The Days After (The Tenth Year)

by J. Richardson

  “I'll be ready. I've been thinking a lot about the supplies we'll need. I know that we need to pack as light as we can and still have the necessities to live for maybe weeks. I'm thinking that some of those nylon duffel type bags might work...what do you think?” she said.

  “That's a good idea. We'll need to think about keeping our supplies dry, too. I think we can locate some bags and start to gather and pack. We'll need sleeping bags and spare blankets.” He could see the wheels turning in that stubborn head of hers. He knew how neat her family's home was and he observed the efficient way she worked at the Clinic. No doubt she already planned and organized in her mind. He couldn't resist, he leaned across, held on to the horn of her saddle and kissed her.

  Her hand covered his, she just met his eyes for a moment, then she spoke, “Clayton, I have to tell you something.”

  He sat back up straight in his saddle, “Sure, tell me.”

  “I may have acted a little hastily...you know the wine made me brave, when I said that I was going on this trip.” She continued quickly, not giving him a chance to speak, “Not that I don't want to go. I mean, I am going, there is no question in my mind about that. It's just that I have grown to...well, you are quite a temptation.” She smiled at him now, “I just don't want you or us to be put into a situation, where we're just thrown together and well, you know...”

  “Chris, you can relax. I have a purpose, a goal for making this journey. I am very happy that you are going to partner with me, but we will not loose our focus. We cannot be reckless or ignore the risks that are involved. If there's going to be a “you and I” in the future, we have plenty of time to explore those possibilities. I won't be rushing you into anything and I promise you, I'll be keeping my mind on the business of the trip.” He said this with a serious and sincere voice.

  Then he released that loud laugh, spun his horse around and into a gallop. He yelled over his shoulder, “C'mon girl! Time to ride.”

  Chris turned and followed, she felt much better. She didn't want the family or Clayton to think that she was going to tag along on this journey like a little puppy, a goofy little victim of infatuation. She wanted to accomplish something, to contribute to the restoration of the city. She trusted Clayton and believed he was a good man. Up ahead, his large figure rode confidently in the saddle, she thought he is definitely a man.

  ***

  The couple planned and researched and packed. The evening before, they said their goodbyes and accepted all the advice and good luck wishes from friends and family. This morning, the sun was a huge orange semi-circle quickly rising to give some heat to the landscape. Two fathers, feigned optimism and hid deep worry, they stood on the South Dakota side of the long bridge and watched their oldest offspring ride away. The two horses laden with the riders, the bedrolls, bags on each side and their rifles secured in scabbards, clopped across the paved pathway. Chris only twisted once to send a last wave to her father. Clayton picked up the pace and the small party rode into Nebraska, their journey began.

  Clayton had more than one map, he knew they needed to travel southwest to reach the town of Grand Island. Because they would move across territory they were unfamiliar with, they had agreed to travel for several miles and then stop and look at the options on the map. As an idea of the land conditions they covered was known, they would choose day by day their direction. Of course, access to water and weather would also influence their choices.

  The pair rode for several hours, their excitement had pushed them along. The Loess Plains spread around them, as far as they could see. The yellowy loam visible everywhere tall grasses didn't sweep around in the breeze. The day was decently warm now, in the middle of the afternoon. The Sand Hills covered nearly a quarter of Nebraska and if wasn't for the grasses, the rivers, lakes and ponds, the rolling hills would be endless sand dunes created by the soil that the winds deposited.

  Clayton pulled up and scanned around, “We've been seeing frequent water sources. Don't guess we'll have to worry about that.” Other than letting the horses drink and chewing a bite of venison jerky as the horses loped along, they hadn't really stopped all day. “I'm getting pretty hungry. Let's move on for a while, the next water we come upon, we will go ahead and make camp for the night. Have some daylight to study the map.”

