by Jones, K. J.
Phebe’s impression was Caitlyn and Peter took after Michael Sr, and the youngest Shannon took after Maggie. A family split in so many ways, loosely held together by Caitlyn. The Sullivan men moved away from Boston. She suspected the family was a mess. More than her own family, since their problem was restricted to her father.
No river maps, but she felt closer to her husband. He carried this trauma. In the usual boneheaded macho guy way, he not dealt with it. But she could tell something was beneath the surface in him. How big that dragon was, she had not predicted.
he sat in the more comfortable captain’s chair, looking at the items on the floor, then turned the chair and looked out the windows at the dark bay.
Wires stuck out of everywhere on the console. Devices displaced or missing from their holders.
A funny random thought struck. Did the Vikings have PTSD? Or the European Iron Age tribes?
They all had societies that embraced warfare. And they relished bragging about their battles.
Yet, the Roman legions had trouble back home. They, like modern society, had sharp differences between the war arena and the home sphere. These things weren’t merged like the Vikings.
Did they remember everyone they killed? Julio mentioned that. He remembered every single one of the men he shot. But as a sniper, he had watched them for a while. His targets had become full human beings to him.
She had wondered about herself since she did not feel guilt over anyone she had killed. Didn’t even remember their faces. Except for Mr. Monroe, her first kill and neighbor. But killing them was a necessity.
Matt seemed to feel remorse and guilt over the men he could not save. He hadn’t talked about those he killed. Peter and Chris didn’t seem to have much remorse over killing at all. She had asked Peter. He shrugged and said something along the lines of “Somebody had to kill them. Better me than some of my men.” It was a weird comment. So she asked the only one of them who could use his words, Julio. He said Peter had shot a kid who aimed at one of his men. And killed a woman, who picked up the weapon of her dead son and aimed it at his men. Julio also said the only way to get Peter to talk about anything was when he was very drunk. She had not seen him so drunk, since that would be irresponsible in their situation. She missed out on the real stories.
How many of the guys knew the real stories of his past?
It gave her a sense of not knowing her husband very well.
She looked at the things on the floor. A moment ago, they made her feel closer to him. Now, she felt more distant than ever. She was married to a stranger. Having a baby with a man she hardly knew.
And did the Vikings have PTSD?
More questions than answers.
She laughed. An image of returning to the life of the Before, but with all she had been through. Explaining things to professors with PhDs and post-grad work who considered themselves experts about how things really were. And she’d give a symposium lecture to archaeologists. She could relate to the peoples they studied. She knew how the Vikings felt. Or Iron Age tribes of Europe. And the tribes of the Americas. Abstract people for academics. But she knew from the inside.
Big Moe croaked a roar.
Day two in Charleston ended with still no sign of the guys.
Chapter Three
Day three in Charleston.
1.
Two sounds woke up the hungover people. A rooster and a croaking roar of a monster.
“What the fuck is that?” Brandon yelled. Then cringed at his head.
“It’s Big Moe,” Phebe announced as she walked through the house. “Somebody gets watch now.”
“Who’s Big Moe?” Brandon had his arm around Emily on the couch. “Fuck. Why did I drink gin?”
“He’s the dominant male alligator. He’s been doing that all night.”
“Why?” asked Emily.
“To tell everyone this is his territory. The water’s abnormally warm for this time of year. Maybe mating is soon.”
“Oh. Okay. God! My head really hurts.”
“Me, too,” said her boyfriend. “Kill that damn rooster.”
* * *
Phebe dove into the pool to get a sense of cleanliness. No one was there, so she skinny-dipped. A bottle of shampoo snatched from a shower upstairs, and dish cleaning liquid to scrub underwear. An Egyptian cotton towel to dry off. The clothes she put on were clean. That they were someone else’s didn’t matter.
She had her own headache from crying for half the night. Her eyes were puffy. Nose stuffed up. No one needed to know how emotional she was feeling.
Her mom would say it was mourning. Julio, Syanna, Dock Cat. But all she knew was the tears wouldn’t stop. Repressing the feelings had grown rough. Probably the hormones from pregnancy. She hoped it wouldn’t get worse.
A fire was in the woodburning oven. Angela, despite her headache, worked a pan over the flames.
“Eggs?” Phebe asked.
“Egg substitute, the box said. One of y’all must have found it during your house loots.”
“Okay.”
“It’s protein and you need that for the baby.” Angela piled egg substitute onto a plate. “It’s with a side of black beans. There are hundreds of cans of it in the pantry. That’s more protein.”
“I have my prenatal vitamins.”
“Put those on the list of things the team needs to loot today. You cannot run out.”
“Another loot day?”
“Ben said so. He’s working on acquiring a vehicle to help lug.”
Phebe looked over at the chrome-plated, highly expensive refrigerator. Duct tape went all around the seal of the fridge and freezer. Yet the fruit flies found their way in and out somehow.
“Ange, can I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure. I have no secrets.”
“Why do you always have your hair covered?”
Angela slowly smiled. Her hands went to Julio’s bandana. “My fuzzy roots are coming through. It looks dreadful like I’m a half-crazy woman. Hair sticking out all over the place. Black women are sensitive about their hair.”
