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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:03:21 GMT -7
45.
The death toll worldwide was staggering. In the millions. In some third world countries, whole villages had been wiped out and in larger towns neighborhoods were deserted because of the widespread deaths. Poor nations simply weren't equipped to treat the disease, were in fact prime breeding grounds for it simply because of a lack of hygiene and good sanitation infrastructures, and because too many people depended on poultry for food. If they killed and burned their flocks, their chances of catching the flu were greatly lessened, but they would subsequently starve to death. Add to the bird problem the intense crowding, the close living quarters necessitated by poverty in those countries, and the deaths were wholesale.
The Black Flu was being compared to the Black Death, the bubonic plague that decimated Europe so long ago, only on a global scale this time. Now the rampaging tide of the disease seemed to have slowed, but world health organization experts announced that this was the cyclical pattern they expected, that it would all start up again in a month or two, that we weren't out of the woods yet. It was cold comfort for too many people.
Nick and his new buddies had parted company shortly after he'd spotted Bonnie on the street. He persuaded Red to try to follow her that evening, saying she owed him money and would be glad to pay up, but then she lost them somewhere in the residential streets off the main drag and Red had given up the chase in disgust. He had better things to do, and a cold six pack of beer waiting in the fridge at home. Back at Red's house, Horse drew Nick aside and asked him if he wanted to meet Louella, and Nick of course said yes, so later that afternoon Horse and Nick left Red watching a documentary on television, something about the flu, and went to see Louella. Nick didn't quite understand why they had to sneak around about it. After all, it wasn't like she was still Red's old lady or anything, right? But Horse made some excuse about showing Nick a motorcycle for sale a few blocks over and they left. As it happened, there really was a bike for sale a couple of blocks over. It was inside a chain link fenced yard and there was a sign on the fence: Bike for sale, inquire within.
"I knocked on the door three times already and there just ain't nobody home, seems like," Horse muttered as he leaned with his forearms across the top of the chain link, staring at the motorcycle parked six feet beyond in the weeds and junk that littered the yard.
"Is the gate open? Maybe we can go in and get a good look at it," Nick whispered, glancing furtively at the windows of the house. "Nobody's ever there? What if they all died? What then?"
Horse scratched at the stubble on his chin. "I dunno. If they died inside, then we'd smell 'em. If they dies at the hospital, then nobody's there. But I ain't gonna steal no motorcycle."
"Sure is a nice one. I wonder what they want for it?" It was a red Suzuki, coverd with dust, with the weeds growing up around the tires and kick stand. there were some tears or maybe cuts in the leather of the seat, but otherwise it seemed to be in fairly good condition. "It's a wonder it hasn't been stolen by now if nobody is here."
"I dunno. Let's go. Louella lives a block over."
Horse knocked on door twenty-four of the block of plain beige one story apartments. The yards were packed dirt sprinkled with old toys and trash and the brass four on the door was missing a screw, so it hung upside down. Horse sucked on his teeth as they waited. After a minute or two they could hear muffled cursing from within, then the door opened and Nick fell in love.
She stood five feet eight inches tall, but in the spike heels she made a good six feet. She wore a cheap scoop-neck blue knit top over tight black capri pants. The blouse showed off her cleavage and clung like a coat of paint. Her hair color came out of a bottle and was the same shade as Sunkist orange soda; it fell to her shoulders in untidy curls and waves. When she saw Horse, her mascaraed eyes flashed in anger, then she caught sight of Nick over his shoulder and one eyebrow shot up and her shiny red lips curled up on both ends in a smile.
"Hi, Horse, " she cooed, "and who's this you got with you?"
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:05:18 GMT -7
46.
It didn't take Louella long to take a shine to him. An hour after she invited them to come sit on her couch and have a Pepsi--she had run out of beer the night before--she was laughing at all Nick's jokes, asking him questions, bringing him chips and dip to go with the soda and virtually ignoring Horse. Nick knew Horse didn't like it but he was past caring. Horse could do what he liked, Nick was here and here to stay, if he had judged Louella correctly. And of course, he had. Louella had apparently decided the sun rose and set on Nick's left shoulder, and she wanted some of that for herself. Horse finally got up without a word and stomped out, and Nick stayed behind. Louella and Nick didn't even really notice that Horse had abandoned them to their own devices, nor did they care. This was a match made in heaven for them both.
It was also the end of the road for Nick's bachelorhood. Nick was so enamored with Louella that within two weeks they found a justice of the peace who would allow them into the front room of his house, where he united them in holy matrimony. He pronounced them man and wife through the white mask he wore for safety sake of course, and wiped everything they touched with a disinfectant wipe after they left. They spent their honeymoon weekend in The Happy Cowboy Motel, paid for by Louella, lounging beside the pool or enjoying their queen size bed with the magic fingers attachment, fifteen minutes for fifty cents. When the honeymoon was over they spent a day and a half cruising around in Louella's car, looking for Nick's car. They finally found it in a hardware store parking lot next to the highway where he had collapsed with the flu so many days ago. Nick slim jimmed it open and got the spare key out of the glove compartment, then they sold it for less than it was worth and Louella put the cash into her savings account. The next morning, Louella woke Nick early and made him shower, shave and dress in clean clothes. He was sitting at the cheap dinette set in the kitchen, sipping coffee, waiting for her to finish frying some bacon from her freezer, feeling thoroughly domesticated and enjoying it tremendously, when she dropped the bomb on him.
"Today you go out and get a job, honeypoo." She had taken to calling him pet names and this was one of them. He didn't particularly like it, but he didn't dislike it either. It just sort of made him feel funny, like he was a little dog with a bow in his hair or something.
He decided to humor her. "Okay. Tomorrow. Today I want to spend with you," and he made a playful grab for her behind as she walked near him to get the margarine out of the fridge, but she dodged his hand.
"No," she said firmly, setting a saucer of toast on the table, "today. I went out and got a newspaper before I woke you up." She took a folded paper off the counter and dropped it on the table next to his plate. "And here's a pencil, so you can circle the ones that look good."
Nick looked at the newspaper with dismay. It was only a few pages now, and only one page of classified ads. There weren't many jobs available in the time of the Black Flu, it seemed. He tried to protest. "But honey, a job? Now?" She wanted him to work?
"A job," Louella said, and slid two slices of bacon onto his plate. "Today."
"But.." he began again, and she froze the words in his throat with one glance.
Out in the forest at the lodge, Bob and Bonnie were getting along famously. He found some two by fours and knocked together a small sandbox for Lucy and filled it with a sack of white sand from the shed. Then he made a swing with a board and two ropes and hung it from a low pine branch in the front yard. Life was good for the little family. They had a good stockpile of food and supplies stored away, they were all in good health and happy in their lovely wooded isolation, and nothing threatened them there. Bob even managed to rig an antenna so they could get a few channels on the television, so they could watch the news and a few programs in the evenings in front of the fireplace. The plants in the family room were doing well, but the time was coming when they would have to think of something to do with them. The vegetable plants that would flower would also need insects to pollinate them, and there were no pollinators inside the house. Bob began reading gardening booksm, trying to figure out a solution, but the only ones were to pollinate by hand or put the plants outside. If they were outside, they could be damaged by raiding wild animals like squirrels and deer. He had to think of something. They would need the food the plants could provide, not as a sole source of nutrition by any means, but as healthy fresh supplements to their stockpiled food. He wracked his brain, consulted every reference work he had at the house, and there was only one conclusion he could come to every time. He had to have either a greenhouse with insect access or a fenced garden. Even at that, a fenced garden wouldn't keep squirrels out, and he had the supplies for neither of those projects on hand. Every trip away from the house posed a danger. It was dangerous for Bonnie and Lucy to go with him, it was dangerous to leave the house with no one home to guard and protect it and their supplies from intruders, and it was dangerous to leave Bonnie and Lucy home alone while he went out, especially given her lack of experience with firearms. No matter how he looked at it, he had to do something soon, and whatever he did would be dangerous.
