Becky had tossed hay bales from the loft for use as chairs. Two bales stacked and covered with a small tarp provided a table. Still half asleep, I dug into the plate she handed me.
“How long was I out?”
“An hour or so. I hated to wake you.”
“No, I’m glad you did. After you treat my wound and we pack up you can do the driving and I’ll ride shotgun.”
“You don’t think we should wait, let you get more rest?”
“Naw. I can sleep while you drive. You see anything to worry about you can wake me. Honey, I don’t want to be traveling. I want to be at the cabin in the mountains.”
“Do you have any idea where we are?” she asked.
I spoke around a mouthful of spaghetti noodles. “Last sign I saw before we stopped said Cordele, Georgia ten-miles. I drove maybe five miles after that.”
She went to the truck to fetch our Georgia roadmap and spread it on the clear end of the table. “We’ve covered sixty miles since yesterday morning.” She began tracing lines with her finger. “Oh man, we still have over three hundred miles to go.”
“Not too bad,” I said. “Normal times we could do that in four, five hours. Now-a-days, let’s say ten hours. What time do you have?”
She glanced at her wristwatch. “8:45.”
“Call it 9:30 by the time we’re back on the road. We should be there by 6:00 or 8:00 this evening if we don’t get lost on the back roads we’ll be taking.”
Becky’s expression seemed happier. “Finish eating and find us the best route. Write the directions so I won’t have to check the map while I’m driving. The kids and I will clean and pack.”
The last thing packed was the plastic crate holding a huge assortment of OTC medicines: gauze, ointments, Band-Aids, and tape. The bulk of the space was taken by elastic bandages and such.
I removed my clean shirt while Becky moved a bale closer to the table. She had me lie on the makeshift table with my legs dangling.
“Roll so I can get to the back hole first,” she said, using her hands to guide me.
She used her fingernail to lift an edge of the packing tape covering the exit wound and peeled it off.
“How does it look?” I asked. “Is the hole very big?”
“No, the hole is bullet sized and it’s puckered around the edges, but it closed up. No bleeding.”
“I thought the exit hole was supposed to be bigger.”
“Well this one’s not. I’m going to put antibiotic ointment on it, and tape on a gauze patch.”
She was gentle, but my side was tender and the process was painful. She finished with the exit hole and positioned me so she could get to the entry wound by my navel.
She peeled away the tape. “This one’s not closed. It’s oozing blood. Ralph, the edge of the hole is red and swollen. I think we need to get an antibiotic like Jed suggested. I’m going to use rubbing alcohol and peroxide to clean it.”
This time it really hurt, especially the alcohol. I had to use my arm to muffle the sounds I was making.
When she finished, I struggled to my feet and looked at the bandages. She’d cleaned away all the dried blood from my skin and the squares of gauze were firmly taped in place.
“Hon, do you think you can rummage a button up shirt from our bags? Getting into a pullover is hell.”
We encountered another barricade of cars blocking entry into the town of Cordele. Becky stopped too far away for us to read the sign leaning against one of the cars, but we were close enough to see the armed men behind it. I told her to turn around.
We backtracked to a road that took us to the interstate. As we passed the exits leading to Cordele I saw the bottom of the off ramps were barricaded too. Several miles farther on, we left the interstate and regained highway 41.
After we were back on our route, I was fully awake for all of fifteen minutes. The next thing I was aware of was feeling the truck brake, and then slow to a stop.
“Wake up, Ralph. There’s a bus coming toward us.”
My eyes opened and I could see the yellow school bus. “Yeah, I see it.”
“What should I do?”
“Just keep driving. Drive past it and keep going.”
As she moved her foot from the brake to the gas pedal, I noticed her hand seek the pistol lying on the seat beside her.
The bus didn’t slow down and neither did Becky. As we passed, I saw it wasn’t a school bus. It was a church bus. The man driving was dressed in black and he waved at us. Several of the rear seats were occupied. In the brief moment of passage
I saw a middle-aged black couple, several kids, and some grey haired elderly.
Becky must have been holding her breath, because I heard her draw a deep one, and then sigh relief.
“Looks like there’s a preacher out gathering a flock,” she said. “Christ, Ralph. I see what you mean. I want off this highway, too. I know I’m going to panic every time I see another vehicle on the road.”
“The sooner the better,” I agreed.
“I’ll handle this. I have to. Go back to sleep.”
I awoke again, this time because Becky was slowing down to make a turn. She saw me sit straighter and heard me moan.
Speaking low so as not to wake the children napping between us, I asked, “Where are we?”
“Perry, Georgia. I saw a sign for a hospital.”
We were on a main thoroughfare leading west through the city. By the position of the sun, I knew it was late morning. It was a beautiful bright day, but as in every town we’d driven through, the rotting bodies of unattended plague victims lined the curb. The warmth of the sun had brought out the scavengers.
Crows, vultures and rats were feasting on the dead. At one point, a hundred feet in front of us, I watched a pack of six wild dogs bring down a smaller dog, a poodle. They began tearing it to shreds. As we passed the pack, I saw the dogs run off in separate directions, carrying pieces of the poodle in their jaws.
