by Brad Manuel
The brother’s retired after their holiday feast to a fire in the main room and a vintage port from the wine cellar.
“To us, brother, to us.” Hank said, drunk, but lucid enough to toast their luck.
“We can ring in the new year next week, but I am glad to put this one in the rearview. Despite a pleasant holiday with you, this has been the worst year of my life.” Paul, also drunk, tipped his glass and took a sip.
Hank tipped his glass, paused, and responded. “I have never known pain like I did this year, but you know what? I’ve never had to stop my life like I have this year either.” He poured himself more port. “You and Megan, you lived your lives differently than I did. You travelled. You spent your weekends working on the house or at shows, movies. You lived.”
“We didn’t have kids.” Paul replied.
“I know, I know, and I loved the girls, but that’s not what I mean. These last days, sitting in this house, not working or worrying, decompressing about the last months, about my last 50 years, it’s been incredible and cathartic. I cannot do anything right now. Literally, I can’t do work, there is no way for me to get to Hanover. I have enough food, water, and fuel. I don’t need to gather anything. I can’t get to the mall. I can’t call anyone.” He sipped his port. “I don’t have work tomorrow. There isn’t a college football game on TV. I have been forced to stop. I have to sit back and enjoy my time with you.”
“And” Paul asked.
Hank sipped his port. “I don’t know. I still have an urge to ‘do.’ I feel like we need to prep for something, but I don’t know what. We can’t plant. We can’t build. I am socked in by a storm, perfectly comfortable and with months of provisions. It’s made me slow down. I’m not taking stock of my life, or saying I have regret in how I lived my life, but this pandemic, it’s brought a new kind of order to my mind. It’s simplified everything.” Hank continued to drink.
“I’m rambling, because I’m a little drunk. What I think I’m trying to say, what I think I’ve realized is, the rapture has created a world where I can enjoy a game of cribbage with my brother. Before all of this destruction, my mind was always half somewhere else. I was thinking about work, or mowing the lawn, or whatever. I’m free of that now.” He paused, took another sip of port.
“The price was too high, but I had to pay it, you know? I feel like I should make the best of the bargain, make the best of the situation. Yes, this is the worst Christmas I’ve ever had. My life’s partner, my four girls, they are all dead, but there’s nothing I can do about that. To honor them, I will take the gift I earned from their deaths and savor it. I’ll enjoy my life.”
Hank smiled. “This is great port.” He raised his glass to the sky. “Thank you Steve and Nicole for your fantastic taste and hospitality.” Hank and Paul, having found the hotel’s ownership information, frequently thanked their presumed dead benefactors.
Hank started again. “Do you know how many people I fired during my time at work? I didn’t keep track, but it was north of thirty. That’s how I lived, climbing on the backs of others. It’s how it used to be. Life isn’t like that anymore. Life is pretty simple for us now. Eat, keep warm and dry, protect each other, go to sleep. Do I get to play golf? No. Will I miss a lot of things? Absolutely. But there is a purity to my life today.”
Hank leaned forward, rolling the port around in his glass as he spoke. He watched the maroon liquid swirl. “You know why I burned my house and crawled in a hole for two months?” Hank did not look up from the glass.
“You told me, to avoid the government.” Paul put his hand on Hank’s knee. He patted it, smiling at his drunk brother.
Hank looked up to meet Paul’s eyes. “I wanted to die. I burned my old life to the ground and crawled into a grave next to my family. I never expected to come out of my tomb. I’m not sure I wanted to come out of my tomb. I debated killing myself, kept a gun in my hand, in my mouth, to my head almost every day.” Tears rolled down Hank’s face. He sat back, arms stretched out to either side. He and Paul sat by the fire on the highest holiday of the year, warm, dry, and fed. They had much to be angry about, but much to give thanks and praise for as well.
Hank sniffed in his nose loudly. He used his sleeve to wipe tears from his face as others streamed down. “As I said, I paid all I had for this new life. I don’t want it, but it’s mine now, and I am going to accept it, enjoy it, and savor it while I can.” Hank gulped the last of his port.
