by Terry Yates
Kyler exited the restroom as quickly as he could, his cheeks puffed out so far that he resembled a malnourished bullfrog. He’d tried holding his breath as long as he could, but he’d had to urinate so badly that it took a long time to empty the tanks and he’d had to exhale in midstream, hold his breath, and suck in more air, but not before catching just enough of a whiff of the thousands of people who had used the restroom before him. He ran around fanning himself before finally turning a deep shade red, whereby he bent over and exhaled for what seemed like minutes. Finally taking in air, he stood up and let out what he considered the loudest “Ahhh…” that had ever emanated from a satisfied body.
He looked around for everybody. He didn’t see any of their party, except the twenty or so soldiers that Potts had drafted to come along. He watched the soldiers, all men, talking, wondering if they had any idea what they had signed up for.
As he entered the convenience store, he found it filled to capacity with even more angry people, this group apparently angry about the prices. Kyler spotted the others across the room, and began trying to squeeze through the sweaty horde. When he reached the group, Joe included, he saw that they were all empty handed.
“What’s going on?” Kyler asked. “I expected you guys to be loaded with ice cream and sodas.”
“Can’t afford anything,” Dustin answered, pointing to a sparsely stocked dairy case.
Kyler did a double take as he looked at the sodas. Coke Zero was $8.50 a can! Good God, he thought. Regular Coke must be through the roof! He looked at the rest of the dairy cases, which in most cases, were totally empty. What ice cream there was, was priced almost five times as higher than the norm.
Kyler reached into his scrubs pocket and felt around for his money. He didn’t carry a wallet. He kept his money in one pocket and his license, cards, and credit cards in the other pocket, a large rubber band holding them all together. He discarded his wallet because every time he drove, he felt like he was sitting with one cheek on a cinder block. When he retrieved his money from his pocket, he saw that he had a twenty, one five, and two ones. Twenty-seven dollars. That was a soda, a bag of chips, and a Nutty Buddy.
“This is ridiculous!” he screamed, putting his money back in his pocket.
“Don’t worry, Doc,” Sam Fong said. “We’ve got shitloads of snacks and sodas on one of the trucks. We have a few coolers, but no ice.”
Kyler walked down the dairy cases until he saw the famous polar bear logo that always told one that there be ice here. There were two bags left. He opened the case and retrieved the bags, and began to make his way once again through the sweaty throng. When he reached the front of the store, he saw Potts, FranAnne, and the young MP Jefferson, standing nose to nose with several Pakistani gentlemen who were highly indignant about the fact that Potts was taking their gas.
“Be grateful I’m leaving you any at all after seeing what you’re doing to these people with your…uh…”
“Price gouging!” bellowed both Kyler and Jefferson in unison. Immediately, they turned to each other, pointed, then “ahhh’d” at one another.
“Hey! That’s fourteen dollars!” the owner yelled, pointing when he saw Kyler with the ice.
“I’m not paying fourteen dollars for two bags of hard water,” Kyler retorted.
“Two bags!” the man screamed. “That’s twenty-eight dollars!”
“Look,” Potts said, putting his hand in front of the man. “We’re taking the gas. The army will pay you back.” Potts turned around to walk away, then turned back around. “And don’t think about calling your cousin down the road. If he’s suddenly closed, we’ll break in and take it anyway. Now, think about all of this when you charge people $42.50 for a gallon of milk. Let’s move out!”
With this, Potts spun around military style, and began to march out of the store.
“Freak!” the owner yelled after him.
Not caring or hearing, Potts walked out of the store, followed by FranAnne, Jefferson, and a half dozen soldiers. Kyler had been worried about Potts’ hearing since their ordeal on the island. Sgt. Cohen had detonated four grenades with his last breath, sending the Klefka werewolf and Potts through the air. Potts had then detonated his own grenades and hadn’t been too far away when they’d gone off, not to mention the cannon that he wore at his side. He’d once heard someone ask him what caliber it was. Kyler couldn’t remember if Potts had responded ‘44’, ‘45’, or ’52 1/8’. Whatever it was, people always whistled as if highly impressed. Twice, Kyler had tried to check Potts’ hearing, but both times, Potts had rebuffed him, the second time threatening to turn his balls into a bolo tie.
