Sleepers

by Jacqueline Druga

  Then the silence returned to the airwaves. Her speech held such heavy overtones I could not help but feel burdened by this overwhelming dismal and grieving feeling.

  My world as I knew it in every aspect was done.

  Bill and Danny returned to some sort of conversation; not me, I removed myself emotionally and mentally. I curled up against the door, rested my head against the window and pulled out my phone. I knew my battery was dying and I would have to conserve. I would. But for the time being I needed to see my other children. I powered up my phone, ready to open the photo album and stare at Jeremy’s smiling face, maybe read Jessie’s barrages of text messages she had sent me over the last week. It was then I saw something else I hadn’t seen in days. Sitting up, I leaned between the two front seats with my phone.

  “Guys,” I held out my phone. “I got a signal.”

  12. The Signal

  It came just three hours earlier. “Mommy, Mommy, I’m fine.” Jessie was crying. “Please, if you get this, get back to me. They’re moving us from the city to a camp in Maple Valley. I’ll wait there for you guys. I’m fine, Mommy, I love you guys. Please be all right.”

  I listened to her message fully then I tried to call my daughter. Though I truly felt she was fine, getting that message renewed me. Filled me with a focus, what happened beyond reaching my daughter I didn’t know. But I had to get to her.

  It took six attempts and another bar of my phone battery, but eventually Jessie answered her phone.

  Our conversation was brief, neither one of us wanted to risk the battery power. We agreed we’d shut the phones off to conserve. She had already figured out that Jeremy had passed; what she didn’t know was about her father.

  I told her Danny was with me and that her dad had the Sleeping Sickness, to which she sobbed. I cried too, and told her how much I loved her. Jessie had arrived at the elementary school with about four dozen people. She had set up her stuff in the far left corner of the gym by the fire extinguisher and promised that if she had to go, she’d leave a note, right there.

  For the conservation of power our tear-filled conversation had to end. It did, with my promise to get there, to get her, no matter how long it took. I was on my way.

  ****

  I took over driving about 20 miles before Pittsburgh. Bill seemed relieved. He relaxed in the front seat while Danny took time to sleep in the back. I should have left Danny drive the Pennsylvania Turnpike. It avoids all major cities, unlike Interstate 80 which wasn’t that far away.

  Nowhere in the journey did we see another traveling car. That struck me as odd because in my mind, if the Secretary of State was delivering speeches there had to be people out and about. No travelers or no people. Well, not in the conventional sense. Some cars or trucks were off to the side of the road and when we passed an interchange called Breezewood, I saw people moving about the street. Just walking. Bill said they probably had been infected, something about the way they moved.

  The air conditioning was having a hard time keeping up; the heat was stifling and sun was overpowering but I knew all that would change when the sun went down. It was pushing four o’clock when I saw the sign indicating an end to the toll road. Bill and Danny were both sleeping at that point.

  “Bill,” I reached over and nudged him. “Bill. Where’s the ticket?”

  Bill woke with a puzzled look and a ‘huh?’

  I hated to wake him but I had looked in the visor, the console, it wasn’t there. “The ticket,” I reiterated. “Turnpike ticket.”

  “Mera, I didn’t take the ticket when I went through.”

  “Why not?”

  He stumbled at first for an answer. “I don’t know. Maybe because I didn’t think anyone would make us pay.”

  For some reason this sent me into an anxiety frenzy, especially with the toll booth fast approaching. “I cannot believe you didn’t take the ticket.” My words were emotional, hard and snappy toward him.

  “You really think someone is going to be there standing there, waiting on your money?” his voice edged up some.

  “Guys,” Danny blurted out groggily from the back.

  “No, I don’t think that!” I barked. “I’m not dumb. I don’t think a toll worker is there!”

  “Then why do you care if we have a ticket?”

  “Come on, guys, stop,” Danny said.

  Ignoring Danny, I blasted my loudest, the barren toll booth now within a few seconds of driving. “Because how else are we supposed to get through the fucking closed gate without a ticket!”

