After the Fall: Jason's Tale

by David E. Nees

  “Thank you, Catherine,” Anne replied. “Yes, there are some books still around from my pregnancies. I think they’re in a box in the spare bedroom closet. They should help. And don’t count Jason out. He may surprise us all.”

  Anne’s face beamed in joy. Catherine smiled back at her mother. The baby was already having a healing effect, and it had just begun to grow.

  Chapter 8

  Late in February, the family woke up to a cow bell ringing down at the road. Jason hurriedly got dressed, grabbed his rifle and pistol and went down to see what was going on. Catherine followed him. At the end of the driveway, they found Billy looking frantic. He was obviously distressed but feared to come onto the property.

  “Can you come and help?” he asked in a desperate voice. “It’s Pa. He’s in a bad way. He’s really sick.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Jason asked.

  “He’s peein’ blood and hasn’t eaten for days. He’s getting weaker. I don’t know what to do,” Billy said.

  Claire, who had moved in to help Billy after her husband had been killed, had returned to her house months ago when Ray’s wound stabilized. He had progressed to moving around the house and Billy had taken over caring for his dad. Catherine was shocked not realizing Billy could show such emotion.

  “Come up to the house. I’ll get some things and we’ll go back together.” Jason said.

  They rushed back up the hill to the house. Anne and Sarah were at the door. When Sarah saw Billy coming, she disappeared inside. Jason told Anne what was happening and she went to gather the few medical supplies they had. After a pause to think about it, sympathy opened her heart and she took the precious bottle of pain pills that she kept stashed away. Catherine offered to go with Jason, but Anne insisted that she be the one. She was more experienced at nursing the sick and injured, and she guessed Ray’s problems were from his injuries, not from any sickness. They drove off in the pickup with Billy between them.

  Billy’s dad was in a bad way. His wound had re-opened. Jason suspected internal bleeding as well. Ray also seemed to be suffering from malnutrition and probably too much alcohol. He was emaciated and not fully cognitive. There didn’t seem to be much they could do. Anne tried to get some fluids into the old man with only a little success. He was in a great deal of pain and cried out when they tried to prop him up. He kept fading in and out of lucidity. When he focused on Anne, he asked her how her husband was doing and mentioned the girls as if they were still little. Anne got two pain pills into him with a little water. In a few minutes he relaxed and went to sleep. Then the three of them went downstairs to the kitchen.

  The house was a mess. Most of the rooms were closed off; Anne didn’t even want to see what shape they might be in. The kitchen, pantry and hallways were filthy.

  “Thanks for giving Pa something to let him sleep. He’s been cryin’ out. It hurts I can’t help him.” Billy’s concern showed a side of him that neither Anne nor Jason had ever noticed.

  “Do you have any food in the house?” Anne asked.

  “A little, most things have run out,” he replied.

  “Is the well still working?” Jason asked.

  “Yeah. It froze up in the last cold spell and now it don’t pump so good, but I get water out of it. I can always go down to the creek.”

  “You know what foods to forage for in the woods, don’t you?”

  “Some…berries and things,” Billy replied, “but there ain’t much this time of year.”

  Then Jason asked Billy about his weapons for hunting.

  “I run out of shotgun shells. Makes it harder. The 30-06 you gave me is a whole lot better than my old one. I got a deer with it a month ago. Been eating off that, but I can’t get Pa to eat.”

  Anne took out some food she had brought along and they ate in silence. “You know Billy we cannot fix your father. He needs a hospital and real doctors. Even then he might not make it. We can only make him comfortable.” She put her hand over his, “You know he’s dying.”

  Billy stared hard at her. “Yeah, I guess I know it,” he said. “Don’t know what I’ll do if he’s gone. Don’t know how I’ll get along.”

  “You’ll do all right. You’ve managed pretty well without much help so far,” Anne said in a motherly tone.

  “I’ll be all alone…” Billy’s voice trailed off.

