World After Geezer: Year One

by Penn Gates

  World After Geezer: Year One

  A NOVEL

  By Penn Gates

  World After Geezer: Year One is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to current events or locales, or to living persons, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Penn Gates

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.

  Published in the United States of America by the author.

  Cover design © AM Clyne

  For more information about the author, visit http://www.InOurWriteMinds.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1: It’s Gaza Flu, not Geezer!

  Chapter 2: This is like a hobbit house

  Chapter 3: We all want to go back - but home isn’t home any more

  Chapter 4: How come The Sickness didn’t take you?

  Chapter 5: The last surviving St Clair

  Chapter 6: Mennonite and Englischer resources

  Chapter 7: Another senior survivor in a deserted town

  Chapter 8: Who wants to take in a kid called “Freddie” Krueger?

  Chapter 9: What kind of name is Cash?

  Chapter 10: I’m here because I wanna be, not because I have to be

  Chapter 11: If I was a carpenter and you were my lady

  Chapter 12: A day of discovering secrets - of all sorts

  Chapter 13: Time to start our special relationship!

  Chapter 14: Old boyfriends don’t necessarily improve with age

  Chapter 15: We need more space, not more mouths to feed

  Chapter 16: When it comes to other people, you act like a 5-year-old

  Chapter 17: All your problems are mine already

  Chapter 18: The RV from Hell

  Chapter 19: A traditional trial is out of the question

  Chapter 20: If we do this, everythin’ will change

  Chapter 21: You must have a traditional wedding!

  Chapter 22: You can’t even get through your own weddin’ without arguin’

  Chapter 23: We're not so bad once you get to know us

  Chapter 24: Some religions believe if you think it or feel it - you did it

  Chapter 25: A couple of those strangers in Hamlin ain’t exactly boys

  Chapter 26: Finally - someone I don’t have to mourn

  Chapter 27: A dark stain spreads around the hole in his jacket

  Chapter 28: Someone always dies and someone is always left behind

  Chapter 29: Just tell me - did we get ‘em all?

  Chapter 30: We have a chance to build something good here

  EPILOGUE: April, Second Year, A.G. (After Geezer)

  ◆◆◆

  Adapt yourself to the life you have been given and truly love the people with whom destiny has surrounded you.

  -Marcus Aurelius

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 1

  Phoenix St Clair is running in the cold autumn drizzle. She grips the arm of a small black boy and half drags him as she struggles to keep going. He’s way too young to come down sick, but she worries he's not old enough to make this journey. Unfortunately, leaving him behind hadn’t been an option. Whatever that pack of human hyenas had been about to do to him, it was nothing good. As if he can hear her thoughts, the kid gives a little moan.

  “You have to keep up,” she snaps. “We can’t stop now. It’s only a little farther.”

  She has no idea whether this is true or not, but she knows if he falls down, she doesn’t have enough strength left to carry him. All those hours at the gym only go so far when you’re forty-two. The boy doesn’t make another sound. His thrift shop jacket of plaid wool is old enough to qualify as vintage clothing. Unlike her water repellent, insulated jacket, his absorbs the rain. It must weigh a ton by now.

  It had been the middle of the night when she’d swiped a small dinghy from the downtown marina. The kid had been terrified, but he hadn’t protested as she stuffed his arms into a life jacket and pushed away from the dock. She’d been rowing hard for ten minutes before she shipped the oars and looked back. That’s when she’d discovered the usual necklace of twinkling lights on the Lake Erie coastline was missing. The blackout was back.

  Without a way to keep the shore in sight, she feared she’d become disoriented and row in the wrong direction. And all the while she listened for the sound of a Coast Guard patrol boat. The kid would be OK. He wasn't a risk to anybody, and she was sure they’d take him to an emergency shelter. On the other hand, the odds were good they would shoot her.

  She tries to calculate how far they’ve come, but she’s lost any sense of how long they’ve been putting distance between themselves and Cleveland. It was almost dawn when they’d climbed up from the sandy beach and found themselves in a densely populated suburb, which also had a quarantine in effect. She’d closed her eyes and pictured the zone map in the squad room until she worked out a route which avoided the main check points.

  Once again they’d been lucky, walking in the alleys behind stores and slipping through residential back yards. At last the houses had grown farther and farther apart. They began to see fields, their crops half-harvested, as if something had interrupted the farmers in the middle of a row—the Grim Reaper. Really? she thinks. You’re making jokes at a time like this? Get a grip. Get your bearings. Or you’re not going to make it.

  It’s hard to tell how late it is now, but she thinks the sky behind its heavy blanket of clouds is growing darker. She needs to find shelter soon. It’s probably another half day’s journey to her grandfather’s farm at the pace they’re moving. She scans the landscape ahead of them but sees no familiar landmark to tell her she’s anywhere near her destination. She hadn’t gotten out to see Gramps as much as she should have in the past few years. When she was working a case there was a lot of overtime. Even driving out to see him, she’d been oblivious to the scenery. Her mind was always back at the job, looking at the white board, trying to see the clue that she’d missed.

