“I say, ‘Hey there fella, you need some help? Something we can do for you?’ He doesn’t say anything, just starts up with an awful moaning. Martha’s sitting there with the window rolled down, arm propped up in it, and she starts to slide a little toward me just as this guy reaches her side of the truck. She goes to pull her arm in, probably intending to roll up the window on him. He reaches through her window, snatches her hand back and takes a big bite right out of my Martha’s arm. That son-of-a-bitch just went and bit Martha.”
Jonathan had spit out ‘son-of-a-bitch’ as if it were something that tasted vile. He drew in a deep breath, and soothed his throat with a sip of lukewarm coffee. He hadn’t spoken this much to anyone in a long time.
“Anyone need a refill on that coffee?” He looked around the small kitchen table at his guests, nodded at the couple of upraised cups. He started to stand when Lisa put a hand on his arm, “I’ll get it, Mr. Cambrey.”
“Thank you, young lady.” Lisa refilled Jonathan’s cup first, then split the remaining brew between Jimmy’s cup and hers.
Though the kitchen was large it felt cozy, and welcoming, which helped to put the group at ease. When Jonathan had settled on telling these people about what had happened he invited them into his house. He didn’t begin his tale until he had prepared coffee on the propane stove, and sat out a plate of store bought cookies for everyone to share.
Returning to his story he said, “For a half-second there I wanted to jump out of that truck and just tear into that fella, but my ass-whippin’ days are long gone and done. Martha, she started screaming and jerked her arm back, though it took a couple tries before he let go. I could see that he had taken a mighty big chunk out of her.
I looked around; saw several more people coming towards the truck, but it didn’t take but a second to realize that they would be no help. One gal had half her face missing; another was walking on what was obviously a broken leg, bone sticking out and all twisted. I tromped down on the gas pedal, got the old truck turned around and headed straight back home.”
Jonathan paused for a moment and Gordy asked, “Your wife got very sick soon after, right?”
“Yes, she did. We got home, washed out that damn nasty bite with peroxide, and bandaged her up really good. She laid down after taking some painkillers the doctor had given her last year when she had the hip surgery. She woke up late the next morning, could barely talk, running a gawd-awful fever. I hated the thought of leaving her here alone, but knew I was going to have to go get her some help quick.
“I told her what I was going to do, and she took my arm, pulling me to sit beside her. I sat down and she shook her head at me, asking me not to leave. I sat there with her for a while, felt her head burning up. I went out to the kitchen, grabbed a towel and got it wet, for her forehead. When I came back to the room, she was, well…”
Jonathan stopped, he knew what had happened and these people could easily guess at it. He took another sip of his coffee, and another. Everyone else sat quietly, letting the old man tell what he needed to, how he needed to tell it.
“I’ll spare you all the emotional stuff, doesn’t need to be said. I will say that I knew there would be no help from anyone, that I would have to take care of her on my own. I went out to sit on the porch for a bit, then came back in and went down to the basement. I was looking for an old blanket, something I could wrap her in when I heard a noise come from upstairs.
“Martha” I called out, knowing better, but a sad part of me still hoped I guess. I started up the steps, when my just dead wife stepped into the doorway. I wanted to run up to her, but I backed down the steps slow.
“She took the first step just fine, but couldn’t seem to find the next and just fell down the stairs. I ran over to her, instinct taking over. I had to help my wife. When I bent down, she reached out for me and tried to grab my hand the way that guy had done her. She was trying to bite me.
“I remember I started to cry, just a big-ole wailin’ sob, then I ran up the steps and slammed the door. Haven’t been able to bring myself to open it since. I know I should, and I know damn well what needs done, just cannot make myself do it.
“Which pretty much brings us to this point, I’d say.” Jonathan stopped talking, drained the last of the now cold coffee from his cup and sighed.
The others sat quietly for a while, respecting the feelings of an old man they had just met. Each of them thought about what they would do if they were in the same situation, wondering if they could bring themselves to finish off a loved one that had turned.
Just thinking about it was difficult, and their hearts were heavy for the old man.
“Mr. Cambrey, Jonathan, if you want we could help you. We could…” Gordy let the sentence trail off, knowing the man understood.
“Had a feeling you would say that, and as much as I hate the thought of doing what needs to be done, I’d hate myself far more if I let another man do it for me.”
Jonathan Cambrey looked at each person, holding their eyes for a brief moment. “I thank you folks for not holding a grudge on me for keeping that shotgun on you. I also thank you for listening to an old man’s story. But you kids have business and I won’t keep you from it any longer. “
Gordy and the other members of his team looked at each other and nodded, realizing that the old man was dismissing them in the kindest fashion possible.
“Mr. Cambrey, if there is anything we can do for you, please let us know.”
“You let a man unburden himself; I think that’s more than plenty, Miss. You all are welcome here any time you come by. I hope that camp is what you need.”
He had walked them to the front door as he was speaking, and shook each hand in turn as they left through the door. Lisa briefly considered giving him a hug, but simply offered her hand at the last moment. She was afraid that she would make him uncomfortable.
