Pavement Ends: The Exodus

by Kurt Gepner

"You’ve got extensive abrasions and lacerations down your spine, which I’m sure you’ve bruised and strained." She was suddenly shining the flashlight in his eye. He blinked and jerked his head back, a little startled. "Do you understand me?"

  "Yeah," he answered irritably. "You said my back is strained."

  Her look of concern made his skin crawl with fear. "Try to stay with me, Salvador," the nurse said. Norah was holding his hand with tears streaming down her face. She wasn’t there a second ago. Theresa flashed the light in his eyes. "Are you still with me?"

  "Yeah," he answered. "Sprained ankle, bad back."

  "Okay, now listen. Concentrate," Theresa said, seemingly frustrated. He wondered what she wasn’t telling him. "You have four or five broken ribs, a broken jaw and nose. You bit off the tip of your tongue. Are you still with me?"

  "Yef," he said. He had to gulp down some air to quell his nausea. There was a tube in his mouth. He spit it out.

  "Salvador," Norah said in a pleading voice. "Honey! Please keep the tube in your mouth." She put it back between his teeth. "It’s oxygen," she said. The tube tasted horrible.

  "Oxygen?" He wondered why he needed oxygen.

  "Yes, oxygen, from Hank’s cutting torch," Theresa answered. "Stay with me, now"

  "I’ wiff yu," he said past the tube. "I haf spained akle. Boke face."

  "Yes, but do you remember the back and ribs?" Theresa sounded concerned. He nodded because she seemed so worried, and she looked relieved. He wondered what was wrong with his ribs. "You also have several deep lacerations on the back of your head and you definitely have a very bad concussion, which is impairing your short term memory." She crossed her arms and gave him a frank look. "The problem is that I forgot to write prednisone on the list I sent with you guys to the pharmacy. That’s the medication that would have controlled your nausea and kept your brain from swelling."

  Salvador felt his heart hammering in his chest. He felt scared. It was a new reality that he was only just grasping. He was in really bad shape and he needed a hospital and medication. And neither was available. "Wha dah mean?" he asked.

  Theresa took a breath before she answered him. "It means..." She took another breath. "It means that we’ve got to keep you awake, so you don’t go into a coma. And the only anti-inflammatory I can give you is Tylenol."

  "Dah it? Jus’ keep me awake?" He wondered why that was a big deal.

  "No, Salvador." Theresa was snapping her fingers in front of his face. "You there?"

  "Yesh." He pulled away from her only to cringe against a blast of fiery pain.

  Theresa’s eyes were sad. "I can’t give you any more pain medication. And we’ve got to bandage you and stitch you and do a lot of very painful things to make you right again. Do you understand?"

  He was in such terrible pain. Salvador looked imploringly at Theresa. "Nuffin’ fo’ pain?"

  "I’m sorry," Theresa confirmed. "It’s going to hurt."

  Salvador groaned. "It hur bad, now."

  "I know," she said. "It’s going to get worse. Norah will be with you the whole time."

  "I can’t take mo’ pain," He pleaded.

  "We don’t have any choice," Theresa said firmly and without compassion.

  With the assistance of Norah, Dale, Evie and Hank, Theresa spent three hours cleaning and stitching and bandaging the broken hero. Theresa started with his back, so that they could get the ribs wrapped as soon as possible. She expressed concern that his lung was in jeopardy, so long as they remained untreated. Salvador’s screams of torment set the whole household to tears. After his back was bandaged and stitched as was needed, and his ribs were wrapped, Theresa concentrated on Salvador’s head wounds.

  She cleaned away the blood and then they shaved him bald. There was little she could do for the majority of the wounds, except clean out the gravel and glass and cut away the flaps of skin that would harbor infection. The majority of his head wounds were severe abrasion. There was one cut that was mostly superficial. Even so, she stitched up its three-inch length and wrapped a bandage around his head.

  Theresa announced that he would have a crooked nose and the only treatment she gave it was to pack both nostrils with gauze. Salvador shrieked over the pain of her remedy. She cleaned up his face and bandaged that which needed it, then turned her attention to his jaw. "You’re going to be eating through a straw for the next two weeks," she told him.

