Pavement Ends: The Exodus

by Kurt Gepner

  Hank pulled his niece into a hug and felt the pummel of her sword pressing into his ribs. "Now listen, Little Girl. You can’t cry anymore. This is it. You just do as you’re told and you do it as smartly as you can. If we survive, then you know you’ve done well." He pushed her back to look into her eyes. "Do you understand?"

  Ella seemed to have drawn some measure of strength from his talk and asked, "So, what about the cat?"

  "Huh?" Hank asked, perplexed.

  "The cat," she said, pointing at the shrubbery where the calico had vanished.

  "Oh," Hank caught up with her. "Anything bigger than a cat, you let me know."

  "Okay," she said. Hank looked at her for a moment after she turned back to her assignment. "You better get back to saving us, Uncle Henry. It’s getting dark."

  Hank looked up at the sky and saw that clouds had rolled over. A vague globe still glowed, just over the treetops across the street. He figured that two more hours of light remained. "Right," he said in acknowledgement of her observation and took her advice.

  He briefly checked on Steven and found the boy asleep on a shelf, covered by a wool cloak that had been a part of his costume. Hank noticed that the air was chilly and thought that he would like a wool cloak by the time night closed in. Wasting no more time, he got back to the blister-raising task of drilling holes with his multi-tool.

  The break, much as he disliked delaying the project, had done him some good. He had a new vigor for his task and got the last hole drilled by twilight. Ella had called on her uncle twice in that time. Once for a small pack of stray dogs, which he readily chased off, and once for a woman. She was deranged and asking for meds. He directed the woman to cross the overpass and take a right, which would lead her to the Hospital. She left and did not return.

  The sky was nearly black when Hank wheeled his contraption into the garage. After the family gathered inside of the garage, the bay door was shut and locked. Marissa lit a lantern and they all shared a can of pears. Hank told his sister-in-law that he would watch for the first half of the night, and told them all to go to sleep. Marissa got her children settled into their makeshift beds and then joined her brother-in-law where he leaned against the side door. Hank was changing his socks and examining his most recent wound. His hands shook, almost violently, as he removed the bandage.

  "That’s already getting infected," Marissa observed as they both looked at the swollen, reddening gap in his flesh.

  Sucking in air through a grimace, Hank said, "Yep." He nodded. "And there’s not much we can do about it now. Should’ve cleaned it up real good when I got back."

  "Let’s at least put some Neosporin on it and a clean bandage," Marissa said and brought out the first-aid kit. "When we get to the Caravan, your nurse can clean it up and give you antibiotics."

  Nodding like a bobble head, Hank tiredly agreed.

  When she was finished, Marissa appraised her brother-in-law’s condition. "You’re exhausted, Hank," she stated with compassion. "Let me take first watch."

  Hank let his head rock from side to side. "Nope. You won’t be able to wake me up, if I go to sleep right now." He spoke as he tugged on a fresh pair of socks. "I’ve got to push it through ‘till midnight. Don’t worry, I’ll let you take the long morning watch. Now get off to sleep. I’m going to finish up a few things, then I’ll dowse the light."

  Marissa kissed his forehead and followed his instruction. Hank pulled on his boots. He tied the laces of the right boot near the center of his shin and used three revolutions of duct to secure the top. It was a brand new roll that he’d found and he wondered, as he tucked it into his backpack, how long it would last. At last he took up his Moleskine notebook and began to write:

  Day 3, ~9:30pm

  I am a murderer. Today, I’ve killed two people. The first was an accident in self-defense. Now a woman… a mother, is dead, because of me. It was my fault. The second murder I committed was of a girl, maybe 18-20 years old. She was a gang-girl, a meth-head, a human of the lowest order, as far as I am concerned. She was a danger to my family. There is no doubt in my mind on that point. But she was a person. And I would not have had to protect myself if I hadn’t chased her down. It was me who assaulted her. I chased her and when I couldn’t keep up, I shot her in the leg. She was defending herself against me. I don’t believe I could have done anything differently, in either situation. That doesn’t make two people any less dead. It doesn’t change the fact that I killed them. How many more? I will do anything and everything for my family. I am guilty, but I will take the guilt so that they can live. Later, will be soon enough to pity myself and pay my debts.

