“Oof!” I hear as my shoulder drives the breath out of his body. He goes down easily, as the backpack is already weighing him down. I’ve gotten my right hand around his left wrist. With my left, I deliver a jab across his face to stun him. I release with my right hand and tighten it into a fist, bringing it crashing down onto him. The backpack is keeping his hips off the ground, making it difficult for him to kick me, and the right strap is preventing him from delivering anything but a weak cross with his right arm. I shrug off one of these and continue to pummel him.
His right hand stops swinging, and instead it comes across his face in an effort to deflect some of my blows. I grab that wrist with my left hand, and press it to the ground above his head while I raise my right shoulder for a final blow.
His head recoils, and he fiercely grimaces. All of a sudden, I feel his right arm pushing with much greater strength against my left hand. His groan becomes a scream of aggression as his arm comes slowly off the ground, bringing my hand with it.
A rock lies next to his head, and just as he inhales for another burst of effort, I grab the rock and raise it high in the air. I’ll finish this just like the last time.
My hand with the rock comes wheeling forward, aiming for that same point in front of the ear.
Chapter 20: Carter
Finally making it to the campground is a relief.
It brings back memories of my family. I miss them. I came here with my father and mother for as long as I can remember. He always inspired me, and my mother always supported me. Other than a brief moment when I was eight and I fired a potato gun through our den window, I had a loving childhood. They both pushed me to be exceptional. Dad worked his way through medical school thus he accepted nothing less than my best every time. He signed me up for every rec sport and scouting program my hometown had to offer.
However, his strictness and discipline paid off when middle school, apparently one of the most difficult times for a child, moved me on to ninth grade a year early. High school and my pre-med program were similarly abbreviated, but I wouldn’t have minded those lasting a little bit longer. It's tough making friends when you’re the youngest child in school and one of the few black kids.
Once I was older, responsibility loomed over me as I scraped through the first year of med school and worked as a city EMT. Free hours were few and far between, but mom and dad were proud of their hardworking boy. I still called their house home and they didn't mind.
It was midsummer and some of my friends from home were getting together for a little trip. I decided to take a brief vacation from work to celebrate the end of my summer classes with them by trekking through the south. Backpacking through Georgia wasn't my idea, but it seemed like it could be fun.
“It’s good you are taking a bit of a vacation. You really are running yourself thin.” said my mother, with a pleasant smile on her face. Her hair was beginning to look gray against her ebony skin, but her energy always engulfed those around her.
“Yeah, aren’t you supposed to be done already with classes by now? It took me one summer to get to my residency,” jested my father, behind a worn newspaper.
“Not everyone can bribe the professors,” I answered.
He chuckled again. “Well played. It did get expensive.” He gazed seriously to the top of the room. If I didn't know better, it would look like he actually had cheated his way through school. It was my turn to laugh. Being a doctor was tradition in my family. His father, my grandfather, was the first and had been the target of racism when he went through med school. Matters got worse when he married my grandma, who was white. However, they claim this all made them stronger and helped to make my father the man he is today.
Thus making me the man I am today.
“So before you get too packed,” my mother joined in, “we have a small present for you in the closet.”
“Oh?”
“Look in your closet.” Dad said putting down the paper.
I stood up and opened my closet door to find an enormous, new hiking pack. I had one from my youth, but this one was much better.
“It’s a fifty-eight liter model. You can fit more junk and it lacks the array of holes the old one has.” said my dad.
I felt a smile creep across my face. “This is fantastic. Thank you, both, so much.”
“And now you can carry a little bit of us with you wherever you go.” My mom always had a way of making things uncomfortably cheesy. After that, I hurried and finished packing, and said my goodbyes.
I wish I had given them a longer goodbye.
Seven days later, after finishing my trip and saying goodbye to my friends, I was driving back to the house, looking forward to a long, long shower. Between the blasting radio and my tone deaf singing, I barely heard the fire truck screaming up behind me. I thought nothing of it until I came around the corner and saw it stop in front of my parent’s house.
That image etched itself in my mind like how a laser etches metal. I jumped out of the car, and entered a furious sprint for our house.
It was in flames.
“What's going on?” I screamed to one of the firemen over the sound of the flames and the water from the fire truck. “Are my parents out?”
“A neighbor called it in. Said she believed that the they were home, but hadn’t seen them. Kid…”
I didn’t care what he had to say after that- I was running for the front door. Where would they be? It was late. Did they fall asleep already? They must have. That means they’re stuck on the second floor…
I didn’t get to finish that thought. Halfway to the front of the house, the entry way collapsed, and with it came some of the second floor. My shock made me pause, giving the firemen enough time to catch up and haul me back to the trucks.
“Son,” began one of the firemen, panting, “We've never seen a house go up so fast. If anyone’s in there… I’m sorry.”
Their bodies were never even found.
So after the services, I buried myself in work. Quickly I found an apartment next to the emergency response station and lived off of mostly what was in my pack from my trip. Nearly everything else I owned was stuck in the house. I took double shift after double shift, and even pulled triples with coffee and cigarettes. For nearly two months I lived like this.