  “Go around!” The man I had believed to be mild mannered, suddenly blasted back at me as loud as I yelled at him. “Go around the booths!”

  Instinctively my foot hit the break which caused a ‘thump’ and a groan of ‘mom’ from Danny as he rolled from the backseat to the floor. “

  Did you just yell at me?” I asked Bill.

  “Why did you stop?” Bill asked.

  “I don’t know. You yelled.”

  “No, you yelled. I reacted.”

  I was going to say more, I didn’t. I gripped the steering wheel with both hands and apologized to Danny. “Sorry, honey.”

  He grumbled ‘it’s fine’ and returned to the back seat.

  I lifted my foot from the brake and turned to Bill. “What do you mean go around?”

  He pointed to the small office building to the side of the tool booths. “There, through that lot. Go that way.”

  I nodded. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking about that.”

  Perhaps Bill thought he was mumbling under his breath, but I certainly heard his, “Obviously.”

  Again, my foot hit the brake.

  Thump. “Mom!”

  I shot a glare at Bill then continued to drive.

  Maybe it was the little bit of rest I had, coffee and the phone call from Jess, I don’t know, but I felt energized. I just wanted to get to my daughter. No, I needed to get to my daughter.

  A few miles up the road after the turbulence of our quick verbal spar, I slowed down and with good reason.

  The transition section between Interstate 76 and Interstate 80 brought something none of us expected to see.

  A single military truck blocked the road; not completely, I could go around and I planned on it. I didn’t need the instructions from Bill or Danny to ‘gun it’. I was making my own judgment call.

  It was a good thing I didn’t ‘gun it’, because two soldiers emerged. As we drew closer it was apparent they were as shocked to see us as we were to see them.

  In the few moments from first spotting the truck to approaching it, many things went through my mind. At first glance, it looked abandoned. Then when I saw the soldiers, I had a sense of the cavalry arriving. Heroes, yes, they were going to save the day. But these young and innocent boys, not much older than my own son were as much lost souls as we were.

  They waved for me to stop and of course, I did.

  Only one of the two soldiers approached. “Afternoon, Ma’am,” the one soldier smiled. “Really good to see you guys.” He peeked in the car, perhaps to check us out. “Can I ask where you’re headed?”

  “West. Trying to get to Seattle,” I replied.

  “You taking I-80?” he asked.

  “Hoping to. Why?”

  He shook his head. “Best if you stay on 76 until just past Akron. 80 goes through Cleveland and they shut that way down. You do realize there is a curfew, right?”

  “Do you think that we’ll get stopped if we ignore it?” I questioned.

  He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I wouldn’t chance it. You got about two hours before curfew. There’s a refugee station outside of Cuyahoga Falls, signs are posted. I’d stop there. Besides, you’ll probably need to refuel and they’re helping folks do that.”

  “After that where’s the next camp?”

  “Another hundred miles or so. Not many camps.” He shrugged.

  I nodded. “Thank you. We’ll try there.”

  “You be safe.”
r />   Before I drove off, I had to ask. “How many cars came through here before us?”

  He paused before answering, looking at the other soldier before leaning toward the window again. “I’ve been here since morning. You’re the third car.”

  I tried not to show my shock at his answer, but I exhaled and gave a single nod. “You be safe, as well,” I told him, wound up the window and eased on the gas.

  Danny poked his head between the front seats. “Three cars?”

  “Three.” I stated.

  Bill whistled. “That’s not a lot at all.”

  I shook my head. “Not at all.”

  Then Bill’s demeanor switched to a more positive one. “I say we keep going. Forget the curfew. I mean three cars. They aren’t stopping anyone.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It is Martial Law. You heard the soldiers. The curfew. Danny, what do you think?”

  Danny shrugged. “I agree with Bill. Really, mom. Three cars? We have fuel containers and enough gas to get us across state. I say go.”

