The Last Town on Earth (25 page)

VII

“Y
ou shot your dog?”

“Damn right I did. And it was the right thing to do.”

“I thought you liked him.”

“That ain’t the fuckin’ point. Point is, dogs can spread germs as well as anybody else.”

“Where in the hell’d you hear that?”

“It’s the truth, dammit. Dogs, chickens, anything can have the flu. And dogs wander around, go all over the damn place. What’s the point in keeping my family at home if the dog’s poking through other folks’ yards and getting sick?”

“Just can’t believe you shot your dog.”

“And you should shoot yours.”

“Shoot Ransom? I love that sonuvabitch.”

“Do you love ’im more’n you love your kids? Hell, it’s your choice. But I made mine already. I can get another damn dog once the flu’s passed.”

“The general store’s
closed
?”

“That’s what I heard. Flora Metzger got sick, and now Doc Banes says the store’s gotta stay shut.”

“Shit. My wife was gonna head over there later today—we’ve damn near run out of everything.”

“It sounds like your wife waited too long.”

“When’s it gonna open back up?”

“How the hell should I know? Go knock on Metzger’s door if you want—I just wouldn’t get too close to the poor bastard. Not now.”

“Whiskey, you say?”

“Yep. A small glass of the stuff, every morning. That’ll keep the flu away.”

“Huh. Never woulda figured. How ’bout moonshine or beer?”

“Hell, no. It’s gotta be whiskey. Works like a charm.”

“Mientkiewicz’s sick.”

“Him, too?”

“I just saw him. He was walking to the mill but coughing up a storm. I passed him and we looked at each other—just looked. I knew it and he knew I knew it. I guess he was hoping maybe he wasn’t so bad, you know? That maybe he’d be okay if he just tried to keep going.”

“So what happened?”

“He was about two blocks away when I saw him, and he had this guilty look in his eyes. Then he just started coughing and coughing, all doubled over and everything, so I walked away. Didn’t want to be too near him, you know?”

“I’m thinking I shouldn’t be too near you now.”

“I wasn’t
that
close. And after I walked a block, I turned around and looked at him again, and he was in the same damn spot. Looking at me, but this time like I was the one doing something wrong. You know? Then he waved.”

“Waved?”

“Yeah. He just kinda stuck his hand in the air, then turned around and started walking home. Kinda weird. Hope he’s okay.”

“What’s that around your neck?”

“Shut up.”

“No, what is it?”

“Garlic.”

“Garlic?”

“My wife’s idea. Says it’ll keep me healthy.”

“Does it work?”

“I don’t know. We’ll find out, I guess.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, I’m telling you it’s the truth. That big ol’ house of theirs has a goddamn giant cellar—I saw it myself one time when they had me over for dinner.”

“The house ain’t ‘big’—it’s just like everybody else’s.”

“First of all, no, the Worthys’ house is not the same. It may not be twice the size, but it’s definitely bigger than mine or yours. And since you’ve never been inside it, you’ll have to believe me. And second of all, my point is that their cellar’s so damn big they probably have more’n enough food stored away to last themselves the whole winter.”

“I just can’t see them doing that.”

“I’m telling you, that’s why Worthy wasn’t as worried about shutting the town as everybody else was. We all were worried about running out of things, but he wasn’t. He owns the mill, and he knows he has a cellar full of food and that his family’ll never go hungry.”

“Damn. That would explain a few things.”

“Stop smearing Worthy over there. Don’t believe what he’s saying, Lars.”

“Mind your own business.”

“Think about it—he closes the town, forces us all to work even though other mills are giving sick folks time off. Now we’re running short on food, and he’s in his nice big house feasting and his kids aren’t even finishing their plates. Their dogs are probably better fed than you are.”

“Shut up over there. The Worthys don’t even have a dog.”

“You know what I heard about dogs?”

“Y’all should stop talking so much. Voices spread germs.”

“Shoot. Good point.”

“So do your work and shut up.”

VIII

T
he following afternoon at least two people broke the doctor’s rule about staying inside as much as possible.

But Rebecca and Amelia felt they had little choice. They were walking to the community gardens together, where they were to meet three other women who helped tend the crops. Most of the gardens had been harvested already, but some of the winter vegetables remained. Normally, the women would leave them until after the first frost, but pantries were bare all across town. They could wait no longer.