  She catches movement at the edge of the tree line. “Shh,” she hisses into the kid’s ear. “I think someone might be out there in the field.” She pushes him into the tall weeds by the side of the road and drops down beside him, pressing herself into the soft, rain-soaked earth.

  It’s hard to sort the sound of something moving from the patter of rain drops on dead leaves. She holds her breath, the better to hear the rustle of dried soybeans, as it comes closer to where they’re hiding. Unwilling to remain frozen like helpless prey while a predator stalks them, she reaches beneath her jacket for her Glock, nestled safe and dry in its holster beneath her arm. Cautiously she lifts her head and finds herself staring at a herd of five deer grazing. Already their species is reclaiming territories lost to voracious humans a couple of centuries ago. She half sobs in relief and immediately regrets the sign of weakness.

  The kid looks at her, eyes wide. She notices the dark smudges beneath them. Fatigue, fear, hunger.

  She tries to smile reassuringly. “Just some deer. Don’t worry. They don’t bite.”

  “I know that,” he says indignantly.

  “You’ve seen deer before?” she asks, thinking it's a good sign he's talking.

  He shakes his head. “On TV." His face suddenly crumples.

  She realizes he’s on the verge of losing it. She knows the tricks for putting a crime victim at ease during an interview and she summons that skill now. “Hey, if you’re going to miss something, make it something useful—like a grocery store.”

  “Or Mickey D’s,” he says. “That would be good, too." He tries to summon a smile,
but it looks more like a silent scream.

  “Or a Holiday Inn with cable,” she says to keep the game going. She holsters her gun and shrugs into her backpack.

  He follows her lead and struggles to his feet. “Or a big, fast car.”

  “I vote for that one,” she says.

  “Me, too,” he gasps. “No more walking.”

  “Over there,” she says suddenly, the game forgotten. “It’s a farm. Maybe we can get out of this weather.”

  When they finally reach their destination, her heart sinks. This place was abandoned decades ago. The house itself looks like it’s made of wet cardboard dissolving in the rain. One corner of the roof has collapsed and its weight is relentlessly pushing the second story into the ground floor, which is shoving the porch forward. The whole place looks drunk and disorderly.

  She surveys each of the outbuildings that dot the place. None of them look like they could survive a strong wind. Then she spots the rusted hulk of a car, up on blocks. There are vines growing over its roof and under its chassis, but the windows are intact. It will be dry inside.

  “So no Holiday Inn,” she says, “But we’ve found a car." Seeing his eagerness, she hastens to add, “Not that we can drive it anywhere, but we can pretend it’s a motel for the night.”

  He just stands there, looking confused and trying not to cry.

  She takes his hand again and pulls him closer to the car. “Stand right here. I’ll take a look inside and make sure it’s OK. It’ll just take a sec.”

  She reaches up and yanks the door open. The hinges scream in protest. She looks over her shoulder. The kid has his hands over his ears.

  “This door could do with a little oil, don’t you think?” she asks conversationally as she glances beneath the car to make sure the concrete blocks under the axles are not crumbling. She hoists herself up and pauses for a moment until she’s sure it will bear her weight. The interior smells like mice and mushrooms. She pushes the front seat forward and pulls a flashlight out of her pocket. The beam of light darts across the back seat and into dark corners, but if there’s any wildlife, it stays hidden. She bangs the flashlight on the door frame, the floor, and then the seat. Nothing stirs.

  “Seems all right,” she says to the kid. “Come on over here. I’ll give you a boost up.”

  He shakes his head vigorously. “Not getting in there. No, no, no! You can’t make me!"

  He whirls around, ready to take off, but it’s grown dark and he’s not about to run into the unknown.

  “God damn it!” she says in exasperation. “What the hell is wrong with you?" And then suddenly she remembers.

  After she’d decided to get out of the city and head south to her grandfather’s farm, she’d hit the street for a little recon. Whatever was up with the electric power, it was flickering on and off in different areas. She’d just hit a dark patch and was groping her way down the street, staying close to buildings. Who knew what was out there in the dark when you couldn’t see six inches in front of your face? Suddenly she saw flashlight beams bouncing off parked cars and buildings, and she realized that any second she could be in the spotlight. She'd groped frantically along the rough bricks and then found empty space. An alley. Thank Christ.

  There were sounds of feet hitting concrete, then loud whispering. “Wrong part of town for smash and grab, bro. Nothing but junkers and garbage bags. Let’s go find us a big-ass parkin' garage with new cars and good shit in 'em.”

  “Hold up,” one of the shadows said. “Somethin’ moved inside that old rice burner. Shine your light in back.”

  “Nothin’ worth takin’,” the same voice continued after a pause. “But looks like we caught ourselves a rabbit.”

  She’d risked a quick look from the safety of the alley and watched them drag a small figure from a parked car.

  The dark shapes outside the flashlight beam shoved the kid between one another like they were playing with a beach ball, the pace quickening along with the force they used.

  Suddenly one had grabbed the limp figure and pulled it close. “You a boy or a girl?" he leered. He glanced at his companions. "I’m gonna bend this little fucker over the hood and take a look,” he hooted and yanked on the kid's jeans.

