Working With Cedar: A Post Apocalyptic Tale

by Terry McDonald

  Gripping Nash’s hand, struggling to stand, Little Billie laughed with him. “They don’t make logs like they used to.”

  On his feet, he pointed to the tent and spoke to Betty. “I’m going to grab a blanket from the truck and stretch out beside it. The tent is yours. Leave room for Maria and Torrie to get in without climbing over you.”

  The game didn’t take an hour. As they played, Betty, propelled by curiosity, made small talk by asking Nash questions. Foremost on her mind was why the convoy they were traveling with left Georgia, and why they chose Ecuador for a destination.

  Nash responded with a question of his own. “By the gist of what I’ve heard you and Billie say, I know you and he only recently got together. Have you been in these parts since the beginning of the plague?”

  “Pretty much. I lived in Memphis when the plague broke. Santos,” she paused to make the sign of the cross, “god bless him, he was out scavenging; this was six months into the plague, at its height. Everything had already broken down. No police, no hospitals, no government, no nothing.”

  “Santos was your husband?”

  Maria made the sign again and said, “My husband. It was dangerous to venture out of our home, but food was needed. Too often, he had to go. One day, Santos was gone a long time. When he returned, he would not come inside the house. He told me he had fight with a man covered with the plague sores.

  “He cried, Nash. My Santos, strong, very much a man, on the other side of the door he cried, not for himself, but because he returned empty-handed, threw away the food he found, afraid what he touched would carry the virus. Through that closed door, we spoke our words of everlasting love. He told us goodbye and never returned.”

  Nash said, “I’m sorry. That had to be devastating.”

  “It was. I can speak of him now without crying, but the rock I clung to was gone. I was on my own. There was no electricity, no running water. Torrie and I had no food, very little water. I knew Memphis was too dangerous to stay there. That very night, as soon as it was dark, Torrie and I sneaked away.

  “We didn’t go through the downtown because there were still too many people alive and people brought either the plague or evil with them. Even so, we had to avoid the dead. There were bodies in the street, on the sidewalks, in yards. Some died from the Ebola, many died from violent survivors who killed for what others had, sometimes killing for the sake of killing.

  “Always we had to sneak, be careful not to let anyone see us. It was December and it was so cold. The sun was coming up when we finally made it out of the suburbs. We spent the day sleeping in the woods wrapped together in blankets, still hungry but we drank water from a creek.

  “Night came, Christmas Eve, Again we walked. I don’t know what road we were on, but it took us into farmland. We passed a cornfield. The standing corn plants were dead, but some had ears on them. I made a small fire and put shucked kernels in my pot. Many kernels popped. Our Christmas Eve dinner was a mix of popcorn and parched corn.

  “The next day, Christmas, I was accosted by two men and raped. I did manage to put up enough of a fight for Torrie to slip away and hide until…” Maria stopped speaking, and then said, “It is a long story and I will not relive those terrible hard days in words. Searching an abandoned home for food to eat, we found a car inside the garage. We reached my grandfather’s cabin deep in the woods and we survived.”

  Nash nodded. I understand, but let me ask, did you grow a garden?”

  “I did this past summer. It didn’t produce much; not enough rain.”

  Nash nodded. “If we could still get weather reports you’d know that the Southeast is in drought. Last summer in Georgia only an inch of rain fell during the entire months of June, July, and August. The summer before, we got just a smidgeon more.”

  “Do you think it’s caused by climate change?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea, but a drought is a drought. I’ve heard guesstimates that the plague killed over eighty percent here in the states. Even if that number is correct, it left enough alive that in the two years since the outbreak nearly every store and home is stripped of anything edible. Got to where we couldn’t even find dog or cat food.”

  Maria chuckled and said, “Some brands can pass for human food. Heck, even the dried stuff makes a good stock for gravies and stews.”

  Torrie chimed in, “I like the Nine Lives roast beef with chicken and gravy. Mother found a lot of canned cat food one time and that was my favorite. She fixed it up like she does everything she cooks and made corn chips to dip it.”

