Ever Onward

by Wayne Mee

  ‘Follow me and I shall make thee great’ an ageless voice had said. ‘Follow in my footsteps and all shall be thine.’ That same night Pussbag had beat the living shit out of Mommy, stuffed the arthritic-ridden old bitch in the infamous closet and ran off to follow his new found friend.

  It was a long, hard run, taking several years and most of his sanity, and each step of the way the Dark Stranger stayed just out of reach. Pussbag would catch the occasional glimpse of Him; in the leering face of a cop as he tossed the young vagrant into a cell; in the smile of a painted whore itching to give him the Clap. There one moment, gone the next. Tempting, taunting, always just beyond grasp. Pussbag, however, was not dismayed. ‘Follow me and I shall make thee great’, He whispered in his dreams. ‘A promise was a promise.’

  Pussbag knew where to go by the signs his elusive new friend would send him. They came in a kind of secret code, written between the headlines of newspapers and in the fake smiles of TV anchormen. Bakersfield Girl Slain By Mysterious Man Hit And Run Driver Kills Two Fresno Children. A Dozen Killed In L.A. Race Riots.

  Sometimes Pussbag heard about his friend in far off parts of the country; places like New York and Chicago. But again, he was not dismayed. The Dark Stranger traveled on the wind; here, there, everywhere. Such was His power. Pussbag had but to follow. Sooner or later he would always catch a glimpse of Him, hidden in the face of indifferent strangers, or waiting in the headlines of the corner newsstand.

  Then one day he was looking at a poster in a window. It showed a gaunt old man in a top hat pointing a finger. Pussbag felt his knees go weak. The stern face suddenly changed into a shadowy yet familiar one. The pointing finger touched his soul.

  And Pussbag knew what to do. His friend was telling him where to go. A place where his potential would be seen. A place where his skills were in great demand. A place where ‘mommies’ weren’t allowed. The U.S. Army.

  There were many things about the army that Pussbag wasn’t overly fond of; the unkind, cutting remarks; the cold laughter; the casual cruelties. But these things he could endure. Even the Brig was easier than the Closet. His Friend spoke to him in the dark. In his heart of hearts, Pussbag loved the Army, for it had taught him multiple ways to do that which he loved best --- to cause pain. And Private Theodore Pussbag Smitty had been a star pupil.

  And now, just as promised, the Big Change had come. He had awoke this morning to a dead world. Everywhere he looked, death grinned back at him. China Lake Air Base was one giant wasteland; a place where brittle dead leaves filled bunks, littered the runways and spilled from empty uniforms.

  Pussbag believed in his heart of hearts that the Dark Stranger, his only friend and distant companion, had spared him; had chosen him for greatness --- just as He had promised.

  When the young soldier had found Pussbag, had held out his hand and spoke soothing sounds, Pussbag had almost wept with relief. The Dark Stranger had come for him at last! ‘Follow in My footsteps and I shall make thee great. A promise is a promise. Mommy says so. Trust me.’

  Then Pussbag had looked into that young, nervous face and seen only a young, nervous face. No hint of guile. No trace of cruelty. Only innocence and fear.

  That was when Pussbag had used his bayonet.

  How long had he sat huddled in that corner, listening to his mother’s voice? Minutes? Hours? Eternity? ‘The clocks run backwards in Hell’ his mother used to say. ‘And you’ll be a long time gone once the Dark Stranger drags you there!’

  Then he’d heard another sound, the sound of the jeep. Looking out he’d seen a lone man drive by, smoking a cigarette and smiling. A stranger. A dark stranger laughing at death.

  Pussbag’s heart had nearly burst with joy. He HAD come back after all!

  That’s when he’d gone searching for a present for his long lost friend.

  Being an army nurse, Shirley Bates had seen her share of death. Being a nurse, however, had not prepared her for what awaited her on the morning of June 22nd. Death was one thing. THIS was something else!

  The pills had helped. She’d taken three blue downers and chased them with a shot of Tang and two Valium from the locked supply cabinet. Rank hath its privileges. Now, sprawled out on the couch in the doctors lounge, the cares of an uncaring world had retreated to a fuzzy haze.

