Pavement Ends: The Exodus

by Kurt Gepner

  "He’s always complaining about the energy bill," Evie started.

  Susanna Rae rolled her hand, urging her to ‘Get to the point’. "This I know," she said dryly. "Pharmaceuticals, energy, communications. He’s a frikking conspiracy theorist."

  "Not as much as you think," Evie said in defense of her husband. Susanna Rae rolled her eyes. Evie went on. "Anything that is remote controlled uses electricity when you turn it off."

  "That doesn’t really fit the definition of off." Susanna Rae spoke sarcastically.

  Evie gave her sister a bitter smile. "No, it doesn’t. Yet how do you think it can receive the signal to turn on, from your remote, if it’s not using power while waiting for that signal to come?"

  Susanna Rae pursed her lips, but said nothing.

  Evie nodded knowingly. "And aside from that, anything with an indicator light, that shows it’s plugged in, or with a display for the time, or anything like that… all those things are drawing power."

  "Okay," Susanna Rae conceded. "So how did Hank’s wiring job save the house."

  "Each room has a master power switch," Evie replied with obvious pride in her husband. "When you flip the switch next to the light-switch, all power to the room is turned off." Susanna Rae nodded appreciatively. Evie continued. "To top it off, he set up two emergency cut-offs for the gas; one down stairs and one in the kitchen."

  "Your husband is paranoid," Susanna Rae said.

  "You’re only paranoid until you’re proved right," Evie retorted. "I think Hank qualifies as a visionary, when you consider that ours is the only house in the neighborhood still standing."

  Susanna Rae nearly choked. "Whatever." Then with an eyebrow raised, she added, "That’s not your usual attitude toward him."

  Suddenly Lexi became intensely interested in the lampshade, while Norah looked at her mother with curiosity.

  With stabbing, narrow eyes Evie said to her sister, "I think that whatever just happened has changed a lot of things. Don’t you?" Then she chuckled nervously and said, "Besides, whatever you may think, I still have a house."

  "Well," Susanna Rae challenged. "I got fire insurance out the wa-zoo." All the women laughed, Susanna Rae most of all. "Really, Evie, you don’t know how lucky you are. You get to have me living with you until my house is rebuilt."

  Evie gave her sister a smile sweeter than honey. "Susanna Rae, our mother would claw her way out of the grave and slap me silly if I didn’t insist that you stay here. What is family for?" The two women reached for each other. While Evie held her sister, she added, "Of course, you get to stay in Dad’s room."

  "Eww!" Susanna Rae shoved her sister away. "I’d rather sleep with your dogs."

  Evie laughed again and took a breath. "All right, I need to go see how the rest of the crew is doing. That man they brought home looked terrible. I hope he doesn’t die on my front porch." She left the room and crossed the hall into the master bedroom.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The operation had apparently gone well, because the large man was lying in the master bedroom, wheezing loudly. Evie marveled at his size. He was nearly as wide as the queen-sized mattress that he rested upon. Hank, Salvador and Theresa were cleaning up on the porch when Evie joined them.

  "It looks like the rain is letting up," she observed. Then she asked, "How did it go?"

  Theresa sounded beat down and dragged through the mud, when she answered. "As well as I’d hoped. Nothing is in his favor."

  Evie drew in air through her teeth. "That’s not a good prognosis. What’s wrong?"

  "Aside from his diabetes, high blood-pressure, thyroid and asthma conditions," Theresa ticked off the list in rapid succession, "the first problem is that we don’t have the supplies to pack the wound with gauze and change it out three times to five times a day. That’s why I sewed him up. Ideally, we would let a wound like that heal from the inside out. Now, it might never really heal."

  Evie grimaced. "You said ‘first’, is there more?"

  Theresa nodded. "Even though I cleaned him up as well as I could, the air is full of contamination. Being outside is less than a model operating room. But the worst of it is the lack of antibiotics. Without them, I will pretty much guarantee that his wound will go septic and he’ll die."

  "We have some," Evie said. "We keep a ten-day prescription on hand, for the dogs."