“There was a whole thing between Syanna and her hair. Her mother wanted her to straighten it.”
“Her mother was the black parent?”
“Mmmhhhmm,” Phebe answered with imitation egg in her mouth. She waved a bug away from her face.
A flypaper strip, put up yesterday, was already black with flying buggers.
“It means more than hair to black people.”
Another forkful of eggs.
Angela continued, “My mama, God bless her, was adamant about keeping hair straight. I’ve never let roots get this bad. But you’re a different generation. Like Nia and Jayce. With everyone but me gone, they don’t see any reason to continue it … what did Nia call it? ‘Farce.’”
“How are they holding up?”
“Better than me. I’m about out of my mind. Nights are the worst.”
Phebe nodded in empathy.
“How are you doing?”
“Badly. But don’t tell the others.”
“It’ll be our secret, honey.” Angela sighed deep. “The best thing is to keep busy. Helps in the not-thinking process. The children didn’t know their father too well. He was always away when he was active duty and then he retired to Virginia Beach. Being without him is normal for them. They rarely saw his side of the family. The loss of my mother was the worst hit for them. She lived with us. She was infected.” Her brown-eyed gaze moved to the fire. As if thinking was threatening, she rushed to the simmering bean pot and stirred. “We’ll be alright. All of us. He’ll see us through.”
“Who?”
“The Father, baby.”
Phebe scowled as she thought. Certainly, it wasn’t her father. “Oh,” it occurred to her. “God.”
“Of course. To God goes the glory. We shall overcome. Amen.”
“Uh-huh.” She wished she could believe that. Any of it.
2.
Drugstore loot.
Littered streets. Cars haphazardly parked. The further away from the Battery area, the worse the outbreak carnage grew. Familiar sights reminiscent of Carolina Beach and Wilmington.
Brandon expelled a lot of energy checking the vehicles.
“What about that one inside the restaurant?” Ben mocked him. “Wanna check that out, too, Pell?”
A car had gone through the front of a restaurant. Its rear end stuck out onto the sidewalk. It looked to have been black once. Now, it appeared more of a dust-covered gray.
“Am I do something wrong, gunny?”
“Are you gonna remember everything in those cars and where they are to make this worth something? Like gas levels?”
“Most of them have gauges that turn off without electricity turned on. We need to start ‘em up.”
“Not the plan for the day. Keep with the group.”
“Roger, gunny.”
Brandon fell into the diamond formation. But his head remained on a swivel.
There was too much to do for gas siphoning yet. And it had been months since the last time those cars were run.
Robert said, “It’s just a small mom and pop pharmacy. It’s the closet one.”
“Was it looted?” Mazy asked.
“I haven’t actually looked inside. Stanton’s a hypochondriac. He had stockpiled medications, including antibiotics.”
“I’m assuming you never went inside the cruise ship?”
“No, ma’am. It’s a floating mass grave, I reckon, from what I’ve seen on the outside.”
“But it could be stocked. Was it prepping to go on a cruise when the outbreak happened?”
“I believe so.”
Mazy turned her head to Ben and smiled. He nodded. That news was fortune shining on them.
Robert said, “We were behind y’all in the outbreak. We watched Wilmington on the news. The sick were growing here. Heavily in North Charleston and coming south at us. That’s when the idea of evacuating via the cruise ship came up. We were supposed to go too.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He scoffed. “Stanton. He cannot leave home that fast. The idea of packing only one bag of essentials sent him into a panic attack. You see the way he dresses. I was yelling at him and the two of them ran around in hysterics and screaming. The jets went over us. I looked out the window and saw a cloud. Birds dropping out of the sky. I knew. So I dragged those two into the panic room.”
“You have a panic room?”
“Since my cousin panics over everything, yes. I lived with my boyfriend in North Charleston. Just because I couldn’t stand Stanton and Manuel every damn day. But I came back to the house when the quarantine was called. My little one-story house wasn’t going to be too helpful for me.”
“Good call.” Ben didn’t ask what happened to the boyfriend. When people abruptly left someone out of their story, it usually meant they died or worse.
“I often had to come down. Stanton mistakenly locked himself in the panic room many times. He couldn’t leave it as an ugly room. He decorated it. Then he and his friends had to christen it with a cocktail party. It locked on them. Funny as hell.”
“Are you really related to Calhoun?” Mazy asked, knowing who the South Carolina statesman from long ago had been.
“Yup. And to planters with mansions on the outskirts of town. Confederate soldiers all the way.”
“Related to any black people?”
“In fact we are. It’s not a close relationship, as you can imagine. The older generation wouldn’t acknowledge them. So God cursed them with gays.” He chuckled. “Family joke. I know our distant cousins. But there are no family reunions.”
“I can imagine. What did you do in the Before?”
“Is that what y’all call it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m a professional photographer. I have memory cards filled with scenes of the outbreak. Worthless now without electricity. A survivor has a genny. Henderson. The right-winger gun maniac.”
“Does he have a HAM radio?” Ben asked. “We spotted a big antenna.”