“You think anyone else is alive? You think Greg is making it through the winter, wherever the hell he is?” Paul thought of his nephew every day.
“I know they are, Paul. I know they are, and just like us, they are sitting around a fire cursing and giving blessings for the year.” Hank placed his empty glass on the table before leaning onto his side and putting his feet on the couch. A loud drunken snore erupted almost instantly.
“Merry Christmas, Hank.” Paul whispered. He stood, steadied himself, and put two logs on the fire. He went back to his couch, still fully dressed like his brother, rested his head on his pillow and fell asleep.
Book Two
23
John, Matt, and Craig sat in the Charleston harbor fishing. It was brisk out, but their desire for fresh fish outweighed their discomfort. They also felt the need to get out of the house after three days of rain. They used a boat for inlet fishing, one of many left along the harbor. It was early, 10:30am, and they already had two good sized sea bass. John wanted one or two more fish before he called it a day. The cold weather made him lean towards going in with his current haul.
“I got one.” Craig said excitedly. “Big one too.”
“You’re going to feed us all today little brother.” Matt smiled and looked over at his father. If Craig landed the one on his line, he was responsible for two of the three fish.
Craig reeled in his catch, another sea bass. It was almost double the size of the first two. He quickly baited his hook to recast his line.
“I think that’s enough for one winter’s morning,” John said to his son.
Matt reeled his empty line in ten minutes earlier in hopes of heading home to a warm fire. “I think you’d sit here all day fishing if we didn’t stop you, Craig.” He told his younger brother.
“Just one more?” Craig asked.
Matt and John looked at each other. Matt shrugged his shoulders with a ‘what else do we have to do’ expression.
“Okay, but hurry up and get another one. I’m cold.” John smiled. He reached over to a bag and pulled out a bottle of water. In the few months the harbor was free of boat traffic, the fish made a tremendous jump in population. John knew it would not take long for Craig to catch another fish.
They found Craig pedaling towards Myrtle Beach all those months ago. He was thirty miles from their house, a valiant effort for a young boy on a bike with only six gears. John hugged his son as Matt put the bike in the back of their SUV. Craig cried. He kicked. He screamed. He hit his father.
“You’re letting Greg die like you let Mom die.” Craig yelled. John hugged him tightly. “I hate you, and I’m running away again tomorrow, and the next day, until I save my brother.”
But Craig did not run away again. Matt spent an hour with his younger brother that evening. They spoke behind a closed door, away from their father. When Matt came downstairs he assured John the days of Craig fleeing were over.
“You’ve had a rough few months, Matt. I have too, but you’ve had it worse than me. You lost your best friends, your football team, you girlfriend, of what? Two years?”
“Almost two, it would have two years at New Year’s” Matt replied. He sat on the couch next to his father. Craig was asleep upstairs, exhausted from his long day.
“Greg is lost in Massachusetts or New Hampshire, your other brother keeps running away, and to top it all off, your mother died.” John paused. “I’m your father, and I will always be your father, but I need a friend as much as you do. I need a second in command, a partner to raise your brother
, a partner to get us to Uncle Todd’s, a friend to confide in when I don’t know the answer. This isn’t a great thing to ask of my 17 year old son, barely old enough to drive, but it’s something I have to ask of you. You’ve had a bad few months, and I can’t promise things are going to get better, but consider today the day you become a man. “
Matt was serious since his girlfriend’s death. His sense of humor was gone, and he seemed to be muddling through life. Before the rapture Matt was a happy person, willing to laugh and joke through any situation. The end of the world snuffed out his spark. John needed to light it again.
“You need to snap out of your haze, your depression, whatever is bothering you. I need you to start helping around the house, food gathering, cooking, wood gathering. You have to be a better influence and role model to Craig.” John looked directly into Matt’s eyes.
