Ever Onward (5 page)

Now they would wait forever. All the
occupied bunks held the same dry, brittle remains that had spilled
out of Robert Fuller’s bag.

Josh staggered and would have fallen
if Jessie hadn’t caught him. Shaken, Josh looked at his son. The
youth’s expression might have been set in granite.

“They’re all dead. Just like Uncle
Bob.”

Josh could only nod, his mind racing.
What was going on? It must be a bloody dream! That’s it! I’m having
a nightmare --- a terrible nightmare. I’ll wake up soon and find
myself back at camp; or better yet, in my own bed with my wife
beside him. Oh, God! Let it be a dream!

But a part of Josh’s mind knew that
this was no dream. Things were just too damn real. The smells, the
sounds. Even the light seemed real. He squeezed Jessie’s hand.
There were tears in the boy’s eyes. Taking a deep breath, Josh
walked both of them back into the main room.

“Sit down, Jess. We’ve got to
talk.”

The boy did as he was told, silent
tears still flowing. Josh hugged him, his own tears mingling with
his son’s. After a while, they faced each other, hands still
touching.

“I don’t know what has happened, Jess.
I...I’m not even sure what to say. Something has has
---”

“Murdered Uncle Bob and all these
other people,” Jessie put in.

The idea struck Josh like a blow.
Until now he had thought of this as some kind of accident; some
crazy, insane mistake. A disease or plague of some kind. The idea
that it might have been man-made turned his stomach. He pushed the
thought aside. That way led to madness. He rushed outside, the
crisp mountain air helping to clear his head.

Jessie followed, offering his water
bottle. Josh accepted it with a sigh. Part of him wanted to scream;
part of him still wanted to throw-up. He settled for a
grunt.

“Tough little bugger, aren’t
you?”

“Can’t help it,” Jessie replied. “I
take after my old man.”

“Ya?”, Jessie said. “Tell that to your
mother.”

That one word froze them both.
‘Mother’. What about her? Everyone they’d seen in the mountains was
dead. What about the world outside?

Both father and son made it back to
their camper in record time.

On the way back to the parking lot
they’d past several tents. After calling out, Josh had looked
inside. More of the same; brittle gray-brown parchment spilling out
of sleeping bags.

Whatever it was, it had come in the
night, somehow sparing only himself and his son. Thank God for
small wonders!

Except for the cars, the parking lot
was empty. No gangs of eager hikers chatted as they checked their
gear. No trail weary trekkers sat resting their aching feet. The
gravel lot looked like a four-wheel graveyard.

Josh unlocked the Westfalia and tossed
their packs inside. Jessie climbed into the front seat, a worried
expression on his young face.

“Dad? Do you think Mom’s
O.K.?”

The Volkswagen engine roared as Josh
swung the camper around. “I hope so, Jess, but...” He stopped
himself from speaking his fears. “We’ll soon see.”

Ten minutes later they were in the
small town of Keen Valley. Little more than a cluster of stores and
houses perched on the stony banks of the East Ausable River, its
claim to fame was a paper mill, a post office and first rate
camping store. All were empty, all were silent, all held the
remains of what just hours ago had been living beings.

After that Josh barely slowed down.
Taking the 9N east, he pushed the aging camper up the rolling hills
between Jay Mountain on the left and nearly mile high Giant on the
right.

Jessie peered out the window as the
slightly larger village of Elizabethtown flashed by. “Nothing
moving here either, Dad. Maybe we should stop and check it
out?”

Josh’s answer was to slam the
gearshift down into third and floor the gas peddle.

He did stop as they neared the
overpass to Interstate 87. To almost everyone in the world the
words ‘New York’ conjured up in the mind’s eye a vast, sprawling
city, teaming with cars, trucks and most of all, people. Known
worldwide as the Big Apple --- the City that Never Sleeps. To those
living in upstate New York however, those two ‘magic words’ meant
something completely different --- green forests, blue lakes and
tumbling streams, all punctuated by the majestic towering peaks of
Adirondack Mountains. Interstate 87 was the Northlands lifeline. At
any time of the day or night you could hear the traffic humming
along; from the Canadian border just an hour south of Montreal, all
the way south to the Big Apple itself. I-87 was the major artery
into the heart of the beast.

