by JEFF MOTES
I guess I’ve waited long enough. I close the trunk, lock the doors from the inside, then lock the driver’s door with the key. Placing the bag strap over my shoulder and the golf club in hand, I start out at a brisk walk with a whispered prayer: Lord, please keep me safe and protect my family, Amen.
After walking a little over an hour I come across a teenage girl and a small child sitting next to a stalled car. They both look haggard. The baby can’t be much more than a year old.
“Sir, can you spare some water for my baby?” the girl asks when she sees me.
I think of my own situation. I've already drunk the half bottle of water and eaten the Snickers. All that remains is the one bottle of water and the peanut butter crackers. I’m pretty thirsty myself and it is far to the next exit. I’ve been saving this last bottle for later. I see a narrow creek going under the interstate. The water is so nasty. I look at the girl then at the baby. Both are in obvious distress. I think about my own wife and son back home. Will I ever see them again? I’m a compassionate person and my heart is hurting for this girl and her child. I go to church every Sunday and sing in the choir. My wife teaches Sunday School. I drop to one knee and offer the girl my bottle of water.
“This is the only bottle I have, how about we drink half of it?” She smiles and reaches for the bottle. That’s when I hear the engine. Standing quickly, I glance around. Yes! Help is on its way! Coming from the east are two motorcycles. The two men stop when they reach where we are.
“Good morning,” one says. “Looks like you folks are having a hard time of it. Is that your daughter and grandbaby?”
“No, we just met,” I reply. “But yes, we are having a hard time. Could we ride with you guys to the next exit?” Both guys get off their bikes and walk closer. The first guy speaks again, “Well, I don’t know. Let me think…”
Then I see a flash and something slams against my head. I fall to my knees. Stars are forming in my vision as something heavy hits me hard on my back and I fall on my face. The girl screams frantically as my mind fades to black.
***
I’m having a dream. Or is it a nightmare? It’s dark and I’m home in bed. Melissa is next to me sound asleep. Someone is trying to beat the door in. I need to get up and get my pistol. Moving to the closet, I reach for the lock box on the top shelf. For some reason I can’t remember the combination so I go to get the keys. Where are the keys? Yes, I remember now. I had the keys at the car on the interstate.
The interstate?
The pounding sound at the door gradually gives way to an intense pounding pain in my head. The pain brings me back to reality. I’m not in my bed. My eyes start to open. Things are spinning, yet it’s clear enough for me to see I’m face down on the pavement of the highway. The baby is wailing somewhere nearby. My eyes gradually focus and I sit up. Touching my head, I feel caked blood and a long gash. There is blood in my mouth. The pain in my back and head is intense. Turning toward the wailing baby I see the young mother is gone, as are the bikers. I get to my knees and crawl to the child. Despite the pain, I try to comfort the baby, but the loud crying continues. My water bottle is gone, as is my pack of crackers. My head hurts so bad! The crying of the baby is only making it worse. I must be going into shock.
Water, I need water.
Remembering the little creek, I tentatively rise on wobbly legs. Walking down the shoulder of the road I fall twice before reaching the fence blocking my way, but there is just enough room between the last fence post and the concrete culvert to squeeze though.
Making it to the creek, I stumble in. The cold water jerks me to momentary alertness. I rinse my mouth out and drink deeply of the water. It tastes horrible. It’s a taste impossible to describe, but I have to have water. Thinking of the crying child, I pick up some discarded empty water bottles from the ground. I fill three with water—not realizing that when the electricity went off, it shut down all the sewer lift stations. The lift station a mile up the creek overflowed because the pumps didn't work. Raw sewage has been flowing into the creek since midnight. Getting back up on shaky legs I start back for the baby. I slip and fall, hitting my throbbing head and pass out again.
***
Sometime later, I regain consciousness. My legs are too wobbly to stand, so I crawl to the fence and manage to squeeze back through and crawl back over to the crying baby. That’s when I see the woman, or rather, the very young mother. She is naked. Her body shows signs of abuse and her neck is twisted at an odd angle. She is dead. I want to cry, but my head hurts too bad. I crawl around to the road side of the car. The cries from the baby are only a whimper now. He must have cried all he can. Opening one of the bottles of water, I hold it to the child’s lips. He drinks the water along with the bacteria from the contaminated raw sewage that has spilled into the creek. I keep giving him water until he can’t drink any more, then he settles in my arms and closes his eyes. I’m severely injured, how bad I don’t know. I can’t continue. I sit there, resting and holding the baby.
Although I don’t yet know it, the consequences are going to be severe. The bacteria the baby and I have ingested will, in a few hours, cause uncontrollable diarrhea, further dehydrating our already dehydrated bodies. Unless we receive help soon, we will both be dead within forty-eight hours.
My eyes close and I think of Melissa and our son, hoping they are going to be okay. If I had only brought my pistol and maybe packed a few supplies, I might have made it home. Realization is sinking in. I’m never going to see my family again. They aren’t going to even know what has happened to me. The baby’s wailing has stopped and I fall asleep leaning against the car.
***
Someone is shaking my shoulders. I open my eyes only a crack.
“Mister,” a young woman says. “Hey, mister.”
