by Nathan Combs
“Tyler, I am not goin’ out like that. Promise me.”
“Okay, but if I get it before you…”
Their eyes locked in unspoken understanding.
Bill nodded and they stopped talking, lost in personal thought.
Minutes later, Bill jumped up, walked to the record player, and started shuffling through the stack. “Remember I told you I was gonna rig up my favorite Willie Nelson song for you?”
“Vaguely.”
Grinning, he turned the unit on, placed the record on the turntable, cranked up the volume, and dropped the needle on the wax. There was a loud scratching noise, and Willie began to sing “The Party’s Over.”
Noah ran his hands over Anna’s belly and said, “I hope this one’s a boy.”
“It is.”
“How do you know?”
A slight bulge appeared on her stomach and disappeared as quickly.
“Whoa!”
Anna laughed. “Girls don’t kick like that.”
Noah smiled. “Future World Cup player.”
Without warning, Anna’s face fell and a single tear slid slowly down her cheek. “Oh, Noah. I’m so scared. Are our kids going to have a future?”
He put his arms around her, placed his hands on his unborn child, and pulled her to him. “They will, Anna. I have to believe that. You have to believe that. We have to believe that.”
A torrent of tears gushed from her eyes and dripped onto his hands, then dropped silently to the floor.
On a stunning Florida evening, Wade and Adam were fishing in the pond off Pinehurst Avenue while Maggie lay on a blanket nearby writing in her diary.
“Dad, why are they called Shellcrackers?”
“Well, they’re actually redear sunfish, son, but a long time ago, someone called people who lived in Florida ‘Crackers.’ I don’t know how that translated to the fish, but one way or another, people started calling the fish Shellcrackers. Why?”
“I don’t know. Just wondering.”
The sun was warm on their backs, the wind was calm, the sky was clear, and the sunset, as always, was beautiful.
Maggie thought, It’s days like this that make it hard to remember that the Grim Reaper is only two days away. She watched her husband and son interacting, and tears welled up. I love them both so much.
She looked toward the heavens and softly said, “Please, God. Take me, but not them. Not them.”
The day before Christmas, the population of New Fort Terminus was 996. On Christmas day, it was 995.
Wade, Bill, Tyler, and Cole carried Stuart’s body from the Hospice House to the crematorium. Wade gave the eulogy, and Bill lit the fire. Standing side by side, they watched in respectful silence as the remnants of Stuart wafted into the air and disappeared into the Florida sky.
The day after New Year’s, another branch broke off Wade’s family tree as he bid adieu to his daughter-in-law, Carol, and his granddaughter, April. He broke protocol and wrapped their bodies in plastic sheeting and buried them next to his sons, Chris and Randal.
After the brief ceremony, Wade, with Maggie on one side and Adam on the other, led the way to the CC. Bill, Cole, Tyler, and Sara, Noah and Anna, carrying Stormy, followed.
No one at New Fort Terminus was immune to losing the people they loved. Every loss still hurt. The pain never stopped. But familiarity with death took the edge off and the loss of someone they cared for became more distant and less personal. Those who remained had tear ducts as dry as the Sahara.
Wade regained full function of his broken arm, but strength hadn’t returned, and Adam held that hand as they walked. Wade looked down at his son. The boy’s face reflected a level of maturity well beyond his twelve years, and holding his hand was a contradiction. A wave of emotion overtook him, and tears filled his eyes. He looked at the sky. This is bullshit. It’s not fair. Don’t take this boy.
As the group neared the command center, Wade nodded to Maggie. He had informed her last night that he wanted to talk to them, so Maggie had set it up. And since she knew what he was going to say, she took the kids to medical.
The adults entered the Powwow Room and sat dejectedly at the conference table. Their taunt faces reflected their despair.
Wade stood and talked as he walked, touching each one on the shoulder. “We have been through hell together. We’ve stuck by each other, fought for each other, died for each other, and above all, we have loved each other all these years.”
