Authors: David Berardelli
But the smell was different. The sweet aroma of my grandmother’s freshbaked bread had been replaced by stale coffee and mustiness.
As Reed, Fields, and I collapsed into chairs at the kitchen table, Uncle Joe
made coffee from the old blue spatterware coffeepot. His hand shook as he set the
pot on the burner of the ancient gas stove. I couldn’t tell if the shaking was the
result of his age or from the sadness inside him. I wanted to spare him from
telling me what happened, but I’d come a long way to see her again, and I had to
know.
“When?” The word came out hotly, and sounded raspy. Neither Reed nor
Fields moved. The silence became thick and intense, like a heavy black tarp
tossed over the room, covering us.
Uncle Joe leaned against the stove and stared at the coffeepot. “Two days
ago,” he whispered hoarsely.
Two days.
The last few weeks had become tangled and unruly. An endless series of
nightmares strung together by fear, anguish, and sleepless nights. How long ago
did we escape the government facility? How long ago was it since I’d sat in that
dark, filthy cell, plotting my escape? Since we were stopped at the roadblock?
Since I’d met Fields? Reed?
How long ago did I receive my mother’s email?
I wanted to go back in time and undo a few things that might have changed
this sad homecoming. Those same doubts rushed back. If I hadn’t stopped to help
Reed. If I hadn’t stopped in Cocoa. Or outside Jacksonville. If I hadn’t stopped in
Breezewood for gas. Or picked up Fields.
I’d missed seeing her by two days. Judging from what I’d encountered in all
the others, she probably started winding down long before that. The fact that
she’d been affected before I left Orlando should have told me something. I’d been
in denial. I’d wanted to see her, hug her, hold her.
I wanted to tell her I loved her one last time.
But even if I’d gotten here three days ago, she wouldn’t have remembered
me. She would’ve looked into my eyes and seen a stranger.
Could I have endured that? Would I have wanted to see her in that state?
“Was it ... I mean, did she…?”
“She went pretty fast. It was for the best.” Uncle Joe turned away from the
stove and from us and stared at the blackness rubbing the window facing the back
yard. It must have been horrible for him to watch his baby sister deteriorate
before his eyes and not be able to help.
“She talked about your dad. How it was when they met. She was moving
around a little slower, and you could tell something was wrong. Then she started
talking like we were kids again, when all of us helped work the farm after school,
before Lou, Ray, and Nick grew up and left home, married and started their own
families. For two days that was all she talked about. Then one morning she came
downstairs. I was fixing breakfast, and she stared at me and asked who I was.”
He turned to face us. His eyes glistened. “She didn’t remember me, and when
I told her who I was, she didn’t believe me. Got real scared…”
“Where is she?” I’d heard enough.
“Out back. On top of the hill. There’s that buckeye tree across from the
garage. She liked climbing it when we were kids, so…”
“I want to see her.”
“Boy, it’s late. Ya need to rest.”
“I have to see her.” A warm cloud encircled me like a shroud. I found it
difficult to breathe. Fields stood up, but I waved her down. “Alone. Please.”
No one said anything as I grabbed my flashlight from the counter and went
back out into the darkness.
The mound was fresh but packed well. I sat down on the cool grass just a few feet
from the buckeye tree and turned off my flashlight. The moonlight provided
enough illumination to let me see the grave, the trees, and the woods beyond the
clearing.
It was a quiet night. The breeze whispering through the trees sounded no
different from the old days. Other than the hooting of an owl and the distant
barking of dogs, I heard nothing else.
I gazed up at the sky. There were even more stars up there than an hour
before, when I had awoke in the van. Perhaps the night air was clearer. Or maybe
the stars had gotten word of the devastation on this planet and shined brighter to
celebrate.
The reasoning was ridiculous. Stars had no feelings. They were oblivious of
us. Oblivious and uncaring. Man was but a passing shadow in the fathomless
universe. A mere flicker, like the final heartbeat of a dying bird.
I sensed my mother sleeping peacefully. I didn’t know where her spirit was,
but I didn’t think it was far. She wouldn’t stray from this place if she could help
it. It was her home, and she was always truly happy here. It was the same with
Dad. Hopefully they were together again, this time for eternity.
Tomorrow I’d find some daffodils to put on her grave. As a child, I used to
pick them for her at the foot of the hill, when the school bus dropped me off. The
flowers grew wild just off the curb. Mom would put them in a glass vase, fill
them with water, and place the vase on the kitchen windowsill. When the flowers
died, I brought her more. It never failed to light up her face when I gave them to
her.
