by N. C. Reed
“Well, that’s good. We can be home. . . .” Jon trailed off as Billy held up a hand.
“What is it?” Terry asked, hoisting his rifle and looking around.
“You don’t hear that?” Billy asked softly, frowning.
“I don’t hear. . . .” Terry trailed off, looking alarmed.
“The train.”
*****
The drivers hurried to their trucks, and soon the rigs were on the road. The Ford brought up the rear, since that’s where the threat would be.
“Maybe we should leave the U-Haul, George,” Pete suggested.
“No,” George said at once. “Too much on it. And if this group ever comes after us, we’ll need it.”
“Point,” Pete nodded. “We really need a couple more guys,” he added.
“Have to make do. Do what we can with what we got,” George shrugged. Pete pulled up to the Hummer, and George jumped out.
“You guys get going,” he ordered.
“Soon as you do,” Peter nodded.
“I mean now!” George snapped back.
“Whatever,” Peter muttered, backing the truck out onto the road. He jumped out, rifle in hand.
“What do you say, Toby?” he asked, as the boy slid over behind the wheel. “We run, or we wait?” Pete was testing his young friend.
“We wait,” Toby said at once, gathering up his own rifle. “He won’t never be able to drive that rig and shoot back.”
“Good man. Be ready to tear outta here as soon as he’s out of sight.”
Toby nodded, watching George. They couldn’t use the radios, for fear the signal might be picked up. All they could do was stick to the plan.
“Hate to leave the others with no rider,” Toby said quietly.
“Me too,” Pete admitted. “We’ll catch up soon enough,” he nodded as George came tearing out of the Townsend driveway.
“You idiots get moving!” he yelled angrily. Toby smiled, and waved, and sat still.
“Right behind you!” Pete yelled. George looked mad as he pulled onto the road, and floored the big truck.
“He looks madder’n a wet hen,” Toby laughed. Pete nodded.
“We’ll hear about this later, you can bet,” he told the teen. “But I don’t mind getting chewed on for doing the right thing.”
“Me neither,” Toby surprised himself by admitting.
“Hear that?” Pete asked. Toby could hear it. Motorcycles. He looked to see where George was. Out of sight.
“George is up the road,” he reported.
“Just in time, too,” Pete said, raising his rifle. “Here come the neighbors.”
Two motorcycles, much like the two that Billy had destroyed in Cottonwood, came into view. Both slowed at the sight before them, and one raised his hand to his head. Assuming it was a radio, Pete opened fire, spraying both bikes, and both riders, with a hail of jacketed bullets. Both fell to the pavement, and one of the bikes caught fire.
“Time for us to move on, kid,” Pete ordered, sliding into the back seat, and opening the rear window. “Get us moving!”
Toby needed no encouragement. He floored the big Ford, and it took off, heading down the highway, with Pete watching their rear the whole way.
*****
“I’d like to know what the two of you thought you were doing?” George almost yelled, as Pete and Toby stood before him.
“Our job,” Pete shrugged. “We were the escort. Our job to make sure the rest of you made it out of town.”
“And we did, too,” Toby added. George’s glower cut his smile off at the knees.
“I told you two to get down the road!”
“And we did, right after you,” Pete nodded.
“I meant right then!”
“You should have explained yourself better,” Pete shrugged. “Not our fault.”
George looked apoplectic.
“We did what we was ‘sposed to do, Mister Purdy,” Toby said firmly. “I don’t see what the big deal is.” George looked at him, but said nothing. Finally he sighed.
“So you did, Toby,” he said at last. “Good work. Both of you.”
“That’s more like it,” Pete nodded.
“Don’t push it, Injun.”
*****
The news traveled fast that everyone was home, and that they had encountered the train. Ralph and Amy decided to go up and see what had been found, and asked Debbie to come along.
“I don’t think so,” Debbie shook her head. “I don’t feel too well, at the moment,” she admitted. “Would you mind letting Georgie go with you? To see his father?”