“And above all else I need you to be my friend.” John stopped and let his words sink in.
Matt stared at his father. He nodded slowly. “Okay, I get it. Okay.” John could tell when Matt was lying, telling him what he wanted to hear. Matt had been lying for weeks. Tonight was not one of those times. In the last two minutes, John broke through the wall building between father and son since the beginning of the pandemic.
“I can still call you Dad, though, right?” Matt knew the answer, and asked with a partial smile. It was his first joke in weeks.
“I’ll always be your dad, but we have to fast forward our relationship about ten years, where I realize you are too old for me to boss around, and we become friends.”
They stayed up late into the evening, talking about plans for the winter. Every day was a ‘long day’ after the rapture. Matt was tired. He yawned, stood up, and said he was going to bed. He picked up his solar lantern and went to his room.
Matt sat on the edge of his mattress for a few minutes. He pulled a backpack from under his bed and started to unpack his things. It was a large hiking pack he scavenged from a neighbor’s house. Matt planned to leave Charleston to find Greg, abandoning his father and younger brother. After the conversation with John, Matt realized he was not leaving to save Greg. He was leaving to run away from himself. He was running away from his dead friends, girlfriend, and mother. He finished unpacking and shoved the empty bag back out of sight.
Matt fell asleep the instant his head hit the pillow. Unlike previous nights, when he lay awake and planned his escape, Matt’s life had a new purpose. His spirit was renewed, and his conscience cleared. He slept soundly for the first time in months.
John found Matt’s backpack earlier that week. He knew his son was planning to leave. John could not stop Matt. He could stop Craig, but Matt could drive, all he needed was a car. Matt had to want to stay. Matt had to want to help. John knew Matt had convinced Craig not to runaway by telling him he was leaving to find Greg.
When John found the empty pack under Matt’s bed the next day, he knew their talk had worked. Every word of their conversation was real, and John held up his end of the bargain.
Months later, as they sat in a boat in Charleston Harbor, John continued to treat Matt as an equal. Craig caught two more fish, a fourth sea bass and a flounder. Matt turned the key on the whaler and powered the boat towards the pier. “Great fishing Craig. You know the rule. He who catches, cleans…”
“Man, I hate cleaning the fish when it’s this cold out,” he lied. Craig loved everything about fishing, the bait, the actual fishing, the cleaning. He even enjoyed eating fish.
They pulled up to the dock, and Craig grabbed one of the fish, jumped onto the pier, and walked toward the end to clean his catch. He was a skilled angler, and cleaned the first fish quickly. Matt tied up the boat, and John put the other fish on the pier for Craig to clean.
“I like the flounder. You don’t have to clean them. Just filet and eat.” Craig smiled at his father. He was becoming a resourceful young man. John feared Craig would lose his childhood to the plague, but in spite of everything, Craig still had the wonder of a 10 year old. He flicked the fish guts off the dock and watched the sea birds and small sharks fight for the meal in the water below.
The water was eight feet below them and deep. When a larger shark, 8 feet long, lunged through the surface for the fish guts, Craig laughed in excitement. “Dad, Matt, there is a huge shark right at the end of the pier. You have to see this!” The two men rushed over to watch the giant fish. It was a fitting end to a fun morning.
They stood on the pier until John broke the silence. “We’ll eat the flounder as soon as we get home, smoke the smaller bass, and ice the big bass for dinner. Sound like a plan?” John was excited for fresh fish. They had not fished for a week due to rain and cold mornings.
The Dixons grabbed their gear and walked to a truck parked next to the dock. John found the small Toyota in town. It was perfect for hauling to and from the harbor. The Dixons moved out of their family home to escape their memories. They scouted Mount Pleasant, the town north of Charleston, landing in one of the island communities near the ocean. The family settled into a house with five fireplaces built in the style of an old southern mansion. It was convenient to the fishing piers, and away from any main roads.
