by John Varley
Now they had finite supplies of so many things they used to take for granted. Batteries were a good example. No one had any idea when new ones would be available. But even more basic, how about candles? Both Dave and Bob had laid in a supply, but it was now obvious that it wasn’t nearly enough. Candles could be made at home…but how? You could probably find string for the wicks, but what about the wax? How did you make wax? People used candles before they were made of wax. What did they use? Tallow? Suet? Dave didn’t know, and could only hope someone in the families did, because they would eventually run out.
And soap. What did pioneer families use for soap? Dave had inventoried what they had, and knew that even if used sparingly it wouldn’t last more than a few months. What then? When would stores be restocking the shelves with Irish Spring? With the transportation system in the country unable to deliver even enough food to feed the population, how long would it be before any company could have the basic ingredients shipped to their factory, much less ship the finished product to stores?
And toothpaste. The Marshalls were down to their last two tubes, and Dave didn’t know how much the Winstons had. What did you use when you ran out of toothpaste? Baking soda? And where did you get that?
Those thoughts and many others swirled through his mind as he took the first watch of the night. He sat at an upstairs window, the cracked walls of a ruined room around him, and gazed out at a night where the only light came from the moon.
Just before his shift ended, two motorcycles came down the street, Harleys from the deep-throated burbling roar of their engines. He racked a round into his shotgun and got off his chair. He looked out the window. All he could see were two headlights, coming his way from the south. They paused once, a few houses down, then moved on. They paused again directly in front of the Winston house.
Two people prowling around at night, with the gasoline to run a big motorcycle, could only be one of two things: bad guys, or cops. He followed the lead headlight with his shotgun barrel.
The driver gunned his engine once and Dave thought he heard voices, though it was hard to tell over the sound of the engines. Their taillights appeared, flashed bright red for a moment, and they turned off on a side street. He listened until the sound faded away.
He hoped they were gone, but he wasn’t going to count on it. If he were going to break into a house, he wouldn’t pull up on a Harley and walk right in. He would park his hog and come back quietly under cover of darkness. Could they have been scouting the Winston house? Might they know which houses on this street were inhabited, and thus likely to have things worth stealing? He thought it was unlikely—he pictured guys like that as smash-and-grab types, acting on impulse rather than a grand plan carried out over several nights—but he knew he might be stereotyping. Not all brutes were stupid.
He heard Gordon calling out softly as he approached the room. This was standard procedure when relieving the guard on duty, since it wasn’t wise to startle an armed person who might be asleep. Gordon knocked on the doorjamb and stuck his head around, all but invisible in the darkness.
“Come on in. I’m too nervous to fall asleep on duty.”
“I heard motorcycles. I’m about fifteen minutes early, but you might as well knock off for the night.”
He described the drive-by, showed Gordon where the bikers had gone, and shared his thoughts that it might be a ruse. Gordon agreed, and assured Dave that he would be alert for any possibility. He patted Dave on the shoulder and took his seat at the window, scanning the empty street.
Dave took his small flashlight out of his pocket and moved carefully down the hall and the stairs. There was a light in the dining room, and he looked in to see Lisa sitting on a chair at the long table, reading a book by candlelight. Jenna was illuminated by the flickering light, on her back, still unconscious. She looked all too much like a corpse, with a white sheet tucked up under her chin.
Looking at Lisa, Dave was struck by a pang of nostalgia. It had been a long time since he had read a book. All his life he had had one book going, which he would read in odd moments of leisure. Nothing heavy; he read mysteries for the sheer escapism, most of the time, though he enjoyed a good biography or the occasional historical work. Now the world of fiction seemed so frivolous. The stories all concerned a world that no longer existed. On every page he would encounter people talking on cell phones, texting each other, going to Web sites. People in the books would be hopping into cars and driving at will, anywhere and everywhere. They got on airplanes. They called the police. They went to movies. They had televisions, and backyard cookouts, and cocktail parties. They worried about elections, and the crisis in the Middle East. They robbed banks and made big corporate deals and chased each other in exotic locales for the secret papers. None of that had meaning anymore. It was impossible to care about it.
“You’ll strain your eyes,” he said.
“I’m used to it by now.”
“How is she doing?”
“Her vital signs are unchanged. Blood pressure is low. Heartbeat is steady. She’s running a fever, 102 last time I took it. If I had her in a hospital, I’d say her chances were excellent.”
“How about her chances here?”
“Fifty-fifty. The thing that worries me the most is infection. We’re watching the wound. There’s still a chance she could lose the leg. We have to wait and see.”
“Let me guess. She shouldn’t be moved.”
“I agree with your diagnosis, Dr. Dave. Bouncing around in that bus is not going to do her any good.”
“What are her chances, when we move?”
“Less than fifty-fifty.”
That was all she would say, but it seemed clear enough. They were going to be putting her in grave danger, but they had no other option.
