Pavement Ends: The Exodus

by Kurt Gepner

  Hank felt deep misgivings about Enrique regardless of Evie’s assessment. In fact the only reason he hadn’t drummed out the Escobar’s was due to Andrea’s testimony. She apparently knew the man and said that, "he is a good person who was put in a bad situation." She even stood near to the group, as if in solidarity with them. Hank didn’t know what it was about her, but he gave her opinion heavy credence. On the other hand, he knew Salvador hadn’t so much as spoken a word to any of them. That said something, but Hank wasn’t certain what it meant. For now he remained on the fence.

  To his left stood the entirety of Hanks family, with TJ standing defiantly near to Lexi. Norah held Emily and stood next to Salvador with her hand casually resting in the crook of his arm. Salvador stooped a bit, holding Abby’s hand. A handkerchief was tied around his face, but it didn’t hide his misery. It wasn’t enough that he suffered from broken ribs, nose and jaw. He was now gripped by the same horrible flu that had recently incapacitated one-in-seven people around the country. Hank tried not to show his very strong fear of the contagion.

  Camille, Evie and Susanna Rae stood together. Evie’s hands rested on Amanda’s shoulders. The little girl seemed remarkably recovered from being raped and losing her mother only a week ago. Hank exchanged a meaningful glance with his sister-in-law. He wondered if Susanna Rae knew about Evie’s affair. Then he scoffed at himself. Of course she knew. Evie tells her everything.

  Jessie and Phim stood together, within in arm's reach of TJ. The factions begin, Hank thought. Matt, his duct-tape replaced with a cloth sling, stood with his good arm around Marissa. Marissa’s hands were resting on their children, Ella and Steven. The two blonde cherubs were streaked with dirt and still barefoot, but grinned gleefully up at Hank. Above all, those two seemed to be the most grounded and comfortably adapted to their new situation.

  Tom, Sarah and their adopted son, Jimmy, stood beside Bertel. They were surrounded by four other children from the daycare. Hank had given up trying to remember their names: He thought they were Cassie, Summer, Kimberly and Gregory, but they might have been Moe, Larry, Curly and Groucho, for all he was sure.

  Hank’s neighbors, the Yost family, were grouped together, part of the whole, yet decidedly segregated from the rest. Dale and Val stood protectively to either side of their daughter, Patty. Theresa held her youngest daughter, Lietha, on her hip, while Kalika held her two-year-old brother, Garrett, on her own hip. Kalika’s body was far more physically mature than most girls her age and her posture perfectly mimicked her mother.

  To Hank’s right, Silas leaned his forearms against the fender, staring blankly at the hood. The man was an amazement to Hank. Relentless at completing any task, stoic and without any weakness, yet obviously exhausted. He was the reason why nobody quit. He was the reason why nobody complained. Silas was the icon of "Just suck it up and get it done."

  Everyone looked as if they had just taken a three-day beating. Their clothes were getting ragged and grungy. Some wanted to clean up, but Hank discouraged it. His reasoning was that the clothes that they currently wore were already ruined. There was no sense in ruining another set of a scarce commodity. Instead they patched tears in fabric with duct-tape and an office stapler.

  The Caravan had been a home for the better part of seven days. In that time, they had traveled a meager twenty-two point one grueling miles, according to the odometer. Over the course of those hard-fought miles they had endured tragedies and losses. They had also scored some victories and accumulated some useful things. Hank new that this was only the beginning and that things would only get more challenging once they found the Meadow. He kept that thought to himself. He couldn’t crush the spirit of the forty souls who stood around him, looking to him with hope in their eyes.

  A selfish part of him felt like crushing Evie by announcing her infidelity, right here and now. He wanted to make her hurt. He wanted to take away her family and friends. But the greater part of him felt obliged to his family and friends and even to the strangers who had entrusted him with their wellbeing. Strangers. That was a new word to him. The connotations were mapping new territory in his mind, as were the words family and friends. None of these people standing before him qualified as strangers anymore. He couldn’t let them down.