  “Sounds good,” she said. She had given a lot of thought to the packing, felt like she prepared them well. She knew they could boil water and they also had a small bottle of bleach to purify with, if needed. Doc had given them a bottle of fish antibiotics. He said it was a universal antibiotic, in case they got injured or sick. They also had some very basic first aid supplies. Two each of metal cups and plates, some eating utensils, a skillet, two pots, and a coffee pot rode in her bag. She insisted that they each have three pair of jeans and three t-shirts, short and long sleeved. “What if we get caught in rain or fall in a creek, it could take hours to dry out clothes, we have to carry extra.”

  Clayton's bag held most of their food stores, dried goods like the jerky, there was rice and beans, some bags of mixture that would make biscuits, pancakes or cornbread, spices and oatmeal. His parents were preppers, believed in the possibility of impending disaster, long before the event happened in reality. When they moved to the South Dakota farm, they started to prepare. Though, large food stores filled the basement, his mother constantly learned more about being self sustaining and replenishing.

  Learning how to grow coffee beans was one of his mother's pet projects. The cold climate of their area was not conducive at all to coffee plants, they liked tropical humid environments. Still, she stayed determined. As long as Clayton could remember, a large pot sat by the kitchen window that got sun all afternoon and near the wood burning stove that burned most of the time. A tall coffee bean plant flourished there. His mother became quite competent at propagating the plant and they always had coffee, which happened to be a favorite of hers. Now, two cans of her precious ground coffee lay in the son's bag. One was for the travelers and one would be doled out into small bags and become valuable trading tender. She even gave them a handful of green unroasted beans to barter with. This coffee and some of her berry wine and his dad's moonshine would be much desired and not had by everyone.

  A faded old road sign lay beside the road, hard rain pounded down on it. Clayton got off his horse and squatted down, tried to read the words on the sign. Luck followed them the first two days of their trip, the weather stayed very pleasant. This morning, they awoke to cloudy skies. They barely got on the road when the wind swirled around, the temperatures dropped about ten degrees and the rain poured down. Through hours of miserable riding, it persisted. They both had on rain slickers that increasingly seemed little protection against the soaking weather. As Clayton rubbed away mud on the sign, water ran in sheets off of his hood.

  Chris huddled on her horse. He knew she had to be cold, wet and exhausted but she made no complaints. He rose and went to stand beside her horse, looked into the face that peeped out from her hood, “Chris,” he spoke loudly over the rain and pointed down to the sign, “There's a town up ahead. We need to try and find some shelter. I'll lead out, be on your guard.”

  She nodded, “Got-cha. I'll be ready.” He mounted and sloshed ahead of her towards the town.

  Within about twenty minutes, a large brick building came into view. As they got nearer, a broken line of letters and the word, School became visible. The looming structure looked as ominous as their town hospital to Chris. Drenched, she needed to trust Clayton's judgment; just being dry sounded like heaven right now. The two riders moved up nearer the school, through the sheets of rain a couple of lights flickered in the windows.

  Clayton stared at the building and weighed the risks, the big entrance door of the school creaked open. A gaunt man in a dark suit stood in the doorway with a lantern in his hand. “Welcome travelers,” a deep voice said. “If you'll go around the building, there is shed covered space across the back. I'll meet you at the back doors.” The door slammed a
gainst the blowing rain.

  “Chris?” said Clayton.

  “I'm ready.” She reached under the slicker for her pistol. “Move on.”

  They tied off the horses as the back door opened and the man stood again. “Get what you need and you can care for the horses later, son. Get on in, out of the weather.” He flashed an exaggerated smile and swept his thin arm back towards a long hallway. He held the lantern up above him and led the pair down the hall. They were nearly back to the front door, another lantern sat on a table in the hall, a thick bible rested next to it. He stopped and said, “I'm Luke...”

  Chris and Clayton gave their names and said “Nice to meet you.”

  The rain still peppered down on the roof, Luke raised his eyes upward, “Not fit for man or beast, huh?” He seemed to be sizing them up, “You two married?”

  Chris blurted out, “No...no, we are not married.” She immediately regretted the statement.

