10:37

by Jacqueline Druga

  “We ended up playing for them.” Judd said.

  “Were they happy?” Dawson asked.

  “Wish I could say they were. It was like a round of gulf claps when we were done. Some old guy walked up to me and told me to keep trying. Funny.” He shook his head and then eased on the breaks. There was a line, four wide of stopped cars. Some smashed into fender benders, some not. Not far beyond that, on the small crest of the road right before the village of Lodi, lay an overturned tractor trailer.

  “How odd is this?” Judd asked. “This is where the bus broke down.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The funeral home. I remember sending Pat our stage manager over there to see if he could get help.” Judd opened the truck door and stepped out. He walked around to Dawson’s door and opened it. “Wanna walk in town and check?” he asked. “It’s not too much further.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t like seeing bodies. If it’s like that last place they’re all water logged from the rain.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a nice day, kind of chilly though. Why don’t you step out, take a leak and stretch your legs.” He helped him out of the cab of the truck. When he sat his feet on the road, Judd saw his guitar in the back and pulled it out.

  “You playing now?” Dawson asked.

  “Feeling nostalgic.”

  “Not sure what that means,” Dawson said walking slightly away to do his business.

  “Stay where I can see you,” Judd said. “Nostalgic means sentimental, looking back at the past and it makes you happy and want to relive it.”

  “So if I went to Cedar Point I would be nostalgic.”

  “Yep.” Judd strummed the strings, tuning his guitar.

  “Honestly, Judd, I don’t get why playing your guitar on a road full of abandoned cars would bring back good memories.”

  “Oh!” Judd blasted out. “Oh my God, you saw that old movie, too.”

  “What?” Dawson came out from behind a car.

  “What was it?” Judd waved his hand, trying to jar his own memory and snapped his fingers. “Guitar, highway … Stand.”

  “I am.”

  “No, the movie, The Stand.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It was a while ago, way before your time, actually my time. But it's classic. Super cool show based on a book by Stephen King.”

  “Who?”

  Judd waved out his hand. “Anyhow, the book is about a sickness that kills everyone.” He climbed up the front fender and sat on the hood of the truck.

  “Like now.”

  “Sort of. Anyhow … Oh man, it’s like prophetic …” he paused. “That means he predicted this. Like Stephen King was psychic or something. Plague, sickness, everyone drops dead. So this rock and roll guy, Larry has a guitar.”

  “Like you,” Dawson said.

  “Sort of. I’m country and better looking.” Judd winked. “Anyhow, Larry is like all alone, going nuts, he stops on a highway full of abandoned cars …”

  “Like this.”

  “Exactly. He gets up on a hood of car like this and started playing a song on his guitar. Middle of a song, a boy comes along …”

  “Like me!” Dawson said.

  “And a woman.”

  “Was the song like magic?” Dawson asked.

  “Nah, but it was a freaking iconic scene.”

  “Why don’t you play it and see if a woman comes?”

  Judd laughed. “Okay.” He fumbled the chords at first, trying to remember the pattern, then he had it. He played with intensity, graveling his voice in a mimic of the made for television movie he remembered so fondly.

  He swore he was doing well, too. It felt right and the words were sadistically meaningful at the moment. He was going strong until he noticed he didn’t have Dawson’s attention anymore.

  “Man, you are a tough crowd.” Judd slowed down his playing. “What are you doing?”

  “Where are the people?”

  Judd sang. “It happened on a sunny day … the wind blew and took all life away … you may not hear a breath or single sound, that’s because no one else is around …” He shook his head with a chuckle. “Man that was good for off the cuff, wasn’t it.”

  “For serious, Mr. Heston. Where are they?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If they all dropped dead and crashed their cars … where are the bodies?”

  “Huh?”

  “They’re all gone,” Dawson said.

  “Don’t stop!” A female voice called out in the distance. “Please don’t stop playing.”

