by Dan Padavona
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Country Roads
To Keeshana, the sounds were typical of a summer morning in Georgia. Keeshana and Amy were outside of Monroe, riding 10-speed bicycles eastward along a winding stretch of rural back road roughly paralleling US 78. Old overhanging oaks and willows framed the picturesque route, dappling the asphalt with gold bars of ever shifting sunlight. A white pasture fence bordered the south side of this section of road, and through the trees, Amy spied two quarter horse ponies grazing on fescue and orchardgrass. Now and again small animals scurried within the wild grasses and weeds along the roadside, and birds sang over a chorus of grasshoppers and crickets. To Keeshana, who had grown up among Georgia farmland, there couldn’t have been a more natural sound in the world.
“Wait up, Kee.” Amy pulled up alongside Keeshana, catching her breath and leaning on the handlebars.
“You’re out of shape, South Carolina. A few more days of riding, and I’ll have you ready for the next Olympics.”
Keeshana adjusted the straps of her backpack and handed a water bottle to Amy. They wore bucket hats, and both carried an ocean-like scent from liberal applications of sunscreen. Amy squeezed a stream of lukewarm water into her mouth.
They chose the back roads because the views were prettier and, unlike the highway, there were enough roadside houses to provide shade and a replenishment of supplies. Keeshana thought the ride would be mentally healthy for Amy, who missed her husband and clung to the hope that her father was still alive. Keeshana didn’t think Amy would find her father in Chardray, if they made it that far, but maybe it would be good for her to see her old town and remember Chardray for what it had been when she was a child.
If they continued along their present route, Keeshana knew they would pass just south of Athens about 30 miles up the road. Once they got there, Keeshana thought they might trade the 10-speeds for a pair of motorcycles or scooters, if Amy was too tired. Eventually, they would need to switch to a faster means of transportation if they were to make it to Chardray in a reasonable amount of time. For now, Keeshana was happy to continue riding. She enjoyed biking, and the countryside filled her with warm, nostalgic memories of her youth.
Most of all, the country cleansed her of the persistent feeling she’d had in the city that someone was following her. In Atlanta, the shadows seemed harsh, nefarious. Here, the shadows appeared subtle and natural, inviting her forward like an old friend.
“What does your watch say?” Keeshana asked.
“Not quite 9 AM. We’re making great time.”
“Sure are. But I don’t want to push it.” Keeshana pulled at the neck of her t-shirt and fluttered fresh air down her shirt. “It feels like it’s going to be a real scorcher. Why don’t we go hard for another hour and then find somewhere cool to wait out the heat?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Keeshana didn’t know what to expect after they made it to Chardray, once Amy came to grips that her father was no longer there. Perhaps that would be the end of their time spent together, with Amy choosing to stay in Charday while Keeshana continued on without her. She hoped it wouldn’t be the case. She liked Amy. She had a vague notion of making it to the coast, and she wanted Amy to come with her. Although she didn’t have a good reason to reach the ocean, she thought that if she could make it to the water, her thoughts would have better clarity.
The country road descended into a valley bowl which allowed them to coast for the next half-mile. The blacktop cut through a tunnel of intermingling oaks and elms blotting out the sun. Within the tunnel, the air temperature dropped several degrees. As they emerged, coasting out of the other end, a meadow of wildflowers and wheat formed a scenic roadside border. The land rose along the south side. Upon the gentle rise rested a white country farmhouse fronting several acres of fenced-in pasture.
They had almost passed the farmhouse when a friendly voice brought them to an abrupt stop.
“Whoa, there.”
An aging black man with thinning brown hair came hopping down the hill, waving a white hat, as though directing a stock car race. He wore blue jeans, work boots, and a navy-blue chambray shirt unbuttoned to his chest. The happy, astonished look on his face was one of a man watching the Publisher’s Clearinghouse folks carry a gargantuan check to his front door. From around the house came two friendly barks. A big Irish setter with mahogany fur ran past the man and into the road, where he jumped back and forth between Amy and Keeshana, unable to decide which stranger he wanted to lick more.
