“Say your wife has a girls’ night out, first one in a long time. You’re home with the kids,” Joe explained. “You’re playing video games, they got their dolls and action figures, LEGOs everywhere. You’re eating junk food, just not caring. Do you pick up as the night goes on or do you save it all for later, only to get too tired and pass out. Your wife comes home to a disaster. It’s the same thing. Do we want to leave a mess for those destined to keep on living? I know I don’t want future generations coming to High Water, seeing a town a mess with skeletons and stuff. What’s that say about us and how we cared for those in this town?”
Admittedly, when he first gave that speech and he gave variations more than once, I didn’t care. But once Joe actually got me out of the apartment, I kind of got it.
Work kept me focused, it helped me not to think and I didn’t want to go back.
Going back meant reliving memories I didn’t want to face.
So, I resorted to doing my part and sleeping where I could. Most of the time, even though the weather was still cold, it was in my truck. But I had on a couple occasions fallen asleep on the park bench not far from the canned bonfire we all gathered around at the end of the night.
That was where Joe found and woke me.
“Stiff?” Joe asked.
“No, not really,” I stretched and sat up. “It wasn’t too cold last night.”
Joe reached down and lifted the empty bottle of vodka. “I’d say you found a way to warm yourself.”
“It was almost empty.”
Joe grumbled a ‘hmm’. “Well, we’re all gathering at the diner right now. Get warm, get coffee. Marty and Tara from Sweetwater are here to help.”
I grunted a little in disgust.
“What? You don’t like them?”
“No, it’s the diner. It smells in that section of town.”
“That’s because there are three hundred bodies in the Municipal Building,” Joe said. “The whole town smells, but one place at a time. Buscio’s first, then the Municipal Building.”
“Instead of taking the bodies out to burn, we should seal them up and wait it out.”
“Jesus, Travis. Would you feel that way if your family was still in there?”
I only glanced up to him.
“Must be something in the air, because everyone seems to be hating on the body gathering part.”
“Can you blame them?”
Joe simply gave a ‘follow me’ and walked away.
We headed to the diner, and I hated the wave of smell that hit me. Just before we walked in. In my opinion we weren’t making much progress. Sweetwater needed to send more than two people to help out.
At least the diner had a better smell, coffee and something cooking. Everyone looked at me when I walked in, like from one of those movies where everything stops when a stranger enters a small town diner.
It was only a quick glance at me and then they returned to looking at the television. It was on, but only sound and no picture. Just a blue screen.
There weren’t many in the diner. Just those who remained from my town. Originally there were twelve of us, but we lost one woman to a heart attack and two others when they took their own lives.
No one could blame them.
Chief Fisher did this fast point of his hand and only whispered, “Coffee.” He like the others were listening to the woman on the television.
I half listened as I walked to the coffee pot and poured a cup, then my senses kicked in as I took that first sip.
“… are doing our best to keep the lights on and water running,” she said. “We have the volunteer units working hard. These are the same people that came into your cities and towns to help with The Lost. If you lose essential services, please contact us at the number on the screen.”
I glanced up, telephone numbers scrolled up like credits.
“Phones are still in service and we intend to keep them that way,” she continued. “We also are asking to report any trouble in or around your area. We encourage rural areas to take in those who come your way. I promise we’ll have the hubs assigned in the weeks to come. Please be patient. I’ll update at four pm. Thank you.”
Static.
Chief Fisher raised the remote and aimed it at the television. “At least they’re updating now. Something is going. Life is out there.”
“She didn’t say much,” I said.
“You missed a bunch sleeping on that bench out there,” Chief Fisher replied.
“What’s this hub thing she mentioned.”
“Oh … they’re trying to gather the population into certain areas. That’s all I know.”
“Anything else good?” I asked.
“Not really,” he replied. “Out west is pretty bad, she didn’t get into details. But suggested that the town have a security team.”
I laughed. “We barely have a cleanup team.”
“We do what we can,” the chief said.
“I get it. I do. But we have eleven hundred homes in this town. We only hit about twenty a day because we take twenty out of Buscio’s a day to bury while we cremate twenty.”
“You got another suggestion, Travis?” he asked.
“Yep.” I nodded. “I think we have surpassed the time to give every person some tender loving care. I mean…” the room erupted with grumbles. “What? We’re burying each person individually. That’s a lot of work. I mean I liked these folks, too.”
“Travis,” The Chief said my name sternly. “What are you saying?”
Joe Randal answered. “He thinks we should seal up the buildings and move on?”
Terri turned around and looked at me. “You mean let them just decompose forever?”
“Well, yeah, no sort of,” I replied. “It will eventually stop. We get some lime and cover them, then plastic the windows.”
Chief Fisher shook his head. “Your family is in the ground Travis, you don’t think the others in town deserve the same?”
“That ain’t fair, Chief,” I said. “Does anyone in this room have family still out there, not buried? No. I’m not saying everybody. I’m saying the ones in the funeral home and Municipal Building. It stinks to high heaven.”
“So do you,” the Chief said. “But you don’t see us wanting to cover you with lime and seal you off somewhere.”
