Bonnie Jean, a woman with a baby girl that wandered onto our place five years ago is in there with them. Bonnie Jean was a hard worker. After she showed up, she made herself so useful that there was never a question about her having a place with us.
Little Billie’s inside the root cellar too. Little Billie is a nickname. Billie was anything but little. Big man, short on brains, but big on kindness. A gentle giant as long as you didn’t mess with those he loved.
Billie could crush a man’s head with his bare hands. I’m stating a fact. I saw him do it. Fifteen years ago, we hunted down a gang of looters and rapists that wandered into our territory.
That gang, better organized than most of the trash that roam the roads looking to scavenge and rob from others rather than work the soil themselves, had well hidden guards posted on the night we raided them.
One of the guards spotted us sneaking up and sounded the alarm. Before we knew it, we were in hand-to-hand combat with the gang. A fat man sporting a hat made from the skin of a domestic calico cat had Little Billy in a bear hug. By then we had the rest of the gang subdued, dead, and we all saw Little Billy put a hand on each side of the man’s head and squeeze.
Man, what a gruesome sight that was, Billie’s hands pressing on the cat skin, his face close to the cat’s head still attached to the front of the hat, the tail hanging down from the back, Billie’s arms bulging. I saw blood spurt from the man’s nose. Billie squeezed harder and the man’s eyes popped out just before his skull fully collapsed.
Yep, that was a bad night. If I were to shave the right side of my head, you’d see a grid of burn scars caused by the metal from a shopping cart the gang was using as a fire grate. Before I could get into a position to snap his neck, the guy I tussled with, a squirmy, twisting, wiry fellow ten years my junior, rolled us right across their damn campfire.
I laid another smoothed board on the stack beside my workbenches and slid a rough one from the pile on the wagon. Thinking, only ten more to go, I wiped sweat from my face and eyes with a rag, picked up my plane and set to work. I wiped, but drops like tears still run down my face and drip onto the board. Damned drops like tears. I wiped my eyes again, made my first cut on the new board, and drifted back into the past.
IN THE PAST
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
JUNE 2023
After Nora left, Nash sat at the table eating the remains of his pizza, thinking about the news she had given him. He took the plates and pizza tray into the kitchen, washed his hands and then went into the spare bedroom he’d dedicated as his office. At his desk, he woke his laptop from sleep and connected to the internet.
His first online stop was at Wikipedia for the symptoms of Ebola. He copied them to his desktop and then edited the results for what he considered pertinent.
The length of time between exposure to the virus and the development of symptoms (incubation period) is between 2 and 21 days, and usually between 4 to 10 days
Symptoms usually begin with a sudden influenza-like stage characterized by feeling tired, fever, weakness, decreased appetite, muscular pain, joint pain, headache, and sore throat. The fever is usually higher than 101 °F. This is often followed by vomiting, diarrhea and abdominal pain. Next, shortness of breath and chest pain may occur, along with swelling, headaches and confusion. In about half of the cases, the skin may develop a maculopapular rash, a flat red area covered with small bumps; 5 to 7 days after symptoms begin.
Internal and external bleeding may occur five to seven days after the first symptoms. Infected people show some decreased blood clotting. Bleeding from mucous membranes has been reported in 40–50 percent of cases. This may cause vomiting blood, coughing up of blood, or blood in stool. Bleeding into the skin and bleeding into the whites of the eyes may also occur.
Recovery may begin between 7 and 14 days after first symptoms. Death, if it occurs, follows typically 6 to 16 days from first symptoms and is often due to low blood pressure from fluid loss. People are often in a coma near the end of life. Those who survive develop antibodies against Ebola that last at least 10 years, but it is unclear if they are immune to repeated infections. If someone recovers from Ebola, they can no longer transmit the disease.
