The Nameless Survivor (Valkyrie) (25 page)

              I'm sitting by the fire-pit watching Mia as she lays on her back staring up at the passing clouds and singing to Nova. The song sounds so familiar, but for the life of me I cannot place it. I am sure it was a hit from not long before the Great Outbreak, and the name is right there, on the tip of my tongue. “Whatever we become, we will be together, forever,” She sang repeatedly in such a beautiful angelic voice. That's what she was, an angel sent from heaven just for me. I don't normally believe in such things, but there is just no other explanation for her being here. But, I guess that is what faith is, reasoning behind never-ending mystery.

             
Yet now, after all these years of living in hell, I received a gift from above. Every night I found myself thanking whomever was up there, thanking them for Mia. She is the love of my life, and not as the “last man and woman on earth” kind of way, but in the true sense of the word. Fairy-tale love you could say. Angel or not, Mia and I have taken advantage of our new found love. Even with her horrid past, she enjoys the act of love sometimes more than I. There is no ridge or crevice of this mountain that has not been christened by us

             
Nova on the other hand is not impressed with our flagrant affection. Numerous times she has rudely interrupted us by squeezing in between, but usually she just lays nearby with her head on her paws, staring at us and letting out pitiful groans. A part of me wishes a wolf-pack would wonder by and take Nova with them. Back to where she belongs. Although it would most definitely crush Mia.

             
Aimlessly I wander about in our heavenly courtship, my heart always racing each time I see her smile. Luckily for me she smiles often, yet it has taken its toll. Winter is only a few months away and we have done little to stock up or prepare. This sensual distraction, as wonderful as it is, has gotten me contemplating. Should we stay, or should we go. I have done well living in the wild, I've made a home and built a perfect system of survival.

             
So why go? I ask myself this every day, and as I sit here staring at my love, everything tells me to go. The lack of preparation, and the ensuing warnings from the Ghost of Mount Sprague who still haunts my dreams. There is also one other reason to go, which I don't think Mia even realizes, but I have undeniably noticed. The word “Go” written across her sweet and slightly swelled stomach.

             
Mia's petite frame is overshadowed by her sweet little pot-belly. It's almost as if a balloon had been partially inflated under her skin. Her face glows with such joy and flaunts a perfect grin of serenity that remains stamped across it day after day. She is finally at peace with the world and yearning to meet the innocent child that grows within her. Her excitement and impatience fuels a raging fire of questions...

             
“When will it come?”

             
“Is it a boy or a girl?”

             
“How big will it get?”

             
With each inquisition I find myself unable to satisfy her anxious curiosity. Except for one – One question that I know the unfortunate answer to, and she knows it as well, but still she asks anyway.

             
“Is it going to hurt?”

             
How am I to deliver this child when my seventy-five thousand dollar education has in no way prepared me for this? I know nothing about labor, nothing about cutting the cord, or the treatment required after the birth. I realize that humans have been doing it for millions of years, however I'm afraid we may have lost our natural instincts for it. What if something goes wrong? No, it is time to go. We need to find a survivors colony, we need to find a doctor.

             
I proposed the idea to Mia, yet I was not surprised that she was unhappy about it. Not that I blame her, it feels safe here, and it's our home. She knows what it's like out there, more so than I. She also knows that mostly likely there is nothing for us find. But, we have to leave and leave soon, there is no other choice. The nights are rapidly cooling down, and the days get shorter with every passing sunrise.

             
Our trek is all but planned and I have two packs waiting on my final decision. Mia though is unaware of any of it, I don't want to upset her until I am sure it is time. Until I am ready to see her beautiful smile disappear from that angelic face. Until I get a sign - another warning from Old Bob. But, just like the dead, he too has been unspoken. My dreams have become dark and silent like the night, and I wonder if this decision to leave was made too late.

             
But what is really out there? I assume, or maybe just fantasize, that this virus has finally run its course. We have not encountered any in such a long while. Maybe luck is the only reason they have been so absent. Then there is the living, if they are still out there, both the good and the bad. Who among them can we trust, if any?

             
On the other hand, if we stay and there is a complication with the labor, I could lose her - lose them both. If we go, I could be walking us into our deaths. I am unsure of what to do, I had never conceived of leaving this place, our home. There are just so many questions with so little answers, and I fear that I may have damned us both. So I will ponder on it, consider all the options, for just a few more nights.

              Nova has become aware of the changes, of what is growing within Mia's stomach. Earlier today, by the river, Mia sun-bathed in a beautiful Indian-Summer light. Nova lay fondly beside her, resting her head ever so gently on Mia's stomach. Every now and again she would lick her tummy as if nurturing a newborn pup. It was all too cute, how her motherly instinct knows no prejudice, she is content in helping us care for this soon to be blessing.

             
I spent the morning fishing the river and into the afternoon, six fish altogether, enough for a good old fish-fry. We still had a few jars of fiddle heads, a few potatoes for roasting, and freshly picked wild carrots. Everything that an expecting mother needs for a strong and healthy baby. It would be a feast for what was to be our undecided last night on our mountain.