“You get down now, Bo. These pretty ladies don’t want your dirty paws all over ‘em.”
Bo no longer needed to choose between them, because Amy and Keeshana came to him. Bo rested his paws on Keeshana’s bike and happily licked the sweat off of their arms, as the girls ruffled his fur.
“What did I tell you, boy? You leave them be.” The man shrugged his shoulders apologetically. “I’m sorry, ladies. He just loves to meet people, and I can’t say I’m much for training him.” Bo wore a big doggy grin. As Bo looked between the girls and the man, Amy extended her hand to the man.
“I’m Amy Jenner, and this is Keeshana Laurens.”
“But call me Kee, please.” Keeshana shook the man’s hand, too.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance. The name’s Grady Sanders, and you already met Bo.” Grady cast a disapproving look at Bo, who went on wagging his tail and giving each of the girls slobbery kisses. “Down, boy. Good. Now, sit.” Bo sat at their feet, and Grady gave him a pat on the head. “Can’t say I expected to see anyone coming ‘round this way anytime soon. Maybe never again. Say, do the two of you like hamburgers? Not for breakfast, I mean. For lunch.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Now spit it out, Grady. These two don’t need you flailing about like some kinda fool. What I’m trying to say is that I’d like to invite you for lunch. With Bo and I.”
Bo barked and flicked his tail with enthusiasm.
“You are the first two people I reckon we’ve seen in four or five days.”
Keeshana saw a kindness in the man’s eyes, and although she knew caution would be an important part of staying alive in the coming days, she trusted Grady.
“What do you think, Amy? After five days of health food bars, I could go for a burger.”
“Burgers sound good to me, too,” Amy said.
Grady clapped his hands together once and grinned. “Well, that sounds mighty fine. It ain’t much, I know, I know. And if my Laura was still alive, she’d be beating me about the head for not serving something more fitting to y’all.”
“Amy and I are much obliged to share your company and your food, Mr. Sanders.”
“Just Grady, please.”
“Okay, Grady. Your wife…did she—”
“Vanish, like the rest of ‘em? Lord, no. God took her ten years ago this autumn. Fortunate she didn’t live to see this mess we’re all in, though I miss her so.” Grady turned his head toward the empty-looking farmhouse. “But it’s a mighty nice morning, and I’ve had enough sad talk for today. Tell me a little about yourselves. You both Georgia-born?”
“Born and raised,” Keeshana said.
“South Carolina,” Amy said.
“That’s the Carolina that I love. You don’t sound like coastal Carolina. You sound more like Georgia-born to my ears.”
“The town I’m from would fit right into this area of Georgia.”
“I bet that it would. All right then, let’s go get us some shade.”
A long porch stretched the length of the house. Upon the porch sat an aged rocking chair. Set back within the porch’s shade was a white and gray cooler. As Grady hurried ahead of them up the porch steps, he apologized for some perceived rudeness Keeshana couldn’t identify. As the screen door banged shut, Bo followed at the girls’ heels. A moment later, Grady dragged two wooden table chairs onto the porch.
“Just like Laura always said, I got no manners. Please sit, and don’t let Bo bother you none. You hear me, Bo? You be
on your best behavior around these two ladies, or there won’t be any lunch for you.”
Grady opened the cooler and pulled out two cans of beer.
“Don’t worry. They’re cold. I’m still using my refrigerator.” He tossed a beer to each of them and reached inside the cooler for his own. He cracked open the top, and white foam bubbled out of the opening. “Day after the power went out—Sunday, I reckon—I took my truck into Athens and got me the best Briggs & Stratton generator I could find at the Home Depot. There’s a little gas station about five miles up the road from here. Got me as much gas as I need, and I suppose I shouldn’t feel bad about taking it for free, but for some reason I still do. Anyhow, as long as I only turn on the lights when I need ‘em, that generator will work for several days before I need to make a trip back to the gas station.”
“But the gas station pumps don’t work,” Amy said.