  Again, I was still in debate. “I’m thinking we’d better head for this refugee station. Play it safe.”

  Bill waved out his hand as if I were being ridiculous. “Mera, please. Have you seen a car? We went all the way across Pennsylvania without seeing a single military vehicle. No one is out and about. No one is going to enforce the curfew. Trust me,” Bill said with so much certainty. “We’re fine. Keep driving. We’re not getting stopped. We’re not getting arrested.”

  ****

  It took all of about forty-five seconds before my arms started to hurt from having them raised in the air.

  “Yeah, Bill, yeah,” I said to him as we pulled up to the military blockade. We had made it about 30 miles beyond the first refugee camp. Truly, even I thought it was going to be smooth sailing.

  “They’re bored,” Bill replied, “That’s why they’re stopping us. We’re not getting arrested.”

  I looked in the rearview mirror at Danny. He was biting his nails. “Danny?”

  He shifted his eyes to Bill then to me. “We’re getting arrested.”

  I slammed my hand on the wheel. “I knew it.”

  “We’re not getting arrested. “ Bill nearly yelled. “Just slow down, play cool and most of all, play dumb.”

  “Play dumb?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Act like you didn’t know. Trust me.”

  “I trusted you to keep going . . .”

  “Trust me,” he said assuredly.

  With an ‘okay’, I slowed down and pulled to the blockade. There were three trucks there and more soldiers, maybe ten. Two stood before the hood of our SUV, while one approached the window.

  My insides churned with a nervousness I hadn’t felt in forever. Bill whispered, ‘we’re not getting arrested’ as I wound down the window.

  The soldier was wearing a gas mask, which frightened me. My nervousness caused my face to immediately get hot and a slight buzz in my ear.

  “Folks. Road’s off limits to civilians.”

  I shivered a breath, gripped that wheel and let out a fake chuckle. “Really?”“Martial Law is in effect,” he said. “You didn’t know this?”

  My heart pounded as my hands released and gripped the wheel. “No,” I squeaked out, I never was any good at lying. Then quickly I turned to him. “Ok, we knew.”

  The soldier moved back. “Step from the vehicle. All of you.”

  “Why?” I questioned. “Really, can’t we just keep going? We’ll stop at the next refugee station.”

  I don’t know why I did it, but when he reached for the door, I locked it and immediately wound up the window.

  “Ma’am!” He pounded on the window.

  “Why did you do that?” Bill asked.

  “Open up the door before I break the window!” The soldier kept pounding.

  “We’re getting arrested,” Danny stated.

  “No,” Bill retorted calmly. “We’re not getting arrested.

  “What do I do?” I asked. Noticing at that point four more soldiers were at our car.

  “Gun it,” Bill said, then he must have thought I believed his sarcasm, because he quickly retracted with, “Open the door before he breaks the window, please.”

  Again, Danny repeated. “We’re getting arrested.”

  “No, we’re not.” Bill said. “Mera, open the door.”

  I unlocked the lock and wound down the window again. “Sorry,” I said to the soldier. “I panicked.”

  “Step out of the vehicle now. Hands in the air. “He ordered, opening my door. “ Now.”

  I looked at Bill and whispered, “I’m killing you.”

  “Me?” he snapped.

  I raised my hands slightly, not too much. It was a difficult task to get out of the driver’s seat with my hands in the air. As I emerged, I watched as one soldier grabbed for Danny. A defense mechanism perhaps, a mother’s way of watching out for her child, I yelled, “Hey! Leave him alone. That’s my son.” Reaching out, thinking I could intervene, I was pulled away.

  They moved the three of us off to the side while they proceeded to search our SUV. It was utterly ridiculous, the entire Martial Law thing. I didn’t get it. Was there something they weren’t telling us? I just couldn’t fathom the world being up in arms or chaos on the street. Nothing I had seen since I left my home told me anything other than the world was dying.

