by Lynn Lamb
“We have one tent that will hold eight people,” said Adam, tentatively. I could tell that he was still concerned about how we saw him after we found out the information he was hiding from us. I nodded him on. If he was going to help us, he needed to know that we did not hold him responsible for keeping the secret. The truth was, I did blame him, but I wouldn’t let him know it. That would do no one any good.
Adam took my nod as a signal to continue. “That leaves us with eleven. We have eight tents that hold four people, so we have more than enough if everyone decides to come with us. Do we have a recent count on that?”
“No,” I answered. “But we are having a Village meeting tomorrow, and we will get one then. Do we have any other tents, ones that can hold more than eight people?”
“We have one of those massive ones,” answered Sampson. “We found it in one of the empty garages. I wonder why anyone would have needed something so big before.”
“Lots of reasons,” said Mark. “Maybe he belonged to a club and used it for events or weddings. It doesn’t really matter, though. What can we use it for?”
“After long days of driving, people are going to want to meet up, I am sure,” I said. “But I would like to use it for classes when we are stopped. I already have a few ideas for classes that we can hold in the RVs during travel. We are all going to need to know more about gardening for food. Charlotte, would you be able to teach a couple of times a day over the radio?”
“Knock, knock,” came a voice from behind the curtain.
“Enter,” I said, immediately recognizing the voice as Jackson’s.
“You called for assistance?” he asked.
“I need a list of assets from your party,” I said. “How long will it take you to get it together?”
“We have one, of course,” he said. “I’ll have Owens get it down here when he joins us tomorrow, if that is still your plan. He can bring it with him.”
“It is still the plan,” I said. “I assume he will have a back story.”
“Yes,” said Jackson. “Would you like me to tell it to you now?”
“No, let’s make it a surprise,” I said. I lowered my head purposefully and glanced at my papers to dismiss him. He looked around at the people longingly.
“Good-bye, Jackson,” I said.
“You love this, don’t you?” he asked.
“No, I really don’t. Would you all mind leaving us for a moment?” I asked everyone. They all looked uncomfortable with the exchange, and they happily left.
“So, we are doing this now?” I asked him. “You think you are going to give me a problem? You are the one who made this mess, you know.”
“What mess?” he said, rolling his eyes. “Everything is going as planned.”
“Oh my God, you idiot,” I yelled. “That’s exactly the problem. You planned, not us, and not the Village. You had plans to manipulate us into doing what you wanted. You fucking narcissist.”
His jaw dropped. “Language.”
“Oh, shut up you fucking liar,” I said.
“In my business, it’s not called lying or manipulating,” he said.
“What’s your business, Jackson? Huh? There is no more military. You are just one stupid egotist who has nothing and no one. That’s why you have to play all of the rest of us. I trusted you.”
Jackson looked so hurt. I actually felt badly for him. I don’t know why I am able to talk to him with such venom. I have never spoken to anyone like this before I met Jackson.
“You are not going to make it to the Valley without our help, Laura,” he said, quieter this time.
I gave him a long look, and he actually turned from it.
“I didn’t know you could blush,” I said.
His eyes turned from sad to boiling in a matter of seconds. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I am human, too. The military sure as hell didn’t teach us what to do after the world ended. I am doing the best I can.”
And with that, he left me.
“You are going to be the death of me,” I screamed after him for all to hear.
December 19
Sitting down and deciding what to take with us to the Valley was hard. We figured out that each family could put only one sixteen gallon plastic tub in one of the main moving trucks; the containers were the same ones that my family had stored our water in when we still had plumbing, all of those weeks ago.
I remember reading articles about the things that you would rescue if you only had minutes before you had to evacuate before your house was destroyed in a fire. Overwhelmingly, people chose their photo albums. Of course, that’s what my family decided to take in our plastic tub, as well.
Well, that and my wedding dress. Thankfully, my dress hadn’t been one of those big, poufy things. The slick satin did not take up much room. It had been “preserved” in a plastic, air tight bag that slipped in right on top of our photos. We were even able to find some of Bailey’s family albums to add to our box of memories.
Ammie and I placed all of our loose photos, CDs with pictures on them and albums into the container with our names written neatly, in permanent marker, on the lid. We laughed at the many crazy poses we made on family vacations. We blushed at our school photos and the funny hair-dos we donned in the past. We drank up each picture, internalizing and committing them to memory.
I am not sure if it was that Christmas was only a few days away, or that Christmas had always been such a family oriented time of year for us in the past, but those were the photos that gripped my heart the most. Photos of my grandmother, happily sipping away at a glass of wine, and Bri holding up her newest present for the camera to catch, brought me to tears, happy and sad ones. It is so funny how we would shop for just the right gift for our loved ones, when what really mattered in the end was the time we spent together, hamming it up for the camera, baking cookies, and trimming the tree. We told ourselves that these memories were important at the time, but we didn’t really understand; we couldn’t understand. We do now.