  The wind has gotten worse while I’ve been writing. It sounds like a hurricane. This garage is next to a large brick wall that gives us some protection, but some gusts have been strong enough to shake dust from the rafters. I am here with Marissa, my sister-in-law, and her children, Ella and Steven. My brother, Matthew, has not returned and I believe him dead. I hurt for my loss. I feel selfish.

  What dish has fate served to Evie?

  Hank tucked his journal and pen into the pocket of his drover’s coat next to the mangled glasses from the dead red-haired woman. With a sigh he extinguished the lantern. His body ached and his wounds stung. He was cold and bundled against the night air. After waiting for a time in the complete absence of light, he fumbled for the door and opened it. The wind caused it to lurch against his grip, but he held it. This night was dark in a way that modern cities have never known. He knew there was a house across the street, but he could not see it through the gloom. As he shut the door, he felt several fat drops of rain perish against his wrist and forearm.

  The fortunate aspect of such a storm was that nobody would willingly travel in it. That they had not yet received more visitors was a good indication that none would find them before morning.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Another bout of mentally cursing her husband followed the pang of worry that Evie felt for Hank. You son-of-a-bitch! I wouldn’t be in this mess, if you hadn’t run off to save your precious brother and his family. What about your own family, you Goddamned bastard?! She lost her footing as another blast of wind rocked the U-haul. Water dribbled in through the holes they had made in the roof when they had fastened down the lawn chair on top.

  The Caravan was camped just past 136th, on Mill Plain. In one day, they had made less than two miles. Stew had justified the slow progress by pointing at the collection of goods they had accumulated, but Evie questioned the value of most items they had got. Why, in-the-name-of-God, she fumed, had they spent so much time tearing apart cars? What good was there in cutting out all of the upholstery from cars, even if it was made of leather?

  The most troubling aspect of the day involved seven new members of the Caravan. Stew had taken a short, but time-consuming, side trip to collect up a family of Mexicans. The family consisted of two brothers, Enrique and Diego, their grandmother, Felina, and Enrique’s four children, Miguel, Dominique, Roberto and Juliette. Except for the two youngest, both of whom had been assimilated into Bertel’s crop of children, they all pulled their weight. Regardless of this, Evie doubted that Hank would approve.

  Another blast of wind violently tilted the U-haul and Evie was frightened that it would tip over in this freak storm. Adding to her aggravation was Amanda being constantly underfoot, as well. The girl was not intentionally demanding so much attention, but the horrific trauma of being raped and losing her mother to murder made her incredibly needy. Bertel couldn’t effectively care for all of the other children with Amanda absorbing so much time. Evie was the only other person who remained exclusively with the Caravan, which meant that Amanda was now Evie’s new tumor.

  The little girl was trying to be helpful, but that didn’t ease Evie’s anxiety at stumbling over her every time she turned around. Now, with the wind rocking and swaying the U-haul, Amanda’s presence was a downright nuisance.

  "Amanda," Evie sniped as she bumped into the little girl for the thir
d time in as many minutes. She drew a calming breath and said, "Go over there and cut up those potatoes."

  "All right, Mrs. Shumway," Amanda meekly said. She followed the instructions, but after making four or five cuts, she was immediately at Evie’s feet, sliced potatoes in hand, asking for approval of her work.

  "Yes!" Evie barely kept her voice from breaking into a shriek. Amanda cowered at the ferocity of Evie’s response. The matriarch calmed herself and ruffled a hand through the girl’s stringy hair. "Yes, Amanda," she said with a forced smile. "Those are just fine. Now cut up the rest of those potatoes, just like that and then put them in the pot."

  "Okay, Mrs. Shumway," Amanda said with unabashed pleasure.

