THE TRASHMAN (12 page)

There was no way we could squeeze past the carnage. Back at the Durango, Becky retrieved our Georgia road map from the glove box and we used the hood as a desk. We could have used surface streets to re-access the I-75, but we saw that highway 41 paralleled the interstate and that by using it we would pass through several small towns where we’d have a chance to resupply. I made a U-turn and used the onramp to exit the freeway.

*****

Highway 41 was once a main highway, taking travelers and tourists from Atlanta to the Gulf Coast of Florida. It ran north, parallel to I-75. The section we were traveling was a two-lane through rural farmland. The homes were far apart, and for twenty-miles, we saw no other traffic and no one out in the fields or on the porches of the houses we drove past.

At the city limits of the small town of Sycamore we had our first indication of the possibility at least some people had survived the beginning onslaught of the plague. Several cars were lined up three rows deep, sideways across the lanes of the road. In the center of the front row was a single car positioned so it could be moved to allow passage. Fifty feet beyond the barricade was a small barn-shaped wooden building, the type a person could buy from a building supply place to use as a storage building in a backyard. Sand bags were stacked waist-high on the side facing the barricade.

I stopped fifty feet from the roadblock and honked my horn.

“I don’t see anybody,” Becky said.

“We’ll give it a few minutes. I don’t want any misunderstanding that can get us shot.”

“I need to pee,” Jen said.

“Me too,” Will stated. I need to go number two.

Becky said. “Put your pistol where you can reach it and keep watching. I’ll take Jen behind the tailgate. Will, you can go after. There’s toilet paper in the blue nylon bag.”

She left the vehicle with her target pistol in her hand and opened the rear passenger door to let Jen out, admonishing her to hurry.

I asked Will to watch out the rear window until it was his turn to go.

“What am I looking for?”

I twisted to peer out the rear windshield. There was only one house visible, a large well-kept farmhouse. “Watch for people. Let me know if you see anyone. Watch the sides, too, especially the house. ”

I sat with my pistol in my lap observing the guard shack and the area around it. I could see a church with a tall steeple, and farther down the road, the homes seemed to cluster tighter. I honked the horn again.

Becky opened the door to let Jen back in, and Will scrambled out his door. Becky remained standing beside our vehicle, guarding, waiting for Will to finish his business.

A minute passed and I honked the horn once more, this time a long blast to be sure it was heard. Will returned to his place and a moment later Becky opened her door and leaned in.

“I still don’t see anyone. I think the roadblock’s abandoned.”

I agreed. “Me too. Stay with the kids while I check it out.”

I approached the improvised barricade with caution, calling out that I wasn’t looking for trouble. Near the center car used for access, I saw a toppled sign made with two-by-fours and a sheet of plywood. Most likely blown over by wind, it fell face up. Neatly printed with red letters on the white painted surface were the words:

WARNING

NO ONE ALLOWED PAST THIS POINT

DO NOT ATTEMPT TO PASS

YOU WILL BE SHOT!

The keys were in the car blocking the opening. I slid into the seat. The engine turned over, but the battery was too drained to start it. I put the shift lever in neutral, released the emergency brake, and got out to push it. When I returned to the truck, I used water to wash my hands just in case the virus was on the car or key. I made a note we needed some sort of hand cleaner.

Sycamore was a very small town, barely a blip. The economic downturn of the past couple decades had hit hard. Most of the few businesses were shuttered.

We passed a combination gas and convenience store. The broken glass and litter outside it showed it was ransacked. Laid out in the parking lot were bodies covered with blue tarps. The smell of death managed to get past our tightly closed windows.

At the north end of town two miles from the first barricade, we came to another set of cars and guardhouse. It had the same set up with a movable center car. This one did crank and I was able to drive it.

During our drive through the town, Becky and I remained silent. I think we were wrapped up in our own individual shells of shock. We didn’t see any sign that another human was alive. No noise, no smoke from a chimney.
Nada.

She opened up after I negotiated past the second barricade. “Everybody’s dead. I didn’t see a soul.”

