Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3 (4 page)

They were the lucky ones, able to bury their dead. Most families without members among the 2 percent still alive were left unburied; they lay in hospital beds, their own beds, and sometimes in vehicles, trying to reach a destination or escape from what had become a travesty of the life they had once known.

Early on, ailing and dying people had overrun the hospitals; after attempting to encase every single dead body in plastic body bags, workers soon ran out of them. As the disease spread they resorted to simply burning bodies in parking lots. Many bodies were left to decompose; depending on daily conditions, nature, either sped up or slowed down the process of decay.

This caused wild animals to descend in droves out of the forests and into the normally forbidden land of man. They appeared around houses and on the black asphalt-topped roads, lining the maze of streets beyond their natural borders. Drawn in by the lack of human sounds that had formerly kept them at bay, they now were enticed by the aroma of rotting flesh. Neglected family pets soon either became prey or turned into semiferal predators, forming large packs and often tangling with the wilder animals.

Coyotes, wolves, bears, and bobcats chased their natural prey, the deer, which were once only seen at dusk and dawn, but the sound of the ruminants’ clip-clopping hooves on the hardened road surface and concrete sidewalks was heard by few people now. Those humans who did hear them would just as often witness the sound of savagery as they suffered death by fang and claw. This left those who endured with an intense fear of being hunted by wild beasts, so they remained in their shelters, slowly running out of resources.

~ ~ ~

Graham put the boy down and locked the door. The wind picked up and the rain started again. Bang just stood there, dazed, as Graham looked out at the graves, which now totaled six. He leaned his head against the cold glass, fighting back the pain. He thought about the answer his father had given when Graham had asked, “Why should I go on?”

              “You’ll find a reason, or the reason will find you,” the old man had replied. Graham now looked down at the boy.
Great!
My reason’s a pissed -off kid?

Graham sighed and looked down at his boots, caked in mud. He began to wipe them off on the mat but saw how useless that was. He removed them instead and glanced at the boy’s tennis shoes, which were filthy as well; too filthy to track around Graham’s parents’ house.

“Hey, Bang, take off your shoes,” he said.

“I want to go home,” the boy whined.

Graham spun him around to face him. “Listen, your mother spent the last moments of her life trying to save yours. She brought you to me and I promised to take care of you. I’ll do that until you manage to get yourself killed. Until then, you will do what I say, when I say it; and if you leave my sight again, you won’t get two blocks before you’re attacked by big, mean dogs. Only this time I won’t save your ass because you didn’t listen to me. Got it?”

Bang cried, but he also took terrified glances at the darkening outside; Graham hoped the warning was enough to keep him from running off again. The truth was that he could have easily been mauled to death earlier.

“Now, take off your shoes,” he ordered again.

Bang sat down on the carpet and untied his shoes. He still sniffled, but at least complied.

“Are you hungry?” Graham asked, trying for a kinder tone.

The boy didn’t look up at him.

Graham didn’t feel like eating now, either. He looked down at his dirt-covered hands. He was concerned that Bang might try to run off if he turned his back. “Okay, listen. I’ve got to go shower. You have two choices. You can either promise me you’ll stay here and behave, or get eaten by the dogs outside—what’s it going to be? Because I don’t have time for this.”

Between sobs the boy said, “Stay.”

“All right,” Graham said. “It’s getting dark in here. Let’s go in back.” Bang picked up his backpack from beside the door, and Graham realized he hadn’t even noticed it there before. The kid followed him.

Since the illness had come, Graham’s family had kept the house mostly dark at night. He used a flashlight to light the way to the back of the house, where he opened a bedroom door, revealing a pair of twin beds.

“That’s my bed, by the window. And you can sleep there,” Graham said, pointing to the one nearest the door. He pointed again. “That’s the bathroom, across the hall. I want you to go do your business and wash your hands.”

The boy looked up at him. Graham started to feel guilty for being so harsh with him, but it was for his own good. The kid walked into the bathroom, where a small nightlight cast a soft glow, and closed the door behind him.

Graham heard the water running, so he waited in the hall for the boy to finish. In the meantime he leaned his head back against a closet door. He hadn’t eaten anything today, but he knew that if he tried he wouldn’t be able to keep it down anyway.