Then the plague came.
At first it just meant long hours, something I was used to, but then it evolved into something ugly. Ugly doesn’t even cut it: something horrific. People would fight over who would get into our ambulance. Strong-arming people out of the way after we loaded a patient into the back of the bus became the usual. Soon, that changed to leaving nearly anyone who had the plague. The hospital was full and we were just to stabilize people and only transport the critical cases. Then things became even worse. Some parts of the city were losing power and water. The instinctual drive for survival was becoming evident across many of the children that I passed. Children rummaged through the trash and I even stumbled upon some of them looting. Some were like animals running along side our ambulance.
A few weeks into the plague, the paramedic and I were at a gas station refilling the ambulance. Gas had fallen into short supply and only emergency vehicles could get fuel at certain stations. We just have to tell them how much to put on at the pump.
“I’ll be right back,” said my partner, headed in to pre-pay.
“Sure,” I said in reply, lighting up a cigarette.
I took a long drag before smothering the cigarette in the ash tray. It’d been a long night already and we had hours yet to go. I kept trying to quit, but the fire and the plague suspended that indefinitely. Martin, my partner for this day, came back and put in the nozzle. I didn't know him too well. People tended to call him Marty.
“I'm going back in. You want anything?” he asked.
“I'm cool man.” I respond trying to lean back and stretch my lower back. Calls were coming through the radio. I turned it down for a second. By my count I had been working for thirty hours strai
ght.
I was watching the dial climb on the fuel gauges when a few loud pops seized my attention. They came from inside the shop. In the few seconds that it took for my mind to register what was happening, two more bangs emanated from the store. I slouched deep in my seat as a weak attempt to hide. I couldn’t hear anything from inside, so I raised my torso just high enough to peek out the window. The shop was a dozen yards away at most. Through a potato chip stand, I could see the cashier collapsed over the counter, Martin sprawled out on the floor, and a boy, no older than 15, running out the back with a large duffel bag. I rushed in and turned my partner onto his back, but it was too late. He was already gone. The cashier also had two bullets straight through his chest.
The opened register caught my attention. All the money was still inside. I looked around and noticed all of the empty beef jerky boxes beside the register. The nearby refrigerator’s bottled water supply seemed under-stocked.
People were surviving no matter what the cost.
I would see the aftermath of three more robberies before I gave up working. Most of the city's emergency medical services had stopped working anyway. Everyone was either dead or dying. By all rights, I should be dead, too.
I was twenty-two, and the magic number seemed to be nineteen.
When I walked through the streets for the last time I passed crowds of kids looking for help. I felt selfish as I pushed through the crying children and over the occasional body on the pavement to get back to my new apartment. As I turned into the front entrance I saw a pack of teenagers rip some others out of a car, knock them around, and then steal the vehicle. I needed to get out of the city.
As I walked up the steps, I passed a deceased police officer. He was sitting against the wall. His uniform seemed to be stuck to his body with blood and sweat. That damn rash covered his entire face and his eyes were locked wide open. My fingers found the top of his eyelids and pulled them down. It looks like he was trying to do his job until the very end. He was a better man than me.
My eyes trailed down to his waist, to his gun. After debating for a moment, I undid the buckle and took the entire belt. I figured the radio, the cuffs, and the gun would all come in handy. After checking the gun, I dropped them into my bag and continued to my room. My plan was to pack everything in my hiking backpack and get out of the city, go to the campground, and wait this out until international aid rolls in.
I journeyed for what felt like days – over the bridge, through the tunnel, through neighborhood after neighborhood. Sometimes I slept in abandoned houses, and other times I lied under the stars. I did my best to avoid people at any cost. It took two visits to grocery stores along the way to realize that people had changed. I had to wait just within visible distance of the grocery stores to wait out the chaos of daylight and early night. Whatever humanity had once existed was gone. In its place were animals: these new children that only cared about survival. Any relevance to civility died when every adult in America died.
When I finally made it to the campground, I went to the park's station. Will had always been friendly with my father when we would come up here. I was sure he was dead, but maybe his trailer would be a start. To my dismay it was empty. Surprisingly, it looked like he had been buried out back. The gate was locked, too.
Someone had shared in my idea.
I decided to spend the night here last night. I wake up feeling very fatigued. My limited diet from the journey has taken its toll on me. I shake my head, clear my thoughts, and consider my course of action for the day.
After spending a night in the ranger’s cabin, I journey through the campground. The whole property is hundreds of acres and someone could be living on any piece of it. This is my job today: to find them.
Just as the sun is about to set, I pass over a hill and see smoke rising from one of the cabins against the darkening blue sky. I feel relief as I make my way closer to scope it out. Peering through the window with my binoculars, I see two little girls and a couple of older ones. The older girl eventually ends up walking out with a rifle on her back. That catches me off guard, so for a moment, I continue hiding in the trees. It’s already darkening and I couldn't really make out her face. It seems she is going to hunt. An odd time for that.