“Sure they do. Just not the way they used to. Y’all know how to remove a plug vent?” Amy and Keeshana shared a bewildered look. “It’s no big deal. Heck, I’ll drive you to the station and show you myself. Once you open the vent, all you need is a pump or a siphon. It’s a good thing to know, if’n you might be thinking about trading those bicycles in for a nice car or truck someday. Might be safer now that summer is coming. Lord knows you don’t want to be riding hard when it’s a hundred degrees in the shade.”
Keeshana sipped at her beer and looked out at the sprawling countryside. “You chose a fine place for a house, Grady. Did you build it yourself?”
“No. My Granddaddy’s daddy did. This house has been in our family since the turn of the last century. Ain’t that something? I was born here, and I intend to die here when my time comes, which I hope is not for a long, long time. I suppose I must be on someone’s good list since I’m still here, like the two of y’all.”
“It’s peaceful,” Amy said.
“That it is.”
“Reminds me of a bit of where I grew up.”
“As my daddy used to say, Amy, home is where the heart is, and if you stay true to your heart, no matter where your feet take you, you’ll never be far from home.”
The wind carried the scent of wildflowers and countryside flora. An earthy smell pervaded, natural and comforting.
Bo, lying at the girls’ feet, lifted his head and looked at Grady.
“That’s fine, Bo. I know you want to run. Go now.”
Bo barked and ran down the porch steps. As Amy watched him go, Bo turned left and crept into a stand of tall grass. A rabbit scurried out of hiding and raced deeper into the field with Bo at its heels. Keeshana leaned back in her chair and let the whispering wind and the kindly voice of Grady Sanders take her troubles away. This felt right to her—the old farmhouse, the beauty of Georgia country, the conversation. She thought she might like to stay longer, if Amy was willing.
The hamburgers were dry and the buns on the stale side, but a sandwich never tasted so good. They were both famished. Amy and Keeshana ate two hamburgers each and multiple helpings of grilled sweet potato slices that had crusted over perfectly on the grill. Grady urged them to eat more, but by the third helping of the sweet potatoes, their stomachs were pleasantly bloated.
“You cook a good burger, Grady,” Keeshana said.
“The sweet potatoes were incredible,” Amy said. “So sweet.”
“Don’t be shy if you want more. I got more food than I know what to do with, and there ain’t no point in wasting it.” Bo, who was done chasing rabbits, lay back at the girls’ feet, chewing on a bone.
They talked of what had become of the world. Grady didn’t question the disappearance of so many people. If this was God’s will, then who was he to question? Either way, he was content to live out his days in the same solitary fashion in which he’d spent the last decade.
As their food digested, Grady told them about growing up in the farmhouse, and how his father had won the county skeet shooting contest for sixteen years in a row. He would have won more times, Grady said, except that some of the shooters said they wouldn’t compete against him anymore, and so his father stopped entering. His father taught Grady to shoot, how to farm, and how to do general repairs on the house when he was in grade school. By the time Grady was twelve, he knew how to replace a roof by himself.
“That’s the problem today. It ain’t the kids’ faults. It’s the parents who don’t trust ‘em enough to teach ‘em to fend for their own. Now I ain’t never been the best shooter, never raised me a prize steer, and there were a hundred guys around here who could fix a roof faster than I could change a light bulb. But the point is I learned how to do lots of different things that parents don’t teach kids anymore.”
“My dad was the same way,” Amy said. “He was the neighborhood handyman, the car repairman, and the first person people called when their sinks got plugged. You remind me a lot of him. I think you would have liked him, Grady.”
“Bet I would have, too, Miss Amy.”
“I’m going back to my hometown. Back to Chardray. If my father is still there, maybe I will bring him back here so you can meet him.”
Keeshana averted her eyes and bent to pet Bo, not wanting Amy to notice how low Keeshana thought the chances were of finding Hank Jenner.
“I hope you do find him. There’s always room for hope.”