  Nash shuddered. “I guess I haven’t mastered spices like your mother. Betty and I ate our share of pet food, but we never came close to calling it gourmet fare.” Then speaking to Maria, “Back at the cabin you said you and Billie were leaving the Jackson area. Where were you going, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Betty didn’t answer right away. Torrie studying the growing maze of domino tiles on the ground, added a tile, double-fives, crosswise to the end of a line and said, “Give me thirty-five more points.”

  Betty scratched Torrie’s points on the ground. “Nash and I should pay more attention; you’ve got a big lead on us.” Then to Nash, she said, “Twenty miles south of Jackson is a small city named Henderson. Ten miles farther on, sort of off the beaten path is the town of Finger. Between the two is the community of Sweetlips. That’s where we’re going. That’s where you and Betty are going. There is no way you and she can make it all the way to Ecuador. Not and taking care of an infant. You’ll never make it through Mexico alive, much less the rest of the distance; Christ, all the way through Central America and then Colombia.”

  Nash laid a tile that gave him no points. “You’re probably right, but Betty and I never intended to leave the states. We were going to jump ship if we came to a place with a more hospitable climate. If we didn’t find a jumping off place before we crossed over into Mexico, we planned on continuing west. What makes this Sweetlips place different from anyplace else?”

  “Billie grew up near there and knows all about it. The people living in Sweetlips control a lot of farmland and they are organized, every road barricaded. Well-trained armed patrols keep the perimeter secure. The leader is a man known as Dragon. Word is he’s a sharpshooter with any weapon, but he prefers arrows.”

  To Nash, the place sounded too good to be true. “And he’ll let us in? Just go to one of the barricades and say we want to join your community?”

  Maria read the skepticism he voiced. “They have more land than people to work it. They’re also short of skilled tradesmen. If you know any preindustrial stuff, blacksmithing, horseshoeing, they would really want you there. From what I heard from Billie and a few other people, the community’s been scavenging solar panels from all over west Tennessee and they need people with electrical knowledge to expand and maintain the small electric grid they have.

  “But like I said, the community is organized. The have schools, a hospital, a police force and very strict laws. They let people in, but they’ll kick em out if they aren’t decent.

  Nash yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Lack of sleep is catching up to me. You told me this area is suffering drought conditions. How are the people in Sweetlips coping?”

  “They use solar power to pump water from existing wells. County services never extended plumbing into the area so there are plenty of wells. They do a lot of greenhouse…”

  Maria paused mid-sentence and said, “Torrie, you’re so far ahead I’m declaring you the winner. Nash, your eyes are bloodshot and you’re about to fall over. Get some sleep. Torrie and I will stand watch.”

  Nash really did feel like he wanted to fall over. He said, “Thanks, Maria,” and without standing, sidled a short distance from their game area and rolled onto his side. “Give me a couple hours.”

  Surprised, Maria said, “Right there?”

  Barely awake, Nash muttered, “Oh yeah.”

  ********

  Hands, roughly shaking him, and then a ha
nd clamped to his mouth to stifle his startled words, and Billie’s shush to quiet him brought Nash instantly awake and alert. He opened his eyes to see only Billie’s immense silhouette blocking the dimly lit night sky.

  “They’re here,” Billie whispered. The convoy’s stopped just on the other side of the bridge.”

  Nash, adrenaline fueling his movement, pushed from the ground and stood. Low voiced, he asked, “Why? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know, but there’s a lot of racket coming from them. Listen.”

  Nash turned toward the bridge. On the far side, he could see light from the vehicles headlights filtering through the pile of rubble from the collapsed section. Straining his ears, he heard a low, non-stop babble of multiple voices.

  Turning back to Billie, he said, “Something’s wrong with them. I hear a lot of them moaning.”

  Billie said, “Yeah, it sounds like they’re sick. You’re right, something’s wrong with them. They’re not setting up any sort of defensive position. Sergeant Moses is smarter than that. Nash, Betty says you’re good at sneaking. I want you to get closer to them and see what’s going on… why they stopped. I’d do it, but I’m clumsy as a drunk cowboy.”