The gardens had grown steadily in acreage over the past two years, with more than three dozen households contributing, planting in the spring and tending the crops throughout the year. Everything was divided equally or traded at one of the swaps in the town hall. If only they had known back in the spring that there would be a quarantine, they could have planted more, could have made the garden a greater priority. Instead, they would have to make do with what they’d planted months ago, when something like an epidemic had seemed unimaginable.

Rebecca knocked on the Stones’ door, a stack of wicker baskets in her free hand.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” She smiled. “The children were rambunctious today.”

“How are they?” Amelia asked as she closed the door behind her. She had answered the door in her coat, ready to go, the baby swaddled in her arms. Rebecca noticed that she was not invited in.

“They don’t really understand what’s happening, which is probably for the best,” Rebecca said as they began walking. It was windier than usual as they hurried along the empty streets. She gestured to the baby. “Are you sure you’ll be all right with her?”

“I’ll have to be—I couldn’t get anyone to watch her. The neighbors all had excuses. They barely even opened their doors when I knocked.”

Rebecca nodded. They had made these plans three days earlier, right as the flu was twisting around them like some invisible choking weed. They were both nervous to be out despite the doctor’s orders, but the garden was large, and the five of them would be separated by a great distance, going about their work in near-solitude. Only when they were finished harvesting would they be close together, dividing among themselves the kale and cabbage, the carrots and beets. Surely that wouldn’t be enough time to catch something, even if one of them had something to spread. Of course, here she was walking beside Amelia, but somehow it seemed hard to imagine Amelia becoming ill, what with Graham being so protective of her. Rebecca knew that was a silly thought—no man could protect his wife from disease—but still she saw Amelia as safe.

“Are any of the children sick?”

It was unclear whether Amelia had asked this out of empathetic curiosity or out of fear that the woman beside her had spent the day in a sickroom. Rebecca scolded herself for being uncharitable.

“Three were absent today,” she said. Included in that number was Elsie, who had been kept home to care for her mother. The school had seemed emptier without Elsie’s eager presence, and Rebecca was worried about her.

They walked in silence for a moment. Rebecca thought she saw Amelia adjust her scarf so that it sat higher on her face, blocking her nose and mouth. But it was cold out, and a stiff breeze had preceded her action.

I’m thinking too much, Rebecca told herself. Her role as shepherd for nervous children had taken its toll on her today. She tried to focus on the good things. She cast a glance at Amelia’s waist, made herself grin. “How have you been feeling?” she asked.

Amelia smiled. Rebecca was the only person other than Graham who knew that Amelia was pregnant now, though soon it would show. Rebecca had picked up on the subtle signs that men missed, and the two had whispered about it while washing up after dinner at the Worthys’.

“I’m well, thank you. I haven’t been nearly as sick as I was with her.”

“Are you eating well?”

“As well as I can, while trying to conserve what we have. Today will certainly help.”

They had passed the last of the houses and were walking along the narrow dirt path that headed west, up a slowly rising hill bereft of trees. As they reached the crest, they saw the community gardens before them, neatly arranged in plots that they had helped lay out two years ago, when each of them had secretly wondered if the new town would survive long enough for the gardens to be harvested the next fall.

Rebecca thought something looked odd, but perhaps it was the wind blowing leaves and vines through the thin rows, throwing old fragments of pumpkins into the leeks, casting the purple-veined stalks of beets into the greens. But as she came closer, she understood. She dropped the baskets, and Amelia gasped.

The garden had been ransacked. While Amelia stood there, the oblivious child in her arms, Rebecca jogged forward into the carrot patch and saw the freshly torn earth, the discarded pieces of stalks and leaves lying about. She wandered on, saw a few shreds of cabbage but no heads despite the rows upon rows she had planted. The carrots and beets had been unearthed and spirited away, as had the leeks. The winter squash—which would have filled so many for so long, would have helped stretch out the small quantities of remaining meat—had vanished. There were but a few remaining, buried under the dirt that had been torn out during the frantic excavations.

Rebecca felt the prick of tears starting in her eyes as she hurried from plot to plot, hoping in vain that the scavengers had tired at some point, had left a section untouched in their hurry. But the entire garden had been plundered.

“Who would do this?” Amelia asked as tears came to her eyes, too.

Rebecca watched as the wind scattered her baskets. “Anyone.”

IX

A
fter standing guard outside the storage building from sunrise to sunset, Graham returned home for dinner. His wife had yet to start cooking, however, and was pacing in the kitchen. When she told him the news about the gardens, he nodded in sympathy, but he was not terribly surprised.