Kyler caught himself smiling as he watched Potts raise his arm into the air and give the old helicopter twirl, which meant to start the engines and get the caravan moving. Potts thrived in these situations and this adventure would be as cathartic as any army re-hab hospital. Being on a mission was Potts’ rehab, especially a mission with a familiar enemy.
“Colonel?” Kyler yelled as the trucks began to start up.
“What?” Potts answered, not looking at him.
“Colonel, these kids need to eat,” Kyler told him, moving up beside him.
“We’ll be bivouacking in about two hours. In the meantime, there are some sodas and snacks and things in one of the trucks.”
“Which one?”
“How the shit should I know, Kyler? There are ten trucks. They’re not in mine and they aren’t in yours. That leaves eight. Now, get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”
Kyler found the snacks in the fifth truck and he, Sam, and Zack passed them out to everyone in the back. Sam, Zack, Anthony, Heather, and Meredith sat on the bench on the left side of the truck, while Lauren, Ben, Dustin, Werner, Astrid, and Peter Valkenberg sat on the right bench. Joe was up at the tailgate with Kyler, mooching what food he could until Kyler had handed it all out, whereby he began to move down the line and give them all his big, soulful stare. In most cases, he would get a little something, except with Lauren, of course, whom he quietly and quickly walked around. It broke Kyler’s heart, and he was pretty sure everyone else’s, too, to see her continually ignore
the canine, but she wasn’t budging an inch.
“C’mon, Doc!” FranAnne yelled, looking back at him from the driver’s window. “Col. Potts is about ready to put you over a spit!”
“Isn’t he always,” Kyler said quietly. “See ya’ in a few.”
He gave the tailgate a gentle pat, smiled, and nodded to everyone, and then walked around and got into the truck. As he settled himself, he looked up to find Potts leaning out of the open passenger door giving him a “Are you waiting for an invitation” glare. Still staring at Kyler with his one good eye, Potts shrugged his shoulders. Kyler gave a sheepish grin and an even more sheepish salute. Seeing that they were ready to go, Potts motioned his arm in the ‘follow me’ fashion. As his truck began to lurch forward, Potts, with the grace of a ballerina, swung out, then into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him in one fell motion. Kyler and FranAnne shook their heads and smiled. They couldn’t help but feel a little confident knowing Col. Chaos was in charge. Col. Potts…werewolf fighter.
As the lead truck pulled away, the others immediately fell in behind it. Kyler looked up at the station’s gas price sign. $26.32 a gallon. The trucks pulled out onto the highway and began to move slowly down the road again. It would be another slow moving forty or fifty miles before they camped. Potts would stop at every truck stop and gas station along the route, leaving a string of irate Middle Easterners in his wake.
CHAPTER 47
“Get it while it’s hot!”
Everyone looked up to see Sam Fong, complete with apron, spatula, and toothy grin. Everyone, soldiers included, cheered and converged on the homemade chuck wagon, which was actually two long, folding tables that Sam and the actual Army cook, a Corporal Williams, a fat jovial fellow of much girth and few years, had found. He looked to be in his early twenties, and his e
arly three hundred pounds. He’d been happy to share duties with Sam, because most of Williams’ cooking came from giant cans. Cans of beans, cans of beets, cans of creamed corn, not to mention the sacks of powdered milk and powdered eggs. Like the undertaker, no one ever looked forward to seeing him. He knew how to cook burgers and dogs, and so did Sam, who confiscated most of the ingredients from their last truck stop. Looting food could get to be a hobby with him.
Kyler stepped up to the end of the line. It was getting dark and they’d been camped for several hours. He’d figured that Potts wouldn’t rest until he could go absolutely no further. When he’d asked him just that, Potts told him that he liked to get a lay of the land that they were camping on. Potts had told him that, years ago, he had made camp at night. He’d gotten up in the middle of the night to take a leak. The next day, he saw that he had whizzed right next to a chasm that dropped down about two hundred feet. Ever since then, he made sure he knew exactly where he was, and exactly what the terrain was like before he bedded down for the night. It made sense when one thought about it.
