The Last Tribe (57 page)

The Lebanon Airport was a bust. 
Not only were the planes too small to accommodate a group of their size, the
planes only had a short fuel range.  There was a fuel truck in Lebanon, but it
was a small truck with limited capacity, not enough fuel to fill a large jet. 

“It’s a start.”  Peter said
enthusiastically.  “We have fuel, and we could drive this truck down to
Manchester or Boston if needed.  It works.  We can use it to fill a jet if
necessary.  It will take a few loads from this tank to fill a jet, but we can
do it.  Not an optimal solution, but a solution.”  Peter was energized. 

Peter told stories on the way back
from the airport, old war and flying stories.  He lived an interesting life. 
His wife was able to join him on many of his longer layover trips.  They
enjoyed traveling the world.  He was not a chatty person, and his main point in
telling the stories was to relay that he knew how to fly.  He was good, and he
could take them where they wanted to go.  He needed the right equipment, and a
whole bunch of fuel, but he would get them to Hawaii.  Peter learned a long
time ago that one of a pilot’s jobs was sell confidence and security to
passengers.

“How are we supposed to get into a
plane that is parked?  Is there a handle on the door?  And how are we supposed
to tell if it’s a 777?  Are there markings on the plane?”  John drove back from
Lebanon.

“The easiest way for you to tell, a
737 has ten wheels, the 777 has fourteen.  There are always two for the front
set, that tiny arm that drops down?  The back of the 777 will have six on each
side, and the 737 will have four on each side.”

“Is that it?”  Solange wrote down
the tire numbers.

“The 777 is huge.  It will be much,
much bigger than any of the other planes.  You’re talking about a plane that
can fly twice as far.  It’s going to be enormous next to the 737.  Count the
wheels, but really, you won’t have to worry about figuring it out.”  Peter gave
Solange a confident look.  “Look for airlines from Asia, those will be 777’s. 
Asia, the middle east,  they used the big planes.  Those planes should be in
Manchester and Logan.  I followed the airlines when the rapture began. 
Everything was grounded.  We didn’t want the plague over here, and they didn’t
want the plague over there.  Instead of saying ‘everyone get home, this is your
last flight,’ countries cancelled everything, didn’t even let the pilots bring
the airplanes home.”

“Do not forget South America, they
might have big planes too.”  Solange smiled at the older man, showing him her continental
pride.

“You’re right, there might be a
Brazilian airplane at Logan.  Look,” Peter was sitting in the front seat, and
swung his arm over the back to give attention to both John and Solange.  “There
are going to be planes there, at both airports.  Don’t worry.  We’ll be able to
move anything that’s in our way for takeoff.  Our big question is fuel.  How
much will we find, and will it start the engines.  I’m not worried about
whether a 777 is available.  I bet there are ten of them at Logan, and at least
two of them in Manchester, maybe more.”

They drove through the looted and
destroyed stretch of Lebanon.  “Reminds me of Philly.”  John said to them. 
“Amazing it is so close to Hanover, yet there is no looting there.”

“Just like the countries, Hanover
didn’t let Lebanon in.”  Peter turned back around and faced forward.  “The
world was pretty selfish towards the end.  Love thy neighbor became avoid thy
neighbor.”

They were quiet as they remembered
the rapture.  It was easy to not think about it as they moved forward with
their lives, but impossible to forget as they looked at empty and vandalized streets. 

 “So,”  John broke the silence. 
“Which truck should we take tomorrow?  Our suburban or the new lime green
Hummer?  Both have the capacity to bring people back, but I think the Hummer
sends more of a message.  Makes me seem a little ‘cooler’ than the suburban
does.”

“I can pull off the Hummer.  You
cannot.”  Solange told him.

“What?  Are you kidding me?  I can
certainly pull off the Hummer.”  John looked towards Peter for confirmation. 
Peter shook his head.

“What?  You too?”

“John, you are a great man, but if
I see you getting out of a truck that color, well, I would think you’re having
a mid-life crisis or you borrowed your wife’s car.”  Peter put his arm on
John’s shoulder.  “I see her getting out?  I whistle.”

The rest of the five minute drive
home was spent arguing, John futilely defending his ability to ‘pull off’ a lime
green car.  Peter and Solange laughed at him.  They drove up to the main house,
and John got out and walked over to Matt.

“Matt.  I’m thinking of taking the
Hummer tomorrow.  You think I can pull it off?”

“Ha!  No.”  Matt tossed a nerf
football with Craig, Avery, Meredith, and Greg. 

“Dad?  Come on, you are more of a
suburban guy.  Actually,”  Greg looked around.  “A Volvo sedan.” 

Everyone nodded.

“I can’t believe this.  Solange, we
are taking that Green Hummer, and I am driving.”

