by Crane, J. J.
Many of the older children took to digging more foot hole traps along the exterior of the defense line as well as a few random ones deeper into the woods. Any group attacking from the forest would most likely stumble on a few of these, hopefully, slowing them down if not stopping them. Ted suggested we semi bury a couple propane tanks to act as mines in case we needed to shoot one. It sounded corny, but if nothing ever happened, the tanks would still be good for future use.
Ted, Pops, and Max wanted to increase our gas stock. Next to food and water, it was the most precious commodity one could possess. With the seizure of Lasker’s supplies, we had plenty, roughly two hundred gallons, but now it was time to stockpile more. Several of us had gas-siphoning kits, and thankfully we found an additional fifteen empty five-gallon fuel containers in one of the sheds the Lasker gang used to store supplies. The Body agreed a team should scout and siphon out cars in the two nearby developments.
A team of four: Myself, Max, Ted, and our newest member Emma, collected the empty gas containers and put them in the back of Ted’s pickup truck. Emma was eager to volunteer. She had handled herself well during the battle and wanted to contribute more.
Prior to the expedition, Ted and I approached her, handed her a home defense shotgun.
“It’s yours,” I said. “It’s loaded. All you have to do is pump it to chamber the round.” I handed her a small gym bag. “Extra ammunition,” I said. “If you need more, let us know.”
Emma stood for a second examining the gear. It was amusing to see this petite woman with a handgun in her waistband and holding a shotgun. She stared at the two of us, her lips quivered. Without warning, she embraced me with her best bear hug. “Thank you,” she said.
Max and I sketched out an agenda for gathering fuel. Our goal was to begin at sun up and travel house to house filling as many containers as possible. One person would stand watch on the truck, one behind the wheel, while two siphoned a car apiece. If we happened to access gas from a family that was alive, we would peacefully withdraw, hoping they would want to join us. We agreed on a two-hour window for the first mission. If we needed more time, we would reassess.
I pulled into the first driveway we came to in Circle Estates. It had two cars in it. As we exited our vehicle, the smell of decaying flesh became apparent, making us more conscious of trying to breathe through our mouth. The smell had such a rank odor, it left an unpleasant taste on the palate, making me want to spit often to rid myself of the nastiness. We knew if we entered one of those homes the smell would knock us over, make us vomit or both.
Bruce took watch as Max and Emma went to work on the gas tanks. Thankfully, both cars didn’t have locked gas caps; something we missed in going over our plan. Emma was the first to strike the liquid gold. Max smiled, giving her a thumbs up. She had about a gallon in the container when Max finally got his going. It took longer than expected to retrieve fuel from the tanks; Max retrieved two five-gallon containers, and Emma collected five gallons in one container and only two in the other before it stopped. Once finished they put the containers into the truck then dashed over to the next house.
I didn’t like that they took off, leaving themselves as open targets. I started the truck and moved it over to the next driveway, this time positioning the vehicle at an angle to act more like a shield. As I scanned the neighborhood, it still staggered me that no one was jogging, walking a dog, or going to work, shopping, anything. Aside from some birds and squirrels, the place was utterly devoid of movement.
At the two-hour mark, Ted, who was working the radio back home, informed us it was time. I reported we were finishing filling up containers and once done, would be on our way.
I opened the door to the truck while clipping the walkie-talkie to my belt when it slipped out of my hand and bounced on the driveway before landing on the lawn. When I stood up after grabbing it, I thought I saw a curtain move in the house across the street.
“Did anyone see that?” I asked.
“See what?” asked Max.
“I thought I saw someone watching us from that house across the street. I could have sworn I saw someone dash away from behind a curtain,” I said as I pointed at the brown
colonial house directly across from us.
“I didn’t see anything,” Emma said.
I radioed Ted. I told him what I saw and to assemble a backup team in case we needed it.
“There is someone in there,” Emma burst out. “Top floor, middle window; I could have sworn I saw someone peek out of it.”
“Yeah?” I said. “Could you make anything out?”
