The Flu 2: Healing (2 page)

And his grandson Dustin … gone.

Three times, three ways, Tom was crushed. The love of his life, the one he gave life, and his grandson.

Losing Marian was tough; he loved her and always would. Tom was certain, even if there were plenty of people left in the world, he’d never find another Marian.

Dylan was his flesh and blood and only child. It wasn’t right that he had to stay on this earth while watching his child leave. No parent should watch their child die.

If Tom could have changed places with any of them, he would have.

A pain shot through his heart when he thought of Dustin. How incredibly special Dustin was. Tom recalled when Dustin was born. How a spark of life like he had never before felt ignited within his being at the first moment he laid eyes on the baby boy.

It was an indescribable love that only a grandparent could feel. As if God Himself had reached into Tom’s heart and lit it aflame with an emotion he never realized he had.

From that moment on Tom was hooked on Dustin as if the child were an addictive drug. He loved his other grandchildren just the same, but Dustin … was his boy, the son he never had. He loved the fishing trips Dylan thought were too boring. Dustin did it all.

How Tom loved to torment the teenager when he waited on a new release at the video store. Tom would tell him he rented it out. Dustin would pout, whine and then switch up and say, “That’s okay. I’ll wait. It’ll be worth it. Thanks, Pap.”

Pap
.

The bright young man, who so diligently watched for signs of the flu, was on target. He made it to treatment with minimal symptoms and was a prime candidate for success.

It didn’t work on him. It ravaged him in a way that was inhumane.

Nothing …
nothing
Dustin did in his young life warranted the suffering he experienced and nothing Dylan ever did warranted her having to witness it.

Perhaps that was why Dylan opted out.

When she knew she was going to die, she asked to die, before the horrendous end. And for that, Tom was grateful. Though he didn’t want to see Dylan go, he didn’t want to see her suffer. Somewhere inside he found a tiny bit of comfort knowing that his wife, daughter and grandson were together.

How long had he stood at the door to the video store? Key in hand, movies from the house tucked under his arm. He stood there for a while. Not in contemplation of opening the store, but in thought. He actually did think about closing the store forever. After all, there wouldn’t be any new releases, not for a long time. No one had money, so there was no economical reason. But Dustin loved the store and a return to some sort of normalcy was in order, even if it began with a simple video store.

He looked down to his keys, his vision blurred. Tom was tired, he hadn’t slept much. He hoped that was the reason for his eyes blurring, because if he needed new glasses he was in trouble. There wasn’t an ophthalmologist in Lodi.

Something so simple as a pair of glasses
, Tom thought,
will be something difficult to get.

“Oh my God.” The male voice was tired, raspy, but familiar. He chanted out the words in shock. “Oh my God.”

Tom turned around. Ross Jenkins owned the local funeral home. He wasn’t an older man, just middle aged, and his face was worn and drawn, much like everyone else’s. He stopped about four feet from the store steps.

“Hey there, Ross.”

“Tom? Tell me you’re opening the store. You’d be the first you know, to reopen.”

“Yeah, think I will,” Tom said. “Maybe I’ll start a chain reaction. Who knows? I know it’s early and all—”

“No,” Ross interrupted. “Timing is perfect. People need to see that life goes on.” He sighed. “Even if it starts with a video store.”

“I appreciate it. And if you aren’t so busy, maybe you’d like to come in and help me get this place back in order? I’m sure it’s dusty.”

“I’d like that,” Ross said, moving toward the steps.

After a pause, Tom stuck in the keys and unlocked the door. A smell of dust and ‘stale’ pelted him. He held the door open for Ross. “Come on in. I’ll hit the switch in the back. At least the power’s on, even if it’s on roll outs.”

Ross stepped to the door. “It’s good to see you, Tom.”

Tom nodded.

“I’m sorry for your loss with Marian, Dylan and Dustin.”

Tom nodded again with a closed mouth. “And I’m sorry too, for Jill, Ben, Gary, Steve, and Lizzy.”

“Thank you.”

For simplicity, Tom could have just said he was sorry for the loss of Ross’ family. But he didn’t, he couldn’t. Doing so would lump them all together and somehow Tom felt as if that slighted them. He supposed the ‘sorry for your loss’ comments would be regular things in Lodi for a long time. And the list of names would be long and recited.

That was life in Lodi. No one was just a statistic or resident. They were people with names and families. Everyone in Lodi knew everyone, that was what made it so hard.

At some point though, even early, a sign that life has to keep moving on, had to be delivered.

One step at a time.

Tom walked into his store.

2. An Ounce of Healing

The small fire crackled and Mick poked it with a stick. He had cooked some canned ham and beans for him and the boys. Tigger was out like a light, fast asleep on the ground, curled up on a sleeping bag that twisted around his body.

Chris sat on a mini seat, elbows on knees, staring at the fire.

Mick glanced across to him many times.

They had never reached their destination of West Virginia. They got as far as the interchange where I-79 split and met with 1-279 just 12 miles before Pittsburgh and a roadblock kept them from going any further.

It appeared as if an exodus out of the city had taken place. Vehicles had used both lanes on all roads to leave, but had been halted by a military blockade. A traffic jam so bad, no one could even turn around. Mick hadn’t even heard of any military blockades. Then again, Mick had focused only on Lodi.

He didn’t stop to see if there were people or bodies in the cars. The boys didn’t need to see that. There was no way to go around it, so Mick, not wanting to waste the gas, headed north.

He located a campsite just outside of Erie. The switch up would save them gas, Mick told Chris.

It wasn’t what Mick expected.