  Nash said, “I’m on it.” Then he asked, “Have you seen any of them on this side of the overpass?”

  “No.”

  The few stars visible through the overcast of clouds provided little light. Nash had to move slower than his sense of urgency pushed at him.

  He was almost at the pile of rubble beneath the bridge when the babble from the other side increased in volume and a single shot rang out. The babble stopped for an instant and then resumed. Nash was close enough to hear individual voices, but the sound of men and women vomiting and moaning obscured the words.

  He gained the rubble pile and peered through an open space. The vehicles, headlights on and engines running were in a line that stretched for a long distance on the roadway. He saw a great number of people, dressed in camouflage uniforms outside of the vehicles. Some were leaning against the trucks and vans, some were kneeling close by them, and some lay on the ground. All of them were puking their guts out.

  Beside the third vehicle from Nash’s hiding place was a small group of men. Only one of them standing, the rest were on their knees, retching, but even the standing man had his hands on his knees, his vomit adding to a puddle on the concrete between his legs. The man held a gun in one hand. In front of him lit by the lights of the closest truck a man laid prone. Nash was sure the dark pool beside the man’s head was blood.

  Nash went back to the ones waiting in the grove of trees. They were huddled together near the tent. He joined them, dropping to the ground close to where they sat.

  Whispering, he said, “They’re all sick; Food poisoning or something. They’re puking, I mean spewing almost non-stop, and from the smell I caught when the breeze blew toward me, shitting their pants.”

  Betty said, “Explosive vomiting, diarrhea, yeah, they’ve got food poisoning… with such a simultaneous onset, probably aureus; staphylococcus aureus.”

  “Will it kill them?” Billie asked.

  “No, but for the next few hours they’ll wish it would. It’ll pass through them fairly quick, but it’ll leave them weak.”

  Nash made a pssting sound to get attention. “Okay folks, a new plan. I thought about this on the way back. Billie, Betty, and I mount up and drive over to them. If we keep the lights off, they’re so messed up I doubt any of them will notice us drive from here to the road. We can have lights once we’re on the pavement.”

  Betty asked, “What about the dome light when we open the truck door?”

  Billie said, “The cab has a sliding rear window. I’ll reach in and turn it off.”

  Nash continued. “Good. Okay, here’s what we do. Drive to them. Billie, I’m your driver. Betty rides shotgun in the rear bed. You’re in charge because they know you. Our story is Colonel Haskins delegated you to bring back a child sent by mistake. What I want you to do is take over command. Tell… er…”

  “Sergeant Moses,” Billie supplied.

  “Moses. If Moses is sick as the rest, he’ll be glad to put you in charge. Tell him you’re going to move the vehicles into a defensive posture.

  “Billie and I will move the vehicles and make sure we get the buses with the captives pointed in the right direction. Betty… you’re a nurse. Do your nurse thing. Tell Moses to gather all his men and have the able ones gather wood for a fire. What I mean is, do whatever you can to distract him so he doesn’t pay Billie and me too much attention while we jockey the vehicles.”

  Nash paused and then asked, “Everyone with me so far?

  Billie said, “The plan seems simple enough.”

  Nash continued speaking, “I counted only three prison vans. As soon as the buses are in position, I’ll be in the lead one and Billie in the third. Betty, I’ll flash the headlights three times to signal we’re ready to make a run for it. When I do, race to the middle bus and we’ll drive back under the bridge. Once we’re clear, Maria can blow the bridge and she and Torrie can ride with Billie.”

  Billie said, Wait up a minute, what about our supplies in the truck? We’ll lose them if we abandon it. By the same token, we can’t offload them here because once we’ll rolling I’m sure we won’t dawdle except to pick up Maria and Torrie.”

  Nash pondered the situation.

  “Okay. We don’t know that all three vans have prisoners in them. One may be transport for troops, but no matter, if all three do have prisoners we’ll hustle them out of one into another and only take two buses. Betty— same signal, but you’ll take the truck.

