And now the time had come to move the bodies.
Mark and Bryan had told no one that they’d found a trailer full of caskets. They hadn’t inventoried it before they brought it back to the compound, but they now knew it contained fifty four full sized caskets of various types. Some were metal, some were oak or mahogany. Some were plain and some were very ornate.
They selected a plain white casket to bury their mother in. It suited her personality, they thought. Now they were trying to figure the best way to retrieve it from its nest in the center of the trailer.
“Can we help?” Hannah offered.
The boys hadn’t even realized that Hannah and Sarah were there.
Mark looked at his wife, standing at the door of the trailer.
“Oh, hi. How long have you guys been there?”
“We just walked up. I guess it’s time to bury Mom and Bill Meyers?”
“Yes. This was Mom’s favorite time of year. I think she’d want it to be now. And yes, you can help, if you can drive the forklift for us.”
Sarah said, “Let me. I’ve had more practice on it. We don’t want to drop any of these and damage them.”
Her implication, of course, was that they’d need all of them eventually. Everyone expected to live out the rest of their lives at the compound, since the world outside it had become an unfriendly and dangerous place.
But she didn’t elaborate further and no one else felt a need to comment.
Sarah retrieved the forklift from the opposite side of the pad of pavement and brought it to the rear of the trailer. Bryan and Mark unstacked the first of the caskets, turned it sideways and slid it onto the forklift’s tines.
Hannah went after two pieces of 4 by 4 lumber and laid them side by side on the pavement, about six feet apart. They would serve as dunnage, allowing Sarah to lower the casket down on them so that she could drive out from under the casket and go back for the next one.
Within an hour, they removed the white casket and set it aside.
Now came the hard part.
“You girls are tighter with Roxanne and Rachel than any of us will ever be. Would you mind asking them to come out to pick one out for their dad before we put them back in?”
The boys took a break, sitting on the back of the trailer and reliving memories of their mother, and how she kept everyone from going nuts their first months in the mine. She was the glue that held the group together, and her passing had been hard on everyone.
Ten minutes later Hannah and Sarah came back out of the building, Rachel and Roxanne in tow.
The boys watched silently as the girls went from crate to crate, peering into fold down inspection widows precut in the cardboard linings. As they neared the last of the caskets sitting in the lot, Mark offered, “If you don’t like any of those, we’ll help you up here and you can look at the rest.”
Rachel, the youngest of the two, looked up at him, and he noticed for the first time that there were tears in her eyes. Rachel was eighteen now, and had turned into a fine woman since she and her sister had joined the group. They were both an integral part of their family now, and Mark’s heart hurt at what she must be feeling.
Roxanne said, “I like this one over here. The dark oak. I think he’d like it. What do you think, Rachel?”
“I agree. I think if he were to pick out his own casket, it would look something like that.”
Chapter 21
The boys took the two caskets to the large storage building in the center of the compound and then went back to put the remainder of the caskets back into the trailer. The four of them, Mark, Bryan, David and Brad, spent half a day moving the bodies one at a time through the tunnel and to the caskets, and laid them gently inside.
They were amazed at how light the bodies had become. The salt mounds that had covered them since their deaths had absorbed all of their bodily fluids and had mummified the corpses. There was a general assumption among the men that their facial features were probably fairly well intact, much like Egyptian mummies of old.
None of them unwrapped the bodies from their burial shrouds to find out, though. There was no need for the bodies to suffer such an indignity after resting peacefully for so long.
Besides, they all preferred to remember the bodies as the people they once were, not what nature had transformed them into.
While they were preparing the bodies, The girls were inside trying their best to console Roxanne and Rachel, making small talk with them about their father and their lives with him. The girls wanted him reburied in the family plot, but the actual process reopened old wounds and brought back new pain.
Hannah and Sarah found out things about Bill they hadn’t previously known. He had been a United States Marine, had fought for his country during Operation Desert Storm. Then he’d been a high school teacher, and later a principal.
Hannah excused herself for a minute and called Mark on the radio, out of earshot of Roxanne and Rachel. Didn’t they have a couple of American flags somewhere in a box?
Mark said he’d take care of it, and thanked her for the information.
After the bodies were placed within the caskets, the men moved to the northwest corner of the compound, to the small piece of land designated as the family burial plot. It was forty feet square. These two graves would seem lost in a sea of space, but they knew that in the years ahead everyone else would join them. One at a time. Mark found himself wondering just how many generations would have to live in this place before the world was sane enough and safe enough to venture out past those walls again.
Hannah walked out of the “big house,” as they’d started to call the main building in recent months. It was a humorous reference to what inmates sometimes call a prison.
“Hi. It’s pretty stressful in there. How are you guys holding up?”
“Probably better than Roxanne and Rachel. I think it helped us to be involved in the process of getting the bodies ready. Or maybe just staying busy in general.”
“What’s the game plan?”
