Pavement Ends: The Exodus

by Kurt Gepner

  Without questioning the authority Silas had granted him, Hank announced that they would have a very short service and then move on with whatever they could salvage in two hours. Evie had revived Val, but the parents were too deeply immersed in their grief to make any objection. Sarah spent the most time with the bereaved parents. She got Dale cleaned and changed into fresh clothes.

  All of the other men lent their backs to digging the grave. Even Brody, after being nursed by Theresa, jumped in with tears spilling from his reddened eyes. During that time, Bertel used a salvaged canvas drop cloth to wrap Jeremy’s body. She stitched it shut with garden twine as she sang a solemn sad song in German. Those not involved with funeral preparations scoured the property for useful goods.

  The time came for the service. Jeremy’s body was prepared and his grave was dug. Word spread. The men took some time to wash their hands and mop their brows, but soon everyone was standing in a cluster. Hank planted himself on a concrete garden bench and pressed his palms into throbbing temples. When he caught the furtive glances that were cast his way, he stared up at the tree tops. Time passed and the reverent hush was slowly replaced by whispered murmurs. Some of the younger children, not understanding the situation, were reprimanded for playing.

  In a startled wave, the crowd fell silent where they had gathered around the mounds of dirt that encircled the grave. Jeremy’s shrouded corpse lay still beside his final resting place. Near his head, suddenly, Hank stood tall. He had donned his drover’s coat and now stood, imposingly, commanding attention with his silence.

  When all shuffling halted and the tribe had become still, Hank drew in a deep breath. "Dear friends and loved ones," he paused as Patty began to cry. Val brought her in close and Dale wrapped his arms protectively around his wife and daughter. "We join together in this moment as a single mournful family. We mourn the passing of our beloved Jeremy Weston Yost." Hank’s voice broke and tears toppled from his eyes. "He was a shy boy and he was flawlessly helpful." Though his lip quivered and his words were thick in his throat, Hank drove on.

  "There are people in this world who would hurt another for the pure joy of seeing them suffer. And there are so many others who would let it happen, because they have allowed apathy to govern their life. But Jeremy was a redeeming soul. He would always go out of his way to offer his aid, just for the pure joy of easing another’s burden. Jeremy epitomized consideration. He was considerate to a naïve and beautiful extreme and in his passing we see go a truly inspiring human being." Hank pressed his mouth into a trembling frown and swallowed hard. "Good bye, Jeremy. You are loved and remembered forever."

  Hank let the assemblage lament for a few minutes and then cleared his throat. "If anyone would like to offer a recollection of Jeremy, or a thought, it is now the time that we should hear it."

  Without pause, Lexi cleared her throat and raised her hand. Hank asked her to share and a small circle formed around her as people moved to give her their singular attention. She looked around at the faces while her jaw worked over soundless words. She closed her eyes and slowly opened them. Finding herself staring into TJ’s glistening, dark blue eyes, she found her voice. "I thought it was the most flattering thing in the world that Jeremy had a crush on me.

  "I remember babysitting him. It seems like yesterday. And I remember how he went through this phase, just before he started first grade. He was always saying, I’m going to be your husband, someday. I would laugh at him. But last month, when I was home washing my car, he came over. He didn’t ask. He just got a rag and started helping me wash my car. At that moment I thought, I sure hope I meet a man who is considerate like Jeremy. Then I remembered what he said when he was little." Lexi paused, briefly, then said, "I don’t know what that means, but I just wanted to say it."

  Others shared their memories and experiences with Jeremy. After a time, no one stepped forward. Hank looked around at the faces and was pained by the sorrow he saw in all of their eyes. His sight settled on Brody. The boy was tormented. He looked at Hank with a quivering lip and then looked down. In some ways Hank felt most sad for him.

  Everyone was looking at Hank with expectation, but he had nothing more to say. He looked over the canvas wrapped body. There were three lengths of rope under it, each coiled neatly at their ends. Hank picked up the end of the nearest coil, but let go when he heard a small, meek voice say, "Wait."

  Brody owned the voice that had been no more than a nasally squeak. Hank looked at him, not even certain that he had heard anything. Then Brody went on. "I want to say something." His taped nose whistled as he spoke.

