“Not everyone will die,” he repeated, looking for signs that more than skeletons had come this way. He was excited for an instant, believing he’d found evidence of someone near the Southwest Bell building downtown, a few rusted cans of beans that had been manually opened rolling around in the street. That was, until he found the makeshift homeless structure it had likely come from. It was old, very old. He didn’t think there was any way it would be post-Event. Why would someone sleep outside when so much vacant space was available?
One night was spent near the top of the Southwestern Bell tower, a climb to a corner office that went on forever in a dark stairwell. From the south and west, he swore he saw flickering lights out on the horizon, dim but ever-present. Perhaps it was a settlement? Maybe even a town. But if it was, why didn’t its people ever venture into St. Louis? Were they self-sufficient without travel, or was this place cursed? Was it radioactive, and the effects hadn’t yet caught up with Ryan and Emily?
He pulled her close.
As the night deepened, twilight was replaced by the brilliant sight of the aurora, bright ribbons of color reaching up over the northern horizon.
“What’s that?” Emily asked, pointing a finger out the high window, grey city reflecting below.
“You’ve seen it before. Remember? It’s the aurora.”
“Rora?”
“Yeah, the rora.”
“That pretty rora. I like it.”
“It’s very pretty. I like it, too.”
“It’s blue-pink?”
“No, baby, it’s green and blue.”
“Pink?”
“Green and blue.”
“Blue-pink!”
He shook his head and stared at the hint of light in the southwest, heart quivering against its call. “Go into the west. Your future awaits you there. You will not be alone forever.”
He tried not to delude himself too much, but small as it was, this hope was enough to return life to his deserted soul. Lillian had been put to rest, and though he did love her, and always would, it was time to move on. He had to take a chance.
The following morning, Emily insisted that they stop and play at the park. Apparently, the slide didn’t tell as good of jokes that day, but was instead better at being just a slide. They stayed there for hours, allowing her to run and climb and just be a kid. When she was all tuckered out, Ryan tossed her over his shoulder and began the walk home. She slept the entire way, drooling on his neck and down his shirt. The sky was turning black, transforming itself into a menace.
Ryan was left to his thoughts, speaking them aloud. “How long can we safely be gone? Two weeks? A month? How many miles can we cover in a day? If Emily isn’t walking, I’m sure we can do fifteen or twenty if the terrain isn’t bad. It’s a long shot, but maybe I can get that van running. The real question is, how far away is that light? A hundred miles? Fifty? Is it just an illusion from the aurora? Could be a reflection on a lake from the moon. God, my arms are getting sore. How much does this kid weigh now? Maybe I should start feeding her less or a put a book on top of her head, she nearly reaches the middle of my thigh, even swung over my shoulder.”
He chuckled and rubbed her back, and she let out a moaning sigh. He swept her ratty hair out of her eyes and parted it to the side. Despite everything, she was okay. His chest swelled.
It began to mist.
About the time they reached home the bottom fell out, a deluge of rainfall crashing down on their heads. Fork had taken refuge below the makeshift shelter, and when Ryan went to check on her, she seemed genuinely excited to see him. He patted her on the head and put out some fresh water, getting himself soaked by cold rain in the process. It was invigorating and he needed a bath anyway. As Emily stood yawning in the open door of the kitchen, Ryan stripped down to his underwear and lathered up.
“Better than using up all the clean water,” he commented, then held a hand out to Emily. “Come on, Emme. Let’s take a quick shower.”
“Schower?”
“Yeah. It’s like a bath, but standing up.”
The stench of UBL was washed away, replaced by spring flowers and citrus fruit.
Ryan and Emily went back inside, dried off, and changed into clean clothes. It took a good while for them to get warmed up again. Emily asked to watch a movie but the skies were too dark to play one, solar panels blocked from sunlight, and so they colored instead by the windup flashlight’s lamp.
