A Matter of Days (26 page)

“Mom, what’s that mean?”

“It means there isn’t medicine to fight it … It’s everywhere in the world all at once. I’ve never seen anything like it.…”

… “Should we go to the evacuation sites? Should we, Mom?”

“Nadia, you can’t go. You have to control your own destiny. Those will be refugee camps where you’ll be dependent on handouts and the whims of other people. I want more for you and for your brother. You do what Bean told you to. You’re smart. You’re resourceful. You make decisions for yourself and you’ll survive.”

I
gathered up a box of food, including a bunch of full water bottles, and took it all over to the tennis wife before we left.

I practiced my lines on the walk over.

“Hi, Marcy!”

“Nadia, so nice to see you again. Would you like to come in for more lemonade and cookies?”

“I can’t. We’ve decided to take little Robert on a road trip. He’s always wanted to see Shenandoah and we keep promising him. But I stocked up the pantry this week—would you mind terribly using this food? I’m afraid it won’t keep until we get back and I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

“Are you sure? You can’t possibly be gone that long.”

For a moment, I was sure I saw a flicker of reality behind her eyes; then it was gone, replaced by a glazed denial.

“I’m sure.” I held out the key to the house. “Would you mind terribly checking on the houseplants while we’re gone?”

“I’m happy to.”

“And please, help yourself to anything you need. Our casa es su casa.” I gave her my best faked Hallmark smile and backed away.

“Sure. Sure. See you when you get back.”

“You don’t want to come with us, do you?” I couldn’t not ask. I shouldn’t have, but I had to.

She pooh-poohed me. “Jack will be back in time for dinner. He wouldn’t know what to do without me for the weekend.”

“Okay, thanks!” I waved, while she stood there holding the box of food. I climbed into a commandeered sedan Zack had repurposed from a half-finished house construction site.

“Will she be okay?” Rabbit asked from the backseat. “Never mind.” He shook off his question. We all knew the answer, but we’d done what we could.

We’d decided to travel light, staying on country roads that Rabbit plotted and planned.

The houses grew farther apart, and the poverty would have been heartbreaking in another time. Dead mining towns and shut-down factories rusted through with neglect were common sights. This wasn’t land that was easily self-sufficient. This was land that those people, who could, passed through on their way to something better. Miles of silence rolled by.

“We’re running low on gas, guys. Better keep eyes peeled.” The rusted-out Cadillac we rode in had a hole in the floorboards and duct-taped plastic sheeting for two windows. This
wasn’t a country of flashy SUVs or European imports, this was a use-it-up-until-it-falls-apart world.

Maybe we’re all of that mind-set now? How many years of my life will be using up until it all falls apart?

With the gas needle dipping toward E and hiking seeming like a looming possibility, Rabbit pointed. “There’s a driveway.”

“Turkey, where are we from Pappi’s?” Zack asked, slowing.

“Twenty-two miles, but those are all in the Allegheny Mountains, so they’ll be slow going.”

“We have to chance it and see if there’s gasoline here. Yes?” Zack asked.

“Yes,” Rab and I answered. Even Al agreed on cue.

Pausing to prepare for confrontation, I switched positions with Zack, who held a handgun in his good hand. Rabbit clutched a shotgun and aimed it out the plastic window, more for show than because we expected him to use it.

The driveway was more pothole than road and children’s plastic toys like tractors and bikes littered each side. As we drove around a curve, a patched and decrepit mobile home came into view. I turned off the engine at Zack’s nod. We sat in the car for long minutes waiting to see if anyone came out, or shot at us.
Nothing
.

Finally, we unbuckled and stepped out.

“I can’t go in there,” I said as flies bit my neck and curtains blew where glass once was.

“I’ll check inside.” Zack nodded, as Rabbit and I walked toward several sheds. When he came back all he did was shake his head. They hadn’t had anything before BluStar.

“There are a couple of four-wheelers plus gas cans,” I reported.

“We’ve still got a few miles in the gas tank. It doesn’t make sense to switch now. Plus, if we fill up the tank with whatever gas is in those cans …”

“We can tow them if we run out. At least they’re better than walking.” Zack and Rabbit tied the quads to the back bumper and somehow managed to rig them so they’d roll behind the car without having to be turned on.