  A sound tried to break through. A sharp, cutting sound, like the breaking of thick glass. Shirly rolled over and promptly fell on the floor. The jolt of her tail bone striking the hardwood snapped her awake.

  Shit! Must have dozed off. Probably late for ---

  Memory flooded back. Dead. All dead. Nothing but dead.

  Suddenly she heard it again. I did sound like breaking glass! Her heart raced. Someone else is alive! I’m not alone!

  Scrambling to her feet, she raced out the door and down the main hall. She tried to call out, to let whoever it was know that she too was alive. All that came out was a strangled croak.

  Bursting through the swinging doors, she saw him. A soldier, just inside the front door. He’d had to break the glass to get at the lock. Her arms wide, Shirley ran towards her savior --- towards the grinning face of Pussbag Smitty.

  Her head hurt. Her back hurt. In point of fact, after Pussbag got through working her over there were precious few parts of Shirley Bates that didn’t hurt. But he hadn’t touched her face. He’d seemed very concerned about that. Shirley had been too for a while, but after several punches to the small of her back and the third or fourth kick to her ribs, she really didn’t give a fuck. After a while all Shirley Bates wanted was to dry up like everyone else and just blow away.

  And now the monster was back. He didn’t look like a monster, but Nurse Shirley knew he was --- for only a monster could so easily and joyfully inflict such pain.

  She tried to turn away, but he knew just the right nerve to pinch, just the right amount of pressure needed to set her squirming like an eel but not pass out. Oh, yes, he was a monster all right! He may look like a man, but underneath was a foul-breathed, maggot-filled creature from hell!

  Shirley summoned up the courage to spit in his face, hoping he’d get angry and snap her neck. The monster grinned and licked the saliva away with his tongue. Shirley fainted.

  Pussbag stood looking down at the bundle clothed in white. He nudged it with the toe of his combat boot. Stupid cunt! Just like all the rest! But He’ll like her! If not, there’s always the Closet!

  Pussbag yanked the unconscious nurse over his shoulder and went off in search of the Dark Stranger.

  First Lieutenant Sam Waterson sat in what was left of the Officer’s Mess nursing a stiff drink and a savage headache. Second Lieutenant Walter Pinkton sat close by, nursing a full bladder and an even fuller blown case of the shakes. Private George Sampson paced back and forth, nursing an ongoing nervous condition that was rapidly approaching the psychotic. From his place behind the bar, Jocco Wellington, silent and deadly, watched the trio with cold indifference.

  Suddenly George stopped his pacing, scrubbed at his shaven head, and swore. “Jesus Christ, Jocco, what the fuck are we going to do?! I mean, shit man, everyone is fucking DEAD!”

  Jocco sipped his drink, then nodded towards the open space that had until recently been the fourth wall of the Officer’s Lounge. There, standing in the growing dark, was Pussbag Smitty. Hanging over his shoulder was the limp form of nurse Shirley Bates.

  “Not quite everyone, Georgie-boy,” Jocco said.

  George followed Jocco’s gaze. “Holy shit! Who the fuck is that?!”

  Pussbag shuffled forward, his eyes, fastened on Jocco, were big and bright. Madness danced just beneath their surface. He dumped Shirley at Jocco’s feet and fell to his knees. “’Follow me and I shall make thee great’”, Pussbag chanted. “’A promise is a promise. Trust me.’” Those wild eyes took on a dog-like luster. “I followed, just like you told me to. I worked hard, just like you said.” He glanced down at Shirley’s crumpled form. “I even brought you a present. Can I stay?”

 
The silence hung in the three sided room like stale sweat. No one moved. No one even seemed to breathe. Then Jocco broke the spell --- or perhaps deepened it.

  “Yes, my friend, you can stay.”

  The smile on Pussbag’s face would have warmed all but his mother’s cold heart. “Thank you!”, he sighed, then he knelt down and kissed Jocco’s muddy boot.

  Chapter 7: HOME

  Mt. Hawthorn

  Lake Champlain, NY

  June 23

  Once past the interstate, 9N continues east towards Lake Champlain, that great, hundred mile long slash in the land between New York’s Adirondacks and Green Mountains of Vermont. As you approach the lake the land flattens and farms begin to appear. The odd deer is replaced by herds of cattle. Tiny, sleeping villages give way to hustling, bustling towns.

