by Joe Nobody
Terri maintained her smile and patted the pavement, signaling Mindy to join her and have a seat. The girl was mesmerized by Terri, never taking her eyes off of the woman’s face. Slowly, step by step, the child inched closer and finally sat down.
“What flavor do you want, Mindy?”
“I don’t want anything to drink. I just want to go home. You’re not going to eat me, are you?”
Terri recovered quickly from the shock of the question. “Of course not, Mindy. Why would you think I was going to eat you? I don’t eat people.”
“Billy said all of the grown-ups wanted to eat us. They came here a long time ago with guns. They walked around the buildings and took stuff away.”
“No, baby, we’re not going to eat anybody. We’re here to help you guys.”
“Mr. Wilson made us hide when people came around. He said they were dangerous.”
“Who’s Mr. Wilson, Mindy? Where is he?”
“Mr. Wilson was our Sunday School bus driver. We were on the bus when all the people started falling over. The other kids said they were dying, and I hid under my seat. Mr. Wilson drove the bus way out here . . . he was scared.”
It was all coming together for Terri now. She chanced a glance at Bishop, and then asked, “Where’s Mr. Wilson now, Mindy?”
“He died after we found this place. One of the other kids said he needed pills for his heart.” Mindy pointed to the empty desert behind Terri. “The boys dragged his body out to that field because it didn’t smell very good. We watched the dogs eat him.”
Terri was stunned. She wanted to scream at the injustice, cry over what this little girl had been through. Taking a deep breath, she said, “So how many kids are inside the store, Mindy?”
“There are a lot . . . Billy, Cindy, Marty, Trevor . . . a lot.”
“Mindy, do you think I’m going to hurt you?”
“No, I guess not. But I’m scared of those bad people with guns.” Mindy seemed to remember that Terri wasn’t alone. She began nervously looking around, acting as though she was going to stand up and run. “Where’s the man that was with you? He had a gun, too.”
“It’s okay, Mindy, that’s my husband. His name’s Bishop, and he won’t hurt anyone.”
The girl settled down, returning her stare at Terri. “We shouldn’t stay out here very long. Sometimes people walk by here, and they look mean. Sometimes they have guns, too.”
Terri patted the girl on the arm. “Don’t worry; Bishop will protect us. He’s a nice man and very protective of me. He won’t let anyone hurt us.”
“My daddy was like that with my mom and me. He went away to the army a long time ago and didn’t come back. He died in some place called Aff…Afgan… I can’t say it. I don’t remember him, but my mom used to show me pictures and tell me stories.”
Bishop looked at the ground, the moisture from his eyes streaming down his cheeks. When will all this end? When will we quit doing this to each other? He thought. When does the suffering stop?
Terri soothed the girl’s tattered hair, “I’m sorry, baby. We need to get the other kids to go with us and see if we can find their parents, too. Do you think they would like to go for a ride in my truck?”
Mindy ignored Terri’s question, something reminding the child of her friend inside. “Do you have any medicine? My friend Trish can hardly walk. She skinned her knee real bad and now it has yellow junk coming out. She says it hurts a lot, and she shivers all the time.”
Terri nodded, “Yes, we have medicine, and I even know where there’s a nice doctor. Can you show me where Trish is?”
“Yeah. She’s lying in her box. She hasn’t come out for two whole days! I think she’s very sick.”
Mindy stood, motioning for Terri to come with her. Terri reached out for Mindy’s hand, gently stopping the girl. “Mindy, I need for Bishop to come with us. He has the medicine in his pocket. Would you like to meet him?”
The little girl nodded. Terri waved for Bishop to join them, ready to grab Mindy if she spooked and ran. Bishop rose from behind the pallets and slowly sauntered over, trying his best to smile and look friendly. “Hi, Mindy, my name’s Bishop.”
The child backed against Terri’s leg at first, ignoring Bishop’s extended hand. “It’s okay, Mindy. I promise,” Terri consoled.
Ignoring Bishop, the girl tightly grasped Terri’s hand. “Come on, I’ll show you Trish’s box.”
Following the girl to the entrance, Bishop heard more scrambling inside as they approached. He snapped the night vision off of his rifle and held it to his eye as they entered the darker area. The inside of the place astounded him.
Piles of garbage were everywhere. There was a packed carpet of empty wrappers, papers, and trash, evidence that the kids hadn’t been real tidy while eating. Discarded plastic bins of pretzels, trail mix, and other bulk snacks were strewn throughout the area. Bishop motioned to Terri and said, “I would’ve never thought of that. These office supply stores sold large containers of finger foods and other stuff to their customers. Mr. Wilson was pretty smart bringing them here.”
There were also toys, drawings, and every type of writing instrument imaginable scattered around. Evidently, the drawing supplies had been a big hit with the children, a virtually unlimited number of pens, pencils, and crayons they used to occupy their time. Like their refrigerators at home, it looked as if several of the children had found scotch tape and tacked their artwork to the walls and boxes that filled the space.
Mindy led them around a corner of the warehouse. Bishop could hear small scratches of movement all around them and assumed the other children were curious about what was going on, but still trying to remain out of sight.