“Let’s go.” Zack made it down the driveway to the main road before what was a great idea in theory fell apart when we started up a hill. The sound of grating metal and popping bolts preceded a crash.

We all turned to look behind us.

“Oops.” Rabbit snickered.

The back bumper lay on the ground for a moment, until gravity grasped the four-wheelers and they began rolling down the hill, the bumper towed along behind them.

Rabbit’s giggle was contagious. Maybe we’d been traveling too long, or maybe it was because we were two days from showers and real beds, but I joined in.

Zack shook his head and seemed to take the failure personally. “It should have worked.”

I tried to bite back my chuckles because I didn’t want Zack to think we were laughing at him. “Just think, someone may come along and thank God that there’s a rear bumper tied to a couple of four-wheelers.”

“Maybe I could—”

“You know this car is held together by a prayer and two rolls of duct tape. I say we keep heading forward and don’t worry about it.” I squeezed his forearm.

Behind us there was a large crack and crash as the vehicles
fell into a ditch and the bumper clanked on top of them. Even Zack gave in to the giggles at that point.

As night fell, the Caddy coughed on the last fumes of gas and expired near the turnoff to the entrance of the Monongahela National Forest.

“We want to head that way to camp tonight?” Zack asked.

“No, I think we should skirt it,” I answered.

Rabbit nodded. “Dad would say stay to the edges, it’s a perfect place for crazies to build an empire.”

I could almost see Zack thinking,
Like your Pappi?
But he didn’t say it.

We loaded up the backpacks, Rabbit and I carried most of the weight. Zack wasn’t complaining about his arm, but it looked swollen and painful. I worried we hadn’t gotten rid of the infection.

“There’s a historic site in two more miles.” Rabbit perked up.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Pearl S. Buck’s birthplace.” Rabbit looked up from the flashlight beam shining on the atlas page. “Figure it has to be a house, right?” We’d found that historic sites didn’t tend to have squatters or dead.

“Good call, Toad. There’s enough moonlight to keep going until then.”

Under a full moon we trudged along, keeping to the middle of the road. With more ups than downs, curves, and inclines I understood why these were called mountains.

My blisters recracked and the warm ooze of blood and fluid made my socks stick to my skin uncomfortably.

Al rode on Twawki’s back, who continued wearing his
shoes. Though the dog’s wounds were healing, the pink skin was fragile and not callused. He didn’t seem to notice them anymore, though. The last thing we needed was him getting hurt again so close to the end of the journey.

“There’s a sign.” Rabbit pointed.

Zack grunted. I watched as he staggered a little and sweat poured off his face. I was afraid to touch him. He blazed with fever and he’d started to smell funny. Not just the usual smell of dirt and sweat, but the sickly sweet of infection I knew by heart.

At the sign, we trudged up another hill. Football fields away, a large two-story white house reflected the moonlight, but a smaller, less fancy building was closer to us.

“I vote for the closer one,” Zack said, pausing for us to deliberate.

“Me too.” We marched on.

I flipped on the flashlight and swept the place to make sure no one else was living there. The structure was part white shingles, part log cabin with mud chinking. The inside was minimally furnished, but there were two rope beds with stuffed mattresses and quilts.

“We’re probably destroying George Washington’s favorite quilt,” Rabbit grumbled as Twawki leapt up on the bed.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think there will be field trips here anytime soon. I’m sure Pearl, or George, will understand that we’re being cockroaches and using what we need to survive.”

Zack swayed.

“Lie down.” I led him to the bed and helped him get situated. He was a deadweight of weakness and illness.

“Rabbit, can you figure out what we’re eating? Find the
bottle of Tylenol, too, okay?” I asked, as I started to peel off Zack’s boots, socks, and long-sleeved shirt.
Yep, definitely feverish
. The waves of heat radiated off Zack’s skin like a paved road in the middle of summer’s heat.

“I wish we had water.” Rab sighed. Worry in his eyes with each of our movements told me he was grouchy because of Zack’s condition. Grouchy and exhausted.

“They have to have a well and pump.” I sat back on my heels as Zack’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Want me to go look?” Rabbit’s wide eyes pleaded with me as he handed me the pills and a juice box from a backpack.