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:06:08 GMT -7
47.
Louella wasn't content to let Nick settle for just any old job, no siree. She finally snatched the classified ads from him and went to work, circling want ads that she liked. Two days later, an odd twist of fate had Nick levered into a secondhand suit, walking into a government medical assistance aid office for an interview as a paper pusher. Nick found himself actually using reasonably good grammar and trying to convince the interviewer that he was the right man for the job. It astonished him when the man on the other side of the desk seemed to agree with him and hired him on the spot. He started work at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Apparently office workers and job applicants were in short supply all of a sudden.
On the way home after the interview, Nick pulled Louella's car over to the curb beside a small park. He got out, walked over to a battered picnic table under an elm tree and sat down to think. What the hell was going on? He had always been a loser. He knew it, others knew it, and he had always accepted it as his lot in life. Now look at him. What was going on? He had a wife, a pretty one, and smart, too. He had a suit and it looked good on him. He stretched his legs out and smoothed the fabric of the pants and looked again at the shine on his cheap leather secondhand shoes. He looked up into the branches of the tree, gently rustling in the breeze, the almost-dead leaves whispering things he couldn't understand. He had a job. A good job, an office job, sitting at a desk, answering a phone, making forms come out right so they could be moved on to the next step in the application process. He had never had a job like this before, where he sat at a desk and stayed clean all day. He had always drifted from ditch digger to dishwasher to whatever else he could find that mostly paid his way and didn't require him to think, but now this. And in what was most unbelieveable of all, he was looking forward to it. He was proud of himself. This was to him a prestigious position. He would be respectable. People would come sit down in the chair on the other side of his desk (his desk!) and they would listen to him, would let him help them fill out forms, would appreciate his help. He would have worth. He would be somebody. He would be Mister, not hey buddy. The thought excited him, but the thought of the responsibility it brought with it made him a little afraid and in awe of himself. Did he deserve this? Was this his Big Chance? Was this the way out of the dead-end jobs and loser buddies and drinking binges Was this finally it? Or was this all a mistake, would they check his background and give him the boot when they found out he wasn't good enough for them? His heart was hammering in his chest and his mouth was dry with apprehension. Who was he, anyway? Was this the old Nick, or someone he didn't even know, a brand new, different, successful Nick? Was that even possible?
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:06:52 GMT -7
48.
Bob was using his chain saw to cut some branches into logs for the fireplace when he smelled hot wood. He shut off the chain saw to let it cool down, to take a breather that he needed anyway, but the smell persisted. Now it was the smell of smoke, not hot chain saw. He swiveled his head around, trying to determine what direction it was coming from. Or was it from the fireplace? He had left a small blaze in it when he came out to cut wood. He could see a wisp of smoke coming up from the chimney on the side of the house when he walked around the corner of the garage. That must be it. He turned the saw back on and finished the wood cutting, stacking the pieces against the side of the garage and he went. He covered the stack with a blue tarp, to keep it from getting wet if it rained. There was still much to be done to make them as self-sufficient as possible out here, away from the dangers of civilization. There were always chores to get done, with more coming up behind those. It was good work, work he enjoyed because it ultimately benefitted the family, his family. Bonnie and Lucy. Either of them could wrap him around their little finger and he loved it.
After he finished the wood, he found a hammer and began pounding in the big nails that time and weather had worked out in the decorative wood fence off to one side. It felt good to be using his muscles like this again. He had gone soft and needed to work up a sweat. As he worked, the steel-on-steel blows ringing in his ears, he let his mind drift to dinner. He wondered what Bonnie was cooking tonight. She had something up her sleeve. She had been mysterious and coy about it, but she'd made some sort of discovery in the pantry and promised that tonight, dinner would be special. Bob was more happy and content that he had been in a long time. If it weren't for the tragedy of bird flu the world was suffering right now, this would be a perfect time in his life. He had everything he wanted; a good woman, a child to help raise, a beautiful house secluded in the woods beside a lake...what more could a man want?
He stopped to take off his flannel shirt. The work made him hot, and he mopped his sweaty face with the soft red plaid material before throwing it over the top rail of the fence. Life was good. He picked up his hammer and took a deep breath, drawing in the scent of pine trees and fresh cut wood and the lake, then he stopped. The smell of smoke was getting stronger. Had Bonnie stoked the fire in the fireplace? He turned around to see. The trickle of smoke coming from the fireplace was unchanged, but now, between the tops of the pine trees off to the northeast, the sky was getting dark. Bob could feel the blood draining from his face, his stomach muscles knotting up. Was that a storm coming, or smoke from a forest fire?
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:08:41 GMT -7
49.
"I have to. There's no other way," Bob explained urgently. "I'll go start the fire and stay there and monitor it. You pack up whatever you can and be ready to run if I say so. Or if you have to."
Bonnie, her eyes welling with tears, nodded. "Okay. As long as you're sure. But you'll be back..?" She gripped his arm with both hands and tried to keep from crying, but she couldn't stop her chin from quivering and it made her mad that she didn't have enough control of her body to do that one small thing.
"I'll be back, honey. I'll be back. I have experience in this sort of thing," he replied as he pulled his arm free and hugged her.
"You were a firefighter?" Bonnie's eyes opened wide with surprise. What else didn't she know about Bob?
"You could say that." You could say that but it would be a lie, he thought grimly. Well what if it was a lie? It made her feel better, didn't it? And he did know enough to get by. That would have to do. He waved to her as he shouldered the pickaxe and shovel and started off. He had a liter bottle of water tied to a loop on his belt and a box of fireplace matches. The fire seemed to be confined to a hillside a mile or so away; he knew that a rock-filled ravine cut them off from that hillside. If he could burn the brush alongside that ravine, the fire might not come across to threaten them. That was the theory, at least. If it didn't work he would hightail it back here and they'd abandon the place. If he made it back here. That thought he tried to shove to the back of his mind, but it kept popping up, dancing around in his brain, taunting him. Okay, what would he do if he was caught in the fire? Shouldn't he lie down on the ground and cover his head? He had read something somewhere about firefighters doing that, but didn't they have special blankets to throw over themselves when they had to hit the ground? He was pretty sure that was the case. He didn't have one. It didn't matter. He just wouldn't let himself get caught in the fire, that's all. He'd keep his wits about himself, get in and burn that ravine and get the hell back out pronto. He'd be okay. The most important thing was to not lose his sense of direction if he got caught in the smoke. If he became disoriented he could blunder into the fire trying to get back out. He had to keep his sense of direction. He wished he had a compass with him now, but he hadn't thought of that when he was getting ready back at the house. Did he even own a compass any more? He couldn't remember. How much farther was the ravine now? He stopped and tried to get his bearings, but it was getting smokier and smokier in the trees and he had to cough to get a breath. He leaned down with his hands on his knees, dropping the pickaxe and shovel on the ground, sucking in lungfuls of the cleaner air near the ground while he oriented himself. Okay, now he knew where he was, there was a large rock formation that he used to play on as a boy just up to the left. The ravine was a hundred feet or so ahead. He gathered up the heavy tools and stumbled on through the trees.
The trees thinned and opened up and through the smoke he saw the ravine, and the flames across from it on the hillside. If he could get that ravine burned out the fire would have no fuel when it got there, and would die. Bob was coughing steadily now, so he dropped the tools again and used his water bottle to wet down a bandanna he wore tied around his neck, then pulled it over his nose and mouth. That had been Bonnie's idea, and it helped considerably. He carefully let himself over the edge of the ravine, hanging onto rocks as he clambered down. It would be smartest to start the fire on the far side, so it could burn and die out by the time the hillside flames reached it.