Becky said, “We can add dogs to the list of ways to die. I saw another pack a few miles back.”
“I think the plague bodies are too rotted for them to eat. If they’ll eat another dog, they’ll eat us for sure.”
The hospital, a spread out, one story complex of buildings, was right off the street we were on. Becky pulled into the parking slot in front of the main building.
“How do we handle this? Should I wake the kids and we all go in?”
I looked around the parking lot. There were only a few parked cars.
“I haven’t seen any sign of live people since we entered town. Considering how big it is, there have to be some survivors. I guess we risk going in.”
Becky said, “I didn’t like the way the hole in front looked. The edge was too red and inflamed. We can’t have you getting an infection.”
While she woke the children, I slid from the cab to check our surroundings. My side felt stiffer, but not as painful. I had expected to find the scene at the hospital to be chaotic, packed with cars and dead bodies everywhere. Other than a few scattered vehicles, the entire parking area was clear.
Gazing away from the complex of buildings, I could see smoke coming from a few chimneys of houses far in the distance. Holding my shotgun ready, I circled the truck, looking for dogs, people, any sort of danger. I stopped by Becky and the children waiting for me on the other side.
“It’s quiet here,” I said.
Becky glanced around the parking lot. “It looks so normal. I mean except for not hearing regular noises like cars on the road and people going in and out.”
“I hope the hospital is as abandoned as it looks. I guess by now, it’s been robbed of any meds drug addicts might want. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find what we need without any hassles.”
Taking the lead, I headed for the entrance doors. Becky took the rear, herding the children behind me. I pushed through one of the double doors and held it open for Becky to steer the kids through.
I let go of the door and nodded to the greetin
g counter twenty feet from us. “Let’s see if we can find directions to the pharmacy.”
“I have to say this, Ralph. I want to clean your wounds again and if the hole in the front’s still open, I’d like to find some sutures to close it.”
All four of us nearly jumped out of our skins when a man hiding behind the counter stood, pointed a shotgun at us, and spoke.
“Sir, lower your weapon so it’s not pointed in my direction or I’ll blow your head off.”
I lowered the barrel of my shotgun to point at the floor, mainly because his shotgun pointed at my head backed up his request. Middle-aged, wearing a sports coat over a white shirt, he smiled, and in a conversational tone, spoke again.
“How may I help you? I heard your wife, I assume she’s your wife, speak of a wound. Stay where you are and describe the wound.”
Becky glanced at me and then turned to speak to the man.
“My name is Becky, My husband’s is Ralph, and these are our children, William and Jennifer. Highwaymen shot my husband in the side two evenings ago. The bullet went in close to his navel and out on his right side about eight inches away from the entry hole.”
The man didn’t say anything for a long moment.
“Are you a doctor?” Becky asked.
The man seemed annoyed. “I was. It appears your husband suffered a superficial wound. There will be some muscle damage with pain and stiffness, but it should heal. Why are you here today?”
I was growing impatient with him. In fact, I was beginning to think the man had some sort of mental condition.
“My wife thinks the entrance wound may be infected and she’s worried because it hasn’t closed. What’s going on here? How is it this hospital doesn’t look like it treated any plague victims?”
Still using an annoying conversational voice, he answered.
“Sir, this is the main entrance. For a time, we had a contingent of Guardsmen directing the flow of the afflicted to the emergency center at the rear of this building. If you saw that area, you would see we treated our share of plague victims. The smell back there might deter you, though.”
“Are you the only one left alive?”
“At this facility, yes, in the town quite a few residents remain alive and viable. I am here to serve their needs.”
Becky said, “Your family’s gone, aren’t they? You’re here because you don’t want to go home.”
“That is correct. My name is Phillip Jamison. As director of this facility, it is my duty to remain at my post. You do not reside in this town but I won’t turn you away. I heard you mention needing the pharmacy and sutures. I will write directions so you can attain what you need. Only the wife can go. I can’t have you running willy-nilly taking what you want.”
Still holding the shotgun pointed in our direction, he used one hand to write on a sheet of paper. Then he shuffled to the end of the long counter, laid the paper there, and returned to his previous position.
“You’ll pardon me for not wanting to get too close to you. Madam, please place your pistol on the floor and take the directions. I wrote the name for the proper antibiotic and where to attain the sterile sutures. Please hurry. I want you gone as soon as possible. You’ll have to do your doctoring elsewhere.”
Becky laid her pistol on the floor and went to the counter for the paper. She looked it over and then pointed to a door leading from the reception area. The man nodded.
Becky was gone for twenty minutes. The man didn’t talk to us and I could see he was getting uneasy about how long it was taking Becky to return. The children grew restless, and Will wandered a few steps away. The man tensed and pointed the shotgun at my head again.
“Sir, control your children. Do not let them leave your side.”
“Jesus, bud, take it easy will you? Will, Jen, sit down while we wait for your mother.” The nut was getting on my last nerve.
Becky finally came through the door. Jamison made her hold up the bottle of medicine and the plastic packs of sutures. We thanked him and left.
“That was insane,” I said as we walked to the truck.