  His voice was too soft for even those nearest him to have heard. But Hank heard and with a solid voice he said, "Go ahead, Brody. What would you like to say?"

  The respectful circle formed around the boy and he looked ready to bolt. Drawing together his presence, Brody cleared his parched throat and began to speak.

  "There’s nobody here who knew Jeremy better than me. He’s the only one who called me on my bullshit. It wasn’t just ‘cause we grew up together. There was something else." Brody spoke up so he could be heard clearly by everyone present, even though his nose was muffling his words. He looked at Jeremy’s parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Yost, as far as I’m concerned, Jeremy was the only family I had left. He was like my brother and he was the only person I ever loved." Tears flowed freely from his red-rimmed eyes and he smeared away blood-tinged snot from his upper lip. "I’m so sorry for what happened. I’m so sorry…

  "We wouldn’t have been screwing around if I hadn’t coaxed him into it. I knew better and he tried to talk me out of it, but I could always push him to do anything, if I tried hard enough." Brody looked over at Hank. "I let you down." His voice was no more than a croak and the boy collapsed in upon himself, dropping into the mounded dirt from the grave. "I let you down, Hank," he bawled, "and I lost my brother." Brody buried his head between his knees with his fingers entwined behind his neck. "I lost Jeremy and now I don’t have anybody." He began sobbing uncontrollably.

  For a moment nobody moved. But whatever held the hands motionless and planted the feet of the bystanders faded quickly from Val. She knelt down next to Brody and put her arms around his shoulders. Brody leaned into her shoulder and she held him, comforting him. Val helped the boy to his feet and threw a glance at her husband. Dale hesitated, but stepped forward and tucked a supportive hand under the boy’s arm. Brody looked into Dale’s eyes and his body was wracked with a sob. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

  Dale’s lips were pressed so tightly the color had abandoned them. His frown was ground from iron and his eyes were chiseled stone. But as Dale stabilized the grieving boy, he reached his arm around and brought Brody close, almost, but not quite in a hug. "I know," he said with a shadow of reassurance. "We all know."

  After giving a few minutes to those most deeply wounded by Jeremy’s passing, Hank quietly distributed the rope ends among the men. All who were assembled there wept as Jeremy was lowered into his final resting place. When they had coiled the rope into the grave Hank bent down and picked up a shovel. Standing straight again, he handed the tool to his long-time neighbor. Dale took it with a scowl that immediately melted into a sorrowful frown. He thrust the spade into a mound of dirt and tossed a load of soil upon his son. Dale stood rigid for a moment. When that moment had passed, he shoved the spade into the ground and walked away with head slung low.

  Hank pulled free the tool and silently offered it to Val. She took a scoop of dirt and tossed it into the hole. Patty imitated her mother. Brody followed suit. Amanda was relieved from her duty of guarding the Caravan and also showed her respects at the grave. Finally, after all had contributed their labor to Jeremy’s farewell, Hank began to fill in the hole with tired muscles fueled only by sorrow.

  In time, Brody found his own shovel and helped Hank to finish the job. When only a mound was left, they mixed a bag of cement and poured it into a packed, rectangular depression that they had formed into the fresh soil. It was all they
could provide as a headstone. Val wanted nothing more than her son’s name and the dates of his life written thereon. So that was all it said.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Shortly after the impromptu funeral, Silas approached Hank to return the shotgun. Pulling the tall man aside, Silas spoke in a quiet tone. His eyes never ceased scanning the tree line as he spoke. "We need to be goin’, Capt’n. Those folks down at that community center ain’t so friendly as us. In fact, they’re murderin’ people. If they should come a callin’…" Silas didn’t need to point out that they were trapped and almost defenseless.

  Hank nodded as he listened; all the while watching his people scavenge supplies from the small cul-de-sac neighborhood. Slowly he hissed out his pent-up breath, then he said, "All right, Silas. Can you get the people together?"

