by Mark Tufo
The fire was a glowing ember when I awoke. The room was near to stifling, at some point I had pushed the blanket completely off of me and onto Carol. Night had descended and poetically I'd like to say so had my spirits, but in actuality they had been rising since I had been able to scrape myself clean. We were close to Maine. I could almost taste it. My previous dire predictions of what remained there now seemed ill conceived. My family was there, they were a huge factor in my Armageddon paranoia. Compared to them I was the sane one. (I know, scary thought, right!?) We would get there, bloody, beaten and bruised, but not defeated.
I headed into the kitchen to look out the window, not much good that did me. A zombie could have been on the other side of the glass looking in and I wouldn't have been able to see it on this cloudy moonless night. I shuddered and stepped back, pissed off that I was giving myself the frights. 'Shits not bad enough, Talbot, you have to go and make stuff up?' My self-chastisement over, I opened the fridge, forgetting my wife's earlier warning. The waft of stale moldy food almost knocked me on my ass. That was, of course, until I saw the telltale glint of fire embers bouncing off the glistening bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Farmer Powell may have been a religious man; thank God he wasn't abstemious too. I joyfully wrapped my hand around the cold bottle, trying to figure out why the makers of PBR wasted glass on the internal contents. I didn't waste another moment dwelling on PBR's manufacturing idiosyncrasies as I twisted the cap off and drank greedily.
I could tell BT was shuffling around in the other room by his grunting and groaning. He was stoking the dying fire. A minute or two later the living room began to dance in the light of the reinvigorated blaze.
BT came into the kitchen shortly thereafter. "You found beer?" he asked, looking longingly at my bottle of beer.
"Barely." I motioned to the fridge. A good friend would have got up and got his buddy with the healing broken leg a brew, but I wanted him to experience the wonderful odor that came from the tainted appliance much like I had.
I laughed when he nearly swooned from the pungulence. (Yes I made this word up, somehow seems right.) I'll give him credit though, he hung tough and grabbed a beer before he slammed the door shut and scrambled backwards.
"You knew, right?" he asked, sitting down at the table and taking a safe breath.
I nodded as I took another gulp.
"Thanks for the warning." he said acerbically as he twisted his cap off.
"Any time. I'm going to have to get Travis up soon."
BT looked at me questioningly as he took his own pull from the beer bottle.
"I'm almost out," I said, as I shook my bottle "and I'm not opening that fridge again."
"You're not a nice man, Mike," BT said and we both laughed. His face grew more serious. "Mike, I've got to admit this is the worst I've felt since we locked those doors at Safeway a few months back."
"I think a lot had to do with losing that base. We had it pretty good for a while. Someone else was protecting us. We got to pretend we were once again living our normal lives. And now…."
"We're back in the thick of the shit," he finished solemnly.
"Yeah it's definitely much, much better being in the tapered thinner ends of the shit."
BT looked like he wanted to say something more but in the end he just nodded in agreement and drank another swig.
"Speaking of shit."
"Here we go," BT said as he shook his head.
"Why are shits tapered at the end?" I asked him.
"Please tell me this is a joke."
"So your asshole doesn't slam shut," I finished smiling.
BT had beer shooting out his nose he was laughing so violently. "You're a dick," he said, getting up to get the dishtowel hanging on the oven door handle.
Travis came into the kitchen. "Everything alright?" he asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"Well, now that you ask. I sure could use a beer," I told him, pointing towards the fridge.
"You have no bounds, Mike," BT said as he wiped his face dry with his sleeve. "I'll get them Travis. Your dad's setting you up."
I feigned innocence, it was a pose I had adopted entirely too many times over the years. Its effectiveness had dwindled to less than zero.
"Something going to pop out?" Travis asked, intrigued.
"Something like that. Hold your breath," BT said as he slid his chair over to get a couple more brewskis.
"Dad?" Travis asked.