“No,” she said. “Wait, maybe. A child, I think. For some reason, I think it’s a child.”
I couldn’t recall detail, but her assumption didn’t seem wrong. The radio then crackled with Ted’s voice. “Jason, Bobby and Curtis are gathering gear.”
“Okay,” I responded. “Wait, what, Curtis?” The idea of my son on a mission startled me.
“Don’t sweat it,” Ted shot back.
“Ok. Be on standby,” I returned. I looked at Max and Bruce and told them to keep us covered. “I’m gonna check it out,” turned to Emma, “You’re coming with me.”
Max and Bruce looked surprised, but not as surprised as Emma who stuttered trying to respond to the request. Before anyone could question my motive, I explained myself. “If it’s a kid, they may respond better to a woman, feel safer than two guys with guns rummaging through the house.” I looked at her. “You okay?”
She said yes and waited for me to lead on.
“Keep your weapon ready.” We ran across the street and up to the front door. “Okay,” I said taking a deep breath, feeling an adrenaline rush wash over me at having no idea what I was getting into. “When we go in, I’ll lead, but I want you to call out. I’m guessing if it’s a kid they are frightened to death if not on the verge of starvation.” Emma said she understood.
I placed my hand on the door handle assuming it locked. I turned the knob and remarkably, the door opened. I stopped and backed off, not expecting the door to open so easily. “I don’t like this at all.”
Emma agreed. I could see the shock on her face when the door went ajar.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
“Let’s circle around back and check that out. This seems too much of an open invitation for disaster. The guys can watch this end.”
“Which way?”
“Around that side,” I said pointing to the short side of the house to our left. We ran. As we came around the corner, we flattened against the side of the house, shimmying our way to the back. I poked my head around the bend pointing my shotgun first. When I got a good look, I saw someone running into the next yard. “Let’s go!” I shouted and took off. Emma followed a few strides behind.
“I see’em,” she said, as she passed me. She began to shout. “Hold up! We mean no harm. We have food. We have safety.”
The person ran fast. The figure looked like a child, skinny, the clothes whipping around their frame like a sheet on a pole, their long hair swaying steadily in a matted mess. We ran hard to keep up. With every stride, Emma increased her lead over me. She kept repeating the same mantra that everything was okay, we were safe, we had food, and we had safety. Finally, after zigzagging nearly a hundred yards through several backyards, around swing sets, patio furniture, pools, and sheds, she caught up. Emma reached her hand out to the runner’s shoulder who instantly collapsed. Emma tumbled right over the person who lay exhausted and breathing heavy. As I caught up, Emma crawled back to the child who was now weeping.
“It’s okay,” she said, reaching out her hand and lightly touching the person. It was a young girl, maybe eleven years old. Emma kept repeating in a soft tone, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
“What’s your name honey?” I asked. The girl kept her face down. Her sobbing began to subside. When I looked up, I saw the pickup truck pull into the nearby driveway; I instantly held up my hand to let them know the situation was okay a
nd to stay back.
Emma again cooed that everything was fine and began to stroke the child’s back, feeling the indentations between her ribs. Finally, the girl turned over. Her eyes examined both of us, darting from one to the other. Emma nodded continuing her mantra of, It’s okay.
“Do you have a name sweetheart?” I asked again, as nicely as I ever asked anything.
Soon the young girl sat up. I slung my rifle behind my back to look less threatening. Emma tried to hide her’s from sight. The girl looked towards the truck then back at Emma.
“My name is Sue,” she squeaked in a raspy voice.
“Hi Sue, I’m Emma, and this is Rob,” Emma said with a reassuring smile. “I bet you’re hungry?”
Sue nodded. “So is my brother.” Her words barely audible.
I leaned in slowly. “Where’s your brother?”
Sue looked around, trying to get her bearings. Then she pointed past several homes indicating a location a couple of blocks away. “He’s sleeping.”
My heart sank thinking the kid was probably dead and Sue was carrying on a fantasy about him being alive. “When was the last time you ate?” I asked.