“After we finish the graves, we’re going to leave everything overnight and have the funerals in mid morning. Mom first, then Bill. We decided a joint funeral wasn’t right. They were both fine people and both deserve their own moment in the sun.”
“What can Sarah and I do to help?”
“You can pass the word to everyone that the graveside service for Mom will be at nine a.m. Then everyone will return to the big house while we move Bill into place, and will return for his graveside service at ten thirty. Then anyone who’s interested can gather in the lounge for remembrance.”
“Okay, got it. What else?”
“We thought we’d leave the bodies in repose overnight, under candlelight, for anyone who wants to visit them and spend time with them. Can you find some candles to place atop the caskets, and maybe a kneeling pillow to place before each one?”
“Sure. Anything else?”
“No, I think that about covers it.”
The following morning, David manned the security desk and everyone else assembled at the grave of Phyllis Snyder. Bryan, who’d once toyed with the idea of becoming a minister, conducted a brief but dignified service to celebrate the life of his mother. The group sang her favorite hymn, How Great Thou Art, and then retreated to the lounge for coffee while the men lowered her casket into the grave and prepared the adjacent plot for the second service.
The funeral for Bill Meyers was just a bit more elaborate.
John and Brad were both military veterans. Although they had no uniforms, they stood at attention and saluted their fallen brother-in-arms. Then they enlisted the help of Bryan and Mark to remove the United States flag from the casket and fold it into a perfect triangle shape. Roxanne and Rachel had no way of knowing they’d been up until three a.m. practicing.
John presented the folded flag to Roxanne, Bill’s oldest daughter, then he and Brad stood at attention at the head of the casket while Joe played a muted Taps on a bugle a short distance away.
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Roxanne and Rachel both said brief eulogies and the group sang Shall We Gather at the River, using notes that Sami had printed and passed out.
Rachel asked if she could give the closing prayer, and Bryan stepped aside to let her do so.
Then the group retired to the lounge for fellowship and support.
John, David and Brad returned to the gravesites in the early afternoon to close the graves, and went to the mine to retrieve the gravestones that Karen had crafted two years before.
Karen added a final touch by placing a bouquet of flowers upon each grave. She’d grown them in the greenhouse especially for the occasion.
The rest of the day was decidedly somber.
Chapter 22
Frank packed enough food and water for two days, but hoped to go back before then. He’d brought a tent, but wasn’t sure he’d use it. The Ford 250 had a bench seat, and it was still cool and crisp at night in San Antonio. In the mountains northwest of town, at Salt Mountain, it might be downright chilly.
He’d make a decision just before nightfall to either sleep in the truck or pitch a tent.
He’d arrived in mid afternoon, and planned to scout around, looking for tracks, and perhaps a stream where the deer came to drink. He suspected that he’d probably be the first human to trek these woods in several years, and that the deer would catch his scent long before he could be seen, then scurry away out of fear. So he had little hope of seeing any animals today.
If he could find some tracks, though, he’d settle for that. In the light of the day, he’d scout out a position to the east of the tracks, in heavy brush, so that the rising sun would be at his back in the morning. Hopefully the wind would be in his face.
Once he had his position staked out, he’d make his way there in the darkness, an hour before sunrise, and wait.
Frank had never hunted in the early summer before. He didn’t know how active the deer would be this time of year. They wouldn’t be rutting, and they wouldn’t be hungry from a hard winter and looking for food. It was entirely likely that they wouldn’t be moving much at all. Perhaps they found themselves a nice little meadow, tucked away in the middle of the woods, with access to a stream, and just stayed there.
That was his Plan B. Today, before he lost his light, he’d try to find a good place to set up for a morning shot. If he didn’t find one, then the next day he’d scout some more, looking for such hideaways.
He was lucky. Within an hour after his arrival, he’d found the tracks of a single deer. He was right. They had survived.
Or, at least some of them had.
The tracks were a couple of days old, and from an animal of only a hundred pounds or so. A doe, probably, or maybe a yearling.
He followed the tracks for over a mile, deeper into the woods, until he came to a small stream, washing down from the mountains above Kerrville.
The tracks went to the stream, where the animal had paused to drink, and then changed direction. They then went off into a thicket.
Frank traversed the stream and examined the other side.
Another set of tracks, a bit newer. This animal was about the same size as the first. Or maybe it was the same animal, who’d crossed the stream at another point and then came back for a drink from the other side.
Then, after he’d reversed course and looked downstream a hundred yards, Frank found what he was looking for. A third set, no more than a day old, of a good sized buck. He guessed easily two twenty five, two fifty.
He’d found his hunting ground.
He looked up to see he only had an hour of daylight left. He scouted around, and found a thicket a hundred yards away to the east. It was a good place to hide, and should mask a good portion of the morning breeze.
He headed back to his truck.
It had taken him longer than he’d planned to find his spot, and by the time he made it back to the truck the sun had already dipped below the horizon.
