Authors: David Berardelli
“They were probably waiting for more military victims when I switched them
off,” I said. “I wasn’t the only one the general’s clone wanted for his collection.”
The van hadn’t been touched. The food we’d taken from the Cocoa Beach
family had gone bad, but our canned reserves would suffice, as well as the
whiskey we’d lifted from Carla and her friends. Our gun collection hadn’t been
disturbed, and neither had the ammo canisters we’d taken from Carla’s van.
“No one’s been near it,” Reed said, climbing in.
“Anyone coming this way would spot those bastards right off and
immediately turn around,” I said.
“But they’re not moving,” Reed said. “Anyone can see that.”
“They’ve only been down for an hour or so,” I said.
“Let’s get out of here,” Fields said. “This place is creeping me out, big-time.”
I grabbed the door handle and was about to jump behind the wheel when a
heavy cloud of dizziness slapped me square in the face.
No time for this, dammit.
I shut my eyes for a moment and wished the discomfort away. We had to
trudge on. We weren’t far enough away to feel safe.
Fields got in and squirmed into her seat. “You okay?”
Her voice sounded a mile away.
“I’m fine.” I barely heard my own voice over the beating of my heart. But I
was okay. I really was. I could make it. All I had to do was climb in and start
driving. After twenty miles or so, I could let Fields take over and…
Just then, my legs turned cold and gave out. I went down, and my right knee
cracked the bottom of the doorway. A giant bolt of pain shot brightly up my leg,
and my side turned hot and tingly. The dizziness returned, and I collapsed to the
pavement.
The blackness was surprisingly comforting.
I awoke in the passenger seat of the van. The seat had been reclined as far as it
would go, and my seatbelt held me fast. Fields was driving. Reed lounged in the
back seat, as always.
The last thing I remembered was the dizziness ripping through me as I’d tried
climbing into the van. My right knee throbbed quietly. Then I remembered. My
legs had given out, and I stumbled. Everything had gone black.
“I was wondering when you’d come around.” Fields munched on a potato
chip from the bag in her lap.
“What the hell happened?”
“You blacked out.”
“I don’t remember a damned thing.”
“That’s why it’s called blacking out, silly.”
Reed handed me something wrapped in a paper towel.
“What’s this?”
“Tuna fish on rye. I made some for us earlier.”
I took it eagerly, unwrapped it, and stared at it.
Food. Actual food
. I began
slobbering even before I bit into it. My taste buds exploded with the exciting
assortment of flavors. It tasted so wonderful, I ate more.
“Did they feed you at all after they brought you to the facility?” Fields asked.
I finished the sandwich and wiped my mouth with the napkin. “Those morons
weren’t exactly interested in my well-being.”
My hunger no doubt had prompted that blackout. I wanted more but didn’t
want to overindulge—at least, not yet. I sat back and noticed the darkness
pressing heavily against the windshield. “What time is it?”
Fields glanced at the clock on the dash. “Seven-thirty.”
“How long have I been out?”
“About four hours.”
“Damn. I must’ve been dead.”
“We checked your pulse every once in a while to see if you were still alive.”
It was a dark and starry evening, with more stars twinkling in the darkness
than I’d seen in a long time.
“I could use a strong drink.”
Fields shook her head. “I wouldn’t advise it. You ate that sandwich entirely
too fast. Whiskey on top of that will play havoc with your blood pressure.”
“Fields, you’re much too young to be my mother. Reed, hand me something.”
“What do you want?”
“I really don’t care.”
While Reed used my flashlight, Fields said, “By the way, where the hell are
we going? Reed said something about driving to your mother’s place in some
rural area north of here. Elk River. Deer Run. Something like that.”
Reed handed me a wet, semi-cold can of Sprite. I glared at him.
“You said you didn’t care.”
“You’re dehydrated,” Fields said. “Shut up and drink it.”
“We’ll all have stronger drinks later,” Reed said. “Once we reach your place
and can relax for a while.”
They were right. If I drank whiskey right now, I’d be shitfaced in minutes. I
didn’t want my mother to see me in that condition. I popped open the can.
Fields said, “How long did you live in Elk…”
“Deer Creek.” I downed a good portion of the liquid. It was still cool from the
melted ice, and it perked me up just as much as the tuna sandwich. “I grew up
there. Where are we, by the way?”