I nodded to BT. He grabbed an extra beer. Guy code is pretty funny. We sometimes can get a lot accomplished with very little verbiage. With one word I ascertained that my son was asking permission to drink a previously restricted beverage, and with only a head nod to BT he realized that I had answered my son's question in the affirmative and he was now fulfilling the order. I guess if someone really wants to go back to the beginning of early man, this type of communication was an evolutionary necessity. When men were hunting prey that was more dangerous than them, they had to get across as much meaning as possible without any verbal communication so as not to alert their intended dinner. I didn't have a problem giving my underage son a beer. Societal laws were now a thing of the past. Life expectancy had gone from somewhere around 79 to most likely somewhere in the 20's. I wanted my son to enjoy as much as life still had to offer at this point, and if part of that involved a so-called 'illegal' beer, so be it. Of all the things I was going to lose sleep over, this wasn't going to be one of them. That was, of course, unless Tracy found out about it, and then she'd make sure I would.
We sat there together in blissful silence, enjoying each other's company and the beverages. Travis was halfway through with his beer when he finally spoke. "Dad, I'm scared."
I nearly choked on my beer as my heart sank somewhere down deep into the depths of despair. To protect, to shelter, to encourage, to cheer on, these are just some of the things fathers do for their kids. Now, I'm not ignorant of the situation, I knew that what was happening was far beyond my scope to control or to temper. I had been doing everything in my limited power to make everything as right as possible, but was it enough? I stood up and hugged him. I had no empty hollow words to try and assuage him, and he would have known them for what they were anyway.
BT was looking away, absently peeling the label off his beer. "How long are we staying here Mike?" he asked.
I pulled away from Travis. We both may have tried to mask an errant flow of briny water. "Tomorrow we'll check the barn and hope we get lucky with some new wheels. He should at the very least have some gas for the hummer."
"Isn't the hummer diesel though?" Travis asked.
"From the mouths of babe," I said absently. "Hadn't even thought of that."
"Diesel, gas what the hell's the difference?" BT asked.
"We put gas in that thing and we won't get a mile before the engine probably shuts down, although we couldn't get a mile with what's in that tank right now either."
"We can't stay here!" BT said, alarmed and possibly realizing for the first time that we were in essence trapped. "Maybe we can walk to the nearest town?" he asked hopefully.
"Nothing personal BT, but between your leg, Carol's age, the frigid temperature and a short legged bulldog, we'd be in a lot of trouble. Who knows how far it is to the next anything."
"Couldn't we just go from house to house?" Travis asked.
"We got pretty lucky with this one." BT said.
"Yeah, going up to people's houses like this is sort of like playing Russian Roulette. Eventually we're going to come across an occupied place with a trigger happy, cautious owner." I said, taking another pull from my beer. I had just begun to dwell on how truly screwed we were. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, from the fire into the coals, out of the coals and into some ill placed lava, from the lava and into hell itself. "Wonderful," I said, finishing my second beer. My earlier head fog evaporated under the heat of realization.
If the night wasn't so entirely bathed in black, I would have chanced going to the barn now
to see where we stood, equipment, supplies and transportation wise. This way, however, I would get to toss and turn all night guessing on what would not be in there.
"Anyone want another?" I asked, this time oblivious to the stink that came out of the fridge.
"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" BT asked, indicating I'd already drank two of the frothy beverages.
"I can die just as easily with three as I can with two." I stood up to see two shocked expressions looking back at me. "Sorry, just feeling a little bitter there for a sec." I stooped to unhappily put my beer back. 'I'll be back,' I whispered to it.
"We heard that." BT said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - JOURNAL ENTRY 23 -
The next morning couldn't come soon enough, considering I stayed up the whole time waiting for it. The sun rose over the pine trees revealing nothing but a white expanse. I went back upstairs and rooted around until I found what I was looking for. "Thermals! Yes!" I said triumphantly. Technically these are long underwear but since I cannot wear someone else's undergarments, this was my coping mechanism. All of us are flawed. It is our responsibility to find ways around those inherent issues.