  Dawson, wide eyes hurriedly looked at Judd. “The magic song brought a woman.” He then pointed.

  Judd slid from the hood of the truck, putting his guitar over to his back and stepped forward.

  “You heard the lady, play,” Dawson said.

  It was an odd request but Judd brought his guitar around and strummed the chords to the song. He did for just a minute and stopped in shock when he saw the woman.

  She made her way around the overturned semi and moved between a walk and a run their way. It wasn’t a survivor in blue jeans and a half buttoned down blouse in a state of shock. She was happy to see them.

  He couldn’t tell her age at a distance, but she didn’t look old. Actually, she looked too young to be wearing the uniform.

  The simple white colored shirt underneath the navy jumper style, plain dress and the cross she wore, threw Judd off.

  She wore one of those headdresses, too. A short one rested more to the back of her head. Judd saw that when she approached.

  Judd was the one in shock.

  She smiled. She had a naturally beautiful face. Out of breath she approached and immediately crouched down to Dawson and embraced him. “A healthy child.” During her embrace she glowed with a grin and extended her hand to Judd.

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you two. I’m Sister Helena.”

  Nervously, Judd touched and then shook her hand. He was speechless. He didn’t expect to see anyone alive, let alone a nun.

  Her story would be interesting.

  TWENTY-SEVEN – CONSCIENCE

  “Go.” Morgan slammed her hand on the dashboard. “Go. Go, Go. Now.”

  Hand gripping the gear shift, Ross looked forward. There were many, too many at the hood of his SUV. He peered in the rearview mirror, they were at the back gate, too.

  What there was of the daylight was fast blocked out by the people that mobbed the car.

  “What the hell, go.” Morgan yelled.

  Beads of sweat formed on his top lip. He didn’t see monsters when he looked out. There were no sores, no decaying flesh. In fact the only marks on them were injuries probably from falling or from a car accident.

  These people had a soul, they were alive. They were just suffering and confused.

  The last place they went Ross plowed through about four and it filled his gut with guilt. Now, not only were there more of them to go through, he could see their eyes.

  “Ross, what are you waiting for?” Morgan demanded.

  Suddenly Ross saw him. He stood barely making it over the hood. A child about ten years old. He stood next to a woman wearing a fast food uniform, the left side of her face was burned.

  “I don’t think they’ll hurt us,” Ross said. “Let’s wait. See if they leave.”

  “They aren’t leaving. Go through them.”

  He shifted his eyes to Morgan. “I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m gonna make a run for it.”

  “No!” she screamed. “Why would you do that? Hit the fucking gas and go.”

  Ross shook his head. “No. I don’t have it in me to kill them. I know it sounds weak …”

  “Sounds weak? It is weak!” Morgan reached over.

  “What are you doing?

  “I’ll drive.”

  “Stop it.” He pushed her hands form the wheel. “I honestly don’t think they’ll hurt us. Just open the door and make a run for it.”

  “We
have supplies.”

  “We’ll get more.”

  “You’re insane. This is what will cause our death. They are out there. They aren’t human like we know.”

  “No, Morgan, they aren’t. But that doesn’t give us the right to kill them.”

  “Yeah, it does,” Morgan said. “It’s us or them. Choose us.”

  Ross was prepared to argue. He truly believed that if they waited, they would go away.

  He was wrong.

  Just as he opened his mouth to speak, he saw the man with a baseball bat aiming for Morgan’s window.

  “Morgan! Watch out …”

  Crash!

  The baseball bat smashed the passenger’s window and slipped from his hand, through the broken window into her lap.

  Morgan screamed. Arms reached in, grabbing for her blindly, while she fought their grip.

  “Ross! Get them off!”

  Ross reached over and grabbed the bat, trying to get them from her, but his swing was limited in the vehicle.

  “Run them … over,” she ordered.

  He put the SUV in gear, but too many blocked the vehicle, he couldn’t move it.

  “It won’t go.”