“People are panicking,” Graham said. “More folks are getting sick—lots. Flora Metzger’s one—they’ve even closed the general store.”

“There must be some way to find out who did it, Graham. Someone out there has acres of vegetables in their house.”

“I’m not about to go knocking on people’s doors, not with everyone sick. We have to just leave it be.”

Millie started crying from her crib in the parlor. Amelia walked over and reached a hand down to the baby but seemed too agitated to pick her up. Graham could see she was not satisfied with his response.

“We’ll find out who it was eventually,” he tried to reassure her. “Someone’ll talk, things’ll get out. But we can’t worry about it now.”

“This never would have happened before,” she said.

“I can go hunting in a couple days. One deer’d last us a long time.”

Amelia shook her head. “I feel like we should start locking our doors. People know how big our back garden is.” She had finished harvesting the last of their own vegetables the previous day. “I don’t want our cellar broken into.” She laughed sadly. “Our doors don’t even have locks.”

He held her, and her nails dug into the back of his shirt.

“I’ll build some latches on the doors tonight,” he told her as she started crying again despite herself. He rubbed her neck and promised, “No one’s breaking into this house.”

Later that evening Graham was busily constructing latches for the front and back doors while Amelia knit another sweater for the baby. He knew he should be trying to catch up on sleep, but there was no end of things to do. He was tired, but it felt good to do something that soothed his wife, something other than standing all day or night with a gun in his hands. It had felt good to hold her and let her cry on his shoulder. She didn’t do it often—it took a hell of a lot to upset her, he’d learned—and over the last few weeks, they’d had few quiet moments alone. They had not held each other like that since the day of the first soldier.

She seemed to regret having mentioned the need for latches, twice telling Graham that he needn’t trouble himself after all, that he should let himself rest. But both times he shook his head. She was right about locking their doors, and he could sleep later. At one point she commented that this was one of the first times in days he’d been home in the early evening for more than a quick supper before heading back out to stand guard somewhere. She’s right, he thought. I should probably see if any of the guards need to be spelled.

It was past ten when he finished the latches. As he put his tools away, he felt her walk up behind him and put her arms around his waist, her hands flat against his chest. He allowed himself to relax slightly, lowering his shoulders a bit so she could kiss the back of his neck softly. He closed his eyes. But then he took her hands away and turned around.

“I need to visit Mo,” he told her. “I’m sorry.”

She kissed him on the lips. “You have to see him this late?”

Graham wanted so badly to stay, but he knew what he had to do. “I do. I have to tell him he needs to stand guard tomorrow morning—the fellow who was supposed to is sick.”

He was lying. He wasn’t sure he had ever lied to his wife before, but even if he hadn’t, this was a white lie. Tiny, microscopic. And it was a lie for good reasons. It was a lie with a halo atop its head.

She relented, knowing there was no way she could talk him out of anything relating to guard duty. “Will you be long?”

“I might be. I’m sorry.”

“Maybe you should go to Philip’s instead,” she said. “His house is closer.”

“I don’t think Philip is working guard duty anymore. I have to see Mo.”

As he walked toward the closet to retrieve his jacket, she found herself saying, “I feel bad for Philip. I’ve heard people saying it’s his fault that people in town are sick, but I can’t believe that. It doesn’t make sense.”

Graham put on his jacket and stopped for a moment before the door. “You don’t think so?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, then her voice became lighter, as if she realized too late that it had been a mistake to bring this up. “Maybe we’ll never know how it happened. He let a man in, but they’re both still healthy, aren’t they? Maybe he did the right thing letting that man in.”

Graham was frozen, stunned. “It was not the right thing.” His voice was as loud as it had ever been in his wife’s presence. Amelia shuddered. “If that was the right thing, then what does it make what
I
did?”

He stood there, almost daring her to answer. He could not keep the anger from coloring his face, nor the pain, the pain that had left everything else exposed, raw.

She held up a hand. “Graham, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” She stepped toward him, but he turned back around.

“I need to see Mo.” He quickly moved to the door, closing it behind him as he escaped into the night.

It was cold out, but it could have been far colder and he wouldn’t have felt it. He seethed, each footstep pounding into the earth. Did even his wife think he’d done the wrong thing? He tried to tell himself she was just confused. But what she had said made him realize all the more strongly that what he was about to do was the right thing. Was necessary. No one else seemed to understand, but he saw it now with a clarity he had not been granted in days, and the vision stirred him. There was something he could do to redeem himself, redeem Philip, redeem the entire town. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.