"Where are you going, Michael?" Carol asked, as I came down the stairs. Her voice was weak and thready. Stress was not doing any of us any favors but she seemed to be weathering it with more difficulty than the rest of us.
"I'm going to check the barn and see if there is something in there that will help us get out of here," I responded, patting her on the shoulder as I passed.
"We're not staying here?" she asked, gripping my arm with more strength than I thought she had left in her.
"Wow, forgot you grew up on a farm," I said rubbing my forearm. I was trying for a little grain of humor. I knew what path this conversation was going down and it looked like it was full of thorns and prickers. Carol wasn't biting on my lame attempt to diffuse her train of thought. "Carol, we can't stay here and neither can you," I said before she had the chance to bring up that very subject. She looked more than a little pissed that I had cut her off at the knees. "Listen, if you don't go, neither will Tracy and if she doesn't go, neither do the kids or me."
"Is that so bad?" Carol asked. "We have a house and at least enough food to get us through the next month or so. Then when the weather turns we can plant everything we need to."
I truly felt bad for her. She had not been happy since she left her home in North Dakota. She wasn't looking ahead. I really tried to be gentle but it's just not in my nature. "This place would be great for about a week Carol, and then we'd be dead." Too blunt? She was taken aback at my candor. "Eliza will regroup if she hasn't already and the next time we meet she won't be so kind." I said, as I rubbed my jaw, the pain of Eliza's blow still fresh in my mind. Why I wasn't eating out of a straw right now was still a mystery to me.
"Michael, I can't keep doing this. This running, and hiding and fighting, I can't do it." She started to cry.
Tracy rounded the corner at just that moment. "Jesus, Mike what the hell did you say to her?" Tracy asked, as she wrapped her arms around her mother. "Come on Mom, let's go sit in the living room, you're freezing." She shot me a wicked glare as she turned her mother around.
I shrugged my shoulders, a victim of circumstances yet again.
"You ready?" BT asked me as he came out of the kitchen. He passed Tracy and Carol as they headed into the living room. "Jesus, Mike what the hell did you do?"
"You too? Are you kidding me? I'm going to the barn," I said indignantly.
"Do you mind if I go with you, Dad?" Nicole asked as she adjusted her gloves.
She still hadn't told me she was pregnant, and as always I was hesitant to put her in danger, especially now that she also carried the future of the Talbots. I took a long look out the side window. Everything still seemed alright and nothing smelled afoul, and I meant that literally.
"Sure, come on." I told her. I kind of had to take her. If she got to crying, Tracy would blame me for that too.
Travis was watching. He didn't look like he was in any big rush to go into the cold.
"Hey bud, could you do me a favor and go hang out in the bedroom that overlooks the barn and just keep a watch out?" I asked Travis.
He seemed pretty relieved that his part didn't involve going outside. "No problem," he said. Tommy quickly fell into step behind him, never once looking over towards me.
"Hey Tommy, if you could keep an eye out on the other side that would be great," I shouted to his back as he headed up the stairs. I think he grunted a 'yes' in reply.
"Relax Tommy, we can't pick who we're related to," I heard Travis tell Tommy as they made it to the top of the stairs. "If we could, I would have traded Justin in years ago." Tommy laughed. It was the first time in a while. It was a welcome sound.
"I heard that little brother!" Justin shouted from the general direction of the pantry.
CHAPTER THIRTY - JOURNAL ENTRY 24 -
The barn was a treasure trove of trash. Broken tools lined the walls. Various sized engine blocks created a haphazard maze. In one of the far corners, debris and trash was piled so high, that any shifting of contents would cause an avalanche of refuse. I was surprised, seeing as how the house was so tidy. My guess was the house was Mrs. Powell's domain, and the barn belonged to Mr. Powell.
"Great." BT said sarcastically. "Of all the farms in Pennsylvania we have to find a hoarder's."
