Not Dead in the Heart of Dixie

by R Kralik

  I couldn't get through to Nana last night. I couldn't get through to the sheriff's department either. I hope Pop and Nana will stay inside and be on alert. I hope my sister, brother-in-law, and nephews are okay. Please Lord, let them be okay.

  Jason seems to be in a better mood and ate a big breakfast to make up for the empty stomach he had most of yesterday. His eyes still have that haunted look, but I think he has come to terms with the fact that he did what he had to do. We had cold cereal and fruit cups since I couldn't cook with the power out.

  Caleb won't allow Marisa to get more than five feet away. He's clinging to her like a small cashmere sweater on a big college girl. He's still calling her "You Momma!" and I believe she reminds him of his own Mom. Marisa and the girls spent an hour this morning, drilling him with subtle questions to try and find out where his brother and daddy might be.

  They found out that he's either two or three years old. Every time they ask how old he is, he holds up two little chubby fingers, then slowly puts a third finger up. He goes into snort giggle mode and pulls the third finger back down. We are dubbing him two and a half until we can get paperwork or the family bible from his house and find out his actual birth date.

  When asked where his brothers are, he says "scoo." I suppose he thinks they're at school, but that's not possible since school's out for the Christmas break. Daddy is at "wok" and I'm sure that means "work" but he can't tell us where daddy works. Momma, Unky Bo, and Frankie/Davis are in "hebin." Bless their souls. I don't know how Caleb figured that out.

  Carisa says staying inside is driving her bonkers. I may take her with us when we go back to Caleb's house but I don't want her to see the kitchen or the bodies of Unky Bo and the gang. I think, if we go in the front door and straight up the stairs, we can avoid the side yard and the kitchen. Marisa can stay home with Caleb and Amber.

  Carisa will grab every piece of boys clothing, shoes, and toys that she can find no matter what size they are. We plan to use the big wheelbarrow, Amber's little red Radio Flyer wagon, and a couple of laundry baskets to bring back whatever we find. Mick said he could drive the S10 up the driveway, but I'm worried that someone might see us going up the drive and coming back down with a loaded truck. For now, we'll take the path through the woods.

  We'll grab any frozen food in the house. Actually, we'll grab any food we can find no matter what it is, as long as it's still good and isn't covered in guts and blood. With the power off, the freezer and refrigerator stuff will go bad in a hurry and we want to get as much use out of it as possible. I might talk Mick into checking out Mr. Peterson's house to see if any food is left in the kitchen. I haven't seen anyone there in the past few days, but the windows are boarded up. I hope we don't do something that might cause trouble or land us in the pokey. It'll all depend on what Mick and Jason find out in town.

  2:00 PM...

  Mick and Jason came back from town around 10:45 this morning and the news isn't good. We're preparing to go back to Caleb's house right now, so I'll write more after we eat supper and the dishes are clean. We wanna get back before dark, and that happens around 4:30 or 5:00 this time of year. That gives us a couple of hours to spend there.

  9:00 PM...

  I don't know where to begin.

  After Mick and Jason got back, we geared ourselves up for the trek over to Caleb's house. We went with the same weapons that accompanied us yesterday. Marisa stayed home with Caleb and Amber so that Carisa could get out of the house

  When we walked toward the front of the house I could see, out of the corner of my eye, the three dead bodies. Carisa was on my right. I kept glancing at her and hoping she wouldn't turn her head.

  I was surprised when Mick flipped over a little frog statue on the front porch. He took a key from underneath, stuck it in the door lock, and pushed the door open. He wouldn't let us in until he'd cleared the house. I wanted Jason to go with him, but he wanted Jason to stay outside with us. Jason stayed outside with us.

  After a few minutes of twiddling our thumbs, we heard Mick stomping back down the stairs. We all jumped sky-high when he jerked the door open and told us it was safe to go on inside.

  I sent Carisa up the stairs with Jason and a couple of laundry baskets to gather stuff for Caleb. Mick and I decided to head for kitchen.