             
As the afternoon dragged on, Mia and I sat together silently and listened to the ripples of the river. Abruptly the unmistakable roar of an ill-tempered voice rung out over the water flow. It was the answer to our questions about the living, they are still out there. More importantly, this voice closing in on our position was a familiarly and uplifting sound. Tugger! Mia and I both jumped to our feet in excitement and rushed over to the river’s edge. There he was, mere yards from my fishing hole, trudging himself through the vigorous current. Haggard and blood stained, but in one piece. He held tightly to his shotgun, a pack strapped upon his back, and his worn-out fishing hat still resting all askew on his head. Although it has been over a year, he looked good, healthy. However, Old Bessy was nowhere to be seen.

             
“Hello Tugger!” I shouted.

             
“HELLO!” Mia cried, as Nova pounced into the water and rushed to meet our old friend.

             
“By Jesus, you’re alive!” He chuckled out while bending down to greet Nova as she aggressively leaped to lick his face. As he reached the shoreline I gave him a firm hand shake and a quick pat on the back. Mia jumped in and wrapped her arms about him, squeezing with all her might. Tugger immediately noticed her belly, rubbing it gently while shooting me a congratulatory glance.

             
“Well now, sweet thing. What happened to you?” He asked with a quick grin and a peck on her cheek. Mia let out a sweet little giggled before responding.

             
“Oh it's just a bug bite.” She said jokingly.

             
“You mean this big ugly bug right here.” He responded with a chuckle as he patted my shoulder. They both broke out into a rolling laugh.

             
“HA, HA,” I said, “We thought you were dead old man?”

             
“Nah, nothing can kill me.”

             
“Where have you been? Where's Bessy?” Mia asked.

             
“I'll tell ya” He said, taking a deep breath before continuing. “God-damn you were right. Those devils are vicious. Took Ol’ Bessy about a month ago. They came out of nowhere.”

             
“So they are still out there?” I asked.

             
“Yeah, and I should have listened to you. After seeing Stratton in shambles, I moved on to Rangeley hoping to find survivors.” He paused. “But, she was empty too. Would have headed right back home but sprained my damn ankle on some roots. So I held up in an abandoned home till it healed properly. By then, winter came, so I reckoned I'd head back in spring. Then when spring came I fell deathly ill.”

             
“Sick?” Mia asked.

             
“Yeah, damned flu of some kind. Not too sure, but it lasted weeks and for a while I thought I might have contracted whatever everyone else has.” He took a deep breath, “Then all of sudden the fever broke. But it still took a bit longer to build up my strength to hike back. And here I am.”

             
“Any particular reason you were walking the river?” I asked with curiosity.

             
“Yeah, well, we were following the main road, but we kept getting attacked. The last attack took my Bessy. So I figure if the road ain't safe, I'll follow the river up.”

             
“Well, we are glad your back.” Mia said.

             
“How bout we head back to camp, fry up some fish for dinner.” I offered.

             
“Can't say no to that.” He accepted.

             
Tugger and I headed back up the trail, as Mia lagged behind collecting her clothes while horsing around with Nova. It would be a long hike back, and we had a lot of catching up to do. I was eager to hear his perception of the world, and to see how his magnetism may have altered because of it.

             
“You're returning at an odd time, old friend.” I said.

             
“I understand, it appears you two have been busy.” He paused. “It's a bit awkward in all, but I guess she is a woman now.” He said.

             
“She was a woman a year ago. It's this world, it does funny things to ones psyche.”

             
“Ain't that the truth?”

             
“Besides our new blessing, I have decided to leave. Head out and find a survivor’s colony.” I said, looking over into his eyes, looking for acceptance.

             
“She can't travel in her condition! You'd be walking forever and for nuttin.” He scolded me. “What made you decide such a thing?”

             
“It was just one thing, I've let down my guard, and we haven't prepared for winter.” I said. “Plus, the pregnancy, I don't know the first thing about delivering a baby.” I paused a moment, “And, something a friend of yours told me.”

             
“A friend of mine?” He said in puzzlement.

             
“Yes, Bob has been visiting my dreams, he was even before we met. Mia too.”

             
“Bob Sprague, aye. Well if that ain't peculiar. But hell, nothing surprises me these days. Have you dreamt of him recently?” He asked.

             
“Not in weeks.”

             
“Me either. But that ain't no reason to pack up and leave the safety of your cabin” He responded. “I can help with supplies, and it wouldn't be the first time I've delivered a baby.”

             
“You?”

             
“Well it ain't that difficult, she's gonna do most of the work, the rest is just a matter of catching.” He said with a chuckle.

             
As we reached the old main highway that separated the river from our mountain I stopped and lit a cigarette. It amazes me how deteriorated the pavement had become. Broken and crumbled from the pounding of rain, ice and snow. Dried brown reeds of grass now protruded from the cracks like an onslaught of nature’s fingers reaching up to reclaim the land.

             
“HEY YOU!” a voice shouted at us.

