Catalyst

by JK Franks

  Silent tears of desperation snaked down Steve’s face as he, too, had been thinking that. Thinking that his wife and son might already be in one of those camps, or even worse. “I have to try,” he said weakly.

  The conversation abated while both men reflected on their plight. Steve spoke quietly so only Gerald could hear. “Something I’ve been wanting to ask you. Why the kid? I know you said he wasn’t family. Why would you have taken an interest in JD? Seems he would just be a burden to you. Just another mouth for you to feed.”

  “That is one way to look at it, but when I saw him standing there about to make a bad choice, I, well . . . ”

  His voice trailed off, and Steve assumed that was the only answer he would get. Long minutes later a now very emotional Gerald continued: “Several nights ago, I was working my way down parallel to the interstate. I found myself outside a little town. You know, one of those little pop-up developments with no name, just sort of places that spring up. A convenient stopping point . . . probably the result of interstate exits, fast food restaurants and stuff.” He paused, and Steve could see him looking off to the dark western horizon.

  Gerald’s voice cracked a bit when he picked the story back up. “Most of this area down here is really just a bedroom community for Atlanta. People live out here because it’s cheaper and safer, but many work back up in the city. These little pop-up cities exist to serve them, so they can get gas, get a haircut, pick-up some food on their way home.

  “Anyway, I was out of water and needed to fill up, so I made my way over to a building off by itself. It was one of the few structures that didn’t look looted. I had already snuck in the back door before I realized it was a daycare center.” Gerald paused again to wipe his eyes. “Anyway, this woman is standing there. Right in front of me, scared the shit out of me. She doesn’t say anything, but then I hear the sounds of kids and the smell. Oh God, the smell. Finally, she said, ‘They never came.’ I knew who she meant. The parents never came back from work that day to pick up the kids. I should have turned and left then, but I didn’t—I looked in the rooms. Most of the kids were in bad shape. She had given up changing diapers. Maybe she was out completely, I dunno. It seemed that all of the little ones…” He paused as if reliving the nightmare, “The babies. . .they were all dead.” The man let out a small sound as the memory was too fresh and painful to relive.

  “The older ones, the toddlers and preschoolers, were in only slightly better shape. The woman was in some kind of shock. Suffering and exhausted. I asked her if she was there alone. She pointed to a nearby bathroom. Opening the door to it, I found another woman hanging from a beam over the toilet.

  “‘I would have done that too,’ the daycare worker said, ‘but I didn’t want them to be alone. No one should die alone.’

  “I tried to comfort her, but she was too far gone by that point. It was pitiful, Steve.”

  “She told me, ‘We have no water or food, everything ran out the first few days. I was too scared to go out there until it was too late.’

  “I don’t know how many kids were in that building—sixty, maybe more. One large room had been set aside for the dead ones.” He grasped his head and leaned over as if he were going to be sick. “I knew I couldn’t do anything to help any of them. I have never felt so helpless in all my life.”

  “Oh, damn.” Steve turned to look at Gerald. “I hadn’t even thought about that. Geeze, that’s horrific, what did you do?”

  The man shook slightly and seemed to be staring at the ground. “I left.”

  Steve had no response to that. It wasn’t right; it wasn’t wrong.

  Gerald leaned up and sighed. “I simply turned around and left. The woman didn’t even seem surprised or try and stop me. She just stood there, just as dead as the other woman hanging from the ceiling. It messed me up. Next thing that really registered with me was today. Here at the checkpoint getting some water and a burger and seeing this boy wandering around lost and confused. He was about to put his trust in people that I knew would not take care of him, and . . . well,—I had to do something. Maybe I could save one, at least.”

  “Are you going to get him to his family in Florida?”

  Gerald made a sound. “Don’t know, we both know they are likely not there. No big city is going to survive this. Gangs and looters will get you if starvation and lack of water don’t. I think the chances of him seeing them again are small, but I’ll try if he wants. Right now . . . right now, I am just hoping to keep him safe for another day.”

  “I guess I get that. Not sure I would want the added responsibility, not in the middle of this crap especially. He seems like a good kid. Lucky he bumped into you.” Steve paused for a minute. “I think I would also like to take you up on your offer. To… to travel with you at least for a few days. I mean, if that’s ok.”

  “Sure, man, glad to have the company.”

  20

  The trio had been on the road since before sun-up. Gerald wanted them to put as many miles as possible between them and the checkpoint. The shopping bag Steve had recovered was once again dangling from his arm only slightly lighter than it had been. “Did you ever untie that creep before we left?”

  Gerald gave a slight smile, “I did, but he started cussing me soon as I removed his gag. So, I knocked him out with your walking stick. Dumb bastard is dead and just doesn’t know it yet. Ruined knee and a concussion probably, on top of just being plain dumb. Stupid is now a fatal illness—it will get you killed as quick as anything else.”

  Steve chuckled. Serves him right, he thought.

  They had not found as much as he would have expected in all the discarded bags. Hardly any food, some medicine. The one radio and three handguns. Gerald had explained that was probably why the checkpoint guards didn’t even bother looking through them. “We’re all hobos now. Got nothing of any real value,” he’d said.