He paused, and his eyes filled with tears. “Since Randal and Chris died, I’ve been withdrawn. Weak. I haven’t taken care of you, or led you, in the way that you deserve. That ends now. Tonight. I don’t know what we can do, but we aren’t going belly up without a fight.” He walked to the front of the room, stopped talking, and looked at each one individually. “As long as we breathe, we’re alive. And as long as we’re alive, we have a chance. We have to fight this—for them.” He nodded toward the kids in the medical center. “We owe it to them. We owe it to each other.”
No one said a word. Noah and Anna nodded. Cole raised his eyebrows. Sara just stared.
Bill put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, well, you’re right, but it’d be a hell of a lot easier to fight this shit if it were like the bug in The Walking Dead. They had the virus in them too, but at least they came back after they bought the fuckin’ farm. And the survivors could stick a knife into somethin’, even if it used to be their dipshit neighbor. Would kinda make you feel like you were getting somewhere. Christ, I miss bad guys. I never did like fuckin’ bugs.”
That brought smiles to everyone’s face, and Tyler said, “Hey, remember that episode where Negan killed…what was his name…the Asian guy…with Lucille?”
Sara said, “Glenn.”
“Yeah, Glenn. Man, I wanted to off that prick, Negan, so bad.”
A chorus of “hell yeahs” exploded in the room.
Sara said, “How about that episode where Carol took out those assholes at the cannery? I loved her. She was one badass woman.”
They started discussing episodes of The Walking Dead, arguing over the merits of different episodes and what they would have done if they had been there.
Wade found it ironic that talking about a TV series depicting plague and the apocalypse would get them talking.
They were really getting into it, animated and alive, and for the first time in a long time, a genuine smile creased his face. He sat back, listened, and let them run with it.
Dawn on January third broke clear, cold, and windy. Before Wade entered the command center, he looked at the thermometer outside the door. Jesus. Twenty-nine degrees. That means the wind chill is close to zero.
He went to the Powwow Room, rubbed his hands together, shivered, and said, “Whoa!”
Bill said, “Yeah. Colder than an old nun’s ass out there.” He had their version of Starbucks coffee ready and handed Wade a mug. “After 1,000 cups, this shit starts to taste like Sumatra.”
“Sorry, but my mind’s not that far gone yet.”
“You never had a mind. You always used mine.”
Wade laughed. “I thought I’d come early for the meeting. Where’s Ty?”
He motioned toward the head. “Takin’ a dump.” He yelled, “Hey, Squaw Man, drop it and get your ass out here. Boss wants to talk to you.”
Something muffled and unintelligible emanated from the bathroom, and a minute later, Tyler appeared with a big grin on his face. “Why’d you take Miss October off the wall, fat boy?”
“You were startin’ to talk to her. I was afraid you were gonna ask her to marry you. She ain’t right for you, Ty.”
Tyler and Wade both laughed.
They sipped their faux Sumatra and joked back and forth until the door opened and Noah, Anna, Stormy, Sara, Hope, Maggie, and Adam came in. Cole, his wife Marsha, and hi
s two daughters, Amy and Susie, followed. Adam ran to his dad, hugged him, and asked if he could stay for the meeting.
Wade looked at Maggie and raised his eyebrows.
“He’s no longer a child, Wade.”
Wade nodded and looked at Cole. “You want Amy and Susie to stay?”
“Amy’s eleven. Susie’s nine. They’re not kids anymore either, Wade.”
Wade pursed his lips, and a slight grin creased his face. “All right. All three of you can stay on one condition. If Adam’s godfather promises not to use Bill speak.” He looked at Bill and raised his eyebrows.
“Jesus, Wade, I’m not that crass.”
Tyler said, “Yes, you are.”
“Shut the fu—”
Tyler laughed.
Adam said, “It’s okay, Dad. He taught me those words a long time ago.”