A brush of warm breeze caressed my face, and I closed my eyes, knowing it
was Mom welcoming me back. Tears filled my eyes, and my inner spirit grew
warm as well. It was her spirit touching mine, and I tried to hold on to the
sensation as long as I could. But the warmth vanished only a moment later, and I
was alone again.
Fields and Reed sat at the kitchen table, devouring a large plate of cold cuts
Uncle Joe had taken from the fridge. Six bottles of chilled Rolling Rock and a
large bottle of Jim Beam stood in the center of the table. The coffee brewing from
the pot on the stove gave the room a warm, tangy aroma. I actually felt that if I
closed my eyes, I could easily imagine my grandmother at the stove, preparing
dinner.
Beam, and poured himself a glassful.
“Reasonably.” We exchanged looks. Neither of us said anything else about
my mother. There was no need to. I could clearly see the grief on his face. I knew
he could see it on mine as well.
When the moment had passed, he gestured to the empty chair beside Fields.
“Have a seat. You must be starvin’.”
Fields placed a bottle of Rolling Rock beside my plate. I preferred the Jim
Beam, but my thirst won out, and I took a healthy slug of beer. The sensation of
the cold brew sliding down my hot throat made my eyes water. I put down the
bottle, sighed, and busied myself with chipped ham, cheese, and what looked and
smelled like fresh-baked bread.
Reality hit me. The quiet hum of the fridge, the cold beer, and the fresh cold
cuts—it got me thinking. When I’d first seen the overhead lighting, I’d figured
this area still had a functioning grid. But this setup had a much more permanent
feel.
“I wouldn’t think you’d still have full power.”
“Found a home generator last year,” Uncle Joe said. “Got it real cheap. It’s
got about half a tank left, and its auxiliary is full. That’s about two months’ worth.
After that, we’ll need to drive down to the local feed store in Bakerstown and
find some butane. They won’t mind. No one’s there anymore.”
I bit into my sandwich, chewing slowly. As with Reed’s sandwich, the inside
of my mouth lit up like fireworks. I had another slug of cold beer and felt better
than I had in days.
Uncle Joe lit a cigarette. I didn’t remember him smoking, and he must have
seen my look of surprise. “Took it up a little while ago,” he said, coughing. “Went
to the little grocery just up the road for some beer, and there was old Rollo, lying
on the floor behind the counter.” He blew some smoke toward the light fixture.
“Knew Rollo the last fifty years. I guess the ol’ boy was five, maybe eight years
older than me. Said he opened the register, got kinda dizzy, and dropped. Just lay
there on his side, mumblin’.”
“Mumbling?” Reed asked.
“Rollo was a mumbler from way back. He’d stand at the counter, his glasses
on, lookin’ at receipts and mumblin’ to himself, and when you asked about it,
he’d look at you like you just sprouted another head.”
I remembered Rollo very well. He was a nice old guy, and always gave me
candy and gum when Dad and I walked up the hill to see what railroad magazines
Rollo had in stock. My dad collected railroad memorabilia.
“What else did he say?” I asked.
“Said, ‘Take what ya want, Joseph, don’t matter none no more.’” He frowned
and pushed more smoke toward the ceiling. “I took a couple cartons of Luckies
then closed his register, picked him up, and took him into the back room, where
he’d been livin’ by himself since Grace died. Set him down in his chair and asked
if he wanted me to do anything else, but he was gone, so I figured it best if I just
left. Ol’ boy’s problems are all over.” He grimaced. “I smoked these as a kid but
gave ’em up when I got this cough. No sense prolongin’ things now. If ya can’t
do what you want at a time like this, your head just ain’t on straight.”
No one replied.
But that wasn’t what was foremost on my mind.
“What happened to the house?” I asked uneasily.
Uncle Joe’s eyes turned dark. His face tightened. “I burned it to the ground.”
Reed and Fields both gasped. My uncle’s fierce expression told me something
awful had happened. Why else would he do such a thing? I tried desperately to
read through the dark mask that had slipped over his face. As I stared, I could feel
a similar mask slipping over my own.
I’d seen death and destruction everywhere, and faced my own death many
times during the last few days. I’d killed people and robbed their homes. I was
kidnapped, manhandled, injured, imprisoned, and nearly strapped to a table to be
cloned. In spite of all that, I’d made it home—but not in time to return to the
house where I’d grown up.
“Why?” The word tore out of my throat with the force of a fireball.
“Had no choice. Once your mom moved back here with me, we both decided
to sell the place.” He took a sip of Jim Beam. “Figured it’d be best, since she
couldn’t bear to go back to it, and a house needs people livin’ in it to keep it up.”