  Taking a breath to calm himself, Hank addressed his followers. "In a few minutes, we’ll be driving into the town of Washougal." Hank was mildly surprised when Enrique began translating for his family. "The town is trying to weather this time in a civilized manner." A few faces showed relief. "If you’ve got friends or family here, they’ll probably let you stay. The rest of us are rolling out of here at full dawn, tomorrow.

  "While we’re in town," he went on, "we don’t touch anything. Not a blade of grass, or a twig. We’re going to make a camp, do some trading, and then keep completely to ourselves for the night. If they even suspect that we’ve done something wrong, the consequences will be severe.

  "From here, we’ve got about another twenty-five miles to go. If we don’t have any more problems, we might get to the meadow by late tomorrow." Hank let a part of his heart appreciate the smiles that he saw on their faces. After a small, but excited murmur passed through the crowd, Hank went on.

  "While we’re camped here in town, I want us to be just as diligent as we’ve been out on the road." Pausing for a moment’s reflection, he augmented his order. "More so. More diligent than we’ve been up 'til now. These people may be trying to keep order, but that doesn’t make them any less desperate. As we’ve seen, everybody has lost a lot. So we’ll be cordial, but... suspicious.

  "Now," Hank slapped his thighs. "Let’s get moving."

  "Hank…," a voice called from the back of the group.

  "Yah, Tom," Hank acknowledged.

  "How’s the trading going to work?" Tom asked and then quickly amplified his question. "If we’ve got stuff we’ve picked up, or brought with us, do we give it to you with a wish list, or go in and trade for ourselves."

  "Good question, Tom." Hank said. "I’m glad you brought it up, now. If you want to go in and do your own trading, I’m not going to stop you. However," he said, drawing out the word. "I would rather Evie did the bartering. I’ll go with her for back up and, because I know what we need and what we can use." Everybody looked at his wife and she, in turn, boggled at Hank.

  "Quite frankly, I’ve never met a better haggler in my life. So it would be in your best interest to donate your goods with a wish list. But keep this in mind: First and foremost, we are trading for things that would be beneficial to the group. If you want a Barbie doll, but we can get seeds instead… don’t expect to see your doll."

  A lot of nods followed his comment. "Now…," he drew a deep breath. "With that said, I would really prefer that everybody stay out of the store. If only Evie and I go in, then it will be difficult for them to make any accusations, if you know what I mean." More nods and mutterings of approval followed. "All right, if there’s nothing else, let’s roll."

  The whole assemblage piled into and on top of the vehicles in the Caravan and they rolled into town. They slowed to a crawl as they approached the defunct traffic light on Fifteenth Street and Hank made a left, off of SR 14. The Pendleton Store was on the right and at the first street they turned in that direction. All of the trees, within three hundred yards of the store, had been recently cut down and there were a half-dozen armed men on the roof. By all appearance, this was Washougal’s greatest asset and they were clearly taking measures to safeguard it.

  The parking lot had only a few vintage cars and pick-ups, but plenty of dirt bikes, four-wheelers and even an antique tractor. There were three additional armed guards strolling around them. A man in poorly fitted coveralls trotted down from the steps and pointed to a large empty area. Hank steered the Caravan where indicated and drove it into a horseshoe. When he shut down, he popped the hood and disconnected the battery. Then he stepped into the area he had created. In the distance, a small motor buzzed monotonously. We’re going to get used t
o the sound of running generators, Hank thought.

  "Okay, People!" He said loudly. "Make this into a camp." Then he called out to his wife. "Evie! Bring that bucket of honey." Hank cringed a little at the harshness of his tone, but he set his jaw and continued with his plan. After twenty-five years of marriage, he knew that Evie would deal with his abruptness. His thought was, She'll think that I am cranky and needing a meal. Following his thought, Hank felt his heart break. How could she have thrown away twenty-five years?

  Shrugging away his sorrow, he unbelted Whisper and handed it to Silas in its holster. "I shouldn’t need this in there," he said. Silas laughed and shook his head. When Evie came out, he took the bucket of honey from her. He couldn’t meet her eyes and he had to swallow down a thick lump in his throat while he clacked with his walking staff up to the store.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The large, white building showed no signs of damage. The Pendleton store looked like an old-fashioned mercantile. Deep awnings covered a high porch that might accommodate the tailgate of a pick-up. A pair of green doors were centered on the steps in the middle of the porch and a railing stretch from either side of the steps to each end. To the right of the stairs a few older men, dressed in plaid shirts and blue jeans, leaned against the high railing. The men silently nodded at the pair when Hank and Evie walked up.