“Okay, but if we find people, they
will believe it is my car.” 

Ahmed, Hank, and Paul pulled up two
hours later.  They were grinning from ear to ear. 

“We found cows.  We found quite a
few animals actually, some cows, pigs.  Most of the animals starved, but a few
were able to find enough food.  They are thin and weak, but Kelly thinks she
can save almost all of them.”  Hank beamed as he relayed the story.  “We found
some hay and grain that was not rotted, and we fed the animals.  Kelly decided
to stay.  There was a farm house with a woodstove and plenty of canned food.”

“Milk!  Can you believe it?  We
have cows for milk!  There’s even a bull!  We should be able to breed a herd.” 
Paul crossed his arms in triumph.

The tribe enjoyed an Italian feast
that night.  Despite his previous concerns about the volume it took, Todd made
goat’s milk Ricotta cheese.  They grilled Hank’s moose sausage and cooked it in
jarred marinara sauce with red wine.  The pasta was finished in the sauce, and
the entire dish was sprinkled with the homemade cheese. 

The meal of homemade bread,
sausage, pasta, sauce, and cheese lifted their spirits.  The conversation was
fun and lively.  A warm breeze blew from the South, and the temperatures stayed
in the forties the entire evening. 

Spring was coming early to New
England.

Rebecca told stories of watching
plane after plane depart from Manchester at the height of the rapture.  “There
has to be fuel there, a lot of fuel, and I know there are Southwest planes.”

“Those are 737’s, they can go about
3,000 miles.”  Peter explained.  “We would get to San Fran on fumes, then have
to refuel and could get to Hawaii from San Fran.  We’d have to find gas.  What
we are looking for, and what I need John and Solange to find if possible, is a
big, big plane, a 777.  We could also make it on a 767, that will give us about
1,000 miles or so to spare, but the triple 7?  We could fly to Hawaii and back
on a full tank of fuel.”

“So you’re saying we could get lost
for a little while.”  Emily asked.  “but if we take one of the smaller ones, we
can’t get lost for very long.”

“Em, we can’t get lost, period, but
if we are in a 777, we’ll have enough fuel to hit land on the other side of
Hawaii.  If we aren’t in one?  It will be close.”  The table went silent as
they all digested their food and the thought of being lost high in the sky over
the Pacific ocean.

John and Solange pulled away from
Hanover at 6am the next morning.

They found plane fuel in Lebanon. 
Their group had livestock.  Everything was breaking their way. 

John road the accelerator hard on
the almost snow free road, and they made the 65 mile drive to the Manchester,
New Hampshire International Airport in 45 minutes.   Two weeks earlier it was
dark at 7am.  Today the sun was over the mountains and warm light flooded the
canyons and valleys.  John stopped the car at the entrance to the airfield.  He
and Solange looked at an arch that spanned the three lane entrance, “Welcome to
Manchester Airport.”  The airport sat on a plateau at the top of a hill.  John
and Solange sat in the running car at the bottom of the hill.

John landed and took off from this
airport dozens of times, visiting his parents throughout the years.  He knew
the area well. 

“There’s a big stuffed moose in the
lobby.”  He told Solange.  “It was a clean and well run airport.” 

“I have never been this far north. 
New York City was as cold as I ever wanted to be.”  She replied.

“Should we just drive around the
terminal?  Bust through any gates we need to, and get over to the runways?” 
John looked at her with shrugged shoulders. 

“I do not want to get out until we
need to check the fuel trucks.”  The South American gave a faux shiver of her
shoulders.

Rebecca told them about seeing
planes take off in September, and how actively the military utilized this
airport during the rapture.  She did not go to the airport after the plane
traffic stopped, and did not know the condition of the area. 

A green military jeep sat at the
bottom of the hill, parked in the middle of the road leading up to the
airport.  It looked like a checkpoint.  There was a second jeep blocking the
road leading out of the airport. 

“It looks like they turned this
place into a military base.”  John pulled around the checkpoint and headed up
the hill.  The road spiraled up the slope before straightening out at the top
for a clear view of the terminal and the airstrip. 

Large green military trucks littered
the terminal pickup and drop off loop and were visible on the airfield. 

“They must have been moving
supplies and people.  Look at all these transport trucks.”  John pointed his
finger and moved it across the landscape.  “What are there?  30?  40 trucks? 
This looks like a military base, not a civilian airport.” 

The left lane was clear for John to
pull the Lime Green truck around the abandoned military transports.

“You know, you’re not allowed to
park in the passenger drop off lane.  They are very strict about that.”  John
threw Solange a smile.

She was not in a joking mood.  The
images of the Metropolitan Museum were fresh in her mind, and she anticipated a
battle scene similar to the one in New York.  She looked for bodies, broken
terminal windows, fire damage, but no carnage appeared as they crept around the
glass terminal building.