“We just passed I-70 at New Stanton.”
“It took you four hours to get here? Breezewood’s only…”
“We found a place to pull off and rest after about half an hour. You weren’t
the only one who was half-dead.”
I wanted to curse myself for my thoughtlessness. After all, they’d been
through the same trauma. Being forced to assist in those disgusting experiments,
as Fields had been, was probably even more distressing.
“Thanks for taking over,” I said, penitently. “Did you have any problems at
the rest stop?”
“We didn’t see a soul. There were a couple of SUVs, but no activity. How far
away is this place?”
We had half an hour or so more before getting off the Turnpike at Allegheny
Valley then at least ten minutes before finding Bakerstown Road, which would
take us to my grandparents’ farm. “Maybe forty minutes.”
A warm lump filled my throat. I found myself growing more uneasy by the
second. I didn’t know if it was because of what we’d been through or the
uncertainty of what awaited us.
Was I afraid my mother was already dead? Or, worse, was she just a few days
from dying? Could I find the inner strength to take care of her, knowing she had
only days left on this earth? Could I look into the beautiful chestnut eyes of the
lovely woman who’d borne and raised me, knowing she would soon become an
empty shell? Could I face the horror of knowing that this woman would no longer
know who I was?
Hopefully my Uncle Joe was still around and hadn’t been affected. Last I’d
heard, he was still living in my grandparents’ house next door and was always
available whenever Mom needed something. He and Mom had been fairly close
as kids and had grown much closer after Dad died. They were the only two
members left of my family. I hadn’t even wondered about him when I received
Mom’s email, possibly because I’d been concerned only about her.
My childhood had always been my happy place. I’d spent my early years
exploring the fields and woods on the farm, tending to the chickens and cows,
mending fences, and learning to operate the tractor so I could help bush-hog the
pastures. Those years were my happiest. I don’t believe I’d ever been as happy
since.
Until the world had fallen victim to the mass scourge of death, I’d felt sorry
for all the members of my family who’d died. I’d pitied them for dying. I’d even
pitied myself for being forced to live the rest of my life without them.
The plague had changed everything, and I found my sympathy turning to
envy. I finally realized that the dead were the fortunate ones. They’d lived their
lives without being forced to view the horror facing those of us still living.
“Were you close to your parents?” Fields asked.
“Until I was around fifteen or so.”
“What happened?”
“As I grew older, my father couldn’t relate to me as a grown man. He treated
me as a child all my life. Like most people, I resented it.”
“He lost control. It’s common that fathers don’t know how to handle things
like that.”
“He always did like calling the shots.”
“How about your mom?”
“She always treated me with respect. Besides, it was always easier for me to
talk to her. How about your parents?”
“They both died when I was little. A car accident. My aunt and uncle raised
me.”
“Are they still alive?”
“They both went a couple of weeks before ... well, before I left Walter Reed. I
don’t blame you for wanting to see your mom again. I’d want the same thing.”
“I have to see her before … well, before it’s too late.”
“Do you have any idea if she’s all right?”
“No,” I said, hoping with all my heart we hadn’t run out of time.
The old farmhouse was gone.
The cozy four-room, two-story dwelling that had once been a major part of my
childhood had vanished.
Behind us, the van’s headlights cast a golden haze at the small grove of trees
straight ahead. For the last hundred years, the house had sat proudly in front of
the grove. A black emptiness had taken its place.
“I grew up on this piece of land.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the bare patch of
black earth. I felt as if someone had just reached into my chest and ripped out a
large piece of my heart. “Of course, I’m sure.”
On impulse, I switched on my flashlight and directed the hazy beam at the
hilly terrain just beyond the trees. Everything looked the same. Even the square
black silhouette of Uncle Joe’s garage sitting at the top of the hill remained
unchanged.
I switched off the light, and the darkness rushed back. A genuine sadness
filled me—for my grandparents and my parents, and the wonderful life we’d
shared in this very spot, where bare earth now claimed our past.
It had become a grave. A grave of memories.
Once again I was glad my grandparents were both gone. It was bad enough
that the world we knew and loved had vanished. Knowing my childhood home
had also vanished would have surely destroyed them.
“My friend says it was burned to the ground,” Reed said.
