by Spell, David
“That’s my girlfriend, Elizabeth. We’re traveling together, just the two of us.”
White Beard spoke to the other two men again. The younger one, probably White Beard’s son, Chuck realized, moved towards the front vehicle, the Ford pickup.
“Mr. McCain, my son, Travis, is going to move that truck so you can pull through. Would you have the young lady pull your vehicle in and stop next to us? I have some information that I think you’ll be interested in.”
Chuck nodded, turned, and walked back to their Toyota. “Did you hear all that?”
“Yeah, but can we trust them?” she whispered.
McCain shrugged. “I hope so.”
Travis pulled forward into the front yard of a sprawling single-story home on the right side of the street, creating an opening for Beth to drive the Tundra through. When she parked on the other side of the roadblock, the big Ford was backed into place again.
McCain walked through the barricade, following Benton as she maneuvered their truck off to the right shoulder. Chuck now stood in front of the three armed men. Correction, he thought, four armed men. I forgot the one by the tree over there. A younger version of the black man, this one muscular and fit, approached carrying a cammo-painted AR-15.
“Mr. McCain, I’m Ben Thompson,” White Beard said, sticking out his hand, which Chuck shook. “Let me introduce you to my friends. That’s my son, Travis. This is Leroy Roberts,” nodding at the older African-American man, “and that’s his son, Anthony.”
The men all shook hands. Thompson pointed at the two-story home across the street. “That’s Leroy’s. We live there,” nodding at the single-story home. “The Mitchells live just up the street,” pointing at a much larger brick home a few hundred feet up on the left. “Most everybody evacuated, but a few of us stuck around. Leroy and me, plus the boys here, we try to keep an eye on things.”
“Why didn’t you guys leave?” Chuck asked. “There are still plenty of infected out there. We ran into a pack of at least twenty a few miles down the road.”
Ben and Leroy looked at each other. “Well, I guess we’ll be gettin’ a visit, then,” Leroy said, with the drawl of someone who had grown up in Hartwell. “Then again, maybe not. They seem to lose interest pretty quick.”
Thompson looked back at McCain and shrugged. “I’m a pastor. That’s my church back down the road on the left. The Hartwell Community Church. A lot of my people chose to stay and hunker down to protect their homes. We lost a few folks to the virus, but, by and large, we’ve all made out pretty well. My wife and I want to be here for our people. Tommy and Terri Mitchell were volunteer pastors with us and are some of our best friends. Tommy probably would’ve stayed, too, but he felt responsible for making sure your daughter was safe.”
Chuck felt a wave of relief hearing Thompson’s words. Knowing that Melanie had gotten away safely brought a smile to his face.
“Any idea where the Mitchells went?”
“Hang on just a second.” Ben walked over to his blue Toyota SUV and pulled a white envelope out from behind the visor.
McCain glanced over at Benton, who was watching everything closely, her hands where he couldn’t see them. She’s got her Glock pointed at these guys, he realized. He caught her eye, winked, and motioned for her to join them. She slowly exited the Tundra, her pistol now in her holster. Chuck could see that she was still uncomfortable, looking at each man closely.
“This is Elizabeth,” McCain said. He told her each of the men’s names and she nodded at them, not making any move to shake their hands.
“Would you mind showing me your ID, Mr. McCain? I told Tommy I’d give this to you if you showed up but I want to make sure I’m giving it to the right person.”
Chuck withdrew his badge and ID card from his jacket pocket, identifying him as a Supervisory Agent with the Centers for Disease Control Enforcement Unit. He handed the badge wallet to the pastor, who studied it carefully.
McCain nodded at Leroy. “Why’d you stick around, Mr. Roberts? Are you part of the pastoral team, too?”
“Lord, no!” Roberts laughed. “I’m Ben’s pet heathen. He keeps trying to covert me but I’m a hard case. He’s a good neighbor, though, and I’ll admit, we’ve had some good discussions about life, faith and the Bible, sitting out here looking down the road, waitin’ on zombies to show up.
