead if I’d wanted to, kid. With my first shot. You’ll notice I had a free shot at you, but I hit that stump. I’m not that bad a shot.”

  “You missed because I pulled my trigger, too. And you were going to shoot me again in the woods, only you tripped.”

  The soldier exhaled dismissively. “I could have done it if I’d wanted to kill you, but I didn’t.”

  Philip looked at him closely. “Say whatever you want. I still don’t buy it.” “Well, I guess we’ll never know what the other was going to do, will we?”

  “Guess not.”

  They sat there in silence for a while. At some point, Philip gave a quick glance at his rifle, gauging its distance from the two of them.

  “Stop looking at the gun, kid. I ain’t about to grab it. I’ve got shelter and two days’ worth of free food, so I don’t plan on shooting my way out.”

  “Aren’t you worried about getting back to your base?”

  “I’ll get there eventually. My only fear is whether my commanding officer will believe me when I tell him I was taken prisoner by a town of crazy lumberjacks.”

  “We’re not crazy for wanting to keep the influenza out.”

  “All right, you’re all perfectly sane. But you’ve taken an American soldier prisoner, and I’ll be the one has to explain it when I get back.”

  For the first time, it occurred to Philip that someone in the town could get in trouble for doing this. “What are you going to tell them?”

  “I don’t know, kid. Maybe you should be a little nicer to me, and I’ll have nothing but good things to say about the fine people of…where the hell am I?”

  “Commonwealth. What did you say your name was?”

  “Frank Summers. And you are?”

  “Philip Worthy.”

  Frank leaned forward, extending a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Philip.”

  Philip hesitated only a moment, then shook Frank’s hopefully healthy hand.

  “I think the pleasure’s been all yours so far. No offense.”

  Frank smiled at the riposte. Then he stood and wandered over to the fire, jostling it back to life. He threw two more pieces of wood on top of it and sat back down.

 
“Have many of the soldiers at your base fallen ill?” Philip asked.

  Frank eyed him a bit. “Yeah,” he finally said. “A lot.”

  “How bad is it?”

  Frank shifted positions, sitting more upright. “It’s damn awful. They say you go to bed feeling fine but wake up in the morning feeling like you’ve been hit by a train. Headaches, guys so weak they can barely sit up. A buddy of mine heard someone say it feels like you’ve been shot through both knees and both elbows. And you cough like hell.” He stared off to the side. “You hear a lot of people coughing at night. Like wolves howling at the moon.”

  Philip imagined this plague visiting his town, imagined lying in his bedroom at night to the sounds of everyone around him slowly dying in their homes.

  “Nobody too close to me has been sick. Guys in my barracks have had it, but no one from any of the beds near mine, none of the guys I eat with or drill next to. Folks are worried, though, and it’s kinda gotten the sergeants to go easy on us. I think they’re afraid of pushing us too hard.”

  “Sounds bad.”

  “It is bad. But it’s not just at the base—it’s everywhere. My mom wrote me a letter, said everybody back in Missoula’s sick as the devil. It started one day with a few people and then just exploded. She said she was keeping my sister home from school until it’s over, and that letter was written about two weeks ago.”

  “So how can you blame us for keeping people out?”

  “I didn’t say I blamed you. I just called you a bunch of crazy lumberjacks.” He grinned. “So, you born in this town?”

  Philip shook his head. “I was born in Los Angeles.”

  “Long ways away. Ever been out to Missoula?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, after this war is over, I’ll send you an invitation to Montana’s finest victory celebration. I’ll introduce you as the man who defended the fair hamlet of Commonwealth from a villain more feared than the wicked Hun: me.”

  “Now you’re joshing me.”

  But Frank hadn’t really sounded like he’d been joking—Philip had heard a curious edge in the man’s voice. Frank looked back at the fire, his eyes narrow, and made no reply.

  VIII

  Charles was alone in his office when Graham knocked on the door.

  Graham did not look well. The muscles around his eyes seemed taut, as if he was forcing them to stay focused despite his apparent exhaustion. Then again, Charles knew he didn’t look his best, either. He had been barely able to sleep the night before. Twice in the night he had risen from his bed, resolved to march to the storage building and tell the guard to release Philip. Both times he had remembered his commitment not just to his own son but to everyone else in town. Beside him Rebecca tossed and turned, perhaps unaware how similar his struggles were to her own.

  They had spoken to Philip that morning, standing a few feet away from Deacon, who had stood sentinel throughout the night. Doc Banes had arrived at the same time to call out questions, and Philip’s answers had been encouraging: he still felt fine, no aches, no cough, no pain.

  Charles had been pleased that Philip seemed in good spirits, but Rebecca said it was probably an act. “He wants to look good in your eyes, Charles. He may be terrified, but he won’t let you see it.”

  Rebecca was the one who was terrified, Charles tried to tell himself. But in truth, so was he. He was terrified Philip would be made a martyr for the town. Charles would readily lock himself in a prison and give up his own life for this town—he would let the flu eat him away, let it satiate its ravenous hunger on his body. Give up his own life, yes. But could he give up his family for the town?

  After telling Philip they would come again in the afternoon, Charles and Rebecca had separated, she to her school and he to the mill. Charles tried to lose himself in work but could not. He thought of his absence from church services the last few months and regretted it even more sharply now that the quarantine barred the traveling minister from the town. Charles had subjugated his will to that of the town, to his dream, but he felt an almost nostalgic need to subjugate his fears to something even greater, if such a thing existed.