  As they crested the stairs, a blonde woman pushed out the exit door with her back while she spoke to somebody inside. "Okay, okay…," she said. "But you know how he is."

  An older woman’s voice chased after her. "You just get him there. We’ll take care of his pride."

  The woman laughed as she spun away from the door. "Okay, okay…," she said. When she saw Hank and Evie, she yelped with surprise and dropped her bag. It split and half-a-dozen potatoes rolled toward the steps. Hank blocked one by setting down his bucket and another two with his foot and staff. "Ohmygoodness," she blurted. "I’msosorry," she said so quickly as to sound like one word. Before Hank could help her pick up one potato, the woman was on her knees, gathering the spuds into the pockets in her blue jean jacket.

  "Can I help," Hank asked.

  "NopeIgotit," she answered. When she had her potatoes tucked away she stood up and brushed off her pants. "Sorry about that. You must be the Train-people." She extended her hand toward Evie and then Hank. "Terra. Pleased to meet you."

  "Hi Terra," Evie said with a bemused smile. "So that’s what they’re calling us? Train-People?" Hank could only find it in himself to nod and not frown.

  "Yep, like wagon-train. Sooo... What’s it like out there?" Terra solicited. "All the rumors are bad, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to anybody who’s actually seen it first-hand."

  "You’re the expert," Evie tersely deferred to her husband. She was a little put off by his mood. "If you don’t mind," she said while reaching for the bucket in Hank’s hand, "I’ll go in and start shopping." Terra regarded him expectantly as he handed off the innocuous white bucket.

  "It’s as bad as you’ve heard," Hank said, grimly. "Probably, it’s worse. We haven’t seen any cannibalism, but everything else… Murder, rape, you name it."

  Terra seemed horrified to have her suspicions confirmed. The rumors were supposed to be exaggerations. Things were not supposed to be that bad.

  "What about Portland?" She asked, with more than a little anxiety. "Do the police have everything under control?"

  Hank shook his head. "This is the only place I’ve seen that has anything under control. Portland is being taken over by gangs and the police are just protecting major roads, like the interstates."

  With a face that was visibly paler than it had been, Terra squeaked out her gratitude for the news and rushed off.

  Evie had wasted no time endearing herself to the woman who was managing the desk. They were both laughing as Hank walked in. A burly man loomed conspicuously near the manager. He was armed with a revolver on his hip and wearing a khaki shirt stretched taut across his prodigious belly. Hank gave him a nod before approaching his wife.

  A grin forced his cheeks into high knots has Hank gave the store a sweeping appraisal. "This is great!" Although his heart was heavy and his mind was eclipsed by confused emotions, he couldn’t help feeling a percolation of enthusiasm over what he saw. Cinder-block shelves and milk-crate tables were everywhere. And anywhere they weren’t, hooks and lines crisscrossed between them… all spilling over, bulging, bowing and sagging under the burden of goods.

  It looked as if a flea market had explosively collided with a produce stand. Every square inch was covered by anything from sardines to fuzzy sandals. Fishing gear sat between musical instruments and bolts of fabric. Beer and whiskey was stacked behind the counter, alongside cigarettes and pharmaceuticals. A variety of scales occupied most of the counter, itself. "Wow," Hank added, admiringly.

  "Finally decide to join us?" Evie asked playfully. "They’re staying open just for us."

  Hank rolled his eyes with his best imitation of humor and said, "Sorry! It does take a couple of minutes to ruin a person’s day."

  Behind the counter a hefty woman with a ruddy complexion, dark brows and peppered hair gulped down a laugh. Evie gave her husband a suspicious once over and said, "Yeah. I’m sure it does." He knew she thought his behavior was a bit peculiar.

  "So," Hank gawked around. "What all do we have here?"