“But I can’t leave. My wife’s bed-ridden. She’s dying of cancer and can’t be moved.” He lowered his voice and said sadly, “I don’t think it’ll be too much longer. With no way to get her treatments, she’s taken a bad turn. We just try and make her comfortable. In fact, Anthony, would you go check on your momma and see if she needs anything?”
“Yes, sir.” The younger Roberts turned and left the group.
Satisfied, Ben handed Chuck his ID back and pointed at Anthony’s retreating figure. “He’s a corporal in the Marines. He was in Iran during the war and happened to be home on leave when those last bad attacks happened a few months ago in Atlanta, Washington, and New York. He never received new orders when the communication grid went down and we’re sure glad to have him here with us.”
“Tommy told me to give you this if, or when, you showed up,” the pastor said, handing the white envelope to McCain. “He expected you’d have been here a lot sooner. I’d pretty much forgotten about you.”
“It’s been a rough couple of months,” Chuck said, glancing at Beth. He tore open the envelope and found a hand-written note and a key. The note contained the address and a hand-drawn map of where the Mitchells were going and leaving him the key to their Lake Hartwell residence. Tommy had written that Chuck was to make himself at home, stay as long as he wanted, and to take whatever he needed.
Something wet dripped onto the paper as he read it. At first he thought it was raining but then the big man realized tears were dripping out of his eyes. Elizabeth put her arm around him as she saw him getting emotional. He handed her the note.
“Sorry, Pastor,” Chuck said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and reaching for the pastor’s hand, gripping in it in a thankful handshake. “That’s the best news I’ve gotten in a long time. Thank you for this.”
“There isn’t much good news going around these days so it’s nice to be able help out.”
“This is wonderful, Chuck,” Beth said, quietly, after reading the note.
“If Tommy gave you a key, I sure don’t want to hold you up,” Ben smiled. “Are you folks going to spend the night or do you plan on hitting the road right away? If you’re going to stay over, I’d be honored if you’d have dinner with my wife and I. We’d love to hear what’s going on out there,” he said, motioning with his hands toward Hartwell and beyond.
Chuck looked at Elizabeth and saw that her defenses had finally come down. “It’s up to you,” she said. “I know you’re ready to get to Melanie, but…”
“I think it’d be better to leave early in the morning,” he said, looking into her eyes, “and give ourselves a full day to travel. Why don’t we go settle in, rest a bit, have dinner with the Thompsons, and then leave tomorrow?”
The girl’s face lit up and he knew he’d made the right decision.
The Mitchell’s home, Hartwell, Georgia, Monday, 1500 hours
Chuck and Elizabeth sat on a leather love seat in the sunroom overlooking Lake Hartwell. The Mitchell’s residence was beautiful and spacious but this room quickly became the couple’s favorite, as they watched the sun just starting to make it’s descent into the west. They had shared a large can of beef stew for lunch. Southern hospitality was alive and well, as several food items had been left behind in the pantry in the hope that Chuck would show up and make use of them.
“So, how did you know those guys at the road block were friendly?” Elizabeth asked, sipping from a bottle of water.
“I don’t know. I’ve gotten pretty good at reading people, I guess. I spent two years in the Middle East working with the Army Special Forces. That’s a big part of what they do. They’re considered
‘force multipliers.’ The SF guys hook up with local militias and groups, offering to train them to fight a common enemy. You have to be able to get a read on people pretty quickly to figure out if they’re friend or foe. Plus, I knew I had you over there watching my back,” he said, draping his arm around her shoulders.
“I was pretty scared, I’m not gonna lie,” Beth admitted. “But you were Mr. Cool. You were smiling and talking to those guys like they were your best friends. You did the same thing with that gang at the college. They were threatening to kill you, Alicia, and me, but then you started trash-talking them. I wonder about you, Mr. McCain. Does anything scare you?”
“Oh, I get scared. Trust me. I just try to turn it into something else. Fear can suck the energy out of you and I’d rather channel mine in other directions.”
This was such a beautiful view, looking out over the water, snuggled up next to Chuck. Life was pretty good at the moment, Elizabeth thought.
