My wife had suffered enough.
There was a lot of internal debate in those immediate seconds after. Why did I do it? For Maranda, Daisy or even my own selfish reasons?
Whatever the reason ... it didn’t matter.
It was done.
My wife was gone and I had taken her life.
THIRTEEN – FORGIVEN AND FORGOTTEN
I snapped.
Something in me snapped the second I stepped from the bedroom and closed the door. Suddenly, I was this soup of negative emotions. Rage, fear, and panic swept over me and I just wanted to run.
In fact, I did.
I grabbed our coats and my daughter, got in the truck and drove.
I was breaking, I knew it. To do what I did to Maranda whether it was the humane move or not was spawned, in my opinion, from a dark place in my soul. One that recently went black after I lost Beau.
Only a speck existed, the only light I held on to was Daisy.
How much longer would remain to be seen. When that extinguished, no doubt, I would be like the others, a shell of a person, but in a different way.
“Daddy, why are we leaving?” Daisy asked when I put her in the truck. “Daddy, what about Mommy. Where are we going? Daddy what about my booster seat?”
It took everything I had not to say we were running away and never going back. In fact, that’s what I wanted to do. Never look back, never go back, just keep going. The only intention I had on stopping was to get gas.
It was all different. The roads were slushy and the highways untouched. Barely any tire tracks at all, just the ones I assumed were from the military. How clear it was that there was very little life. It was like driving around after a snowfall on Christmas afternoon, no traffic, everyone home.
Finally, I came up with an explanation to my daughter. “We’re exploring,” I told her. “We need to see if people are sick elsewhere. Because there’s no more news.”
“That’s a good idea. Are we going to Aunt Linda’s? We are.” She pointed out the window. “We just passed the Sugar Shack.”
I hesitated before answering, but in my mind I was thinking it was a plan. One I hadn’t thought of. I was so wrapped up in my wife and children, I hadn’t thought of my sister.
“Yes,” I told her. “We need to go check on Aunt Linda and Uncle Steve.”
“Okay.” Her reply was simple. I wasn’t sure how much she absorbed about all that was going on. She seemed naïve, and that was fine with me. The less she comprehended the better. I didn’t want whatever remained of her life marked by more death and sadness.
Instantly after stating we were headed to Sweetwater to see my sister, I started making plans. I desperately wanted to believe that my daughter would not fall victim to the vaccine effect, but it was just a matter of time. Because of her age, she was one of the last in town to get it. They waited until she turned four. Perhaps because she had it so much later than anyone else, maybe I’d get another year.
There was no way to know if it worked that way. We were cut off from all news and information, for all I knew, things could be different elsewhere. To me, that was a possibility. Why else were they taking people from town, three hours away to Franklin?
Again, so focused on Maranda and Beau, we were in a bubble and I now was on the highway out of it.
Not long before arriving at Sweetwater, I spotted the dark cloud in the distance, it hovered on the horizon. It wasn’t a storm cloud, it was smoke. Not a lot, but reminiscent of what I had seen in my town.
Something was obviously burning.
It wasn’t the town, at least I hoped not. As I came over the slight grade in the last stretch of the highway to Sweetwater, I saw two pickup trucks parked there and two men standing in the road.
It was odd enough to see that, but when they raised their rifles, I immediately hit the brakes, stopping about thirty feet from them. I thought of backing up and speeding away, but then they walked our way.
Why were they doing it? Protecting the town? From what?
“Why do they have guns?” Daisy asked, as they walked to the truck.
“I don’t know.” I wound down the window. “Everything alright?” I asked of the man who approached my side. I tried not show I was nervous. Not for myself, but my child.
“Hey, there,” he replied. “You know your name?”
“Yep. Travis Grady from High Water. I’m here to check on my sister who lives here. Can I get through?”
“Yeah, we’re just making sure those driving through aren’t … you know, Lost. We have too many come through plowing into buildings, people …”
I nodded. “We’ve had that, too.”
“You’re fine?”
“Well, if I wasn’t, would I know?” I retorted with a nervous chuckle. “But I am. I was not vaccinated.”
“How bad is it in High Water?” he asked.
“Bad.”
“Yeah, here too. But, you know how it is, we do what we can to help.”
Actually, I didn’t. Unlike the man who stood at my window, Chief Fisher and others, I was focused on my own.
“Well, I hope your sister is alright,” he said. “She doesn’t live near Elm and Stewart does she?”
“No, on North Sixth.”
“Good. Good. We had a gas explosion there yesterday.”
“Is that the smoke?” I asked,
“That’s just a fire. They happen. The explosion flattened an entire block.”
“Caused by The Lost?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yep. I heard it’s like that in a lot of places. The Lost don’t know, leave the stove on … or turn a valve. One of many freak things that occur. It’s been insane here. When you’re looking for your sister, just... just know, trains came and took a lot of folks to a facility.”
“In Franklin?”
“No, Nashville.”
“Ain’t that like the same difference?”
