Over the next week, he nursed himself back to heath as Death continued its harvest around the world. The electricity stopped working and then the natural gas too. When water stopped flowing from the faucet he said goodbye to modern amenities.
The nearby interstate no longer hummed with its endless supply of vehicles. The symphony of the living quieted to an eerie silence, unnerving him as he waited for the police or the military to come and free him from his cage of loneliness. Salvation never arrived. The stench of dead bodies permeating the air provided the only answer to his question: Is anyone else alive?
Feeling refreshed from the water, he stretched his arms and flexed his fingers, feeling relief as his knuckles popped. He continued his trek across the creek and picked up the trail on the other side.
The grass and trees were so thick he was unable to see more than a few feet around. Numerous footprints on the far side of the creek led up an incline that ended some thirty feet up. The hunter was unable to determine if one person or many had walked the area.
Faced with a new dilemma, his choices were to continue his search, or go west toward his original course. His inquisitiveness won the debate, the desire to meet another human clouded the possible negative consequences.
Moving stealthily to the top of the rise, he felt for the Ruger Blackhawk holstered against his chest as he cautiously peeked over the edge. The grass was much shorter. He discovered a mostly opened area and a weather-beaten shotgun style house with the roof sagging in the middle. Four goats tied to a fence grazed on the grass, one looked his way as it continued to chew.
The hunter’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes fell on the backside of a man who was in the process of tying the final knot in a rope around his neck. He followed the other end of the rope to a limb in the pecan tree stretched out above.
The figure stood motionless for several minutes and then buckled at the knees. The rope stretched taut as the noose bit into his neck. His arms went limp by his side.
Seeing another human being was shock enough but now watching the only other person he knew to be alive attempting to kill himself made the hunter’s mind twist in indecision.
If he didn’t act immediately, the conclusion would be certain. Turning his panic into action, the hunter slipped his backpack from his shoulders, raced to the trunk of the tree, and climbed up to the limb with the rope attached. He carefully shimmied across, pulled a Bowie knife from his belt, and severed the rope with two slices.
The man fell forward onto the ground, landing on his chest with a faint grunt. His head turned to the side, staring into oblivion with vacant eyes.
The hunter clung to the limb with one hand and hung above the body, contemplating dropping to the ground to be by his side. The young man’s purplish face made him fear his rescue wasn’t in time.
A sudden gasp from below told him he hadn’t been too late after all. Through a series of coughs and gags, the young man refilled his lungs with air and relaxed now that the struggle was over. Blinking his eyes and awkwardly pulling the rope away from his neck, he rolled over and stared upward.
The hunter pulled himself back up to the limb using both arms and perched, contemplating his next move.
It was the face of a young man looking up at the hunter. His eyes a dark brown under roughly trimmed bangs of shoulder length hair.
“You gave me quite a scare. It is a lucky thing for you I came by when I did,” the hunter said.
The young man’s eyes narrowed. “Are . . . are you an angel? Am I dead? Is this Heaven?”
“An angel? Why, there is no place for silly superstitions in the world we now live in. I am indeed a man, just as you.”
The young man propped himself on his elbows. “But you don’t look like a man. Where’re your legs? How come you’re in the tree? You hang from the tree like the monkey in one of my books.”
The hunter frowned. “A monkey? You reduce me from the status of angel to monkey just like that? Yes, I have no legs, but a full man I am nonetheless.”
Rising to his knees and then standing, the young man removed the rope from around his neck. “Why don’t you have any legs?”
“Ah yes, the question everyone thinks when they see me for the first time. It’s quite a droll story, involving an automobile and a truck. But enough about me, to whom do I have the pleasure to make acquaintance?”
The young man turned his head to the side. “Huh?”
The hunter sighed. “Your name, boy. What is your name?”
“John. John Spillman.”
“John, now that’s a noble name. Short, but powerful. It rolls off the tongue like a battle cry.” The hunter lifted a fist to the air. “John! Many famous men named John in our history. John Adams, Captain John Smith, John Kennedy, John Wayne, John Lennon, and even Big Bad John of our pop-culture.”
John stared blankly up toward the strange man. “You talk funny. I don’t understand half of what you’re saying. No one has talked to me for a long time.”
“I empathize with you, as the only conversations I have had over the many years have been with myself. Fortunately, I am pleased to listen to the sound of my voice,” the hunter said, pointing a finger in the air. “Where are my manners? Forgive me, allow me to introduce myself. I am, Rex. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Rex? I had a dog named Rex when I was little.”
“Rex, from the Latin, means ‘King.’ I am Rex, king of the Carnival from my native New Orleans. I am Rex, king of the world. At least,” Rex paused, “I was until today.”
“King of the world? There are other people too?”
“I feared not, hence, why I crowned myself king. Now, finding you, there is hope. Nay, there is assurance. The question remains: will the others treat us as friends or foes? Rex paused, and closed one eye. “John, you are my friend, aren’t you?” Rex said.
“I . . . I guess so. But, we just met.”
