“So it was your car I climbed in. I thought it was abandoned”
Pete shook his head. “Nope it was mine. I got out to take a whiz and I see you coming toward the car.”
“Why didn’t you say anything.”
“Dude, I saw you on the road, laying there, I thought dead as a doornail and then you’re staggering, dragging your leg. I thought you were a zombie.”
That made me laugh, because I remember feeling like one. I stifled the laugh when I realized it hurt.
“Then you climbed in the back of the car. I knew you weren’t a dead thing when you threw that seat cover over you and were out. I got a good look.” Pete whistled. “Ain’t never seen anyone that bad. I knew I had to try to find you some help.”
“Are you from around here?” I asked.
“Yep. Guys at our safety perimeter were shocked to see me pulling up at night, I can tell you,” Pete said.
“So, I’m in a hospital?”
Pete leaned in and dropped his voice. “Actually, a vet clinic. But …” he sat back. “It was the closest medical place to our camp set up and it had bandages. But you needed more. A lot more. Best we had was a paramedic Lou. You probably would have died. You should have died, but you had some angels or something looking out for you.”
I grumbled. “Part of me wished they hadn’t.”
“I feel you. I do. But you’re meant to survive, Buttercup. Look at the circumstances. I didn’t run you over, when I should of. You got into my car. I got you here. You took a beating like no man I have ever seen, still walked a highway. And just as you’re gasping at death’s door, what do you know. A guy stops at one of our Quick Pit stations for gas. We don’t let strangers have our gas, so of course, our guys gave him a hard time. But he tells us he needed it and he was … ready … a doctor.”
“Holy cow.”
“Lick of time, too,” Pete said. “Best part?”
“He saved my life?” I asked.
“Not that, yeah, that probably was the best part, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“What are you talking about then?”
“Well, the guys told them about you and said they’d give him gas if he took a look,” Pete said, “He did, and guess what? Not only could he try to help you, he knew you.”
“He knew me?” I asked.
Pete nodded. “He said he thought he knew you, but you looked like the Barney the Dinosaur version of his friend.”
“I believe …” his voice entered the room. “My words were, he looked like a purple bloated version of my friend, Travis.” He walked closer to the bed. “Hey, Travis.”
I felt a sense of joy mixed in with relief when I saw Doctor Jon Yee standing before my bed. “It was you, Doc. You helped me?”
“It was me. Fate must really have plans for us. It had us together in the beginning,” Jon said. “And it made sure I got to you before you reached the end.”
“So …” Pete swung his finger back and forth between us. “You two really do know each other?”
I answered, “Yes.”
“Here I thought he was mistaken. I have to go tell the guys.” He stood up. “We had a bet going. Glad you’re on the mend,” he said to me. “And glad I can call you Travis for sure.” Without saying anymore, Pete hurriedly left.
“Why ... why would he think you were mistaken?” I asked.
“Honestly.” Jon walked over and sat in Pete’s chair. “You didn’t look like you. In fact, you still look really bad. Travis … you could have died. You should have died. What the hell happened? Who beat you and why?”
“I’m not sure. But I have a feeling, in this world now, no one needs a reason to beat a man to a pulp. That’s just sad and I’m not sure,” I said. “It’s the kind of world, I wanna be living in.”
NINETEEN – FRANKLIN
An ageless ginger, that was how I would describe the nice woman who brought me a bowl of thin oatmeal, a cup of coffee and a set of clothes. Long dark ginger hair, smooth skin and freckles. Probably older than she looked, I always thought gingers just didn’t age like the rest of us.
“I know what it’s like to be on a ventilator,” she said. “Everything is lukewarm. You should be able to tolerate it.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
“And the clothes aren’t yours, but your clothes weren’t salvageable.”
“I understand, thank you again, ma’am.”
“Do you need any help?” she asked.
“If you can wait outside that door, I’ll call you if I do.”
“That’s where I’ll be. Just …” she pointed to the food. “Please try to eat.”
I lifted the mug of coffee and took a sip, it was warm, and she was right, I probably wouldn’t have handled anything hot.
The oatmeal looked and smelled good. She watched me pick up the spoon and take a bite. Supervising in a way, making sure I was gonna eat. Once she saw me eat a spoonful, she left me to finish then get dressed.
Jon had taken the IV out of my left arm, which made it easier to sit on the side of the bed and eat, getting dressed was going to be a bitch, everything hurt.
I could see the woman in the next room, she read a book, no one else was around, but the place was set up like a mini hospital. Jon said the Franklin camp wanted things close and tight, everyone together, or else he probably would have had me at the medical center three miles away.
I respected Jon and his form of medicine, although I wasn’t sure how much of that he used on me. He said I was in no shape to leave and for a few days he wanted me close to where there were medical supplies and equipment. They had the wedding hall connected to the church on the corner, some beds were set up there and that was where several people had set up their home.
Strangers that were in town, had passed through, even some that lived locally and didn’t want to be alone.
Again, I believed it was all part of keeping people together. It seemed universal, an unspoken survival ritual. World ends, everyone that survived lives together.