Only this day the beast was
silent.

Looking up through the bug-splattered
windshield, both father and son listened for a sign that the world
as they knew it was still there. The only sound came from the
pounding of their hearts and the screaming of their
souls.

After what seemed like an eternity,
Josh looked at his watch. Five minutes had passed. A bubble of
frightened laughter threatened to escaped into the silence. Takes a
lickin’ ‘n keeps on tickin’! Sweet Christ! an anguished voice
inside him wailed. The whole damned world is gone! Panic threatened
to carry him away.

“Dad? Hey, Dad! You all
right?!”

“Ya, son, I’m fine. Hey, how about we
try to call Mom on the cell? Reception’s poor in the mountains, but
it’s worth a try.”

Jessie rummaged around in his pack and
finally found his cell phone. His fingers shaking as they glided
over the small buttons, a half hopeful, half frightened look on his
pale face. Frustration soon waged with fear in his blue eyes.
“Nothing! Only static! No ‘roaming’ sign --- nothing.

Jessie’s voice was high and strident,
fear lurking on every word. And who could blame him? He was young,
but not stupid. His universe had just done a swift and deadly about
turn, and by the looks of it, the party had only just
begun.

“It’s fine, Jess. Let’s just get
home.” The youth attempted a smile and failed. Gears ground and the
camper sped headlong into a dead world.

Chapter
6
:
PUSSBAG

China Lake

Naval Weapons Center,

California. June
22

Private Theodore Smith, alias Pussbag
Smitty, had been a busy boy since seeing Jocco drive by. Scuttling
about like a spider, he had followed the jeep, keeping always in
the shadows. As a child he had been afraid of the dark. The dark
was where the ‘bad things’ happened; where his mother locked him
after he had been naughty. Oh, how she had loved that
word.

‘Theodore, you’ve been naughty again.
If you’re not careful the Dark Stranger will come for you. Mommy is
going to have to lock her naughty little boy in the closet. Mommy
is going to have to spank her naughty little boy’s bum. Mommy is
going to have to beat the living shit out of her Goddamned little
snot-nosed naughty kid till he cries blood-fucking red
tears!’

Oh my yes, Pussbag thought. Mommy had
dearly loved THAT word!

But time had passed and so had Mommy
Dearest’s physical power over her naughty little boy. The threat of
the Dark Stranger however, had only increased. As the years rolled
by, naughty little Theodore Smith grew to be very naughty
indeed.

Pussbag Smitty, the terror of his
terrible neighborhood. His list of sins had been long and horrible,
yet torturing pets had been his specialty. Then, just as his mother
had predicted, one fateful day the Dark Stranger had indeed come
for him, only instead of dragging him screaming off to Hell, the
dreaded Dark Stranger had looked into Pussbag’s tattered heart and
offered him the one thing little Theodore would have gladly sold
his very soul for --- friendship.

‘Follow me and I shall make thee
great’ an ageless voice had said. ‘Follow in my footsteps and all
shall be thine.’ That same night Pussbag had beat the living shit
out of Mommy, stuffed the arthritic-ridden old bitch in the
infamous closet and ran off to follow his new found
friend.

It was a long, hard run, taking
several years and most of his sanity, and each step of the way the
Dark Stranger stayed just out of reach. Pussbag would catch the
occasional glimpse of Him; in the leering face of a cop as he
tossed the young vagrant into a cell; in the smile of a painted
whore itching to give him the Clap. There one moment, gone the
next. Tempting, taunting, always just beyond grasp. Pussbag,
however, was not dismayed. ‘Follow me and I shall make thee great’,
He whispered in his dreams. ‘A promise was a promise.’

Pussbag knew where to go by the signs
his elusive new friend would send him. They came in a kind of
secret code, written between the headlines of newspapers and in the
fake smiles of TV anchormen. Bakersfield Girl Slain By Mysterious
Man Hit And Run Driver Kills Two Fresno Children. A Dozen Killed In
L.A. Race Riots.