  Evie had been left completely without adult company for the entire day, because Stew had assigned everybody tasks most fitting to their particular talents. Evie had become the de facto cook. Susanna Rae had become Stew’s chauffeur, wheeling him here and there with the dog carriage. Evie was downright infuriated with her sister, because Susanna Rae was actually flirting with the asshole. Phim Pham had been given the job of handling Reggie and Shelby as they pulled the cart. The two toddling occupants had been displaced and it was now full of collected goods.

  Norah flat refused to leave Salvador. The poor man had developed a fever and was diagnosed with the Flu. He was now quarantined to the cab of the U-haul. Theresa figured that he had contracted the illness while rescuing her, when she coughed into his air mask and then he put it back on. Salvador had managed to remain healthy when Norah and their daughters had been afflicted earlier in the year, but this time he wasn’t so lucky.

  Everyone else was rotating between car pushing, scavenging, resting and guarding on the roof of the U-haul. It made a certain sense, Evie had to admit, but whatever sense it made was completely outweighed by their abysmal lack of real progress.

  It was impossible for Evie to state just how much she despised their new guide, Stew. She couldn’t say Stew without derision boiling in her voice, especially when speaking directly to the man. He had called a mid-day meeting, a mid-afternoon meeting and an evening meeting, so far. Each and every meeting had included an absurd amount of self-promotion.

  He talked about using various strategies to achieve this or that objective in his company. He droned on about the rigors of earning his Master’s Degree. At some point he talked about the serenity of the Meadow and how he and Hank had labored together for so many years to build a tranquil getaway.

  The point that most frustrated Evie was that everybody in the Caravan seemed to be gobbling it up like cotton candy. He knew just the right thing to say to each and every person to put them at ease or motivate them to his agenda. She was practically frothing with hatred for the man.

  Occasionally, she would vent her animosity to Amanda, but the girl was not mentally equipped to commiserate. She might as well have been talking to the dogs, which she would gladly do, if they hadn’t been tethered outside.

  Evie was beside herself. She had no rational argument for Stew when he had suggested that the people in their group took precedence over the animals. Jessie and Phim Pham slept in the cab of the Duck Truck. Norah, Salvador and their two girls occupied the cab of the U-haul. The two new men shared the microbus with the chickens and ducks. And that left the rest huddled in the sleeping area of the U-haul. As crowded and oppressed as Evie felt, she and Amanda had more luxury of space than any other people in the Caravan.

  Evie was just stirring the pot when a particularly long wind gust battered the U-haul and lifted the passenger-side wheels, just enough to jolt the whole vehicle as it dropped back to the ground. Evie flung another mental curse at her husband. She was terrified and the one thing he had always been good at was making her feel safe. The jolt had terrified Amanda even more than Evie. The woman bent over and wrapped her arms around the scared girl.

  Stewart poked his head around the corner and said, "Hey Evie, good news: the guys pulled that bed down from the Grandma’s Attic and it fit right in the middle of the floor for the kids to lay on. They look just like a pile of puppies." He gave her a nasally chuckle before going on. "That space up there is big enough for three more people. This rolling apartment just got a major renovation by rearranging the furniture."

  Stew chuckled again, clearly delighted with himself. Then he asked, "Uhm… By the way, people were wondering when they would eat. What should I tell them?" He had to duck to avoid the mixing spoon that Evie hurled at him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was near mid-night, by Hank’s reckoning, when the lightning and thunder began. Fortunately, as some children can, Ella and Steven slept soundly through the storm. He was about to trade night-watch with Marissa when a bolt of lightning struck the fir tree on the corner of the lot. The concussion from that strike knocked odds and ends off of shelves and left Hank’s ears ringing. Then, with a horrifying groan, the tree toppled and crashed down across the remains of the house. It came to rest against the corner of the garage, directly over the side door.

  As silence rushed in, Ella’s voice came out of the darkness. "Momma?"

  "Yes, Ella," Marissa answered without the slighted hint of stress in her voice.

  "What was that?" Her little girl asked.

  "I’m not sure, Darling, perhaps you had a dream," answered Marissa.

  "Okay," Ella accepted. Then she fell back to sleep only moments later.