Ryan was itching to get ready to go. He made a list and started packing as soon as he could, surveying their food supplies, milling rice flour by hand with mortar and pestle, purifying water. Rain continued for the next couple of days, keeping him from searching nearby homes for the remainder of what they needed. They had used shopping carts several times in the past when moving heavy supplies into the house, but the carts didn’t handle well on rough terrain. When the road had cracks or there was too much debris, the carts got stuck, even on the smallest things.
He needed a better solution to this problem, and not just that, he needed something that could keep Emily safe from harm. There would be times on the open road when he’d need freedom to move without being terrified of what she was up to, what danger she was putting herself in, what could find her out in the open. But what could be done?
He spent a drizzly afternoon trying to get the van parked across the street running. He checked the hoses he’d replaced, charged the battery. The battery tested good, but the car wouldn’t start. He followed the instructions in the magazine and checked the starting system. No good. It sounded as if it wanted to turn over when he tried, butt cozily fitting into the driver’s captain’s chair. Still, no luck. He changed the oil and other fluids, was covered in slick liquid, tried again. Nothing. His final conclusion was that it had been too long since it was last run, far more than five years since the Event. He gave up on this endeavor. There wasn’t enough time to learn to rebuild an engine.
“Okay. So, there’s no way to get a car going quickly,” he mumbled. “That leaves out motorhomes too, which would be awesome. Even though they’d get stuck easy, too much other crap left in the roads. Now, she’s not gonna stay in a pack-and-play or something like that, she’s way too old and it wouldn’t protect her from much more than a prairie dog.” A thought occurred to him and he began to laugh. He rubbed the oil off his hands onto his jeans. “Seriously, what she needs is a shark cage. That’s about all I’d feel comfortable her being in. A big, freakin’ shark cage.”
When the storms had abated, they searched the neighborhood, though Ryan wasn’t really sure what it that was they needed. Several low-tech concepts ran through his buzzing mind. It needed to be large, but not too large, easy to move. On wheels. He needed it to negotiate terrain well, and be sturdy, not fall over from rolling onto a pebble.
Then it came to him.
Once inside the garage of the divorced man’s home, Ryan found just the ticket. He wheeled it down the street, steel chassis wobbling, and into another garage; Mr. Jones’s.
Next, he went in search of backpacks, of any and all sizes. Four of the best were found in Karen’s house, one smelling faintly of roses, one turquoise with Ruth’s name monogrammed on the front in pink. Ryan considered checking the hoarder’s dwelling for a minute, being it was likely she had an entire room of backpacks, but decided against it for obvious reasons.
He collected other items: PVC pipe, zip ties, memory foam. Cup holders, bolts, plastic tubing. LED rope lights, air horns, and a handheld tablet mount. The hardest part was finding steel to fit the chassis. He’d taken the measurements and knew exactly what they needed. Since he was no expert in the arts of metal fabrication, it only made sense to find something that would naturally work without much, if any, alteration.
Much of the steel he came across was rusted. He could always sand and repaint, but that would take more time, and he was eager to get going. On a whim, he took a pass through the Marinoffs’ pleasure dungeon. He found just what he was looking for. He drug a chest high,
rust resistant galvanized steel frame up the steps of the basement and back to Mr. Jones’. Emily had no idea what it was for. Ryan didn’t want to think too long on what it had been used for. He would need to clean it before use.
“Okay, Emme. I’ll be right back. You stay in here and play. Okay?”
“Right back?”
“Yeah. I’ll be right back.” He accentuated the words clearly. “What I’m working on is dangerous. Very dangerous.”
“Okay, Dada. Right back.” She smoothed Bullwhip Barbie’s hair. “Right back.”
He locked her inside Mr. Jones’s bedroom, took a pull of warm whiskey, snapped his head forward, mask falling into place. The world went dim, visible through only a small, tinted visor. He turned on the gas and began to squeeze the friction lighter relentlessly. It was hard to get a good grip in gloves. Sparks exploded into a rushing torrent of incandescent light. Ryan had no idea what the fuck he was doing, but he was going full-on B.A. Baracus nonetheless. He’d watched enough A-Team as a kid that this should be cake.