  Whistles and catcalls. All thoughts of keeping quiet were forgotten in the excitement of taking the game to another level.

  “Shit!” she’d said aloud. They wouldn’t hear her now unless she fired a shot. She knew she had to do something quick or she’d have a rape victim, or worse, on her hands. Distraction. She needed to create a distraction. She unwound the scarf from her neck while she slithered out of the dark alley and ducked behind a parked car across the street. She unscrewed the gas cap and quickly stuffed the fabric into the opening, hoping the tank was full. She groped for her lighter and took one quick glance at what was happening further down the street. Hands shaking, she lit the scarf and ran for the safety of the alley.

  She'd watched in impotent rage as they pulled the kid’s pants down and laughed. And then the night lit up. The sound was deafening as it bounced off the surrounding buildings. As she’d hoped, they dropped their prey and ran like startled coyotes. The question was how long they’d keep running.

  She already had her weapon drawn as she sprinted toward the kid, who was cowering under the car, pants still down. She’d reached for the kid’s coat collar and dragged the child out into the street. A little boy.

  “Pull your pants up and get in the car. I’m going to hot wire this piece of crap. Keep your fingers crossed the battery’s not dead.”

  To the kid’s credit, he'd pulled himself together and did as he was told although she'd heard his teeth chattering before the engine roared to life and she'd floored it.

  No wonder he's terrified to get in the back of a car, she thinks now, mentally kicking herself.

  “This isn’t like yesterday,” she says. “I’m here with you—and you know I have a gun. Nobody can hurt you. I promise.”

  He’s rigid with fear as she boosts him up and tells him to lay down in the back seat.

  “But first take off that wet coat.”

  “I don’t want to. I’m cold,” he whispers.

  “I know you are,” she says, trying to be patient. “That’s why I need to dry your jacket so you’ll be warm tomorrow. She removes her own jacket. “I’ll cover you up with this,” she says.

  As soon as he’s got something to hide under, the kid drops off to sleep. She rummages in her back pack for something warm and settles for multiple sweatshirts. The many layers are constricting, but it’s better than freezing.

  The rain has stopped but the wind is rising. She feels it buffeting the car. OK, lemons to lemonade, she thinks. The wind will probably dry the kid’s coat fairly fast. Having accomplished that little bit of housekeeping, she can no longer keep her eyes open. She falls asleep with the Glock clenched tightly in her hand.

  In the morning, she wakes the kid and hands him his dry coat. “Put it on quick before you get chilled again." She pulls something from a side pocket of the back pack. “Here. Have some breakfast.”

  She hands him half a chocolate bar, which she’s saved until now. Maybe with the night’s rest and a little fuel, the kid can find the strength to go on. She wishes she had the other half, but she ate it weeks ago for a sugar rush before she hit the gym.

  The boy begins to break the piece of chocolate into two pieces.

  “Hey, that’s all for you. I ate my share before you woke up,”she says, but she’s thinking that for a little kid he’s pretty amazing. She watches as he nibbles the edges of the candy, trying to make it last.

  “What’s your name?” she asks suddenly and he jumps. “We’ve been through a lot together and I don’t even know your name.”

  “Martin,” he says, without looking up from his candy bar.

  “Like Martin Luther King Junior?”

  “Yeah. Like that.”

  “I’m Nix,” she says and holds out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”<
br />
  He looks at her hand as if it’s going to fly up and hit him, and she quickly withdraws it. She knows something about being wary of strangers pretending friendship.

  “Nix is a funny name,” he dares to say before he takes another bite of chocolate.

  “Don’t I know it,” she says. “My mother named me after a city—Phoenix, Arizona. At least she didn’t call me Las Vegas.”

  “My grandma named me after Dr. King,” he volunteers. “She said everybody’s gotta have a name they can live up to.” Since the kid has hardly uttered a word in all the time they’ve been together, this pretty much qualifies as a speech.

  Nix tries to summon a smile. “Your grandma sounds cool,” she says, but mentally she’s kicking herself. She’s so pumped on adrenalin she’s been operating solely in survival mode. Until this moment it never occurred to her that anybody might be missing a little kid. After all, he was out alone on those crazy streets. She devoutly wishes she could put the idea back in its box, but she has to know if there’s a woman frantically searching for her grandson.

  “Where’s your grandma now, Martin?”

  Instantly his eyes fill with tears and she knows without him saying a word. She reaches out and pats his hand, and this time he doesn’t pull away. “I know how you feel. I want to get to my grandfather’s farm because I’m so worried about him.”

  Martin pops the last piece of chocolate into his mouth and squares his thin shoulders. “We better go then.”

  They trudge along for awhile and suddenly Nix points to a clump of trees with a bright red barn behind it. “See that? My friend Vera used to live there and my grandfather would drive me over so I could play with her. We built a fort in one of those trees when I was just about your age.” Nix suddenly realizes she has no idea what that is. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “I’m seven,” Martin says while still staring into the distance. “Let’s go see her. Maybe she has food,” he blurts, then claps his hand over his mouth. “I didn’t mean that,” he says quickly. “We gotta find your grandpa.”