  Clayton said, “We're just trying to reach the town of Grand Island. We hoped to set up a trade connection for our hometown. Actually, Chris is my sister.”

  The man looked a little dubious, but said, “Yes, yes-s, I see. Well, Grand Island is still a long ways south. You two can wait out the rain here. I have another young man here, he is recovering from an injury.” He looked at Clayton, “You can room with him and the lady can stay in the room across the hall.” Then, he looked out of narrowed eyes and said, “Don't have much to eat, there is a pot of soup cooking over there on the stove. Of course, if you had something to add...”

  Chris felt uneasy, told herself to not be stupid and replied, “We have some rice, would that help?”

  “Sure,” Luke flashed that smile again.

  They contributed a bit of their rice to the thin soup that simmered on the wood burning heater. Luke introduced them to the young man that was healing. By the lantern light in the room, they could see that he was probably about Brent's age. His face displayed several bruises and cuts and his arm was wrapped below the elbow. His story was a that he had a strange encounter with a small group of travelers. He said that the six had seemed friendly and they were very funny. They had various musical instruments, he heard them before he saw them. They were all dressed in colorful clothing that looked like it was made from all kinds of pieces of fabric and pulled a fat cart loaded with their supplies.

  The sound of tambourines, harmonicas and a banjo had fascinated him. He sat and visited with them and they passed around a sweet smelling cigarette. When they discovered that he really owned not a thing of value to trade or for them to steal, one of the men, with wild orange hair and beard said, “That's okay...you can just pull the cart for us.”

  He looked down at his wrapped arm, “I said, Hell no! I ain't pulling that cart and you see the results of that...fortunately, I run pretty fast. I got away and Luke took me in here a couple of days ago.” He looked up at his host, “Oh, sorry Luke about the curse word.”

  Luke said, “Well, come along and I'll show the lady where to sleep. We will have a bit of the soup and before it is full dark, you can tend to your horses.” He paused at the door to another room, “I do keep some water in here for washing up. You are on your own for other personal needs.” Across the wide hall, he pushed open the door to a small room with a cot against the wall. “You can sleep in here, Miss.”

  She dug out some dry clothes for Clayton and said, “I can't wait to get dry. Give me a few minutes and I'll help with the horses.”

  “No, you go ahead, get dried out and changed. I can take care of the horses. I'll see you at the soup pot, Sis,” he grinned at her.

  She dug out one of their three towels, stripped down and dried the cold wet away. It felt so much better to have some dry clothes on. She spread the towel across a small hard back wooden chair in the corner and threw her sleeping bag and blankets on the cot. Luke hadn't left a lantern, she put a candle from her supplies on a jar lid, sat it on the floor beside the cot. In the small light, she dug around in the bag, maybe we can spare some other small thing for the old guy. He kind of gives me the creeps but damn I am glad to be out of that weather.

  The soup was edible and at least, hot. Chris helped Luke wash up the bowls that probably were not all that clean in the first place. She assumed that he pilfered some items from the old school cafeteria, long ago. Anybody's guess why he had ended up here at the school, it really didn't interest her. She had heard no sound of the rain for an hour or more. Hopefully, the weather would let up and they could be out of here and on their way by morning. She gave the man enough of their precious coffee to make a few cups and he seemed thankful. It had been a long day, they all said their good nights and parted. She watched Clayton go into the room that he shared and Luke's lantern disappeared down the hall, vanished into a door. She went to her tiny room, lit the candle and spread her bedding out on the cot. One small high window was in the room, once her eyes adjusted, a small amount of light...was there moonlight? She put out the candle, pulled up her blanket and slept.

  She was still half asleep, groggy...a cold hand was on her bare stomach, underneath her t-shirt. For one crazy moment, she thought of Clayton. No, not Clayton, he would never! She saw that fake grin in the light from the window. She threw the blanket back and was instantly up, her pistol extended out with both hands, “You creep! What the hell do you think you doing?”

  The deep voice crooned, “Now, don't curse little lady.”