  Jason felt a sudden surge of pity for Billy; Billy the peeping tom, the hillbilly redneck that he threatened to shoot on sight five months ago. Anne’s face showed she felt the same.

  She cleaned and dressed Ray’s wound and gave Billy two more pain tablets. “Use them only for the worst of the pain. It’s all I can spare. Try to keep him hydrated—keep getting him to drink some water. We’ll be back in two days to check on him.”

  “Thanks,” Billy said with sincerity. It was not a word he was familiar with. It was rarely used around his house and never with outsiders.

  Two days later, as promised, Anne and Jason were back. Billy seemed surprised to see them. He didn’t expect people to keep their promises. Anne immediately went to Billy’s dad. He was running a fever and his breathing was rapid and shallow. His heart beat was irregular and faint. She didn’t think he had much time left. She set about washing him and cooling him down with wet towels. It had a soothing effect on the old man. Now they could only wait. Both Jason and Anne felt that death would not be long in coming and, if possible, they wanted to be there with Billy when it came.

  Billy sat without moving. The scowl that was beginning to be etched on his face was now gone, replaced by a sad expression. His whole body mirrored his face. The angry attitude had disappeared with this crisis of losing his last family member. He now needed people in a way he had never felt before and here were people he had mistreated, helping him without reservation. His life was shifting under him like the ground in an earthquake.

  Chapter 9

  Billy and his old man had just continued their mountain ways after the EMP attack without thinking much about the future. From what anyone could tell, Billy had no ambitions. Ray hadn’t made any plans as supplies ran down. They lived a lifestyle close enough to a subsistence level that they didn’t experience the shocking disruptions felt by urban people. The biggest change for them was the loss of moonshine customers and the money they brought in. That money went to buy food and the seed they used to grow the corn for the mash. They kept at the business, or to be precise, Billy kept at the still, as his dad began to drink what they couldn’t sell. Food dwindled but there was enough with the hunting and trapping that they survived. Now Billy was facing the end of that long, gradual decline. The anger he carried for so long, the chip on his shoulder, fell away as he faced his need for others.

  They kept watch through the night and into the next afternoon. Near dusk, the old man woke up and looked around the room. “Becka, that you?” he rasped, mistaking Anne for his long dead wife, Rebecca.

  Anne gently replied, “Yes, it is me.”

  “I’m glad you’re here. I miss you. I drink too much when you’re gone,” he said with a weak voice. He looked around, then called out, “Billy, come here.”

  “I’m here, Pa,” Billy replied, moving closer to his dad so he could see him.

  The old man focused on him and said in a surprisingly clear voice, “You’re a good boy. You done good by me. Your ma loves you…and I love you.” He sank back in the bed.

  Tears welled up in Billy’s eyes. Anne’s eyes grew moist. They sat in silence for some time. Ray just laid there, his breathing raspy and irregular. What was there to say? There was no fixing of things. They were there to keep the dying company.

  Ray lay still for hours, semi-conscious. Anne began to speak softly to him about how much he and his wife had helped her. She encouraged Billy to talk to his dad; to tell him the good stories, reminding him about their better times, mostly when Becka, Ray’s wife, was alive. They got a quiet conversation going, gently flowing over the old man. At times Anne sang parts of remembered hymns,
old country ones. She sang softly with a clear alto voice about meeting the Savior in the ‘middle of the air’. No one could tell if he heard them, but sometimes Ray’s eyelids would flutter or the hint of a smile would trace across his face.

  Near dawn the old man stirred, “Becka, Becka,” his voice barely audible. “Wait for me, I’m comin’.” His body stiffened, then slowly relaxed. His breath wheezed out like a balloon gently deflating, then he was silent. Everyone leaned forward. Billy looked at Jason and then Anne. Anne put her ear over his chest to listen for a heartbeat. She slowly shook her head. There was no heartbeat and no breathing. Harsh, convulsive sobs came from Billy as he fled the room. Jason wiped the old man’s face and closed his eyes.

