Last Dance at the End of the World

by Jacqueline Druga

  When I survived the attack, I wondered why. Why was I destined to live?

  We entered the building through Maranda’s gallery. No death occurred there, it was her work.

  I wasn’t even thinking about the art when we stepped in. It was hard to see anything, the only light came through the door. “We can go through here, there’s a back staircase that goes to the apartment. I have an LED light in the back. Had it for Maranda in case power went out in the middle of her working.”

  “Oh, Travis,” Jon said with wonder. “Can you get it now? I mean, unless you want to just remove the boards on the windows.”

  “For what?”

  “For this, my friend. This is amazing.”

  It was then I noticed he was enthralled at the sight of the paintings that hung along with her statues, all on display in a gallery her and I designed.

  “I understand the boarded windows protecting this,” Jon said. “But it does not deserve to be in the dark.”

  Maybe I had seen it so much it lost the impact it had given to Jon.

  Immediately I walked to the back, grabbed the LED light and the hammer, gave Jon the light and stepped outside. The board was put up in a hurry, four nails, one in each corner. It didn’t take much to take the first board down. I rested it against the building and walked back inside.

  And with the light of the day, I was able to see the magic that my wife had created.

  “There are those who would envy this,” Jon told me. “All this work. Travis, you know…” he faced me. “It is said that when a person dies their soul goes elsewhere to some supernatural plane, whatever name it is given. But … It’s hard for me to believe that Maranda’s soul transcended any plane.”

  “Wow, that’s not encouraging.”

  “No,” Jon chuckled. “I mean, it’s hard to imagine her anywhere else because her soul is right here. It’s everywhere. Feel it Travis, just ... feel it.”

  He was right, they weren’t just Maranda’s paintings, they were a part of her, an extension of her being. I had mourned my wife so deeply, I had forgotten how easy it was to feel her again.

  The first step back into my home was a lesson I needed to learn.

  <><><><>

  There was a smell to my home, not one of death as it was when I left it. The lingering scent of loss was one of the reasons I hated to return, that and everywhere I turned was a memory that stabbed me in the heart.

  Nothing had been touched.

  Dishes were still in the sink, Daisy’s blanket was folded over the back of the couch, and my bed was stripped, bed dismantled and mattress propped up against the wall.

  Things that I had done.

  My home was just the way I left it.

  Things looked the same but they didn’t feel the same. It was missing the buzz of familiarity and soul.

  It was returning to the apartment that made me realize in a way, I had come full circle.

  When I found the building seven years earlier it was a shell that needed so much work, and I had to decide whether I wanted to take on the task or not. Did I want to start from scratch and make something out of it, make a life there?

  Now I stood in the building, and I, not the building was the empty shell, it represented how void of everything I was. I was the one that needed so much work. Once again, I had to decide if I wanted to take on the task or walk away.

  It was time to make a choice, I knew it and felt it coming. It wasn’t fair to myself to spend each day deciding if I was going to strike my last match.

  I had been in some sort of life limbo trying to figure out what I was going to do.

  It boiled down to live or die.

  If I decided I wanted to work on living, then I had to find a way to make it a life.

  Maybe it was too soon and I was putting too much pressure on myself. I did know, if I made the decision to live, then I had to bring life back, not only to myself but to that apartment. Because the apartment like me, felt dead inside.

  <><><><>

  We didn’t stay at my place long, my choice not Jon’s. I thought since I was feeling better and Marysville wasn’t that far away, we would see what the hub cities truly entailed. If I were going to make a decision on what I was going to do, I needed all the facts.

  What was Marysville like now and were those from High Water there, or did they all just go to other places?

  Another car passed us on the route there, we definitely were headed to the right place.

  In my mind I envisioned a military blockage set up and some sort of FEMA camp thing on the edge of town. In reality, there was nothing stopping us. No one telling us what to do or where to go. We rolled over the small bridge into town and it had the buzz of a busy Saturday afternoon.

  There was a good bit of traffic, people slowing down, trying to find a place to park on the street. Folks walking around like lost tourists carrying their belongings.

  We drove just as slow, like those before us, we didn’t really have a plan.

  “There.” Jon pointed to a man and a little boy. The boy had a backpack and the man shouldered a duffel bag. “I saw them getting directions. Talking to someone.” He stopped the car and rolled down the window. “Excuse me,” he called to them.

  The man stopped.

  “Hey, hi,” Jon said. “Is there somewhere we go if we just got here?”

  The man replied. “Just up the street is the Municipal Building. At least that’s what I was told. I heard there’s a parking lot there, you might be able to go around the block.”

  “Thank you. Good luck.” Jon wound up the window and looked at me. “The Municipal Building. Don’t get any funny ideas.”

  “Ha.” I nodded my head in a point. “Turn left up here to go around.”

  We inched our way to the intersection, pausing for people to cross the street. When we turned the bend, I saw a church. It was a beautiful spring day and the front yard of the church had a large crowd of people, it looked like a picnic of sorts. Then I saw the sign out front welcoming everyone to Easter Services.