“No, he’s insane. His family is dead and he’s pretending he’s still the director of a functioning hospital. I took two bottles of the antibiotics. I only showed him one because I was afraid he’d think I was greedy.”
Becky came to an abrupt stop and bent. Vomit spewed onto the asphalt. She heaved several times. I was at her side when she finished puking. She stood, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket.
“Oh God, Ralph. I went farther than his directions. I saw the mess behind the building. There must be a thousand bodies back there. Stacks of bodies. Some of the stacks are taller than I am with birds on top pulling off pieces. Maggots. There were so many maggots moving, the piles looked like they were breathing. Liquid was running from the bottoms of the piles.
“I don’t think that man ever leaves the front counter except to get food from I don’t know where. Outside the reception area, the place is a mess. In the pharmacy, I had to dig through bottles scattered on the floor to find the Keflex he wrote you needed.”
I helped her and the children into the truck. Moving around had loosened the muscles in my side. I took the driver’s seat and drove us away from the hospital, my mind wrapped around what Becky had described.
By chance, Perry was the point our route dictated we leave highway 41 in order to by-pass the large city of Macon. The new road wound through areas even more rural, and homes were farther apart. This suited me fine. The miles rolled by. When we had to stop for nature’s call, we did our business right on the road.
The roads were amazingly clear of abandoned cars. I came to the conclusion people didn’t willingly cough themselves to death while driving. That’s not to say we didn’t occasionally pass cars, windows closed because of the weather. Some were thick with flies behind the glass.
Six times over the next several hours since we’d left the hospital, we encountered other travelers, four moving south opposite our direction, three cars and a pickup truck. The cars breezed past so fast we couldn’t see the occupants. In spite of the cold, the driver of the pickup had his window down and waved as he went by.
The two cars that approached us from the rear passed us. One, occupied by a younger man and woman who didn’t bother to acknowledge our existence; the other, a corvette, horn blaring, raced past with a male teenager at the wheel. I got the feeling he’d taken it from a sales lot or from a home and was out joyriding.
I was dozing and Becky was at the wheel when we crossed from Georgia into North Carolina. The sun was dipping below the tree line and the hilly, curvy road we were on required a driver’s attention. She spoke softly.
“We could probably reach the cabin if we keep going but I’m burned out. Not sleepy, but my eyes are stinging from staring so hard.”
Will was lying across my lap and his sister was asleep against him. I gently woke them so they would sit up. As I shifted to another position, I found my side had stiffened again.
“Find a place to pull over and let’s have another hot meal for the final leg to the cabin. I’m starving and I need to loosen up.”
After several minutes, I spotted a country store, and tackle shop advertising live bait. Not seeing any cars parked in the lot, I asked her to pull in. The entrance door had been forced and hung askew on a single bottom hinge.
I struggled from the cab and went to check the place. There were no remains of plague victims but the business had been heavily ransacked in the past. As in other places we’d searched, this store sold ammunition. That was gone. The food supplies were gone too, but there was a plethora of fishing gear on shelves and scattered in the aisles.
I went to the doorway to wave Becky and the kids in.
“There’s not a lot of inventory left except for fishing gear.”
Becky suggested I gather anything I thought we’d need while light was still coming through the front glass. I grabbed a hand basket from beside the front door and began
pacing the shelves, scooping hooks, floats, weights, bait and anything else I thought we needed. There were several cheap rod and reel sets propped in a stand-up rack. I carried those and the full basket to the truck and went back inside to do more scavenging.
I could smell spam frying. It had to be hunger inspired because the crap smelled really good. I hurried my shopping and Becky hurried the cooking. We scarfed down the slices of spam and shoveled the warmed-in-the-can mixed vegetables into our mouths. Twenty minutes later, with me behind the wheel, we were rolling on the last leg of our journey.
The next thirty miles led us deep into the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. A few turns and then a final one onto a long, graveled drive brought us to the cabin.
I stopped short of the building so the headlights illuminated the front doors.
“I didn’t see any lights on as we drove up,” Becky said.
“I didn’t either. Didn’t see any fresh tire marks on the gravel either. I’m going in to check it out before we assume it’s safe. Put the safety on and pass me the shotgun.”
My flashlight lit the way to the cabin. I mounted the steps and crossed the deck to the door, noting that the siding on the building was fake logs. The door was locked and it was sturdy. I returned to the truck and got my trusty crowbar. Trying not to do too much damage, I managed to force a gap between the door and the jamb and was able to push it open.
The resemblance to a cabin ended at the front door. The inside was exactly what you’d expect entering any high-end home. It had plush carpeting throughout, spacious common areas and a well-appointed kitchen with stainless appliances.
The downstairs was clear of humans, dead or alive. The same was true for the four bedrooms upstairs. Knowing Becky and the kids would be anxiously awaiting me, I hurried back to the truck and opened the passenger door.
“Honey, it looks like we’ve found our place. No one’s here, and the ends of the beds have stacks of sheets and blankets ready to be made. Let’s not worry about anything until morning. I’ll keep watch if you’ll make the beds. Just two. Will and Jen can sleep together. They’ll be warmer that way. Tomorrow we’ll get the heat going and, God, I hope the water heater too.”
THE TRASHMAN Page 12