John was not concerned about rapture survivors finding and threatening his family. During the outbreak, when scientists were studying the disease, the rapture was determined to be 99.99999% communicable. The chances of surviving were one in a million. South Carolina’s population was around four million. There ‘might’ be one or two others in the state.
Probability suggested there were only 300 to 350 people in the entire country who ‘might’ have survived the disease. Had all of these people been healthy otherwise? Had all of these people been old enough to survive on their own? Had any of these people needed medication to stay alive? Medication that was now gone? Had any of these people been old enough to pass away naturally since the disease began? John estimated there were at most 200 people alive in the United States. He guessed half of that 200, maybe more, travelled to California, Texas, or southern coastal areas to stay warm through the winter.
John felt secure in Mount Pleasant, squatting for the winter months in a mammoth house near the ocean. His family was fifty miles from Interstate 95, the main artery of the east coast. If there were large bands of roving survivors, they would skip the mild climate of Charleston for the warm temperatures of central and southern Florida.
The truck was loaded and the fish were cleaned. Matt drove back to the ‘mansion,’ as they called it. He parked and immediately walked around to the house’s deck to start the grill. He was hungry, and lighting the fire meant he was closer to a flounder lunch. They would transfer the coals from the grill into the smoker after lunch, smoking and preserving the meat of the smaller sea bass.
John and Craig made sure the rods and fishing gear were clean before they exited the garage and walked into house. John was washing his hands in the sink when Matt came in from off of the deck.
“Fire is going, we should be ready to cook in a few.” Matt said. “I’ll put a pot of water on so we can have rice or noodles.”
“Craig is putting the fish on ice.” John looked out the window as he rubbed his hands together. They kept lemon scented liquid soap at the sink to rid their hands of the fish smell. Their house was several rows away from the water, but he could see the harbor from the kitchen window. “Let’s do rice. It goes better with fish. Don’t you think?”
They considered several locations and homes. All of the homes had some kind of generator or back-up energy system. This particular house had two, a gas generator they used occasionally and solar panels that powered a few items during the daylight hours, including a water pump and water heater.
Initially, after moving into the solar house, John and the boys lived like they did before the rapture. They kept multiple lights on, played video games, plugged appliances in all the time, and used the garage door opener. They learned quickly that plugged in appliances use power, and their solar power
cells were consistently drained each evening. Their gas generator would turn on and burn precious fuel.
The only appliance plugged into a wall socket was the refrigerator. When they needed light, they used one lamp or they lit candles. They set a limit to television, movies, and video games. As the days grew colder and shorter, energy was conserved for electric heaters.
The solar panels allowed them to keep parts of their old life during the day, and kept them attached to their old humanity. Learning to conserve energy taught them the new life of finite heat and light.
Four five gallon coolers of water sat on the counter next to the stove, boiled and purified the day before. The kitchen looked like a sporting event, as the yellow and red coolers were mainstays at soccer, baseball, and football games. Matt pressed the white spigot at the bottom of the cooler by placing his thumb on the button. He measured four cups into a pot and walked outside to boil the water on the grill. He rarely used the indoor stove. With the water started, he went back inside to select a packet of ‘just add water’ rice from the hundreds stored in the kitchen pantry.
“I feel Caribbean today.” He mumbled to himself, pulling a green box from the shelf.
Matt typically cooked fish on aluminum foil. It was an easy clean up. He poured olive oil on the foil, put the filleted and skinned flounder down, and generously applied seasoning. He waited for the water to boil and the rice to cook before he started the fish. Flounder cooked in just a few minutes.
It was Monday. Matt and Craig had school. John established a school schedule once their lodging and food were secured. Craig could not continue through life with a fifth grade education. Craig did not need to learn much more, but he did need basic math, physics, and better reading and writing skills.
Matt was a senior in high school. He had a firm base of education to get him through the rest of his life. One of his new roles was to tutor Craig. John was too far removed from school to be an effective educator. One day a week all three of the Dixons learned and practiced basic survival skills like starting a fire without matches and making snare traps.