“No other fears or phobias?” she asked him, looking into his face and seeing something she hadn’t seen before. What is that?
“There is something, isn’t there?” she pressed.
He swallowed and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess there is something,” he said, quietly, feeling the butterflies again.
“It’s OK.” She laid her head against his shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry I asked.”
After a few minutes, Chuck kissed her on the forehead and said, “But I need to talk about it. This is important. Remember when we were in the car and I asked you if you’d like to go on a trip with me?”
Oh, that’s it, she realized. He knows that isn’t going to happen and he feels bad that he said it.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” she whispered. “I’m not holding you to that. We were just talking. I know it’s not going to happen with the state that the world is in.”
“No, you don’t understand.” He turned on the small sofa so that he was facing her. “What I was asking was if maybe that big trip could be our honeymoon?”
“Our honeymoon?” she repeated slowly, her eyes widening. “You mean, like a honeymoon after a wedding?”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I’m screwing this up.”
Chuck got off of the couch and knelt in front of her. “Beth, I’d like, I mean, would you marry me? You said a while back that we don’t know each other that well, so if you want to think about it, I’ll understand. I wish this was a more romantic setting but…”
Elizabeth’s mouth pressed over Chuck’s, muffling anything else he might have said as she threw herself into his arms. The couple ended up on the floor in a tangled heap, Benton crying and laughing.
“Are you serious, Chuck? Do you really want to get married? You want to marry me?”
McCain gently lifted her head so he could look into her eyes. “I’ve never been more serious about anything. You started asking what I was scared of as we were sitting here, while I was trying to figure out a way to tell you that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
He stroked her hair as she lay on top of him. “So, you never answered me. Will you marry me, Beth?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I’d love to become Mrs. Chuck McCain.”
“Well, good. Now I can check that off of the list.”
“List? What list?”
“You know, the list of things that I’m terrified of doing. Like asking a beautiful girl to marry me.”
They eventually climbed back onto the love seat and continued to watch the sun set, arms wrapped around each other. Elizabeth’s heart was full. Just a couple of months before, she was mired in deep depression after the death of her parents, struggling with feelings of guilt and hopelessness.
Through another tragedy, the murder of her friends, God had brought this wonderful man into her life. Chuck hadn’t only saved her from a terrible death, he had helped her work through her guilt, and had loved her back to life. And now he wanted to marry her. Okay, so the circumstances weren’t ideal, with zombies and roving gangs of criminals still ruling the countryside, but she didn’t care. As long as she got to be with Chuck, nothing else mattered.
A question suddenly popped up in her mind. An obvious question, but one she needed the answer to. Beth kissed Chuck on the lips, her hands on his face.
“When do you think we can get married? I’m guessing most churches aren’t doing a lot of weddings right now.”
‘That’s a good question. I guess we can have a nice long engagement if you’d like. Maybe it’s better that way?”
She accepted that and put her head against his chest. “Okay, maybe you’re right, but what do you mean by ‘long?’ I’d marry you right now if I could.”
He smiled down at her. “Do you trust me?”
That’s an odd thing to ask, she thought. “Of course. I said I’d marry you so, sure, I trust you.”
“Well, OK, then.”
“What does that even mean?” she asked.
“It means we should probably get cleaned up for dinner.”
The Thompson Home, Hartwell, Georgia, Monday, 1800 hours
Pastor Ben opened the front door at their knock, a tall, smiling woman, with long black hair, standing next to him.
“Elizabeth, Chuck, this is my wife, Angela. Thank you so much for accepting our invitation.”
“Thanks for asking,” McCain smiled.
Angela shook hands with Chuck, put her arm around Beth, and led her towards the kitchen to help her with whatever smelled so good.
“Do you have electricity?” McCain asked, wondering how Mrs. Thompson was able to cook.
“We have a generator that we turn on once a day and for special occasions. This definitely qualifies as a special occasion.”
“Do you drink wine, Pastor?” Chuck held out held out a bottle of Napa Valley Merlot.