  She did little in the way of manipulation, although touching his jaw produced in Salvador the most blood curdling screams. The insulation from pain that had been provided by his initial shock had worn off. Theresa firmly wrapped a bandage from under his jaw up and over his head, so he could not open his mouth. As she did her work they discovered that his neck was stiff and in pain, as well. They rolled a towel and wrapped it with a bandage around his neck.

  For an ankle cast, Hank cut off a two-foot length of three-inch diameter ABS pipe. He then cut it in half, lengthwise, and used a heat gun to soften the plastic and flatten it. Each piece was nearly five inches wide. By heating it to a malleable state, he was able to mold portions of it to the shape of Salvador’s foot. One length went from the end of his toes, along the bottom of his foot, around his heel and halfway up his calf. The other piece flared up over his toes, ran across the top of his foot, over his swollen ankle and halfway up his shin. Once cool, the ABS plastic was as rigid as steel, but very lightweight. They wrapped the two sides together to form a very effective cast. As the swelling went down, the top piece could be remolded for optimal support.

  After Salvador was stitched and bandaged, Hank and Dale helped him to the bedroom he was sharing with his wife and children. Norah took a place on the stool beside the bed. She’d been instructed to keep him awake and watch him carefully. Hank took a moment to reassure his daughter, and then the men left husband and wife alone. She nodded politely, but said nothing. When her father shut the door, she burst into tears. "Oh, Honey, I’m so sorry for what I said."

  Salvador looked at her through blurry eyes, wondering if he’d missed another conversation. He tried to tell her it would be all right, but all he could manage was a puff of air and a groan. His eyes rolled up in his skull as he was struck with a sudden, thought-numbing headache. "Oh, Honey, don’t go to sleep! Open your eyes. Please," Norah begged.

  Salvador’s eyes snapped open and he looked at his wife. She held his hand and looked at him with profound worry, yet so endearingly. "Are you cold, would you like a cover?" He was, but he didn’t know how to tell her so. He squeezed her hand. She smiled. "Does that mean yes or no?" He looked at her blankly. "Okay," she said with a sweet smile. "Squeeze once for yes and twice for no." He squeezed once.

  Norah laid a light blanket over her husband. This was her worst fear for her children. She thanked God that she was at home, with her family. It was no surprise to her when he showed up injured. She’d expected, had been prepared, to see him in this condition for a few years. She mostly dreaded the event, because it meant that her girls would not get as much attention as they needed.

  Regular migraines had already interfered with her ability to parent. Giving all of her attention to a crippled husband would be devastating. At least here she knew that her girls would be well looked after. They had been moved downstairs, with the other children in Bertel’s care. Norah was a little envious of how well the older woman was able to handle all those kids, but she was glad too.

  As she looked down at the bandaged man who had given her the two most precious people in her life, a multitude of feelings washed through her. She sat down and again took his hand in hers, trying to organize her thoughts as she watched his eyes roll in pain.

  Resentment. That’s all I seem to feel, sometimes. When I look in his eyes, even now, as beat up as he is, I can’t see what he’s feeling inside. I never know what he’s thinking. Just then Salvador looked away, toward the window, and she resented him for it.

  Admiration. That little girl is alive, because my husband had the guts to help a screa
ming woman. They had gotten the whole turn of events, while cleaning and bandaging him. The poor girl isn’t talking, or even crying. But she is alive and two rapists are dead, because my husband is a hero.

  Pity. He always tries so hard to do the right thing, but he can’t figure out what the right thing is. If his brother, Michael, needs money, he gives him money. If his mother needs money, he gives her money. Then when his brother needs a place to stay, he stays with us. But when he wants to feed his brother, he’s ashamed that our cupboards are empty and asks me why. Because you gave away all our money!

  More Resentment. I haven’t got a new bra in over a year, because Salvador won’t see that his brother can’t hold a job. He can’t see that Michael has a drug problem. First Michael borrows every dime his mother can spare, then he comes to Salvador. Then Salvador’s mother comes to him for money, because he’s the oldest. Never mind that her youngest son, Raphael, lives with her, has a good job and no wife or children.