He left Lisa and Jenna and found his way to the bedroom he was sharing with Karen. It was too hot for anything but a sheet. Karen was lying beneath one, sitting up with a pillow behind her. She squinted when his flashlight beam touched her, and he moved it away. He started to remove his shirt. She lifted the sheet and held it away from her body. She was naked.
“I’m sweaty, I haven’t washed my hair, and I know I must smell like a pigsty,” she said. “Plus, I haven’t shaved my legs. But would you hold me for a while?”
“I’d be happy to, if you promise not to give me whisker burns with your legs,” he said, stripping off his pants and rolling over toward her. “As for the smell, I doubt I’ll be able to detect it over my own reek.”
They embraced, and kissed, and then just held each other for a while. But soon she began breathing a little harder and her hand crept down his belly and tugged insistently. She was ready for him when he got on top of her and entered her.
They made slow, lazy love for a timeless stretch, and all the rest of the world seemed to go away. They were both slick with sweat and gritty with soot, and neither of them minded it at all. To Dave, the female scent of her was better than the finest perfume, the feel of her under his roaming hands was intoxicating. He licked her and massaged her and thrust into her, and she wrapped her legs around him and pressed her heels into the backs of his thighs and devoured his tongue and nibbled his neck and shoulders.
They paused near the end, and he told her he was very close.
“I ran out of pills a few weeks ago, you know. I could get pregnant.”
“Would that be a bad thing?”
“Part of me doesn’t want to bring a child into this awful new world.”
“I know what you mean. But life goes on, doesn’t it?”
She gazed up into his eyes, and for her answer she dug her heels into his buttocks and ground herself against him.
“Go for it,” she said.
He came after several thrusts, almost crying out before remembering there were people all around him, and the walls were cracked. He knew she was close, too, so he kept on until she arched her back powerfully enough to raise herself off the bed, and bit down on her finger to stifle her own
cry. She shuddered, over and over, and he was filled with love for her.
He collapsed on top of her and she held him tightly. He softened, feeling a sense of loss, not wanting to leave her, but it was inevitable. He kissed her sweaty brow and rolled over. They lay side by side, thighs pressing together, breathing hard. Dave became aware of a sound coming from down the hall.
“Is that someone crying?” he asked.
“It sounds like…Is it Rachel?”
“Could be.”
“I think it is. And I don’t think she’s crying. At least, not the boo-hoo sort of crying. So she’s the kind of girl who can’t do it quietly.” And she started to laugh. Dave put his hand over her mouth, but soon he was laughing, too, both of them trying to smother it as best they could. Then they lay together and listened to the sounds of lovemaking coming from the next room. As they listened she took his penis in her hand and gently squeezed and stroked it.
“You’re an optimist,” he said, grinning.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“I’m not the young man I was, you know.”
“Still, this may be our last time alone for some time to come.”
“Karen, I really doubt that I can.”
But he was wrong.
Since the Escalade had the most forgiving suspension of their three vehicles, it was determined that Jenna would be loaded into the back of it. She was small enough that one of the rear seats could be folded down and her stretcher placed on it, with her head behind Karen’s seat The other rear seat was left in place for Addison to sit and monitor her. Lisa had taught her how to use the blood-pressure cuff, and she also took her temperature and examined the wound dressing, looking for new bleeding.
The scooters were still slung on each side of the Escalade, but they were now in better slings, tied on by Marian, who knew how to tie knots that could be easily released in an emergency. Their bicycles were still tied to the roof, and the space in back not occupied by Jenna or Addison was filled with water jugs, blankets, and mattresses made from bedsheets sewn together and stuffed with clothing they didn’t plan to use.
The old U-Haul truck was more than adequate to carry most of their supplies. Mark had made the box bullet-resistant by welding sheets of steel to the sides and rear to a height of five feet, with special armoring around the cans of gasoline. He would be driving it, with his wife, Rachel, literally riding shotgun.
The top of the school bus bulged with a big blue tarp covering all the chipped wood that could fit under it. At the front of the platform was the stoker’s position. When enough chips had burned, his or her job was to lift the top of the burner with a chain and shovel dry chips into the burner and wet chips into the jacket around the burner, giving the uncured fuel time to be dried out by the heat. After the chips were dried a hatch at the bottom was opened and the burner was shaken to make the chips drop into a bucket, which was then lifted by a hoist back up to the roof. It was a cumbersome process, and hard, sweaty work. All of them except Solomon and four-year-old Taylor had tried their hand at it, and they would take turns.
Fueling the U-Haul entailed driving it up to the side of the school bus with the burner close enough for a stoker on the bus roof to shovel chips into it.
There would be eleven people riding in the school bus: Bob and Emily; Lisa and her children, Elyse and Nigel; Mark and Rachel’s children, Sandra, Olivia, and Solomon; and Marian and Gordon and their son Taylor. Teddy would do what he did best, ranging ahead on his bike and reporting back on conditions ahead. Choosing the route would be largely up to him.