             
Startled, we turned towards the call only to find seven or eight men standing around an old rusted and rickety truck. A truck I had never seen before in my life, yet it seemed all too familiar. Tugger quickly became antsy, sliding his shotgun off his shoulder and into both hands before side stepping me to put himself in line for a shot. One of the men instantly walked towards us, a large burly man, wearing overalls, flannel shirt and a baseball cap. The others were dressed in similar fashion, one of them in nothing but a stained wife-beater. They were far from being the respectable sort, they were scavengers, the turkey-vultures of mankind.

             
My heart sank as it finally dawned on me why the truck, and this man seemed so familiar. Even though I had never laid eyes on him until now, it was unmistakably Big Paul. My heart began to race, and it was obvious that Tugger could see the tension in my face. As he approached with his inbred redneck minions right on his heals I took a deep breath and spoke.

             
“Good afternoon.” I said, my voice shaking nervously as I took a deep drag off of the cigarette to try and calm my fearful nerves. It was self-evident that our situation would quickly turn into a shit-storm, no matter how we played it. For a second I pondered drawing my gun and unloading, knowing Tugger would not hesitate to follow my lead. The two of us could have overwhelmed them, blasting these fools away right there in the street. If only we had acted, taken them by surprise.

             
“For a moment I thought you were a gimp.” BP said – Gimp, meaning the dead.

             
“Nope, there's been no sign of the damned as of late.” I responded as my fear grew and gripped tightly onto my heart. Any moment now Mia would come candidly prancing up onto the road, I did not want her seeing this man again. I had to warn her, or ward them off. Back tracking though, would be too suspicious. I glanced over at Tugger, hoping for an answer, but there was nothing. Only a murderous gaze as he nervously fidgeted with his scatter-gun.

             
“Hey can I get one them smokes?” One of the other men asked. Nonchalantly I threw him the rest of the pack. My last pack, maybe only five or six left in the beat-up cardboard pouch.

             
“Keep them, I need to quit anyhow.” I said as I noticed Paul's menacing grin stretched across his face. Like a whip his hand reached out towards me.

             
“Name's Paul - Paul Andrews, but everyone just calls me Big Paul.” I reached out and shook his hand, never giving my name in return which he immediately noticed as his smile faded. He held my hand tightly for a moment before releasing it and stretching it out towards Tugger.

             
“You can call me Truman.” Tugger said snatching up the man's hand and attempting to squeeze it with as much pressure as BP, but to no avail, Tugger's bones were too weak and I could see the pain in his eyes. After a moment BP let go with a sly chuckle, and Tugger flex his hand in relief.

             
“You got a place round here?” he asked, the other men hung back a bit, talking amongst each other and smoking the rest of the pack like children with a bag of candy.

             
“Nah, just passing through, we’ve been searching for a survivors colony.” I responded.

             
“Traveling kinda light for such a journey.” He said with thick skepticism.

             
In my head I could hear the feeble and ghostly voice of Bob Sprague, ‘Take out your gun! Shoot them!’ But I didn't, even though I should have heeded his warnings long ago.

             
“Well you know, I have so far done well getting by with what the land provides me.” I said.

             
“That's right, nature always provides.” Tugger tuned in.

             
“I bet it does.” he paused a moment, turning his head and throwing his friends a scandalous eye-roll. “Although I find it hard to believe the two of you travel these mountains with nuttin more than a bit of fishing gear.” He paused. “Tell me, you a couple of fags?”

             
“Watch your tongue, mister.” Tugger grumbled as he tilted his gun in Paul's direction. Paul chuckled.

             
“Easy now old timer,” He withdrew, “I just be foolin with you. Seriously though,” His grin grew sinister. “Where you holding up, maybe we can trade supplies?”

             
I grew tired of his Neanderthal banter, and my hand slowly slid back towards my pistol. Unfortunately Tugger and I were drastically outnumbered, and Paul’s Minions had turned their attention back on us. Except for Paul, they were all carrying, thankfully though they had yet to ready them. I just hoped that we were fast enough.

             
“I'm sorry, but we do better on our own.” I said just as Mia unfortunately came tromping out of the woods without a care in the world. Nova followed right behind, she too unaware of the danger ahead.

             
“On you own, aye?” Big Paul said with a chuckle. Then his smile faded as he gained a better view of Mia. “I know you!” he exclaimed while pointing his fat finger at Mia. Mia immediately began to hyperventilate at the site of him and tears of fear soon followed. Nova darted forward, barking aggressively at him, she now sensed the evil of this man. My hand rested firmly on the hilt of my gun, yet Paul's ego blinded him from it.

             
“And you got knocked up!” he laughed, “So which one of you spoiled my little tulip?” He said looking back at Tugger and I. “Let me guess, you tag-team her? Or does this old fart get the mutt?” He burst out in a deep rolling laugh. With those words my hesitation faded and I yanked the gun from its holster and pointed it out at Big Paul's ugly face. Tugger followed suit, raising the shot-gun just high enough to ensure the spread would hit most everyone. The others stepped forward as Paul's hand jolted into the air and he took a step back.