  Respect. My husband is the most noble man I know. Things may be hard to manage sometimes (most of the time), but he has always worked. He has always kept a roof over our heads. And he has always found a way to help anyone who’s asked for it. He’s never hit me or the girls, and he adores them with all his might.

  Love. I love him. I know I love him. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Sometimes I wonder if I’m not looking hard enough.

  "Are you hungry?" She asked. Her voice was filled with concern. Salvador squeezed her hand twice. "Would you like me to find a good book and read to you?" He squeezed her hand twice. "Do you want some water?" He squeezed her hand once. "All right, I’ll be right back. Don’t go to sleep."

  CHAPTER NINE

  Norah quietly walked to the door. She realized that she was being quiet and wondered to herself why she bothered. The sun was dawning and nobody in the house was asleep, but still she tiptoed. As she put her hand on the knob, she heard hushed voices in the living room. Silently, she listened to the conversation. Theresa was talking.

  "...actually drill holes in their head to relieve the pressure. Because once the brain swells to the skull, it has nowhere to go. Then the pressure restricts the blood flow and starves the brain of oxygen in that area."

  Her father spoke. "What will that do?"

  "Usually, any impairment from a concussion is temporary," Theresa answered. She sounded exhausted. "But that’s with proven medical treatments. In Salvador’s case, he could have a permanent loss of short term memory."

  The news didn’t faze Norah. If she had been told that he was going to be a vegetable, it would not have fazed her. This was exactly what she had prepared herself to hear. She thought her mother’s reaction to the news was more than sufficient reaction. "Oh, for the love of God," came Evie’s disgusted voice. "I knew he was going to get himself hurt."

  Theresa coughed and then said, "The worst case scenario is that he slips into a coma and dies."

  "It’s going to get worse, you know." Her father’s voice was a little louder than the general tone of the conversation. And it was contemplative. Norah could tell that he was talking about something other than Salvador’s injuries. Her mother’s volume increased, following suit.

  "How could it get worse than coma and death?" Evie asked. Norah rolled her eyes. Mom never could keep up with Dad, she thought.

  "That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about the people. The criminally minded aren’t going to be constrained by fear. The police are hobbled. But worse than that, regular folk are going to get desperate."

  Her aunt spoke up. "Why do you think regular people will get desperate?"

  "Before I answer," Norah heard her father say, "let me ask you a question. How soon, given what we know, do you think it will be before they get trucks of food into Portland?"

  Her aunt was quiet for a moment. "I don’t know. Maybe they’re already sending trucks."

  Norah knew her father’s tone. She could tell that he was setting up a mental trap and Auntie Sue was walking right into it. "Okay. Let’s say they are, even though we would have heard them because the freeway is less than a hundred yards away. But let’s say that trucks are pouring in, loaded with food. There are about a million people, just in the Portland area alone."

  Impatiently, Susanna Rae asked, "Come on, Hank. What does that have to do with trucks?"

  Norah knew that normally, at this point, her father would have a wicked grin on his face. She doubted that he was grinning today as she heard him continue. "If most of the houses burned," he said, "then everybody is relying on the food in grocery stores and warehouses. That won’t last for more than a few days, without more shipments. And figuring that a person eats a pound of food a day, it might take dozens of truckloads, every single day, to keep people in Portland from starving."

  "Okay," her aunt said. "So it takes dozens of trucks a day. So what?"

  "So, the trucks would have to be running, which they are not. They would have to clear the roads of cars to get them through, which could take weeks. They would have to do it for every city, of which there are thousands. And they would have to keep doing it until the crisis is over and each region becomes self-sufficient. But, before they send a truck, I guarantee they’ll assess the situation from the air. When was the last time you heard a plane, or helicopter, or jet?"

  "Oh please," Susanna Rae hissed. "You make it sound like this has happened everywhere."

  She heard her father clear his throat. "I’m pretty sure it has. If the east coast were not affected, there would have been planes by now, even if just military jets."