  "That’ll get him started." Theresa sounded relieved. "But with his size, I’ll have to triple the dosage. What you got won’t be enough, both in quantity and strength. Plus, he could use a tetanus shot and he’s going to need more pain-killers than you got here. He could also use an IV. I mean, never mind blood loss and infection, dehydration alone could kill him. He’s going to have to drink a lot of water in the next twenty-four hours."

  "I hate to suggest this," Hank said. "But I think we should loot Walgreen’s."

  Salvador’s face pinched up, and anger flared across his features like a wave of magma crashing through the Earth’s crust. "I can’t let you do that! Are you crazy? People are going to need those supplies."

  Hank turned around a cast-iron patio chair and straddled it, so he could lean his chest against its back. He had clearly anticipated some resistance to his suggestion. "Let’s look at the logic, Salvador," he said, calmly.

  "No." Salvador crossed his arms. "There’s no logic in looting."

  "I disagree," Hank said. "And I’d like…"

  "No!" Salvador stomped his foot to emphasize his objection. "I won’t allow it."

  "Why?" Hank asked.

  "Because, it’s wrong," Salvador said, deliberately.

  "Why else?" Hank pressed.

  "There doesn’t need to be an else." Salvador stayed rooted. "Wrong is wrong."

  "Okay," Hank conceded, holding his palms up in surrender. "Wrong is wrong. But what makes it wrong?"

  "You’re taking something that’s not yours," Salvador said with a frown.

  "Let me ask you this: In a disaster, a large-scale emergency, can firefighters take equipment that belongs to a civilian, in order to do their job?"

  "Of course," Salvador’s face screwed up tighter. "But you’re not a firefighter, or a paramedic, or any sort of rescue worker."

  "What would you call it, then," Hank looked him over, before going on, "when I worked with you to save lives?"

  "That’s different." Salvador stubbornly refused to give in to Hank’s argument.

  "Would a hospital have a right to the supplies?" Hank asked, approaching his argument from a different angle.

  "Yes," came Salvador’s belligerent admission.

  "Would they have the right to break in to a pharmacy to get the medicine they need to treat their patients?" asked Hank.

  "Yes," Salvador conceded. "But you’re not a hospital and she’s not a doctor."

  "Theresa is doing the job of a doctor." Hank’s ire was showing and he spoke harshly to his son-in-law. "And we got a patient in one of the only buildings that hasn’t been gutted by fire. We may not be serving a lot of people, but I think this qualifies as a hospital. So let me ask you this, Mister High-and-Righteous: Will there be looting?"

  "It’s likely." Salvador was still standing with his arms crossed.

  "Who are the most likely to do the looting?" Hank asked, drawing his son-in-law into a verbal corral.

  "Desperate people and criminals," answered Salvador.

  "Let’s say that you’re in charge of the pharmacy, right now, and a diabetic comes to you, desperate for insulin. Would you give it to her?" asked Hank.

  Salvador furrowed his brow. "Of course," he said.

  "What if she’s just claiming to be diabetic, because she knows that she can get a good price for insulin from a desperate person? How do you tell the difference?" Hank asked.

  Hank’s scenario wore away at Salvador’s conviction, but the younger man was not about to concede. "You can’t," he said.

  With eyebrows high Hank asked, "Would you say that our situation is desperate?"

  "That would be a
n understatement," Salvador mumbled.

  "Well then, I guess you can tell the difference. And I say we are justified to loot the pharmacy." Hank held up his left pinky and touched his right index finger to it. "First of all, we’ve got a Registered Nurse, who is qualified to administer drugs."

  "But not prescribe!" Salvador spat, angrily.

  Hank bulldozed through the interjection. "Second, we’ve got a firefighter – who is a trained Emergency Medical Technician, if I’m not mistaken. Third, we’ve got a man who needs drugs for his diabetes, blood-pressure, asthma and to heal a pretty nasty wound."