He’d set up this tent in the darkness before, but it had been awhile. And as he recalled, it hadn’t been much fun the last time. This time, after having forgotten how to do it, it would likely be even less so.
So in the end, it was the darkness that decided his sleeping accommodations for him. He left the tent in the back of the truck and ate two of the sandwiches Eva had packed for him.
Then he raised the steering wheel as high as it would go to get it out of the way, pushed the bench seat back as far as he could, and tucked the seat belts into the seat.
He started the engine before he crawled in, to warm up the cab. It was already getting chilly out.
After ten minutes, the cab was toasty warm and he turned off the engine. He’d covered himself with his sleeping bag, and although he wasn’t too thrilled with having to sleep through the night with his knees bent, it wouldn’t be the worst position he’d ever slept in.
And although it was cramped inside the truck, the bench seat was a lot more comfortable than the thin bedroll he’d have placed on the floor of the tent.
He drifted off to sleep hoping that the dawn would bring him luck.
Chapter 23
Frank awoke around four a.m. The heat in the cab had dissipated hours before and the cold air on his face and upper body woke him up. He started the truck mostly so he could see the clock light up on the darkened dashboard. But the warmth from the heater would be a welcome friend as well.
While he was waiting for the engine to warm up and heat the cab, he stumbled outside to stretch his legs and take a leak.
It was while walking around, trying to work the stiffness out of his legs and knees, that Frank decided he was too old to spend the night in a cramped position inside a too-small pickup truck. If he stayed a second night, he’d do it in the tent.
He ate his breakfast, two more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, while letting the warmth of the truck’s heater blow over his face.
Then, by four thirty, he was out of the truck and on his way to what he hoped would turn out to be his happy hunting grounds.
Frank had spent an immeasurable number of hours hunkered down in deer blinds or in tree stands over the years, waiting for deer to come into view. As he reflected back, it occurred to him that he enjoyed those times immensely. They’d given him a chance to ponder life. Where he’d come from, where he was going. His life in general compared to others he knew.
And he also remembered how boring it could be sitting in a single place for hours at a time, trying not to move or make any noise. Many men couldn’t do it. Couldn’t stay still for as long as it took. They flat didn’t have the patience. These were the same men who never had any luck at fishing either. Because they gave up if the fish didn’t bite immediately.
Frank wondered if any of the fish survived. He made a mental note to make his next trip up past Kerrville to the South Llano River. The fish had been plentiful there before the freeze. And he loved the mud cats and fresh water perch that came from those waters.
So much so that his mouth began to water from the thought.
Frank was like most hunters, in that he’d developed mind games to play to wile away the hours. On this particular morning, he’d made it his mission to remember every single word of the old Chicago song, Saturday in the Park.
Over and over again, in his mind, he heard the band sing.
Saturday, in the park, I think it was the fourth of July.
Saturday, in the park, I think it was the fourth of July.
People laughing, people passing, a man selling ice cream, singing Italian songs.
No, wait. No, the Italian guy selling ice cream came later in the song. Or did it? He struggled with his mind, digging deeply into the recesses of his memories, trying to find the words.
He knew they were in there. He just had to pry them out, a few at a time, and put them in the correct order.
And all the time he was trying to find the words, his eyes never lost sight of the stream where he’d seen the tracks, a hundred yards to his west.
It wa
s late morning, judging from the position of the sun, when Frank finally gave up.
The deer were out there, he knew. He wasn’t sure why they never showed. They may have moved on, out of the area. Perhaps they also drank from another stream close by.
Or maybe they were aware of Frank’s presence.
Deer often catch the scent of a human. And perhaps that was even more so after not smelling any humans for several years. Perhaps their noses had become so sensitive that a human scent, unfamiliar to them, might be terrifying.
Perhaps they’d all left the area as soon as he’d first stepped out of his truck.
He took a good hard look at the thicket he’d turned into a hunting blind. It was enough to hide him. And he hadn’t been moving around.
What was moving around, though, was the light breeze. It had been swirling all morning. Sometimes at his back, sometimes at his face.
He finally decided that either the constantly changing breeze had alerted the deer of his presence, or that today just wasn’t his lucky day.
In any event, Frank Woodard wasn’t a man who gave up easily.
He’d merely stay another day and formulate another game plan.
Besides, he couldn’t go home now. He’d only made it halfway through Saturday in the Park. He had to stay long enough to finish it, so he could move on to Hotel California.
On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair.
Warm smell of colitis, rising up through the air.
He hummed the tune softly, almost silently, as he emerged from the thicket and searched each bank of the stream for a hundred yards in each direction. No fresh tracks. His prey hadn’t come anywhere near here since the previous day.
He made his way back to his pickup and ate two more sandwiches. And he took inventory of what he had left in the Coleman cooler on the pickup’s floorboard. Six more PBJs and eight bottles of water. More than enough for another full day. Although he hoped his luck would change and it wouldn’t take that long.
Breakout (Final Dawn) Page 8