  Betty said, “Sounds like a plan to me. Let’s get it done before we over-think it.”

  Walking with Betty to get their rifles, she leaned in close to Nash so the other couldn’t hear her. “Besides the mag in my rifle, I have two more fully loaded. I know you have three loaded spares. Bring all of them.”

  Nash said, “I will,” but her request brought a sinking felling to his gut.

  Nash and Betty retrieved their ammunition from their go-bags. Billy spent a moment with Maria beside the battery and then joined them at the truck.

  “She knows how to blow the charge.” Billie slid open the rear window of the cab and reached in to turn off the dome light. “You all ready?”

  Betty vaulted the tailgate to ride in the rear. Nash joined Billie in the cab and slid behind the steering wheel. He cranked the engine and turned the wheel to regain the freeway. He was surprised how little noise came from the diesel engine. Gaining pavement, he turned the truck in the direction of the underpass, and switched on the headlights. Driving at a modest speed, he passed under the bridges and rolled into the camp on the other side.

  Calling the mess the headlights illuminated a camp, was a stretch. Men and women were bent over and puking, kneeling and puking, standing and puking. Many more were lying on the ground, puked out and puke exhausted, still heaving, but nothing coming out.

  Passing by two armored military-transports, Billie saw his target; the man kneeling close to the headshot man Nash saw when he first sneaked to view the halted convoy.

  Billie pointed and said, “Stop near him and let down my window. The control on my side’s broken.”

  Nash applied the brakes, and activated Billie’s window to lower it. Billie leaned his head out to shout through the opening.

  “What the hell’s going on here, Sargent Moses?”

  Moses, lowered his raised pistol and tried to speak, but his body wanted him to puke. Though the man heaved heartedly, Nash saw only a thin stream of bile come from his mouth.

  When his convulsions slackened, Moses called out in a weak voice, “That you, Little Billie? Thank god. I’m sick. We’re all sick.” He pointed to the dead man near him. “That mother-fucker’s killed us all. Sorry fucking, cook.”

  Billie shouted, “Food poisoning won’t kill you, but you’re in bad shape. Let me park my truck and I’ll see what
I can do. You don’t have security like this.”

  Nash jockeyed the truck so it faced back toward the bridges. Betty sprang from the bed to join with Nash and Billie standing in front of the truck.

  Whispering, Billie said, “Let’s get the vans turned around. Then, in a thunderous voice, he shouted loud enough to be heard by all the puking crew stretched the length of the convoy. Sergeant… er… Smith, Corporal Jones, let’s get those prison vans moved into defensive position to block westbound traffic. No! Belay that order, Jones. You’re a nurse. See what you can do for the soldiers.”

  “Yes Sir, Little Billie. I’ll get it done.”

  Before either of them moved, a man in camo approached them, calling out, “Hey, Little Billie.”

  “Who’s there?” Billie asked.

  The man, thin, middle-aged with receding brown hair stepped into the light cast by the truck headlights. “It’s me, Willard.”

  “You seem fit enough, corporal.” Billie said. “Why aren’t you sick?”

  “I’m a vegetarian. I didn’t eat that chicken-slop cook fed us before we headed out. What can I do to help?”

  “Er… Jeez, err…

  Nash was beginning to understand why Maria disparaged Billie’s ability to think on his feet. Betty stepped to the plate.

  “We need to build a fire and get the men and women warm. Find anyone able to gather firewood. Tell everyone else to move close to where Sergeant Moses is. That’s where we’ll build the fire.”

  “Some of them are too sick to walk.”

  Betty expressed her exasperation, “Then get the ones who can walk to help those that can’t. Get it done, soldier.”

  Corporal Willard squinted through the glare of the headlamps and said to Betty, “I don’t know you.”

  “I don’t know you, either. Could it be because I only recently joined up? I’m Lieutenant Jones, RN. Let’s get moving. We need to get fluids into these soldiers before they succumb to catastrophic dehydration. Which way is the mess truck? I’ll need pots to brew salt water.”