“Hey, now, that’s not right,” I defended.
“So you’re saying just pretend the bodies aren’t in town?” the chief asked.
“Nope. Not at all,” I shook my head. “Just the Municipal Building and funeral home. We can focus on the houses and the people in there.”
I expected another round of groans and backlash, but no one said anything.
“Unfortunately, Travis.” The chief walked my way toward the coffee. “Not a single person in this room has the heart to cover their neighbors with lime and let them rot where they are.”
The ding of the bell above the diner door drew my attention and Marty from Sweetwater walked in.
“Sorry,” he said. “We got held up. We’re ready to help.”
Then Tara Rose walked in. Marty I had seen a couple times, Tara, it had been since that day in Sweetwater. The day my Daisy turned Lost.
I kinda froze, the memories of seeing her sent a jolt into me.
“How are you doing, Travis?” Tara walked up to me. “Are you okay?”
My mind went immediately to the library that day three weeks earlier.
“Are you okay?” Tara asked.
“No, I’m not.” I kept trying to block out Daisy’s cries.
My little girl sobbed, so scared. She cried over and over, “I want my mommy. I want my Daddy.”
“What do I do?” I asked Tara.
“The guard is still here,” Tara said. “You can go with them to Nashville. That’s where your sister is. Take her there.”
“I can’t. I can’t. She’s all I have left, I just can’t take her away.”
“Once the mind goes, it’s done. There’s no coming back,” Ta
ra said. “She doesn’t know who you are.”
It wasn’t possible. It was literally a snap of a finger. I heard what she said that day, but I didn’t believe it.
“Travis?” Tara called my name.
“I’m sorry,” I snapped out of. “I’m … I’m doing. Not okay. Not bad, just doing.”
“That’s all of us. Did you ever … did you ever find your sister?”
I didn’t say it, but I thought, ‘wow, I hadn’t even tried’. I lowered my head some, shaking. “A little ashamed to say I haven’t.”
“It’s alright.” She grabbed my arm compassionately. “A lot has happened.”
I looked up when the chief called for everyone to come outside for assignments. Something he did every morning. Sending us in pairs. I was certain it was my turn again for the funeral home. I hated it there and I knew if it was bad there, I couldn’t imagine how bad it would be at the Municipal Building when we finally got there.
I started to head outside when my phone rang.
It was an odd ring, and I was surprised it still was charged, it had been a couple days since I plugged it into my car.
I pulled my phone from my pocket as I headed out of the diner and it just looked weird. I didn’t recognize the number, but after a second I realized it was one of those video calls.
Everyone stopped and looked at me.
“Well, answer it Travis,” Joe Randal said with some excitement. “Who is calling you.”
I was certain it had to be some wrong number, then I answered it.
Everyone watched with anticipation. I didn’t see the big deal.
The call connected and it was Doctor Jon Yee. He looked like he was walking and he kept looking back over his shoulder.
“Whoa,” I said. “Hey, Doctor Yee.”
“Jon, call me Jon, Travis. I know it’s probably strange for me to call you.”
“Well, yeah, everyone is watching. They’re kinda shocked my phone rang.”
“Travis, you’re the only person I knew without a doubt wasn’t getting this thing. I need … how are things in your small town?”
“Not good. Not many of us left,” I told him. “We’re cleaning up. It smells pretty bad around here.”
“You’re not looking like you smell too good yourself.”
“Yep, well, that’s the general consensus.”
“But are things okay there?” he asked. “Are those of you who are left, are you staying there?”
“I guess so. There’s this hub thing, but not sure what we’re doing about it. Why?”
“I need some place to go. I want to go where I at least know someone. Things are bad out this way. They are.”
“What do you mean bad?” I questioned.
“Looting, madness. Just total chaos. I can’t get food. Gangs have just taken over.”
“It’s not that way here.”
“Then you’re lucky. I’ll see you soon. I’m on my way.”
“You’re gonna drive all the way across the country just to get to High Water? Are things that bad out there?”
“Yeah, and I’m willing to bet they’re bad out that way, too. You’re just lucky. See you soon my new friend.”
The call made a beep as it disconnected. He was a stranger, someone I met over a free drink at Reilly’s, waiting on wings and George’s unfortunate and tragic accident.
Now he was rushing twelve hundred miles? That call made me realize I had watched life end through a view with my small town goggles, but I didn’t have a real clue about what was happening to the rest of the world.
Maybe, eventually, I needed to take a look.
What else did I have to do?
<><><><>
Buscio’s was a catalyst to a lot of things I did that day. I knew I’d be teamed up with Joe and he and I would be on Funeral Home duty. The Chief tended to make everyone go once a week and no work on Sundays. I didn’t get what was up with that. Then again, a surviving High Water resident was the pastor.
Everyone went to church, ate a meal. To Hell with the smell. No matter where you lived in town you smelt it.
It was worse near the funeral home and Municipal Building.
Joe asked me not to bitch all morning about how bad it was.
I didn’t think I needed to bitch.
It was evident on Joe’s face when we walked into the funeral home. It all but screamed that he knew something had to be done.