Chapter 6
Continuing across the large yard and up the hill, it took them just a few minutes to reach the main building of Camp Oko Tipi. They were silent for that short walk, stunned by Jonathan Cambrey’s story as well as his hospitality.
They stood in front of the main house, which was the communal kitchen and gathering area for large families or groups staying at the camp. There were several outbuildings surrounding the main building, with another building off to the right. This building looked like either an office or a family cabin. Other than the main building in the front parking area they knew there were seven separate cabins for families. Each of these cabins acted as bunkhouses, with only basic amenities.
There was also a baseball diamond right out front, and an enclosed basketball court up the hill to the northeast. A small concrete in-ground swimming pool was down a narrow graveled trail, to the west of the main building.
“Well, we could stand out here all day and gawk, or we could get inside the main hall and take a look. After that, we can walk the perimeter of the camp; see if it’s something we can make defensible.”
Lisa, Rick and Jimmy followed Gordy up on to the narrow front porch, where they all stood looking at the door.
“Give it a knock, make sure there’s nothing hiding in there?” Jimmy asked.
Rick tapped the door hard with the butt of his pistol, keeping it in hand just in case, while Gordy and Lisa kept watch behind them. When they heard nothing Rick knocked again, harder this time. They waited nearly a full minute before trying the door.
Rick kept his pistol up in a ready position, while Jimmy tried the door. The knob would not turn. “It’s locked tight, deadbolt and all. Break in or check the windows for another way?”
“I hate to break the lock if it isn’t necessary, but I’m pretty sure they keep this place buttoned up tight when it’s not in use. Go ahead and see if you can’t bust it open. We can tie it shut with something when we leave and make it a priority fix when we come back.”
Jimmy and Rick take turns at the door, both kicking it at the lock area, as well as driving their shoulders into
the door. They bruised their shoulders plenty, without budging the door at all.
“It’s a solid lock. Doesn’t surprise me, I’m sure they had to worry about vandals way out here. Let’s take a walk around the building, maybe we can see a better way in.
They came down off the porch, going around the right side of the building. They went all the way around the structure, from the larger front part around to the open pavilion in back, without seeing an easier way in. The back door seemed to have just as sturdy a lock as the front.
“It looks like all of the windows are wire reinforced, so just busting one and climbing in is out. We could shoot out the locks on the front door. Well, just shoot out the deadbolt, the door will pop open easily after that.”
“I think you may be right, Rick.” Gordy said. “I hate to do it, not because of the noise, but damaging the lock sucks.”
At the door, Rick took Jimmy’s .30-30 and placed the barrel directly against the door where it met the jamb. “Usually you would do this with a breaching shotgun, but we don’t have one, so I’ll make this work. Side note guys; we should always have a shotgun in a group.”
“Duly noted Rick.” Gordy faced away from the door and covered his ears, with Lisa and Jimmy doing the same. “We’re ready, go ahead.”
Rick angled the rifle up and slightly out, putting the barrel in what he thought would be the best position for disabling the lock. Turning his face away, he slipped his finger into the trigger guard and squeezed slowly, so he wouldn’t slide the gun away from the spot he wanted to hit.
The loud report of the rifle set Rick’s unprotected ears to ringing. He handed the gun back to Jimmy, and they all took a moment to examine the hole. The bullet had struck exactly as Rick had hoped, tearing the deadbolt out as it went through.
Jimmy stepped back and gave the door a solid kick next to the knob. The door flew open, and Rick had his pistol up and ready before the door could slam back against the inside wall.
They stepped into a large open room, tables were pushed back against the walls leaving a straight shot to the back door leading to the open pavilion. There was a small, but well-appointed kitchenette. An older refrigerator, propane oven and cook-top, and a small microwave fit neatly in between a few cabinets.
“Remind me to check the propane tank outside, might be a nice stroke of luck if it has any in it.”
“It would be, Gordy. It would be cool if we could somehow get electricity, run that old fridge too.” Jimmy looked at the others, thinking they would laugh, but they were only nodding their heads.
“Does anyone fully understand how EMP works?” Jimmy asked. “I mean, we have to be fairly certain that it was an EMP that put the power out since everything went dead at once, right? Cell phones and things would still work if some nutbag had blown up a sub-station.
“I know from everything I’ve read, that no one really knows what an EMP would do overall, but most experts agree that any modern electronic devices would be toast. Too many tiny circuits and such that would burn up fairly easily. There hasn’t been any extensive testing done since the 1960’s I think.”
“So maybe that old refrigerator would work if we could somehow get power?” Lisa asked.
“It’s possible I guess. But I think we should focus on making this place livable by making it defensible. You guys want to take a walk around the edge of the place, see if we can set up some sort of fencing or wall to help make it more secure?”
“I’m not sure a wall is feasible,” Rick offered.
“I know if we were to wall off the entire camp it would be a monumental effort, especially without heavy equipment. I’m confident that we could do a fence of some type though. Something simple, but strong enough to keep the dead from walking right in to the camp should be sufficient, at least for the short term.”
They had turned left from the main house, following a narrow dirt road that led them to the small, concrete swimming pool. The area was completely surrounded by deep trees, with the narrow driving path continuing past on the east side of the pool.