Mindy stopped, pointing down at an empty box about four feet high and lying on its side. Terri bent to the opening, the odor from the inside surprising her for a moment. She flicked on her flashlight and found another small girl inside.
“Trish, Trish, I found some people with medicine for your leg. They’re nice, Trish.”
The girl didn’t respond, and Terri could see why. Right below the child’s knee was a swollen, red area that was clearly infected. The dirt and grime soiling the child’s skin made it difficult to judge how bad the injury was, but Terri could see enough to sense it was very serious.
“Trish, my name’s Terri, and I’m going to help you out of the box. I won’t hurt you Trish; I just want to see your leg.”
The small body inside moved a little, more of a moan than any acknowledgement of Terri’s words. Gently grasping the ankle of the uninjured leg, Terri pulled Trish out of the box.
Movement from behind drew Bishop’s attention, causing him to spin around. Standing behind them was a handful of children, the oldest of which was a boy of about 11 or 12 years. The skinny pre-teen held a claw hammer in his hand, a Home Mart price sticker still visible on the handle.
“Stay away from her,” he hissed.
Bishop decided to intimidate the lad, “Chill out, young man. We’re not going to hurt anyone. We’re here to help you guys, so put down that hammer right now.”
It didn’t work. The boy charged Bishop, wildly swinging his weapon at Bishop’s head. Bishop easily sidestepped the attack, catching the boy’s arm mid-swing at the wrist. The hammer was twisted away without issue, and then Bishop gently shoved the surprised kid backwards into his peers. Bishop tossed the hammer aside.
“Do something stupid like that again, and somebody will get hurt. Now cool your jets. We are here to help you.”
The gang of adolescents backed away from Bishop, not sure how to react.
Bishop stayed where he was and calmed his voice. “Look, you guys, I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I have a truck out front. The people back in town have food, shelter, and medicine. I want to take all of you back with us so you can find your parents and families.”
Terri interrupted Bishop, concern in her voice. “Bishop, this little girl is in really bad shape. We have to get her back right away to
see the doc. She’s not breathing very well.”
Bishop said, “Okay,” and then turned back to the group of kids. “Look, all of you had better come with us. We’ll take you back to town in the truck. Go gather everyone up and meet us by the back door.”
The kids started mumbling among themselves, not sure whether to trust the couple or not.
Mindy’s small voice sounded out. “They didn’t eat me. They are nice. I’m going with them.”
Her endorsement seemed to make it through to most of the kids and several left, walking toward the exit. Sure the confrontation was over, Bishop turned to the injured girl and scooped her into his arms. Looking around, he yelled out, “Come on, hurry up. Follow me to the truck.”
Terri and Mindy lagged a little behind, both trying to convince any stragglers.
A few minutes later, the couple led a virtual parade of ragtag, filthy children through the Home Mart and out to the pickup. Bishop opened the camper top and sat Trish inside. He then began lifting the smaller kids up into the bed while Terri climbed up, making it clear she was riding in the back.
A short time later, Bishop drove off, 11 kids crowded into the bed of his truck.
As they approached the church’s compound, Bishop honked the horn a few times to draw attention. Several people were outside on the grounds and began walking toward the entrance as Bishop pulled up. Deacon Brown appeared at the top of the steps, a questioning look on her face. “Bishop, what’s all the commotion about?”
“Hi, Diana. I’ve got a surprise for you. Look what we found at the store.”
Bishop opened the camper shell and then the tailgate.
“Oh my goodness!” Diana exclaimed! “Where did you find them?”
The kids started piling out of the back, several of the church’s patrons now gathered around. One reunion was almost instantaneous. “Billy! Billy! Is that you? Oh, thank the Lord! I thought you were . . . I thought you had . . . I had given up hope, Billy!”
“Grandma?” Billy rushed to the older lady, wrapping his arms tightly around the sobbing woman.
Two of the men immediately rushed Trish to the community’s makeshift infirmary, the rest of the children were greeted with a crush of concerned adults.
Terri began filling Diana in on the story while Bishop made sure the last of the children were receiving proper attention.
Relief came flooding over them, washing away the stress and emotion. Bishop embraced Terri, the couple sharing a moment. “We did a good thing today,” Bishop whispered.
“I wish the world didn’t need deeds like that.”
Chapter 9
Alpha, Texas
December 26, 2015
The children rescued by Bishop and Terri accented a growing problem that had already manifested during Alpha’s short recovery—quality medical care. Despite better nutrition, security, and support, people, who had been barely surviving on their own, needed more skilled assistance than what the well-intended good Samaritans of the church could provide. The limited medical supplies available to the townsfolk didn’t enhance the situation at all.
Smokey and the other prisoners had raided the town’s pharmacies early on, carrying load after load of prescription drugs back to the county jail for safekeeping. Any medications known to give the criminals a buzz had been used quickly, leaving a hodgepodge of other pills, syrups and crèmes. After the fall of the criminal element, most of the church’s caregivers didn’t know how to use, or even how to identify the remaining piles of medications.