I’m unable to speak.
Then a man’s voice, “His head is busted open. There’s nothing we can do for him. I can’t carry him and we only have one bottle of water left.”
“But the baby,” the woman insists. “We must help the baby.”
The child is lifted from my arms. I’m still unable to move or respond. The car door opens.
“Here’s the diaper bag,” the man says. “Change his diaper. It’s overflowing.”
The baby is crying and the man kneels down in front of me and shakes his head. I can see him, but I’m too weak to speak. “Mister, I can’t carry you. We’re going to take your baby with us to the next exit. I will send some help if I can. I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. I’m going to check your ID so I’ll know how to get the baby back to you or your family. I’m not robbing you.” He reaches for my back pocket, then checks my other pockets. “I can’t find any ID. Can you tell me who you are and where you family is?”
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I hear him, yet I’m unable to respond.
He pats me on the shoulder, stands, and says, “I’m sorry, mister.”
The last sounds I hear are their footsteps on the highway as they walk away.
Chapter 5
Jill
A Long, Slow Walk
Day 1
“We need to stop,” Mary says.
We’re making our tenth stop since starting down the interstate. We’ve gone a little over four miles in four hours. This is killing me. I want to make some progress down the road! Yet I don’t want to leave Mary and the children by themselves. At this rate, we might not even make it to Mary’s house before dark. That would not be good. It’s 3:30 p.m., and there’s another mile to the exit, then another three to Mary’s house. The math is obvious: One mile per hour, four miles to go – four more hours. That’s if the kids and Mary can hang on.
Mandre is 6 years old and Lucy is 5. They can’t walk very fast or very far at a time. Mary is having to carry one at all times. I can’t carry the pack and one of the kids. I tried, I just can’t do it, so we’re down to the walking speed of a child.
I open my pack and pull out a bottle of water. I started with eight and
am down to four bottles. Opening the bottle, I take a drink then pass the bottle to Mary. She gives each of her girls a drink, then takes a drink herself and passes the bottle back. The bottle is mostly empty when I put it back in my pack.
I see college age guys and gals approaching. Instinctively I stand up, not wanting to be sitting when they come by. They are coming from the other side of the lanes. When they get near, one of the guys calls, “Hey, have you got any water you can spare?”
I think about the few bottles in my pack and reply, “No, sorry.”
“We saw you drinking water and we saw you put the bottle back in your pack,” the guy says. “Come on, we’re really thirsty.”
“We don’t have enough for ourselves and can’t spare any. Sorry.”
Agitated, he steps closer. I draw my Glock, not pointing it at him but making it clearly visible. “We don’t have any spare water!” I say firmly.
The guy stops, raises his hands, and backs away. “Okay, no problem.” He rejoins his group and they walk away. He turns and hollers, “Bitch!”
I remain standing until they are far enough down the road.
“Why didn’t you give him a bottle of water?” Mary asks.
I glare at Mary. Her question annoys me immensely.
“Mary, we have three bottles of water left. We’ve already drunk five bottles and we’re only about halfway to your house. Do you want to make it home or not?”
Mary sheepishly says, “Yeah, I do. Sorry.”
I consider Mary for a few moments. I feel sorry for her. Out on the road with two children and absolutely no supplies. I can’t help but shake my head a little. Mary must be one of what my dad called “sheeple.” People who are totally dependent upon others and go wherever life takes them, never considering it might be taking them to the slaughterhouse.
“Mary, I’ve been wondering, with your husband being a police officer, why didn’t you have any supplies in your car?”
Mary hangs her head and sniffles. “That’s what our big fight was about yesterday. You see, I just got my car the day before yesterday. It’s a used car, but almost new. We unloaded my supplies from the old car and left them in the garage so we could trade the car in. It was late when we got back in, so we didn’t load them back up. Yesterday morning, Bruce insisted I load the supplies up before I went anywhere. I told him I was a big girl and didn’t need him telling me what to do and the argument got out of hand. I left the supplies in the garage just to spite him.”
I shake my head again. Pride certainly does goeth before the fall. “Well,” I say, “that makes no difference now. We have to keep moving if we’re going to make it to your place before dark.”
I shoulder my pack, say a short prayer, and start walking again. Mary gathers the children and carries Lucy while Mandre walks. It’s a slow go. A very slow go.
Chapter 6
Jill
The End of a Long Day
Day 1
I step onto the off ramp at the interstate exit. Pausing briefly, I whisper, “Thank You, Jesus. Thank You!” It's 5:00. It's taken over an hour and a half to go the last mile to the exit. Mary and the girls are clearly in physical distress. I’m worrying about them. Heck, I’m suffering from the heat and sun too.
They’re red from sun exposure. I gave them some sunscreen after our first stop earlier in the day, but they had already been out in the open for hours before I came upon them. I pull the last water bottle from my bag and give them each a drink. This is it, except for the stainless steel bottle in its carrier. If we get into that bottle before I find more water, we’re going to be in trouble. I look over at Mary and the kids. I don't know if they can go another three miles. I send a voiceless prayer: Lord, please provide.