His thoughts wandered back to dawn and his father’s death. He bowed his head, and when he looked down, Bang was standing there, gazing up at him.

“Are you all done?” The boy nodded. Graham walked him into the bedroom and pulled back the blankets on the bed for him. “Okay, climb in,” he told him.

The boy climbed up and Graham pulled the covers over him. “I’ve got to take a shower. You’re going to stay right here, right?” Bang nodded, but his lower lip quivered. Graham patted him on the head, but the boy jerked away from his touch.

Graham closed the bedroom door, but left the door to the bathroom open so he could listen for any noise. He looked at himself in the mirror, still holding his rifle over his shoulder, and saw a man he didn’t recognize. He was filthy and utterly spent—both of energy and of emotion. He peeled off his dirty clothes and turned on the shower, then propped the rifle nearby. He kept the shower curtain partially open so he could see out. He let the hot steamy water run over his worn body, watching it turn brown as it drained away. After showering off the dirt of graves, he emerged and checked the bedroom to find Bang asleep.

Graham stopped at the door and watched the sleeping child, then noticed the leather-sleeved book lying atop the kid-size backpack. He picked it up and sat down on his own bed. Under the golden glow of the flashlight he removed the book from its sleeve. The first two pages showed a genealogical tree; a photo of Bang rested on a top branch. Photos and names of ancestors were in the lower branches, delicately translated into English below what he guessed were Korean names. The brave lady whose likeness Bang bore had been a beauty. Graham’s stomach knotted at the pain of losing his own mother. He turned the pages slowly until a loosely folded letter addressed to him came into view.

Dear Mr. Graham,

I’m writing you this letter with a happy heart. I know you are a good man and will take good care of my son Bang. Please keep him safe and remind him of his father and me. When he is sad, ask him to tell you of his whole family and the people we were. We will be with you both in spirit.

I will tell you a little about Bang so that you will know how to care for him.

We are Korean American. My father bravely escaped the death camps of North Korea, Bang knows of the story. He is five years old and his birthday is July 15th. He was born in Seattle.

He loves cars and animals. He is scared of the dark and sometimes has bad dreams. I taught him he must be brave for you. He is a good hunter of small game.

Reading this, Graham lifted his head and looked over at the boy, then turned back to the journal.

His father and I trained him well to fish and hunt duck, rabbits, and squirrels. He knows how to set small snares and traps for them. There is a slingshot in his backpack, and he is good with a bow and arrows.

Bang is quiet most times but can read and write well for his age. Most important, I believe you need him as much as he needs you. You are both alone now. That is why I chose you over the others.

There it was, as if the answer to Graham’s father’s premonition:
You’ll find a reason, or the reason will find you.
Obviously Hyun-Ok had written the next part later, because the handwriting wasn’t as smooth or as calm.

Please heed my warning!

I must warn you about a very bad man named Campos in case you take Bang and leave this place, I watched all the living here at night to make my decision. Campos has killed two of the few that walked into town. If you leave, please go at night, away from the highway exit. Campos stays at the gas station there by a small blue-trimmed house. He seems like his mind is gone and he speaks to himself out loud in different voices. He’s very dangerous and you should avoid him. He has guns and carries a hatchet on his belt at all times. He keeps the fires in the Dumpster going and he even threw one of the survivors into it alive. When you leave, don’t make any noise with a car, or I fear Campos will find you. Stay hidden from him.

Do not be sad for those you lost, Mr. Graham. You now have someone to live for.

With my deepest gratitude as a mother,

Hyun-Ok

Graham refolded the letter and placed it back into the book, then slipped the journal back into its leather sleeve. He wasn’t sure what to think of the boy. He wasn’t surprised by the warning, since he’d often heard the distant sound of gunfire and had seen the black smoke drifting this way from afar almost every evening. He’d had no reason to venture that way because his dad had issued the no-contact order. The family members had always stayed close to the house, and then they had started dying off, one by one, so Graham certainly hadn’t thought of going anywhere before now. But there was the family’s cabin, as he and his father had planned—far away, Graham hoped, from all this madness, disease, and death. Now that he knew of Campos he would have to devise a plan so that he and Bang could get away safely.