  It took everything I had to lift my foot off the dining room floor and step into the kitchen. I could see a lot of the horrific mess from where I stood. I could see drag marks where Mick and Jason had taken Momma and Frankie/Davis out the back door to lie beside Unky Bo.

  I pulled my collar up over my nose because the smell in there was almost overwhelming. I thought to myself "pieces of human flesh are rotting in front of my eyes." I had to shake that off, and I had to do it fast, before I chickened out and bolted back the way I'd come. I decided to look at it like it was a movie set or some awful room in one of those homemade haunted houses that pop up every Halloween. I pulled on my latex gloves, gathered myself, and headed toward the refrigerator.

  It was still somewhat cool in the 'fridge and nothing in the freezer section had thawed. I pulled out a pork roast, two six-packs and one four-pack of pork chops, six pounds of ground beef, a six-pack of boneless chicken breasts, two packages of sliced bacon, two boxes of fish sticks, three packs of hot dogs, a half empty gallon of strawberry ice cream, and $1400.00 cash wrapped in white butcher paper. I could feel something snarky about "cold, hard, cash" getting ready to come out of my mouth, but decided to keep it in check and have a little respect for the homeowners. I'll put the cash away to save for Caleb.

  The 'fridge held no big surprises. There was your basic gallon of milk, which was barely touched, along with butter, eggs, cheese slices, yogurt, bottled water, jelly, pickles, ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard, a six-pack of Bud Light beer, several containers of leftovers, and a half empty pizza box. There was a head of lettuce, a couple of navel oranges, a bag of purple grapes, and a bag of baby carrots in one of the crisper drawers. The other drawer held more bottled water and various name brand sodas.

  It took me two trips with the laundry basket to move everything to the wheel barrow. I didn't take the containers of leftovers, or the pizza, because I didn't know how long they'd been there. I left everything on the counter tops including the canisters, counter top appliances, a loaf of bread, a bag of coffee that looked like it had just been opened, and a container of lumpy coffee creamer. Everything there had icky stuff on it and I wasn't about to risk bringing it home.

  I told Mick I was heading home to put the food in our 'fridge since we’re running it with the generator. He told me I was going absolutely nowhere without him and the rest of the crew, so I toured the house while Mick took all the canned goods, boxed goods, and spices he could find from the cabinets and out to the wheelbarrow.

  There was a sack of potatoes and an open bag of onions in one of those little potato/onion bins. It was a closed bin, so he took them. He had to leave a few canned goods because the wheelbarrow was too full to add anything else, and almost too heavy to push.

  The remainder of the house was clean and well decorated. Looking at the family photos made me sad. I grabbed two photo albums off a bookshelf and went outside to wait for everyone else.

  Carisa and Jason came downstairs with two pillowcases and two laundry baskets full of little boy’s clothes and toys. They said there was more up there, but I was ready to go and Mick was finished loading the kitchen stuff, so we came back home.

  Carisa and I cried all the way home. We couldn't hold hands because we were both carrying full laundry baskets. Jason was pulling a red Radio Flyer wagon full of little boy’s toys. Mick got the heavy wheelbarrow.

  Marisa will go through the photo albums with Caleb so we can figure out if Momma's victim was Frankie, or Davis.

  I grabbed a few pieces of mail from a little table by the front door. They were the Baldwin's. Mark and Melanie Baldwin, and three beautiful little boys.

  Unky Bo was Robert Driscoll. Jason found his wallet in
one of the bedrooms upstairs. He was a first Gulf War Veteran and was 48 years old.

  Daddy is still missing. Jason couldn't find any uniforms or clothing that might give a clue as to his workplace. There was a couple of suits in the closet, but those may’ve been for church. Most of the other clothes were blue jeans and pull-over shirts with a few casual clothes mixed in.