Bill laughed. “You little shit. You promised you wouldn’t tell.”
Adam giggled, Wade smiled, and everyone else laughed.
“Pull up a chair, son. Amy, Susie, welcome to the wonderful world of adulthood.”
The kids grinned, pulled out their tickets to the grownup world, and sat.
“I’m assuming you’ve all decided we need to do something to fight this thing?”
They nodded.
“Good. Let’s start with how we can minimize exposure. Maggie, you’re the expert. You start.”
“Well, I’m hardly an expert, but I have thought about it a lot since we talked last night. I still think we have the bug in us, but there’s an equal chance we don’t.” Shaking her head side to side, she continued. “I think we should form into small groups of twenty or less. Minimize contact from group to group, cut out schooling, church, and every other social gathering. We can sanitize everything in the reduced living and working areas with bleach, and we should probably wear masks when around other groups.”
Wade nodded. “That makes sense. What about sealing the windows and doors, etcetera?”
“Wouldn’t hurt.”
Sara asked how they were going to work the fields and take care of the livestock, and Wade told her they would work that out. “We can’t withdraw completely from our lives, but I’d like to figure out how to minimize exposure before we address other issues.”
Bill said, “You’re probably not gonna like this, but if I’m not mistaken, no one’s lived more than two days after getting sick. That right, Maggie?”
She nodded.
“Then there’s no sense risking exposure by treating them. They’re gonna die anyway.”
She asked, “What do you suggest we do with them?”
“Take ’em to the Hospice House and walk away. Sucks, but comforting them risks all of us.”
Silence followed.
Adam raised his hand. “Dad?”
Wade nodded. “Go ahead, son.”
“I think what Bill said is right. If we can’t do anything to help them and they’re going to die anyway, why not just take them to the death house and—”
Wade cut in, “Death house?”
“Yeah. That’s what it is. It’s a place where people go to die.”
Wade’s head dropped to his chest. He thought for a moment, looked up, and said, “Out of the mouths of babes.”
Adam said, “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re right, son. No frills attached right.”
Wade thought for a second, then nodded. “Okay. As harsh as it sounds, that’s what we’ll do. We can take the sick to the death house, leave water, pain pills, and the like, and check on them once a day. We’ll burn the bodies as necessary. It’s a bitter pill, but there it is.” He paused and looked at the faces looking back at him. “If there’s nothing else, I suggest the people in this room move here, to the CC. Becky and Sean have been out of the loop for a while, but she’s Chris’s daughter, my granddaughter. I’d like them to join us. Bill, I’d appreciate it if you’d brief them and have them bring their gear. Cole, set up a meeting with the others and I’ll fill them in. Everybody else, get your personal belongings and we’ll get set up.”
Adam had one final question. “Can I bring Shiloh?”
“Of course. Your dog’s part of the family, isn’t he?”
By the middle of January, the population of New Fort Terminus—and the world as far as anyone could tell—was 879. The countermeasures they took didn’t stop the bug, but it did appear to slow it down. With a few exceptions, Wade and Bill among them, everyone over sixty was dead, and Maggie was positive that the healthiest and likely the youngest had the best chance for survival.
By mid-February, Maggie was certain of one thing. She was certain of nothing.
In just thirty days, half the population of New Fort Terminus was gone, including Cole and Marsha, and their youngest daughter, Susie.
Four days after Cole passed, Wade and Maggie walked Becky and Sean to the death house.
At the entrance door, Becky said, “You can’t make an exception just because we’re family. Go back.”
“Becky, we can’t just leave you here. I’m staying.”
“No, you’re not, Maggie. Go home and take care of Adam. Take care of Wade.” A sad smile appeared. “It’s okay. Sean and I are together. I know you love us.” She put her hand over her mouth and coughed. “We love you too.” She gently pushed Maggie away from the death house door and closed it.