Bonnie sobbed openly as she threw clothes and supplies into paper and plastic bags, and because mommy was crying, Lucy joined in, wailing with fear, clutching at her mother's leg. Bonnie did the best she could, dragging filled sacks to the front door. She was beginning to panic and she knew it, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. All she could do was work as hard and fast as she could and try to think clearly at the same time. It wasn't working. She was having a hard time making simple decisions and it was frustrating to try to move with a toddler attached to her leg. What should she bring for Bob, what might be in the house and precious to him, what memories should she try to save? She grabbed family photos off the wall and threw them into bags of clothing. Smiling man and woman with a happy little boy, the three of them in a boat out on the lake, waving to the camera on shore. A formal studio portrait of the three of them looking stiff and uncomfortable, false smiles on their faces. A nine or ten year old uniformed Bob giving the Boy Scout salute in some sort of ceremony on a stage somewhere. She couldn't think, Lucy was screaming, her nose was running but she didn't have the time to stop and drag Lucy to the bathroom to get a Kleenex. Her eyes were stinging too, from the smoke or crying, she didn't know which. Should she take food? No. They could always buy more food. What else did she need to do? Was it time to start taking everything out to the car? Should she buckle Lucy into the car seat, so she would be able to move more freely to pack the car? What should she do now?
Bob set clumps of dry grass and brush on fire on the far edge of the ravine, the main fire not fifty feet away now. He wanted to run as he set the fires but when he did, the match went out and he would have to stop and light another one, so he trotted at a crouch, his hands cupped as best he could around the match. He was coughing in spite of the bandanna now; the cloth was drying out fast and he would soon have to re-wet it. Where had he left the shovel and pickaxe? Somewhere behind him on the other side. He had rounded a small bend back there and couldn't see them now. Which way was behind? He stopped and got his bearings again. He'd be okay if he kept the burning hillside on his left and the ravine on his right. Had he set enough fires? Was it working? He couldn't tell, couldn't see back far enough through the smoke. He stumbled over the big rocks collected along the bottom of the ravine to the opposite side, the home side, and began trotting through the thin scattering of trees back to the starting point. The smoke was thinner over here but he was choking and coughing and his nose was running nonstop. His eyes were watering and burning. Was this the spot? Where were the pickaxe and shovel? Why had he brought them anyway? Did he need them? Wasn't he going to chop out a firebreak on this side? Where were they? He couldn't see through the tears flooding his eyes and he couldn't wave the smoke away. He had to find the pickaxe and shovel, not because he couldn't afford to lose them, but because they marked the place where he had to turn to start back to the house. What if he couldn't find them? Maybe he should just leave them and get away, back to Bonnie and Lucy. He could find the house, couldn't he? Even in the smoke, didn't he know these woods well enough by now, hadn't he grown up in these woods every summer since he could remember when? It was so hard to breathe. Sweat was pouring off his scalp and running down his face, mingling with the tears, and he couldn't see any more. He had to get back, get away so he could breathe and see. He had to get away.
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:10:09 GMT -7
50.
Lucy squirmed in her car seat but at least she had stopped crying. Maybe it was the snug comfort of the familiar seat, or maybe it was being able to see her mother running back and forth between the car and house hauling bundles and bags.
Bonnie had stopped crying as well. She just didn't have the energy and breath to cry and run and carry loads all at once. Her eyes burned and stung, but whether from tears or somke or both, she didn't know. She stacked bags and packages and armloads beside and in both cars and ran back for more. On one of the trips she got distracted and tripped over an exposed pine root and fell hard, landing on a bag of Lucy's clothes. The paper bag split open and she skinned her knee, but all she could do was jump up, gather the scattered belongings and keep going. There was no time to worry about her knee now. Bob would be back soon and they had to be ready to go. Bob would be back soon. He would, wouldn't he? He said he would. He would. But what if...? No. She wouldn't think about that. He'd be back. He said he would.
She ran back inside and looked around. What was she forgetting? Food? No, they could always buy more later. Anything else? Bob's guns? He'd want them, wouldn't he? She knew he would. Where was the gun safe key? Did he take it with him? She'd never find it now. She tried hard not to panic. She had to stay focused, had to keep to her goal of getting them ready to go, so as soon as Bob came back they could leave. He was coming back. He had to. What if he didn't? No. Can't think like that. Have to think about it. What if she had to drive out alone? She took one more look around the house, ran out to her car and loaded the last few bags into the back, then closed it and hurried to the driver's side, climbed in and shut the door. All the windows were up, but Lucy's face was streaked with tears and grime, and she was rubbing her eyes with her fists. She looked like she was getting ready to cry again. The keys dangled in the ignition. Good. She didn't want to have to fish around for them in her purse if things got worse in a hurry. Where was her purse? Did she leave it inside? Bonnie's heart was hammering, close to panicking, when she spotted in on the floor behind the front passenger seat. She didn't remember leaving it there, but she must have. When Bob got back they'd be ready to leave. When he got back. As soon as he got back. What if he..?
Bob couldn't see. He stuck his arms out in front of him to keep from running into trees, but it didn't help and he walked into trunks anyway. Then he slammed his head into a low-slung branch that staggered him and he and fell to the ground. He couldn't see, couldn't wipe the tears away enough, couldn't keep his stinging eyes open long enough, to focus on obstacles. He sat there in the dirt and pine needles for a few seconds, then ripped off the bandanna and wet it and wiped his face with it. Now he could see a little, not well, but some. The air down near the ground was cleaner too, and although he still coughed, he coud breathe it in deeper breaths. A few big gulps of air and his thought processes seemed to improve too. The fire was sucking air into itself, creating a breeze that blew across his scalp and cooled him down somewhat. That helped too. If he could only figure out where he was! He couldn't just blunder around or he'd run the risk of getting back into the fire zone, cut off from escape. He tried to look up at the sky, but what little he could see when the breeze sucked the smoke momentarily away showed him nothing, just a patch of sky between tree tops. He couldn't tell by the smoke because it seemed to be uniformly thick all around him. He couldn't tell by the smell, either. There was no way to tell which direction it came from; it was all around him. If he just picked a direction and took off, he could die. Even the ravine wouldn't be a good geographic marker, if the fire had already come across it.
Bonnie and Lucy were waiting for him. He had to get out of here, back to them. He had to. But which way? He sat there, exhausted and coughing, his eyes beginning to water again, and then it came to him. By the sound. He could hear the fire, hear the popping and hissing and crackling sounds it made as it consumed the trees. He could hear the small explosions it generated when sap ignited inside superheated pine trunks. It was behind him. He was pointed in the right direction, and the fire was behind him. He struggled to his feet, turned and stumbled away through the forest, leaving the red bandanna and his water bottle behind on the ground.
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:11:18 GMT -7
51.
His lungs laboring and his eyes again streaming from the smoke, Bob was faltering. He felt exhausted, like he couldn't walk another step. He couldn't see to walk anyway, and kept stumbling into low branches and bushes that slowed him down and hurt him. Not that he was making great time, staggering among the trees with aching leg muscles. This had been such a mistake! Now his life was in grave danger just because he wanted to try to save his house! He should have taken Bonnie and Lucy and left long ago! Now what would happen to his girls? Bonnie wouldn't sit there and wait for him, would she? She'd know to go when it got too close, wouldn't she? She would make the right choice for herself and her baby, and not wait for him, wouldn't she?
His legs felt like logs, heavy and clumsy. He couldn't do this any more. He couldn't make it out. He'd die here, here in his boyhood forest, less than a mile from the lodge he had loved most of his life. How far away from it was he? He couldn't tell. He was too tired to try to work it out now. He would like to have made it there, maybe to the long porch, just lie down there and die with his house, but he couldn't. He couldn't walk another step. He couldn't breathe. His chest ached like a steel band was bring cinched down around it, and he couldn't draw a deep breath now even if there was enough clean air to suck into his tortured lungs.
