The Flu 2: Healing

by Jacqueline Druga

  “Yes,” Lexi said with a nod and swung her knapsack forward. “This is my bag. I have some stuff, not a lot. I really don’t want to barter medicine if I don’t have to.” She grabbed a small billfold and put it on the counter. “Here’s my ID.”

  “You still carry ID?”

  “You never know.”

  He glanced down. “Alexandra Martin. You worked for the CDC?”

  “Lexi. Call me Lexi. And yes.”

  “And she’s good,” Bill added. “She’s really good. I worked two outbreaks with her.”

  The man slid back the billfold.

  “My skills won’t get us a room?” Lexi asked with disappointment. “Surely, I can help someone? I mean slot machine guy …”

  The man held up his hand, halting her. “You’re a doctor. That skill will barter you more than just a room here. We have everything but a doctor. And lady, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”

  * * *

  Mick took a second, because that was pretty much all he could spare. He took that second to acknowledge the pain in his gut and the feeling of being a complete failure.

  All of his good intentions had gone right out the window. This was supposed to be a simple trip; a week, maybe more. The happy go lucky camp had seemed perfect after they stumbled upon it, and Mick hadn’t given a thought to marauders rampaging through the camp. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. How stupid was he?

  He was responsible for the kids; he had promised Dylan he would take care of the boys, and now they were gone.

  Were they hurt? Scared? Or had they been taken by those men? Mick couldn’t figure out what the hell they’d want with the kids. He didn’t trust that their intentions were good considering they had blasted through the defenseless campsite.

  The car battery in his SUV was gone. In fact, any means of transportation had been dismantled or rendered useless.

  There was still generator power to Ethan’s trailer and while Mick scoured the camp for goods, he used that time to charge his phone. Not that he expected to make a call, but who knew if the phones would come back up? Mick was actually surprised they had gone down, especially since the struggling government was using them to communicate with Henry in Lodi.

  Chris had his phone, he’d track that. Family GPS. Dylan had called that dumb, considering the boys never left Lodi. But Mick had called it a precaution in case their dad took off with them.

  It was a cheaper phone, fewer bells and whistles, and therefore it kept the charge longer. For that Mick was grateful.

  And Chris did have his phone. Mick checked the camper. Their coats and hats were gone, and so was the notebook Chris always wrote in.

  Mick scoured the camp for clues as to what happened. It appeared the attackers had hit the gate to knock it open, and then shot a person right away, twice. A double tap.

  They moved fast, in and out. They took commodities like gas, tires, things for cars. There didn’t seem to be any dry goods left. And the box of deer jerky that Ethan told Mick about was gone.

  More than anything, Mick looked for clues about the boys. If the people who raided the camp took the boys, surely they wouldn’t have given them time to grab their things?

  That indicate to Mick that likely they ran. Hopefully had run and gotten out of danger. The boys were smart, but there was a lot Mick never got a chance to teach them. Why would he? They lived in Lodi and he would always be there to protect them.

  This time he wasn’t able to, and he had to make up for that.

  A few items were left behind. Mick wanted to travel light. He grabbed two bottles of water and a couple of small food items that were ‘dropped’ on the floor, probably as the men absconded with their supplies.

  He had to figure out which direction they went. He ruled out the front gate, they were smarter than that. Logic dictated that they took off from the camper. Probably into the woods behind there. He focused on that direction until he crossed over the play area where he found Denny Dynamite.

  Denny Dynamite was a cartoon and an action toy, and Tigger had cried for weeks to get those Denny Dynamite tennis shoes. They were close to a hundred dollars a pair, and Mick had gotten them and lied to Dylan about the price. The tennis shoe soles had Denny on them, and in the dirt before him now were repeated imprints of Denny.

  Tigger had been was playing here. Was it from there that they had run? A wooded area was just a few feet from the play area. He followed Tigger’s Denny shoe imprints. They moved, they stopped, they … skidded.

  Maybe Mick was looking a little more into it, he didn’t know. But he moved to the wooded area. It was flat for a few feet, then there was a small grade.

  And slide marks. Someone had slid down that hill.

  Mick followed the sliding trail to where it ended behind a fallen tree. What he found wasn’t much, but it was a tip of a shoe imprint. A Denny Dynamite shoe print.

  Clenching his fist in gratitude, Mick could clearly see other footprints through the foliage. They crunched the leaves, splashed in the mud. They weren’t big, they weren’t man size. He didn’t see any more of Tigger’s footprints, but Mick figured that if they were running, then Chris was carrying Tigger.

  By what he saw, Mick felt in his heart that the boys had taken off, they were on foot, and they were running.

  They weren’t that far ahead of him, and now he had a direction and a lead. He followed it.

  * * *

  Briggs made his second pass of the day into the small town of Damon. While he was able to receive radio signals at his base, Jon Wentworth was in Damon and that was who he needed to see.

  Briggs arrived in town. He didn’t drive; gas conservation was vital. He rode horseback. He didn’t need security, or a team. That was why he was confused by the intimidation that people projected. They merely nodded as he rode in and stepped from his way. Not that there were many Damon townspeople remaining, and a lot of those in town were part of his team.