Sweetwater had a center town camp, High Water survivors camped around Pastor Monroe’s chapel.
I didn’t get it. Go home.
Of course, who was I to judge, when I wasn’t sleeping in my truck, I was on that park bench.
Since he arrived in town, Jon had been staying at the church. I’d go there too, to heal. He didn’t blame me for not wanting to stay in a veterinarian clinic and he stated that he understood I probably wanted to go home, but he needed me to stay put.
I didn’t tell him I didn’t think I was welcome back in High Water, not yet, if at all.
Chief Fisher probably thought I died in one of those fires or took off somewhere to kill myself. Hell, I had been gone over a week. That’s what I would think.
I finished off what I could of my breakfast and I managed to get my jeans on with some difficulty, my legs were achy and weak and standing up made me dizzy. I relied on the bed to accomplish that task, but getting that tee shirt over my head was tough, I had to call for the nice lady to help.
She did, then helped me get a long sleeved, jean shirt on as well.
“Those ribs will ache for a while,” she said. “Try not to sleep on your back or flat because it’s tough to get up for several weeks. And practice deep breathing, I know it hurts.”
“You sound like you know about them. Did you break yours?”
She shook her head. “No. My husband did. Car accident, same one that landed me on the ventilator, like you, for just a few days. But that was … gosh, ten years ago. My how time flies. Have a seat, I’ll tie those boots for you.”
“You’re very kind ….”
“Angie,” she said her name.
“You’re very nice, Angie, I’m Travis.”
“I know.” She lifted my leg resting my boot on her thigh.
It made me smile and think of Maranda. “You know,” I said. “This brings back memories. When the ARC virus hit a few years back. I had it.”
“Di
d you?” Angie asked surprised. “I did, too.”
“Oh, yeah? That’s why you survived this.”
“Yep.” She set down my foot then grabbed the other.
“I forgot how to tie my shoes,” I said.
“Now?”
“No, then. From the Arc virus. That’s how I knew, I forgot how to tie them. Other things I forgot, I was able to learn again. Not the laces. Couldn’t get it. No matter what I did or tried it was like trying to write Japanese.”
She laughed. “Someone had to tie your shoes every day?”
“Yep.”
“I would have found Velcro.”
“That’s exactly what my wife did.”
“Smart woman.”
“Yeah,” I said peacefully. “She was. What about you? How did it affect you?”
“A couple ways, the biggest was my ability to write, but I also lost all memory of direction,” she said. “I’d walk down a hall and not know how to get back. It was scary.”
“I know. Your husband, did he make it?”
“Actually, he did.” She set my foot down. “He was adamant about not getting the vaccine. Said he didn’t have the Alzheimer gene and wasn’t getting it.”
“That’s good. Good for you.”
“What about your wife, Travis?” she asked.
I shook my head. “She didn’t make it. My two kids either.”
“I’m very sorry,” she spoke compassionately.
“Did ... do ... you have kids?”
“Before all this ... no. Now I have five.”
“Five?” I spat in shock. “How do you get five kids in a month?”
“All little ones that didn’t get the vaccine yet. Some of us were pretty fast around here finding those kids.”
“Wait, they get the shot at two,” I said. “That has to be five very young kids.”
“They are.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“We aren’t the only ones who took in little ones,” she said. “Lots did. We all have to do our part. I’m sure you did.”
“I didn’t. Not while my family was sick, I didn’t.”
“Well, that’s understandable.”
“Man, you are a very nice woman.”
She smiled gently. “Any reason not to be?”
“People find reasons.”
“Like the ones that did this to you?” she asked. “I’m sorry this happened.”
“Me, too.”
“Well, I have to go. We’re salvaging summer wear for folks. I’ll try to get you a few more tee shirts.”
“Thank you.”
She grabbed my bowl and cup, gave me one more smile and left me alone.
I sat on the bed ready to go. I could see a bit of the church when I looked out the window next to my bed, but wasn’t sure if I was supposed to just go there or not and I forgot to ask Angie.
After finishing off my glass of water, I figured it was time to try. Holding on to the bed, I slowly stood up right.
I was stone cold sober, but felt like I was drunk. My head had that woozy feeling and the room spun a little. I gave it time to pass, felt stable and took a step. A pain shot from my knee, up my leg to my hip and I cringed. I hadn’t even put all my weight forward.
The phrase ‘hurt with every step I took’ was going to apply to me.
Hand on the bed for support, I inched forward.
“Whoa, hey,” Jon called out, rushing in. “Where are you going?”
“I thought we were going to the church to rest.”
“We are. We are.” Jon placed his hand on my arms. “But you aren’t doing it alone. I have a wheel chair for you.”
“You have to be shitting me,” I said. “A wheelchair? I don’t need one.”
“For now you do. Sit down. I’ll get it. It’s in the waiting room. Sit.” He guided me to the bed.
I sat down. “All this fuss to get me across the street.”
“We’ll get there,” Jon said. “But first, Duncan wants to see you. Don’t move.” He stepped away. “I’ll be right back.”
