The Last Tribe

by Brad Manuel

  Matt rolled his window down again and repeated his father’s statement. Eight months of heart ache were coming to an end. John felt like he could run the last miles if needed.

  50 minutes later they were looking down at West Lebanon’s shopping centers as they drove slowly over the frozen bridges. The SUV was silent, hoping Greg was alright, praying they would find him in Hanover at John’s childhood home. The drive was slow, but thankfully uneventful. John kept his speed low, and the truck with trailer under control.

  They approached the exit ramp to Norwich, Vermont and stopped at the top. John inspected the exit’s condition. “Just snow, it doesn’t look like the ice is too bad. I’m going to take it slowly.” He let up on the break and inched the truck down the ramp. The chained tires gripped the snow, and they had no issues. John continued his slow pace down the small hill towards the bridge spanning the Connecticut River and separating Norwich from Hanover. Matt pointed across the bridge.

  “Is that a jeep? It doesn’t have any snow on it. It’s parked in the road. Wait, does Greg know how to drive?”

  “Maybe he learned.” Craig replied.

  “It’s possible, or there could be another person here. Maybe Greg found someone. Look at the worn tire marks from the bridge into Norwich. Whatever the situation, it tells me that Wheelock Street is too icy to go up. We’ll have to walk from here. It’s not far, don’t worry.” John pulled the Suburban next to the Jeep and turned it off. “I hope you brought your snow boots.”

  “I’m not sure I brought a jacket.” Craig said, looking around the backseat.

  “It’s 48. I think you’ll live in your sweatshirt.” Matt rubbed his brother’s hair. “Have the last few weeks made you soft or something? Unbelievable.” Matt’s wry smile was pointed at John.

  “We’ll come back for the animals, figure out a different way into Hanover. It might require us to drive back through Lebanon where the hills aren’t as bad.” John pulled a backpack out of the Suburban and stuffed water and power bars into it. He did not know if he would find Greg thirsty and hungry like the people in New York or healthy like the people in D.C. He prepared for both.

  The Dixon men walked up the hill, following the footprints left by Hank and Greg that morning. “There is at least one person here, and they’ve used this hill a bunch of times. I’m not a tracker, but I swear there are two sets of footprints. There is fishing tackle in the jeep. There must be a good fishing spot for the person to drive to. Maybe in Norwich?” Matt enjoyed a good mystery. He knew his brother did not know how to drive, and self teaching was an interesting theory, but not probable.

  “Dad’s fishing club.” John said to himself. “There’s a fully stocked trout pond, you both remember, right? How would he remember that? How could he even find it?”

  “Greg must have remembered.” Craig was getting excited.

  At the top of the hill they looked into the town and at the buildings surrounding the Dartmouth Green. The leaves from autumn poked through melted patches of snow. It was just after 3pm.

  “It’s so peaceful, just like everywhere else we’ve been.” Matt spun around. “It’s nice after New York. I thought that place was creepy. All those buildings and windows? I felt like people were watching us.”

  “Me too! That’s so funny. I stayed in the trailer because I didn’t like looking up at the buildings.” Craig laughed, happy someone else was scared of New York.

  “Come on.” John turned left on Main Street. “We can come back and check out the town later. Let’s get to the house and see if anyone is there.” They walked briskly, a purpose to their steps.

  The snow was a few inches deep on the street. The men were not prepared. Even though they stayed in a well worn path from town, their sneakers were soaked. They walked about 200 yards down Main when they noticed a port-a-john one road over from them. It was sitting on its side next to a storm drain. There was a patch of road shoveled out around the blue plastic rectangle. A dumpster top sat next to the bathroom.

  “That was recent. Someone shoveled the snow.” John looked around. “How did he haul a heavy bathroom over to a storm drain? Why did he haul a heavy bathroom over to a storm drain?” They walked between two administration buildings and inspected the plastic box. There was a snowmobile track behind the bathroom. “Let’s follow this. It must lead somewhere.” They stepped into the path made by the sled used to haul the bathroom. “Two snowmobile treads. I know your brother doesn’t know how to ride a snowmobile, and even if he could, I doubt he could ride two at the same time. There is someone up here with him, or two people with him.”