  JD had stayed quiet all morning. Steve wasn’t sure if this was normal for him or not. Gerald never pressed the boy to talk but acted like he was just one of the guys. As a father, Steve felt unnatural to exclude him or conversely—treat him like an adult. “JD, do you play any sports?” Nothing. “What about a girlfriend, got any cuties waiting for you back home?” Slight head shake was all. “I don’t think he likes me.”

  Gerald never looked back. “None of us like you. You talk too much and ask too many questions.”

  Steve took offense with that until he saw the slight crease of a smile line on the other man’s face. “I have a serious question. “Why are we walking?”

  Gerald stopped in the middle of the road and looked at him. “As opposed to . . . ?”

  “Anything. My feet are killing me. I have been walking for more than a week, and I’m exhausted. I know cars don’t work, but what about finding horses to ride or something?”

  “Hey, I’m all for it, but have you seen any horses? Do you even know how to ride? Also, stealing horses might be a hanging crime again. You do have a point though—should be other ways to get where we are going. We know some vehicles still work, but not sure how far we would get before running into another checkpoint. Most of the highways are jammed with dead cars, too.”

  Around midday, they took a break in the shade under a bridge. It still had to be nearly a hundred degrees even in the shade, but it felt better, and the trickle of muddy water in the stream helped buoy the spirit at least. Steve broke out one of the sausage sticks from his bag and a bit of hard cheese. He sliced thin slices of each and laid it out in a line on a cloth napkin.

  “Wow, look at you, Martha Stewart, nice.”

  “Help yourself, guys. I am tired of hauling this bag. We need to eat this stuff.”

  JD smelled the slices of expensive salami and wrinkled his nose but took a bite anyway, then another and another. “This is really good, thanks.”

  “He speaks!” Steve laughed and pulled out some of the other gourmet items from the bag.

  “Don’t eat too much, we have a lot more walking to do,” Ge
rald said. “Wait, is that preserves? Oh my God, can I have a bite?” Steve passed the unopened jar and a spoon to the man.

  Between bites, Gerald said, “I am really glad you joined us, man. Even if you do talk too much.” Bits of sticky, sweet strawberry dribbled down his chin beneath his enormous smile. “Tell me, Steve, where were you when it all went to shit?”

  Steve answered with obvious embarrassment, “Umm…asleep. I missed the whole thing.”

  Gerald laughed. “You’re shitting me.”

  “I shit you not. I get bad headaches. Took some medicine, lay down, and the world came to an end while I was passed out.”

  “Wow, best story I’ve heard yet.”

  After the lunch, the group rested. Steve stared at the stream, trying to ignore the throbbing in his feet. As he watched, an idea began to form. “Boats!”

  Gerald was leaning back, ball cap covering his eyes. “Planes!”

  Steve laughed. “Not a word game—we could get boats or canoes and use the rivers. The Chattahoochee is not that far. It’s a huge river. Flows all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. Even a kayak would work. It would be a lot easier than this.”

  Gerald tipped the bill of his cap up. “Might have a point.”

  JD chimed in that he knew how to kayak. His family had some they used all the time. Where would they find any though?

  “Houses near the rivers or lakes would have them. Probably some outfitter shops in some of the towns,” Steve answered excitedly.

  Gerald thought for a moment. “The Hooch is a good twenty miles to the west. The Flint River is the only other major one flowing somewhat south, and it’s probably thirty, forty miles to the east. I’m not sure either of those would be worth the detour. From what I recall, neither is very developed, other than a few small towns. Doubt many of them are into recreational sports.”

  One of the items JD had saved from the luggage was a plastic laminated road map of the Southeast. He had it out, looking now. “I-85 crosses the Chattahoochee little ways down, right at the Alabama line. Looks like a big lake up above that. West Point Lake, it says. Think we could get a boat there?”

  Steve and Gerald both leaned in to look at the map. “Damn, the kid is right. If we just stay near this interstate it will take us right to it. I am figuring we are about here. Steve put his finger near a place called Moreland. “That would be what . . . maybe forty miles. We could do that by late tomorrow if we hoofed it.”

  “I like it. That river is the border between the two states, goes a bit west of where we want, but certainly could cut a lot of miles and days off our travel,” Gerald said. “We have a plan. Good work, guys.”

  21

  It was late afternoon when Gerald lightly touched Steve on the arm. “You hear that?”

  Steve craned his ears trying to pick out what the older man indicated. Only the faintest of sounds could be heard. “Damn, you have good ears, I am just barely making out something. Maybe heavy equipment or tractor.”

  Gerald nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Should we get off the road?” JD asked. Both men looked at the boy realizing that was a damn good idea. All three hustled into the copse of trees to the side. They continued to walk toward the sounds but also worked to stay hidden. The sound continued to increase and eventually became more distinct. Definitely something heavy, probably multiple sources with an occasional backup alarm sounding.

  “It reminds me of the sounds of a highway construction crew,” Steve said.

  “Don’t think anyone would be patching potholes anymore, but yeah, kinda does. Sounds like it is just around that bend up ahead. Let’s get a bit deeper into these woods and head toward it; maybe we can see what’s up.”

