Pavement Ends: The Exodus

by Kurt Gepner

  "Why?" She asked.

  Hank paused and regarded the police officer at his gate. He took a breath and said, "You wanted to ask me some questions, Officer Yuris. Why don’t you go ahead and ask?"

  She took a step back and pulled a notepad from a pocket. Clearly she was agitated and her actions took on a snappish motion. But her voice remained calm and well measured. Looking around at all of the strange projects that had been undertaken at the home on Thirty-second and Jasmine Street she asked, "What’s going on around here?"

  Pressing his lips into a thin line, Hank asked, "Is that what three police officers and three firemen came here for? You want to know that my daughter and her husband and their two kids just moved home?"

  Officer Yuris referred to her note pad and then back to the big man standing on the porch of a brick house. She had seen a lot of odd things during her eight years of law enforcement and in that time she hadn’t got to the rank of sergeant by worrying about how messy somebody’s yard was. This was especially true given the accusations that she was investigating. This guy, who seemed like a decent citizen, was trying to throw her off for some reason. She wasn’t going to let that happen. "Did you pay a visit to the Walgreen’s on Main and Fourth Plain, yesterday?"

  "Yes," he said.

  Officer Yuris’ eyes flicked up and Hank could see a glint of danger in them.

  "Now… Let me ask you something, Officer." Hank rested his hand on the porch column to his left and leaned casually against it. "I’ve heard that the authorities are letting people into the stores to take food and other things they need. Is that true?"

  She looked over her shoulder and a fireman with a dark mustache defiantly lifted his chin and avoided her gaze. "It is true that some stores have been opened to help those in need." She spoke carefully, and then jotted in her notepad. "Can you tell me what you did while you were at Walgreen’s?"

  "I picked up a few prescriptions," Hank answered.

  "You’re saying that you had a prescription to get medicine?" Officer Yuris acted doubtful, but Hank thought she was emphasizing words in such a way that she might be skirting a more direct question.

  Looking down, Hank took a deep breath and composed his answer. After a moment’s pause, he looked her in the eye and said, "I don’t know how to put it more plainly than this: A medical professional provided me with a document, upon which was listed some needed medications. I took that to the pharmacy and got what was on the list." Hank spoke deliberately, emphasizing words in the same fashion as Officer Yuris had. Then he quickly added, "Now if you will please excuse me, I have over thirty frightened and hungry people here. Most of them are refugees from this neighborhood, and I am trying to feed them right now." He turned to open the door.

  One of the firemen spoke up. "We heard you got a generator in your cellar and a running truck. ‘Sthat true?" Hank turned back to face the assemblage.

  "If I said no, would you offer me one or the other?" asked Hank, unable to mask his annoyance.

  "Uh… No… Uh…" the fireman fumbled. "We got the YWCA set up as a hospital." The mustached fireman puffed up and said, "You know the hospital got destroyed by a jet, don’t you?" Hank didn’t nod, or even move, he just looked at the fireman. A little flustered by Hank’s unblinking stare, the man went on. "There’s a bunch of doctors there takin’ care of a lot of really hurt people. So we’re gonna hafta take yer generator."

  Hank held the eyes of the mustached firefighter. "Officer Yuris," he said without averting his gaze. "Will you please explain the Fourth Amendment to our friend?"

  "I give less than a damn!" The fireman shoved past Officer Yuris and grabbed the gate.

  "Reggie! Bite!" Hank commanded.

  Like a black bolt of lightning, Reggie launched himself the distance from the top porch step to the gate and lunged across the top. Had the fireman not been wearing his durable firefighting coat, he would not have been able to fend off the attack and fall backward into his comrades. "Reggie. Come!" Reggie broke off and bounded back up the steps to Hank’s side.

  The two male police officers had drawn their pistols, but Officer Yuris turned and waved everybody back. When she had the men calmed she returned her attention to Hank. "Mr. Shumway, you know we can get a court order, not only to search your house for stolen merchandise, but also to commandeer your truck and generator, don’t you?"

  Hank shot a finger into the air and said, "On that point, you’re wrong."