  “How are you, Graham?” There was an empty chair next to Charles, but Graham ignored it, as if he had too much energy to be still, or as if he dared not sit, lest he fall asleep.

  Graham nodded shortly. “I’m fine.”

  “How are things on the floor? Does everyone know about…Philip?”

  “Word’s spreading.” There had been no official announcement about the quarantine inside the quarantine, but neither had there been any attempt to keep things secret.

  Charles was worried about people’s reactions. If Philip were blamed for letting the man in, then Charles would be implicated too, either by family bond or by the simple fact that he had allowed his son to stand guard despite his age.

  “I think I should stop working in the mill for a while,” Graham said. “Now that there are two places to keep our eyes on, we need more guards. And I figure I can be more of a help by spending all my time guarding instead of working in here.”

  Charles frowned. “Do you really want to do that?”

  “Wanting’s got nothing to do with it.”

  Graham was right. Keeping the town safe and protected was more important than the amount of work slippage that would result from Graham’s absence from the mill—the other foremen could cover for him. If the soldier got loose or someone else stole in and infected the town and all the workers became bedridden, where would the mill be then? As a result of the quarantine, the mill was accumulating a vast amount of wood waiting to be shipped; there were stacks fifty feet high in the yards beyond the mill, and they were growing taller with every passing day. The trees were still falling deep in the woods, the timber was still rolling into the river and floating along, the river drivers were still breaking up logjams and guiding the logs into the mill, the sawyers were still cutting planks and crafting shingles. Once the quarantine ended, the shipping companies would need to send out all their vessels for days just to get everything out of Commonwealth. But all would be resolved. The town would survive this financial bottleneck—if it stayed healthy.

  Charles said, “All right. I can find a way to cover for your absence.”

  “Thank you. And maybe we can try talking more men into standing guard. We’re getting stretched thin.”

  “Yes, of course.” Charles should have thought of that. Things were threatening to spiral beyond his control, and being distracted about his son was not helping.

  “I was thinking I’d head over to the storage building now. Deacon has been guarding it all night and this morning—he’s probably falling asleep on his feet.”

  “But…” Charles paused, surprised Graham was willing to stand guard on Philip. There were other guards for whom the task wouldn’t feel so personal. But he saw no recognition in Graham’s eyes of the dilemma. Finally, Charles nodded.

  Graham turned to leave. Charles felt for him, seeing the weariness in his eyes, the vigilance, the obvious sense he had of himself as the town’s protector. But Charles was haunted by the thought of Graham and Philip divided from each other.

  “I spoke to Philip this morning,” Charles said as Graham put a hand on the doorknob. “He sounds perfectly healthy, and doing quite well, considering.”

  Graham turned around. “That’s good. He say why he let the soldier in?”

  “We can ask for explanations later. I’m sure he had his reasons.”

  Graham just stood there, and Charles felt that he had somehow insulted him.

  “I’m sure”—Charles spoke hesitantly now—“he’ll be happy to know it’s you out there.”

  “I don’t plan on talking to him.”

  Charles was entirely unfamiliar with the coldness in Graham’s voice.

  “Graham, if the foremen are able to recruit more guards, then it might not be necessary for you to stand watch all the time.”

  “I’m not worried about me,” Graham said. “
And other guards haven’t done such a great job.” Before Charles could respond, Graham went on. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to let them out after only two days?”

  “Dr. Banes said it would be.”

  Graham looked away dismissively. “Banes is your friend, Charles, and he’s a good man. But I don’t have a lot of confidence in him.”

  Charles was not surprised by the comment—he had observed the quiet that descended upon Graham whenever Doc Banes was in his presence, or even mentioned, ever since Amelia’s first child had been stillborn.

  “I trust the doctor’s judgment on this, Graham, more than I would trust yours or mine.”

  “He’s said himself that this ain’t like a regular flu, so how do we know two days is enough? Even if he does know everything there is about flu, this could be something different.”

  Charles shifted in his seat. So far he had been careful to speak calmly, trying to loosen the tension, but this was too much. “What are you suggesting? We leave them in there for weeks? This is Philip we’re talking about!”

  Graham seemed to realize he had pushed too far. “All right. I should be going. Thanks, Charles.”

  Charles sat motionless, staring at the doorway. The anger and fear pressed down on his chest. It was a good while before he was able to return to his account books.

  IX

  Remote as it was, Commonwealth had been shaken by America’s entrance into the Great War.

  The town was less than a year old in April 1917 when Wilson implored Congress to declare war and make the world safe for democracy. But everyone in Commonwealth felt they had finally found a place that was safe and democratic, so the thought of heading off to distant Europe to fight for the rights they had just established was perplexing at best. Because the town was so cut off from the rest of the state, there were no visits from the Four-Minute Men, no posters on street poles advertising the draft or advocating the purchase of Liberty Bonds. People got news from the papers they brought back from their trips to Timber Falls or Everett, but it was as though the articles were printed in ink that faded the farther from civilization it traveled, until it could barely be seen in the Commonwealth rains. The sounds of those war rallies and parades, the speeches and marching bands, echoed off so many trees, weakening to a murmur by the time they reached the town.