  That would change. Damon, surrounded securely by a small mountain range, would serve as the capital in the newly governed post-flu world.

  Briggs tied his horse to the bicycle stand in front of the former Walgreen’s. The store had been emptied and organized, the windows painted black, and people were carrying items into the store.

  On the pole outside was a hand written flyer: “Register at the municipal building for distribution and work.”

  Those flyers were posted everywhere. They were stockpiling things nicely and a surviving economics professor from a local college was coming with a list of jobs that needed to be filled, and planning for future tasks. But the system was simple. All hours worked earned rations for the week. Everyone received the same rations, even Briggs himself. Extras like alcohol were given on a first come first serve basis, weekly. That was the plan. Of course, they were still in the early stages.

  Jon Wentworth wasn’t an economist, politician, or farmer. He was an everyday guy who had worked for a wireless telephone company as a tower technician.

  Briggs liked him. He was a reasonable man. Jon helped with radios and that was how Briggs learned of his skills.

  Jon now sat inside the former McDonald’s, sipping on a coffee when Briggs entered. Jon stood.

  Briggs joined him at the booth. “How’s it going?”

  “Pretty good.” The table was covered with papers. “I made radio contact and we should be getting towers one and three up. Those were your bounce points. Those were why we lost phones. It’ll give limited coverage to the New York, Pennsylvania and Ohio areas, but enough for now.”

  “Excellent job. Any idea why they went down?”

  “Tower three was damaged. We don’t know how that happened, possibly a storm.” Jon shrugged. “But once we get that up, I can network with the satellite to try to reach out to people all at once.”

  “You mean like those annoying little advertising text messages?” Briggs asked.

  Jon nodded. “I need to find people to expand the network.”

  “We
ll, we only need to concern ourselves about our farmland right now for spring. I need that. We need that. We need to link up communities for this to work.”

  “And what if they don’t want to link?” Jon asked.

  “They must. If they don’t, we’ll have pockets of resistance. Really. Let’s say … Damon doesn’t want to participate.” Briggs shook his head. “Okay, we exclude them, they run out of food. They can’t really farm here except private gardens. So …they go after food. Where? They’ll have to take from others.” Briggs looked at the young man. “You don’t seem convinced.”

  “It’s just that … people want to do their own thing. You’ll have that to deal with.”

  “We will, but unless they are one hundred percent self-sufficient — producing their own food, livestock, resources — they can’t survive without foraging. It’s the same thing the government would do, if we had one.”

  “I guess that makes sense. And I heard …” He trailed off.

  “What? What did you hear?”

  “My guy on tower three, the one from Ohio Minuteman? He said he thinks your group set fire to small town outside of Cleveland.”

  Briggs cocked back. “That’s ridiculous. Why would he say that?”

  “Your guys checked in with them on the way south to the warehouse, shortly after the fire broke out. Smoke could be seen as far as Cleveland. My guys saw it from the tower.”

  “And he thinks it was my men?”

  “Yes. Only because that was the direction they went. And he said your men had … attitude.”

  “Attitude? Really? That group hasn’t checked back in. I’ll look into it.” Briggs stood.

  “Thanks and keep an eye on your cell phone. You’ll be the first person I call.”

  Briggs shook Jon’s hand. “I look forward to it.”

  “Jonah?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve given your men free reign on getting supplies, gathering survivors, that’s a lot of power. You’re not going to be able to negotiate with pockets of survivors and towns and get them to join you if your men run amok. If they did set fire to the town, who knows what else they have done?”

  Briggs gave a jerky nod. “You sound convinced that I have them doing bad things.”

  “Maybe not on purpose.” Jon lowered his head and lifted his coffee. “You speak often about structure; maybe a structured set of rules for these salvaging patrols is needed.”

  “I gave them rules. They’re to get what they can find and pick up survivors. And most of all to protect themselves from those who try to harm them. I see no reason for them to deviate from that. What purpose would it serve to do harm?”

  “There’s no threat of law or punishment?”

  “We have law. They are the first arm of law.”

  Jon tightly closed his mouth and raised his eyebrows.

  “Do you know something else?”

  Jon shook his head. “Just gut instinct stemming from a lot of bad post-apocalypse books and movies.”

  “Acknowledged. I promise to look into it, but I highly doubt it is my men.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for your hard work.”

  Briggs shook his hand again and left. As he stepped into the sun, he saw one of his trucks pull slowly down the street. In the back were two women and a child. They had to be survivors that were picked up. The three of them were dirty, in disarray, and their faces had an unemotional glaze.

  Briggs locked eyes with one woman as she passed. She looked scared. Had something happened? Was she trying to convey a message to him?

  Briggs shifted his eyes to the men laughing in the cab of the truck. Such a contrast of demeanor from his men to the passengers. Immediately a sense of worry hit him. As the truck moved further away to the municipal building, Briggs shucked the worry and chalked it up to Wentworth’s words stirring his imagination.

  * * *

  Tigger had the coolest shoes and Chris came up with the idea after he saw the muddy footprint on the floor of the cabin.

  It took a little bit of time, but Chris hoped that it would work and keep him and the others safe and in the clear for a little longer.