  Shaking her head in disbelief, Officer Yuris blinked rapidly and said, "Mr. Shumway, there are literally hundreds of hurt people, not more than ten blocks away. Many of them are just lying out in the grass and on the street." She was speaking to him as if he were withholding milk from a baby. "Right now they would benefit from your generator more than you or the people you’re helping."

  "Officer Yuris," Hank said, as if trying to explain algebra to a toddler. "The law is the law. And I know that you have to do what you think is right. If you come back here with a warrant to enter my property and a court order to take my truck, there’s only one piece of advice I’ll give you…" All three officers stood rigidly, anticipating a threat. "Bring a tow truck, or a good mechanic and a working transmission."

  All three police officers visibly relaxed. "You’re telling me that your truck doesn’t run?" Officer Yuris asked.

  "It runs," Hank reassured her, "but I don’t think you’re going to drive it anywhere." He held up his hands and said, "It’s just some advice. Take it or leave it. As for the generator, you’re just not going to be able to take it. And I’ll show you why."

  Hank chewed on his bottom lip and pointed at a grey haired fireman. "I’ll let him come in." Then speaking directly to the man he asked, "You are sensible, aren’t you?"

  "Enough to have not got myself killed in thirty years of fighting fires," the man answered. Hank gave him a nod.

  "Come on in," he said. When the man hesitated, he reassured him that the dogs were under his complete control. The man came in and identified himself as Rick. Hank took Rick around back and down into his cellar. As they passed Dale, who was still standing at the corner of the house, Rick gave the rifle a long look, but said nothing. After a few minutes they came out and Rick was laughing. "He’s not kidding. There’s no moving that thing."

  "Why not?" The mustached fireman demanded.

  "I’ll tell you on our way back to the station," Rick said with a laugh.

  Hank patted him on the back as he let Rick out the gate. With a glance at Officer Yuris he asked, "Did you need anything else, Officer?"

  She shook her head and turned away. "Come on," she said to the other police officers, and the trio began walking south, down Jasmine Street as the firemen began walking north.

  On a hunch, Hank called out. "Officer, Yuris." She turned and faced him. "Since you’re heading in that direction, will you please check on the people about six blocks down the road?"

  "They’re fine, Mr. Shumway." She turned back to her path, but Hank called out again.

  "Would you check on one person in particular?" he asked.

  Turn back to him, Officer Yuris asked, "Who would that be, Mr. Shumway?"

  "There was a lady named Candice Caerson, who stayed with us last night. She’s a realtor from Olympia, who got stranded down here. We didn’t hit it off so well and I told her that she couldn’t stay with us anymore. But I told her about the empty house down the street, where a bunch of people were sheltering. I feel badly about turning her out and I just want to make sure she’s all right."

  Officer Yuris looked at Hank for a long moment. Then she looked at the bronze placard above the front steps that read: The Shumways. She looked back at Hank and said, "I’ll make a special point to talk to her, Mr. Shumway. Enjoy your dinner." She turned and joined her fellow police officers as they trudged on down the road.

  Hank crossed over to the north corner of his lot, where the ducks were pinned and hollered out to the firemen before they disappeared from sight. "Hey, Rick," He called out.
"Tomorrow morning, you send a doctor down here and I’ll talk to him about what we can work out. Okay?"

  "All right, Hank," he said with a wave. "You’ll have a doctor here, oh-bright-thirty in the morning."

  Hank waved and gave a thumbs-up before Rick disappeared from sight. Then he tromped across the yard with a dark expression and threw a few sticks of Maplewood into the barbeque. Jeremy crept up on his neighbor, and for a few moments he watched the big man stab at the fire with a length of half-inch rebar. Everyone had seen the cues warning them away, but Jeremy was too curious about what had happened and too oblivious of body language to know any better. So he asked, "What was that all about?"

  "That," Hank said with a particularly vigorous jab at the wood, "was the beginning of a screwing, me boy." Using the rebar to replace the hot grill, Hank went on. "A screwing that we’re not gonna take. Will you go in and bring me that last platter of steaks, please?"

  "Sure," he answered and then bounded up the steps.