“I saved your life. That is something a friend would do, wouldn’t he? I could have let you hang until the voids of darkness swallowed you, thus to be no more. But no, the kind soul that I am saw a brother in need. I have unselfishly risked my own life, placing my trust in the goodness of humanity—in you, John. If I come down, as it’s getting rather boring up here, do I have your word that you will do me no harm?”
John frowned. “I won’t hurt you. Why would I hurt you?”
“I can tell you speak from a true heart,” Rex said, then carefully made his way across the limb and back down the tree trunk to the ground.
Rex’s legs touched the ground right where his knees should have been. His stature being no more than four feet, John, who stood a few feet away, dwarfed him.
“My, they sure grow big around here. How tall are you, John? Six-three, six-five?”
“I don’t know.”
“It must be in your genes, the clothes you are wearing fit, so your father must have been a big man too. How old were you when the sickness came?”
“I don’t know . . . I remember when I was six. I got a bike for my birthday. I might have had a birthday after that, but I’m not sure.”
“The sickness came twenty years ago. I was about the age you are now, in my mid-twenties, the peak of manhood.”
John looked at the ground. “My whole family got sick. I was the only one that woke up. My Ma and Pa didn’t. Neither did my two older brothers and my younger sister. No one ever came for me. Even when I got brave enough to look for help I never found anyone else alive.”
“A sad story. One that I share. An evil plague snuffed out the dreams of humankind. A blow to the pinnacle of evolution in Mother Earth’s greatest achievement. We are but crumbs left over from the feast. Brushed aside from the table to the ground to be trodden upon by the inferior creatures of the world.” Rex paused and shook his head. “Enough of my diatribe. Tell me what led to your irrational decision to hang yourself.”
Johns closed his eyes. “I don’t care anymore . . . not about nothing. I don’t want to eat
. I don’t want to fish or even check my traps. There’s a buzz inside my head that won’t go away. I’m tired all the time. When I’m awake, it hurts just to live. I’m only happy when I sleep.” John opened his eyes again. A tear rolled down his cheek. “I just want to sleep and not wake up.”
Rex stood on his hands raising his stumps to the sky, walked to John’s side, and then lowered himself back to the ground. “Perfectly understandable. You are going through a bit of depression. I’ve had my bouts with it myself.
“I have decided, as long as there is a spark of life in me, I will press on. Our journey here on Earth is but once. No matter what we may face, it is our obligation to live and feel all that life has to offer. The good times and the bad times. Smell the flowers when in bloom and cry when the thorns prick us.
“We are cosmic products of the universe. Our bodies are made up of dying stars that gives us our substance. It is our existence that gives the universe its recognition, its purpose. When humanity dies, thus so dies the universe. As there will be none left to recognize it as such.”
John looked down. “You look funny when you walk on your hands.”
“My rambling has finally crossed the line with you, eh? Touché, my new friend. Regardless, I am on a mission, and I am inviting you to join me in my quest.”
“You’re going somewhere? Where’re you going?”
“I am escaping the frigid winter of these United States seeking the warmth of our neighboring sister, Mexico. The plan is to travel as far south as necessary until we come to an area where the temperature remains at a nearly constant eighty degrees; somewhere south of the 24th parallel. I have a map in my backpack to guide me.”
“I’ve never been to Mexico. What’s it like?”
“Mexico is a unique land filled with ancient Mayan and Spanish culture. A perfect place to grow crops year round. With some of the best fishing and hunting to be found in the northern hemisphere. It is a land of plenty and it will offer us our best chance of survival. Why I bet you’ll look quite dashing when we fit you with your first sombrero.”
“Some-bray-o? What’s that?”
“Alas, you have so much to learn. Thank goodness I have the time and the want to teach. A sombrero is a large hat. It will shade you during the heat of a bright sunny day.
“Now, let us move along and take an inventory of what you have here we can use for our journey,” Rex said, pointing toward the house.
The two entered a small lean-to shed off the side of the house. Various tools were haphazardly strewn about the workbench. A large metal tool chest with multiple drawers set in a corner. Rods, reels, and fishing baits filled shelves on one side of the wall. Along with paddles, life-vest, and floats for fishing nets.
“We only need basic things for survival. Our concern is to travel as light as we can. I have a few essential tools in my backpack. If we find ourselves lacking, we can seek out the closest town.”
“What should we bring?”
“Judging by the fish bones in your rubbish heap, I take it you are quite skilled as a fisherman?”
“My Pa taught me how to fish and trap. I’ve been doing it all my life.”
“Grab a handful of hooks and sinkers, along with your most successful artificial baits. Pick your lightest rod and reel combo and the two canteens on the shelf,” Rex instructed, patiently waiting as John carried out his orders in succession.
Leaving the building and entering the house, Rex winced when he took his first breath inside. “My stars, it smells like animal musk, mold, mildew, with a hint of smoke and ash. You should air this place out more often. No matter, this will be your last day here.”
“What else do we need?” John asked.
“Gather three days’ worth of clothing. Wrap them in a plastic garbage bag if you have one. If not, I have one in my pack. Surely your father was a hunter. Where are his guns?”
“They’re in the next room.” John turned and led Rex to a bedroom with a standalone wooden gun cabinet with a glass door.