People had flocked to the campsite. It seemed this particular one tried to do what Lodi had done - seal off the site. The two trucks that served as guard were empty, and were only blocking the entrance. Mick was able to move one and pass around. The winding road into the campsite was deceiving, giving the illusion of desolation. The road was covered with leaves, like at the rest stop, and had no tracks. Mick was certain no one would be there, until they passed the gate.

Upon entering, Mick could see a ton of RV’s parked, and tents set up. That was in the distance. Up close, in a section near the fence, were mounds. Rows and rows of fresh dirt mounds.

Graves.

People had fled there and people had died there.

Someone had to be there, or at least was at one time, because someone had buried those who passed. There was at least one survivor, Mick figured.

No sooner did they pull into the site when a man waved for them to stop. Mick slowed down and the man, in his thirties, stepped to the window.

“Hey, there,” he said to Mick. “Passing through or staying?”

“Um, a little of both,” Mick replied. “Was wanting to get my boys away from home for a while, you know. Couldn’t get by Pittsburgh to get to West Virginia. Not on our gas rations.”

“I hear you.” He extended his hand into the window. “I’m Ethan.”

“Mick Owens,” Mick said, introducing himself.

“Where you guys from?”

“Ohio. Lodi, Ohio.”

“No, shit? Your town fared pretty well, I hear.”

Mick gave him a sad look. “Better than some, but we got hit. We …” Mick paused and looked at Chris. “We got hit.”

“I see. Well, you are more than welcome to stay. You can pitch a tent, or the Charles’ camper is empty. They left for the city when they got sick. Just parked it and took their truck.” He pointed. “It’s right over there.”

“We appreciate it. Thank you.”

“We’ll be seeing you,” Ethan said.

Mick nodded conveying another ‘thank you’ and pulled in the direction of the camper.

“We ain’t staying in there, are we, Mick?” Chris asked. “People got sick and died in there.”

“They didn’t die in there, you heard the man. They moved on. We can stay in the truck, but I didn’t bring a tent,” Mick replied. “Why I don’t check it out before we make the call. Okay?”

“I suppose that’ll work.”

Mick reached over and squeezed Chris’ leg, and pulled in front of the camper. It was a nice sized one and newer.

Mick checked it out, then Chris. Tigger didn’t really mind one way or another. Chris gave his seal of approval and Mick was glad. He wanted to stop for a little bit.

They were out of Lodi, away from familiar surroundings. Around people they didn’t know. And there were ‘people’ there; one person was more than Mick had expected to see outside of Lodi.

Just after they parked, and pulled some things out of the SUV, a woman named Madge came over.

To Mick, she looked injured. Not physically, but emotionally like everyone else. Chris and Tigger were outside when Mick stepped from the camper.

“I saw the truck,” she said. “I was hoping the boy wasn’t driving it.” She smiled. “My name is Madge; you met my son Ethan when you pulled in. Here …” She handed him a plate. “It’s a casserole. You and the boys eat. Have some lunch. You must be hungry.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Mick said. “That is very kind of you. We’ll enjoy it.”

She produced a sad smile. “It’s good … good to see children with a grownup. Are they your children? Or did you find them?”

“They’re my sons.”

She pursed her lips as if she held back tears. “That’s wonderful and finally nice to see. I’ll let you get settled. If you need anything, just ask anyone here. We’re all pretty tight.”

“I will, thank you.”

She cleared her throat, ran her hand over Tigger’s head, folded her arms tight to her body and walked off.

Chris nudged into Mick and peeked at the plate. “What did she make?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mick told him. “We’re eating it. Gonna be polite.”

“Don’t you think that was an odd thing to ask?” Chris questioned. “You know, about us being yours?”

Mick tilted his head. “I guess it is.”

“Man, you have to wonder how many kids there are without parents for her to greet us like that.” After a sigh, Chris took the plate. “Come on, Tig, let’s eat before Mick eats this all. You know how big his stomach is.”

Mick didn’t say anything. In fact, the plate slipped from his hand without him noticing. He heard what Chris said and then he saw a child, then another. Four or five sat across the campsite; another small group was on the playground area.

Where were all the adults? Mick spotted maybe two more. They had to be inside.

No sooner did Mick have that thought when he had another:
Oh my God, the children
.

He had never thought beyond the walls of Lodi. It never crossed his mind that there would be countless children left without parents, not just parents who lost a child.

A ‘snap’ of the fire snapped Mick from his thoughts. However, the thoughts of children alone stayed with him through the course of the day and as he watched his own son, Chris, looking so lost.

“You okay?” Mick asked.

“Yeah,” Chris said. “Just thinking.”

Mick reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his phone that he had charged in the truck and he powered it up. He wasn’t a making a phone call. Cell phones had gone down. He was using it for a fix. A Dylan and Dustin fix.

There were 875 pictures on his phone and close to a hundred videos. Mick was grateful for each and every one. But he guessed one day, that number would be small. Because to make up for a lifetime lost, 1000 images just would never be enough.

“What are you doing?” Chris asked as he sat down next to him.

“I need to see your mom and brother,” Mick said softly.

Chris’ breath shivered loudly. “Me, too. Can I …can look with you?”

“Without a doubt.”

Chris moved closer, right next to him. Mick brought his arm around the boy, bringing him close and huddling in to share the phone.

Chris rested his head against Mick. “Mick, you think we’ll ever feel normal again?”

“I think that’s a pretty tough question to answer. I think that time will ease some of the pain. It’ll never be like it used to be. But I think we’ll get used to feeling a hint of pain and then that will become the new normal.”

After a pause, Chris said, “That wasn’t very helpful.”