The steel cage from the Marinoff’s fit snug upon the long chassis, leaving only a couple inches hanging off. He held the torch in one gloved hand, weld in the other, and proceeded to bond the two objects for life. Sparks scattered to the right of his facemask, molten metal dripped onto the floor. He could feel the heat of the torch and faintly hoped he hadn’t left his lighter in his pocket. Errant slag and his fluid-filled Zippo would have little to agree on if they met, face to face.
He grinned as the welds took form, liquid turning hard. He moved to the opposite side, dropping another pool every few inches. The torch cut off and he kicked the side of the cage with a boot heel as hard as he could. The assembly rocked on rubber wheels, but the welds held fast.
“Fuck, yeah. Mr. Fix-it here. Monster Garage ain’t got shit on Ryan Sharpe.”
On the sides of the cage he attached the backpacks, running their straps over the horizontal rungs in weaving patterns. Under the chassis, he bolted several lengths of three-inch PVC pipe. He pumped up the rubber tires, crawled into the cage and pounded, checking to see if they would hold. A freshly rehabbed, deep cycle battery was slid into the back of the cage and bolted down with a bracket, battery covered with thick plastic. A solar panel was fastened to the makeshift roof. Inside, the floor was tacked with memory foam, and then upholstered with My Little Pony bed sheets.
The finishing touches were made, lights run down the sides of the top for safety, air horns tied near the front end. A tattered American flag was posted to the corner. Then, just for Emme, he added a bicycle horn within her reach. If she ever needed him, it would call him back.
He crossed his arms and stepped away, a look of pride on his face. “Now that’s what I call a wagon.” A quarter-inch thick steel fortress on all-terrain wheels. His daughter would not only ride in safety, but in comfort.
“Emily, what do you think?” he asked as she entered the garage.
She cocked her head and grinned. “Wow, what’s this?”
“It’s the Super Wagon! A moving house for Emme.”
“Movey house?”
“Yeah. And look, you can watch your tablet in here.” He swung the door open and she climbed inside, taking a seat on the memory foam bottom.
“Cave.”
“What? No. It’s not a cave. If anything, it’s a cage.”
“Cage?”
“This will keep Emme safe. You can watch a movie, take a nap, play with your toys. Daddy’ll pull it.” He wheeled her around the garage and she chuckled.
“More pull! More pull!”
“This might just work.” He allowed himself to be excited, if only a little. “It’s not too hard to pull, seems to handle pretty well. I’ll weigh down the PVC pipes with water bottles, make it bottom heavy. It has a hand brake, so that seems to work just fine. A couple spare tires to go along with the bike pump and I think we’re all set. Yeah, this might just work.”
“It work! Do it.”
“We do it.”
Back at the house, he brought the wagon inside, which was no easy feat given its width, and filled its saddlebags with everything they would need for the journey.
“One month,” he decided. “That’s how long we’ll be gone. We need enough food and supplies for one month, round trip, no more.”
After he was done adding food, a stove, tent, sleeping bags, pillows, clothes and water, the wagon was heavy. He wondered if it would be possible to use Fork as a draft animal to ease their burden. He knew he couldn’t leave her alone all that time, there wasn’t enough grass in the yard. She would have to come with them, and he wasn’t sure how that would change their trip dynamic. He didn’t like to think about it, but having her along would bring another positive feature—she could be an emergency food supply, and not just for milk. A macabre thought, for sure.
He fashioned a sign out of wood and red spray paint and shoved it in the front yard. It read: “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Just inside the house, he left a note that anyone who came upon this place could make use of his home. He hooked one of his computers to the solar power supply, wrote a quick script, and made a clock. Every day it would click over and keep track of dates. He did this, so not only he would know how long it had been since he’d left upon his return, but so that possible, wayward travelers might know if the food had gone bad. It felt like the right thing to do.