Sam loaded up Kyler’s plate with a hamburger, two hotdogs, and French fries. Kyler got Cpl. Williams to make Potts a plate, consisting of one hamburger, one hotdog, and some fries. He placed Potts’ plate over his own sagging plate and walked over to where Potts sat in a folding chair next to an old, large, tree stump. His face was down in a map. He was perusing the area with his one eye. If it would’ve been anyone but Potts, Kyler might have found it almost comical, but Potts was checking every detail on that map…from the easiest way in, to the easiest way out, and all points in between.
“Here you go, Colonel,” Kyler said, nonchalantly placing the plate on the tree trunk table.
“Hmm…what…oh…thanks,” Potts answered, not looking up.
“You know, I really ought to check your bandage.”
“Go away, Kyler,” Potts said softly, still looking at the map.
“Colonel…”
“Go away. I’ll change ‘em later. Thanks for the food.”
Taking this as a sign that Potts didn’t want a dinner companion, Kyler walked back across the camp. Small tents littered the campground. Small groups of soldiers sat with each other. Even soldiers had cliques, he thought to himself. Just like high school.
When he reached his group, they were all sitting around the small campfire they’d made, except for Peter Valkenberg and the twins. They sat a few feet away from the rest, so that they could speak in their own language. The caravan of trucks had been too loud for them to do much talking, so they were making up for lost time. FranAnne, Cpl. Williams, and Pvt. Jefferson, sat with the group. FranAnne being the only female soldier, and Jefferson being the only black soldier…it made sense for them to sit with them, but Williams was white and a male…mostly. He did have a high voice…almost as high as Samantha Boots, the model turned werewolf on No Name Island, but Williams’ high and nasally voice came from the Midwest somewhere. As he sat, everyone ‘Hey Doc’d’ him.
Everyone sat in a circle around their fire, mostly silently gorging down their burgers and hotdogs. Kyler watched Lauren, who picked at her food a little, but for the most part, ate most of what was on her plate. It’d only been about a month since he took out her appendix in the middle of the first hurricane. It had burst when Michael Blum had rolled over on top of her and slammed his elbow hard into her stomach. The two had witnessed Nicholas Klefka’s first turning in almost a decade, and had been hiding from him/it when the accident occurred. As he watched her, the yellow tint of her face mixed with the orange/yellow glow of the fire, gave her an almost infa-red hue. He saw that Zack and Dustin were sitting next to each other. Both were the same age, but one was so much older than the other, but not by much. They’d both lost their families, but Dustin hadn’t dealt with hurricanes and werewolves, and Kyler was hoping he wasn’t about to. What had he been thinking bringing the children along with him? Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Sure, he’d be saying Stupid! Stupid! Stupid…if he’d left them behind, but in Florida, they would be that much farther away from where they were headed. He couldn’t believe there wasn’t more of a panic about the situations in Oklahoma and California, but his guess was, that no one in the military or government was taking this particular situation too seriously. Werewolves, silver bullets, and full moons were probably met with laughter, even though a well-respected general had delivered the information given to him by a four month, and not so well respected MD. He pretty much figured that evacuating refugees and trying to get power and cell towers going again was their main concern at the moment. Mother Nature had really delivered a ball buster to the good ol’ USofA. One thing Kyler did know was that they’d better take anything werewolf oriented seriously or, oh brother, you’re gonna get a royal fisting.
“Something wrong with the burger, Doc?”
“Hmm…what?” Kyler looked up to see Sam Fong looking at him.
“The burger,” Sam repeated. “You haven’t touched anything. You not eating is one of the…”
“First signs of the Apocalypse, I know,” Kyler interrupted. “Heard that one a few times.”