“I guess. But Tara Rose is at the Library, she has a list of all that were taken. If your sister isn’t home, you can check there.”
“Do you have a lot of people not vaccinated, not affected?” I asked. “I know you have almost twice as many people living here.”
“Yeah, we have a good bit. A hundred and two registered to volunteer.”
“Wow, we have twelve.”
“We had no idea, there’s been no word from High Water. I’ll talk to Council to see if they can send some help.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
“Good luck.”
I put my window back up, gave him a nod of thanks and pulled forward.
I knew already it was different in Sweetwater, and I held high hopes that difference extended to my sister.
Perhaps it was my lack of leaving the apartment that I didn’t see the organization in High Water. I couldn’t imagine with only twelve people it was anything like Sweetwater.
The main business district of Sweetwater, unlike my town, was a one-sided street. All the buildings were on one side of the road, sandwiched between them and the railroad tracks was a parking lot and a small, half-circle flag park. In between them was an oddly placed gazebo.
When we drove through, that entire area, the parking lot, the flag park and gazebo were tents and trailers. Smoke rose from a winter barbecue grill and people carried plates, eating. They were dressed in winter work gear.
I passed a truck, they were loading bodies. No one looked or glanced our way as we drove by. I made a mental note of the library’s location, it was busy, folks going in and out. Sweetwater pulled it together, a part of me was envious, and knew if Daisy and I stayed there, I would probably have no choice but to help as well.
Was it like this everywhere? Or did just the small towns decide they had to be neighborly.
I couldn’t imagine a big city like Nashville having the volunteer power. In fact, I imagined the opposites. Opportunist taking advantage of a world falling apart.
I didn’t really connect the dots of my sister’s house and th
e gas explosion until I turned at the end of the main street. Three blocks down it was another world.
That gas explosion was far more devastating than I was led to believe or maybe I just didn’t register what it had done.
The entire area I drove through was flattened. Buildings and homes reduced to sticks of timber and mounds of bricks. Small amount of smoke hovered over the debris from the smoldering fires.
I felt like I was driving through a different type of apocalypse, one brought on by bombs, maybe even a meteor. The area was just decimated.
Finally, we made our way around it to my sister’s street. I always loved her house. It was one of those homes that had a partial second floor. It always seemed too modern for Sweetwater.
Her black SUV was parked out front and the porch light was on.
I pulled into the driveway and waited. I racked my brain trying to remember if she had the vaccination. Did her husband? I couldn’t recall and that filled me with optimism. But then, why hadn’t she called? Although, since Maranda fell victim, I hadn’t called her either.
“Stay here,” I told Daisy. “Let me check first okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“Don’t get out of the truck.”
“I won’t.”
I glanced at my daughter, her little pink knit cap pulled nearly to her eyebrows. I felt confident she wasn’t going anywhere. After leaning in and kissing her on the forehead, I got out of the truck and walked to the door.
I rang the bell, waited, then knocked. “Linda,” I called out. Sidestepping, I peeked in the living room window and didn’t see anything. I was going to attempt to open the window, then I thought about trying the door first.
It wasn’t like in the movies where some key was hidden. If it was locked, my only options were trying the back door then a window.
Of course, the front door was locked. I informed Daisy I was going to try the back. Fortunately, the kitchen door was open.
I was frightened of what I’d find. When I stepped in, the house smelled stale and a little moldy.
Dishes were stacked in the sink and a sauce pot was on the stove with remnants of dried up soup.
Walking from the kitchen and into the living room, I knew something wasn’t right. It was messy. Papers on the floor, cushions from the couch were disheveled. The pictures on the sofa table were knocked over.
I lifted one to set it straight and saw it was a family reunion picture from a decade earlier. Beau was just a toddler and I held him on my hip.
We all were smiling, wearing shorts. It was hot that day, I remembered, and Beau’s hair was curly from the humidity.
There wasn’t a sound in the house and fearful my sister had died, I checked every room.
Nothing.
Not a sign. In fact, a couple drawers were open and so was the closet. Had she taken clothes and left?
My next course of action was to go to the library and check there. See if the woman keeping tabs knew anything about my sister.
I couldn’t stay much longer and leave Daisy in the truck. Taking that family reunion photo, I walked out the front door. As I made it to the truck, that’s when I noticed it across the street. The tricycle. It set in the lawn of the house, on its side. The snow had melted enough to expose it.
A tricycle meant a child.
I hadn’t given much thought to that aspect of it all, maybe because it was far too horrific to think about.
What happened to all the children?
Was that even a question I wanted an answer to?
I got back into the truck, placing the photograph on the seat.
“You okay?” I asked Daisy.
She looked at me and slowly nodded.
“Aunt Linda wasn’t there. We’re going to go into town. Okay?”
I put the truck in gear and proceeded to drive. It would only take a few minutes. I needed to find out if my sister was on that train or worse, did something happen.
I believed that trip to Sweetwater was what I needed. It truly did take my mind off of what happened with Maranda. But that reprieve was short. When I pulled into a spot by the library, my phone rang.