The airport consisted of two
buildings, a terminal, which they passed on their right, and a parking garage to
their left.  The garage appeared to be a standard parking structure, five
levels of concrete built for short term parking near the terminal. 

A small parking lot for hourly or
employee parking sat between the road and the garage.  Large green military
tents covered the open lot. 

“It looks like MASH over there.” 
John said out loud.

“What does that mean?”  Solange
asked him.

He stopped the slow moving car,
slid it into park, and turned towards her.  “What do you mean, ‘what does that
mean?’  MASH, the television show.”

“I have not seen it before.”  She
continued to scan the area, not giving him her full attention.

“You’ve never seen or heard of the
show MASH?  It was the biggest show in the world.  More people watched the
finale than, like anything ever.”

“When was that?”  She asked, facing
him.

“I guess it ended in 1983 or ’84.” 
He calculated her age in his head.

“I was born in 1985.”  She smiled. 
“I am also from Ecuador.  It might not have been shown in my country.”

“I forgot how young you are.  But
seriously, you should know what MASH is.”

“If it makes you feel better.” 
John’s hand was resting on the gear shift handle between the two front seats as
she moved her hand over his.  “I do not think of your age either.”  She leaned
towards him and kissed him on the mouth.  Her eyes were closed as she leaned
into him.  He kissed her back, but his eyes stayed open. 

It was not a long kiss, but it had
passion and meaning.

Solange pulled away from him,
keeping her face a few inches from his.  She opened her eyes.  “Do you think we
should walk through the tents or terminal now that we know this is a military
base?”  She smiled with satisfaction. 

John was in shock, and his mind was
no longer at the airport. 

“John, do you think we should
explore the situation, or focus on finding airplanes and fuel?”

He looked into her brown eyes and
beautiful face, still inches from his.  “Why did you do that?”

“I am sorry,” she started.

“No, no, I am glad you kissed me. 
I just didn’t expect it, and I don’t understand.”  Her hand still rested on
his.  He released his grip on the gear shift and interlocked their fingers. 

“I am a woman who takes control of
a situation.  I like you.  I am attracted to you.  If this last year has taught
me anything, it is that life is fragile, and we must seize opportunity.  When
you announced you were going to Boston, I decided it was my opportunity to show
you how I feel.”

They held hands and shared the moment
before John replied.  “As easy as it would be for me to kiss you back right
now, we have a job to do.  We can continue the conversation about ‘us’
throughout this trip.  Let’s focus on the task at hand?”  John squeezed her
hand before turning to look at the tents.  “Let’s get out and walk around. 
It’s 42 degrees.  It’s practically summer temperatures in New Hampshire.” 

They slipped on their winter coats,
gloves, and hats.  John left the car running as they exited the truck and
walked towards the tents.  As soon as they opened their doors they could smell
rotting death.  The stench was similar to the Central Park grave. 

“It’s getting stronger the closer
we get to the parking garage.”  John pointed as he wrapped a scarf tightly
around his nose and mouth to minimize the impact.

John went ahead of Solange.  He
felt her hand on his arm and stopped. 

“That is where the soldiers went to
die.”  Solange held her left hand over her nose and mouth, pointing to the
concrete building with her right index finger.  Canvas draped from the top of
the parking garage to the ground floor, tenting the entire structure as if they
were fumigating for termites. 

Corners of the canvas fell open in
spots.  Even from their distance Solange and John could see corpses ravaged by
animals and birds.

“Okay, note to self, don’t go in
the garage.”  He nodded at her and gave a thumbs up.  “Do you want to go back
to the truck?  You’ve seen this movie before.  No need for you to deal with it
again.”

“I am okay, but yes, I am not going
into the parking garage.”  John expected to see the corner of her eyes crinkled
from a smile after her witty comment.  Solange’s face, blocked by a scarf in
similar fashion to John’s, did not move.  She was not comfortable or happy.

John was not sure why he was
outside of his truck.  He had food.  He had water.  He did not need guns or
ammunition.  He was going to the tents to satisfy his curiosity.  He yearned to
know how the military handled the last few weeks.  How close was the government
to a cure?  Could he decipher the last days of their world from what was behind
the curtain?  He reached the tent, looked at Solange, took a breath, and pulled
back the flap. 

It was another bunk house.  The
smell hit him in the face like a baseball bat.  He dropped the tent canvas and
stumbled back.

“More bodies.”  He gagged as he
told her.  “There’s nothing here.  Let’s get back in the truck and get the hell
out of here.”  He motioned with his hand for her to walk back to the truck. 
“Let’s find a plane.  Find available fuel, and let the dead rest in peace.”

“You will get no argument from
me.”  She said, her voice muffled by the scarf around her mouth.