  Salvador opened his mouth to speak, but Hank stood, towering over his son-in-law, and held up a silencing hand. "I’m not finished! We’ve got a house full of people in there, and a world of hurt out there. If we don’t get ourselves ready for what’s to come, then we’ll just end up a slow casualty. If you don’t remember Hurricane Katrina, let me remind you that it took half a nation to absorb the displaced people from just a handful of cities. The authorities were completely overwhelmed. The municipal services, such as water and sewer, ceased to function for weeks. People trusted that help would come, and they waited and waited until some of them waited to death."

  Hank pointed at Salvador. "We’ve already got Evie, me, Camille, you, Norah, Abby, Emily, Lexi, Sue, Theresa, Kalika, Lietha, Garrett, Pauline, Dale, what’s-her-name," he snapped his fingers. "Uh, Candice, and Brian in this house. And when they get here, we’ll have Pauline’s husband, Dale’s wife and kids and Theresa’s fiancé, Anthony. That’s over twenty people!"

  Looking somewhat astonished that he had run out of fingers twice over, Hank continued his siege on Salvador’s objections. "And then there’s the rest of our neighbors, when they get here. How many people do you need to be responsible for, before you actually feel like you’ve got an obligation?"

  Salvador shrank under Hank’s onslaught, but then stood straight and said, "My job is to be responsible for people. My obligation is saving their lives."

  "Get real, Salvador!" Hank pleaded. "You don’t have a job. But you do have a family. It’s time for you to set aside your hero complex and get down to the business of saving the people who depend on you the most. Now put down that pride of yours and tell me what’s sensible."

  Salvador shoveled his hands into his pockets. "It makes sense to get to the medicine before it’s wasted by people who don’t need it, or don’t know how to use it."

  "Okay." Hank took a deep breath and let it out, sharply. Without another hesitation, he turned to his neighbor. "Theresa, we need a list of drugs to grab and any advice you can give. I figure that nobody’s hanging out at the pharmacy. Once they saw what was going on, they locked it down and took off for home. A lot of people have children and that would be their first concern, right now."

  "That makes sense," Salvador confirmed. "How do we get in?"

  "I have a small oxy-gasoline torch," Hank said with a distant look in his eye, his mind already preparing for the next few hours.

  "You mean oxy-acetylene?" Salvador corrected.

  "Nope, I don’t," Hank replied. "And if you’ve never seen one, you’re going to love this puppy." He lightly tugged on his beard. "We’ll bring the wheel barrow, I think, and a back-pack each."

  "Hank!" Evie barked. "What the hell are you thinking?" His wife stood directly in front of him with her arms crossed. "There’s a helluva big difference between saving people from fires and robbing a pharmacy. You’re going to get yourself shot!"

  "That’s a good point, Evie." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I’ll bring my shotgun."

  Evie’s face melted into a scowl. "No!" Her voice squelched with rage. "No you won’t bring the shotgun! You’re not going to do it!" She enunciated each word emphatically. "You’re not a white knight and neither is Salvador. YOU need to set aside YOUR hero-complex! Whatever has happened to cause all this," she said with a broad sweep of her hands, "is not the end of the world. It might take a few weeks, or even a few months, but we have systems to deal with this.

  "In a day or two things will be under control and they’ll be starting to clean up." Her maternal tone seemed to be bolstering her own confidence, but she couldn’t help a small feeling of doubt. "And even if I’m wrong, the last thing you should do right now is break into a pharmacy. Lexi told us what she saw." She looked imploringly at her husband. "Hank, people are fucking insane! I don’t want you getting shot and killed."

  Theresa was leaning against the railing during the exchanges and from her corner of the porch she addressed the people before her. "I don’t know if things are as bad as they look." Her voice was weak and she held her hand pressed against her forehead as she spoke. She turned to Evie and looked the woman in the eye. "But what I do know is that we need a lot of medicine, and I mean a lot, if we’re going to save that man in there.

  "Given the fact that planes are falling out of the sky, I don’t think this is exclusively local. And if it’s not, then all of the hospitals are going to be completely overrun." She took a fatigued, phlegmy breath and went on. "That’s where Brian should be, but we can’t move him and they’re not going to come to us.