“I don’t know about that. There could be several people alive in the town. There could be people alive in some of the houses we’re passing by. If they’re smart, they’re not advertising the fact. Look back at Sam’s. There were eight of us. Then we found the J’s. Don’t forget their mother and father and the men we killed. All of them would be alive if they weren’t shot. Then we found Salvo and Mercedes and their son. Old lady Hawkins. That’s a lot of people in just a small area.”

“Don’t tell me twenty or so people are a lot. Jesus, Ralph, we’ve been on this road for almost an hour and not a single car going either way. What sort of hell virus did those bastards come up with that could kill so many people?”

“We don’t know it was manmade. Jessica said the virologist was just speculating.”

“My bet’s on him being right. This plague is too vicious to be natural. It’s worse than anything the media reported. Now the ones that are left are killing each other. How many have we killed, seven? How many more do we kill? How long before we run into the ones that kill us?”

I didn’t know what to say. There was no way to put a good face to the predicament we were in. I didn’t say anything. I kept my eyes on the road and listened to her crying beside me. Finally, I knew I had to do something. I saw an abandoned shed at the edge of a pasture and pulled onto the rutted graveled drive that led to it. The drive ended, but I plowed the Durango through the tall weeds surrounding it and parked in back, out of sight from the road.

I turned off the engine and leaned over to pull Becky’s hands away from her face. She gazed at me with a lost look. Her eyes were reddened from crying.

“What are we doing?”

“I’m hungry and this looks like a good place to have a picnic.” I turned to speak to Jen and Will. “How about it, you all ready for a picnic?”

“I’m starving,” Will said.

“I am too. Hon, you have two starving kids and a hungry husband. Let’s have a good old fashioned picnic.”

Motherhood is a strong force. Mentioning the children’s hunger helped Becky to gather herself. She took a deep breath and spoke. She even made an attempt at humor.

“We may as well have a picnic seeing as how all the fast food joints are on strike. Can we use the propane stove to make a hot meal?”

“A hot meal sounds great. How about heating one of the canned hams?”

“Can we have mac and cheese,” Jen asked.

The shed had a small window in the front facing the road. I asked Will to act as lookout while I helped Becky prepare our meal. It took us several minutes to rummage through the supplies in the cargo space of the Dodge.

Becky handed me the propane camp stove. “I put the propane tanks in a box that’s buried in here somewhere. We may as well take everything out and repack so we can find stuff. We left in such a hurry we just threw everything in.

“I’m sorry I freaked out. I probably scared the hell out of the kids, talking about killing and dying. I won’t let that happen again.”

I reached in to grab a couple bags from the space. “I’m on the verge of freaking out myself. You’re right about the kids. We need to watch what we say in front of them. Not completely, though. They need to realize there’s danger.

“Hon, we’re in a desperate situation. Society has always been filled with people who behaved in a civilized manner only because of our laws. The rule of law is gone. Now any stranger we meet could be a danger to us.

“We’re ill prepared for survival. We have no training, no skills to cope with anarchy. Think of all the military and ex-military types that may have survived. Highly trained killers, some of them gun-happy, shell shocked nut cases. We wouldn’t stand a chance against even one of them. I expect gangs and groups are forming, some for survival and mutual protection, and others for mayhem and plunder.”

Becky set a box beside the growing pile of our hastily packed supplies. “What should we do? Should we still try to make it to a cabin in the mountains or should we find a place closer?”

“I’ve given that some thought. I don’t like traveling in the Dodge, we’re too exposed, but walking a long distance with two young children would be worse. Besides the fact it’s still February and we’re due for a lot more cold weather, Will and Jen, especially Jen, will slow us down and actually, we’ll be more exposed, more in danger of meeting up with people. At least with the Durango we have the ability to escape faster.”

“I agree walking is out of the question,” Becky said, “but what about just finding a place around here?