Sue looked at the sky as if to count. “A day ago,” she choked out. “I found some worms, and we ate them.”
My teeth clenched at the thought. Starvation can drive you to eat anything.
“Can you take us to your brother?” Emma asked. Sue nodded.
Sue led us through several yards before coming to a home three blocks from where we found her. She entered through the front door as if it was her house. Emma followed and I behind her. I swung my shotgun to the front and across my chest.
“He’s upstairs, but we should be quiet and let him sleep, he
needs to rest,” Sue said in an innocent voice, the crackling scratchiness fading. The house had a chill but wasn’t frigid. We climbed the stairs. Photos of the family that once occupied the home decorated the walls. A fine layer of dust covered the glass making them appear as shadow figures, the sharp images of smiling faces just a finger swipe away.
As we entered the second floor, all the doors to the rooms were open. Looking into each one, they appeared as if the family had simply stepped out for the afternoon; little children’s toys on the floor in one of the rooms, in another I saw dust covered gold tinted trophies aligned along a shelf. Sue entered a dull white room, with a simple dresser against one wall, an armoire against another, with minimal wall art. Lying on top of the covers of a queen size mattress was a rail-thin young man, his face sunken from malnutrition.
“Bo, we are saved,” Sue whispered. “Bo, we can leave now.”
The boy didn’t flinch. His stiff body looked dead until Sue tugged at his leg and the boy’s eyes opened. They were dark, cloudy, and set back into his drawn looking skull.
“Sue?” he whispered, seemingly not seeing her.
“It’s me, Bo,” Sue answered as she sat on the bed and caressed his lower leg. “We can leave. People have come to save us. They promised us food, water, and heat. Won’t it be so good to feel warm?”
Bo slowly turned his head to us. He lacked any expression, his pale color and hollowed look revealing just how close the shadow of death hung. “Someone is saving us?” he asked, his words barely making it out of his mouth.
“Just like mom said would happen?” Sue said. “Let’s go eat.”
Carefully, I slid my arms under him and lifted. I could hear air escape from his mouth as if my moving his frail body caused him discomfort. “Sorry,” I said as I set my balance.
He was light, but also dead weight. The way he hung in my arms, I could feel his bones press against my flesh. I had to make sure his head leaned in against my upper arm and chest. Otherwise, it would flop over and hang like an old dishrag on a hook. Emma stood close, adding some support to his limp body.
Bo could not sit up in the front seat of the truck. His body slumped forward while I tried to seatbelt him in. If I didn’t catch him, his head would have smacked against the dashboard. He lacked any form of strength. We had to lay him down in the back of the cab, buttressed against the gasoline containers. I sat in the back with him, holding his legs to keep him from sliding around like unattended luggage. I couldn’t believe a person with so little body strength could still be alive.
Returning to our homes, we went straight to the quarantine house. Even with a radio confirmation that the virus had run its course, Emma, and I decided to quarantine ourselves with Bo and Sue. The Body motioned a forty-eight hour quarantine before making another evaluation.
Doc, Belle, and Pam met us at the house. They brought over some canned fruit, crackers, protein bars, and water. June put together some chicken noodle soup for Sue and a light broth for Bo. The gleam in Sue’s eyes quickly turned to tears at seeing all the food before her. I could see her hands shake at deciding what to eat first.
Doc checked out Bo. With rubber gloves on and a surgical mask, he propped Bo up, leaning him against a stack of pillows on the couch. Checking his eyes with a small light, Bo barely responded. His pulse, almost non-existent.
Doc motioned for me. “I’m shocked he’s alive. This is as close to death’s door as one can be.”
I understood. “Can he survive?”
Doc shrugged. “He can. I don’t know if he will. He’s made it this far, but I don’t have anything we can feed him intravenously with. That is really what he needs.”
“Will the broth June put together help?”
“Broth and protein drinks, whatever we have. Crush a multi-vitamin into small pieces, so it dissolves in a glass of water. This kid needs a lot of attention to get him back on his feet.”