My new friend hurried away and that was when what he said hit me.
“Duncan?” I asked. “Who the hell is Duncan?”
<><><><>
When I last saw the note it was pitch black, now I had the chance to see it in the light. Yellow paper, crinkled and blood stained. When Jon said I was meeting Duncan, then explained that Duncan was the leader of the group, I assumed Duncan was a man.
Boy, was I surprised to see a middle-aged woman handing me that letter. We met with her at a table in an empty coffee shop. It seemed as if it were her office. She wore blue jeans and a canvas jacket.
“This was on you,” she said. “What do you know about it?”
“Not much,” I replied. “All I know is when I was on the road it was on my chest. I don’t know what it says.”
“It’s a warning to us not to send anyone else,” Duncan replied. “The Nashville group has control of all the food in the area, the distribution centers. They set up camp around the Costco. Two of our people joined their group to get some food.”
“A guy named Ryan?” I asked.
Duncan nodded. “Yeah, how did you know?”
“It’s was one of the names they mentioned when they were kicking my ass.”
“They obviously thought you were one of us.”
“Pete told me you control the gas around here,” I said. “Is that true?”
“It is.”
“So, they have the food, you have the gas. Do you beat people up for taking the gas?” I asked. “Because it seems to me the solution is first grader simple … share.”
After a short hum out, she sat back and folded her hands. “I wish it were that simple. We are not the only camps that are taking control.”
“You know when they were beating me up, all I kept thinking of was those apocalypse movies with gangs and how, you know, I never thought it would get like that.”
Jon added, “Sadly it is, the bigger the cities, the worse it is. That’s why I left Vegas. Ever see the Stand?”
“Can’t say that I have,” I replied.
“Well, then ...” Jon cleared his throat. “That analogy won’t work.”
“It’s lawlessness,” said Duncan. “Pure and simple.”
“I don’t get why. Maybe I live in some fairy tale world, but it’s only been a month. What the heck are people doing? Seventy percent of the country is dead, probably more with those who killed themselves or died by assholes like the ones that beat me up.” I shook my head. ‘Does anyone have an answer?”
“I can try to explain,” she said. “At least my opinion.”
“Please do,” I told her.
“Say you eat a can of beans. When is the next time you’ll get another can? When you go to the store, maybe pick clean a neighbor? Eventually those cans will go bad or run out. Fuel, you think there are going to be any more plants? Anyone drilling? Not for a while.”
I shook my head. “I’m not a math genius, and I don’t take credit for this, but my friend Joe Randal said that even with seventy percent gone, we still have more people than a hundred and fifty years ago. They did just fine farming food.”
“Farmers? Well, I hope some survived,” she said. “But I am willing to wager any farmers, and farmland will be part of the hubs, they sent us a list of locations, and all of them center around farm areas. They’ll be secure. Yep, the government and their continuity of life and law is out there.” She looked up. “Power is on because they are sending people to the grids. Won’t be for long. Those people will focus on the hubs.”
“Even if the lights will go out here?” I asked. “You folks aren’t going?”
“I really don’t want to be part of whatever government camps they are setting up. They’ll fall eventually,” she said.
“Maybe they won’t,” I argued. “You don’t know.”
“A lot of people don’t know,” she replied, “You asked for an explanation, Travis, I’m
not saying I’m right, I’m just giving you my opinion. You asked why we don’t share? Those of us who have, are holding on. Bartering will be the way of life, those who have commodities have life.”
“So, you hold on with greed hoping the other guy don’t get it? That’s just … the world ended, why can’t we bury the bad?”
“Your goodness and naivety are refreshing and I pray you hold on to that,” she said. “The world needs a voice of reason. But history shows this is what happens. When the Black Plague wiped out seventy-five percent of Europe, society broke down. Gangs, thieves, murderers, it was hard to keep law and order when law and order was dead.”
“Yeah, that’s not fair,” I said. “Things were already rough when the Black Plague hit.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And they weren’t already bad when the ARC effect happened? I think you know the answer to this. The only difference is, those who remained in the government have been trying to build it back up. I hope they do. Until I know that course, I stay mine.”
“Thank you. So, why did you want to see me?” I asked. “Was it just about that letter?”
“Actually, I don’t need to ask you anymore, I have my answer,” she said. “We wanted to know if you were planning or needed help in retaliation? You did take a beating because of us. But I can see, that’s not who you are.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Will you be staying on with us after you heal?” she asked.
“Not sure I have any real skill sets to contribute,” I told her. “Honestly, I worked in a print shop. I appreciate your hospitality though.”
Jon stood and walked behind my wheelchair. “We need to get him back to bed and rested.”
“I understand,” she said. “Travis, I hope this world doesn’t change you too much, you seem like a good person.”
I only nodded a thanks, but inside I knew she was wrong. How could the world not have changed me already? I lost everything. And as far as being a good person, I was at one time. To me, I stopped being a good person the moment I put that pillow to Maranda’s face, and if that didn’t do it, burning those buildings in High Water did.
Last Dance at the End of the World Page 13