As the first light of dawn showed to the east, the caravan was already taking shape and powering up. Mark was trying to be everywhere at once as he got the fires going in his burners and scrambled to make ever finer adjustments. Dave and Bob watched him with some amusement.
“At some point we’ll have to tell him that’s good enough,” Bob said. “Nothing is ever quite up to Mark’s specs.”
“He gets the job done.”
“He sure does. If only he could recognize when it’s done well enough.”
But Mark surprised them by announcing he was ready to start. Bob looked at him, nodded, and called his clan together.
“I’m not going to make a speech, and I don’t offer prayers, but I think it’s time for a moment of reflection. Just a moment. We’ve had a fine life in this old place. I just want to say that raising you all here has meant everything to me.”
“I will offer a prayer,” Emily said. “It’s for those of us who couldn’t be here. For Peter and his wife and children in England, and for George in New York, and for Teddy’s partner Manuel, wherever he may be. May they all be safe and healthy.”
“And for Roger and Dennis and their families, absent Posse members,” Dave added, “wherever they may be.”
“Amen,” several of them said. Dave saw many tears, looked at Karen, and saw that she was crying, too.
“We never got to say good-bye to our place,” she said. “And I know we’ll never see it again.”
Dave put his arm around her. “Let’s just wish for new beginnings,” he said.
“To new beginnings.”
He hugged her close, and held out his hand for Addison, who joined them.
“Ranger okay?” he asked.
“He seems eager to go. He gave me no trouble at all about getting into the trailer.”
“Good.” He paused. “You know there’s a chance we’ll have to abandon him somewhere along the way?”
“Yes. I know.” She tried to look brave, but he could see it was hard for her. They didn’t have a lot of hay and oats. If forage couldn’t be found, Ranger would have to be let loose, to survive or die on his own. The fact was that they might have left him behind to graze on the remains of the country club, except for the fact the Bob, and later Mark, had strongly argued that they needed the horse as a possible argument toward admittance to whatever community they might encounter that might otherwise be reluctant to admit outsiders. Horses were bound to be valuable in the new order of things, as transportation or to pull a plow.
The meeting broke up, and they all went to their vehicles. Bob remained outside for a moment, looking up at the faces of the drivers and passengers in the three vehicles parked side by side, and the faces of the others looking out the school-bus windows or down from the platform on top.
“I feel like I ought to say something dramatic, like ‘Wagons, ho!’ ”
Gordon, standing on the steps of the school bus, said, “How about ‘Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines.’ ”
“That’ll do. Start ’em up, folks.”
Dave turned the key in the Escalade’s ignition. Next to him Mark engaged the starter on the U-Haul, and it ground to life with a burst of black smoke from the tailpipe. On the other side Marian cranked up the school bus, which coughed, stuttered…and died. She tried it again, and nothing happened.
Mark jumped down from the U-Haul cab and hurried over to the bus. He stood on the bumper and reached into the hoodless engine compartment. He had several tools on his belt, and he selected one and made some adjustment.
This time the engine turned over for about ten seconds, and then caught. It belched out an even bigger cloud of smoke, including some that went right into Mark’s face. Coughing, sooty-faced, Mark was still grinning. He pumped his fist in the air and ran back to his truck.
The order of travel had been the subject of some debate. There were good arguments for placing any of the three vehicles in the lead, and good arguments against any of them. The lead vehicle was likely to be the first one to run into trouble, and many of the Winstons were in favor of letting the bus lead, because it was the most heavily armored and had the most firepower. But Dave and others argued that because all the children except Addison would be riding in it, the bus should be in the safest position, which most agreed was the middle.
Mark wanted to take the lead in the U-Haul, but the danger of having it hijacked with all their provis
ions seemed greater if it was in the lead.
In the end, no one was really sure what the best order would be, and so Dave had argued hard for taking the lead in the Escalade. He pointed out that, even with the trailer, the SUV was the smallest vehicle they had, and the easiest to turn around. They all agreed that running was always the better option than fighting, something they would do only if forced into it. Turning around rapidly would put the trailer between Dave and his family and incoming fire from a threat ahead of them.
They would try that arrangement, with Dave in the lead and the bus following him, and at the end of the day talk it over again and maybe try out a new arrangement.
Dave recalled all that, knew his arguments made sense, and believed deeply that everyone on the trip would have to shoulder equal responsibility and equal exposure to danger. But it was not quite the same to volunteer to take point and to sit in his car with his family around him and have to actually do it.
He had debated having Addison ride on the bus, but in the end he and Karen had decided to stick to their agreement and not split up the family. And he discovered that he felt a lot better with her behind him in the car than he would have if she were on the bus. She had a shotgun in her lap, as did her mother. Karen and Dave both had loaded pistols handy. And he was as ready as he would ever be.
He started the engine, put it in gear, and slowly pulled down the Winstons’ driveway just as the first rays of the sun broke over the eastern horizon, now clear of smoke. He drove into the street at about five miles per hour and saw in his improvised side mirror that the school bus had fallen in behind him.