“How does he know?”
“He can smell the ashes in the soil.”
My gut churned heavily. “Can he tell when this happened?”
“Not very long ago.”
Was it arson? An accident? Why hadn’t Mom called to tell me about this?
Why hadn’t she mentioned it in her email?
I took a few stiff, awkward steps forward, until I stood on the spot where the
kitchen had once been. I expected to close my eyes and see images of Mom
cooking dinner. Putting groceries in the cupboard. Gathering up dog hair from the
linoleum floor with her broom. Dad coming home. Mom greeting him at the
door. Christmas morning, with the tree sitting in front of the living room window,
the presents stacked beneath it.
Other than the vast, throbbing emptiness, I felt nothing. Only the cool night
air whispering through the trees around us gave me any notice.
“What now?” Fields asked.
“Next door.” My voice sounded hoarse.
“What about next door?”
I forced myself through the shock of all this and turned toward the hill
leading to my grandparents’ house. Slivers of light poked through the pines
separating the properties. It was a sure sign that someone was there, and my heart
lifted at the realization.
Not long after my father’s death, Mom told me she’d been thinking about
moving in with Uncle Joe. Too many memories had made it too painful to be by
herself in the little farmhouse. Uncle Joe had lost Aunt Patsy just before Dad died
and had been living alone in my grandparents’ house ever since. Hopefully, Mom
was there now.
“It’s where ... if she’s still ... she should be there.”
Suddenly I heard the unmistakable sound of a pump-action shotgun, and a
tall, broad-shouldered figure moved toward us.
“What’s your business here?” The figure had stopped about twenty feet away,
his features shrouded by the darkness. I could tell who it was by the way he
rested the gun in the crook of his arm. A huge lump formed in my throat. “UUncle Joe?”
The gun barrel lowered abruptly. The figure moved closer, the headlights
revealing his features. A heavy wash of warm relief rippled through me. The man
had been an important part of my childhood. He’d taught me to milk cows and
mend fences. He’d also taught me to operate a tractor when I was ten years old.
“Good to see ya, boy.” He moved closer. In spite of more than sixty years of
back-breaking farm work and more than seventy years of life, he stood tall and
proud. His white hair had thinned on top but remained thick and wavy on the
sides. His cheekbones were heavy, his nose straight and broad, his lips deeply
etched with fanlike cracks.
His large hand reached out for mine. I wanted to hug him, but he’d never
been the hugging type, and I didn’t press the issue. His grip was still amazingly
strong. A lifetime of farm work kept a man tough.
“How long’s it been?” he asked.
“I saw you at Dad’s funeral. Five years ago.”
“Seems longer. The years play tricks.”
“Definitely, although the days for tricks are probably now close to the end.”
“A damn shame what’s happened.” He glanced past me. “Who’d ya bring
with ya?”
“Fields and Reed. They’re my friends.”
“Where ya comin’ from?”
“Reed and I have come from Orlando,” I said. “Fields…”
“Washington,” she interjected.
“D.C.?”
“That’s the one.”
“Orlando...” He scratched his neck. “Florida?”
“Yes.” I swallowed uneasily. Hopefully he was just rusty with geography, and
his age had slowed down his recall.
“You three old friends?”
“We met on the road,” I said.
“We’re very close,” Fields said. Her remark surprised me but made perfect
sense. You don’t go through hell with someone without bonding with them.
My uncle cupped his hand over the stubble on his cheeks. “You made it all
the way here?”
“It took a while,” Fields said.
“Trouble along the way?”
“You could say that.” I saw no reason to go into detail. We were all tired and
hungry, but one important item on my mind had overshadowed everything else.
My pulse sputtered when I opened my mouth. “How’s Mom?”
Uncle Joe didn’t speak. Chills ran down my spine. My heart raced.
“Is she ... did she...?” I just couldn’t get it out without my throat closing up.
He sighed deeply. “Let’s go inside. We’d better talk.”
The overhead light fixture gave the kitchen an eerie golden hue. The large room
hadn’t changed much over the years. The white plaster walls, the cabinets my
grandfather had built from scratch, and the large Coca-Cola clock Uncle Joe had
picked up at a flea market many years ago and nailed on the wall above the
refrigerator, all remained the same.