Sometimes Pussbag heard about his
friend in far off parts of the country; places like New York and
Chicago. But again, he was not dismayed. The Dark Stranger traveled
on the wind; here, there, everywhere. Such was His power. Pussbag
had but to follow. Sooner or later he would always catch a glimpse
of Him, hidden in the face of indifferent strangers, or waiting in
the headlines of the corner newsstand.

Then one day he was looking at a
poster in a window. It showed a gaunt old man in a top hat pointing
a finger. Pussbag felt his knees go weak. The stern face suddenly
changed into a shadowy yet familiar one. The pointing finger
touched his soul.

And Pussbag knew what to do. His
friend was telling him where to go. A place where his potential
would be seen. A place where his skills were in great demand. A
place where ‘mommies’ weren’t allowed. The U.S. Army.

There were many things about the army
that Pussbag wasn’t overly fond of; the unkind, cutting remarks;
the cold laughter; the casual cruelties. But these things he could
endure. Even the Brig was easier than the Closet. His Friend spoke
to him in the dark. In his heart of hearts, Pussbag loved the Army,
for it had taught him multiple ways to do that which he loved best
--- to cause pain. And Private Theodore Pussbag Smitty had been a
star pupil.

And now, just as promised, the Big
Change had come. He had awoke this morning to a dead world.
Everywhere he looked, death grinned back at him. China Lake Air
Base was one giant wasteland; a place where brittle dead leaves
filled bunks, littered the runways and spilled from empty
uniforms.

Pussbag believed in his heart of
hearts that the Dark Stranger, his only friend and distant
companion, had spared him; had chosen him for greatness --- just as
He had promised.

When the young soldier had found
Pussbag, had held out his hand and spoke soothing sounds, Pussbag
had almost wept with relief. The Dark Stranger had come for him at
last! ‘Follow in My footsteps and I shall make thee great. A
promise is a promise. Mommy says so. Trust me.’

Then Pussbag had looked into that
young, nervous face and seen only a young, nervous face. No hint of
guile. No trace of cruelty. Only innocence and fear.

That was when Pussbag had used his
bayonet.

How long had he sat huddled in that
corner, listening to his mother’s voice? Minutes? Hours? Eternity?
‘The clocks run backwards in Hell’ his mother used to say. ‘And
you’ll be a long time gone once the Dark Stranger drags you
there!’

Then he’d heard another sound, the
sound of the jeep. Looking out he’d seen a lone man drive by,
smoking a cigarette and smiling. A stranger. A dark stranger
laughing at death.

Pussbag’s heart had nearly burst with
joy. He HAD come back after all!

That’s when he’d gone searching for a
present for his long lost friend.

Being an army nurse, Shirley Bates had
seen her share of death. Being a nurse, however, had not prepared
her for what awaited her on the morning of June 22
^nd
.
Death was one thing. THIS was something else!

The pills had helped. She’d taken
three blue downers and chased them with a shot of Tang and two
Valium from the locked supply cabinet. Rank hath its privileges.
Now, sprawled out on the couch in the doctors lounge, the cares of
an uncaring world had retreated to a fuzzy haze.

A sound tried to break through. A
sharp, cutting sound, like the breaking of thick glass. Shirly
rolled over and promptly fell on the floor. The jolt of her tail
bone striking the hardwood snapped her awake.

Shit! Must have dozed off. Probably
late for ---

Memory flooded back. Dead. All dead.
Nothing but dead.

Suddenly she heard it again. I did
sound like breaking glass! Her heart raced. Someone else is alive!
I’m not alone!

Scrambling to her feet, she raced out
the door and down the main hall. She tried to call out, to let
whoever it was know that she too was alive. All that came out was a
strangled croak.

Bursting through the swinging doors,
she saw him. A soldier, just inside the front door. He’d had to
break the glass to get at the lock. Her arms wide, Shirley ran
towards her savior --- towards the grinning face of Pussbag
Smitty.