  “You did this!” she blasted, they grunted as they pulled her hair and she turned left to right in her seat.

  Ross’ insides shook, overwhelmed with a wave of feeling like a failure, Morgan screaming out, Ross reached for his door.

  Bat in hand he pushed it open and when it did he noticed everyone had moved to the right front side. No one was on his side, they all crowded the front and passenger side.

  He would have to clobber his way through to get to her and free her. He was just about to do that and he stopped.

  Not a single one of them was in his way or even near him. They went after Morgan.

  He had his escape, his way out, his diversion.

  With those thoughts, Ross didn’t run to help Morgan, he ran the other way.

  However, a mere fifty feet away, he stopped again.

  What the hell was he doing?

  As much as he didn’t like her, she was in that position because he didn’t want to take a life. Yet, he was willing to sacrifice hers. It had nothing to do with fear. At that moment, when he chose to run, it was them, him or her and he chose himself.

  A decision, he knew, if he continued on, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

  It might have been to late or futile, but still holding the bat, Ross raced back to the SUV.

  TWENTY-EIGHT – HOLY INFORMATION

  She looked uninjured and in great shape and to Judd she was pleasant enough, unlike the stories he had heard about nuns. But in the five minutes he had met her, he was really close to telling her, “Step back a little, Sister.” Because instantly she grabbed on to Dawson’s hand and wouldn’t let go. Keeping him close as they walked. Maybe Judd was making too much out of it but it seemed to him that through her actions she was almost saying, she was better qualified to watch out for Dawson.

  Sister Helena wasn’t fazed by Tire Man in the back of the truck, she did eye up the boat without scoffing, then asked Judd to follow her. Judd grabbed his main back pack and went with her. Tire Man never moved.

  “You’re a God send,” she told him.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Judd replied as they walked toward the town of Lodi.

  “I would. I was praying for help and then I heard you singing.”

  “You need help?” Judd asked.

  She nodded. “Well, not me, personally. Father Basko.”

  “Wow, I have been to this town. I didn’t know it had a big Catholic employee population.”

  She smiled. “You’re funny.” Then she looked down to Dawson. “He’s funny.”

  “Mr. Heston is nice,” Dawson said. “He’s been taking care of me.”

  “Heston?” She tilted her head. “What a wonderful name. I’ll take that as a sign as well.”

  “What’s wrong with Father Basko?” Judd asked.

  “We stopped here for the night, to rest up for our journey. Get supplies and he was injured.”

  “I’m not real good with medical stuff,” Judd said. “I’m not sure how I can help.”

  “You’re bigger and stronger than me. You can help,” she said.

  “Where are you traveling from?”

  “Erie,” she answered. “We have been hitting towns along the way. Looking for survivors. Especially when we got the message.”

  Judd stopped walking. “From God?”

  “No. No.” She smiled. “A man on the radio back in Erie. We’ve been fortunate enough to dodge the deadly weather, but any more delays we won’t be.”

  Judd looked around, he was near center town of Lodi, and it hadn’t changed at all. His eyes were locked on the gazebo in the town square.

  “Mr. Heston?” she called him.

  Judd snapped out of his day dream.

  “This way.” She pointed to the building with the sign, ‘Lodi Village Office’ across the street. “Please.”

  As they cross the street, Judd noticed a short yellow school bus parked outside, he didn’t think much of why it was there, he followed Sister Helena.

  “We were staying here. It was easy.”

  “There’s a drug store,” Judd said, giving a nod of his head to the large chain drug store a block away. “Were you able to get supplies there to help?”

  “That’s not the type of help I need.” She opened the door. “This way.”

  They walked through a small reception area, and that was when she finally released Dawson’s hand.

  Dawson stopped in the middle of the room. He looked around. “How many people are with you?”

  Judd found it curious that the child would ask that, then he noticed the sleeping bags, the leftover food on the table.