Ebola disease spreads only by direct contact with the blood or body fluids of a person who has developed symptoms of the disease. Body fluids that may contain Ebola viruses include saliva, mucus, vomit, feces, sweat, tears, breast milk, urine and semen. The virus is able to survive on objects for a few hours in a dried state, and can survive for a few days within body fluids outside of a person. Dead bodies remain infectious.
Nash finished editing and then rocked back in his chair to consider the subject. Uninvited images of Ebola stricken Africans caused an involuntary shudder to course his body.
He reached for his phone beside the laptop. He considered himself a loner, but did hang with two groups of people. One of these groups, informally known as the ‘Bingers’ met every Saturday morning at a Starbucks located in an area of Atlanta known as ‘Midtown’. The Bingers; himself, Mary Scott, Walter Medea, Barney Smith and Jill Barkley, all young, highly successful entrepreneurs in the computer field, were at heart, geeks. They coined the name ‘Bingers’ for themselves due to the amount of coffee they consumed while discussing, (more often arguing) the merits of the newest game or computer application.
The other group was a loose coalition of six bike riders that met sporadically to travel to locations that would test the limits of their dirt-biking skills. Besides him, Brit Detler, Matt Braxton and Jimmy Klein were the only regulars that could be depended on to always show up for the ride. Two other riders sometimes joined them, but those three were his clique.
Jill Barkley was first on his list to contact. Like him, she worked from home. She answered his call on the second ring.
“What’s up, Nash?”
“Big trouble is what’s up. Listen, you’re always cruising the web for health news. You heard any chatter about Ebola?”
“Nope, nothing new on that front, but the avian flu is infecting birds in France. They’re afraid it will get to their poultry farms. If it does, it’ll wipe out what’s left of their industry. Last year’s bout nearly did em in.”
Nash shook his head with impatience and interrupted her. “I’m only interested in news about Ebola. Jill, this is important. You know me. I’m not big on panic, but I need you to do this. Call Mary, Walter and Barney. Tell them we have an emergency meeting at Starbucks at two. After you call them, spend the interim time searching the web for anything new concerning Ebola, especially anything concerning the country of Zaire.
Jill wasn’t the sort to waste time. “If you’re calling an emergency meeting about Ebola then it has to be because you know or suspect something bad is about to happen. Do I need to alert my stepparents, friends?”
Nash considered telling her what his sister had told him, but decided not to. After all, he had no proof except for the secondhand information she’d given him. “Let’s have the meeting and then we can decide who to tell what.”
Before he ended the call with Jill, he told her that some people outside of the Bingers would likely be joining them at Starbucks.
Nash’s next call was to Brit Detler. Brit’s phone rang several times and then went to voicemail. Nash was in the midst of leaving a message asking for a return call when his phone chimed and his display showed Brit was calling.
“Hey Nash, my phone wasn’t near me.”
“Brit, glad you called back. Listen, this is very important. I need to meet with you and the rest of our crew today; Starbucks in midtown at two.”
“No can do. I’m off work today but I promised my mother I’d repair her dryer. I’ve already put her off twice.”
“You’ll have to make it a third time. I mean it. Look, I received some news—crucial info. You remember our overnight ride and camp last month. Remember how we all got into a discussion about what to do if the shit ever hit the fan, you know; an apocalyptic event.”
Nash heard Brit snort and then say, “Come on man, I’m not going to blow my mom off because you have a feeling something catastrophic is about to happen.”
“Suit yourself. I don’t have time to convince you to meet up. I have to call the rest of the guys and after that I have some other preparations to take care of.”
The conversation paused and then Brit said, “Is something serious about to happen?”
“Yes. I have an inside scoop and believe me, what’s coming down is scary.”
Brit said, “Okay, you’re a straight shooter. I’ll be there, but if I piss off my mother for no good reason, I’m whipping your ass.”
Nash laughed and said, “Better bring an army with you. You know I’m the toughest man alive.”
Brit laughed in turn, “Right, all one hundred fifty pounds of you. All I need with me is my leaf blower. I’ll be there; Midtown Starbucks at… you said, two?”