Mark cut down a small Monterey Pine for the living room, not the typical type of Christmas tree, but it did the trick. We decorated it with the ornaments that we still had from my childhood. I realized that, sadly, we were not going to be able to bring many of them with us. As we decorated, we talked about each one, again committing the past to memory. We had used some of our precious generator power to charge our camera and cell phones so that we could take more photos. We posed, all smiles, with our favorite ornaments.
Mrs. Ingram was much more quiet than usual. I wondered if our reflections on better times had made her sad. I wheeled her into a private corner of the kitchen to ask her if she was alright.
“I have something to tell you,” she said. It was one of those comments that automatically sent bile up the back of my throat. Maybe it was her tone, or the look in her eyes, but I knew it would not be good.
I braced myself for her to continue. “I am not going with you to the Valley, dear,” she told me. “I am staying here in the Village.”
“But why?” was all that I could eke out.
“I would be too much of a burden,” she began. I tried to interrupt, but she stopped me before I could.
“No, Laura. My mind is made up. I know that I don’t have much longer. Jackson’s taking me up to the hospital the day after Christmas. I will stay there with the medical staff that is staying behind. They will take good care of me until it’s my time. I know it is coming soon.”
I began to sob and could not speak.
“Dear, sweet Laura, please don’t cry. I am ready. I have seen and done all that I was meant to do here on earth. It’s time for me to go to my husband, now. He has been waiting. I am not afraid of what comes next.”
I am ashamed to admit that I have never really felt like there was a “next.” I often wished and hoped for some kind of faith, especially after the Last War.
I wiped away my tears and sniffled. “I understand,” I told her. And the truth was, I did unders
tand. What was coming was going to be physically brutal on all of us, but more so for someone confined to a wheelchair.
“I know that they will take good care of you in the hospital,” I told her.
This was just one more loss for all of us.
∞
I went to the “bathroom” and washed my face with the towel from the bucket of water that sat next to the sink. Then I returned to the warm living room, sat in front of the roaring fire and watched my family as they laughed and played around the Christmas tree.
Bailey got the biggest kick out of our family’s legendary bad voices as we attempted to sing Christmas carols. Annie’s joke that we should go around and sing Christmas carols ended up being taken seriously.
I kissed Mrs. Ingram on the cheek, got Bailey snuggled up in her warmest clothing, and we all hit the road.
First, we stopped in front of Jill’s house. She came out, wrapped in a blanket with Holly trailing behind her. The two had bonded in the tragic loss of their spouses. They listened to our sad version of O’Holy Night. It made everyone laugh when Mark, who had no idea what the words were, joined in, making up his own words as he went. Not only did we have no voices, we now had a cacophony of mashed-up words. It was beautiful, though, because it made Jill and Holly smile.
“Just wait,” said Jill. “We will get our coats and come with you.”
As we went from occupied house to occupied house, something straight out of one of those Christmas movie specials happened. The residents of every house came out to join us on our journey through the Monte Vista Village. If it had been a movie, the obvious lesson to our tale would have been: no matter where you are or what the circumstances, all you need is your loved ones to make a Christmas Miracle.
Our large group made its way to the ballroom, and as I watched everyone filter in with candles and lanterns, I noticed a most shocking addition to our party, Steven Rolette. He was accompanied by Tiffany O’Malley, who lost her husband and two sons to the Sneaker Wave just days ago. They were seen together often now. I was worried that he was taking advantage of her grief, but tonight was not the time to try and solve that problem.
When everyone was in the hall, we sang Silent Night, and it was chilling with all of the voices mixed together. It was the single loveliest version of the song I have ever heard because of the tidal wave of emotions it brought forth. Tears glistened in every eye in sight.
When we finished, Reverend John stepped on to the stage and silence filled the room. When he spoke, his voice hit us all. “Thank you, thank you, all,” he said. We waited while he composed himself. “This was a most unexpected gift. This is the first Christmas without many of our loved ones, for each and every one of us. I must admit, after losing my wife, my faith has been shaken. But now, standing here with all of you, I feel God with me, in me. Thank you, all. Everyone in this room is truly family.”
I felt jealous of his regained faith.
I decided it was time to ask the ultimate question, so I mounted the stage and spoke. “My dear friends, I also would like to thank you for tonight. We had no idea when we started that this beautiful gathering would be the result.”
There was a polite applause. I took a breath, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst when I continued. “Friends, we need a count of people who will be joining us on our journey to Carmel Valley. Would everyone planning on going to the Valley please raise your hand?”
I closed my eyes for several seconds. When I opened my eyes, I found fifty people standing silently, with hands raised. Everyone in the room would be making the trek. Mrs. Ingram, who had not accompanied us for Christmas caroling, was the only person we would be leaving behind.
Most surprising was that Steven and Tiffany, now the only two members of God’s Warriors, would be coming with us. I was glad about Tiffany, but I had some real mixed feelings about Steven.
December 20
The snow was coming down steadily this morning. I am leery of the weather conditions, and certainly hope that it does not continue for long; however, the Council has discussed this and we will go, snow, rain, or the much more unlikely scenario of shine.