Unfortunately, the route he needed to take to get to the cabin led him right through the trouble spot; they were locked in by man and nature both. To get to the other side of the highway, raised above the neighborhood like a causeway and lined with stone walls on each side, they needed to cross under the bridge right where this Campos fellow resided. This guy sounded pretty bad. Regrettably, the immunity to the virus wasn’t confined to good people alone, as Graham’s dad had warned him.

Then, like most nights before he went to sleep, Graham cleaned his rifle, taking pleasure in the familiar routine. This act had recently taken precedence over his bedtime ritual of reading a chapter or two of a dystopian novel; in the last few days the world around him mirrored the novels too closely for Graham to be able to enjoy them.

Having finished cleaning the rifle, Graham lay down on his bed. Despite everything that had happened that day, it took only minutes to fall asleep.

Just before he woke, Graham’s father’s death replayed in his dreams. The desperate pleas, and the last-minute imparting to Graham of every bit of advice he would need to survive, remained with Graham as he awoke. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning, Graham suddenly noticed the sleepy little boy sitting atop the adjacent bed, leaning against the headboard. For a moment Graham couldn’t make the connection. Then it all came back to him from the day before: losing two and gaining one. This new day brought with it a new purpose, one Graham could look forward to because now he had a boy to look after and that meant he needed to keep him safely away from harm. He felt the burden of the promise, but he did not resent it, even though it had come unexpectedly.

Time to get the hell out of here, especially considering Hyun-Ok’s warning
.

“Morning, Bang. You sleep well?” he asked. The boy nodded. Graham could see from Bang’s sad little face that yesterday’s facts were shaping into reality for him as well. Bang let himself drop back down to his pillow.

“I’m going to take another shower this morning, because we’re headed off on a journey and we probably won’t be able to get clean for a while—until we get to the new place. After I’m done, you can take a shower or a bath, too—whatever you’d like to do. You do know how to take a shower, right?” Graham asked him.

Bang nodded, then asked, “Where are we going?”

“Away from here. Someplace safe. You’ll see in due time.”

Hell! I don’t know what to do with a five-year-old. Guess I better let him figure the shower thing out, and if he comes out clean then that will do. A stinky little boy will be the least I have to worry about. Heck, we’re both going to be pretty ripe soon enough.

Graham grabbed a change of clothes, went back to the bathroom and turned on the hot shower. He tried to wash away his grief and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
It looks like I’m going to have to find a way out of town tonight, sans engine, according to Hyun-Ok’s warning
, he thought. His truck was out of the question. Then it hit him: maybe they could take the bikes in the garage and make a quiet escape. He did not know if Bang could ride a bike. His niece’s bike was about the right size, and it would have to do, even if it was a bit girly.

Graham hoped the boy knew how to ride; teaching him out front in the driveway would be too risky. As he thought about it, teaching a kid he hardly knew hit right up there with experiencing parenthood. Graham was a novice guardian at best and felt severely unprepared; he wished he could just go into the next room and ask his dad, but instead he’d have to rely on what he remembered of his own experiences as a kid. His parents had been pretty decent with him and his sister, so he would just ask himself what his mom or dad would do as each case presented itself. He’d made a promise to Hyun-Ok and, as best he could, he intended to keep it.

The day had come where he would set into place what he and his father had planned, though now these plans also included a young boy. It would certainly slow him down, but he’d never been a loner in life and started to warm to the idea of having the kid along. At least it gave him a legitimate reason to talk—to someone other than himself.

After showering, Graham contemplated shaving, but somehow just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Looking at his reflection in the mirror he saw a worn man full of grief, someone he did not know at all.

He headed into the bedroom, where he found a neatly folded solid blue comforter but no boy. “Bang?” he called in a panic, cursing himself for not leaving the bathroom door open this time. He did not have to look far; Graham found Bang in the kitchen, staring out the glass door at his mother’s grave.

The boy’s eyes had still not lost their sleepy morning gaze. “All right, buddy, it’s your turn,” he said with relief. “You do know how to turn on the shower, right?” Bang grabbed his backpack without looking up at Graham and stomped past him, heading down the hall and into the steamy bathroom. Graham watched him as he closed the door; somehow he did not quite believe the kid could do it all by himself, as tiny as he was.