Before the girls noticed, the sun slipped below its apex and started its slow afternoon descent. Neither protested when Grady asked them to stay the night.
“There’s rain on the wind,” he said. “Best that you have shelter over your heads tonight. If the weather clears tomorrow, I’ll be happy to drive you to the next county. But know you are welcome to stay with Bo and I for as long as you like.”
Keeshana and Amy shared an upstairs bedroom outfitted with twin guest beds Grady didn’t reckon had been slept in for over 20 years. The farmhouse didn’t have air conditioning, but two eastern cottonwoods along the southern walls kept the house from baking when the sun was at its strongest. A rotating fan kept them comfortable. Through the open window came the low, mechanical rumble of the generator.
Before the wall clock read 10 PM, Keeshana and Amy fell sound asleep.
Grady sat thumbing through a scrapbook of old photographs, one hand stroking behind the backs of Bo’s ears, as the dog curled next to him on the sofa. Lightning lit the west window with fiery, clawed fingers. Several seconds later, thunder rumbled up the valley. Bo’s legs twitched at the sound, as though he ran in his sleep. The dog went back to slow, regular breathing. Grady shut the scrapbook with a hollow clap and placed it on the end table.
Shadow took over the downstairs, save for where the end table lampshade pooled light along one side of the living room. Across from the couch sat an antique black-and-white television outfitted with a rabbit ears antenna. The living room reflected dimly in the rounded screen.
The first raindrops pattered against the window. He leaned his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes, listening to the clatter of rain and wind increase. Thunder rolled out of the west like a wolf’s growl.
A heavy storm is coming, he thought to himself. He closed his eyes. A few minutes later, Grady fell asleep.
The thunderstorm raged louder now, crossing the border between the real world and that of Grady’s dream.
In his dream, he opened his eyes to the living room. Lightning flashed continuously, turning the farmhouse interior into an old picture show where missing frames made the world seem to move in fits and starts. Thunder crashed. The house shook. Having lived through his fair share of Georgia thunderstorms, he didn’t scare easily. But the anger of the storm made him feel suddenly vulnerable.
“Wake up, Bo.”
He shook the dog. Bo’s legs ran in his sleep, as though he dreamed of monsters chasing him through the night.
A blinding flash of white lit the house interior. Thunder roared.
“I better check on the girls.”
The wind became an intimidating force. The wind bellowe
d down the valley like an angry giant and pressed under the eaves, as if it meant to pry off the roof.
As he got to his feet, his knees popping and his back groaning, he glanced toward the west window. Night pressed against the glass. Strobe-light lightning flashes revealed the meadow, where trees bent earthward like tortured souls.
The hair on the backs of his arms bristled. A bolt of lightning exploded in the meadow and left a white doppleganger over his eyes that was slow to fade. He rubbed his eyes.
“You need to wake yourself up, Bo. It ain’t safe here.”
His eyes were drawn back to the window. He caught his breath in his chest.
Through the field walked a cloaked figure. Grady rubbed his eyes again and blinked.
“What is that fool doing out in the storm?”
The figure came quickly, descending a small knoll and emerging out of a stand of trees. Grady felt an icy cold form over his bones. The cloaked specter made a beeline for the farmhouse, ignoring the whipping rain and wind. Another bolt of lightning tore into the meadow.
Still the figure came, silhouetted against a canvas of storm and night.
Grady called upstairs to awaken the girls, but in the deafening roar of thunder and wind, he knew they wouldn’t hear him. He turned from the window, and as he started for the stairs, he heard a woman’s voice screaming. It was Laura’s voice. His wife, dead for ten years, crying in the storm.
When he looked out the window, he expected to see the robed man halfway across the meadow. But he was impossibly close now, climbing out of the fields and into his yard. In a flash of lightning, the figure was revealed. A black cloak billowed in the wind. A hood concealed his face. Grady didn’t want to see his face. Death itself lay within the shadow of that hood.
The wind increased to a frenzy. Something smashed against the southern wall, and Grady thought of the cottonwoods outside the guest room.