This was it. This was the place. He couldn't go on. His knees gave out and he collapsed onto the ground. He could feel rocks and roots under his hands but he couldn't see anything anymore with his eyes clamped shut against the stinging smoke, tears streaming down his soot-stained face. This was the end. He hoped it would be fast and easy, and he desperately hoped that Bonnie was heading out to safety down the long narrow dirt road, with Lucy. He wanted them to be safe, to live and be happy. He wished he could share that with them but he knew that it wasn't to be, so as he laid his head down on the ground, he sent a mental message of love to them, an aching bolt of love and longing, desperate to somehow reach their hearts before it was too late. It was the best he could do for them now. He wanted to bargain with fate, try to get a concession before the end, exchange his life for theirs, somehow make sure they would be safe, but it took too much effort. Just let it be easy, he thought. Don't let it be painful. Just let me go to sleep. And let them get away, please. He laid his cheek against the dirt and scattered pine needles and for an instant he thought he could smell the pines, fresh and clean and unburnt again, and it was like a small blessing before the bad part came.
The a pair of hands grabbed at his arm, a foot shoved at his side to gain purchase, a voice was yelling in his ear. "Bob! Bob! Get up! Get up!" Bonnie tugged at his wrist, pulling at him, dragging him a foot across the ground. "Bob!"
She dropped to her knees beside him, fumbled with something in her hand, opened a bottle and poured water onto his face. The splash of water made him choke and cough again, but it revived him. He could hear her pouring water again, then a wet cloth was wiped across his eyes and he opened them and she was there, some piece of folded clothing in her hand, kneeling beside him, and he was in the clearing next to the driveway. The smoke cleared away briefly and he could see the house and the forest on the far side. The cars sat about thirty feet away, and the door to Bonnie's car stood open. She was trying to tug him in that direction.
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:12:04 GMT -7
52.
Worldwide, the Black Flu was gathering steam again. New pockets of contagion were springing up along avian migratory flyways, spreading away from those lines of infection like gangrene along blood vessels. The death toll was rising again, even as labs worked feverishly to come up with an effective vaccine. So far the only treatment that seemed to work was simply treating the syptoms and supporting the body's natural defense mechanisms, but the mortality rate still hovered around fifty percent in spite of the medical community's best efforts.
Governments were becoming overwhelmed by this catastrophe. Some place, some small countries, simply shut down and let their people fend for themselves. If the flu passed, died down enough to allow normal life again, it would be years before any kind of organized rule could be established in some third world areas. The world was becoming compartmentalized through the disruption of transportation and trade. Fuel production and delivery was interrupted in so much of the world, due to a lack of manpower, that the world was changing, and not for the better. In some ways, except for the staggering differences in the way the illness was handled, third world countries hardly noticed the change, while highly developed and sophisticated nations suffered the worst. To a small village in Mexico, it didn't much matter that the power company shut down and electricity no longer flowed through the wires. Candles were brought out of the cupboards and water was pumped out of the well by hand.
The loss of electricity to Rio De Janiero, however, was a far greater crisis. Thousands upon thousands depended on electricity for the most basic elements of daily life, and because of the density of the population, when the sewage plants stopped pumping and water no longer ran out of the faucet, whenh refrigerators stopped working and food could not be kept at a safe temperature, the old diseases raised their ugly heads. Typhus. Cholera. Amoebic dysentery.
This new kind of plague affected not just Rio De Janiero, but any city large enough to be techno-dependent, where the depleted, sickened work force could no longer maintain the machines necessary to keep the city running. All around the globe, like dominoes toppling over other dominoes, this triggered yet more blackouts and diseases. Only the most primitive peoples were relatively unaffected. They knew how to survive with fire and water, with killing, gathering or growing gardens for food. It was the most advanced and sophisticated segments of world societies that suffered the most. But even in those societies there were those who were prepared for this, who knew enough to be forearmed for such an event and had equipped themselves with the tools and knowledge to make the transition back in time, to a simpler, more basic lifestyle so they and their families might survive the new medieval age. Those people who, before the Black Flu, had been the brunt of jokes, who had been taunted and dismissed as hysterics and loons, who had endured it all to achieve their goal of preparedness. Those survivalists were, in all of modern society, the real winners when the lights went out.
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:20:33 GMT -7
53. Bob was in no shape to drive. He collapsed into the passenger seat. Bonnie buckled him in and got behind the wheel. He seemed to fall asleep immediately so she was on her own as far as getting them out of the forest, but since there really was only one way in and out, all she had to do was follow the road. During the drive Bob seemed to develop a rattle in his chest with each breath, and that scared her. She had to get him to the hospital right away, but the nearest one was miles away, back in town. The ruts in the road jostled Bob from side to side but didn't rouse him, and that scared her even more. She called his name, but he didn't respond, didn't wake up. Maybe he was just so exhausted, so deeply asleep, that he wasn't going to wake up yet. She hoped that was all it was.
When she reached the highway she gave a sigh of relief. It wouldn't be much longer now. She couldn't think clearly, couldn't remember exactly how far it was. Lucy was quiet in the back seat, and when Bonnie flipped the drop-down mirror in the ceiling console, she saw that the child was resting too, sucking on two fingers, looking out the window. It was probably a relief for the little girl to be back in a familiar situation, going bye-bye in the car.
Bob groaned in his sleep and coughed, and when he did, black saliva dribbled out of the corners of his mouth. His face was streaked with dirt and soot and the smell of smoke was on them all, but strongest on him. He was bleeding from cuts and abrasions on his hands and face, too. She wanted to stop the car and take care of him, wipe his face clean and give him a drink of water and see if he was okay, but there was no time. She had to get him to the hospital. That was the best thing she could do for him right now.
The tires hummed on the asphalt as she increased her speed. So what if she was going over the speed limit? This was an emergency. Maybe a cop would stop her and if so, then good. She could ask for a police escort to the hospital. She'd be justified. This was a life and death emergency. She had to get Bob to the emergency room. She pressed down on the accelerator again and the speedometer needle jumped past eighty. There was a curve in the highway up ahead, but no traffic coming or going. In fact, she hadn't seen any oncoming traffic at all. She slowed to seventy five to take the curve and felt the rear of the SUV beginning to fishtail, and she went cold all over. She pulled her foot off the pedal and let the vehicle slow naturally while she held grimly onto the steering wheel, keeping to the center of the road. That was close. She coldn't risk something like that happening again. She slowed back down to the speed limit. She had to keep her head now, couldn't lose it and panic and get them all killed in some stupid highway accident. Her hands were cold and wet and shaking. She could feel the trembling in her fingers where they gripped the leatherette steering wheel cover. She couldn't let her emotions take control like that again. What if she had rolled the car back there on that curve? They would have all died! She had to be more careful from now on!
Up ahead she could see red and blue police lights flashing off and on, and just for a second her mind decided the police knew she needed help and were coming to offer her an escort, then her rational mind kicked in. No. It was a roadblock again. Oh not now! Had Centerville been cordoned off again? Would they let her through anyway, to take Bob to the hospital? If they didn't, what would she do? Where would they go? They couldn't go back to the house, not with the forest fire. They had to let him through! They had to! The police were there to help citizens, not doom them to death by not letting them get to a hospital, right? Wasn't that right? That was the way things were supposed to be, but were they in this new world? Or did it matter that three people needed to come through the barriers to get medical help? There was nothing wrong with them. They weren't infected by the Black Flu. They had to get through. Had to.
She slowed and stopped at the orange cones, where the police officer with the white face mask held up his hand, palm facing out, flashlight waving like a baton in his other hand, motioning her to pull over to the side of the road.
"Officer, we have to get to the hospital. This man was caught in a forest fire back there and is suffering from severe smoke inhalation," she said the words as the driver side window went down.
"Sorry ma'am, nobody gets through here. No exceptions. I wish I could help you, but we got a situation in town and I have my orders."
"Officer," she tried to keep her quavering voice calm and reasonable, "if he doesn't get medical attention, he could die. Surely that makes a differen..."
"No, ma'am," he interrupted her in his curtly professional voice, "it does not. Nobody gets through. Nobody. You are welcome to pull over into that field and camp out until the order gets changed, but nobody is going through this barricade." He waved the flashlight off to the side of the road, and when Bonnie looked, she could see two other cars with people sitting inside, just sitting there in a flat part of a field next to the highway.