“Yep, Starbucks at two.”
With the exception of Jimmy Klein, the other guys were at their respective jobs. As with Brit, Nash ran into resistance getting them to agree to a meet on such short notice, but he assured them that the meeting concerned a life or death situation and was able to convince them to meet with him at Starbucks. He left a voice message and a text message for Jimmy.
His phone showed ten-thirty, time enough before the scheduled meeting to get a few things accomplished, Shoving his phone into his pocket, he went to his bedroom for his wallet, grabbing a checkbook at the same time. Leaving his apartment community, driving faster than normal, he made a beeline to Roswell Road, a nearby main thoroughfare. Soon afterward, he pulled into the parking lot of a business that sold utility trailers. The salesman was very knowledgeable and showed him several trailers suited for hauling behind his Jeep.
Nash chose a medium sized covered trailer that seemed more streamlined than the other models shown. The manager of the lot wouldn’t let the trailer go with a personal check. He said it would have to clear first. He did accept a debit payment for a little over thirty eight hundred. At twelve-thirty, Nash left the lot with his trailer in tow.
His next stop was a major sporting goods outlet. Rushing through the isles, he managed to fill five shopping carts with camping gear and food. The food items were mostly energy bars, nuts, trail mix and dehydrated meals.
He ran into slow traffic on the southbound toll road that gave access to Midtown. The congestion caused him to be ten minutes late for the meeting. Entering the coffeehouse, he saw Jill and the rest of the Bingers at a table. Brit and the bikers were at another. Nash saw that Jimmy had received the message he’d left for him and was there.
The coffeehouse wasn’t busy. Aside from the people meeting him, there were only three other patrons. Nash waved greeting to both tables, saw that the bikers table offered more privacy and veered toward it, motioning for the Bingers to join him.
Arriving at the table, he enlisted Brit’s help moving an adjacent table to theirs in order to have room for everyone. As they were moving the table Brit said, “We were talking. Just know you’re going to catch it from us if this is some sort of fool’s game you’re playing.”
Jill, leading the pack of Bingers heard the comment. “I don’t think he’s got us here on a fool’s game. After Nash called, I did some checking. Something is going on in Zaire. The United Nations, in conjunction with the states surrounding the Republic is enforcing a total embargo. The DRC is completely isolated with armed guards and checkpoints at the border and all flights cancelled. They are allowing no one in or out. You’re correct about an Ebola outbreak, but as far as it having mutated,there isn’t a word. By the way, Nash, Zaire is now known as the Democratic Republic of the Congo”
Nash pointed to a chair at the newly arranged tables and motioned for her to sit. He grabbed a chair for himself and introduced the members of the two groups to each other.
Jimmy waited for the introductions to be finished and then said, “Nash, you’d better hope the shit is really about to hit the fan. I caught hell from my boss leaving early like I did.” Jimmy was a mechanic at a Toyota dealership.
Nash responded, “Let’s hope I am wrong, but listen to this.” He repeated the information about the Ebola outbreak in the DRC and the fact that many people, doctors and military personnel suffered exposure to the new, very deadly form of the virus and from them it was spreading in their respective countries.
“Holy shit!” Brit looked toward Jill, “You said you found confirmation about this on the web?”
“Not about it having mutated to vectoring with a sneeze or cough, but yes, essentially what Nash is saying is correct and I have no reason to doubt his sister’s warning.”
Walter Medea, sitting across the table from Nash, raised his hand to speak. “So what are we here for? You could have told us this on the phone. I delayed three service calls to come to this meeting.” Walter ran his own appliance repair company. Company was too big a word for his enterprise since he was the only employee, but he did quite well for himself.
Nash said, “Walter, if I had told you on the phone, there is a strong possibility you would have blown the warning off as simply a crackpot talking nonsense. My sister is the sanest person I know. If she says the shit’s about to hit the fan, you’d better believe the stink is coming.