  They walked down the road, following the trail. The tracks passed a large white building used to raise money for Dartmouth College and turned left on Main Street.

  Matt continued to inspect the area. “The town looks intact. No looting or fires or crazy damage. It looks peaceful and empty.”

  John turned to his sons. “This is leading us to my old house. He must have found a port-o-john to use when the pipes froze or the water gave out. Smart thinking. We’re going to take a left at the top of Choate road, walk right down my old street.” John’s heart beat quickly. No one else would move into that house except Greg. He was alive. “I used to drive down this road every day in an old Ford station wagon. The high school is on the other side of town.”

  “We know, Dad, we’ve heard the stories.” Craig rolled his eyes, and turned to Matt. “Do you know how bad it is going to be when Uncle Paul shows up? The two of them together in Hanover? I’ll be going to bed at 7 just to get away from it all.”

  Matt laughed at his younger brother. “I’ll probably join you. It’s going to get bad.”

  “That’s enough from you two. I do not tell that many stories.” Did he? John started thinking, maybe he did tell too many stories when he and Paul got together.

  “My feet are soaked.” Matt looked down at his wet shoes. “I really should have packed some boots.” Matt bumped into his father. “Whoa.” He said. “Sorry.”

  John was stopped at a white house near the corner of Main street and Choate road. Smoke billowed out of the chimney. The front path was cleared using a snow blower. There was a clean trail from the front door heading towards the golf course. The sign in front of the house read “Webster Cottage.”

  Matt looked at his father, then back at the house. “Mom made us take a tour here. Daniel Webster lived in there, or slept there, or something, I couldn’t figure out what he did, but it’s some historic cottage built in the late 1700’s. It has a woodstove and fireplaces in every room. It’s a smart place to live.” He looked at Craig. “Do you remember that tour? It was like 85 in Hanover, and Mom made us go in that tiny house that did not have air conditioning, and walk around while some lady talked about colonial times. Brutal.”

  “Well.” John announced. “Let’s see who’s home.” They walked up to the front door.

  John knocked.

  There was a pause before the door opened. “Hey, John! Glad you could make it.” Hank looked at his brother and nephews. “Did you guys walk here?” Hank wondered why he did not hear a vehicle. He looked around for a car or truck on the road.

  “Hank? You’re here? How did you get here? When?” John was confused.

  “Greg?” Hank yelled into the house. “It’s for you.” He stepped down and gave John a hug, but he could tell his brother was not interested in him. “Go ahead, John, he’s in there.” Hank looked at Matt and Craig. “You guys are huge.” He stepped out of the cottage. “You’re brother is inside. He’s fine. We’re all fine. We just finished cleaning up after lunch.”

  John walked into the house, scanning the surroundings. The bedroom to the right had four beds, neatly made, and the living room to the left was clean and uncluttered. John felt like he was dreaming. Not only had he found Greg, but it looked like his son was living a perfectly normal life.

  Hank held his nephews at the door. “Give your dad a minute, even 30 seconds alone with your brother. Okay?” M
att and Craig nodded, they understood.

  Hank had to know. “Where is your car? How did you get here? We were just talking about how the road is clear, and someone might be coming soon. Unbelievable, literally, and hour ago at lunch we told Paul and Rebecca the roads were clear.”

  “Uncle Paul is here too?” Matt asked.

  “Who’s Rebecca?” Craig asked at the same time.

  John was in the living room when Greg came around the corner from the kitchen with a wide grin.

  “You made it.” He said to his father.

  John lost his composure immediately, dropping to his knees and weeping, his face in his hands. He shoulders heaved under his coat. Greg got on the floor with his father, hugging him. “We made it Dad. We made it. It’s okay. We’re all okay.”

  “You’re all I’ve thought about for 8 months. I had to keep your brothers safe, or I would have walked here to find you.”

  “I know, Dad, I know. I’m okay.”