  There was a small gravel road about fifty yards from the cabin. Chris saw that when they were running. A bigger road was farther away and was just on the other side of the lake.

  That main road led to a town. That was the one they would follow, not stay on it but off to the side. But before they went there, as quickly as they could, Chris and Tigger tromped hard and fast to the gravel road. Once they hit the road, Chris lifted Tigger into his arms, backtracked as carefully as he could in his own footsteps, then midway back, when he saw the opportunity and knew he wouldn’t leave a footprint, he took the biggest jump he ever had before.

  To him it was impressive, and it was far enough away from the trail of footprints he and Tigger left.

  Plus, he had left a clue for Mick by leaving Tigger’s footprint in the cabin. Only Mick would know what it meant. Chris felt confident, like he was doing his best thinking.

  After leaving the fake trail, they carefully walked in the brush and leaves back to the cabin, where Emmie and Jake waited. Once they were all together, they followed the wooded area around the lake until they were far enough away from the cabin where any footprints wouldn’t be seen.

  Chris was proud of his idea and was certain his false set of footprints would keep the bad guys away and on the wrong trail long enough for Chris and the others to gain some distance.

  8. A New Path

  As soon as Rose got back to Lodi, she wasted no time in grabbing Buzz, double checking the fuel on the bikes, and taking off on the 72 mile ride to the Minuteman headquarters.

  Unfortunately, their trip proved futile, because when they arrived the place was locked tight and no one was around. But there was a note on the door that simply read, ‘I’ll be back’. It wasn’t weather worn, but Rose didn’t know when that would be.

  She jotted a note of her own on the same piece of paper. She left her name, member number, and a landline number for her to be reached, along with a radio frequency. She asked that they please contact her and stated that it was urgent.

  Then she and Buzz returned to Lodi.

  She joined Tom at the clinic to deliver the news of her futile attempt.

  “I feel fucking useless,” Rose said.

  “You tried,” Tom said. “It’s a wait and see.”

  “How’s Dan?” Rose asked.

  At that moment, Tom pointed as Lars emerged from the back.

  “He’s resting peacefully,” Lars said. “Had two fractured ribs from the fall and a punctured lung. I had to insert a breathing tube, but that’s temporary and he’ll be fine. Do we know what happened in Wadsworth?”

  Tom shook his head. “No.”

  “Well, they must be heading east, because if they weren’t they would have been here by now.”

  Rose was about to ask her own question, when Buzz burst in the door, breathing hard.

  Buzz was a burly man and he had to catch his breath. “Lars, we need you in town. It’s an emergency. I’m heading to grab an ambulance from the EMT garage. Meet you there.”

  Without any further explanation, Buzz flew out.

  “What the hell?” Lars blurted, and raced for the door.

  Tom and Rose followed.

  * * *

  They had to drive in order to get there quickly. The Lodi Clinic was four blocks from the town center and when they arrived they saw the commotion. Buzz was already bringing the stretcher to a blue pickup truck.

  Lars rushed to the truck with Tom and Rose right on his heels. “What happened?”

  The man in his thirties, holding a baby, approached Lars. “Are you Lars? That big guy said he was getting Lars.”

  “I am and that child—”

  “I’m Ethan. Mick sent us, and he said you can help him.” Ethan handed Baby Doe to Lars. “My mom’s been shot, too. The bleeding slowed down a lot, but she’s real
weak.” He pointed to the stretcher as his mother was aided onto it by Buzz and another man. “Mick wasn’t as worried about her, but this little guy, he’s dehydrated, starving. We’ve been trying to give him fluids. He’s better than he was, trust me, but he’s still lethargic, if you can call it that in a baby.”

  “Whoa.” Lars stared down to the baby. “You just rattled off a whole list. Mick? Our Mick?”

  “Yes. He said to find you and tell you what happened.”

  “I have to get this baby and your mother to the clinic, these two will get you there and I’ll talk to you then,” Lars said.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Lars stepped away holding the child, and Tom moved forward.

  “What happened?” he asked Ethan.

  Rose added, “Mick sent you here?”

  “Yes and yes. I didn’t think I’d make it.” His eyes shifted back and forth between Rose and Tom. “I had a camp. Six adults, eight kids. Mick and I went to a neighboring town to see if there were any children left behind and my camp was hit and raided. My mom was shot, and at least two others were killed.”

  Rose’s hand shot to her mouth. “Where’s Mick?”

  “He stayed back. He had to.” Ethan hesitated. “His sons are missing.”

  * * *

  Mick located the small fishing cabin with relative ease. While the thicker foliage on the ground made footsteps nearly impossible to follow, the smell of the lake and sight of the cabin was welcoming.

  He hoped with all his heart that the boys were in that cabin. As he approached he saw the footprints in the mud outside the door.

  “Chris! Tigger!” Mick yelled and opened the door.

  It wasn’t locked and Mick’s head dropped when he stepped inside and saw the cabin was empty.

  He checked the cupboards and there was still food there. The boys didn’t take anything, why not? The single cot didn’t have bedding, but the pillow was covered in a case. That struck him as odd.