Dust (34 page)

“If you are sick …” the man on the megaphone called out. “…With an illness other than radiation, proceed to line two. All radiation sickness cases check in at line one.”

I looked about, left to right. Where to start. Where to begin.

“We are taking a census at building C. If you are looking for someone go there.”

Answer given. Building ‘C’.

“If you are sick with an illness other than radiation, proceed to line two.”

‘What was this guy? A human recording?’ I asked myself.

“All radiation cases check in at line one. We are taking a census at building ‘C’.”

‘Building ‘C’, yes he said that before.’ I started to look for that building as I walked.

“If you are looking for someone go there.”

‘Yes, you said that. But, hello! Where in the hell is building ‘C’?’ Irritated, I moved closer to the megaphone man. If nothing else, I was going to tell him to let people know where the building was.

“If you are sick with an illness other than radiation, proceed to line two.”

“Fuck it,” I said aloud.

“All radiation …”

The megaphone squealed as I snatched it from his hand.

“Hey!” he yelled at me.

“One second.” I lifted a finger to him, and checked out the megaphone. I smacked away his hand when he tried to get it. Pressing the button, I brought the megaphone close to my mouth. “Tanner Niles. Tanner Niles where are you? Tanner, if you …”

“Give me that.” He took the megaphone back. “Goddamn it. I lost my place.” He shook his head.

“You were on the ‘all radiation cases’ part,” I told him.

“Thanks.”

“Jo?” I heard Tanner’s voice, somewhere.

The megaphone chirped, and the man called out, “She’s right here.”

I smiled at him, “Thank you.”

“Jo.”

I turned and saw Tanner moving closer. I stepped away from the check-in area so he could see me, and I headed to him.

“Jo?” Tanner looked concerned. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to have left. Is everything OK?”

“No. I mean, yes. But no. Nothing’s wrong.” I exhaled. “I have to talk to you. Can you spare one minute?”

“Absolutely,” Taking hold of my arm, Tanner led me a little further away, to where there were less people. “What’s going on?”

“We didn’t say goodbye.”

“Yes, we did.”

“No, you did. I didn’t.”

Tanner chuckled, “You came all the way down here just to say goodbye?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I need to ask you something. But first, have you found out how long you’ll be staying here?”

“Jo, I told you I …”

I held my hand up to halt him. “Just answer my question.”

“There aren’t many here. But there are only two doctors. They say about four days, no more than a week. Then we wait for restructuring.”

“Good.” I smiled. “That’s not long at all.”

He looked at me oddly. “Is that all you wanted to know?”

“No. Tanner, you have to let me ramble this out. OK?”

“Go on.”

“OK.” I took a breath. “When you were leaving, you kissed me. I believe it told me something about how you felt, and I said nothing. I need you to tell me if I am thinking wrong about the kiss. I don’t think I am. But you have to tell me. If I’m right, then I know my decision is the correct one.”

“Jo, you’ve lost me.”

“If I’m wrong, I’ll see you at the cabin. But if I am right about the kiss … I want to wait for you. Stay behind; I’ll even help out here. But I go to the cabin when you do. One day, two, a week. I don’t care. I stay with you.”

“Oh, my God.” Tanner wisped out.

“Shit. I’m wrong.” I cringed.

“No, that’s not it,” he said quickly, “Jo.” Almost in pain Tanner spoke, “I would never ask you to do that.”

“I know.”

“So … why?”

“Tanner, I have my kids. I have Burke, my friends. You once told me you had no one. You didn’t find us; fate brought you to us. I believe that. You have been absolutely incredible, and I don’t, not even for a second, ever want you to have no one. You have a place with me if you want it. Understand? Now, am I right or wrong about the kiss?”

“Jo,” he whispered with passion. “More than anything I want to tell you that you were wrong.”

Again, I stated the question. “Right or wrong?”

Tanner grumbled in frustration. “You’re putting me in a really bad position. Burke will kill me if you stay, and I know you’ll stay if I tell you you’re right.”

Smug, I looked at him. “Then lie to me.”

Tanner grunted. “I can’t. You’re right. I’m a dead man. And I have to get back to work.” After giving me a quick kiss to my cheek, Tanner turned and walked away.

***

The cabin was beautiful. At least I remembered it being that way, I was certain it still was, but would have to wait to see for myself. I stayed behind with Tanner. Everyone but Burke understood my decision to wait. It saddened me to see my children go, but I knew they were in good hands, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I was with them at the cabin.

Matty put it the best when she told Burke, “Tanner is part of us now. It isn’t right to let one of us stay behind alone. It’s not like he’s Dan.”

My daughter’s confidence in my choice, gave me confidence.