  “Please,” she beckoned and disappeared into the back office. “Father, I found help.”

  Judd looked at Dawson then stepped forward.

  “Judd,” Dawson whispered.

  “What?”

  “Don’t make me hold her hand anymore.”

  Judd winked and mussed his hair, then walked into the office.

  He expected to see the priest, maybe on a couch or something. He didn’t expect to see him lying on the floor, pinned underneath a huge shelf. His face was black and blue and his eyes were puffy. To Judd he looked like he had taken a hell of a beating.

  “Oh my God,” Judd rushed to him. “How long has he been like this?”

  “Since late last night,” she answered. “I couldn’t move it.”

  “Can you help him, Judd?” Dawson asked.

  “Gonna try.” Judd crouched down to the older priest. “Father, can you hear me?”

  Father Basko coughed and nodded. “Yes, thank you. Thank you for coming.”

  “I’m going to try to lift this,” Judd said. “Then we’ll get you off the floor. Does anything hurt?”

  “My chest. I can’t breathe well.”

  Judd examined the shelf, it was about six feet tall, thick and cherry oak. The contents of the shelf were on the floor around Father Basko. They were probably the reason for his bruised face. They more than likely fell on him. It was going to be tricky. If Judd could get it high enough, he could use his back to push it up against the wall.

  He knew it would be heavy, Judd didn’t think it would weigh as much as it did. On his first attempt, he lifted it a few inches causing Father Basko to cry out when he levered it up, and then again when he lowered it back down.

  “Sister, I am going to move this up. You are gonna have to slide him out. Father?” Judd asked. “Can you move your legs?”

  With a pained expression, Father Basko nodded. “Yes.”

  “She’s gonna grab you under your arms and pull, if you can shift your body scoot her way. Okay?”

  “Yes.” He nodded.

  “Ready, Sister?”

  Sister Helena scurried around to Father’s head and placed her hands under his back.

&
nbsp; “Wait,” Dawson called out. “You’re doing it wrong!”

  Judd paused. He was at the top of the shelf. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re trying to lift it upright. Just lift it from the side and flip it. There’s room. Flip it.”

  “Dawson, that’s a great idea, buddy.” Judd moved his position to the side. He nodded to Sister Helena and while it wasn’t any easier or lighter to lift, he was able to use the weight of the shelf to tip and tilt. He held it there until Helena freed Father Basko. Once the priest was clear, unable to flip it entirely, Judd let it fall back to the floor.

  Father Basko cried out in pain.

  “Did you get medication from the drug store?” Judd asked. “Pain stuff?”

  Sister Helena shook her head no.

  “Let’s get him to the couch, you stay with him and I’ll see what I can get.”

  “We don’t have time,” she said. “We have to keep moving.”

  “There is no medical attention around here. We’re it.” Judd said. “We can’t move him. Not yet.”

  “We don’t have time.”

  “All we have is time.” Judd said. “Dawson, give me a hand with the Father.”

  “What do you need me to do?” Dawson asked.

  “Clear the couch.” He looked down to the priest. “Can you handle it if I help you up? It’s only a few feet to the couch.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  Judd braced under Father’s Basko’s arms and lifted him. He knew it hurt the priest, he could tell by the way his body tensed and Father Basko fought back grunting in pain. Sister Helena helped get him to the couch.

  Once he was settled, Judd leaned down. “Father, I am not a doctor. I have a book in my bag that tells me how to do basic First Aid and stuff, but I need your help. When I was nine, my father took me to this fishing spot. Man, it was a long hike. I fell. I felt really bad. It was a long way back and my dad asked me to know my body. What was wrong. That way he could gauge. So I am asking you to tell me what I need to focus on. What is happening with you that needs fixed.”

  “My sternum,” he answered with labored breath. “My ankle.”

  “Okay, I’ll see if I can find stuff over at the drug store. I’ll be back. I’ll get you pain medicine, too. You allergic to anything?”