“Look, I consider everyone at sitting at these tables to be my friend. People, this is serious. I felt it my duty to pass the warning so you all can get a head start. When the President makes an official announcement there’s going to be a rush on the stores. If martial law is declared, it may become impossible to travel freely.
“I’ve already done a lot of shopping, but as soon as I leave here, I’m hitting stores for weapons and ammunition and then I’m getting out of dodge. A city like Atlanta is not a good place to be during a pandemic. I suggest you do the same.”
Jimmy said, “Good luck with that. You do know there’s a waiting period and a background check to buy firearms.”
“I already have firearms but I need to purchase ammunition and non-regulated weapons, bow and arrows, knives, machetes and the like.”
Mary Scott asked, “I saw your jeep has a trailer attached to it. Where are you going?”
Nash shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. I had thought to head to a national park and hide out in the woods, but the truth is I’m not that savvy a woodsman. My wilderness survival skills are on par with a cub scout.”
Matt Braxton, a co-owner of a chiropractic clinic, and one of Nash’s biker friends, had been silent up until then, he stood and said, “Nash, I’m sure you mean well, but seriously, I agree with Walter. You could have simply told us about this on the phone. Maybe you’re onto something, but then again, I can’t accept what you’re telling us and act on what you believe might happen. Jesus man, I have a business to run. Right now I have a waiting room full of scheduled appointments to take care of.”
Nash, glancing around the tables at the friends gathered with him realized from their expressions that most of them felt as Matt, that he had acted the part of Chicken Little, shouting “The sky is falling,” with no proof other than ‘his sister said.’
Nash stood and reached out to shake Matt’s hand. “I hope I’m not being foolish, but I’m putting my faith in what my sister told me. Just in case I don’t see you again, take care of yourself and your family. I wish you the best.”
Matt’s departure triggered the rest to stand and say hurried goodbyes. In the end, only Jill Barkley remained at the tables.
“That didn’t go well,” she said.
“And that’s an understatement,” Nash replied. “I didn’t make much of a case for panic. How about you? Do you think I’m over reacting?”
Jill grinned and said, “I’m still here, aren’t I? More fools them. Nash, what I found about the shutdown of the Congo Republic scares the shit out of me. It ties in perfectly with what your sister told you. My question is what are we going to do?”
“We?”
�
�Yes, we. When the news gets out the virus has mutated and is loose in America, people will panic and it won’t be pretty. There’ll be a rush on the stores for food, weapons, meds, everything. The way I see it I’m for damn sure not equipped to ride out an apocalyptic event on my own. The idiots that just left didn’t have the decency to thank you for taking time to warn them, and believe me, time is short.”
Jill continued, “Other than my step parents up in Indiana I don’t have anyone here in Atlanta whom I care about, no family, just a couple of friends in Washington State. I’ve called them already with the warning.
“Think about it Nash. A person alone is only half a person. Who’ll be your eyes when you sleep? Who’s going to watch your back? You’re smart and in good physical shape. What is your plan to save us?”
Nash considered this turn of events. Jill, a petite brunette with dazzling blue eyes, earned her living from an online health food blog that was so popular, businesses were beating at her virtual door to carry their advertisements. He’d often thought of asking her out on a date but feared it might complicate what amounted to a good friendship. Not certain what her statement was implying, he phrased his reply cautiously.
“I’m not staying in my apartment. I’m thinking of buying or renting an estate that has a lot of property. A few weeks ago on my way to Lake Lanier, I left the main highway to look for a place to grab lunch. I didn’t find a restaurant, just fast food joints, but the scenery on the rural road I used to turn around was so pretty, I ended up going several miles further.
“Not far from where I finally turned around I saw a place that might do; a large estate. It has a sturdy iron gate supported with stone pillars, I think granite, and the house is set back far from the road. The land around the house is open except for a few scattered trees, and those aren’t close to the house.”
Working With Cedar: A Post Apocalyptic Tale Page 2