  Dale filled the place his son had just vacated. "What’s your plan, Hank? I see one rolling around in there," he said as he pointed to Hank’s forehead.

  Hank smiled at his neighbor of fifteen years and said, "We need to get the hell out of Dodge."

  Dale chuckled with pursed lips. "That’s new. When did you come up with that one?" he asked sarcastically.

  Hank shot him a look and then with a laugh said, "Fair enough." Jeremy brought out the steaks just then. Using a pair of stainless steel salad tongs, Hank got them all arranged on the grill. "What I want to do is go down and have a few words with that… that…" Hank blustered for a moment and then said, "With Candice." Using his tongs to emphasize his point, he looked at Dale over the rim of his glasses and said, "She’s the one who set the police and fire department on us, you know!"

  Running his fingers through his dark curly hair Dale said, "I was kinda thinking that she might have had something to do with that unexpected visit. But how are you sure it was her?"

  Hank shook his head. "I can’t be sure. But the way that cop looked when I told her about Candice, plus the details that they knew, tells me that someone with a lot of specific knowledge fed them information. Unless Jeremy, or you or Camille said something to a stranger while you were out and about, that leaves only one person."

  Jeremy’s voice broke as he took a step back and said, "I didn’t say anything!"

  "I know you didn’t," Hank laughed. "It was Candice. You can bet that she has got that bunch of people down there all wound up with her lies." Hank flipped the steaks and prodded them with his tongs. "These are going to be a little more done than I prefer."

  "Oh, that’s okay," Silas said as he fit himself into the conversation. "I like my steak cooked well." His crunchy, baritone voice fell soothingly over the fire. "It’s bad manners to evesdrop, so I thought I’d just invite myself into your meeting. Mainly just so I can be nosy, you understand?"

  Hank nodded. "Of course. Being nosy is a lot easier when you’re a part of the goings on. I understand." Silas flashed him a broad grin. "I was just drawing out the tension a little, before I revealed my big plan," Hank said with deadpan seriousness. "Another device for growing anticipation is the commercial break. These steaks are done, so we’ll get back to this after a word from our sponsor." The men groaned, but Jeremy was so amused by the shtick that he was incapacitated with convulsions of laughter.

  Hank divvied up the rest of the steak and humbly accepted the raves. Finally he filled his own plate with food and found a place next to the barbeque to fend off the growing chill. Inside, the women were settling the children down to sleep and huddling in their own groups to discuss the turning of events.

  Looking around, Hank realized that the men and women who were sheltering in his home had divided into gender groups. They hadn’t discussed it, it had just happened. At different times he, Dale and Tom had been run out of the house after attempting to help with the children or with the clean-up. Now, gathered around the fire were Camille, Hank, Silas, Tom, Dale, Brody and Jeremy. Inside were Evie, Susanna Rae, Lexi, Norah, Bertel, Pauline, Sarah, Andrea, Jessie and Phim. There was no discussion or rationale behind it, so far as Hank could tell, yet here were the men and there were the women.

  After a few minutes of discussing general observations, Jeremy became impatient and interrupted Silas’ telling of an encounter with a transient to ask Hank what he was planning. Dale jumped on his son’s behavior, but Silas defended the boy saying, "Don’t blame the boy for being right. I want to know as bad as him, but stupid habits kept me from asking." Clamping shut his mouth, Dale gave Silas a polite nod, but he was clearly irked by the criticism of his parenting. Then he turned to Hank, as if to say, "So what are your plans?"

  "Well, I guess we can learn a thing or two from a kid," Hank said with a laugh. When his humor went unanswered, he dropped the subject. "Um… Okay. So here’s what I was thinking: As bad as it gets, there should be a few people who are relatively immune to the anarchy that is about to begin."

  "Yeah," Silas piped. "The ones with the guns."

  "You’re right about that," Hank concurred. "But that means there will be wounded."

  "Doctors?" Brody asked.

  Hank shot him a smile and said, "Yes. Doctors will be in high demand."

  Jeremy scratched his head, "You want to give them the generator, after all?"

  "Hah!" Camille barked. "Good luck with that."