We start walking again. Just past the bottom of the ramp is a large Pilot station. Across from it is a Kangaroo station. Both are filled with stalled cars and lots of people milling around.
“Do you think we could go in and buy some water?” Mary asks.
“There is no way on God's green Earth I'll go into that crowd,” I state.
We keep walking. On the left past the Pilot station is a Walmart Super Center. The parking lot is over half full of stalled cars and there is a large crowd near the front of the store. Angry shouts and raised voices come from the front of the store, though it isn’t clear what they are saying. We move to the other side of the highway, putting distance between ourselves and the crowd. I glance back over at Walmart and that’s when I spot an overturned shopping cart at the back of the parking lot. An idea pops in my head.
“Mary, wait here. I’ll be right back.”
I move swiftly back across the road and toward the shopping cart, stand it upright, and check the wheels. Everything seems to be working. With some difficulty, I manage to get it across the grass and ditch back to the road. Once on the pavement, the wheels turn smoothly.
“Thank You, Jesus!”
I take my pack off and place it in the basket. Mary picks Mandre up and places her in the cart, then does the same for Lucy. I start pushing the cart down the road thanking God, since we’re able to walk at a more normal pace.
We turn right off the main highway onto another road. Only two more miles! A lot more people are moving about. None approach or try to talk to us. Up ahead, is a mom and pop type gas-convenience station. The door is open and a few people are walking around.
“Let's try this place,” I tell Mary.
When I walk in, the clerk, a Pakistani, immediately says “Cash only.”
Mary walks in with the cart and says, “I have a debit card.”
The man pulls a pistol from under the counter and lays it on top. “Cash Only! And leave that cart outside.” Mary's eyes grow wide.
“Okay, no problem,” I say quickly. “I have cash.” I pull my emergency cash from my pocket for the clerk to see.
“Okay, but the cart must go outside.”
“Mary, take the cart outside and wait for me next to the door,” I instruct. “It'll be all right and I won't be long.”
Mary takes the cart outside and waits by the door. The store appears to be sold out of most everything. I pick up the remaining bag of beef jerky, a bottle of peanuts, three candy bars, and a gallon of water. At the front counter, I lay the items down for the clerk. He has put the pistol back up.
Using a pencil and a scrap piece of paper, he adds the items up and says, “Fifty dollars.”
I gasp. “Fifty dollars!”
“Take it or leave it. It doesn't matter to me. Tomorrow it will be one hundred dollars.”
I only have one hundred dollars, but we need the supplies. I give him two twenties and a ten. He puts the items in a bag. On the counter, I see a folding Alabama highway map. It’s got to have more detail than the one I have. I pick it up and place it on the counter.
The clerk has an annoyed expression on his face. “Twenty dollars.”
I don’t argue and hand him a twenty-dollar bill. I have spent seventy of my hundred-dollar emergency money. I gather the supplies and return outside. Placing the items in the cart, I say, “Let's go.”
Thanks to the cart, we’re finally able to make some good time walking. We cover the remaining two miles to Mary's house in an hour. Mandre and Lucy are asleep in the cart as we walk into Mary's drive. When I see a man sitting on the steps of the porch, I stop abruptly. His head is in his hands as if he is crying or praying.
“Bruce!” Mary cries and takes off running toward her husband, sobbing loudly. The man looks up in surprise, then jumps to his feet and runs to embrace his wife. They are both crying. I can't tell what they’re saying. The scene is emotionally moving. I stand there, fighting back tears and holding the cart with the sleeping children. After a few minutes, Bruce and Mary release each other and walk toward me.
Bruce glances at his sleeping children, then at me and says, “Thank you,” grabbing me in a strong embrace. His tears begin again. “Thank you!” He wipes his tears and says, “Let's go inside.”
> I’m so tired and my feet hurt. I’m sweaty and know I must smell bad.
“Let me show you to the guest room,” Mary says, and I grunt in relief. I lug my pack and follow her up the stairs.
Entering the room, Mary gestures to the attached bathroom. “Bruce says the water is still on. Help yourself. I'll go find a candle. Wait, are you hungry? Bruce can fix something, I'm sure.”
I am hungry, yet I’m more tired. “No, not really. I'm so tired. If you don't mind, I'm going to clean up and sleep.”
“Make yourself at home,” Mary says warmly. “We can talk in the morning.” She hugs me tightly. “Thank you, Jill. Thank you. If you had not helped us today, my children and I would be dead. You saved our lives. Thank you!” She lets go and walks away before I can say anything.
It's almost too dark to see in the bathroom. I fumble with the lavatory and wash my face. It feels so good.
I hear Mary say, “The candle is on the dresser.”
I step into the bedroom and light the candle with the lighter Mary left. There is a soothing glow of light. I close and lock the bedroom door, then take the candle and return to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, I remove my shoes. Oh, that feels so good! My feet have been so hot. I finish undressing, grab a washcloth, and move to the shower. Turning it on, I feel the warm water. Yes, this is going to be nice. I bathe and enjoy the pulsing of the water hitting my tired and sore body. When finished, I grab my undies, socks, and bra, and wash them. These I hang on the towel rack. I then wash my pants and shirt, hanging them on the shower rod to dry.