Bonnie didn't want to cry in front of this policeman, didn't want Lucy to see and hear her crying because then she'd cry too. She looked into the man's eyes and saw sympathy there as he glanced into the back seat at Lucy, then back at her.
"Well then, where is the nearest medical help that we can get to, officer?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am, you could turn around and try going up the interstate to Lincoln, but that's forty miles from the intersection. I wish I could help you, but my orders are crystal clear." He stopped and shook his head. "Sorry. Why don't you just pull over there with those other cars and wait? If a doctor comes along here, I'll send him over to you."
"Any idea how long the wait could be? And can you tell me what the situation in Centerville is?"
"Uh, it's serious in Centerville. I guess I can tell you. They didn't tell me to keep it a secret. It's some terrible disease that's spreading fast."
"Are you talking about the Black Flu?" She felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach.
"No,ma'am, it's something different. I can't remember the name now, but it's serious and it came on in just a coupla days. Now I gotta get back to the line, so why don't you just pull over there? I'm hoping they'll lift the restrictions in a day or two, then you can proceed." He waved his flashlight again to show her where to go, then turned away.
"Day or two..? Hey, wait...a day or two?" she stuttered in shocked surprise at his back, but he didn't stop walking, didn't even turn around to look at her.
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:24:22 GMT -7
54.
Bonnie did as the officer said and pulled over to the flat spot where the other cars were parked. The light was beginning to fade now and it would be dark in half an hour or so, but she could see enough to park pointing back toward the road so she could drive out easily. She jumped out of the car and ran over to one of the cars and knocked frantically on the window. When the driver, a man, rolled down the window she blurted, "Is anyone in this car a doctor or nurse? Anything like that?"
The man looked alarmed, like he might roll the window back up again. "No, sorry miss, I'm a drywaller and my wife here," he gestured at the thin woman sitting in the passenger seat, "works at the grocery store. What's wrong..?"
But Bonnie didn't have time to answer him. She ran to the other car. They saw her coming and the fat man at the wheel was already rolling down the window.
"What's up, little lady?" he said, then when he saw her face, he opened the door and started to get out.
"Are you a doctor? We need a doctor!" She gasped for breath and held onto the side of his car door as she pointed back at her car.
"Not a doctor, sorry, what's the problem?" The man hefted his bulk out of the seat and leaned toward her car to get a better look. His equally fat wife craned her neck from the passenger side.
"He was caught in a forest fire and is suffering from smoke inhalation, do you know any first aid, anything that might help?"
The fat man ignored the question. "You mean to tell me they won't let you through to the hospital?" He pointed toward the barricade, where the policeman had stopped another car and was talking to them, waving the flashlight toward the field.
"No," Bonnie almost sobbed, "they're not letting anyone through, and I don't know what to do!"
"Miss?" The man's plump wife was waving the fingers of one hand at her, trying to get her attention. "Did you say smoke inhalation?"
"Yes!" Bonnie almost shouted it as she leaned over the door and stuck her head inside their car. "Do you know anything? Can you help us? They won't let us through to the ER!"
"My brother was a firefighter. Maybe I can help some," and the woman pulled the lever on the door, popped it open and struggled her bulk out of the vehicle. "Where is he? Sitting up front?" She trundled across the stubble of field toward Bonnie's car, tugging with one hand at her dress where it had crept up and was static-clinging to her legs.
"Yes! He's in front! Yes!" Bonnie was so grateful for the offer of help that she was almost hysterical with relief. She ran around to the driver's side and hit the unlock button so the woman could open Bob's door. He groaned and sagged against the woman's ample arm as she pulled the door ajar, and he opened his eyes. Even in the early evening light, Bonnie could see how raw and bloodshot his eyes were. They looked like open wounds rimmed with sooty black secretions.
"Now you just relax, honey," the woman was crooning as she cradled him in her left arm. She left his seat belt buckled so he just sort of hung here, leaning his soot-and sweat-stained head against the flowered fabric of her fat breast. "Let Gladys have a look at ya, honey. Wow, you sure did a number on yourself, didn't you?"
Her voice was gentle and homey, her fingers sure as she moved his head, checking each side of his face, lifting his arm out of the way so she could feel his chest. Bonnie stood there beside her, watching her swiftly prod and poke and listen to Bob's breath rattling in and out. A black snot bubble grew from one of his nostrils and Gladys reached for the box of Kleenex on the floor console, tore a tissue out and wiped him like a mother would wipe a child's nose. She pulled out another one and dabbed at a couple of bleeding scrapes on his left hand, then threw both tissues behind her onto the ground.
"Look at me, honey," she commanded in a gentle voice, softly patting Bob's cheek with her right hand, "look at me. Open your eyes. Can you hear me?" Bob's eyes fluttered open to look into the woman's wide, kind face. "I want you to drink some water. Think you can do that?" Bob nodded and moved his lips and a stream of black spit slipped from the corner of his mouth and dribbled onto her forearm.
"Thirsty," he croaked through cracked and bleeding lips.
"Good. Water. You have any water?" Gladys turned back to Bonnie and lifted her eyebrows. "If you don't, we do. Just ask Hank." She didn't wait for Bonnie to answer, but yelled over her shoulder to her husband.
"Hank? Get a bottle of water over here pronto."
"Already on the way, Punkin," Hank yelled back as he hurried toward them, holding a pint-size bottle as he twisted off the plastic top.
Gladys pulled the little blue nipple out and held it to Bob's lips and let some drop into his open mouth. After a few mouthfuls, Bob lifted his hand and grapped the bottle, and Gladys let him take it. She carefully disengaged herself from holding him and stepped back, letting him rest back upright against the seat back, sucking at the bottle. She quietly tugged at Bonnie's arm, pulling her back a little way from the car.
"Now listen to me, honey. I don't see burns on his face or ears. He hasn't had his eyebrows burned off. That's a good thing. That means he probably doesn't have any burns inside, down his airway or in his lungs. It looks to me like he just got a lot of smoke in him, but wasn't injured by the heat. He probably has a lot of black stuff inside, and I think he's gonna be coughing it out for a few days. He'll be blowing it out of his nose for a while, too. What happened? Can you tell me?'
Bonnie was almost giddy with relief. She wanted to sit down and rest, but right now she had to talk to this angel, had to explain what happened, so she did, as much as she knew. Gladys nodded and said "um h'mm" a lot as Bonnie talked, and Hank hovered a few feet away, fidgeting and muttering to himself about "those damn cops won't let decent folks get to the ER."
"Okay, I think I know what happened," Gladys summed up when Bonnie had finished talking. "He just got a lot of smoke, but he'll be all right. He needs rest and lots and lots of clean air and he'll be right as rain in a few days. Needs to take it easy and not do a lot of heavy lifting, you know what I mean? Where you bound to now?"
"Uh...I don't know. They won't let us into Centerville," Bonnie pointed toward the roadblock, the patrol car lights flashing frantically, the cop still talking to the driver of the stopped car. "We were going to Centerville, but now we don't have anyplace to go. We can't go back to the house in the forest because of the fire. I don't know where we'll go from here, or what we'll do."
Lucy began fussing in her car seat, and Gladys turned in that direction, clucking her tongue sympathetically. "Well, you're welcome to camp out here with us, honey. Do you folks have any blankets? A tent? Air mattresses?"
"No, all we have with us is bags of clothes and stuff. Whatever I could grab from the house and throw in the car." Bob was coughing again. He leaned out the open car door and was spitting ropy strands of slick gray onto the ground.
"We have an extra tent with us. Why don't you just set up camp here with us? That way I can help you with your husband and baby. Do you want to do that? By the way, I'm Gladys, and this here," she pointed at her husband, "is Hank."