Kyler quickly looked up at Sam as hoping not to have insulted him. Instead, Sam seemed more concerned that his food wasn’t being eaten. Seeing this, Kyler took a large bite of his hamburger, then moaned. It was perfect. Why Sam Fong was thin was a mystery to Kyler. If he could cook like Sam, he’d never leave the house…or be able to for that matter…without a dolly or a wheelbarrow.
Everyone laughed at Kyler’s puffed out cheeks. He almost choked trying to chew his food, but somehow managed a smile. Kyler was happy to be the butt of the joke if it meant everyone was smiling. Even Ben Rollins was laughing at the dorky doctor. He hadn’t seen the seven year old so much as smirk, up till then. Kyler was downright shocked to see Zack Olson actually chuckling. He wasn’t giving it up, as they say, but he was smiling. FranAnne met her match in funny laughs, though, for Cpl. Williams had almost the same high pitched, cowboys leaving town, “Yip! Yip! Yip!” laugh that FranAnne had, but he was thinking that Williams’ laugh was actually higher than FranAnne’s. They almost sounded like they were laughing in harmony. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked Joe was even smiling and wagging his nub as he made his way over to Kyler, who’s plate was literally brimming over with meat. This wasn’t lost on the man, who held out several pieces of burger meat just as the dog arrived.
“There you go, Your Highness,” Kyler told the canine as he gobbled up the meat in a matter of seconds. Kyler had a few fries waiting for him, which he also immediately scarfed down. “That’s enough for now, Joe. I’m pretty sure that I’m not the only person that’s been feeding you.”
Joe stared at Kyler as he went back to eating his burger. He would sit for a moment, and then stand again. He would turn his head sideway, trying to get Kyler’s attention.
“Nhoo…non’t…no naway…” he said, his mouth once again completely full of food. This time he turned his back to the dog, who wasn’t an idiot. He simply walked around and stood in front of Kyler again. “Nhoo…nop!”
Before Kyler knew what was happening, Joe had snuck forward and absconded with Kyler’s hotdog, bun and all, and had run away into the darkness just on the outer edge of the camp, dropped to his belly, and then began eating.
“Like a thief in the night,” Jefferson said, tilting his helmet onto the back of his head, while he leaned back in the grass, patting his stomach.
“The joke’s on him,” Kyler retorted, finally swallowing his food. “I put enough horse radish on that hotdog to take down a charging elephant.”
As if on cue, Joe stood up, reared his head back, and sneezed roughly eight to nine times before sticking his nose in the grass and rubbing it back and forth. The group laughed as the dog trotted back up to Kyler, nubtail between his legs. Kyler already had a thermos cup full of cold water awaiting the mooching mutt, who lapped up the small cupful in a span of two three seconds, and then stood awaiting more.
“Serves you right, ya’ flea bitten hound,” he told the dog as he poured him another cupful of water. “That’ll teach you to steal another man’s food.”
Everyone laughed as the dog lapped cup after cup of cold water. Kyler looked up at Lauren. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that maybe he saw her eyes light up a little and the corners of her mouth rise just a tad at Joe’s antics. Maybe things were looking up, he thought to himself after receiving a ‘thank you’ lick from the dog.
CHAPTER 48
Simon shot up into a sitting position. It seemed like he’d been nodding in and out all day long. Staying up both day and night could be exhausting. The room, or rather the new room, was mostly dark, a few makeshift lamps hung from the ceilings for the nurses and the doctors to see by, while making their rounds with the werewolf patients.
Earlier, Simon had been awakened by the sound of military men and women coming into the room and waking those patients that were asleep, and simply telling the ones that were awake to get up and go with them. The militiamen, about twenty in all, began to encircle the group, and herd them out of the room. Simon, now in a hospital gown, sat on the edge of his bed, trying to put on a pair of hospital slippers. The first nurse that he’d seen had brought him a hospital gown, an old robe that had belonged to God-Knew-Who, and a pair of slippers from God-Knows. They were old and had once been white in color and unfrayed in texture, but now looked like they’d been through five owners, none of whom had the proper foot size for them, but the nurse, who’s name, he found out upon request, was Erin Schulman, had assured him that they were clean and sterile, because she had seen to it herself. Well…well.