“Then let’s make it happen,” I said.
“He’ll be fine,” Sue chimed in with a touch of glee in her voice. “He’s special. Mommy said so.”
“And where is your Mommy?” Pam asked.
Sue didn’t answer. She turned away, ducked her head but not enough to hide the frown that scrunched up on her face.
Then we heard a shell of a voice, all hollow air floating across the room. “Dead.” It was Bo. We stared at him. He didn’t look any different, no movement, just a vacant stare.
“Dead?” I repeated. I thought I caught a nod of confirmation.
“Mommy said Bo can’t get sick; that’s why we are alive. He got into homes and got us food before we ran out,” Sue said while continuing to consume her meal.
“Where did your mommy go?” Emma asked.
“She had to work at the hospital,” Sue answered with little emotion. “She said she had lots of work to do and couldn’t come home right away.” She paused a moment. “The hospital was really busy.”
“Was she a doctor?” asked Pam. Sue said, yes.
“What makes Bo so special that he can’t get sick?” Doc asked.
Sue shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Mommy said he couldn’t because he had to take care of me. Maybe it’s because Bo was the best football player in town.”
We looked back at Bo. Bo Hendricks, the starting high school quarterback, a junior. He led the team to a regional championship round. He had garnered lots of attention from recruiters at division one schools both local and abroad.
Looking at him, this wasn’t the same person. This Bo weighed less than a hundred pounds. His face was unrecognizable, ravaged by malnutrition, and dehydration. This was not the same person who graced the cover of the local newspapers.
Doc motioned for me, Pam, Belle, and Emma to come in the next room. “We’ll be right back honey,” Emma said as she turned the corner into the hallway. Sue nodded while continuing to eat.
“You think there is something special about this kid?” I asked.
“Power of suggestion if you ask me,” Doc replied. “The mother, I suppose, knew her fate and instilled it into both of them that the virus would not infect Bo.”
“That’ll work?” Pam questioned.
“The mind is far more powerful than people understand,” Doc an
swered. “If he truly believed it, maybe it’s possible but highly improbable.”
Emma concurred.
“Then he could technically be carrying the virus,” Pam said. We looked at her, stunned, and waited with anticipation for an answer.
“Technically, yes,” Doc said then raised his hand knowing we would jump to that conclusion. “But, it is highly doubtful. It is more probable they outlasted the virus, like us.”
“Yeah, but he went into homes where the virus probably was alive and well,” I countered.
Again, Doc could see our eyes widen. “But… as long as he didn’t come into contact with any of the people that the virus may have been alive in, or on infected surfaces, he would be fine.” Doc looked at me. “Like your friend said, the virus can only live on surfaces for a few days. It is highly unlikely any surfaces he may have come in contact had a living virus on it.”
We relaxed.
Doc continued. “And, who knows, maybe he gathered supplies using rubber gloves and washed his hands afterward. Their mother was a doctor after all, and she probably told him the necessary precautions to take. Besides, if he had contact with it, it stands-to-reason, Sue should have contracted it. Besides, this kid just didn’t fall into his current state of health. He’s probably been laid up like this at least three weeks, if not longer. If he had contracted the virus, he’d been dead by now, especially in this compromised state.”
“Then how is it that she seems fine, and he looks like he will die any minute?” Pam asked.
Doc raised his eyebrows as if searching for an answer. “Possibly they found a little food, and he made sure Sue ate it. More likely is that he got sick, pneumonia maybe… it looks like he may have even flirted with hypothermia.”
It all sounded plausible to me. Whatever the reason, if Bo recovered, I was sure he’d fill us in.
At the end of the forty-eight hour quarantine, Pam decided to stay with Emma and help nurse Bo back to health. Doc checked in several times a day to monitor the situation. After a few more days, Bo’s face and eyes still looked sunken like a living skull, but color began to come back to his once pale skin. He even started showing signs of strength and could sit up on his own.