Bonnie was suddenly completely exhausted. She couldn't drive one more mile, couldn't even stand upright much longer. "Yes please. That's very kind of you. What can I do to help set up camp?"
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:26:04 GMT -7
55.
Bonnie struggled to help Hank and Gladys set up the tents and equipment, although in truth the tents were much easier than the rest of the gear. Gladys unzipped a strangely-shaped tote, pulled out something that looked sort of like a folded backpack, and tossed it at the ground,. As it flew through the air, it began to unfold and spring into shape as Bonnie watched, dumbfounded. It hit the ground as a fully formed dome-shaped tent, bounced once and came to rest on one side. Gladys saw how astonished Bonnie was and grinned as she brought out another tote and pointed at the zipper pull on one side.
"Go ahead. This one's for you and your family," the kindly woman said as she thrust it into her hands. "Just unzip, toss and stand back."
Bonnie did as she was told and watched as the blue tent exploded into reality before her eyes. Behind her, still sitting in the front seat, Bob was coughing strings of mucus onto the ground, hanging onto the open car door for support.
"I have to get him lying down," Bonnie said to Gladys. "Tell me what to do next."
Gladys glanced toward Hank, who was busy building a fire ring of rocks he had scavenged from the side of the road. "Babe, get those extra sleeping bags out, willya? Her husband needs to get himself flat."
Bonnie didn't correct the woman's assumption that she and Bob were married. There was no point, and she was too tired to enter into a long drawn-out explanation anyway. She took the nylon drawstring bags Hank brought to her from their car and threw him a grateful smile as she took them into the tent, began opening them and spreading them out on the crinkly blue plastic floor. She had to admit that it felt good to have some sort of shelter for them tonight. This was far better than the car. She just hoped Gladys knew what she was talking about when it came to Bob's condition. But the woman seemed so self-assured, so calm and in control, that Bonnie felt herself start to relax a little. She had the two bags spread out, zipped together to make one large bed, and had transferred some spare clothing into the tent when Lucy began to cry. Bob unbuckled his seat belt and staggered out of the car toward the tent. Bonnie ran to help him get inside to lie down, then she hurried back to the vehicle to get Lucy, who gratefully lay down beside Bob on the sleeping bag bed. It was dark now, but Hank flipped on his headlights to give them enough light to get organized. They could hear other people pulling into the field and trying to make camp there, the voices calling and muttering through the darkness. Someone fifty feet or so away had a campfire going already, and once in a while a stray breeze would waft the smell of smoke toward them. It almost had a festive feeling, like some camp ground somewhere. You almost expected to hear someone playing a harmonica.
The only difference was, in this campout there was no laughter, no happy talk, no music or festivities. This was deadly serious, and in a flash Bonnie was reminded of the grim scenes from an old black and white movie, "The Grapes of Wrath." She locked up the car and went back to the tent, where she lay down beside her whimpering daughter and Bob, who seemed to be drifting in and out of exhausted sleep, murmuring to himself and coughing occasionally.
"Knock knock," Gladys said softly from outside the tent entrance. "Are you asleep?"
Bonnie crawled on her hands and knees to the end of the sleeping bag and pulled the flap open to look at Gladys, who was standing there with something in her hands. "I'm awake," she whispered back.
Gladys bent down and held her hands out to Bonnie. "I bet you haven't eaten in ages. This is just cold pork and beans and plastic spoons, but it's good food and it stays down. I opened the can for you already. Is your baby old enough to eat this sort of thing? Can you see to take this?"
Bonnie was overwhelmed with gratitude, and all of a sudden her eyes stung with tears and her throat closed up. She started to cry, her hands holding onto the hands of the other woman, who in turn held onto the can of beans and white spoons.
"Awww, hey now, it's okay honey. Don't you worry about a thing." Gladys crooned softly through the semi-darkness, squatting as well as her bulk would allow. "Come on out here, baby."
Bonnie crawled the rest of the way out through the opening and stood up, still sniffling and hyperventilating as she tried to stop crying. Gladys sat the can of beans just inside the the tent on the floor and wiped her hands on her dress, then gathered the young mother into her arms and held her as she rocked slightly back and forth, back and forth. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," she murmured over and over in the ageless language of mothers everywhere.
In the background, Hank struck a match and crumpled newspaper flared under the branches he had gathered and piled in his fire ring, and one more campfire joined the growing points of light scattered in the wide flat spot beside the highway. Dark bulky car shapes distorted the firelight, and as people moved around the fires, their shadows danced off the cars and gave an eerie feeling to the impromptu campground. Someone somewhere was cooking something over their fire, and it smelled of onions and grease.
"Bonnie? Where are you, Bonnie?" Bob's voice came from inside the tent, and Lucy began crying again.
"You better go see to your family," Gladys said as she smoothed Bonnie's sweaty hair back from her forehead. "Go ahead and change that baby's pants and feed your family and yourself, then come on out here and set awhile and we'll talk, okay? Maybe that husband of yours feels up to talking some. If he does, good. If he doesn't, well that's okay too. There's always tomorrow. We're none of us here in any big hurry. But don't you worry yourself about him. He's gonna be just fine. I know he is. I've seen it before. Okay?"
Bonnie nodded dumbly, tears still sparkling on her eyelashes in the firelight, then she ducked back in through the tent flap to tend to Lucy and Bob.
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:27:39 GMT -7
56. Bonnie slept amazingly well that night, even though Bob coughed off and on all night long and the plastic bags of clothing they used as pillows crackled every time they moved their heads. It must have been exhaustion that smoothed the pebbles beneath the sleeping bag, that shushed the mutterings from other people nearby. When she finally woke up the next morning, Lucy and Bob were still asleep but she could hear Gladys and Hank already moving around, building up the campfire. She also heard the clank of hollow metal against metal, like tin cups. Was that coffee she smelled? She carefully slid out of her side of the sleeping bag bed and smoothed her winkled clothes and messy hair, then crawled quietly to the tent flap, unzipped it, and slipped out.
Hank was sitting on a metal ice chest, a cup in one hand and a smile on his face. Gladys was putting a stick on the fire. A few other people were moving around the makeshift campground, but the place was still mostly sleeping. Even the police on duty at the barricade were in their cars, sleeping sitting up, their hats pulled over their eyes.
"Well good morning, merry sunshine," Gladys chirped quietly as she turned around and saw Bonnie standing there. "How about a cup of coffee?"
"Oh yes please, I'd love it. You've been so kind to us, I don't know how we'll ever repay you."
Hank snorted a laugh behind his coffee cup. "Repay us? What for? We didn't do anything except let you share our campsite. No need to repay us," he grunted, and he sipped loudly at the edge of his blue enamel cup.
Gladys laughed quickly too, as she expertly pulled an old fashioned cowboy style blue enamel coffee pot off a metal grate standing over the fire, using a folded cloth as a pot holder. Hank tossed her a cup like his from a box beside him and she poured coffee into it, and the brown stream steamed in the cool morning air. She sat the pot back over the fire and held the cup by the cloth as she extended it to Bonnie handle first. The smell that arose from the cup was wonderful, invigorating, full of promise and happiness and normal living. She sat down on a canvas folding camp stool that Hank pointed to and lifted the cup to her nose and just sat there, smelling the dark brew, enjoying it. Gladys and Hank exchanged looks and they both smiled.
"Now that's what you've been needing, right?" Gladys chuckled, as Hank nodded.
"Oh yes," Bonnie breathed. "Yes, very much so. I am so grateful to you both."
Over toward the police cruiser they could hear the crackle of static and a police radio began stuttering, someone said something in a garbled voice and one of the officers woke up and began talking into a handset.
"Where are you going to now? Do you have somewhere to go?" Gladys was saying, drawing Bonnie's attention away from the police car. "Did you say your house burned down?"
"What?" Bonnie was still half asleep, and she had to pause to gather her thoughts. "No, we don't have anywhere to go now. I think the house burned, but I don't know. We didn't actually see it go up." So did the house burn? What if it didn't?
