The Last Christmas (4 page)

I held her for a few minutes
, trying to figure out what to do, when I heard a bang against the car. I thought something else hit us until the back door flung open.

A young man,
probably in his early twenties, wearing a baseball cap and a poor excuse for a winter jacket, stood in the door way. “You guys okay?”

I couldn’t
respond. I cried and nodded, repeatedly saying, thank you.

“I was on the other side, I saw. Here, let me help
,” he said. He was so young, not very tall either. He extended his hand. “Are you stuck?”

“
No.” I undid the belt. The car was slightly slanted, and I held Brea so that she didn’t slide toward the driver’s side.

He reached in and took hold of Brea’s arm. “I got her.”

I couldn’t really see, until I released my daughter and was able to turn in the seat. He had her on his hip and he reached for me. “I’m good. Thank you.” I carefully climbed over the seat into the back. The two large duffle bags were there.

“Leave them,” he said. “We don’t know if water will come again.”

“These have supplies, we’ll need. Trust me.”

He nodded and I grabbed
the bags. They were awkward and I was weighted down. My balance was off, and the young man helped me from the car.

When I stepped out, I lost my breath.

Everything, including the bridge, was washed away. Gone. I looked around. Cars floated down the river, along with pieces of homes and buildings.

Our car was the only car that remained and simply because it got caught up on
the tree that hit us.

The destruction was horrendous
, and our loss hadn’t even fully registered. It would, I knew it, once I was safe and warm.

His name was Allen and
he walked us to his pickup truck that was a few hundred yards down the road. There were a few other cars there and people watched us. People that made it safely across the bridge and just missed the raging, flash-flood waters.

His truck was nor
mal size but perched on huge wheels. One of those off-road jobs that was overdone.

I hated them before, found them annoying, and claimed the trucks were over
compensation for the owners. But now, I was too grateful for that truck; it was safe, I was certain.

Allen
placed our bags in the truck and we climbed inside.

“Are you sure you two are
all right?” he asked.

“Yes, shaken. Sad.” I kept Brea on my lap and belted us in.

“I’ll tell ya, I stopped when it started and saw it all,” he said. “I couldn’t believe it. Really. That tree was holding on to you for dear life. Well, it seemed it was. The water was rushing, and it just wouldn’t let you go. I kept watching and thinking, there’s something special in that car. There has to be, if something that tree is holding on to it for dear life.”

I didn’t know this boy other than he was our rescuer and hero at that moment. I reached over and grabbed his hand. “M
y daughter is that something special.”

“You both are.” He smiled compassionately. “Were you two
traveling alone?”

I shook my head and
whispered, “My husband was with us.”

“I’m sorry,
ma’am, I am.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you headed somewhere in particular?”

I
shook my head. “No. Just south.”

“You’re in luck,” he started the truck. “So am I.”

We pulled forward and I watched out the rear view mirror.

I kept thinking, was I wrong for leaving? Should I have stayed behind and waited
?

My heart answered no. I had to keep going. Tim would want me to. If by some chance he was alive, he’d find us. I had to concentrate on Brea. She was what mattered. Her safety.

<><><><>

What a remarkable and brave young man Allen was. I learned a lot about him in the truck. His father passed away years before and his mother, fearful of the end, had committed suicide just one day earlier.

There were
n’t funerals, nothing anymore. People just kept moving.

Allen kept moving.

He grieved, yes. It was hard for him, but he told me he had to just go forward.

I was overwrought with an abundance of sadness. Tim was gone. Washed away. I wondered if it were even worth going on without him. Who would take the reins, help me to survive
? I had two bags that Tim packed. He thought of our survival, so I had to continue that path.

We made pretty
good distance and Allen had extra gas in the back of the truck. However, we were forced to stop outside of Morgantown, West Virginia. End of the line.

No civilian traffic was permitted on the road during
evacuation and extraction procedures.

We were issued a ‘spot’ in a camp, given bare
-minimum MRE rations. Allen suggested we eat only what we needed and save the rest, adding it to our survival bags.

I
thought it was a good idea.

The weather grew worse and each day was colder.
Our shelter was a tent and it wasn’t going to cut it much longer.

We were there three weeks when we were told
the camp was to be evacuated and transport was coming.

I could see why. The snow was getting
deep; it was harder and harder to stay warm. Our survival was so forefront on our minds, I felt guilty for not diving into a mourning period for Tim.

Allen kept telling me, I’d have
time for that.

A truck came and took people
, and then another, and another.

“
You’ll be moved soon,” they said, but the snow kept coming.

“If we don’t get f
arther south,” Allen told me, “We’ll die here. Canvas tents are no shelter from the cold.”

I agreed.

After another foot of snow, and two days of waiting, we left on our own.

The
mountainous roads of West Virginia, snow covered and slick, would have been a problem for a lot of people. But Allen’s truck plowed right through.

We actually passed a military truck on the side of the road.