“Of course not,” Ralph said at once. Amy looked at Debbie in concern.
“Deb, are you okay?”
“Oh, I think so,” Deb nodded. “Just a little off, that’s all. I’ve been having trouble for a little while. I think it’s the different foods we’re using now. I’ve tried to make more things from scratch than I used to. I think once we’re adjusted to the diet, I’ll be much better.”
“None of us have had any trouble,” Amy pointed out.
“And be glad for that,” Debbie told her, grimacing. “It’s not all that bad, just irritating. And tiring. Seems like I’m always tired, lately,” she admitted.
“Well, why don’t you try and rest while we’re gone,” Amy told her. “The house will be good and quiet.”
“I think I will,” Debbie nodded after a minute of thought. “I really am tired.”
“If you need me for anything, give me a call, okay?” Amy pressed.
“I will,” Debbie smiled tiredly. “Tell George I’m glad he’s back okay,” she added hesitantly.
“I sure will,” Amy smiled. She really did like Debbie, when she wasn’t trying to stir up trouble. Amy still had no idea why she was so prone to be that way. There didn’t seem to be any reason for it.
But, it wasn’t her business, either, she decided. Debbie was grown.
Georgie in tow, the couple started up the road.
Behind them Debbie rose tiredly to her feet, and started for her bedroom. She had taken three steps when a wave of dizziness and nausea struck her. Before she could react, she fell to the floor, unconscious.
*****
“Well, that’s a load you boys got,” Jerry said approvingly. Ben Kelvey nodded in agreement.
“Enough materials to build a house, pretty much,” he added, looking into the two trailers that carried the building supplies.
“Got a decent haul from a pharmacy, too,” George told them, nodding to Amy. “Might want to look through it.”
“I will,” Amy nodded.
“What’s in the Army rig?” Ralph asked. George grinned at him.
“I raided the Guard armory at Columbia,” he told them. “Got a whole bunch o’ goodies, too,” he added with a snicker.
“I bet,” Ralph grinned back. “Anything interesting?”
“Well, I think there’s enough tack vests for all of us to have one,” George nodded. “Plus BDU’s, boots, everything we need. Even radios.”
“Nice,” Ralph nodded. “Debbie said tell you she was glad you were back safe,” he added, more quietly. George nodded, hoisting Georgie up in his arms.
“I’ll. . .I’ll try to visit,” he said quietly. “Good to see you, little man,” he told his son,
“Where you been, Daddy?” the youngster asked. “Missed you.”
“Aw, I missed you, too, little buddy,” George replied with a tight hug, trying to keep his emotions under control.
“Big truck,” he said excitedly, pointing to the rigs.
“Very big truck,” George nodded. “Wanna see’em closer?” he asked.
“Sure!”
Terry walked his son over to the rigs, wondering what a conversation with his wife would bring. He decided he would go and see, after he spent some quality time with his son.
Maybe Debbie would be in a mood to talk sensible.
*****
“Well, that was fun,” said Rhonda as she an
d Billy unloaded his gear from the rig and placed it in the Ford.
“Sure was,” Billy said tiredly. He really wasn’t paying attention. He was beat.
“Billy, I think you need a day or two of rest,” Rhonda told him. “You’re about done in.”
“I’ll be fine,” Billy waved her off. “Will be good to sleep in my own bed again, though,” he added. “I am tired,” he admitted. “Still, we got a lot o’ stuff done. We’re in a lot better shape now than we been a bein’.”
“I’m sure we are, but it’s time you got some rest,” Rhonda told him flatly. “And there’s plenty to do at the farm for a week or two, so you don’t have to worry ‘bout having something to do.”
“Yeah, I’ll need to get caught up,” Billy nodded. “About time to start plantin’ our cache tubes, too,” he added.
“Okay,” Rhonda nodded. “Let’s go home and get cleaned up first, and get some rest. I’m tired.”
*****
George walked back with Ralph and Amy, Georgie riding on his shoulders.