  Death was never pleasant, even when it involved the enemy. Here, death visited not an enemy, but an ally. Death is a part of life, but people in the modern era had developed the ability to insulate themselves from it. Since society had collapsed, death had become personal again. A hundred years ago people saw death up close. Now, they were seeing it up close again. It should not be shocking, thought Jason. This was more the way humans had experienced death for millennia.

  Maybe this is more ‘normal’ than what we’ve left behind.

  Later, when Billy had collected himself, he and Jason went to dig a grave while Anne wrapped the body in a sheet. There was a burial plot out behind the house. It looked like several generations were buried there. Jason saw the head marker for Rebecca, the old man’s wife. Billy said they should place his pa next to her. With pickax and shovel they started. The ground had begun to thaw, but it got harder going as they dug down. After some hours they had a four foot hole dug. Billy allowed as that was sufficient and they went back into the house.

  Jason carried the body out to the grave and gently laid it in the ground. Billy kneeled down and placed his dad’s hunting knife under his crossed hands. He stood up and stared down at his pa lying there.

  “Mrs. Whitman,” he asked, “would you say something? I don’t know what words to use.”

  Anne opened the family Bible she found in the bedroom. This was the second time in a year she had opened one. Now her hands went of their own accord to the passages. She began in Genesis, Chapter 3, starting with verse 19:

  By the sweat of thy face

  Shalt thou eat bread,

  Till thou return unto the ground,

  For out of it thou wast taken;

  For thou art dust,

  And unto dust thou shalt return.

  Then she turned to the Psalms and read Psalm 23:

  The Lord is my shepherd,

  I shall not want.

  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;

  He leadeth me beside still waters.

  He restoreth my soul;

  He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness

  For His name’s sake.

  Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

  I fear no evil; for Thou art with me;

  Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.

  Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;

  Thou hast anointest my head with oil;

  My cup runneth over.

  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,

  And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

  She finished with the Gospel of John, Chapter 14, verses 1 through 4:

  Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in God, believe also in Me. In my Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you unto Myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.

  Anne closed the bible, then continued, “I remember Ray, your father, as a solitary man. He was a man of the woods, a man of this valley. And when we moved here twelve years ago, he helped us adjust to life in the mountains. His mountain wisdom proved valuable over the years. It helped us to get along. I remember he did not want to be bothered, but if we had any serious trouble he would always help.”

  Billy stared at her as she spoke of her memories from years ago. “I didn’t know Pa done that for you,” he said with wonder.

  “Of course not,” Anne replied, “you were too young. I also met your mother. She was very nice and helpful, especially with canning and putting up food.”

  Billy turned back to the grave, “Bye, Pa. Thank you for saying what you did…at the end.” Again tears began to well up, and he stopped talking.

  Jason waited for a nod to begin filling in the grave. Anne suggested that Billy walk back with her and let Jason finish the work, but Billy insisted on helping. “Pa says we Turners take care of our own. I need to do this.”

  Later, Jason and Anne prepared to leave. “Are you going to be all right?” Anne asked.

  “I guess,” he paused, “I’m all alone now. Don’t know how that will go. I was always pretty much alone, but it’s different now…”

  “Your dad was always there, even if in the background,” Anne said.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s it,” he appeared dazed.

  “We’ll stop by in a few days, if that’s okay with you,” Jason said.

  “Yeah, that’s okay. I’m not gonna shoot you or anything like that,” Billy said. Then a bright look came into his eyes. He jumped up, went to the cupboard, and brought back a gallon jug almost full of clear liquid. “Here. It’s the last batch I made. I won’t be making any more. I don’t like it. Pa drank it and it made him either mean or sad. You take it with you. Throw it out if you want. I don’t want it.”

  Anne and Jason graciously accepted the jug as a gift and left for home.