What could be done? Not only did we have very few people, everyone operated on a Sunday mentality. Instead of being Sunday drivers, they were Sunday body movers. I could only move as fast as the person I was with. And at the funeral home, no matter how fast we wanted to get bodies out of there, it wasn’t going to happen.
They were still packed in there like sardines, stacked on top of each other. The recent arrival of spring like weather sped up the decay process. Not only did it smell, it was just gross.
Bodies were rotten, spoiled to the point it was the worse smell ever. I even had dryer sheets in my mask and it didn’t do all that well, they were the good sheets too.
When we brought in Beau, it was the early stages of it all. When folks weren’t dying left and right. Bodies were covered, placed nearly everywhere. But as time went on it was evident, they were just tossed there with the decision to worry about it later.
Moving them wasn’t easy. They were breaking down, like rotting potatoes, leaving a sticky film and the ones that were layered were glued with the bodily substances.
We could fit a bit more than twenty bodies into the truck, but it was hard loading them. Not like in movies where they showed people tossing the dead. That wasn’t the case. Twenty seemed to be the limit and we still had to take them out to the empty field off the highway where Skeeter had dug a hole with the back hoe.
It was emotionally tough, too. It wasn’t a matter of ‘they’re just bodies’ they were neighbors, friends. People you saw at the store, kids that went to school with your own.
It was gut wrenching and after a long morning, a break was needed.
I was just as guilty for not doing more.
It was too damned hard.
Again, I knew there was a faster way. When we took the mid-afternoon break and all gathered at the diner for soup, I knew from looking at the faces how exhausted everyone was, it was time to bring it up again.
“Soup?” Chief Fisher asked. He was serving himself a cup.
“No thanks.”
“We’re rationing,” he said. “You sure?”
“Why are we rationing,” I asked. “Seriously.”
“Because it’s going to be a while until things stockpile, if they ever do,” he replied. “If we don’t join up with another group or bigger group, we may be forced to grow our own. Until then we ration what’s in town.”
“Eleven hundred and two homes, a grocery store, and we ration?”
“It’s not that much,” he replied. “Not for long term.”
“Heck, then we hit the Costco,” I said. “They actually have a huge distribution center in Franklin, it’s new, unless that’s where they put our people.”
“You know, for a man who wouldn’t leave his house, lift a finger, you sure are full of ideas in the aftermath. You sure you don’t wanna just take over?” Chief Fisher said with some sarcasm.
“I’m just making suggestions about food.”
“You gonna go make runs there?” Chief Fisher asked.
“Sure, why not.”
“Then go ahead. Good luck to you. I wouldn’t.”
I had no idea why he said that or what he meant by that. It was a warehouse with food, what was the problem?
I was going to ask him to elaborate, when I noticed Terri.
Terri looked especially bad, she lifted the spoon in her soup, letting the liquid fall back down.
“I’m not gonna ask if you’re okay,” I told her, “I can see you’re not. Can I do anything?”
“No.” She shook her head. “It was just bad today. How did we forge
t Travis?” she asked. “We’re the ones that were supposed to remember.”
Joe stepped into the conversation. “We didn’t forget, we just didn’t think. Too much going on.”
“The Gillian Family was a lot to handle,” Pastor Monroe said and looked at me. “They had that newborn and we just …”
“Stop.” I lifted my hand. “I can’t hear that, if I do, all I’ll do is think about the babies we didn’t help or save. I just …” I stepped out to the center of the diner. “Why are we doing this to ourselves?
Pastor Monroe asked. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”
“For three weeks, longer for you guys, every single day we go out, we search for the dead, we take them out, we bury them, we pray for them. It’s too much. For all of us. This isn’t helping us move on. That’s if we want to move on. It needs to end. I know I don’t want to go back into Buscio’s and face that. It was bad today, I don’t want to think about how bad it will be next week. These are no longer our friends and neighbors, they’re just bodies.”
“That’s terrible,” Pastor Monroe said.
“Is it?” I asked. “You’re not tired, Pastor? You’re not tired of the bodies? Not tired of going out every day doing the same thing.”
“No,” he replied strong. “Because that is all I have to do. When that’s done, then what? Sit around thinking?”
“Planning,” I said. “Plan for the future.”
“Is that really what you want, Travis?” The pastor asked. “You really want to think about the future?”
“Nope. But I think it’s a hell of a lot easier than thinking about the now. And the ‘now’ is not where I want to be.”
“Sadly,” Chief Fisher interjected. “You can’t get to the future without facing the now.”
“So let’s make the now go a bit faster then.”
Chief Fisher shook his head slightly confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Just what I said. We make it go faster.”
Joe Randal shook his head. “There’s no way to make it go faster. There just isn’t. This isn’t some bank account you screwed up so you open a new one. Or the post office that got so far behind they ditched and burned ten thousand pieces of mail. There’s no quick clean here.”
“Travis, son, we are moving and doing the best we can,” the Chief said. “One day at a time, one body at a time. We’ll get there. There are only a handful of us. Other than leave town or burn it down, there’s no quick erase. We just keep going.”
Last Dance at the End of the World Page 10