She stood for a few seconds, looked at Sean, took a deep breath, and fished in her pocket for the pills that Maggie knew nothing about. She sat next to Sean and handed him two. They found a vacant spot on the floor between two other families and lay down. For several minutes they stared silently at each other, listening to the coughs, the groans, and the wails of pain echoing off the walls from others in the room who had received their death sentences. Hesitating for a second, they put the pills in their mouths, tossed them back, and swallowed. Then they put their arms around each other, kissed, reclined, and closed their eyes.
Weeks later, Maggie and Wade were still talking about the new virus, or bacteria, or divine intervention, or whatever it was. “I simply don’t know, Wade. I mean…I thought…I thought everything was going to work out. I was wrong.” Her eyes scurried from side to side. “We have to make other plans.”
“There are 461 of us left, Mags. At this rate, we’ll all be gone in a couple of months. What other plans can we make?”
She shook her head violently. “I am not going to let Adam die. I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m just not strong enough to deal with that.”
Wade never knew what to do to help alleviate her anguish these days. He hated himself for his failure to say something—anything—that would comfort her, but he simply couldn’t find the words.
It’ll be okay, honey. Don’t worry, Maggie. We’ll make it, baby. Nothing’s going to happen to Adam, sweetheart, were the words that came to mind, but he couldn’t say them because he didn’t believe them. And Maggie wouldn’t believe them either. In the end, he always did the same thing. He put his arms around her and held her until her sobs ceased.
On February 5, Sara and her daughter Hope became one with the environment.
Maggie’s tearful eyes focused on Wade’s. “She was like a daughter to me. I can’t deal with this much longer.”
Wade didn’t want to say she wouldn’t have to, but he thought it. Instead, he shook his head and said, “She was like a daughter to me too.”
One week after Sara’s death, on February twelfth, Tyler and Bill sat in their little Man Cave next to the Powwow Room.
Tyler shook his head slowly. “Is it essential to listen to that shit over and over?”
“It’s appropriate.”
“It’s morose.”
They were silent for a minute, listening to Willie Nelson’s “The Party’s Over.”
Tyler looked Bill in the eye. “It’s
time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time for you to honor your promise.”
“Ah, Ty. No.”
Tyler shook his head, yes. “We promised each other. No death house.”
“Jesus, Ty, I can—”
Tyler leveled a challenging glare at Bill. “Don’t be a pussy, fat man. It doesn’t look good on you.”
Bill sat back in his chair and hung his head. He looked up. “When did you know? I mean…how long?”
“I kinda felt it coming last night. Trust me.”
A look of panic cascaded down Bill’s face.
“C’mon, man, maybe you just have a cold or the flu. Or some fuckin’ bullshit Indian malady.”
In spite of himself, Tyler laughed. Bill always made him laugh. He loved him like a brother. “You gotta do it quick, and ya gotta be sneaky about it. If Wade finds out, he’ll stop you.”
Bill’s shoulders slumped. “Where?”
“At the crematorium. I’ll crawl in, you pop my ass, and light my fire.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“We don’t have the time.”
That night, when Bill told Wade, he was surprisingly calm. Nodding slightly, he said, “I understand. It makes perfect sense. I’ll miss him.”
In their long and storied friendship, Wade had never seen Bill with a tear in his eye. Not even when Linda died, and she had meant everything to him. The best buddy Wade ever had, arguably the most hardened SEAL to ever draw a breath, stood before him, eyes full of tears. He looked older. Smaller.
Wade put his arms around him.
For a moment, Bill hugged him back but instantly reverted to form and pushed Wade away. “What’re you, fuckin’ gay? He was just a dumbass Indian.” He wiped his face with the backs of both hands and turned and walked away.
Tommy Jenkins was an only child. He was also an orphan. He was eight years old when his mother and father went to the death house. No one was willing to bring the boy into his or her home, and although no one spoke the words, their faces said more than words ever could.
He might be contaminated.