  Momma's clothes were regular old housewife clothes like jeans, skirts, blouses, t-shirts, and a few nice dresses and slacks. Momma's victim was Davis. He was the middle boy and Frankie is the oldest. Good luck Frankie, wherever you are.

  Caleb turned three years old last month. I found his birth date on one of those photo's they take in the hospital on the day you're born.

  Marisa cooked hamburgers with baked potatoes on the propane grill. I didn't eat much. I couldn't.

  I can't write anymore tonight. I'm depressed after going in that little house and taking things that belonged to them. I know it won't be the last house we go into because of the news Mick and Jason brought from town.

  No one is going out after dark. You'll understand that decision tomorrow.

  Tonight, I just want to crawl into my comfortable bed and pray for my family and the Baldwin's.

  Bye for now.

  Sunday, January 5

  'Take the children, and yourself, and hide out in the cellar. By Now the Fighting will be close at hand. Don't believe the church and state, and everything they tell you. Believe in me, I'm with the high command' - Mike & The Mechanics, Silent Running

  We didn't bury the bodies yesterday. Mick and Jason are over there now, getting the job done.

  The big explosion was two fuel trucks at town hall. A big rig tanker truck came careening over the curb and hit a parked tanker truck at about fifty miles an hour. The impact caused the parked tanker to blow, and the careening truck to blow as well.

  There are three trucks still there. There’s burned bodies of national guardsmen, police officers, and "citizens" lying dead all over the place. Mick doesn't think anyone there was infected because they were not back up and trying to eat him. Burned out cars are still in line to get fuel. Their occupants are either long gone, or dead inside.

  They saw a little dog lying in the middle of the road with its head raised and Jason asked Mick to stop the truck so he could check on it. It wasn't a puppy. It was a full grown Chihuahua mix and he is suffering with, what looks like, a broken leg. I think he’s mixed with dachshund ‘cause he’s a long, little doggie. Mick says it doesn't look like he was hit by a car. He thinks he might have been attacked by one of the larger dogs that are on the loose since there are a couple of puncture marks on the leg. It didn't even occur to him that the puncture marks may be from an infected person.

  Jason picked up the little dog and stuck him inside his coat. When he got back in the truck, he took two of Amber's non-melted crayons and splinted its leg. He wrapped the shoelace from his boot around the crayons and the leg. Jason and Marisa now have a new dog and his name is "Tig." Jason named him before they could even get him home.

  The hospital parking lot is filled with cars and there’s a lot of HDI's roaming around, bumping into them. Car alarms are going off and it seems to drive the HDI's into a frenzy every couple of minutes when a new alarm is added to the mix. They run and bump into things, and then they settle down for a few minutes before one of them bumps into another car with an alarm, and the frenzy starts all over again.

  Marisa's office building also has all the windows broken out. The doors are standing wide open and the parking lot is bare. They didn't see anyone near the building but they did see a couple of "figures" moving in the public park behind the building.

  The remaining buildings in town are either/or. Either they have the windows broken out with merchandise strewn about, or they look like they haven't been touched at all and might open their doors for business at any moment.

  They met a dirty, soot covered Mr. Peindhart (we've always called him Mr. P) walking down the road. They had to look twice to make sure he wasn't undead. He was carrying a Louisville Slugger that had bits of blood and flesh on it and he looked ecstatic about seeing a running vehicle with living occupants. He asked them to take him to the newspaper office where he's editor. He'd been receiving, and printing, news articles until the moment the power went out. He'd tell them what was going on when they got to the office.

  They put him in the tiny back-seat of the S10.

  On the ride over, he told them what happened to the tanker trucks. He didn't mention the reason for the blood and flesh stuck to the Louisville Slugger. Mick didn't need to ask about it. He assumed that Mr. P had to protect himself somewhere along the way.

  As an afterthought, Mick wondered if Mr. P had any bite wounds. He asked about it and Mr. P told him he was good to go. I could smack Mick in the head for not checking before he let Mr. P climb inside the truck.