  The woman behind the counter smiled with an answer. "You’re welcome to browse the store…, with a chaperone." She nodded sideways at her quiet and armed companion and then to several other armed men standing at the corners of the store and near the entrance. "You’re cash or trade goods are given a credit value, by weight or piece and everything in the store has a value by…"

  Hank jumped in. "What value is our honey worth?"

  "Uh…" the woman stammered. "I…."

  "I haven’t shown her, yet," Evie said, perturbed.

  "Oh," Hank gave a cowed reply. "Well…," he went on with a sheepish grin. "We’ve got a bucket of honey," he announced as he picked up the bucket from where Evie had set it and placed it on the counter with a heavy thud.

  The woman’s brows seemed to fold in upon themselves as her confidence evaporated. "Uhhhh…" She droned. "Just a minute."

  In response to a small wave of her left hand, a door in the back of the store opened and a smallish man with a walrus sized mustache emerged. The man sauntered up to the counter, pressed his hands upon it, and looked over his thick-rimmed glasses, with a frown. "What’s the problem, Lidia?" The man spoke with a lisp, heavy on the S’s and asked the question as if the woman were simply confused by her first encounter with a double yoked egg.

  "Uhhh…" she said with grave sincerity. "These folks just brought in a bucket of honey."

  The statement didn’t seem to faze the man in the slightest. "So, what’s the issue?" He asked without the intention of receiving any response. "It’s on the list."

  "It’s in a bucket," the woman said, with emphasis on the word, bucket.

  The man’s posture exuded sarcasm. "So….?" He asked with round eyes that peered over his spectacles.

  "Okay," the woman said, hesitantly. "Could you set the bucket here?" She asked, pointing at an antique, grocery store scale. Hank reached across Evie and nearly shaved her nose off in grabbing the handle. He gingerly sat the bucket on the scale and they watched as the dial spun around a few times before halting on the zero.

  "Do you have a beefier scale?" Hank asked with raise brows.

  The walrus-stached man sputtered. "We don’t need to weigh it," he said. "I’ll just give you a credit amount for the whole bucket and we’ll call it good."

  Hank and Evie mirrored one another as they gave the man a groomed sardonic expression. Hank was the first to speak. "How much is honey worth…?" He asked slowly. Then he augmented his question. "According to your list?"

  Before the manager could open his mouth, Lidia replied to Hank’s question with a most matter-of-fact demeanor. "Seventeen credits per ounce," she said. T
he man seemed to deflate.

  "Hmmm…" Evie commented with obvious interest. "That makes my honey worth a lot."

  "Especially since it weighs about twelve pounds per gallon," Hank added. "We’ve probably got three and a half gallons here."

  "It’s not that cut and dry," stated the mustached man. "Value is dependent upon availability and usefulness. Besides," he said with a skeptical air. "Who carries around buckets of honey? I’ve got to examine what you have there, before we can do any business."

  Hank gave the man a sideways grin and asked, "Got a cup?"

  As the man rooted around for a cup, Evie got to know the two store keepers a little better. It was her way to elicit self-evoking dialog from strangers. Lidia was elected to managing the credits and scales due to her accounting degree and due to an odd quirk of fate. For several years during her adolescence her father was literally a spice merchant with a regular booth, in a bazaar, in Ecuador. Although decades had passed, she was familiar with the use of scales and the complexities of bartering.

  Her back up was Byron, the owner of the Pendleton Company Store. It had been a stroke of luck and Byron’s level-headedness that had saved the store from a fiery demise. For years, the mill behind the store had been little more than a museum. The belt driven machines that had produced wool textiles collected dust, except when occasionally exposed to sunlight for the sake of a tour. Byron was the chief authority on those machines and he was currently overseeing their repair and return to service.

  This was how Evie always worked and the reason Hank had faith in her… for this task. In a matter of minutes, she could learn a stranger’s name, his hobbies and the names and ages of his children… Or a myriad of other relevant tid-bits of information.

  By the time Byron set a stained, white, coffee mug on the counter, the four of them were laughing and acting like old friends. Hank accomplished his display of humor with the sense of having swallowed a tennis ball. But for the good of his people, for his family, he did so with a cheerful face and friendly banter.