Emily helped him milk fork. This time they got a full gallon out of the old girl, and it was good.
“That’s my Fork,” Emily said, insisting on putting colorful bows in Fork’s hair.
“Sure is,” he replied, putting the bucket away. “You love your goat?”
“I love my goat.”
Her word use made him smile. “Me too. She’s part of our little family now. I think we’ll take her on our trip.”
“Take her on our trip, Dada?”
“Then it’s settled.”
“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath as if the prospect were almost too exciting.
She rubbed Fork’s flanks as the goat gnawed on green grass. A moment later Emily was reading her a book. She was making up the story as she went along. Ryan felt the coarseness of Fork’s hair, and wondered what he could do to make her even healthier. If he could find a farm supply store, perhaps he could get her vitamins or come upon some wild alfalfa. In that respect, she was certainly the lucky one of their little family. Anywhere they went, she would at least have a meal just a few feet away. In the west, there would be endless fields to graze.
Ryan finished rehabbing a series of deep cycle batteries out front while Emily played in the foyer. He connected them to the power system and hoped they would do their job and take a charge. If his calculations were right, they would power up during the day and stay on all night. Casa de Sharpe, version 3.4 was well on its way. And just in time for them to leave.
“Dada?” Emily asked, lifting a plastic, hand-sized rhino with wheels on its bottom.
He sat down next to her on the floor. “Yeah, Emme?”
“The pink-blue.”
“No. That’s a rhino, and it’s grey. It’s one of your animals. You have one, two, three, four, animals.”
“One.” She pointed at the rhino, then a plastic horse. “Two. One.” She pointed at a baby horse. “Two.” Then an alligator. “Dada, ahgater.” She handed the green plastic toy to Ryan.
“I’m the alligator?”
She nodded, “And this Emme,” and lifted the baby horse. Before he could ask, the larger horse was placed behind Emily’s back and out of sight.
“Where’s the mama horsey?” Ryan asked, trying to be silly.
A look of consternation formed in her expression. She looked away, but kept rolling the baby horse back and forth. “No mama horsey. It’s gone.”
He wanted to hug her, but knew he couldn’t do that now for his own sake. Instead, he whispered, “I love you.”
“Love you, Dada.”
C
hildren understand more than you can ever know.
Back on the couch, Ryan and Emily snuggled up and watched a movie, eating rice cookies and drinking goat’s milk. He was hardly able to set his empty glass down before sleep overtook him. He mumbled a half-drunken song of his own design, nothing from the usual lineup, but forgot the words as quickly as he uttered them. Emily mumbled along with him, though only in melody.
Ryan dreamt of the open planes and boundless skies, of a sight so beautiful it made him ache, of people in their new city, primitive perhaps, but alive. They would be greeted with open arms and brought into the fold. They would not be alone, Emily would not have to live the second half of her life without anyone to love. Ryan would have to be concerned over boys dating his girl. This made him clean his gun often. Fork would graze in their fenced corral behind a freshly painted white farm house. Ryan would run solar from the roof and get back to tinkering with computers, helping to restore some sense of order like the world once had. Emily would go to school and make friends. And maybe, one day, when Ryan was ready, he would remarry, if only a woman came along that was half the woman Lillian was.
“Dada.” Emily shook him hard. “Wake up. Dada.”
“What? What is it? What’s wrong?” He sat up, rubbing his eyes and listening. A bestial moan came from outside. “What is that?” He placed Emily behind his legs and edged towards the back window. It was dark, midnight or later. All they had for light was an LED bulb in the kitchen, and the repeating menu screen to their finished movie. He reached in a kitchen drawer and snapped a glow stick. The moaning came again, this time more urgent, morose. He opened the back door the tiniest crack, tossed the glow stick outside and closed it again. The moon was bright, and as his eyes began to adjust, he located the source of the moaning.
The Two That Remained Page 27