  They arrived at the newspaper office and Jason decided to take Tig inside with them. Mr. P didn't seem to mind. He gave them a ton of information and a stack of articles to bring home.

  Mick tried to talk him into coming home with them, but he said he was headed to South Alabama to stay with his son and daughter-in-law. He said he had plenty of food and fuel to get there along with a companion of the .38 special variety and his Louisville Slugger. He was planning to fill several gas cans with fuel from the remaining tanker trucks and head down the road. His car was there, at the office, so he had a ride back to town hall.

  They offered to follow him back and help him fill the cans. He told them he’d be fine and insisted that they head home as soon as they could. They left Mr. P at the newspaper office and headed back.

  The following information is in the capital letters BIG, BAD, SCARY, category. I’ll try to get it all written before I head out to make lunch.

  There's a lot of blah, blah, blah in the articles, so I'll basically hit the highlights and give you the shortest versions I can. I'm having to write this out by hand.

  Electricity is out in all areas of the United States and Canada.

  The President and Vice President along with his cabinet and their families are at an undisclosed location(s). The congressmen and senators along with their staffs and families have been left to fend for themselves.

  Martial Law has been declared for the entire United States of America. Thousands of military troops from around the world are on their way home by air, water, and land. The National Guard has been ordered to keep some sort of lawful order until more troops can get home and in place.

  The troops that were filling spots at bases on US soil are almost all in place near the towns and cities where their bases are located. They've lost control in all major cities and most of the suburbs and smaller cities. There are riots, muggings, rapes, murders, arson, theft, gang violence, kidnapping and any other crime you can think of happening in these cities.

  The National Guard is trying to control traffic in and out of the areas. Each National Guard unit is responsible for their own area. No vehicle is allowed in or out of the cities unless it is a military vehicle under orders.

  There's a "dusk to dawn nationwide curfew" and any violators will be met with whatever force deemed appropriate. All deliveries of food and other goods have come to a halt, and many big rigs are parked at rest stops along the sides of the Interstate with nowhere to go and no way to refuel. All freight carried by these trucks is now the property of the United States Military, and breaking into them will be considered looting.

  The airways are closed to private and commercial travel and can only be used by military aircraft under orders from White House or Pentagon officials.

  No ships are allowed to leave port, and none are allowed to come within eight miles of our coasts without the risk of being fired upon until they sink to the murky depths of the oceans. Quite a few large yachts, fishing boats, and houseboats have headed out to sea, anyway.

  People are trapped in airports, national parks, office buildings, apartment buildings,
buses, and cars on the side of the road along with any other building and area you can think of.

  People are abandoning their cars and walking.

  Anyone traveling without identification will be dealt with swiftly and in whatever manner the national guardsman on duty deems appropriate.

  Most hospitals are no longer operational, and those that are taking patients are doing it on a small selective scale, and in secret.

  People are already beginning to get hungry, and people who are ill or injured are already dying from lack of care and medication.

  We are no longer "encouraged" to stay close to our homes, we are now "ordered" to stay close to our homes.

  Looters will be shot on sight.

  Officers and national guardsmen who are still active and on duty have permission to eliminate any HDI infected person they come across.

  Border patrol has been completely wiped out and refugees from Mexico are flooding into the United States on foot, carrying only what they could grab at the last minute.

  Much of the Mexican population already in the USA is flooding back into Mexico.

  Refugees from the United States are also flooding into Canada and the Canadian wilderness.

  Many Northerners are heading out to the deep waters of the Great Lakes on multimillion dollar yachts, fishing vessels, houseboats, pontoons, and any other watercraft that has enough room to hold a few supplies. Others are headed south to warmer climates and a better chance at surviving.

  People are fleeing into the mountains and deserts of the Western United States.

  The Eastern Seaboard is almost overtaken by criminals and criminal elements.

  Southeastern residents are fleeing into the Appalachian Mountains and the Florida and Louisiana swamps.