“You gonna live with us again, daddy?” the boy asked, and George felt a lump in his throat.
“I’ve always lived with you Georgie,” he said honestly. “Why would I stay away?”
“Don’t know,” the boy admitted. “Just missed you. Afraid you was gonna stay gone.”
“No, buddy, I’m not staying gone,” George promised. Right then he made his decision to do whatever it took to work things out with Debbie. He could live in misery if it meant his son didn’t. That was a sacrifice he was willing to make.
At the house, Amy opened the door, and Ralph stepped in behind her, followed by George and Georgie. By the time George was inside, Amy had already ran to where Debbie lay on the floor.
“Ralph, get my bag. Hurry!”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“What’s wrong with momma, daddy?” Georgie asked quietly.
Debbie had been moved to their bedroom, and Amy was examining her as George and his son sat in the living room. Ralph was in the hallway, in case Amy needed any assistance.
“I don’t know, buddy,” George told him. “But Miss Amy is with her, so I’m sure she’ll be okay.”
“I like Miss Amy,” Georgie nodded. “She’s nice.”
“She sure is, isn’t she,” George nodded. He was trying to maintain his calm, but it wasn’t easy. He needed to be strong for his little boy, though. He heard Amy speak, though he couldn’t make out the words. Ralph nodded, and walked into the living room.
“Amy can’t figure out exactly what’s wrong,” he admitted. “Blood pressure is up and then down, and she’s real pale. No idea why, exactly. Amy says there’s two or three things might cause it. One of’em is some kinda poxy something, but that only happens to pregnant women.”
“It can’t be that, then,” George shook his head. “Debbie can’t have any more children, remember? Doctor told us that back when.”
“She can’t, or ain’t supposed to?” Ralph asked, eyeing Georgie carefully.
George Senior blinked.
“Ah, he said couldn’t. And we, uh, you know, never used any sort of, ah, preventive measures.”
“Maybe you should go talk to Amy,” Ralph said, weighing his words with care. “Me and Georgie can wait here. Can’t we buddy?”
“Well, I guess,” George Junior said, nodding.
George walked to the bedroom door, and looked in. Amy looked up at him, motioning him into the room.
“George, are you sure, I mean absolutely sure, that she can’t get pregnant?” Amy asked.
“Well, the doctor told us after Georgie was born that Debbie had suffered some damage that would make it impossible for her to conceive again,” he answered. “That sounded pretty definite.”
“What was her problem, exactly?” Amy pressed. “Was it a breached delivery?”
“Well, yeah, I think that’s the term. I know that Georgie was turned wrong, and making sure he was right caused a lot of damage. Deb almost bled out, in fact, it was so bad. We were lucky to save her. Or little man, either, for that matter.” Amy chewed on her lip, thinking.
“I can’t run the tests I need to see what’s wrong,” she admitted to him, finally. “I don’t know what to do, exactly, without that. If she’s not hypoxic, then it might be internal bleeding. That could be an ulcer that let go, or it could be something else. Her spleen maybe.”
“She doesn’t have one,” George suddenly remembered. “She had an accident when she was a teenager. Had to be removed.” Amy nodded.
“Okay, that helps.” Amy chewed on her lip again. Suddenly she started.
“I know you and her are having problems, George,” she said. “But are they normal? Has her behavior been off. I mean really off. We’ve all been off lately,” she added.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “You saw how she was about that girl, Mary. She’s been on about that, and then about the Tatum boy. Always downing Billy and Rhonda about the two kids.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s been like she’s trying to start something, you know?”
“Yes,” Amy nodded. “And you’re saying that’s not normal behavior? I’m not trying to pry, George, but anything that might help me get a clue here is important. Has she ever been treated for depression?”
“Yes,” George nodded. “After Georgie was born.”
“Any other time?” Amy pressed again.