  There was a different feel in the town of Marysville. One that could be seen and sensed. It was fresh and didn’t have that town in mourning feel like High Water and Sweet Water, nor did it have that Apocalypse survivor feel of Franklin.

  We made our way around the block locating the Municipal Building and courthouse. After finding a spot in the lot, Jon turned off the car and looked at me. “What’s the plan?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You suggested we come here. Are we just inquiring or did you see your home and decide to run away again?”

  “That is not fair. I just … I just wanted to see, you know. See what’s here. I’m still trying to figure out what I’m going to do.”

  “About what, Travis?” Jon asked. “No one says you have to decide anything right now. You can go with the flow. Do what you want. But I think you know what you want.”

  “What if I don’t. I mean, does anyone? What do you want? Do you even know what you want out of this world now?” I questioned.

  “Yeah, I don’t want to be alone. I want to be useful and if I was chosen for some reason to survive a really fucked up, clean slate situation, then I want to be a part of making everything better.” He stepped out of the car.

  “You thought about that answer, didn’t you?” I got out as well and followed.

  “No.”

  “That did not just come off the top of your head.”

  “Why not? Just because I know what I want?” Jon said, as we approached the building. “I think you also know what you want, Travis, but just can’t verbalize what your heart is telling you. And it’s not a death wish.”

  “Huh?”

  Jon stopped and faced me. “You don’t have a death wish, Travis, even though I said it. No one who has a death wish fights so hard to live.”

  “Does that traditional Chinese medicine come with a book of wisdom?” I asked, opening the door to the Municipal Building. “Cause you’re awfully w
ise.”

  “Thanks and yes, actually, yes, it does. It’s part of the graduation process.”

  “Oh, you’re just fooling me.” I stopped the second we went inside, I couldn’t believe all the people in there. Lines of folding tables were set up. Men and women sat behind them. It looked like an entire registration area.

  In fact, it was.

  We saw the man and his son from the street sitting at a table with a man, they were being handed paperwork.

  Listening to the meshed voices, I picked out bits and pieces of what was being said. Names, background information, where they came from.

  “This way.” Jon tugged me and led me down the hall way to an available table where a woman sat as if waiting, she had a small laptop before her.

  “Hello, new arrivals?” she asked.

  Jon answered, “Yes.”

  “Have a seat,” she instructed.

  “Busy, huh?” I asked, sitting down.

  “Steady. People are just starting to arrive so we’re a little chaotic.” She handed us each a folder. “You’ll need to fill out the paperwork and turn it in at your temporary camp. We are organizing people by skills and getting them situated in housing that way. Until now, we have temporary housing out at the airport. Let me get your names and I’ll get you a unit number.”

  “Jon Yee,” he said.

  She typed. “And your occupation, Mister Yee.”

  “Physician.”

  “Oh,” she said brightly. “Area of specialty?”

  “General Practitioner.”

  “And,” I added. “He knows Traditional Chinese medicine.”

  “Wonderful, and you?” she asked.

  “Travis Grady, and I don’t really have any skill set. I worked in a print shop.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Jon laughed. “You renovated and remodeled an entire old building ... alone. That’s skill.”

  “That’s not skill,” I argued. “It’s a hobby. Not a skill.”

  “I beg to differ. And … someone who doesn’t have skill would be like a social influencer. Someone that spent their entire day making game videos and trying to influence people. Imagine coming in here and saying that.”

  “We have one,” the woman said. “We actually put her as community rep.”

  “I stand corrected,” Jon said.

  “Builder.” She tapped. “I’ll put you as a builder, Mr. Grady.”

  The interview process was short, she gave us a bracelet, unit number and directions to the small airport. I still didn’t know what the heck we were doing, I knew right away, Jon was going to have much more importance in the town than me, just by the wrist band they gave him. His was blue. Mine was white as were the bracelets on most people I saw.

  That vision I had of a military camp came to fruition when we arrived at the airport.

  Multitudes of white trailers lined up neatly like a crowded trailer park. Each section marked as a unit and each unit had a check in tent.

  We filled out our paperwork, turned it in and were given a trailer number. If we needed anything we were to ask. We were also told since Jon was a doctor, he’d be given housing within a day or two.

  It was all kind of whirlwind. Two hours from the time we arrived in Marysville we were inside a cramped trailer and Jon was being asked if he could visit the clinic and check in there.

  I went with him figuring I would see what was happening in town, since heading back to High Water seemed to be removed as an option for the day. It worried me, was it like a prison? Would I even be able to leave?

  It all seemed too planned, too regimented.

  But even with that, one thing was certain, Marysville was full of life.

  Everyone seemed generally happy. What had they found in the aftermath of their loss that I hadn’t?

  “You okay?” Jon asked.

  “Yeah, it’s just weird. That trailer is weird.”

  “Considering we spent weeks living in a room behind an altar the trailer seems to be a nice change of pace. Then again …” Jon stopped walking. “Your apartment would be a great change of pace. Fix it up, do the dishes.”