  Before Hank finished the last word of his sentence, Silas curled his tongue behind his teeth and blew a loud piercing whistle as he spun toward the others. "People!" He bellowed in his deep, baritone voice. "Gather up!" Silas looked over his shoulder at Hank. "Did I mention that I was a drill sergeant for six years?" Turning back to his mission he let out another long shrill whistle.

  Only a minute later everyone was standing around waiting for Hank to say something. After clearing his throat a few times Hank addressed the crowd. "There’s no delicate way to put this," he said to the waiting faces. "We’ve got to get back on the road and get some distance behind us."

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" Sarah demanded. Before Hank could form a reply she thrust her hand at the Yost family and said, "These people just lost their son. We should let them grieve, for Christ’s sake!"

  Hank had to swallow down a lump in his throat before going on. He felt the same as Sarah, but it would be pure stupidity to let his sympathies put the group in greater peril. "Does anyone think that we’re safe here?" The rhetorical question went unanswered. "Not far from here," Hank thrust his arm toward the southeast, "a gang of killers has taken over the community center. They have guns and a couple of running trucks." He paused to let the fact germinate in the group’s collective imagination.

  "If any of you feel the need, you’re free to join up with them." At that moment two shots sounded from the direction that Hank had just pointed. One of the children began to cry and Bertel knelt to calm her. "But for me and this Caravan," Hank concluded, "it’s time to go."

  At that moment Silas’ voice boiled over the murmurs of discord. "Listen up, People! Hank is being nice about it, but I’ll set you straight. We’re in a bad spot. We ain’t got much firepower and those ya-hoos over there are executing people. I saw ‘em do it. The fact we ain’t already been messed with is a miracle and you all should be scrambling to get the hell outta here!" He had crept up on Sarah while speaking, ending his sentence face-to-face with her. Looking her dead in the eye, he commanded at the top of his lungs, "Now, MOVE!"

  Wilting before his presence, Sarah backpedaled away from him, as did everybody else. The rest of the younger children began to cry and Bertel had to usher them all aboard the U-haul. With constant barking from Silas, everyone in the Caravan was ready to travel in just a few minutes.

  Hank waved over Brody, who hurried to answer the beckons. "How are you doing?" Hank asked sincerely, while scrutinizing the boy’s eyes and responsiveness.

  "You don’ hab to worry abou’ me," Brody replied painfully, albeit stoically through swollen lips. "I’mb fine." His eyelids were puffy and already blackening and he had a cut across his left eyebrow, but he seemed cogent.

  Shaking his head, Hank said, "I’m not worried about you." Brody was almost able to hide his letdown, but Hank acted as if he’d seen nothing. "I’m worried about everybody else. I still need a scout and I’m hoping you can ride that scooter of yours."

  With eyes wide, Brody asked, "You still want me to scout?"

  Hank looked sternly at the boy. "No, Brody. I need you to scout. Want is a luxurious word. It implies consideration and choice. I don’t have either. Can you ride?"

  His mouth hung open and he was nearly cross-eyed, but Brody nodded and said, "Yah. I can ride."

  "Okay, then. Go ahead of the Caravan about a hundred yards. Can you gauge that distance?" Brody affirmed that he could. "If you see anything suspicious, no matter how ridiculous, come racing back and tell me what you saw. Got that?" Brody nodded. "If you see any person, no matter how far away, come back and tell me. Got that?" Brody nodded. "If you don’t see anything, circle back behind the Caravan and then back out a hundred yards ahead. Got that?"

  Brody nodded and said, "I got it, Hank. A hundred yards out, come back fast if I see any-ting or any-one. If not, circle aroun’ an’ then go out a hundred yards again. No problemb." Brody turned to fetch his scooter, but Hank called him back.

  "And Brody," Hank said as he jabbed a finger directly in his sternum. "Don’t fuck up."

  Brody licked his pale, tight lips. "Got it." He waited a second and then trotted away.

  Jessie, who had been respectfully waiting - without Phim Pham stuck to her side - approached the tall man and said, "I thought you should know something before we leave."

  Hank drew in a breath to calm his impatience. "Yeah?" he asked.