After she is far enough away, I turn back to the cabin. The older boy has disappeared but I imagine he is somewhere inside. I make up my mind to just casually approach the cabin. They seem nice enough. Maybe they could help me out for a night or two. My stomach lets out a small growl. I walk slowly to the front door, my back slightly hunched from my pack.
Behind me I hear a rustling of grass. Someone was running and before I can completely turn around, a shoulder drives into my stomach and throws me to the ground. It is the boy from inside the cabin.
He wrestles my hands as I try to push him away.
Please stop. I'm not going to hurt you. I am too busy blocking his blows to get the words out. He lands a few hits to my face, but I have been hit much harder than this before.
“Please… stop…” I finally utter through gritted teeth between trying to deflect his fists. He ignores me and I see his right hand reaching for something. He raises up a rock that has been lying next to me. It reaches an apex high above his shoulder and he rips it down toward my head.
I instinctively wrench my head to the left. The rock grazes the right side of my brow.
Enough.
His miss with the rock leaves him unbalanced and I lift both of my feet and kick him straight off me. As he falls back my hands go to my chest, undoing the pack's harness and freeing it from my torso. I leap to my feet and take a fighting stance.
“Listen buddy, I don't wanna hurt you!” I yell. He lunges at me with a fist, but it's sloppy. He probably hasn't been in too many fights in his life. I lean to the right, and he stumbles as he misses. I’m not going to draw this out; my left foot kicks out in front of his ankles and he trips to the ground. I pin him immediately. I place my knee over his throat and restrain his hands. His legs kick fruitlessly. Now maybe we can talk.
“Get off him now!” a voice screams. I look up to see a rifle a few feet from my head. Well maybe we can't talk.
“Woah, I was just trying to get him to calm down,” I plea while standing up holding up both hands. My gun is in my bag and useless to me at this moment. The boy gets to his feet and is coughing. The young girls I saw earlier in the window open the front door and light showers the three of us. I can see everyone clearly now.
“Who the hell are you?” the boy asks. He may be around eighteen. His shaggy brown hair falls partly over his brown eyes that manage to convey a burning fire. He has a slim frame, but as my probably bruised face just learned, he can manage a punch or two. I turn to the girl. She’s around the same age. Her hair is somewhere between blonde and red and... she’s beautiful. Despite the fact that she is probably about to shoot me, she is a sight I have not seen in a long, long time. I raise my hands higher and begin my plea:
“The name's Carter. I'm from the city. I used to come here when I was a kid and I thought this would be a safe place to hold out until this flies by.” They exchanges looks, and I sense that they don’t believe me. “I swear. I mean you no harm. I saw the lights and thought maybe you could help me out for a few days.”
The girl begins to lower her gun. The boy still looks ready to get that rock and try hitting me again.
“I'm as freaked out about how people have changed as you seem to be,” I say, slowly lowering my hands. “Please. I'm an EMT and know a lot about this stuff. I can pay you back even for a few days of relief while I get everything worked out.”
They both don't know what to do with me. I can't blame them.
“You’re an EMT?” the armed girl asks. “The one girl inside is sick. Do you think you could help?” With my year of med-school under my belt, I hope I can.
“I will do what I can,” I say. Never make false promises.
“Jocelyn.” The armed girl says, extending an open hand to me.
I take it.
“Jon.” He says, but doesn't hold out his hand. I grab my pack and start to follow them into the cabin.
Jon shuts the door behind me and locks it. Both of the young girls look at me carefully. They are clearly twins.
“Ladies,” Jocelyn says, “this is Carter. We had a little bit of a misunderstanding but he can help us. He is a paramedic. Carter this is Sara and Caitlyn.” I consider correcting her- I am only an EMT, but I hold it in.
“Delighted. Aren't you both lovely?” The one that Jocelyn said is Caitlyn definitely looks jaundiced. She has already made her way back to the bed before we all take a seat.
I begin to explain my story to them. Then they tell me their own. Jon's demeanor lightens up as an hour passes, and that helps me to feel a little more at ease, as I don’t have to stay focused on him. Jocelyn, however, continues to distract me throughout the night. As I searched through the campground I imagined many different sorts of people I may have stumbled upon. She never crossed my mind once. They make me a small meal and feed me as we continue to talk about their plans, and they want to know about mine.
Jon really becomes more amiable when he learns that I know about survival: guns, animals, gardening, and especially medicine. Most of it is a combination of the Boy Scouts in my early days and my love of the Discovery Channel.
After finishing a small meal, Jocelyn and Jon go to the corner and talk quietly. The twins are both sleep at this point. The sick one seems to look even worse. They come back.
“Well,” Jon begins, “this may seem sudden, but we would like you to stay with us. You kinda need us now, and we are going to need you soon. None of us have any clue how long this is going to last- but if everything you tell us is true, we have much more to gain with you being around.” He reaches out his hand. When I grab it, he pulls me close and lowers his voice. “And I'll be watching you, because if you do one thing to put any of those three in jeopardy – so help me.”
Humanity Gone: After the Plague Page 8