Graham turned on the Keurig coffeemaker one last time and leaned against the counter. He and his father had joked many times about who would be the first to die and who would get the last K-cup. His dad dubbed it the “last stander” trophy. Graham flipped the white cup around a few times and opened the Keurig’s hatch, popping the cup in with its familiar snap; this single cup of coffee, the last that remained, seemed a morbid symbol.

He let the machine go through its routine. The pleasing aroma filtered through the room, which made the first tears of the day slip gently down his sunken cheeks. Graham lifted his steaming cup in a toast to his departed father and sipped down the black brew. He needed this caffeine jolt to begin this day. His father had been right. If it were not for the well-planned escape, Graham would not make it for long here in such silence.

Bang emerged from the bathroom and walked back down the hall toward Graham, dragging his feet and his backpack. He looked and smelled fairly clean.

“Good job, buddy,” said Graham. “Lookin’ good. Let’s get some breakfast and start packing up this place. We have got a lot to do before we head out tonight.”

Graham reached down and lifted the boy easily onto the granite countertop. He needed to talk to him while reheating some leftover beans and rice he’d made a few days earlier. Initially it was intended to be enough to last Graham and his dad a few days. Now they’d have to throw some out.

It was lucky for Graham’s family that his mother’s southern roots had taught her to always stock a pantry well. She had always kept twenty-five pound sacks of pinto beans and rice in store. She shopped at Costco weekly and always prepared for emergencies. After having lived through the aftermath of several hurricanes, droughts, and other calamities while growing up in south Texas, she argued it just made sense to be prepared.

While the family quickly grew tired of beans and rice, they never grew hungry. Grabbing a second bowl for the boy, Graham considered him and asked something his mother had always asked his friends. It had always caused him great embarrassment as a kid.

“Are you allergic to anything?”

Bang just shrugged and made a face instead of answering. Not ever running across anyone allergic to rice and beans, Graham decided it was a safe bet Bang could have it. He knew now this parenting thing left him with a lot to consider.

Graham pulled out the little red plastic cup that had always been reserved for his niece. He filled it with cold tap water and handed it to Bang with the steaming bowl of food. The boy peered down at his bowl and for a second, Graham thought he might toss it on the floor, but hunger won out.

Seeing this, Graham felt a pang of guilt at how easy their family had had it compared to others; at least they had not gone hungry. He felt happy to be able to ease the boy’s hunger even in this little way. Once he finished, Graham debated giving him seconds, but thought it might not be a good idea given how little Bang had probably eaten in recent weeks; he looked skinny. Instead, he offered more clean water; he did not want the boy to throw up what he’d eaten.

With their meal completed, Graham took the time to ask Bang a few questions. After all, he’d only known the kid a few hours and held full responsibility for his life now. As much information as he could get would help him decide their next step. Graham knew they would be leaving for the family cabin up near the Old Cascade Highway by the Skagit River tonight. The plans were already made. At least there, he hoped, they would be safe from the wild animals and the stench that had brought them to civilization. Even now he could hear the howls of the packs in the distance. Additionally, the fires that had started in Seattle continued to grow unabated. What started as a distant glow seemed to be spreading, rapaciously consuming the vast amounts of fuel on its way.

Waiting for his father to pass had felt like the only thing holding Graham back; his dad would never have considered being buried away from his mother. But now it was time to make a clean break.

“So, it’s just you and me,” he said to Bang, who sat on the counter with his small legs dangling down, resting his heels against the cupboard. Graham knew he needed to get some dialog going with the obstinate child. Remembering Hyun-Ok’s letter, he asked, “So, how old are you, Bang?”

Instead of answering, Bang held up his hand and splayed five fingers. Graham tried again.

“Can you hunt?” he asked. The boy’s face brightened a little and he nodded his response. “Well, I’ll have to see you do that sometime,” he said, trying to make the best of it, even if Bang did not want to talk back.

Graham thought he should probably make some things clear to his new ward before they got started. “Bang, we need to set a few rules to be safe,” he said. Recalling his sister’s voice to her own daughter, he said, “You need to always stay nearby. I need to know where you are, all the time. If you have any questions, you can ask me, all right?”