When we left the camp, we offered to take a few people with us, they declined, stating they’d wait, it was safer.

Seeing that stranded military vehicle told me differently.

It was hard to determine which way we were headed, we relied on faded tire tracks from other vehicles, but they stopped when we passed the stranded one.

Moving
slow and steady, one hour later, Allen slowed down even more.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He pointed out the window.

It looked like a small polar bear moving haphazardly. Left to right,
tromping in the snow.

Allen sounded his horn and the ‘polar bear’ turned.

It was a person. As if he didn’t think we’d stop, he waved his hands, flagging us down.

“Are you really stopping?” I asked.

“Of course, I am. He’ll die out here.”

Humbled. I took a deep breath and clutched my child
protectively. Even more so when I saw the weapon over his shoulder.

The illusion of being a polar bear was brought on by the fact that he was covered head to toe in the blowing snow. He wore a hood, carried a large back pack along with his weapon and dark goggles.

He sloppily approached the truck. When he reached the windows, I saw his lips were blue and face nearly frozen over. He raised his goggles.

Allen wound down the window.
“Get in.”

The man nodded a thank you and when Allen opened his door, the stranger opened the small rear one and climbed inside.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

“Mommy, who is
that man?” Brea asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Sergeant John Cullen, ma’am.” He removed his weapon, probably one of those ‘M’ weapons or whatever they called them. He placed it to the side, shuffled off his backpack, and started removing his top layer of clothing.

I
asked, “Were you with that truck we saw a ways back?”

“I was, yes.”

Allen asked, “Why did you leave?”

“Because they stopped. They weren’t going any
farther and were turning back.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Allen said. “
Did you think you could walk to a safe zone?”

“No.” He shook his head. “To a pick up
zone.”

That piqued my attention. “What do you mean?”

“There’s another storm coming. A big one. Two days. Everything above the southern quarter of the U.S. is gonna be buried. I’m not talking two or three feet, I’m talking twenty, thirty feet of snow. And as soon as it breaks, rescue choppers are coming to certain areas.”

“So the they just gave up
?” I asked. “All those people?”

“Nothing can be done. All those people can’t be lifted. But a few can.” He looked at me
, then his eyes shifted to Brea.

“Where?” Allen questioned.

“D.C.”

“Dude,” Allen laughed. “That’s the
wrong way. That’s east of here and a bit north. Also hundreds of miles away. Did you think you’d make it in two days?”

“I was hoping I’d get a ride.”

“No.” Allen shook his head. “We’re headed south. We have to.”

“You won’t make it. That
, I promise. At this pace, you’ll have to stop. The storm will hit and you won’t make it.” He spoke with so much certainty. “Going to D.C. is the best option. The choppers will come when the storm ends.”

Allen kept shaking his head.

“How do you know they’re going to D.C.?” I asked.

“Because too many important people left behind. They’ll evacuate them after the storm. They were told to dig in,
so to speak.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Allen said. “Why would such
important people be left behind. Why not move them right away to make decisions.”

John replied
, “Because they felt infallible, brave, I don’t know why. But I have the intel.” He unzipped his bag and pulled out papers. “Locations. Several. They were told where to go, to get high and seal in.”

That puzzled me. “
Seal in?”

“Locations high enough to be a roof pick up. Fireplaces to burn anything and everything
,” he answered. “I promise you, if you go south, you will not make it. If we go to Washington, we have a chance.”

Allen turned his head and looked at me. “It’s your call.”

Was this soldier right, wrong? Misled? I didn’t know. The one thing that did make sense to me was the storm. I believed that.

I also believed getting high and
above the ground was the answer.

I glanced down to Brea in my arms and made the call. “Go to
D.C..”

<><><><>

If for any reason, Soldier John was delusional from the cold, or lying, he had it figured out in his mind. My gut didn’t need to tell me we were following a good lead, my eyes told me that.

Under
normal circumstances what would be a three hour trip, took us ten, and we only stopped once to add gas to the tank.

The snow was thick in
Washington, D.C., and everything was dark. No electricity. The stars and moon were blocked by the thick snow clouds.

Black
, except for the orange dots that seemed to float in midair.

They were lights from survivors.

The buildings were high and obviously had places for helicopters to land.

John indic
ated what he thought was the best building.

A twelve
-story, old apartment high-rise.

“Why this one?” Allen asked.

“The Vice President is here.”

Allen laughed.
“What? We gonna just go storm into the Vice President’s suite?”

John scoffed
, “No. we’re gonna make our own holding place up there. When the chopper comes for him, we’ll get on board.”

“
Oh, yeah,” Allen said sarcastically. “They’ll just say, come on board. I’m sure his entourage will take up most of the room.”

“What I heard on the radio was
that there was only three of them,” John replied. “We have our own supplies. Our own radio. Those penthouses all have fireplaces. We lock in after we raid every apartment for stuff to burn.”

“How long?” I asked.

“Rescue is slated for ten days. Let’s plan to ration for thirty.”