  "So let me get this straight," Norah heard her aunt say. Skepticism laced through her words. "You’re saying that no trucks are bringing food and everybody is going to starve?"

  "That’s exactly what I’m saying." Her father was right, she knew.

  Norah heard her pipi’s voice and realized that it must be a family gathering, and Theresa was with them, because of Salvador. Camille said, "That’s not our concern. You’ve got a good piece of ground and a lot of food. We take care of our own."

  "That’s all fine and good, Camille." Her father sounded frustrated. "But what happens when a couple dozen hungry people want what we’ve got?"

  "Just shoot ‘em," Camille belted. "This is your land and your food."

  "Okay," her father said with a nonchalant lilt. "That’s a good idea. We’ll just shoot ‘em. And when the next hundred come, we’ll just shoot them too. And after that, we’ll just hit them with clubs, because we’re out of bullets. And when..."

  "Hank!" It was her mother, getting her father under control. "Stop! What is your point?"

  Norah chose that moment to softly open the door and enter the hallway. She looked back at her husband. He was staring out the window. She closed the door gently, but the old house rattled and carried sound well. The conversation paused and everyone was looking at her when she emerged from the hall.

  "I know what he’s getting at," Norah said. "Daddy, you can’t do it. We’ve got to stay here."

  Hank smiled at his daughter. She was a lot like him, always playing out the possibilities. He briefly wondered why she couldn’t do that where her life was concerned. "We can’t stay, Sweetie," he said. "You should see that."

  "Why would you leave," Camille jumped in. "You’ve got it made here. Power, good drainage, plenty of food, a gre...."

  "And, no way to defend it!" Hank cut him off.

  Norah saw that her mother’s hand was lying across a glass of red wine that was nestled in her lap. The bottle was half empty, sitting on a leaf of newspaper, on the floor. It was awfully early for her mom to be drinking, but not unheard of. What Norah thought to be unprecedented was that her mother was drinking in front of Pipi.

  Evie was oblivious to her youngest daughter’s scrutiny and picked up her father’s thread. "We’re better off than ninety-nine percent of the people. Why would you walk away from all of this?"

  "It’s not that I want to," Hank defended. "But if we stay, then we are screwed
."

  "How?" Susanna Rae charged in. "How are we screwed? I thought you were nuts, because you built steam engines and stored tons of food and made booze and all kinds of crazy crap. Now that it’s all going to pay off... now that you are proved to be a visionary...! Now...? You want to walk away from it all that? I was wrong about you. You were never crazy. You’re a fucking lunatic."

  Hank was quiet for a moment and he was joined in the tight silence by everyone in the room. "Listen," he said, finally having organized his approach. "I’m not insane. If you played chess with our circumstances," he said with a nod toward his youngest daughter, "you’d see that I’m making the right move."

  Norah understood what her father was saying. They had played chess together since she was seven years old. He usually won, because he was always thinking ten moves ahead, predicting her strategy. When she played defensively, he’d cage her in until she had no options. When she played aggressively, he would always move her target before she could line up for the strike. "You’re castling," she said. "You want to be someplace safe, before the attack comes."

  "What the hell are you two talking about?" Lexi had remained quiet up to this point.

  Norah turned to her sister and said, "Dad’s talking about saving our lives."

  "No he’s not," Lexi rejected her sister’s idea. "I know what he’s getting at. He’s talking about camping out in the woods. There’s a reason I never went with you to your primitive little hut in the mountains. I’m fine here!"

  "I’m not leaving, either," Evie announced.

  "Evie," Hank implored. "You have to leave. We’ve got to get out of here before what happened to that little girl happens to one of our own." His comment was a communal slap in the face. The women were silent as he went on. "SuSu," he said, addressing his sister-in-law with her pet name. "You’re a beautiful woman. You like to go jogging, stay fit. Men whistle at you when they drive by. You don’t have a cell phone anymore. There are no street cameras. How safe are you?"

  Susanna Rae’s face paled as Hank painted the scene. Then her forehead creased with anger. "I’ve had self-defense. I can hold my own. It’s horrible of you to say something like that."