  Only now the hustle was over and the bustle had dried up and blown away.

  As he drove, Josh glanced over at his son. Jessie had been silent since they had stopped at the I-87 underpass, the useless cell phone still clutched in his hand. Now, turning south at Westport, they began to see the wrecked cars. Josh had to swerve around several crashes. Stopping at the first, he had looked inside. He did not stop again.

  Five miles past Port Henry, they turned west towards Hawthorn. Built on a small, wooded mountain, Hawthorn, once a quiet little ski village, was now a suburban bedroom community to the bigger, busier college town of Crown Point. Ten minutes later they were home.

  The human mind is a wondrous thing, having within it the capacity to hope when all hope is gone; to cling to an idea when all the evidence points to the contrary. Some say it is that ability alone that separates humanity from the other creatures. Without that spark of hope we are all just wanders blown on a dark wind.

  Several hours after arriving home, father and son sat alone on the front steps, silently watching the shadows lengthening all about them. Hope’s eternal spark was flickering in a very dark wind indeed.

  They’d just buried what remained of Ann Williams in her garden. Josh had mumbled something about heaven and a ‘better place’. Jessie had stood as one turned to stone. The cell phone was gone now, replaced by a trembling fist. Then, as the rich, dark earth began to cover the ‘thing’ rolled in the sheet, Jessie had fallen to his knees, great wracking sobs filling the silence.

  Josh had joined him, and together they had mourned.

  Now, sitting on the front steps, both silently watched the sun going down. Slowly, reverently, Josh took something out of his pocket. Holding it up to the dying rays, it flashed warmly. Gently he placed it in his son’s cold hand.

  “It was your mother’s, Jess. I think she’d want you to have it.”

  Jessie looked at the ring, its yellow gold worn and smooth. His father still wore the mate. He dug Uncle Bob’s ring out of his own pocket and held them up together. His uncle’s was bigger, newer and less yellow. Through eyes red from weeping, he looked at his father.

  “Is that all we’ll ever find, Dad? Dead people’s rings?”

  Josh felt his breath catch in his throat. “No, son. God wouldn’t be so cruel.”

  Jessie stiffened, his young face suddenly old. “’God’?!”, he screamed. “There IS no God! God would never let THIS happen! And if He does exist, then... then I HATE HIM!”

  Josh moved towards him, but Jessie turned away, dry sobs shaking his shoulders. Josh let him be, knowing that words at this point, even kind ones, wouldn’t help. Jessie was hurting, not only for a mother that he loved dearly, but for everything he had ever known. Dead. Dead. The whole bloody world was dead! Inwardly Josh himself railed at a Creator that could allow his finest creation to be so casually destroyed.

  As the day darkened, father and son sat clinging to the one thing they had left --- each other.

  Jessie came into the kitchen, one hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His blond hair was tousled and he had slept in his clothes. Soon after dark he had gone to his room. Josh had found him fast asleep a few moments later, a tattered and much loved Phoo Bear clutched to his breast. He had covered both boy and bear and turned off the light. Not able to face the bed he had found his wife in, he slept in the spare room.

  “Breakfast?” Jessie asked, attempting a smile.

  Josh’s was more successful. “Coming right up. But first take a shower. You’ll feel better.”

  The attempted smile again. “Sure.”

  After breakfast, Josh looked at his son. “We have to look, you know. We can’t just give up.”

  The boy shrugged. “I know. It’s just that, well, where do we start?”

  “Hawthorn to begin with, then Crown Point. After that, we’ll play it by ear. But first, we try Doc. Gruber’s.”

  Jessie frowned. “The vet’s? Why there?”

  “We passed farms on the way home and the animals seemed fine. I just saw Mrs. Brinski’s cat out back. Doc. Gruber always keeps lost strays. We can’t let them starve.”

  Jessie brightened. “Ya! We can let them all go. Maybe even keep one! I’ve always wanted a dog! Can I, Dad?!”

  “Don’t see why not.”

  Jessie was already moving towards the door.

  So far so good, Josh thought. He’d come up with the idea late last night. Jessie needed something to fill the void. He knew a dog could not take the place of a mother, friends, a boy’s entire world, but he also knew that Jess needed to have something to take his mind off what had happened. Loving and caring for a dog couldn’t hurt.