The children recovered from the outskirts of town just added to the mounting problem. They suffered from scurvy, malnutrition, and various other conditions including head lice, ringworm, digestive problems, and topical infections. Everyone’s instinct was to immediately feed the little ones, but this quickly proved to be a mistake. Abused digestive systems reacted poorly to proper food, and some of the children didn’t respond as anticipated.
Dental care was quickly becoming a nightmare in its own right.
Alpha was particularly hard hit. The berg’s hospital, really more of a large clinic, was located in the epicenter of the poisonous gas cloud. According to the few survivors, there had been a fire at the chemical plant prior to the explosion. Several first responders, including most of the town’s trained emergency medical technicians, had rushed to the scene and were killed instantly when the deadly vapors escaped.
In anticipation of numerous causalities from the fire, all of the local doctors and nurses had been paged that fateful morning; the hospital’s administrators issued an “All hands on deck” request. All had been lost.
The child with the gangrenous leg forced the situation into the limelight—her treatment requiring a decision. Half of the caregivers believed the leg should be amputated, the other half wanted to begin a regimen of antibiotics.
“I’m not God!” Diana said in frustration to the gathered parishioners. “I won’t make life and death decisions. There has to be another way.”
The church elders didn’t respond, all of them staring at the carpet.
Deacon Brown sighed, “I’m sorry … I shouldn’t raise my voice like that. I know this is difficult on all of us, but I’m not qualified to determine who receives care and who doesn’t. You’re coming to me and asking that I triage life and death. I simply can’t do that.”
“Deacon Brown,” offered one woman, “if you can’t, then who can?”
For what seemed like the hundredth time since this had all begun, Diana found herself wanting a doctor, or nurse, or someone with formal medical training. The limited resources available to them just weren’t enough.
“The only doctor we know of is in Meraton. He’s got his hands full already. There has to be another way.”
“Maybe he could visit us one or two days a week. Even that would be a big help. We could provide care if we just knew what to do or which medications to provide,” offered another.
Several heads nodded in agreement. One gentleman added, “If we only had some idea how to use those pills were that we found at the jail . . . that could make a tremendous difference.”
Diana looked around and sighed. “How would we get the doctor here and back? I’m sure he would agree to help us, but fuel is a big issue right now. We are using more and more each day, and the supply is not being replenished.”
Like so many of the problems facing the people of Alpha, no one could propose any viable solution. Diana turned and looked at the image of Jesus Christ, portrayed in the church’s beautiful stained glass windows. “I could use some answers here, Lord,” she whispered under her breath.
“Let’s all think about this problem. Please let me know any ideas,” Diana sighed, the familiar closure to the conversation becoming worn and tired.
The group began to disperse, most of them feeling the same frustration as their leader. Diana proceeded back to her office, weary of always having to put off critical issues. The medical treatment of Alpha’s citizens was one of the worst dilemmas because more and more people were going to suffer and die until they decided on a plan of action.
Nick was behind the Deacon’s desk, working on his own set of quandaries. He looked up and could see the frustration on Diana’s face. “Another bad day at the office?”
His attempt at humor was met with a frown. “We’re losing here. I was just asked to make a decision about amputating a little girl’s leg. The people caring for her think they have identified strong enough antibiotics to fight her infection, but if they’re wrong, we won’t know until it’s too late. On the other hand, if they cut off her leg, she may die of infection afterwards, regardless. How am I supposed to make those decisions, Nick?”
“Should we load her up and rush her to Meraton?”
“We should, but I’ve got half a dozen people in dire straits right now. So we load them all in a truck and rush them there? Who makes the decision on which people get to see the doctor? We can’t run everyone back and forth to Meraton all the time. We don’t hav
e the gasoline, and pretty soon Meraton’s people will begin to question their resources being used for strangers.”
Alpha, Texas
December 27, 2015
Kevin was still asleep, performing that miracle of teenage years that allowed adolescents to snooze for seemingly endless periods of time. He’s growing again, thought Nick, and growing is hard work.
Making his way up the church stairs, Nick wandered to the kitchen area, but it was too early for breakfast. One of the kind women did manage a cup of instant coffee, complete with a dash of fresh cow’s milk. He checked the time again and wondered if Diana had risen yet. Begging a second cup for the deacon, Nick made his way to the boss’ office. He found Diana asleep on her office couch as usual, a stack of papers and notes resting on her chest. Shaking his head, he longed for the day when she could work and sleep like a normal person.
Careful to be quiet and let the woman rest, Nick wandered into the reception area outside Diana’s office/bedroom as of late. He was setting her coffee on an end table when an old magazine cover caught his attention.
During the Second Great Depression, the church had evidently been required to tighten its belt like everyone else. Picking up the slightly crumpled publication, he noted the issue was almost three years old. Still, the picture on the cover intrigued him.
The magazine was titled West Texas Lifestyles, and the copy Nick held with such fascination was from May of 2013. On the cover was a picture of a barren, desert landscape with a mesa in the background. Sitting atop the flat half-mountain was a farm of giant windmills.
Nick flipped the dusty pages back to the cover story and anxiously began reading. Three pages later, he lowered the journal and proclaimed, “That’s it! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Why didn’t you think of what? Do I smell coffee?” A sleepy looking Diana questioned from her doorway.