  Chapter 10

  The air remained brisk over the next weeks, even though the sun was regaining its strength. Crocuses, the early harbingers of spring, shot up on the south facing slopes, greedily drinking in the sun’s rays. Jason found himself starting to look for the leaf buds on the trees; they would be coming soon. One afternoon, sitting around the kitchen table, the family was interrupted by the sound of engines. These were not gas engines. The sound had the deeper thumping of diesel motors. Jason grabbed his binoculars and ran up to the lookout on the roof. Catherine followed close behind. He looked down the valley for some time. The sound came and went with the wind. It was still far off.

  “What do you see?” Catherine asked after a few moments.

  “I can’t tell for sure. It looks like two military vehicles,” he said with surprise.

  “Military?” Catherine was also surprised. “What would they be doing way out here?”

  “I’m pretty sure they’re military. I just can’t tell who’s in them. And there’s a machine gun on one.”

  “We better get ready,” Catherine said, and both turned to go down the ladder.

  Anne and Sarah met them on the second floor.

  “Could it really be the Army?” Anne asked.

  “Maybe, but we can’t be sure,” Jason replied.

  “We’re saved!” Sarah blurted out. Everyone turned to look at her. “Well, if it’s the army, then things are back to normal, and we can go to school, and we don’t have to fight gangs, and things will be…normal again,” Sarah’s voice rose with her enthusiasm as her imagination surged ahead.

  “Still, we better assume the worst and hope for the best,” Jason said soberly. Catherine had the look of a person used to battle and prepared for another. Sarah looked hopeful; Anne looked concerned.

  “Anne,” Jason turned to her, “Are you going to be all right if there is a fight? You could wait in the cellar.”

  “No,” she replied, “I’ll help. The gunfire will disturb the baby, but I’ll be more disturbed hearing it from the cellar and not knowing what’s going on. We face this together…as a family.” She was firm, and the girls nodded in agreement. Even Sarah, after her burst of enthusiasm, seemed resolved to do her part.

  “Okay.
Let’s sit down and figure out how we deal with this,” Jason said.

  Second Lieutenant Kevin Cameron and Sergeant Rodney Gibbs led six other men, riding in two Humvees. Lieutenant Cameron was enthusiastic. He enjoyed the structure and routine of the army along with its mission and sense of purpose. While he had yet to see combat, he felt prepared and determined to be a good leader of his men. He could be called a ‘strike trooper’, one who followed the regulations, proudly. And one who worked hard to support his men. For that reason, his men accepted him, even though he was un-tested by war.

  Lieutenant Cameron’s best asset was his sergeant, Rodney Gibbs. Sergeant Gibbs was a veteran of Afghanistan and Iraq. He was a black man, older than Cameron but tough and battle hardened. He was no one’s fool, having endured discrimination and hostility growing up and then in the army. In his combat tours, he had found himself to be a source of curiosity in his contacts with Afghani’s and Iraqi’s, sometimes hostile, sometimes not. It all served to give Gibbs a pragmatic, cynical view of life. He didn’t expect favors or help from others. He expected to have to succeed on his own, knowing much of the system was not organized in his favor.

  Still, Gibbs liked the lieutenant. The younger man respected his experience and was not so taken with his rank as to ignore Gibbs’ wisdom, garnered from much hard experience. They made a good pair with much trust between them.

  On this patrol through the countryside, they had stopped in Clifton Furnace. The town was empty but still showed the evidence of the violence it had suffered. The soldiers’ banter was dampened by the signs of cannibalization they discovered. The evidence gave silent testimony to the horror that had occurred there. In a somber mood they drove up the river road until they came to the iron truss bridge.

  The bridge was blocked. Two pickups riddled with bullet holes were still in the roadway. The remains of the fallen, mostly skeletons now with only a few rags of clothing left on them, were scattered around the bridge and the road leading into the valley. Parts of Big Jacks’ remains were still tied up against the bridge.