Bang just nodded.

“Do you have any questions?” Graham asked him, putting him on the spot.

Bang’s face was blank, but then he asked, all of a sudden, “Do you have a truck?”

With a relieved smile Graham knew he’d made some kind of breakthrough with the boy. He also remembered being a boy of five himself and an aficionado of trucks.

“Yes, I have a blue truck. I thought we could use it today, but now I’m afraid we’ll have to make different plans. We have to leave here tonight and go somewhere that’s safer before the winter weather takes hold. We’ll start packing now and leave after dark. We have a lot of work to do.”

He helped Bang down from the counter, then pulled out several Ziploc gallon bags and showed Bang how to fill and seal them with the leftover dry rice remaining in the opened twenty-five pound bag.

Watching the child sift the little grains into the bags with a cup reminded Graham of memories, though very recent ones. His mother had been partial to the pinto bean—“as versatile as it is,” she would say—but had not restricted the family to only one kind of rice. There were ten twenty-five pound bags of several different varieties—jasmine, Calrose, long grain, and basmati—stored in the garage. It kept things from getting too boring, at least.

Graham and his dad jokingly fought over which bag they would open next, finally settling on a system of rotation. Graham favored the jasmine, but Dad preferred the short, sticky grain Calrose. His father argued the benefits were that it “stuck to your ribs” and said, “Now that’s rice that’ll get you through men’s work.”

Here I go again, stirring up memories that will do nothing but hold me back today.
Graham figured it was probably normal to go through memories after a loved one passed away, and he wondered if Bang was doing the same thing. He hoped that, since Bang was in new and different surroundings, there were not as many stimuli to provoke such memories. Graham hoped his own reminiscences would subside a little once they got to the cabin. He did not want them to go away completely, just enough to prevent him from going insane or living a life filled with grief.

After supervising Bang for a few minutes, he said, “I’m going to go right over there to the garage to work on a few things. I’ll leave the door open, so if you need anything, yell.” Bang just looked up at him, nodded, and then continued his work, but Graham noticed the boy glancing over to the couch where his mother had died. His memories were there too.

Leaving Bang to his task, Graham propped open the garage door with the petrified rock his dad kept there for that purpose. The first thing that came to him in the darkness was the scent of his father.

He flipped on the light and looked at the bikes, which neatly hung from ceiling hooks. He pulled down the one his dad often rode, as well as his niece’s pink Barbie bike, which Graham’s parents kept for their granddaughter’s visits. He cringed at the pink sparkly tassels and pink basket. He would not have dared to be seen on one of these when he had been a boy of Bang’s age, but these were not normal times, and the kid would just have to deal with it. Graham quickly pulled off the tassels and the basket, but that was the best he could do.

He brought the little bike over to his dad’s workbench, where he could still sense the man now departed. He considered using the noisy air compressor to fill the tires, but it probably was not worth the risk of attracting attention, so he opted for the handheld pump they’d always taken with them on long rides.

Graham grew uneasy at the silence from the kitchen and went back to the door to check. The boy was still busy at the bottom of the big rice bag, and Graham said, “Come out to the garage when you’re done.”

He’d taken care of his niece a few times, but never held the sole responsibility of a child. He decided he both liked and disliked the duty. He could not quite pinpoint why the job came as a hindrance to him—perhaps because it made him feel vulnerable somehow. Graham had only been Bang’s guardian for twenty-four hours, yet he knew he’d have to kill anyone who would try to harm the boy. This came as a shock; he’d never before adopted what he thought of as a macho-man attitude, but there it was.

Graham pressed his own weight down on the bike seat and handlebars, rolling it across the garage. He wanted to listen to see how much noise it made. After noticing the typical clickety-click of the chain, he heard something unexpected. He knelt and saw bunches of pine needles wrapped around the back wheel slot and bits of brush in the spokes. He picked them out and cleaned it up, then oiled the chain and spun the pedals to work the oil in. Satisfied that he’d made the bike as quiet as possible, barring the typical chain noise, he turned his attention to his own bike and did the same.