“Not that I. . .well, wait,” he paused. “There was one time. A student of hers, really bright girl, was killed by her stepfather. He’d been abusing her for a long time, and she finally stood up to him. Deb was devastated. She cried for a week, off an on, sometimes just breaking down all out of the blue. We finally had to go to the doctor, and get her treatment for it.”
“What was the treatment?” Amy asked. “A drug?”
“Yeah, something with a P, I remember,” he nodded, thinking. “I can’t. . .you know, I remember kidding her it rhymed with axle, but I can’t. . . .”
“Paxil?” Amy asked.
“Yeah, that was it.”
“How long did she take it?”
“Well, she was still taking it,” George mused. “Or at least I guess she was,” he added. “We never talked about. I hated to say anything, since it always made her cry.” Amy sighed, leaning down to the point that he head could touch the bed.
“So she hasn’t had Paxil since at least the plague, is that it?”
“I can’t rightly say,” George admitted. “I’m sorry.”
“Where did she keep her medicines?” Amy demanded. “Anything that she might take for illness?”
George led her to a small bag in their bathroom, which Amy upended on the counter. She scrambled through the bottles, finally finding what she was looking for.
“This is 20mg Paxil,” she breathed. “Strong. And there’s three pills left. Out of ninety, dated right at the start of the Plague. She was trying to stretch them. And I bet wean herself off them,” she added. “Smart girl.”
“What?” George asked.
“This drug is addictive,” Amy told him. “Almost impossible to stop taking, without a doctor’s help. And she didn’t have a doctor. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get more, so she’s been stretching what she had, and making do.” Amy sighed.
“We can fix this,” she said confidently. “It will take some time, but we can fix it.” She looked up at George.
“This may explain her recent behavior,” she told him. “I’d bet on it, in fact.”
“Really?” George asked. He so wanted things to be right. “I had no idea she was still taking it. She never discussed that kind of thing with me. And I didn’t pry. Maybe I should have.”
“Takes two to communicate,” Amy said kindly. “You may shoulder some blame, but so does she. The important thing is, we can help her now. Probably. She should come around after she sleeps. I’m almost positive that she’s suffering from fatigue as much as anything else. She’s hasn’t been eating good, she’s been scrimping on her meds, though
out of necessity. She’s stressed, and she’s depressed. Not a good combination.” She laid her hand on George’s arm.
“Don’t worry, George,” she told him confidently. “We’ll make it right.”
*****
Debbie came around slowly, her eyes adjusting in the dim light. She looked around, her gaze coming to rest on George, asleep in a chair near the bed. His head was over on his shoulder, one hand bracing it, elbow resting on the chair arm. She tried to rise, but her head spun, and she lay back with a groan.
George was awake in an instant. Two seconds later he was kneeling by her side, holding her hand in both of his.
“How are you?” he asked softly. One hand came up to smooth her hair back from her face.
“Whmmphh,” she tried, but her mouth and throat were bone dry.
“Wait a minute,” George reached out to her night stand and took a small glass with water, holding it up for her to drink. She did so greedily, and drained the glass.
“Want more?”
“No,” she gasped. “What happened?” she asked, lying back again.
“You fainted, I guess, for lack of a better word,” George told her, replacing the glass on the night stand and reclaiming her hand. “Amy says you’re suffering from fatigue, among other things. And that you’re suffering from withdrawal from the Paxil.”
“I thought I had that under control,” Debbie replied, her eyes closed. “I really did.”
“Baby, you should have told me,” George scolded lightly. “Why didn’t you?”
“George, you had so much on you,” she said softly, a single tear trailing down her cheek. “I. . .I just couldn’t add to that. And it was my problem to deal with.”
“That’s bullshit,” George told her firmly, though his voice was kind. “We’re married, Debbie. Any problem one of us has, both of us have.”
“Things were so. . .so messed up,” she sobbed suddenly. “I could hear myself saying things I shouldn’t, and for the life of me I couldn’t stop. I know, I knew, I was hurting you, and making everyone else mad, and I still couldn’t stop myself. I was afraid that anything I said would just sound like an excuse.”