  She said “GET OUT!” and Luke backed up, slithered out of the door.

  Quickly she wedged the chair under the door handle and packed up her belongings, included the still damp towel. She tugged her boots back on and laced them up. With her bag over her shoulder, a small flashlight in one hand and the pistol in the other, she eased the chair away, looked around as well as the dim light would allow. She expected at any second bony hands would grab her, her boots loudly hustled across the wide hall to the door of Clayton's room. She didn't bother to knock, slid inside in the dark room, leaned against the door and whispered, “Clayton?”

  Both men sat up in their beds, Clayton said, “Chris...is that you? What's wrong?”

  Breathlessly she said, “It was Luke. He was in my room.”

  Clayton jumped up, grabbed her by the shoulders, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” she answered, “But he sure wasn't there to tell me a bedtime story,” she gave a little shudder.

  He could feel how cold she was, “You get in the bed, I'll stand watch. The rain stopped, as soon as it's daylight, we'll get out of here.” The world that Clayton had grown up in, made him perhaps not cold hearted, but hardened for sure. His inclination was to march down the darkened halls until he found the old man and at a minimum, hurt him bad. He also possessed a very practical mind. Luke could be hiding anywhere in the vast rambling building or not even in it...beating him up or worse would not really accomplish anything...the young injured man had been given help and probably still needed some; he and Chris were not going to stay and take care of him, nor could they take him along.

  Chris put down her bag and crawled under the blanket, didn't even take off her boots this time. Clayton pulled a chair against the door and sat down in it, his rifle across his lap. The young man in the other bed, lay back and mumbled, “Slimey old Son-of-a-bitch.”

  When there was just a hint of daylight, Clayton roused Chris. He went to the young man and gave him a folded up piece of paper. “As soon as you feel like you can get back on the road, you ditch this place, bud. You keep headed north. Here is a rough map of how to get to our hometown. Find someone and give them this note, they'll get it to our family. It says we are okay and that you need haven. They are good people, the citizens will take you in.”

  The man reached out to shake Clayton's hand, “Thanks, I really appreciate it. You two stay safe. I have been to Grand Island. It is mostly good there, but watch out on the road.”

  The two moved to the back of the school building, the horses swayed, still secure and so
was all of their gear. They saw not one sign of the old man. They mounted and moved away, down the road in the increasing light and warmth. Two days of good weather and hard riding, the travelers were more than halfway to their destination and miles away from the school.

  After the story the young man told them and the incident with Luke, they agreed to avoid contact with people on the road if at all possible. They had actually gotten off the road on one occasion, hid and let a group of people pass them by. It was late in the afternoon, a good sized airport sprawled out across the open plains, as they circumvented a city. Some large piles of wreckage visible, as if a plane or maybe more than one had been trying to land when the big event occurred and crashed to the ground.

  As the riders eased in a little closer, Clayton said, “Look, Chris. I believe people live in those two big passenger planes.” A door was open and a ladder stretched to the ground from one of the planes. Then the ladder started to disappear into the plane and the big heavy door slammed shut.

  Chris said, “That's a smart idea. Without that ladder, it wouldn't be very easy to get into the plane. Looks like pretty good security.” She smiled over at him, “Doesn't look like they wanted company, huh?”

  Farther on, a row of hangers stood on the far side of the airport. After they checked a couple of them out, they decided to take shelter there. Even the horses moved easily through the tall doors and into the cavernous space. A small private plane sat over to one side of the hanger. Everything in the way of equipment, tools or gear had long ago been scattered and picked through. They secured the big doors from the inside. Glad to be inside, they built a fire right on the concrete floor, where signs of previous fires remained. Clayton tied the horses outside near a regular entry door at the back of the hangar, to graze for a while and found them a bit of water. They spread their sleeping bags, dug out something to eat and studied the map by the light of the fire. A skylight high in the roof made just a small amount of light, the full moon of the night before was lost and only stars twinkled overhead.