  "Evie," she said with a heavy sigh. "If these guys don’t get what we need, Brian will die within three days." Too weak to stand any longer, Theresa squatted with her back against the rail and crossed her arms over her knees. Leaning her forehead against her arms, she continued to speak, although faintly. "Hank is right. It makes more sense for us to get the drugs than somebody who’s going to administer them wrong."

  Evie looked down at Theresa and then spun to face Hank. "Fine!" she said with venom. "Whatever! My opinion, apparently, doesn’t really matter. But, for the record, I’m not happy about this."

  "Not happy about this?" Hank took a step back and looked down at his wife. Outrage painted his face. "Do you think anybody is happy about this?" He pointed across the street to the shell of a house. When the roof had caved in, the heavy rains had extinguished the flames, though black smoke still billowed from its great cavity. It was clear, from the slant of the charred walls that little would be salvageable from the ruins and any attempt at it would be dangerous. "Do you think Dale and Valerie are happy about this, Evie?" He pointed at the neighboring house. It was equally devastated. "Do you think Pauline and Carter are happy about this?

  "I’m not going to stand around and watch terrible things happen to the people we care for. The medicine and supplies that we can get from the pharmacy are not just for one man. They’re for you and me and our children and grandchildren. They’re for the people we love and the neighbors who have looked after our home when we were away."

  Hank regained some calm as he went on. "Listen, Evie, my love, if these people: all of our family and neighbors, aren’t worth the risk, whatever that risk, then what’s the point of all our lives?" He reached out and brought his wife into his arms. She briefly resisted, then leaned into him, with her head against his chest. "Isn’t this worth the risk?"

  Evie pushed away and stood, holding Hanks hands in hers. Tears fell from her eyes. "You’re right. But I’m afraid. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t know what I would do without you."

  Hank smiled. "Well, then, I guess I’ll be careful while I’m looting the drug store." Evie rolled her eyes up and sighed. Hank chuckled and clapped his hands together. "Okay. Let’s get this show on the road."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "Salvador!" It was Hank calling out for him from the back yard. Until that moment, Salvador had been trying to stay out of the way, propped against a corner of the front porch. It wasn’t that he was avoiding anything, he just didn’t know what to do. If they were going to do this stupid heist, then he wanted to be done with it. Breaking into a pharmacy and stealing drugs was all wrong. It made his skin crawl and twisted his guts. When he heard Hank shouting out his name, Salvador nearly jumped out of his crawling skin.

  Trotting through the side gate, he wiped rain from his eyes and looked around. The skeletal frame
work of what would be his new, eight hundred square foot apartment stood tall, off to his left. It covered most of the back corner of the lot. Under the second story framing the new building was all but finished. It was a complete workshop full of Hanks tools. Hank had insisted on finishing that portion of the project first, so he would have a protected place to work and store materials. From the quick inspection they had conducted, all of the equipment inside seemed undamaged, because the power to the building had been off when everything went crazy.

  Along the fence, in front of the new building, stood

  a garden shed. It looked like a small red barn with white trim. Next to that, occupying the front corner of the lot, was a pen for ducks. Salvador didn’t understand why his in-laws kept so many stupid animals. Between the new building and the fence sat the ugliest pick-up that he had ever seen. It was bright green with bright yellow rims. The wooden racks that stood two feet over the roof of the cab were also bright yellow. It looked like a John Deere tractor. And the whole thing was covered with cartoon bird cut-outs. Salvador thought they were ducks or geese, but it was hard to tell, because they looked like they had been cut out and painted by children.

  In the middle of the small yard that stretched between the main house and the new building stood a rented storage shed where Salvador heard Hank rummaging. The temporary shed contained all the odds and ends that had been stored in the dilapidated old garage before the building was demolished. Salvador went to the doorway and asked, "What do you need?" Hank was attempting to leverage a large object from behind several boxes, bicycles and general clutter. Together, the two men released the object of Hank’s effort from its confinement.

  "A wagon?" Salvador asked, completely baffled.