They walked back to the Hummer
quickly, jumping into the car as soon as they could.  The air was fresher
inside, but the rotting smell crept into the vehicle. 

John let out a sigh.  “I bet there
are a couple of hundred people over there.” 

“We should get to the other side of
the terminal.”  Solange recommended.

John put the Hummer into drive. 
They moved away from the garage, their eyes turned to the right, looking
through the airport buildings glass walls for any clues, and averting their
eyes from the mass grave that was the Manchester Parking area. 

A “restricted access” sign stood on
the right side of the road to the airfield at the end of the terminal building. 
A large metal gate swung from a pole on the right side, locking into a pole on
the left.  Today the gate was open.

John followed the road to the end
of the terminal and out onto the tarmac.  The military used armed guards in
jeeps as sentries instead of gates and fences.   With the people dead, the
airstrip was open.

“Well, that was easy.”  John
commented as they drove on the tarmac side of the airport.  Empty terminal
gates were giant rectangular holes in the glass walls.  The passenger ramps
were retracted and snug against the building. 

“Lucky for us, no one was left to
lock the door.”  She nodded. 

“Lucky for us indeed.”  He pointed
to four large fuel trucks with white cylinder tanks on their backs.  John made
his way to the vehicles. 

The tarmac and runway were almost
clear of snow.  Puddles and islands of drifts dotted the concrete landscape,
but the plateau of the airport and slanted design of the runway rid the area of
snow naturally.

“I got this, you stay inside.  No
use both of us dealing with the cold and smelly air.”  He opened his door,
jumped out quickly, and shut it before too much foul air could rush in. 

The trucks were similar in look and
shape to the one in Lebanon, but they were much larger, used for large
commercial jets rather than commuter planes.  John knew where to look for the
fuel capacity gauge on the side of the white tanker.  The gauges were not
dependent on power.  The first truck’s needle was between half and
three-quarters full.  The other three trucks were full.  As he checked each
truck and found fuel, he gave thumbs up.  When he saw the fourth truck was
full, he put both of his arms in the air and danced in circles.

He jogged back over to the Hummer
and hopped in quickly.  “We are set.  Three full, one two thirds, plenty of
fuel.”

“What was that?”  Solange asked him
with a frown.

“What was what?”  John replied,
confused.

“Your little dance.  What was
that?”

“Rocky Balboa at the top of the
steps in Philly.  It’s cool.”

“No.”  She said, sitting forward in
her seat.  “That was a bad Rocky.  You looked like Mary Tyler Moore throwing
her hat in the air.  It was not what a man should do.”

“You know Mary Tyler Moore but you
don’t know MASH?  How is that possible?”

“My father liked strong female role
models.  He ordered Mary Tyler Moore tapes and we watched them together.”  She
told him.  “We still need to find a plane.” 

“I know there is a plane at Logan. 
I hope we can find one here, but finding fuel was the key.  We can figure out
the plane situation.  You watched Mary Tyler Moore with your father?”

“I did.”  She scanned the horizon
as he asked her the question.  “Over there!”  She pointed to a group of
planes.  “It looks like the military moved all of the commercial planes over
there.”   

John followed her finger to a
grouping of planes, a dozen white jets of various sizes rested near a few brown
UPS planes. 

“All right, let’s go check it
out.”  He slipped the Hummer into drive and headed towards the parking lot of
planes at the end of the main runway a quarter of a mile away.  Some of the
planes were parked on the grass next to the security fence.  As they drove
closer, they noticed the size differences.  There were two enormous jets,
dwarfing the others.  John and Solange assumed these two were the 777’s needed
for their trip.  There were 8 smaller planes, the same size as the three UPS
planes, parked towards the end of the fence.  Seven smaller jets and turbo prop
planes were further off the runway.

John pulled directly behind the
behemoths.

“Three sets of wheels on each
side.  Exactly as Peter told us.”  Solange nodded to the landing gear.

“Well, if we want to go to Hawaii,
it appears we have a way to get there.”  John put the Hummer in reverse, turned
it around, and headed back down the runway.  “Let’s get out of here.  This
place is a giant graveyard.” 

“We can send Peter down with a
group.  He can see if the plane will start, and get it fueled.”  She paused. 
“If we decide we want to go to Hawaii.” 

“What’s your take on that?  What do
you think we should do?  Should we risk our lives on a plane to get to
paradise?”

Solange took a deep breath,
thinking about the question.  “I think so, yes.” 

John gave her a quick glance. 
“That’s it?  Yes?  You are cut and dry on your opinion?”

“I am.  I believe we can thrive
there.  There are no predators.  There is food, fish, vegetables, fruit,
water.  It is warm.  It has rain.  It has sun.  I believe it is a risk, but the
risk is worth the reward.  Peter is confident and appears capable.  If the fuel
works, we should go while we can.”