He shook his head and his features darkened again. “Things just didn’t work
out that way. About a year after your dad died, she decided to sell it. Bunch of
jerks from the wrong end of town bought it and did their best to turn it into their
own personal dump. They brought over their hick buds, had all kinds of drunken
parties, worked on their ATVs and motorcycles in the front yard—made a damn
nuisance of themselves. For a while, the neighborhood was after me to do
somethin’ to get rid of ’em. I wanted to shoot ’em and be done with it, but your
mom wouldn’t let me. I tried tellin’ her I could dump the bodies somewhere in
the back forty, for the coyotes, but she always left the room whenever I brought it
up.”
“So what did you do?”
“Not too long ago, we decided we’d go into hock, buy the place back, and
bring out the Fire Department to burn it for training.” He took another swig from
his glass. “Then this damn plague started and one by one those hicks dropped
dead. The last one keeled over riding his ATV. I dragged him into the house with
the others, poured gasoline on the kitchen floor, and lit a match.”
“How did Mom take it when ... when she saw the fire?”
“She never saw it, just stayed in the house. Stayed indoors for weeks. Stayed
in her room most of the afternoons and kept the windows and doors closed so she
couldn’t smell the smoke. I don’t recall her ever looking that way again.”
He reached for the Jim Beam again and refilled his drink. “The epidemic
didn’t kill her, boy. Those idiots that bought your house and turned it into a dump
were the ones that pulled the heart right out of her.”
My gut burned with rage. I didn’t know if I was angrier at the people who’d
bought the house, at Uncle Joe for being forced to burn it down, or at how it
affected Mom. “I was hoping ... that is, I thought about maybe moving back into
it once we got here.”
“Boy, you’re old enough to know how things change when ya least expect
’em to. You also know the changes almost always make things worse.”
“It doesn’t make this easier.”
“Anyone ever promise you things would be easy?”
I felt like a naïve kid when he said that. But he was right. If anyone surviving
any of this didn’t see that by now, they had their eyes closed.
“So tell me about your trip here.” Uncle Joe glanced at Fields. “Ya mentioned
D.C. How bad did those government leeches fuck things up, if you’ll excuse my
French?”
“They did a remarkable job.” Fields opened a second bottle of beer. “Before
they all started dying, they were working on an army of robots to clean up.”
“Robots? You kiddin’ me?”
“They were programmed to go out and clean up the streets.”
“What the hell for? Nobody’s left to give a crap.”
“It’s a long story. Maybe tomorrow, after we’ve all had some sleep.”
Uncle Joe nodded. A few minutes later, he led Fields and Reed upstairs and
showed them the three spare bedrooms. Reed went right off to bed while Fields
enjoyed a long, hot shower in the upstairs bathroom.
While we were alone in the kitchen, Uncle Joe grew silent. I could tell
something was on his mind. When he finally spoke, I could hear the sadness in
his voice. “I’m glad ya came back home, boy.”
“You don’t sound glad.”
“I am and I’m not, ’cause of what it all means.”
“What’s it mean?”
His eyes bore into mine. “This place is yours, now.”
“What?”
He sighed and his eyes crinkled up. “I don’t have much time. I know it and so
do you. Before you got here, I was wonderin’ what I’d do. Couldn’t have just
anyone come in and take over. There ain’t many folks with workable noggins still
wanderin’ about, but a lot of ’em are country trash like the batch that ruined your
old place. I sure as hell don’t want ’em showin’ up here.”
I nodded.
“You’re still young,” he said. “Ya haven’t been stung by the bug yet, and
maybe you never will. You can live here until it’s your time and get a few things
done while ya still can. Or just take it easy and bide your time, like I’ve been
doin’.”
This was hard to take. I’d just lost my mother. Now I had to come to the
realization that my uncle would soon be gone as well.
“But you seem all right. You might have ten more good years left.”
His eyes glistened as he lit another cigarette. “A few weeks, maybe less.”
He was still alert and still functioning. He was a big, strong man. He’d lived
this long. He could easily live another couple of years.
“But you look just fine.”
He shook his head. “It may seem that way, but it’s happenin’. Yesterday, I
tried to remember my daddy’s first name. I remembered it this mornin’, but then I
tried rememberin’ Patsy’s middle name. Couldn’t do that, neither.”
“That could be just your age.”
“Wish it was. But we’ve got to expect the worse. Just do me a favor, all
right?”
“Name it.”
“When my time comes, lay me out up the hill, beside your mom. It’s a good
spot, gets lots of sunlight in the mornin’ and shade later on, when it’s cool.”
I just nodded. It’s difficult to speak when your heart is bursting.