  "Well…" she hesitantly began. "First… I want to thank you for taking us along and not kicking out Phimy," she said with grave sincerity. Hank gave her a tight smile and nodded. She went on. "I just want you to know that I... I’ve got a Class A CDL. I could drive this train for you, if you wanted to free up that old guy for something else. I only quit driving because of Phimy, but I was pretty good at it."

  "Okay, Jessie. That’s good to know…" he began. Then Jessie interrupted him.

  "But you’re not going to make any changes. Right?" Her question was nothing less than an accusation.

  Hank’s tightlipped smile softened into something more earnest and he patted the woman reassuringly on the shoulder. "I appreciate what you’re saying, Jessie, but you’re right. I’m going to keep things the same."

  "Shit, Hank! Can’t I at least get out there and push cars? Or is that man’s work?" Jessie threw her fingers up to quote the word "man’s" and Hank felt a sudden sense of déjà vu. But he knew that Jessie’s sudden venom toward men did not stem from a compulsion to manipulate, like Candice. He could tell that she was feeling marginalized by both the men and women.

  He had noticed before how everyone was falling into gender roles and suspected that it was a function of their need to survive. But Jessie did not really fit in with the women. During the preparations, she had spent more time working alongside the men, comfortably bantering with Tom and Silas. As Hank looked at the red-faced woman, he saw honest frustration and a genuine need to contribute.

  Carefully considering his words Hank said, "Anyone in this group is free to help out in whatever capacity they feel most suited. Obviously there is only one steering wheel in the Duck Truck and Camille has been driving it for years. So I think you can see the logic in my decision to keep him behind it. If you think Phim will be okay without you at her side, then you’re help with the cars would be welcome."

  Jessie visibly relaxed and was about to say something when Hank held up his finger and went on. "But I’ll tell you the exact same thing I told TJ: I need men." Jessie’s jaw dropped and she boggled at Hank. He continued without pause. "And having a dick isn’t what I mean. I need someone with a set of balls." He gave her a deliberate look as he spoke. "Just to set the record straight, I think my wife and Andrea both have a huge set of balls. So if you think Phim will be okay without you and you’re willing to bust ass, I’ll count you as one of my men too."

  Jessie couldn’t suppress her grin. "It’s not like Phimy needs my constant supervision. She had an episode, but she’s fine now. And I’ll check up on her, don’t worry."

  Hank scoffed. "That is the least of my worries. But I think we have an understanding."

  "We do," Jessie said and trotted off to rejoin her partner. Phim Pham gleefully hugged her girlfriend and kissed her o
n the cheek.

  Although Jessie had claimed a personal victory, she showed awareness of their circumstance and the sorrowful mood of the Caravan. Phim Pham, however, was genuinely ignorant of how tangent her expression of joy was to every other citizen in their group. A small spike of worry over future difficulties with the girl gouged at his thoughts, but Hank did not linger on it. Taking just another moment, he assessed his people and surveyed the small neighborhood they were about to leave. When he was satisfied that all was in order, he swirled his fist in the air and thrust forward his hand in tandem with his first step. The Duck Truck growled to life behind him.

  At the end of the street, Brody beckoned, but Hank couldn’t shake the dread of exposing the procession to the threat that was only a quarter mile beyond a sheltering rise in the road. Swallowing down his trepidation, he walked on and a few minutes later they were back on course.

  The guilt of Jeremy’s death was a cumbersome weight pressing down upon his shoulders and he trudged wearily with the burden. Just hours ago the boy had bravely raised his hand against the wishes of his father. Now he was in a grave with a slab of concrete for a headstone. The Caravan wove through a short maze of cars as Hank sorted out his thoughts. His throat was thick with sorrow and doubt, but he led the small band of refugees onward.

  What if he was making a tremendous mistake? The Meadow was not a total secret. The mysterious person who had helped him build the hut might have the same plans. What sort of person was he? At times he had mended storm damage, gathered stones for the walls and left gifts. But at other times he had used up supplies, left the door open for hungry animals to pillage his stores and on three occasions he had taken whole jars of precious honey. At the time it had merely been irksome to Hank. He had an abundance of honey and the stranger had been helpful, but a quart of the sweet amber liquid was, after all, worth a lot of money.