"So your entire earthly possessions are what you have in your car now?"
Bonnie turned to Hank. He was pointing with his coffee cup at her car.
"Yes, I guess so. Except what's in Bob's apartment in Centerville, but the police won't let us go there now."
"That's probably a good thing," Gladys interjected as she dragged another box over and sat down on it. "If there's some contagious disease running through it, you don't want to be there. You're better off away from most people in that case. But you aren't prepared to live in isolation, are you?"
"I guess not, huh?" Bonnie agreed ruefully. She blew on the coffee and took a sip. It was too hot but tasted incredibly good anyway.
"I hope you don't mind me pryin', but what all did you bring with you?" Gladys said.
"Oh, clothes and some photographs. Diapers. Whatever I could grab."
"First aid kit? Tarp? Fishing gear? Food?" Gladys leaned forward, her own coffee cup clutched in her two hands, her elbows resting on her knees. "How about weapons? Did you bring anything to barter with? Did you bring BOBs?"
Bonnie was confused. "Bob?" What was she talking about?
"No, honey. BOBs. Bug out bags. You don't know what I mean, do ya? You aren't preppers, are ya?"
"No, I guess not. What's that?"
"Let's review your situation," Gladys explained, gesturing with one hand as she held the coffee cup with the other. "You don't have anywhere to go. You didn't bring anything immediately useful with you. You can't stock up way out here, and you have a husband who is gonna be laid up for a while until he gets that muck out of his lungs. And you have a baby to take care of," she added as Lucy woke up back in the tent and began whimpering. "I guess Hank 'n me are gonna have to teach you how to be a prepper, and take care of you three until you can get back on your feet."
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:29:14 GMT -7
57.
Lucy had a breakfast of an applesauce cup. Bonnie had a granola bar, and Bob drank a cup of coffee and nibbled at one of the granola bars offered by Gladys, but couldn't finish it when he started coughing again, not as violently now, but still bringing up stuff.
Then as the refugees began cleaning up after breakfast, a policeman using a bullhorn made an announcement. He stood with the other officers beside one of the two cruisers that an hour ago had joined the first one parked at the barricade. He faced the gathering campers as they straggled over from their campfires and cars. The click of his bullhorn turning on, the squeal of feedback, drew them together to face the group of cops on the other side of the road.
"Folks, there's no point in staying here like this any more. We've gotten word that this blockade is going to continue for at least another two weeks, and probably longer, so you should move on now." The man was clearly upset. He stopped and lowered his bullhorn and turned to look at the other law officers standing behind him, then again raised it to his mouth. "I wish I had better news for you, but the best I can do is to tell you to head south, to Williamsburg, or back west on the interstate to one of the towns out there in that direction. Maybe one of them is still letting people in."
There was an angry murmuring from the crowd of tired campers, and one man stepped forward out of the group and raised a fist and started to say something, but closed his mouth when the policeman with the bullhorn stopped him. "Don't. Don't go making this any worse than it is. Our hands are tied. Believe me, we don't want to have to turn you away, but we have to. And right now, it's for your own good. You don't want to go there. Some of the reports we've been getting..." at that point, one of the new officers in the group reached out with one hand and shoved the bullhorn down before the man could finish his sentence. The two men had a brief, whispered exchange, then looked toward the cluster of refugees and the policeman again raised the device to his mouth. "Just understand that it's better for you if you aren't in town any more. Maybe some of you can go find a place to camp out in the trees. Try to get near running water. Dig your latrine away from the water. You can make shelters, even hunt a little if you're equipped to do that. Just do it safely, if you hunt at all! There aren't going to be any game wardens coming out to see if you have hunting licenses, that's for sure." This time the other officer stopped him with a look. He nodded at the officer, then continued.
"Okay folks, here's how it is. You have to move on. We'll help you with directions if you need them. Under no circumstances will you be allowed to enter Centerville. Every road in is blocked just like this one. Do not go cross country to try to avoid the roads. Just stay away." He clicked off the bullhorn for a few seconds, lowering it and rubbing his other hand over his face, then once again clicked it on and raised it. "You also need to know that all law officers have this morning been authorized to use deadly force to make sure nobody gets in. Or out."
"What about you cops out here? Where are you going to go?" someone in the back of the restless crowd yelled.
The policeman smiled tiredly, resignedly, and shook his head. "Don't worry about us. We'll manage. Now pack up and get moving, please."
The campers shuffled their feet and muttered, a woman started crying hysterically, but the people went back to their campfires and cars and started packing up, dousing the fires, breaking camp.
Bob was exhausted just by the effort of standing to listen to the announcement. He slumped to the ground on a folded sleeping bag by the campfire and stared into the flames. Bonnie put Lucy down beside him and sat down next to both of them on Hank's ice chest. Gladys tugged at Hank's shirt sleeve, pulling him away from the couple, giving them privacy. The preppers began the process of emptying and collapsing their tent and methodically stacking things inside the trunk of their sedan.
"What do you want to do now, Bob? Just tell me, and we'll do it. I can drive. Just tell me where to go." Bonnie tangled and untangled the fingers of her hands nervously. Her face was streaked with dirt and sweat and she had worn the same clothes for three days, as had Bob. Lucy was the only one in clean clothing.
Bob coughed and struggled to fill his lungs, then spoke quietly. "I've been thinking about it. I think we should try to go back to the house. I'm pretty sure I got the gully burned out in time, so there's a good chance the fire stayed on the other side of it and didn't get to the house. I think we should go back. And I've been talking to that guy, Hank. I like him. He and his wife are good people. They've gone out of their way to help us and they don't have anyplace to go, so if it's okay with you, I think we should ask them if they want to come with us." He had a coughing spell and spat more mucus onto the dirt. What he was spitting up now was closer to normal color, not like yesterday. Most of the gray color was gone except for an occasional streak, and Bob was regaining a healthy color in his face. He had turned the corner, just like Gladys said he would, but he still struggled with his energy levels. He sat there gasping for breath, waiting for her to answer.
"It's your house, Bob, so I shouldn't have any say in who you invite there. But I feel like you do. They've been kind to us, given us food and water and shelter, and I think it would be only right to ask them."
Lucy was gurgling happily, playing pattycake sitting there on a corner of the sleeping bag. Now she turned her sunny face toward them both and laughed, chortled with delight, and waved her hand. "Bye bye? Go bye bye?"
Off to one side Gladys and Hank saw her and chuckled, pointing just like a proud aunt and uncle. Bob glanced at Bonnie just as she looked at him, and it was decided, just like that.
"Gladys? Hank? Could we talk to you for a minute over here?" Bonnie called out.
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:30:56 GMT -7
58.
Bonnie stopped the car at the gate and Bob drove the vehicle on through, with Hank and Gladys right behind. She closed the gate and got back into the driver's seat and they continued on along the narrow dirt one-lane. She hadn't smelled much smoke while she was outside, just the barest traces, but that didn't mean anything. The wind could have shifted. They were all ready for anything, alert and watching, and Hank had his window down, sniffing as he drove. When the trees finally parted and they emerged into the clearing, Bob gave an audible sigh of relief. The house was just fine. The trees, as far as they could see, were unburned. There didn't even seem to be any evidence of brushfire under the trees off in the direction of the burn.
Gladys was clearly impressed with the house. She climbed out of their car and just stood there, looking up at it with admiration. Hank, on the other hand, was all business. He didn't care much about how the house looked, just that they had arrived. He immediately asked what he could do to help, and began unloading bags and boxes from the cars and stacking them on the porch. Bonnie went to unlock the door while Gladys helped Lucy out of her car seat, then hovered protectively over the little girl as she toddled in and out of the boxes collecting on the porch. Bob helped unload as much as he could, but he had to stop and sit on the porch steps after just a couple of trips.
Once inside, after they all got established with Hank and Gladys in one of the extra bedrooms, Gladys drew Bonnie into the kitchen to make lunch.