  Smiling, Hank shook his head. "Can’t move the generator. But doctors do need power. If this place has it, then it becomes a strategic resource."

  Silas frowned. "Are you planning to destroy it?"

  "Nope," Hank answered. "I’m planning on making this place a hospital."

  "Now you’re talkin’ sense," Camille bellowed.

  "Why?" Brody challenged. "The VA hospital is running and they got the YWCA turned into a hospital. So why make this place into a hospital?"

  "Because, Son," Silas picked up the question. "It’s got something they ain’t."

  "Don’t fucking call me son," Brody spat with sudden vehemence. Silas’ eyes bulged wide as his bottom lip spilled into a frown.

  "Hey!" Hank snapped at Brody. "That’s no way to act!"

  Brody turned on Hank, fearlessly staring him in the eye. "He’s not my fucking father!"

  "Brody!" Hank’s voice rose to a command level. "It’s an expression! If you don’t like it, just say, please don’t call me that. You’ll get a lot more respect that way."

  Brody kicked the barrel, showering the sky with a gout of sparks and shouted, "I shouldn’t have to say please!"

  "Maybe not," Hank said with a much calmer voice. "But if you don’t then you’re being a child. An adult has to give respect before he can earn it. If someone does what you want for any other reason, then all you’ve earned is their resentment."

  Uttered like a curse, Brody looked Silas in the eye and asked, "Will you please not call me son?"

  Silas let his eyes drill into the boy for a long moment while nodding silently. Then he said, "All right."

  Seemingly satisfied and unable to endure the hard stare that Silas was still stabbing his way, Brody looked at Hank and picked up the previous conversation. "I still don’t get it. If they’ve already got a place set up as a hospital, why let them turn your place into one, too?"

  For a moment Hank prodded the fire with his rebar before answering. "Once we walk away from this place, somebody will move in. It would probably be occupied before we got a mile down the road. The people who take it must be able to defend it. If they can’t defend it then another group, with better odds, will move in. And so on, until it reaches capacity or gets demolished.

  "By choosing my tenants, the right ones I mean, all of that can be avoided. Medicine is more important than food, if you’re injured or sick. So by letting a doctor set up shop in this house, it effectively takes it out of the battle and preserves it for the future."

  "You mean, so you still have a place to come back to, when all of
this is over?" Brody asserted.

  "Maybe," Hank shrugged. "But for at least a year it will be a hospital."

  In unison Brody and Jeremy asked, "A year?"

  Hank nodded gravely. "I wasn’t kidding when I said that we had a lot more to do. We’ve got to get up to that meadow, get it cleared and tilled and get some crops planted. And we need to build a large enough place to shelter all of us. There’s a hut up there, but it’s only big enough for six or maybe eight people to crowd in."

  With a moment’s pause Hank wondered if the other person, the one who had silently helped him build the dwelling, would also find his way to the meadow. He shook off the thought for another time and continued his thread of conversation. "Then we need to lay in enough food and wood to survive the winter. After we manage to scratch out our survival, after the snow melts in March or April, we can come down and see how things are going."

  The group of men were silent for a few minutes. Camille lit a pipe and sent a few small clouds of sweet-smelling smoke drifting off into the breeze. The dogs trotted by, making their rounds. Shelby, the Yost’s family dog, had joined the pack. Evie had fitted her with a muzzle, because she had aggressive tendencies towards other dogs and children. Even though Shelby had never been socialized to anyone outside of her family, Evie was certain that she would be able to recondition the Rottweiler within a week or two.

  "I don’t get it," Brody said after a few minutes of silence. "Can’t we just hunt for food? You’ve got piles of it already. Why do we need to plant crops?"

  Hank gave him a sage smile. "I figure we had enough food," he said with a nod toward his father-in-law and thumb toward the house, "to feed Camille, Evie and me, for about six months. If my count isn’t off by much, I think there are thirty-one souls under this roof, plus the animals. So if three people have enough food for one-hundred and eighty days, how long do you suppose thirty people can eat on the same amount of food?"

  "Oh," Brody said, having no need to state the answer. "So how long does it take for crops to grow?"