  “Please forgive me for leaving you, please, please understand.” John hugged his son tightly. “I love you so much, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. Forgive me, I’m sorry.”

  Paul and Rebecca watched from the dining room. Rebecca was crying. Paul put his arm around her, pulling her close.

  Hank let Matt and Craig into the house after a minute. He could not hold them back any longer. John and Greg rocked on the floor, kneeling together in a hug. Matt tapped his brother on the shoulder. “Hey, how are things?” Greg stood up and grabbed him. He opened one side of the hug and pulled Craig in.

  “We all made it, can you believe it?” Greg was overwhelmed his brothers were alive. “We all made it.” Greg broke his hug. “You guys have to meet Rebecca. She’s my best friend. I met her on my way up here, back in October. She saved my life, I wouldn’t have made it through another week without her.” He looked into the dining room. “Rebecca, come meet my family.” He waved her over.

  Rebecca stepped into the room. Paul followed her and went to his twin brother.

  “How are you?” Paul asked as they embraced. “Have you heard from Todd?”

  Hank stepped behind the two men and patted John on the shoulder.

  John composed himself. “There is a lot to talk about.” He sniffed loudly, wiping his hand on his sleeve. Rebecca extended a tissue, which John took while giving the girl a bewildered look. “Todd and his family are in New York City, and planning to come up tomorrow afternoon. He has seventeen other people with him, survivors we’ve met on the way up here.”

  “Huh?” Hank said. “Did you say seventeen people plus Todd and his two kids?”

  “Don’t forget Aunt Emily.” Matt said, not realizing Hank and Paul did not know she was alive.

  “Wait, Emily is alive? That’s impossible.” Paul’s mouth was half open in amazement.

  “Like I said,” John gave Paul a pat on the back. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  “So you saved my son’s life.” John looked at Rebecca. “Thank you.” He said. “Thank you with all of my heart, but how did you two kids make it up here and survive through winter?”

  “Pretty easily actually.” Rebecca told him, “but we don’t want to do it again.” She smiled at Greg. “Not if we don’t have to.”

  “Okay, first things first,” John began. “We have a Suburban parked at the bottom of Wheelock next to your jeep.”

  “I can drive now!” Greg blurted out. “Uncle Hank taught me.”

  John paused, giving his son a smile. “Okay, that’s great, but what I need to say is, we have chickens and a few goats in a trailer that we need to bring up. Do you have a different route to get into Hanover?”

  “Goats?” Hank asked. “Where are we going to keep goats?” He turned to Paul. “Did he seriously say he brought goats? This is where the world is? People show up with goats and expect to stay in your house? I had a problem when people wanted to bring dogs to my house, now I have to accommodate goats?”

  “Four goats, 15 chickens.” John replied dryly.

  Rebecca thought about it before speaking. “We have a coop set up, but I don’t know if it can handle 15 more chickens. Maybe if we put a ramp or something out that back door. It’s not cold anymore. We can house the goats in the wood room off the porch, you know, clear some space for them there? Put some of our shredded paper in there?”

  “You already have chickens?” John asked.

  “Yes, I brought them from Concord. I had some neighbors who were urban farmers. I took their chickens.” Rebecca explained.

  Matt looked at Greg, and gave him and elbow, winking about Rebecca. Greg blushed. “Dad?” Matt said. “Why don’t we walk the goats up here, maybe carry the chickens? It might take a few trips, but faster and easier than handling the roads and hills.”

  “Sounds like a plan, we can talk while we walk.” Paul moved to the coat rack in the corner of the living room near the door. He pulled on his coat and went for his boots. He looked down at the new arrivals’ feet. “Do you three want to borrow some boots and dry socks?”

  “That would be great.” John said, taking his backpack off and setting it on the floor. “The goats can wait. Do you have any food?”

  Paul hung his coat back up. “Yeah, I think we can feed you. I’ll put the last two trout in the oven and put some water on the stove.” Paul left the living room.

  “Dad’s trout club, I knew that’s why the jeep was down there full of tackle. Have you been using baited hooks at Dad’s club? Are you insane?”