  Yet there we stood being treated like common criminals. I held on to my son, watching as all of our things were tossed out to the ground. We weren’t thugs, thieves or armed terrorists. Okay, we were armed and it didn’t take long for the soldiers to find that out.

  “They have weapons, Sarge.”

  We stayed quiet and the one soldier, I guess in charge, walked over.

  “Do you folks have a license for these weapons? Are they registered to you?” he asked us.

  Without hesitation, Bill replied. “Yes, I just didn’t think to bring documentation, we left so fast.”

  Then that soldier looked at me. “So the weapons belong to him?” He pointed at bill.

  “Yes.” I nodded and saw the soldier was staring at me. “No. We sort of borrowed them.”

  I inwardly and outwardly cringed when I realized the true error of my honesty, or should I say stupidity. My simple answer caused a commotion amongst the guards and they rushed over to us as if suddenly we were going to make a mad dash.

  It was when they took a firm hold of me that Bill found a moment to whisper my way, “Now, we’re getting arrested. Thank you.”

  13. Arrested

  They actually called it detained and they brought us to the refugee camp set up in a volunteer fireman’s hall located in a suburb of Toledo.

  A building that probably saw its share of weddings and other festive events now housed about a hundred people, each with their own cot and blanket, each with their own heartbreak story.

  We were placed not far from the check-in table which was close to a small sectioned-off area where occasionally we’d see a soldier go in and out. Like everyone else, after they took our names, they gave us a blanket and cot along with a gross pasty spaghetti meal in a pouch. The coffee, however, wasn’t bad.

  Danny had his phone and was playing with it. I didn’t notice until I heard him say, ‘something is going on.’

  “Danny, save your phone power.” I told him.

  To which, Danny lifted the phone to show me a cord. He was plugged into the socket. The building had power.

  Immediately I wanted to charge my phone, but remembered we didn’t have any of our belongings. After that remembrance, it dawned on me what Danny had said. “What’s going on?”

  Danny shook his head. “Hard to tell. Only three of my friends have updated a status in the last three hours. And there’s no mention on the news about the Secretary of State’s speech. Weird.”

  To me it wasn’t all that weird. This wasn’t just one city, one town, this was worldwide. People had other things to worry about
rather than posting or reporting news.

  “See,” Danny explained. “I would think at least the government would have their Martial Law rules on here. But nothing.”

  Then I asked him, “Have you updated your status?”

  Danny just stared at me for a second. “No.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe people are like you. Busy. Traveling. Trying to find people.”

  “That makes sense.”

  I reached over and ran my hand over his head. “I can be right once in a while.”

  At that moment Bill returned with another cup of coffee. “Anyone hear that gunshot?” he asked as he sat on the floor by me.

  Just after Danny answered, ‘no’, I replied, “What gunshot?”

  “Guess not,” Bill said. “Answers my question.”

  “Couldn’t have been a gunshot,” I told him. “I would think we’d hear it in here, it’s awfully quiet.”

  Bill nodded.

  “Then again, who would be shooting? I’m thinking you may have heard something that sounded like a gunshot.”

  “Mera?” Bill scratched his head. “Were you an attorney?”

  “Huh?” His question confused me.

  Danny laughed.

  “You never said what you did for a living,” Bill stated. “I was just wondering with the arguing, if you were an attorney.”

  Danny interjected. “She wasn’t an attorney, she was everything but, sort of.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Bill asked.

  “She worked a lot of jobs. She was always changing them. She got bored easily. One day she’d be working at the drug store and she’d come home. We’d ask how her day was and she told us she quit. My dad was pretty good about it. He’d always tell her she’d find something else. And she did. The bet was when she worked in the hardware store. Lasted three days.”

  I waved out my hand. “I just couldn’t determine what I wanted to do, that’s all. Waitressing worked out the best. I could get you guys off to school, work the lunch rush, and be home for the bus. You kids were so young; I didn’t want to be away from home too much. And Jeremy, he . . .” I completely stopped. I said that, thought of my son, and my heart sunk.