I did err when I volunteered to help out at the station. Without hesitation, I was recruited. By nightfall I was tired, and my throat was sore. I was deemed the new megaphone man. Twelve hours straight I called out the same thing, over and over. I swore I would hear those words in my sleep.

I was relieved of duty shortly before midnight. And told I earned a four-hour break—gee, thanks. There was a bright spot; they showed me where to clean up. After that, I was given fresh clothes, a hot meal, and the number of my assigned rest trailer.

Food in hand, reaching for the door to the trailer, I heard Tanner call out.

“Jo, wait up.”

I turned and looked. Tanner jotted my way holding his own plate.

“Thought I’d eat with you,” he said.

I smiled and opened the door. “You aren’t going to believe this.” I led the way inside. “I just … I just took a shower.”

Tanner laughed. “You’ll have that.”

“No, I haven’t. I took a shower. My hair squeaks.”

“So does your voice.”

“Ha, ha, ha.”
 
I sat down. “You know I wondered why you were always so clean when I saw you.”

“You were clean.”

“I was sanitized.” I paused to look at my plate. “What is this I’m eating?”

Tanner shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. But I’m sure it’s fine.”

“You’re sure it’s fine?” I sniffed it. “Smells beefy.”

“Then it’s fine. If it smells sour, then I’d worry. Just eat.” Tanner began to delve into his own meal. “So, how are you handling things without the kids?”

“I miss them.” My fork played with my food. “I’m imagining them at the cabin. Matty probably found a tree to sit by and draw. Bet me Davy just ran. Ran from one end of the property to the next. Simon, he probably wanted to run with Davy, but Burke promised me he wouldn’t let Simon run. He said he’d put him on a leash if he had to. Of course … we wouldn’t have Simon running around if it wasn’t for you.”

“Trust me when I tell you, Jo, I wanted him to live as much as you did. He isn’t just your Simon, in a sense, he’s a bit of my son Simon, as well.” He paused peacefully. “So …” he exhaled. “Tell me about this cabin we’re going to.”

“You know, when we were in the shelter, I drew all kinds of pictures about it.”

“You did?” Tanner asked surprised. “Where are they?”

“Back at the shelter.”

“Well, I guess you’re going to have to give me all the details verbally then.”

“I guess I am.” I thought about what I would tell him, building a pictorial in my mind before I expelled it to him. “Tanner?”

“Yeah?” he looked up from his food.

“I want you to know, I really believe now, that there’s a better tomorrow. I really believe that.”

“I do too, Jo.” Tanner smiled at me. “I do too.”
 

27. One Last Look
 

My ‘I’ll be there notebook’. The wear and tear of its cover showed how much I opened that notebook in just over a month’s time. There were spills on it, some of the pages were bent, and the cover contained doodles.

It was my last entry.

Twenty-six AB. Dear Mona: Today I leave for the cabin. The rescue station is closed, and now we play a waiting game to see if the government rises from the ashes. I’m beginning to think at this point in time, all that is gone, will remain gone. You’re in my prayers, always. Jo.

It was my last entry for more than just one reason. That final entry to Mona was written on the final page of that notebook. How ironic. I didn’t plan it that way, it just happened.

I was back in my house. My house. In my dining room, seated at the dusty table, I stared at my notebook. I knew what I had to, and I knew what that notebook stood for. It had gotten me through so much. Many of my heartaches graced the pages of that book. But those heartaches, like my house, were things I had to put behind me. The future was what I had to face.

I made the decision to leave the notebook behind. Taking it was an option, but would I ever read it? Would I want to read it? Perhaps leaving it would be a symbol, or maybe someone down the road will find it, and learn. I knew it had to stay. There really was no reason to bring it. The entire intention of that notebook was to be a resolution of my friends. Closure to their fate. But did I do that? Had I felt that? Yes, I completed my notebook, but I hadn’t completed the list. The ‘I’ll be there list’ was not finished.

I reviewed the list of names. Every single one of them had either been circled, or scratched out. A date or comment was next it. Every name but Mona’s. Hers stood alone, untouched.

It was time to go, but I still stared at that list. I was moving on, moving forward, and I was putting to rest my way of life before the bombs. I would never be able to freely do so without putting to rest everything. It was time to do that task.

Pen in hand, heart breaking, in defeat I did something I never thought I’d do—I placed a single thin line through Mona’s name. I forced my own closure, and then I closed the cover to the notebook.

“Jo?” Tanner called out softly. “Ready?”

Slowly I stood from the chair, and pushed it into the table. “Yeah.” I took one last look at the notebook. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

***

The road to Burke’s cabin was always hard to find, but that day we found it with ease. Gone were the visions of crumbled buildings, scattered cars and decaying bodies. I was awakened with a renewed hope when I saw the trees that lined the gravel road to Burke’s property.