Thompson’s eyes lit up. “Please, call me ‘Ben,’ and yes, we do enjoy wine. I remember reading where Paul told his young associate, Timothy, to ‘have a little wine every now and then for the sake of his stomach.’ Unfortunately, this is one of those things that’s hard to come by now, so a very welcome treat. Thank you.”
Chuck laughed. “You can thank your friend Tommy when you see him. I snagged that from his pantry.”
“Ha! And here I thought Tommy was a teetotaler!”
Ben led Chuck into their living room and offered him a seat in a comfortable leather armchair. A framed picture sat on the table between the two men. Ben, Angela, Travis, and a pretty young woman smiled for the camera. The pastor saw his guest gazing at the photo and sighed.
“That’s our daughter, Tracey. She and her husband live just outside of Chicago. We haven’t had contact with her in almost six months. Have you heard any news about zombies in that area?”
Chuck shook his head. “No, nothing. When the CDC Enforcement Unit was still functioning, I never saw any reports about attacks in Chicago. They had some isolated incidents there in the early days, eight or nine months ago, but nothing like the east coast. I’m sure Tracey’s fine.”
Ben nodded. “Thanks for saying that. These are definitely days which force us to prayer and show us what our faith is made of.”
McCain could hear Elizabeth talking and laughing with Angela in the kitchen, like they had been friends for years. Before long, the former police officer and the pastor were talking about their lives, their faith, and whether or not this was the end of the world, according to Biblical prophecy.
When Elizabeth came into the living room thirty minutes later, Chuck was leaned over and speaking to the pastor in a low voice, a serious look on his face. Pastor Ben looked up at the young woman and smiled.
“Congratulations on your engagement, Elizabeth. You’re going to be a beautiful bride!”
Benton blushed brightly. “Oh, thank you, sir. That’s sweet of you to say. Miss Angela asked me to come get y’all. It’s time to eat.”
Travis joined them for dinner, explaining to Chuck and Beth that he had
been outside, keeping an eye on the street just in case the group of zombies that McCain had told them about decided to pay them a visit. Anthony had taken his place at the barricade so his friend could eat with their guests. The meal was a fabulous venison roast from a deer which his son had killed, his father boasted. The Thompson’s generator had been turned off after the meal was prepared, the dining room now illuminated by tapered candles of various lengths on the long table.
Ben shared that Travis had been the volunteer youth pastor at their church when they still had a youth group and had also run a successful yard care business, serving Hartwell and the surrounding region. Chuck picked up that Travis and Brian Mitchell were pretty good friends, having grown up together.
Angela and Ben asked Chuck several questions about what was going on in the outside world. Without getting too graphic, he told them of the violent gangs which were becoming more common and of the packs of infected that were scattered throughout the area.
“I’d really love to hear how you two met,” Angela smiled, putting her hand on Elizabeth’s.
Beth looked at Chuck, who just shrugged. “It’s up to you,” he said, softly. “It might do you some good to talk about it.”
Ben jumped in. “If you’d rather not, or if it’s too personal, it’s OK, Elizabeth.”
Benton looked into McCain’s eyes and drew fresh strength. She took a deep breath and said, “No, it’s alright. I’d like to tell you how we met, but it’s definitely not your typical boy-meets-girl story.”
For the next twenty minutes, Beth told them the unlikely and shocking way that their lives had been thrown together. Ben, Angela, and Travis sat transfixed as they heard about Elizabeth’s friends being gunned down and her subsequent beating and kidnapping. As Beth described how she’d made peace with God, Angela dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.
All three of the Thompson’s looked at McCain with awe as Beth described how he’d kicked in the door, shot three of the attackers, got shot himself, and then had to go hand-to-hand with the last, and biggest, of the kidnappers, finally killing him with a knife. She put her hand on Chuck’s arm, recounting how he’d almost had carry her to their vehicle, only to find a pack of twenty zombies coming right at them. Her rescuer had calmly cut down the entire group and then had taken her to another abandoned house up the street.