“Even though it’s rural farm land, it will still be more populated than a wilderness area. Another thing is the hunting and fishing will be better… and safer in the mountains. Think about all the chances of pollution in the rivers and streams. With no one to maintain them, dams will fail. Like Jessica said, nuclear power plants could be in meltdown. Rain will wash the radiation into waterways. I would rather take a chance on mountain lakes and creeks.”

I set the last bag on the ground and straightened. “I’ll take the utensils and stove in. Round up the food while I clear an area for our picnic.”

The floor of the shed was poured concrete. The broom I found was worn to the nub but I swept an area so we could sit in a relatively clean space. As I finished, Will shouted he saw a car coming. I called for Becky and then lifted him away from the small window and peered out.

The shed was on a straight stretch of the highway, and the car was a half mile or more away, approaching from the north. Becky joined me at the window and I moved to give her room.

“Why’s it coming so slowly?” She asked.

She was right. The car, a white one, seemed to be doing less than ten-miles per hour.

“I don’t know.”

Eventually the car rolled past the graveled drive to our shed. Sitting in the driver’s seat was a young boy, no older than twelve or thirteen. Even from a distance, we could see him coughing and spitting out the window of the car. We watched until he went from sight around a bend.

Becky said, “He has the plague. I wonder where he’s going.”

“Who knows? It does tell us that the plague is still active. Let’s have our meal and get back on the road. The sooner we find a remote cabin the better I’ll feel.” I left the window and sent Will back to watch.

“You did a good job, son. That one drove past.”

We ate our meal sitting on towels to shield our butts from the cold concrete floor. There’s something about eating a warm meal. It restores confidence that all is well in the world. My family close to me, well and healthy, warmed me, too. While we ate, I initiated a game of I-spy. Oddly, Becky was a sucker for the game. In no time at all, she was smiling and having a good time.

*****

We repacked the cargo space, handing the items to Becky so she could arrange them. We left the shed. According to our map, the town of Ashburn was less than three miles farther on.

Ashburn, still too small a town to warrant a Walmart or other big-box store, was much bigger than Sycamore. At the leading edge of the city there was a small strip mall featuring a dollar store. I turned into the parking lot and cruised by the storefronts. Most had the glass broken from the doors. Oddly, the bargain store door remained closed and intact. I mentioned that to Becky and she suggested we should investigate. I circled back and parked in front of the entrance.

Becky joined me on the walk. We had our pistols in hand as we went to peer into the store. There, in plain sight, was the reason why no one had broken in to loot the merchandise still displayed neatly on the shelves.

Lying near the entrance to the store was the body of a woman, her features so swollen and covered with pustules that if not for the clothing, her gender would not have been guessable. Her head was on its side and blood had pooled where it leaked from her mouth.

Becky’s shoulder was touching mine and I felt a shudder run through her.

Walking back to the Dodge a thought struck me and I reached for her arm. “Hold up a minute. Did you see the blood in front of her face?”

“Jeez, Ralph. Yeah, I saw it.”

“Bright red blood, like she just died. Look at the other stores. Any with usable supplies has been broken into. The only ones not plundered are the beauty parlor, the nail salon, and the computer repair shop.”

It dawned on her where I was leading. “If she only recently died…”

“Why wasn’t the store looted?” I completed, turning back to the store, still holding her arm. “Let’s take a better look.”

Once more, we were peering through the door glass.

“The blood sure is bright red,” Becky said.

“Too bright. Puddles might stay red for a while, but look at the edges of the blood. It’s just a bright as the rest and it should have begun to darken. Another thing, look close at the face. Do some of the boils seem like the edges are lifting?”

“They are,” she responded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If you’re thinking we’re looking at a manikin made to look like a plague victim. Here’s what I think. The manager or owner saw the writing on the wall and planted this to scare looters and scavengers.”

“Well, if that’s truly a dummy, it worked.”

“Honey, we’ve stumbled onto a gold mine of supplies. Look at all the canned food and dry goods. There’s enough food in there to last us months.”

She pressed closer to the glass. “Other stuff, too. Paper goods, bug sprays, detergents. I can see shelves of bottled water.”