I looked down to the number.
It was Chief Fisher.
A wave of ‘first date’, ‘new job’, ‘waiting on medical test results’ type of nerves rushed over me and before I could answer that call, I saw a flash of Maranda’s face, the look in her eyes just before I placed that pillow on her.
I knew that was why the Chief was calling.
Hands shaking, I answered the phone stating, “Hold on, Chief” then I opened the truck door and took the call as I stood outside.
“Travis,” he said. “Why did you run?”
I didn’t mean to act dumb, it just came out that way. “What do you mean?”
“Travis, we saw you barrel out of town. I went to your place. Travis, I know.”
There was something about the way he said that, firm yet unemotional. It stumbled me and my back hit into the driver’s door. It took everything I had to keep it together. I could feel it welling in my gut, the breaking factor. I wanted to cry out, to sob.
“Chief, I ….”
“Travis, we know. We understand.”
“I killed her. I just … I killed her,” I blurted emotionally.
“I know,” he said. “Are you alright?”
“What?”
“Are you alright? Where are you now?”
“Sweetwater. I just panicked, I ran. I was looking for Linda.”
“When you get your answers. Come home. No one will judge you. We’re gonna move her from the home, Travis. Is that alright?”
I didn’t answer.
“Travis.”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I’m sorry.”
“I understand. I just wanted to let you know that.”
“Thank you.”
“See you soon.”
I didn’t say ‘goodbye’, I was too emotional. I just hung up. I took a few seconds leaning against my truck to compose myself. I didn’t need Daisy to see me upset and I knew, it wouldn’t take much to make me crumble.
Once I believed I was composed, I took a deep breath and walked around the front of the truck to get to the passenger door for my daughter.
Only a woman stood there staring at me.
“Are you alright, sir?” she asked. “I saw you out here. Marty said your truck went through.”
“Are you Tara?”
“I am. Can I help? I know this must be tough.”
“Um, yeah, I was looking for my sister. I went to her house and she wasn’t there and I was ….”
“Oh.” Her expression of surprise caught my off guard.
“Oh?” I asked.
“I thought, you know, you needed help with your daughter.”
At first I thought, ‘what a strange statement to make’, and then as I questioned with, “My daughter?” I spun around to look into the truck.
Daisy had both her hands flush against the passenger’s window, staring blankly out as she repeated tapped her forehead against the window.
There had to be some sort of mistake, or confusion. My five year old was just being odd or quirky. I rushed to the door and opened it.
“Daisy?”
She looked at me and screamed in terror.
“Daisy.” I reached for her and she kicked and screamed.
No. No. It wasn’t happening.
Not my baby.
That fast.
I flung the door open all the way, undid her belt and despite her struggles, her wails for help, I grabbed her and clutched her.
On the sidewalk, I crumbled, knees buckling to the snow covered concrete with my hysterical daughter in my arms.
I was a stranger to her, she was scared of me. And I, at that second was completely and utterly broken.
It was over.
Nothing good would remain.
Even if I wanted to deny it, the painful truth was … the last person left that I loved, my baby,
was now one of The Lost.
I wasn’t strong enough to handle it nor would I ever be.
It was that moment, I knew, one way or another, my life would soon be over.
FOURTEEN – TO THE GROUND
March 18 – Three Weeks Later
“Travis Grady, rise and shine.”
I knew that gruff voice. It was the same one that woke me nearly every morning for the previous couple weeks. Finding me, waking me up wherever I passed out.
Joe Randal.
His usually hoarse and rough voice was growing particularly hoarser and rougher by the day.
He was tired.
He didn’t stop.
Joe was a good guy. I had known him at least twenty years. He was older than me, about a decade. He wasn’t tall or short, just somewhere in between, and he always wore a baseball cap.
Four kids, a wife, two small grandbabies and they were all gone.
Yet, Joe kept going.
I didn’t want to hear it at first.
When Daisy died, I was done. Joe came to my home every day. Tried to sober me up. I was the guy who had the occasional beer and suddenly, I was drinking nonstop.
Slobbering, passed out drunk.
Joe would wake me, wash me, get some coffee in me and drag me out.
Even when it was right after I lost Daisy, he had me out.
“You got to keep going,” Joe told me.
“I don’t want to keep going. I don’t want to live.”
“Yeah, well, neither do I. Now is not the time to die.”
I didn’t know what the hell that was supposed to mean.
There was too much work to be done and I didn’t see the point.
I knew there were still a few people left that were dying, but they were finding bodies, moving them. A dozen people cleaning up the town. Why?
“We start here and move on. People lived and loved, we can’t just leave them to rot where they are,” Joe said. “Is that a fair testament to their life? Don’t those who built this world deserve more.”
He was like this spokesperson, or salesman of the post apocalypse world. If the end game was to get the survivors together, why wouldn’t we just go somewhere and start a new life?
Joe used an analogy.
Last Dance at the End of the World Page 9
