Six miles outside of Charleston, I saw the first one.
A military truck. It was parked on the side of the road. And then I saw other things. Things that made me stop.
“Captain?” Ray questioned.
“Suit up, gentlemen,” I instructed.
They gave me quizzical looks, mainly because they couldn’t see what I did.
“What’s going on?” Marcus asked.
“We need to see this outside of the fox,” I told them.
I grabbed my head gear.
“How long we gonna be?” Ray asked. “We don’t need the head gear. Trust me. Readings are good.”
I debated, but then decided not to take my headgear. It would hinder me, and we really weren’t going to be outside for longer than twenty minutes.
The moment we all stepped from the Fox, we all stopped.
In the distance, not far, the skyline of Charleston was seen. But it wasn’t the skyline I had seen before.
Small nuclear weapon, maybe 12 kiloton like was dropped on Hiroshima. Some buildings still stood, but were blackened by the residue of fire. Others were crumbled.
But that wasn’t why I stopped.
The tents were.
Twenty feet off the road, at a rest area, a huge military set up was erected. Trucks parked about and a canteen. On the road were cars line up and people had set up make shift camps.
Had.
The silence was eerie. A slight breeze caused the only noise around. The flapping of the tents.
From a distance it appeared as if people were soundly sleeping in on blankets and sleeping bags. But as we drew in, their putrid remains, made all of us gag.
Families huddled together on blankets, their bodies decomposed, decaying together. Flesh melting into flesh. It was hard to see what killed them, we could only guess.
I asked Ray and Marcus if they wanted to go with me to investigate.
They did.
We walked to the aid station. The rest area was cleared out and a look in the first tent was all we needed to see. Hundred upon hundred of cots were line up. The bodies of the once ill still lay upon them.
But now everyone was silent. Dead.
It was sickening.
My stomach formed a knot. I just wanted to vomit. All those people. Children. All dead. I had written it many times. Maybe that was why I was able to handle it.
Ray wasn’t.
He did throw up. He moved with haste away from the tent, and vomited. I could hear him, and could only offer a glance of condolence.
“Captain.” Marcus called my name and snapped me out of my stare. I released the flap of the tent and turned.
He was standing by a long table and I walked to him.
“These were meant to be found,” He said, indicating to the many clipboards with inches after inches of paper. The clipboards were secure with a brick. “This was an aid station set up on September 6th. One month ago.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Dates. Look.” He pointed. “We can get a really good idea of what happened. And someone left a note.”
“A note?” I took the paper. The note was long. I was more taken with the fact that some individual actually took time to record things for the benefit of someone finding the info in the future. “Let’s take this stuff. We can review them back at the compound.”
Marcus nodded.
While Marcus gathered up the clipboards, I summoned Ray, and then gathered a few M-4’s, ammunition, and gas canisters. Things we didn’t have at the compound. Aside from that valuable information, they were things you never know if we’d need.
***
Jennifer Anderson.
I don’t know who she is or what she did before the war, but she left a note.
Basically, she had begun to get ill, and just in case she didn’t make it, she wanted to make sure that someone in the future found the names of all those people who had died.
She worked the check in line at the aid station.
The aid station was set up on the fifth of September. A few days later they realized that the levels were not falling and people were just getting worse. Those who were well enough moved on. Those who were ill, they left behind.
The United States government, under the rule of the President, who was still alive in a bunker somewhere, made every effort to rise above the ashes. But people and circumstance made it difficult and it faltered. Last I had heard, stations across the country were folding.
God be with us all was the last line she wrote.
Was Jennifer alive? Dead? We didn’t know.
Charleston West Virginia was rubble, debris, burnt bodies and a charred existence. The only remains we brought back were the weapons and that list.
We had to create a signup sheet for that list, people wanted to examine it. See if there were names they recognized. It was on loan as much as a library book.
Over a thousand sheets of paper, all names, handwritten in no order.
It took each person hours to go through. Lord knew how long it would take every person.
I myself debated on whether or not I wanted to see the list.
I realized that it didn’t matter, in time my curiosity would get to me, and I like everyone else would look at a long list of names.
How fortunate those people on that list were. Not for dying, but for being marked. For being listed. For being more than just charred bones and decaying flesh. They were a name. And somewhere, somehow, someone would want to know what happened to their Aunt Mary or Brother John. And they’ll find solace know a resolution, by seeing their name on that list.
I just hoped to God that I’ll find a list out there with the names of my family. So I, too, one day can be at peace.
***
As if I shouldn’t have guessed. Luella recognized at least twenty names from that list. None family, just friends. One was even the principal at the school. A lot of people recognized names.
The sound of a sob, or burst of tears, told me that a family member was recognized.
Although we all knew and expected the worst, it hurts just the same to get confirmation.
I logged the expedition in my log book, adding some colorful descriptions. I could do that, I was typing. When I wrote by hand I kept them minimal.
After that, my day was done.