"Let me show you a trick or two, honey," she said as she tied an apron around her ample waist. Within an hour the family was sitting down at the table to big bowls of thick lentil soup, crackers and cups of sweetened herbal tea, and Bonnie was beaming in the glow of compliments from the others. Even Lucy enjoyed the creamy goodness of the brown lentils, playing pattycake on her high chair tray with a spoonful that had spilled from her bowl. Her herbal tea had an ice cube in it to cool it down, and she had it in a sippy cup so she wouldn't spill it.
"We, me'n Hank, want to thank you both for letting us come here," Gladys directed her comments toward Bob and Bonnie both. Hank, sitting next to her, reached over and took her hand and cuddled it in his own big paw, and she turned and smiled at him. "We coulda gone on and probably found somewhere else to camp out, and goodness knows, we sure enough are prepped for caming, but this," she waved her free hand at the room, "is luxury for us. We do appreciate the hospitality, that's for sure."
Bob coughed into his paper napkin and gripped the edge of the table for support while the spasms racked him, then he spoke. "You took us in first, remember? And you calmed Bonnie down when she didn't know what else to do. As far as I'm concerned, you saved us. I thought I was dying there for a while, but you knew what I was going through. You took care of my family when I couldn't. You told me it would be okay, and you made me believe it. For that I am profoundly grateful to you. Sharing our house with you and Hank is the least we can do." He scraped his spoon around the inside of his bowl to get the last of his lentils; seeing it, Gladys passed the pot so he and Hank could have another helping.
"Gaga!" Lucy squealed as she rubbed lentils into her hair. Bonnie used a napkin to wipe her head as the child kicked her heels happily against the plastic footrest of the high chair, and all the adults looked at her and smiled.
They cleaned every last bit of lentils out of the pot and ate the rest of the waxed paper stack of saltine crackers. Lucy contented herself with mushing a cracker in her mouth and spitting it onto her tray so she could play with it.
"Well now, Bob, how about you'n me to outside and have some mantalk while these women clear the table?" Hank suggested as he rose from his chair. "I'd like to know what you catch in that lake, what you use for bait, what you like for guns, and how much ammoyou have on hand." Bob struggled to his feet and followed the other man out the door to the back porch as Hank continued, "I stockpile lot of ammo, shotgun and rifle..." Their voices faded as the door closed behind them.
Lucy giggled and threw her spoon onto the floor as Gladys and Bonnie smiled at each other. It was good to see the men talking like old friends, the baby so happy and relaxed.
"Let's get this cleaned off and I'll show you how to make a pudding cake without using any eggs or milk, okay hon? Everybody'll like that for dessert tonight. We can put my groceries away in the pantry and take stock so we can make some menu plans. Maybe we can even get the men to go get us some fish for supper. That is, if Bob feels up to it. You do have a boat, don'tcha? He could just sit in the boat and fish. Same as sittin' on the porch, 'cept it brings home supper." Gladys quietly rattled on as she gathered up bowls and spoons and wadded-up paper napkins from the table. Bonnie felt herself start to really relax inside for the first time in a long time. Having Gladys and Hank here was like having family with them. Bonnie loved it. This is what she needed, an older woman to show her how, to help out, to bring everything together into a family unit.
"Do you have any cocoa powder?" Gladys was calling from inside the pantry. "No, wait, I see it...good! Why don't you give Lucy a bottle and put her down on the couch for a nap, so I can teach you how to make this?" Out on the back porch Bob was discussing the finer points of wet flies versus native live bait, and he was starting to feel good. Hank knew what he was talking about; he seemed to be an experienced hunter and fisherman. It was comfortable and familiar to sit there chatting about these things with another man, like in the old times when his parents were still alive. He half expected his mother to come out the back door ande ask if they wanted some iced tea. The rungs on the rockers squeaked as they rocked back and forth, the wind hushed through the tall pines, and somewhere a bird was warming up his evening song. Later, if he could walk that far, he and Hank could head over to the burn area and see how extensive it was, how much forest it had destroyed; his efforts must have stopped it along the gully, and it had to have burned itself out there. The house was safe, he was recuperating with no apparent long-term injury, and they had two new members in the family. His belly was full of a hearty hot meal and life was good.
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Post by ColcordMama on May 17, 2012 21:32:29 GMT -7
59. On Monday of the following week, Gladys helped Bonnie organize the pantry, making lists of what they had and what they needed. Gladys discovered three boxes of new canning jars up in the rafters of the outbuilding, but showed Bonnie how the rubber on the lids had deteriorated so they couldn't be used. Still, the jars would be useful as soon as they could get a supply of new lids, and the rings were just fine. That same day Hank and Bob went out in the boat and brought back a string of big trout for dinner. The men were immensely pleased with themselves as the new family sat down to the table; a large platter was heaped with cornmeal-crusted fried fish and there was a fresh loaf of homemade bread and fried potatoes to go with it. Hank theorized that since nobody had lived in the house for several years and no one had been fishing the lake regularly, the fish had thrived and grown huge in their advanced years. However it happened, the meal was delicious, and even Lucy happily polished off half a trout that Bob had carefully picked bone-free for her.
On Wednesday Gladys and Bonnie and Lucy went out to do what the older woman called "foraging." They walked along the lakeshore seeing what they could find, Gladys teaching Bonnie about plants and herbs she found along the say. She pointed out wild blackberry canes and sassafrass bushes. She explained how to make pine needle tea for the vitamin C it contains, and she warned against a patch of poison ivy. When they came upon a marshy place beside the lake and found a large stand of cattails thriving there, Gladys giggled and danced from one foot to the other with delight.
"You see this?" she said, pointing. "This is one of the most valuable plants you could ever have in the wild. Let's get busy." She took out the wadded-up plastic grocery bags she had stuffed into the pockets of her apron, sat down on a rock and began digging into the mud around the base of the nearest cattail stalks, harvesting strange-looking tapered things she called dormant sprouts. Lucy plopped herself down on a mossy mound in a patch of sunlight and began playing with the flowers she was carrying, and Bonnie squatted down and started rinsing off the sprouts Gladys was digging up and throwing to her. Gladys couldn't stop raving about cattails. "Just wait and see! You can eat the new spikes in the spring, just boil them like corn on the cob! You can use the leaves to weave into baskets and hats! You can make flour from these roots! You can collect the pollen from the spikes and add it tio food for color and vitamins!"
She stopped for breath and rested her slimy-muddy hands on her knees. "I bet we'll even find mudbugs here. This is the ideal place for 'em. You ever eat mudbugs?"
"Mudbugs? Ewww!" Bonnie made a face as she swiped at a stray lock of hair that had falled across her forehead. She left a smear of mud on her cheek and the lock of hair fell right back again. "What are mudbugs?"
"Crawdads! You don't know what I'm talkin' about? Crayfish? Crawfish?"
"I've heard of crawfish, but never mudbugs."
"They're one and the same," Gladys explained. "That settles it. We'll take this lot home and come back later and see if we can find any mudbugs. Best eatin' you ever had. Like little lobsters."
And so it was that evening when the men came in from the garage, sweaty and tired from cleaning guns and sharpening tools, they washed up and sat down to a feast: boiled crayfish with melted margarine for dipping, boiled cattail sprouts, and canned tomatoes. Bonnie had also made a big pan of biscuits to be eaten with margarine and honey. After dinner, after the dishes were washed and Lucy was asleep, her nose pink from a bit of sunburn, the two couples sat out on the back porch and talked quietly. Hank and Gladys were comfortable in their affection, but Bob settled for putting his arm around Bonnie's shoulders as they sat beside each other on the top step.
It was as if the world was normal again, as if nothing had happened and Bob was courting Bonnie. It felt natural and good. It felt right. With full bellies, a good secure house, plenty of food in the pantry, and no outside influence to threaten their little family circle, they all relaxed. As much as possible in the middle of a world-wide health crisis that had already killed millions of people, this group of five was happy, healthy, and at home safe and sound.
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