I shrugged my shoulders as I was climbing over a small wall of transmissions.
"Ever build a car?" I asked BT as I got to a stack of carburetors.
"Didn't I tell you?"
He said it so earnestly I had to turn and see if he was telling the truth. He wasn't. BT was still scaling the transmissions when I made it around a stack of radiators that had to be at least 10 high and 5 across. The majority of stuff here was garbage with two notable exceptions and I was staring at them. The first was a 1950's pick-up truck and the second one was an older John Deere tractor.
Nicole had come up beside me. I was apprehensive about her climbing all over the rusted metal lest she hurt something inside of her. I could tell she appreciated all the extra help I was giving her as she traversed the pile but she was also giving me a look of 'What gives?'
BT had finally mustered his way up to me, a nice looking mahogany cane in his hand. "Ah, so this isn't the only thing in here worth something," he said, holding his cane up.
One tire was flat and the bed of the truck was exposed. All three of us had the same thought. BT voiced it first. "Gonna be pretty cold in that truck bed."
"Sure is, too bad you can't drive with that busted leg of yours."
"Nicole, have I told you lately that your dad is not a nice man?"
I shrugged my shoulders again. "Doesn't matter much if there isn't a spare," I said pointing to the flat. "On the other hand, that tractor is making me sort of gleeful."
"Gleeful?"
"Just an expression."
"Yeah, just don't stand too close," he said holding his cane up to make sure that I knew he had a weapon. "Can't really see what a tractor is going to do for us? We can't all fit and there's no cab for any of us to stay warm."
"Not the tractor itself but what it runs on."
"Diesel? That thing runs on diesel?" BT asked hopefully.
"Pretty sure and these farmers usually store it in big 55 gallon drums."
BT looked a little deflated. "This place looks like a graveyard for all things busted, you think he was even using that thing?"
"I hope so, plus it looks like we came in from the wrong side. The barn is free and clear on the other side."
"So he could drive that thing in and out."
"See, now you look gleeful."
"Watch it, Talbot."
"Don't worry, you're not my type."
"What, too pretty?"
"Yeah that's it." I said as I reached up and clapped his shoulder. This was the first break we'd had in a bit. I just hoped it panned out.
"Bingo!" BT yelled a
s he got to the other side of the tractor. He was pointing with his cane to the left hand side of the barn at four 55-gallon drums of something.
He had already found the drums, so I was going to make sure I found the fuel. I rushed passed him. "Glory whore!" he shouted.
The first drum fell over as I pushed a little too forcefully while checking for any contents, nearly smashing Nicole's toes in the process. The second also fell away. BT was beside me as I got to the third barrel. What started off sweetly was quickly turning sour. I was getting anxious. The third barrel had a hand pump secured to the top for dispensing the fuel. It didn't move nearly as easily as the first two, but it did not hold its ground as firmly as I would have liked when I pushed against it.
"Maybe twenty gallons," I told BT. "But that's a complete guess."
"That's a start, right?"
"At 11 miles to the gallon it won't get us halfway to where we need to go."
"How many gallons does the hummer hold?"
"I think around forty, forty-two maybe."
"You going to check the fourth barrel?" he asked apprehensively.
"Why don't you, my luck isn't so good today."
BT whacked his cane against the side. The sound was resoundingly positive. The impression of fullness reverberated joyfully in our souls.
"Probably should make sure it's not cow piss before we celebrate too much." I told BT.
"Wait, what? Why would a farmer need cow piss?"
"He's messing with you BT," Nicole said with a smile.
"This is where I'd laugh my ass off if you weren't such a friggen giant." I smirked at him.
"Just check it," BT said, and I could tell by the sound of the words he wanted to add an expletive at the end.
I unscrewed the small air tap and was welcomed with the slightly metallic, bitter smell of a full drum of diesel fuel. If it was gas we'd have to take the truck and no one would relish their time in the back no matter how many blankets we could stuff back there.
"Now what?" BT asked.