Jimmy ended up being Mr. Construction and earned the nickname Spike. Spike. I guess I’d prefer to call him that; Jimmy made me think of my brother.
Brad was learning to knit, courtesy of, you guessed it, Luella. He was working on a scarf; I was watching him do so when the radio call came in.
“Captain,” Greg called.
“What’s going on, Greg, over.”
Static.
“Can you come to the Radio room, over?”
“Roger that, out.” I placed the radio back in the waist holder, grabbed my coffee and stood. “Keep up the good work,” I instructed Brad.
“Thanks, Captain. You think everything is all right?” Brad asked.
“At the radio room?” I nodded assuredly. “Absolutely.”
I may have answered that, but I wasn’t certain. I wasn’t certain of much anymore.
Ray, who had heard the call for me, was nosey and waiting in the hall outside the radio room.
“Something going on?” he asked. “I heard him call ya’.”
“Then you know as much as I do.”
Ray shrugged. “You could have switched channels.”
I gave him a ‘yeah, right’ look and walked in. “Greg, what’s going on?”
Greg, seated in a chair, swiveled, gave a look of acknowledgement and waved me in. He returned to facing the radio, flipped a switch for speaker, and spoke into the microphone. “This is Greek Island, respond, over.”
I exhaled in the silence and a jolt of hope shot through my being when I heard the rush of static.
“Life,” I whispered.
Greg smiled.
Ray smiled.
Greg sai
d, “I was scanning and they were scanning. They aren’t doing a universal. He said they tried and couldn’t. So they are going channel by channel. They finally got a signal last week. Been calling out ever since, we finally crossed lines.”
“Did we lose him?” I asked.
“I don’t think so.” Greg replied. “It was funny, Captain. When we connected, when he heard our call. He said …” Greg chuckled. “Goddamn tell me you are in the West Virginia Bunker, and not across the ocean.”
I, too, chuckled. “He recognized the 1950 code name.”
Greg nodded.
Ray asked. “Why aren’t they responding now?”
“Try again,” I requested.
Greg called out. “This is Greek Island, respond. Over.”
Finally, the man on the line spoke, “Sorry for the delay. My goddamn radio operator was scanning the channels. I’d told him you were getting back. Over.”
My eyes widened. That voice. Did I recognize it, honestly? Or was I just wishful thinking. No. No. No wishful thinking on my part. I was a realist. It never crossed my mind. “Greg ….where … where are the transmitting from?”
“Connecticut,” Greg answered.
“Oh my God.” I stumbled back.
Ray looked at me curiously. “Captain.”
“Ask him … ask him to identify himself, please.”
“Hey Connecticut, I have the Captain here, can you identify yourself. Over.”
“Sure,” he said. “Slagel. Joe Slagel.”
I stumbled back, bumping a chair. Ray spun my way with wide eyes. Greg turned so fast he knocked over the microphone.
They both looked at me. Waiting, Wondering.
My lips moved without words. I exhaled, ran my hand down my face and caught my bearings. The corner of my mouth rose in a partial, but most peaceful smile. “My father.”
***
My father.
I couldn’t believe it. I really couldn’t. Overwhelmed was an understatement. It took a few moments after hearing his name for it to sink it. I muttered, ‘I must be dreaming, pinch me.’ And when Ray did, I got slightly perturbed. But the shot of scotch and reality took that away.
But I was nervous.
I still had to tell my father it was me. I was alive.
After he said his name, and Marcus told him to ‘hold on’, we debated.
Ray grew aggravated, snatched up the microphone and said, “Mr. Slagel, would you be related to Hal Slagel.”
Just as my father whispered out, “Captain.”
I grabbed the microphone. “Dad.”
There was silence, then my father’s breath of relief.
“I knew it,” he said. “I knew it. I knew. I felt you were alive, Hal. And when they said Captain …. I knew it. Especially since Ellen told me you were planning a trip to that bunker.”
I could hear Ellen in the back ground, saying, ‘Didn’t I tell you Joe? Didn’t I? Oh my God, let me talk to him.”
“No,” my father said. “Later. Shush.”
I laughed.
“Ellen’s alive?” I asked. “Then her children, Pete? Over.”
Pause.
“No. Details later, OK? Over.”
“What about Kelly, you went there to see them all.”
“Details later, Hal.”
I nodded a nod of understanding he could not see. “Dad, have you heard from Frank?”
“He was down in Jackson so it’s hard to say. I haven’t heard, though.”
“Dad, how did you guys survive? What did you do? Tell me. Over.”
“Christ Hal, you may have unlimited power there. But we don’t up here. Now that I know where you are. I’ll be there. I’ll check in tomorrow to give you progress. But right now I’m gonna save power and end this and let Henry figure out a way to get us there. Over.”
“Have you done a reading?” I asked. “Over.”
“Henry made a Geiger counter. Holding tight about 20. Over.”
“Same. Then … then I’ll speak with you tomorrow. Dad, it’s so good to know you’re alive. Over.”