  Hank smiled. “If we are here when the ice melts, I’ll use a bobber and worms. The fish are giant at that place.”

  Matt walked into the dining room and looked at the computers, data, and maps adorning the walls. “What’s this?”

  “Rebecca is running some models to show the optimal place to live, to settle. We’ve been inputting data about climates, crop yields, that sort of stuff. We have some things to talk about too.”

  They gathered in the kitchen, letting the new Dixons eat at the table, while the others talked about their adventures. There were endless stories, and the conversation continued until dusk and the walk to the bottom of the hill to get livestock.

  Everyone laughed and cried countless times that afternoon.

  Practical questions arose. Where were the three new people going to sleep? “It’s 6pm.” John said to the group. “Let’s walk down to the old house and see if Hank, Paul, and I can get three beds into the study or upstairs master. Both have a fireplace. We can make it one night there, right? We have more than 20 people showing up tomorrow. We have to figure out where everyone is going to sleep.”

  “There are two twin mattresses in the study, and it can fit at least one more. Greg and I spent our first few nights in Hanover there.” Rebecca told them. “It’s a cozy little room. We almost lived there.”

  “Let’s grab an armload of firewood and walk down.” Hank announced. “We might as well open up the old house. It’s where someone will be sleeping tomorrow night.”

  By 7pm the goats were on the porch, the chickens were making friends in the coop, a fire was pre-made in the old house with three mattresses on the ground, and Hank was cooking cassoulet in the kitchen. The rest of the group sat on the couches and chairs in the living room.

  “What if I told you we have a pilot. Would that put Hawaii back in the mix? If we can find a plane that works and has fuel, do we think we can make it to Hawaii?” John asked Rebecca, updating her on the skill set of the arriving tribe.

  “I don’t know enough about planes to say, but absolutely. If we can get to Hawaii, it is our best option, hands down.”

  John nodded. “I’ll talk to Peter when he gets here. He’s a retired military and commercial pilot. He’ll be able to answer those questions.”

  “What happens if we fly to Kauai or Honolulu and the airport runway is jammed with planes? Do we crash land in the ocean? Do we try to land on the beach? It’s not just taking off and having fuel, it’s what the heck do we do to get back on the gr
ound.” Paul ran the scenarios through his head a few times.

  “Who else do you have in the group other than a pilot?” Rebecca was curious about the talent pool John described.

  “A surgeon and a veterinarian, but the neurosurgeon has dreams of being a farmer. She was a botany minor in college.” John, who vehemently opposed meeting new people, now claimed credit for the success.

  “We’ll probably need a farmer more often than we’ll need a neurosurgeon.” Paul noted.

  “Solange is a great soccer player, but she calls if futbol.” Craig added.

  “I didn’t get to meet the New York group for more than a few minutes. They appeared to be like us, muscle and labor rather than trained skills. There was a priest, an i-banker, a few teens, and some younger kids.”

  “If your pilot, our pilot I should say, does think we can make it to Hawaii, we can drive down to Logan to look into planes. I doubt Lebanon Regional has a plane that can make it to Honolulu.” Paul sat back after a long afternoon of excitement.

  They ate in the living room. The kitchen table was not large enough, and the dining room table was occupied with Rebecca’s work.

  Hank’s cassoulet was delicious.

  “We are about to share a very small room together, and you serve me beans and sausage for dinner? You’re a brave, brave man Hank.” John joked.

  “Is this a fancy frank and beans?” Craig enjoyed the meal but was confused about the name.

  “Something like that.” Hank assured him.

  The men made their way to their old home soon after dinner. “I’m beat.” John confessed. “It was a long and tough drive up here. I’m about to fall asleep on my feet.” They said their good nights. John gave Greg an extended hug.

  “I expect breakfast on the table when I arrive.” Paul said as he walked out the door. “I’m sleeping on a floor tonight. I deserve a hot meal.”

  “We’ll give you a call when it’s ready. Sit by the phone.” Rebecca replied wryly and dripping with sarcasm.