  After that, Marissa got up and joined Hank near the door. He brought the lantern to life and they regarded one another with wide-eyes. Together they pushed opened the side door and discovered that their egress was almost completely obstructed. "Oh, Hell!" Marissa exclaimed.

  The air was electrified and smelled of ozone, the smoldering wood and the sweet fragrance of evergreen boughs infused the atmosphere with a heady aroma. Hank tugged at the door, but several limbs had wedged between it and the jamb. He tried to break them off and push them away, but gave up after it became obvious that his efforts were futile. The door was stuck open. For a moment he stared at nothing on the floor while his left hand rubbed the back of his neck. "Well," he said, "That eliminates two possible fates. Statistically speaking, none of us should have to worry about being struck by lightning or crushed by a tree, ever again."

  Marissa boggled at her brother-in-law until she couldn’t refrain from laughing. "I guess that’s something," she said. Hank grinned at her and permitted himself to laugh as well.

  "H-heyyy, G-g-guys-s-s," a slurred and chattering voice came from the doorway. "Wha’s so funny?"

  Both Marissa and Hank leapt with a start and pulled their weapons at the appearance of a pale hand shoving through the boughs of the tree. The limbs parted to reveal a pale, naked shoulder and torso. "It-t-tss m-m-me," the voice stammered and a moment later, Matthew’s face pushed into the lantern light.

  He wore a gaunt, pasty mask of sun blisters, with blue lips that were cracked and bleeding. His body was scratched, blistered, puffy and had a purplish hue. Marissa was first to react. She dropped her rapier and took her husband’s hand, while Hank holstered his shotgun. Together they helped him the rest of the way into the garage.

  Aside from his underwear, he wore only a couple of plastic grocery bags tied into a sling for his left arm. Blood from the soles of his feet mixed with the water that drizzled off his body. Marissa threw herself at her husband and smothered his face with kisses, but the man was clearly in so much pain that she abruptly stopped.

  Taking his right hand in hers, Marissa said, "Come on, let’s get you under some covers."

  Before he took a step, Matt’s eyes rolled back and he dropped to the ground with a brief convulsion. Both loved one’s were horrified to see that his left arm had taken on a peculiar angle when he landed. It was obviously broken. Marissa was beside her husband in the next moment.

  Hank launched into motion, grabbing cardboard boxes from shelves and dumping their contents in a pile. Over his shoulder he said to Marissa, who was cradling Matt’s head and trying to revive him, "
He’s hypothermic and probably dehydrated. He needs heat and water. Start rubbing him all over his body." Marissa didn’t hesitate to follow Hank’s instructions despite the sun-blisters that plagued his body.

  While she vigorously rubbed her husband’s limbs and chest, Hank cut the cardboard boxes so he could lay them down flat. After making a layered mattress on the concrete floor, he yanked the sleeping bag from his sister-in-law’s bunk and laid it on top. He and Marissa pulled Matt onto the nest. "Lay next to him," Hank commanded. "Press your body against his." Marissa executed her orders unquestioningly, still rubbing her hands over Matt’s body. Unfurling the family’s last sleeping bag, Hank threw it over Matt and Marissa.

  "I’m going to set and splint his arm," he told her.

  "Can you do that?" Marissa asked skeptically, desperately afraid for her husband’s life.

  "No," Hank said. "But if I don’t, who will?" Marissa didn’t respond to his rhetoric. "Besides, I’ve had enough first aid and other training to know what needs to be done. If I don’t set it, the bone can mend out of alignment."

  "Alright, let’s just get it done," Marissa said.

  Hank wasted no time. He pulled three yard-stakes from a bundle in the gardening tools. Then he grabbed the duct tape and yanked a bloused shirt out of the bag of medieval costumes. "Help me get this on him," he asked. They worked together to dress Matt in the loose fitting shirt. Hank squeezed and felt around his brother’s arm.

  "I think it’s a simple break, right here," he said, pointing at Matt’s bicep. "I’m going to pull and fit the ends together."