  “Dad! Dad!”, Jessie called from outside. “Come quick! A car!”

  Josh ran outside. Jessie was standing at the end of the driveway, pointing down the road. “A car! I saw a car! It was driving by when I came out!”

  Josh looked towards the corner of the main street. He saw nothing but empty houses and lawns that needed mowing.

  “Let’s go, Dad! We can catch up with it!”

  “We can try, son!”

  Jumping into the van, they backed out, and roared off down the road.

  “Right or left, Jess?”

  “Right, towards the center of town!”

  Josh gunned the old van, but by the time they got to the main intersection, nothing was moving. Jessie hit the dashboard. “I saw it! I know I did! A green one!”

  Jessie turned left and headed downtown. If there was a car, the person driving was most probably looking for other survivors just as they were. Sooner or later they’d meet. Besides, Doc. Gruber’s small clinic was downtown. Five minutes later they were there. Jessie, all thoughts of the car now forgotten, leaped out and ran to the door.

  “It’s locked!”

  Josh came a moment later. In his hand was a tire iron.

  His son’s eyes widened. “You going to smash the glass?” There was wonder in his voice. All his life he had known his father as a quiet, law-biding man; a history teacher at the local high school who loved to read and to enjoy the outdoors. The thought of this mild spoken man smashing his way into a building was beyond him.

  “Let’s try a window first.”

  Jessie nodded agreement and the two of them walked around back. There they came face to face with an old man sitting in the sun.

  “Morning, gents. Care for a cup of coffee?”

  Father and son looked at each other. Josh blinked, then walked forward, holding out his hand.

  “You gave us quite a start, Dr. Gruber. I’m Josh Williams and this is my son, Jessie.”

  The old man smiled and shook Josh’s hand. The dry, firm grip made tears spring to Josh’s eyes. Karl Gruber winked at Jessie. “I’m real son. I’m seventy-one years old and my arthritis hurts like hell, but I’m still a long ways from being a ghost.”

  Jessie beamed. “Are there any others around?!”

  The old man’s gray eyes clouded for a moment, then brightened. “A few. Saw some young fool yesterday. Drunk as a skunk and yelling at the top of his lungs. I went over to him but he ran off. Someone else was busting windows down on main street. Set the alarm off in Godart’
s Hardware. But by the time these old legs of mine got me there, whoever it was was long gone.” He looked from the son to the father. “Heard a car go by a not long ago. Was that you?”

  Jessie beamed at his father. “I told you I saw a car!”

  Josh tousled his son’s blond hair. “No, sir, that wasn’t us.”

  “Call me Karl, or Doc. Now, how about that coffee?”

  “My pleasure,” Josh said. “Mind if Jess here has a look at your animals?”

  The old man cocked his bald head to one side, reading the look in Josh’s eyes. He nodded, then turned to Jessie. “Go right in, son. I’d appreciate the help. Got five dogs and a slew of cats that need watering.”

  Jessie was through the back door like a shot.

  Doc Gruber turned back to Josh, his old eyes wise and knowing. “Good idea to get the lad a pet. That’s why you came here?”

  Josh nodded. “We buried his mother yesterday. I thought a dog might help take his mind off...things.”

  “Hmmm,” Doc replied, filling a second cup with coffee and motioning to a chair. “I was just sitting here thinking on that when you two came by. ‘Things’ have gotten a might out of hand of late. Got any ideas?”

  This struck Josh as strange. He was hoping the old man might have some kind of explanation. “You’re the doctor. I’m only a small town history teacher.”

  Doc seemed to find that funny. After a cough and a spit, he explained. “Sorry, Josh. Education is a wonderful thing, its just that over the years I’ve noticed that stupidity comes in all colors and sizes. Some people never learn, no matter what we do. Pearl Harbor. Hiroshima. Nagasaki. Viet Nam. Iraq. Bosnia. You’d THINK we’d learn, but we never do.”

  Josh leaned forward, glad he’d sent Jessie inside. “You think this was done on purpose?!”

  Doc sighed. “Someone sure as hell did something. Probably hit us with a whole batch of new germs. There side, our side, who knows?”