“Could we use this for water storage?” Lisa asked.
“If we could clean it out, make sure there were no chemicals lingering in there, yeah it would be great for water storage.”
“Rick’s right,” Gordy added, “with the proper cleaning this would work well for water.”
Jimmy laughed, “Well for water? Nice one, man.”
“Smartass,” Gordy said, laughing along with the others.
They continued following the looping road, pointing out areas they thought would best suit a fence. They found the cabins dotted throughout the camp, not liking that they were so far spread out.
“I think that until we get a fence up and possibly some sort of watchtower we should keep everyone up in the buildings by the main house.”
“I agree with that, Gordy, but we have to remember that we have limited manpower. Using only hand tools it could take us a while to get up even the most rudimentary fence.” Rick looked around the camp, and down the road leading to the main house.
“If you have some ideas, man, share them,” Jimmy said.
“I will, once we’re back and talking with everyone. I need to think about it some anyway.”
They were nearly back to the main house, when Gordy told the others that his left knee was starting to hurt. “I need to remember to wear that support when we go out walking around like this.”
Jimmy was just about to open his mouth with a remark about being old when they heard a gunshot nearby.
Rick looked at the others, “From Mr. Cambrey’s I think, sounded that close.”
“Want me and Jimmy to run ahead? We can make sure he’s ok; you guys can catch up.”
“No,” Rick told her, “if you’re in a group you stay in that group no matter what. Never separate like that, it’s just asking for trouble.”
Lisa nodded in reply, taking Rick’s lesson in stride.
They stepped up their pace, even though Gordy was starting to limp just the slightest bit from the pain in his knee. They passed the stone marker set at the edge of the graveled parking area, directly across from the main gathering hall. The stone was a memorial to the family that had donated the property back in the 1930’s.
They made good time back to the Cambrey home, and found Jonathan sitting on the front porch steps, his shotgun propped next to him.
“We heard a gunshot, are you ok?” Gordy asked.
The old man sitting there on the porch steps wore the sadness on his face like a mask. It wasn’t something he could have hid from the others even if he had tried.
Jonathan’s voice was low and thick when he finally spoke. “Did what needed doing, nothing left but the ground now.” He looked out toward the front yard, where his wife’s bloody body now lay.
The others stood there quietly, uncertain that any words would be sufficient for the moment. The silence lasted several long, uncomfortable minutes, until Rick spoke.
“Mr. Cambrey,” Rick laid a hand on a bony shoulder, his voice gentle and soft. “You’ve done the hardest job; please let us help you now.”
Jonathan Cambrey looked into the hard face that spoke with such a caring voice and nodded. He pointed half-heartedly to a two-door garage that sat about four hundred feet from the house.
“Martha always keeps her car up here by the house. That’s my work shed, tools and such out there, and my old truck. You can find what you need in there. Keys are on a hook in the kitchen.”
After Jimmy retrieved the keys, the three men of the group walked down to the shed, while Lisa stayed behind to sit with Jonathan.
“My heart breaks for that old man. I just want to get back to the island, put my arms around Tamara and not let go for about, oh, the rest of the day.”
“Me too, Jimmy. I could spend the rest of my life holding Jan, and be just fine with that.”
Rick stayed quiet, thinking that at least he had Tyler and Trish as a surrogate family.
Jonathan
had kept his work shed neat and orderly. With the exception of a few oil stains on the concrete floor, it was very clean. Pegboard had been hung along one wall, with each tool having its place. The long workbench sitting beneath the pegboard was just as neat and clean as everything else.
They found several shovels hanging from pegs at the far end of the bench where longer tools had been placed. Jimmy and Rick each grabbed a shovel, and Gordy pulled a pick mattock down from the wall.
Having chosen the tools they would need to dig a suitable grave for Martha Cambrey they took a moment to look around the shed.
Jonathan’s “old truck” was a well-kept 1960 Dodge pickup truck. Light brown in color, there was no rust to be seen, though they could see bloody handprints on the passenger side door. “He’s taken damn good care of that truck,” Gordy stated.
There was also a large older lawnmower, with a front blade attachment and a small trench digging attachment placed neatly beside it.
“I don’t think Jonathan liked to buy new stuff. Most of this is older, but really well kept.”
“Well, you have to think,” Gordy told Jimmy, “he came from a time when you didn’t just throw things out and buy new ones. You took care of it, fixed it when it broke, bought new parts to replace worn out ones, instead of buying a whole new whatever it may be. For too long we’ve lived in a disposable society. If it breaks, buy a new one. From cars to toasters, taking care of things and keeping them in good repair is a virtue that has long been forgotten.”
Jimmy and Rick let Gordy have his soapbox moment without comment. They had heard it before on many occasions, and both men agreed with him on the subject. There was no point in beating that dead horse again.
Returning to the house with their tools they went to work quickly once Jonathan pointed out where he wanted his wife’s final resting place to be dug. They had offered to help out of sincere concern, but each person felt a need to return to their loved ones, and hold them close.
American Revenant (Book 2): Settlers and Sorrow Page 3