Robert smirked. “He was ordered to take it down. Historic society listed houses cannot have such an eye-soar on the roof. He was in a battle with multiple organizations. Guess he won. Or just outlived ‘em. Since they’re all dead and the antenna is still on his rooftop.”
“Is he communicating with the outside?”
“No idea. He’s real private. He doesn’t approve of us. He’s better with Dr. Jenkins.”
“Who’s this Dr. Jenkins?” Mazy asked.
“When we get back, I’ll see if he’s ready for a visit. Dr. Jenkins is a … was a plastic surgeon. He bought his house a few years ago. He has a seventeen-year-old daughter Karen.”
“How’d they survive?” Ben asked.
“His wife was sick. He wouldn’t leave without her and feared they’d kill her. But last spring, his house flooded. Ruptured pipe. The workmen found a strange crawl space under the kitchen.”
“Strange?”
“Some folks think it may have been an underground railroad hidey-hole.”
“Whoa. That’s like your ancestors, Maze.”
“They went down into it?” she asked.
“Yeah. He and his daughter. Wet towels on the face. His wife and his dog died from the gassing. There were hardly but a few minutes to protect yourself. I helped dig the graves. Mrs. Jenkins in the old cemetery. The dog, too, though you’re not supposed to bury pets there.”
Ben asked, “And this Henderson guy, how’d he survive?”
“The wingnut has gas masks. There were others. But the sick were not all wiped out by the gassing.”
“We had that where we were, ” Mazy said. “Survivors of the gassings then turned. Huge amounts of them.”
“Henderson’s family turned after the gassing. He shot them”
“Wow. That’s gotta hurt.”
“You got living family? You’re not from the Carolinas from the way y’all talk.”
“Oh, both of us are from outside of the Zone. As far as we know, they’re still okay. Mullen and Tyler, they’re the last of their families.”
Robert looked back at the armed kid. “That has to be rough for a child.”
“Tyler’s not a child. He’s just short.”
“Wait. He’s …?”
“No.” She laughed. “It’s a joke between us.”
“Oh, I get it.”
“How’d the Browning come into play?”
“My uncle. Stanton’s daddy. He collected antiques. Not furniture as much. But guns and a lot of Civil War artifacts and memorabilia. The World War Two-Korean War Browning was always there. He got it working. Collected or made the chain ammo for it. Everyone thought him a little odd for all this. But, ya know, we love our antiques around here. We only knew Henderson because of my uncle. They initially bonded over World War Two antiques. But … that didn’t work out too well.”
“Why?” asked Mazy.
Robert cocked a knowing grin at her. “You’ll see. Oh, you’ll see.”
Before she could ask a follow-up about his loaded response, Ben asked, “You wouldn’t have maps of the river system, would you?”
“No, but I’d bet Henderson does.”
“We have missing people. We’d like to conduct a search and rescue. They’re lost in the river system.”
“They could be lost forever in that maze of waterways.” Robert stopped. “We’re here.”
The roads were vacant of movement. Not even a stray cat or dog. Only the rats and bugs.
“Cover me?” asked Robert.
“Got you.” Ben aimed.
The door opened easily to Robert’s push. A shared look between them. An unlocked door was not a good sign.
Mazy stood guard as the two entered. Once Tyler reached her, she moved inside.
The place had been looted and rans
acked. Whole shelving units tipped over. Their boots crunched bags of potato chips and over-the-counter medications and stuck on sticky spills of soda.
The pharmacy section door stood mangled.
“Gunshots on the lock,” said Robert.
Inside the pharmacy, shelves were cleared out. Blood pressure and other medications on the floor. Pills spilled out of broken bottles.
“Antibiotics are gone.” Robert moved to another section, slipping on bottles and pills. “Birth control pills are gone, too.”
“Wait. Stay here.” Mazy retraced her steps out to the chaos of the store. She looked up at the signs and found the section for feminine items. “Shit. The tampons are gone, too. Only pads remain.”
Ben said, “They definitely have women in the group.”
“TP gone,” she hollered.
“That,” Robert said, “was being hoarded before it all went to shit here. Just like corona times.”
“This soda all over the floor,” Mazy said. “It’s old. Got lots of dead bugs in it. I think this happened a while ago.”
“They probably turned and became part of your pile of the dead, Robert,” said Ben.
He nodded. “I wish I knew where they brought all this stuff then. It’s sitting somewhere, unused.”
Tyler and Brandon stood guard outside, waiting for orders.
“Are we going in?” Tyler asked as the three exited.
“There’s nothing left.” Ben threw him a bag of chips. “That’s all we got.”
“Really?” asked Brandon. “Not even … for girls?”
“No B-C pills. No tampons.” Mazy chucked him a bag of Maxi pads.
“She’s not going to be happy.”
“And therefore you won’t be either. Here.” Ben handed him boxes of condoms.
“Even the potty chairs were gone.” Mazy turned to Robert. “How are y’all dealing with that?”
“Chamber pots and an outhouse. Not a good outhouse, but enough for the, um, ladies.”
She chuckled. “They are such ladies, aren’t they?”
Ben shook his head, uncomfortable with the gender-bending. “We need to hit that store from yesterday. Get everybody more underwear.”