  Steve followed Gerald with a nod. JD was the first to glimpse what was going on.

  “Damn,” Gerald said, kneeling down to get a better view. They watched as a unit of heavy equipment moved down the southbound lane pushing abandoned cars and hauling heavier trucks off the travel lanes. “That’s an Army rotator, heavy lift tow truck.” They could all see what he meant as several of the massive crane-arms were hooking to stalled big rig trucks and jerking them to the side. Other large vehicles had dozer blades on the front and pushed smaller cars into ditches like a snow plow. All the moving vehicles were painted olive drab or desert sand.

  “Military?” whispered Steve.

  “Yeah, and armed escorts.” They watched as numerous Humvees slowly paced the convoy, each with a soldier manning the mounted guns.

  As the activity neared, the sounds of wrenching metal and rubber scrubbing against pavement became constant. Within fifteen minutes they were past them to the north and nearly out of sight.

  Steve sat back on the ground. “That was damned efficient.”

  “Yep, the civil engineers have had a lot of practice overseas clearing roads. Remember the ‘Highway of Death’ in Kuwait?”

  Steve did remember the scenes of mile after mile of burned out cars and trucks all manned by burned Iraqi corpses as they tried to retreat up the road to Basra during the first Gulf War. “So, they cleared off all the people using the highway and now are clearing the lanes themselves. Isn’t that a good sign? Like things might be getting back to normal? Now they can get emergency supplies around the state.”

  “I don’t know, Steve, but my feeling is no. Our interstate system is part of our domestic military preparedness plan. They may be preparing for a possible invasion or could just be a way to help establish command and control. Control transportation routes, and you go a long way toward controlling a region. What I think they are doing is clearing supply routes. I think it is even more important we get off the roads and on the water as soon as possible.”

  JD threw a stick into a pine tree. “So, those people wouldn’t help us either? They are soldiers right . . . our soldiers?”

  Neither of the men had a good answer. In fact, they were wondering much the same thing. Gerald turned to face him and gave a shrug. “I don’t think they would offer any help. No civilians were with them, and I would bet plenty have asked. My guess is more white buses will be somewhere nearby, picking up anyone who approached that convoy.”

  “Well, that just sucks,” the frustrated boy muttered.

  “Yeah, I’m with him,” Steve agreed.

  The three camped deep in the woods as night fell. They had indeed seen several of the white buses since the afternoon’s road clearing. It was a cold camp; they didn’t want a fire betraying their presence. Each man ate some of what they carried and gave a share to JD. “Gerald, I don’t get it. The camps, the roadblocks, now the Army clearing the interstate. None of this seems aimed at helping the people. Our country is us—the people—as much as it is the land.”

  Gerald was playing with the small multi-band radio. He had changed out the batteries and was now scanning the dials listening mainly to static. “Steve, something I learned a long time ago, people in power want to stay in power. No matter what. Now, I’m not sure who is pulling the strings anymore, but I do know, deep-down it’s all about power. They will protect their own, but for the rest of us . . . we are a waste of resources to them.”

  “How can you know that for sure?”

  “Logistics, man. Look at it this way. No agency, no government could stockpile enough supplies to take care of a major city in a real disaster like this. How do you think they can feed a nation? Acceptable losses, just like in war. If they can’t get the power back on quickly, then they need to depopulate the country.”

  JD looked up. “What does depopulate mean?”

  Gerald took a breath before continuing. “It’s a fancy way of saying let us all die.” The radio gave a warbling sound, and then a voice talking could be heard. It was a presidential address.

  22

  As the radio’s signal faded in and out, Gerald stood holding it out to help. “Let’s see what our esteemed leader has to say.” The president began his address with an expected level of grief, sadness and optimism, all carefully balanced by
a crafty speechwriter, no doubt. JD lost interest quickly and retreated to his sleeping mat. Steve found little of anything meaningful in the man’s words but was reassured that a functioning government still apparently existed. Once he was done, the president introduced the current director of FEMA and then the secretary of transportation.

  The FEMA director admitted being overwhelmed but said supplies were being delivered to relief centers daily. Anyone not sheltering in place should make their way to the closest center. The president has asked each state to activate National Guard units to assist in the crises and where contact could not be made with any officials. The U.S. military was also authorized to act to keep the peace and help restore order. Gerald made several rude noises at this part of the broadcast but didn’t comment.

  The woman who began speaking next had a name that Steve couldn’t ever recall even hearing. She was over transportation and stated that distribution and transportation routes were being cleared as quickly as possible. She had mobilized and expanded the roles of the TSA to assist with the aid of evacuees nationwide. “During this international state of emergency, we will grant additional authority to all members of our security forces to help keep the peace. This may in rare instances include the collection and use of civilian equipment including working vehicles and even weapons. Interfering with or failure to comply with this presidential directive is a federal crime and will be enforced by standards listed in the emergency code, and exclusionary rules are also in effect.”

  Steve had pretty much stopped listening after the FEMA guy, but Gerald was holding the little radio close to his ear as the woman spoke. Once the broadcasts were over, he sat down heavily and sighed. “Well, shit,” was all he said.