  “Can we even leave?”

  Jon laughed. “You act like we signed our life away.”

  “They just rushed us around.”

  “They have a process, that’s all and …”

  “Travis?” My name was called. “Jesus, Travis is that you?”

  I knew that voice and I was almost apprehensive about turning around, but I did. Sure enough, Chief Fisher walked my way.

  “Oh my God, you’re alive.” He rushed to me, placing his hands on my arms and gripping them. “Were you in an accident?”

  “You can say that,” I replied. “Thankfully my friend, Jon, here, saved me.”

  “I remember you,” Chief Fisher said to Jon. “You were there that day with George.”

  “I was. Nice to see you Chief,” Jon replied.

  “Travis where the hell did you go?” Chief Fisher asked. “We really thought you were dead. We looked for you all over.”

  “You did?” I asked shocked. “I wouldn’t think you would. I mean, I thought for sure you would hate me and think good riddance, after what I did with the funeral home and stuff.”

  “We were angry.” Chief Fisher nodded. “We were really pissed at you. But we were still worried, had your truck not been gone we would have thought you died in the fires.”

  “I’m sorry, Chief. I am. I was out of my head and …”

  “No.” he cut me off. “No. We were mad, and you had no right to take it into your own hands. Not to mention it was really dangerous to us all. But after the fires ended and after a couple days of not being in the same sad rut, we knew it was for the best.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Are you all here?” Jon asked. “Those who survived from High Water?”

  “Almost,” Chief answered. “Joe Randal is working on High Water. He’ll pitch in here, but live there. For the rest of us. It’s all still new. We’ve only been here about a week. We spent the last week boarding up High Water, keep in good shape in case we decide to go back. One day, hopefully we will. I mean let’s face it, Travis, High Water is home. We can have a new place here, but all the memories are there. Can’t go forward without embracing what you loved in the past.”

  “Wow,” Jon said. “That’s even better than things I’ve said.”

  “Thanks.” The Chief winked. “I’ve been saying it a lot.”

  “So, Joe is in High Water?” I asked. “Or living there. Part of the Hub, but kind of commuting?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Ha. How about that.” I nodded at Jon.

  “What about you?” Fisher asked. “What’s your plan?”

  Jon laughed. “Travis said he doesn’t have a plan.”

  “But you …” I pointed to Jon. “You said I did but I wasn’t listening to my heart. I think I finally hear it. You’re right, Chief. We can’t move forward without embracing what we loved in the past.”

  “Gonna commute like Joe?” Jon asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll see what I can do to help out here, but I need my family back,” I said. “The only way to do that is to find them at home.”

  TWENTY-TWO – FULL CIRCLE

  August 3

  There really was no magical moment that swept over me and told me what the right path was to take. Many times over the course of the six month downfall of life, I believed I knew what I had to do and each time it just ended up being a stepping stone to a journey’s end still yet, unknown.

  That day in Marysville when I decided I needed to be home, needed to find a way to be around my family, it wasn’t ‘bam, this is it’, it went through many evolutions.

  I needed to see what Marysville had to offer, what made Joe Randal think the whole ‘hub’ city was good enough to be a part of but not live there.

  It took me two weeks to find out it was a loss of freedom and self-expression.

  Many people liked that
. They moved forward to a new way of life so they didn’t wallow in the sadness of the old.

  To me, the only sadness there was in my past was losing what I loved.

  Every other moment and minute were worth replaying like an old home movie.

  I couldn’t be like that, be this follower who did the same thing every single day, like a robot, like the days of picking up the dead in High Water.

  People were happy, they had something to do, food for the belly and medical care if needed. There had to be more.

  Oddly enough, me being a builder meant squat, but me being a printer was a big deal and it played in my ability to live in High Water and be a productive member of Marysville.

  I went back to the print shop all alone. I was responsible for printing all the paperwork, school worksheets and weekly newsletters.

  Because the print shop was in High Water, we had power. It worked out great for me, Joe, Terri and a couple others who decided to live there.

  I ran the printing jobs well and was pretty social at first. Going back and forth to Marysville quite a bit. I even took a drive to Franklin, despite danger warnings from the government.

  Franklin was still surviving, but they were nothing like Marysville, no power, no medical, food supply was low and they had loss of life due to the constant battles with Nashville.

  I led a small caravan of folks from Franklin to Marysville, it included Angie, her husband and their five kids.

  Marysville was safer for them. To me though, it was a dystopian society masked as a Pleasantville world.

  It looked pretty but it was just …. a gray society.

  There was no money, so there were no rich, no poor, no classes. Everyone was the same, given the same distribution with vouchers for extras when earned.

  That wasn’t necessarily true and I saw that first hand. Jon was treated differently; his rations were better than mine. I didn’t tell people, it wasn’t my place, especially when Jon shared a lot with me.

  Eventually, other than meeting with Jon, I stopped going to Marysville, and they came for their printing. I focused on High Water, more so my apartment.

  I may have heard my heart that day in Marysville, but it took hearing my soul to know what my plan had to be.