The planning stage of our journey continued today. Something that I have been concerned about is fuel for all of our vehicles. We are going to need a whole lot of it to get ourselves out there. Ammie has worked the numbers, and we should make it there with all of our vehicles, with gas to spare, using Jackson’s tanker which holds almost 10,000 gallons of gas. I guess that’s minus the amount Jackson has used to power his little operation.
Adam has chosen two members of his Out-bound team to retrieve the gas tanker in Salinas; the one he told us he had hidden away. Courtney and Gary will get the tanker and take a route to the Grade that will take roughly the same amount of time to get there as we will. They have a ham radio, and we will keep in contact with them from the RV that will house a small communications center.
I must admit that Adam, Bri and Ammie have been godsends when it comes to the transportation and planning of the on-the-road aspect of this trip. Because there is no longer a “Carmel Valley Road,” which was the main artery from the Valley to the Monterey Peninsula, we will be going on a route that Adam and other travelers have blazed.
Getting an oil tanker through the forested hillside is going to be huge challenge. Mark is working on a plan to cut down trees when need be. It entails the strength and perseverance of many of the able-bodied people in the Village, several chain saws, a tow truck, and the tractor that will be pulled along by one of the trucks.
For anyone wondering, this is no vacation we are planning for.
The good news is that we have all of the sleeping arrangements made. Annie, Charlotte and Billy will all sleep in RVs. That was one of my first priorities, as they are now the oldest Villagers. Mark and I will be in a tent with Bailey, Ammie and the dog. Hershey is the only pet in the Village, and he now belongs to everyone. No one would even think to leave him behind. All life is too precious now.
There are bathrooms and showers in all of the RVs, so we should be able to keep up some hygiene practices.
We have decided to use the biggest tent for meetings and social gatherings. We will need to extend it using some of our white tarps so we will all fit. I am hoping that this will help with morale.
Now, I must make a confession. I have never even been camping before. And now I will be camping for weeks in bitter cold conditions.
I have trepidations about this whole trip. Mark told me that he does not expect everyone to make it to our final destination alive. I think he told me this to prepare me, but it must not come to pass. We are down to so few Villagers now. It would be devastating to lose even one more person.
I feel that we have made some progress in our planning, but there is so much more left to do.
I have been wondering one thing; will Jackson and his trio have our backs in emergencies? I wish I could answer this with some certainty.
December 21
Today was Curtis Owens’ big entrance into our community. What a farce.
He came to our gates about eight thirty in the morning, perfect timing for everyone to be up and working. Wow, it was almost as if he had some inside information.
I was in my curtain lined office when I got the call that someone was at the wall, asking for refuge— feign surprise.
Mark came to escort me there, and we opened our gates to the “stranger” claiming to have made it to us from Boise, Idaho. They changed his story up a bit, maybe to make it look like Mark and I were more surprised, or maybe it just made more sense given the proximity of Idaho was closer to California than Montana. Who knows? Why am I wasting my time trying to figure it out?
Owens looked so different in his dirty jeans and ripped parka. He looked like one of us, actually. I wondered how they had made his hair so greasy. Maybe they put some olive oil in it. Somehow, he even looked thinner out of his uniform. They probably put him in clothes that were two sizes too big for him. Ugh, there I g
o obsessing about it again. Whatever they did, he looked the part.
Samantha, Carrie and Tabitha were all nearby, so I introduced our newest refugee to them. They had no reason to question the validity of his story and welcomed him full-heartedly. Tabitha even pulled me aside to tell me how cute he was. Everything in me wanted to warn her, tell her that he was a liar and could not be trusted, but the Council had made its decision.
I couldn’t go against their vote, could I?
December 23
Doc Malcolm gave Owens a thorough checkup, and he went into quarantine for several days. I hoped that no one noticed that it was one day earlier than most when he got out of the Hotel, because if they did, I would have to be the one to make up a lie for it. I am a terrible liar.
During our supper that evening, everyone gathered around to hear the harrowing story of how this poor, lone soul trekked across the broken landscape by car and then motorcycle, to finally come to our walls.
I wanted to scream that his man had probably been the only one of us to start his morning off with a hot shower and a large, hot breakfast every day since the war. What a con artist.
Jackson sat back, and he just observed as the Villagers asked questions that Owens could not possibly know the answers to, right? Or, maybe the military had contacts across the country. All I could do was to speculate.
I noticed Tabitha was dressed nicely, and she was wearing make-up; not her usual MO.
“Did you find other groups like us out there?” asked Tabitha, practically drooling.
“Actually, there are,” said Owens, deceitfully or not. “Some are like you, getting by pretty well. Others are struggling. Many of the groups told me that their numbers have dropped a lot because of starvation and disease.”
“We have lost a lot here, too,” said Tabitha. “I am a physician’s assistant here in the Village. That’s what we call our group of survivors, ‘Villagers.’ Kinda lame, I know.”