“Same here, Hal. Same here.” Pause. “Out.”
I peacefully set down the microphone. There were congratulatory smiles and a pat to my back.
I truly basked at my luck and fortune.
My father was alive. Ellen, too. She was a lot like my wife, but in a feisty way. A nurse, but last we spoke she was just assisting some doctor in Ashtonville. Her and Frank were lifelong friends, although I swore they were more, even after they both married others. She however, because of her long standing and early friendship with Frank, became an honorary member of our family. The daughter my father never had.
My father said they were going to come down. Henry had to design a way. I didn’t know who this Henry person was, but it didn’t matter. I’d find out soon enough.
All that mattered was my father and Ellen were alive.
I was blessed. They would arrive soon.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
October 8th.
It took three days for Henry to build the vehicle that would bring my father, Ellen, and a few others to our bunker. My father said that Henry could have done it faster, but didn’t want to be exposed too much because he didn’t want to lose his hair.
An armored vehicle from the bank was converted to have a periscope type vision. It was insulated with insulation until he couldn’t get a reading on the Geiger counter.
They weren’t sure how long it would take them to get to the bunker because they hadn’t a clue what the destruction level was like and where.
It was a guessing game.
Both my boys were ecstatic about the impending arrival. They both asked and assumed that since my father and Ellen were alive and well, then so were Ellen’s children, Frank’s wife and kids. All the people that lived in that small town where my father had taken a vacation.
But the truth was, for some reason, I didn’t think so. My father’s reaction said a lot.
It was a wait and see situation.
Unnerving was an understatement, especially since my father had made contact with a farming town in Indiana and those folks were reporting a lot of looters, and criminal running about. Saying it was a Mad Max society.
I worried my father would run into that. But knowing my father, he was prepared.
Sometime late evening, after hours of nail biting, nervous twitches, Marcus spotted the vehicle arriving.
I shot from my seat and raced from the bunker meeting them in the tunnel. They pulled in until they saw me. The vehicle was impressively constructed. It stopped and my father stepped out.
My heart dropped. We embraced with gratefulness, long and tight.
“This is Henry,” my father introduced me.
Henry was a younger man of about twenty-eight, maybe thirty, it was hard to say. He was Asian. Tall and thin, actually very tall for an Asian man. His black velvet hair was long and immediately I knew why he was fearful of losing it.
He smiled as we shook hands, and my eyes shifted to the scream of delight that came from Ellen.
I hugged. Oh God did I hug her. They had idea what their arrival meant to me.
Frank’s oldest son was with them, Johnny; the twelve year old was alive and unscathed. Actually they were all in excellent condition.
I was alone in the tunnel, I wanted it that way. Call it selfish. I walked them down to the entrance, my family and the few others that came with them.
They were tired from the trip. That was obvious. Luella had prepared a special late night meal for everyone to eat together. Everyone in the camp.
And it seemed everyone in the camp was a welcoming wagon. Ray was at the vault door and I introduced him to my father. As the newest members of our community entered, they were bombarded.
It was then I noticed Ellen had slipped back.
She and Henry were at the back of the group.
“What’s wrong with Ellen?” I asked my father.
He shifted his eyes back, gave tha
t typical ‘who knows’ look and moved further inside.
I went back to find Ellen.
“Hey, Hal.” Ellen said nervously.
“What is wrong?” I asked her. “Are you afraid?”
“Me? No.” She shook her head.
“Upset?”
“She’s upset,” Henry said.
“You’re upset?” I asked again.
Ellen nodded.
“Ellen, I don’t know how to broach this. I know your children. I am very sorry …”
“No. Hal. No.” she held up her head and stopped me as I went to hug her.
“What is it?”
“I really wish you wouldn’t hug me. Not yet.”
“Me either,” Henry said. “Not that I don’t want you to hug Ellen. You can. I meant me. Don’t hug me yet.”
My mouth slightly opened and I faced Henry. “I have no plans to hug you.”
“Oh, that’s a relief.” He grabbed his chest.
“Ellen, may I ask why?”
“I’m dirty. I’m so dirty compared to your people.”
“D … dirty.”
She nodded. “We’ve been washing with baby wipes, sanitizer and the occasional bit of water Joe gave us. We tried to stay clean. Being clean is hygienic and hygienic is germ free.”
Henry added. “I agree.”
“Hal, Joe said you’re pumping from a fresh well. Every day.”
“We are. A lot of our people go out there to take showers. Stan hooked some …why am I telling you this?”
“Can I get cleaned up first? Please? I have clothes I didn’t touch so they’d be clean. Please Hal?” she begged.
“Wait a second. Are you telling me you don’t want to come into my camp because you’re being vain?”
She nodded.
“Good God, Ellen it’s the apocalypse. No one cares.”
“I do. I would.”
“She would,” Henry said.
“What are you her interpreter?” I snapped.
“Hal!” Ellen barked back. “Don’t yell at my friend. He’s been very supportive with me.”
Greek Island Page 9