“The rifles are effective, but I’m afraid their weight and bulk disqualify them from accompanying us on the journey.” Rex spotted a curiously short gun on the end. “What have we here? Ah yes, a sawed-off shotgun. Illegal I’m sure by yesterday’s standards, but perfect for travel. Do you have any shells for it?”
“There’s a half of a box left in the kitchen. I shot all the rifle bullets. I don’t like to shoot the shotgun. It kicks real hard.”
“Nevertheless, it is the perfect companion.” Rex picked up the shotgun and cycled the pump-action, confirming it was empty. “If we are forced to use it, the kick will be the last thing you will remember during a conflict. Let us leave now before I am overcome with an asthma attack.”
Walking back outside, Rex took a deep breath of air. “Yes, fresh air. In addition, the clearing of the lungs has cleared my mind. Go back inside the shed and bring out two of the life vests.”
“Are we going to take my boat to Mexico?” John asked.
“No, I have an unhealthy phobia of sharks. Also, my arms are strong, but I need legs to maneuver in the water. The vests will involve our mobility. You will see shortly. Come, come, time is wasting.”
John made a scowl like his head hurt, went inside the shed, and returned with the life-vest.
Rex gave him a nod of thanks, unsheathed his knife, and started cutting the straps away from the floatation material. John watched as Rex took the straps and threaded one into the other. He put his arms through one set and tightened the belt around his chest. The other straps hung loose in front.
“My preference would be traveling by four-wheeler or jeep, alas, gasoline in but a memory of the past. You, good boy, will carry me on your back to our destination.”
“Can’t you just walk on your hands?”
“Yes, but that would slow us down. Consider this a temporary arrangement. When we come upon a cow or if we are lucky enough to find a couple of docile horses, we can travel the old fashion way on the back of a beast. Squat down so that I might test my apparatus.”
John turned his back to Rex and squatted. Rex looped his left arm around John’s neck. “Stand up, but continue to lean forward.” John lifted Rex with little effort. Rex’s body was parallel with the ground, the straps hung down. “Take the straps and buckle them across your chest. After you do that, tightened them, and then stand upright.”
John did as instructed. When he stood normally, Rex slid comfortably behind him in the piggyback position. “Go ahead and walk, let me know how it feels.”
John walked in a large circle, adjusting one side of the straps.
“Well?” Rex asked.
“Feels okay,” John said, right before he broke into a light jog.
Rex’s head bounced back and forth, before he finally steadied himself by wrapping his arms around John’s neck. “No need to be in such a hurry. I didn’t plan on running to Mexico.”
“Okay, I just wanted to see if I could run,” John said, coming to a stop.
“Squat down and unbuckle your straps. We should eat a meal before setting forth,” Rex said, eying the goats in the yards.
Rex retrieved his backpack and reviewed his map with John, pointing out that if the two could manage to travel twenty miles each day, they could reach their destination in as few as fifty days.
John slaughtered one of the goats and prepared it for roasting on a spit. The other goats he set free. The three choose to stay and graze in the yard rather than escape, despite the fate of their brother.
Rex produced wild persimmons from his pack which he’d found the day before; the two shared a satisfying meal and watched the sun set in the western sky.
The rest of the evening involved shelling a good amount of the last year’s pecan harvest. The tasty nuts would travel well and provide extra calories between meals.
Sleep came easily as the night drifted in and darkened the landscape. The peaceful air buzzed with the songs of insects. Rex slept in a makeshift bed on the porc
h, while John slept in his bed one last time. The void of loneliness was finally filled in both of them.
*
John treated Rex to a breakfast of boiled corn and left over goat. Corn was the one vegetable John had helped his Pa plant. He liked the way the corn grew in even rows, standing like soldiers at attention, and had many adventures in the cornfield while growing up. After his family died, he had the presence of mind to continue a small crop every spring.
After filling their bellies and getting the call of nature out of the way, Rex loaded the backpack, and broke down the rod and reel to make it fit for traveling. John showed up with a machete from behind the lean-to after filling the canteens from the hand operated water pump.
“Your new life, dear boy, begins today. Put to rest the sadness of old,” Rex said, securing the traveling straps around his chest, and slipping his arms around his backpack. “This is the first day of the rest of your life. We shall sally forth together, and revel in the bounties of nature until we declare our final destination.”
He motioned to John that he was ready. John stooped down and Rex mounted his back. Securing the straps around his chest as before, John stood upright and made final adjustments. He handed the shotgun to Rex and faced the western sky. The sun beamed down from behind, casting a shadow in front that looked to be that of a goliath.
“Look at our shadow, John. No longer are we two, now we are one. Let us go as paradise calls us.”
With the machete in hand, John took the first steps on the long journey toward a new land. The buzzing in his head had stopped, replaced by the intoxicating allure of wondrous dreams.
* * *
The days seemed to come and go quickly to John. Rex filled the waking hours with stories of life before the sickness. The history of the nation, the history of the world, and odds and ends of his life.
John at times asked two questioned for every sentence spoken to him. Rex learned to use patience and modified his language into terms John could more easily grasp.
Apocalypse³ Page 3