Shaking Zack awake, I shoved two pills at him and made him drink all the juice. “No, figure out the food and I’ll go see what I can find.”

“I wish we had the walkie-talkies.” Rab sounded impossibly young.

“I know. But I’ll be fine.” I grabbed a big cast-iron pot from the kitchen area and removed the fake carrots and potatoes. Dusty and unused for who knows how long, I had to evict a spider, but the pan would hold water.
Please let there be a well, a working pump, a pond, anything, please​please​please
.

I left Rabbit huddled over our supplies and headed outside toward the picnic tables, keeping my ears open for any noises out of the ordinary. I heard a pair of owls and the pinging of bats above me, but nothing human. Nothing sinister. In the valley below there weren’t any lights. No campers, no fires, no threats.

Taking deep breaths to battle my brain fog, I kept my eyes on permanent scan, making sure I didn’t miss a detail.
No tunnel vision, Nadia. Fight it
. “Bingo and a gold star.” I found the
old pump in the center of a picnic area with a small cement pool at the base, presumably for dogs to drink from. “Please work, please work.” I set the pot on the ground, gripped the handle, and primed it up and down. Seemed like it was here for visitors to use, so hopefully it had only been unused for months, not years.

My arms burned and my hands ached from clutching the handle. I paused to catch my breath and wipe sweat from my face.

No water
.

I kept moving the handle up and down.
Please​please​please​please​please
.

Finally, a few drops leaked out. I pushed harder, using my whole body. Zings sang up into my shoulders. In a great gush, then a steady flow, icy cold water filled the pot. The first rush was muddy, so I rinsed the pot and refilled it until the water was clear. I wanted to strip down and bathe right then.

I cradled the pot in my arms and lugged it back to the cabin. “Rab, it’s me. I’ve got water.”

“Really?” Rabbit was bent over a tiny camper’s flame heating up pork and beans. Twawki whined excitedly as I gave him a bowl of cool water.

Zack was sound asleep snoring. Al sat on the headboard and watched Zack as if willing him to be okay.

I rummaged around in the bedrooms and found fragile cotton nightshirts, the kind I’d only ever seen in old movies. I also found sheets and towels in simple homespun textiles. Whoever stocked this house for the public tours tried to stay authentic. I grabbed a big copper washtub to put our clothes in.

We ate and then Rab helped me strip Zack’s outer layers
so I could get cold cloths on every inch of his body. He didn’t notice or wake.

“Is he going to be okay?”

I didn’t answer. I wouldn’t lie, but optimism felt false. In the moonlight I sat with my back to Rab while he washed and put on a nightshirt. Then he sat with Zack while I did the same. Making multiple trips to the pump, I filled the tub with water and swished our clothes around again and again until they no longer stood on their own. We hung them over the railings of the cabin’s back porch to dry.

Together, we lugged more water in to bathe Zack again. Rabbit, Twawki, and Al took the other bed and soon the snores outnumbered the crickets and nightlife that buzzed around the cabin. I was afraid to take my eyes off Zack.
Please don’t let him die this close. Please don’t die
.

I
t took three days of Tylenol, lots of water, and all of our food supplies, but when Zack opened his eyes he was ready to head on.

“Um, uh, thanks.” He caught my hand.

I nodded. My throat closed.

Rabbit wheeled out two very vintage bicycles, one of them a tandem. “I found these in the shed back there.” Enough seats for all of us.

After pausing and taking a deep breath, Zack said, “I don’t know how to ride a bike.” His expression full of doubts.

“You get the backseat of the two-person, then. I’ll take this one with Al and Twawki.” Rabbit grinned.

I tried to instruct as best I could and we started hobbling
along, Rabbit and the animals taking point on the expedition. At least the bike was tandem and Zack simply had to balance and mimic my movements.

I could almost hear Bean egging us on.
We’re so close
.

Around us green hills rolled and climbed until they appeared blue, then black.

“There’s a cabin up ahead.” Rabbit circled back to stay close to us.

The tiny log structure was surrounded by old, smooth white grave markers and didn’t have a single window. A stagnant pond down the hill was covered with Canada geese and ducks making enough noise to qualify as a hard-rock concert.