“How do you propose finding these kids?” Mick asked Ethan.
“Like I do in every town. First I ask, then I drive the residential streets. Looking for signs. The flu hit in the summer, so I look for bikes, toys, swing sets, stuff like that. Then I listen. You get real quiet and you listen. With no sounds of life, it’s easy to hear a crying kid.”
“How many have you found?”
Ethan exhaled. “Nineteen so far. We placed almost half of them.”
“Placed?”
“Yeah, folks that pass through like you. Lost their own kids, they take a liking and take on an orphan. Me and my mother use good judgment. Don’t think we’re just sending them out to bad people.”
“No, no, I wasn’t thinking that.” Mick indicated with his head then pointed. “There’s a man up there.”
The man on the street was packing his car. He looked over at the truck as Ethan slowed down.
Ethan wound down his window. “Morning, sir.”
“We don’t have anything. The town is wiped out,” the man said. “If that’s what you’re looking for.”
Ethan shook his head. “No. I’ve been hitting a lot of small towns. Looking for kids that may be left alone after their parents died.”
“Noble cause,” the man replied. “Why?”
“Ever since two were left orphaned at our camp,” Ethan said, “I wondered how many others were out there.”
“Well…” the man shrugged, “most of this town died from the flu. We thought, you know, we had it beat. We had a small outbreak and then about ten days ago, it just wiped us out. Returned with a vengeance. We lost our last person about four days ago.”
Mick understood that, and his head lowered.
“I think I’m the last of the people here. Maybe the Morgans, but I’m not sure. They’re over on Carson Street, four blocks down and to your left. They may know more, but I’m really not sure about any kids. I’m alone.”
Mick leaned forward. “Sir, I’m from a town called Lodi. Lodi, Ohio.”
“Lodi,” he said airily. “I heard about that town on the news. It was flu free.”
“Not entirely,” Mick said. “We suffered a lot of deaths. But the town is still functioning. Maybe you should head there.”
“Maybe I will. Good luck with your search.”
Ethan nodded a thank you and drove on looking for Carson Street. The population sign read 1600, so they knew the town wasn’t all that big, but it was definitely deserted. The businesses hadn’t been boarded up, yet the doors were open.
Out in front of the small volunteer fire station a tent was erected. Possibly a help station at one time. But that man by the truck was the only person they saw.
Carson Street proved futile, as there was no one there. It was barren and Mick and Ethan even called out. They’d walk, call out, listen and walk.
From the map, Mick saw there were about six patches of residential areas. He understood Ethan’s plight and reasoning, but didn’t see how he was going to find anyone in a town such as Rosemont. Really, it was a small town. Would there be children left alone?
The third patch of residential homes was a small mobile home area set just down a small hill from a day care center. They pulled the truck down and began their search.
Mick remained cool, calm, and indifferent until he saw the doll on the street. Just lying there, its legs broken, probably from being run over. It was dirty, the hair frizzy, and Mick bent down to lift it.
Was the child who loved that doll still alive? He imagined in his mind the family leaving to get help and the doll dropped. So much screamed at Mick about all that happened to the world, all that was lost, when he saw that doll. Just as his fingers gripped it, he heard it.
So did Ethan, because he turned his head to Mick. “You hear that?”
It was high pitched sound, achy, and almost catlike.
“Animal?” Mick asked.
Ethan shook his head and called, “Hello!”
Again, the noise came to them, faint but close.
Mick spun to the tan mobile home. “There.”
“You sure?”
“I think.”
A few more steps and another cry out, and Mick was certain he and Ethan were entering the right home. The second they stepped into the mobile home, the familiar smell of death pelted Mick. It was raw, overpowering and the trailer was warm, which seemed to breed the odor. It didn’t take long, only a few steps, to find not only the source of the smell, but the cause of the noise.
The body of a woman lay on the sofa. She was covered in a blanket, her eyes wide open, face grey. In the center of the living room was a portable playpen. Inside, surrounded by empty bottles was a child. It was apparent by the amount of bottles the mother had done all that she could. That perhaps as she lay dying she prayed that someone would find her child before it was too late.
The boy was no older than two, and was lying on his side. His skin was dry, cracked and pale. His tiny mouth was open and his eyes sunken in. He blinked once, as if trying to focus on Mick, then whimpered out a labored, faint cry.
“Oh my God.” Mick rushed to the playpen. He knew the second he placed his hands on the child, that it wasn’t the flu. The toddler was starving and severely dehydrated. “Oh my God,” he said again as he lifted the child.
His heart broke. The child was listless, only able to squeal, and it was apparent that the simple noise took everything from him. He locked eyes with Mick and Mick just wanted to cry. Just crumble and cry.
“We gotta get fluids into that child,” Ethan said, rushing to the playpen and lifting a bottle. He raced to the kitchen and looked. “Nothing here.”
Mick just stared at the child, the slowly brought him to his chest. His little hands tried so hard to grab on to Mick, but he didn’t have the energy.
“I got water in the truck,” Ethan said, rushing from the kitchen to the door. “Let’s go.”
Mick just stood there.
“Mick, come on. We got to help this child.”
After only a nod, Mick, cradling the toddler, quickly followed Ethan.
Help the child? Mick thought, Was that even possible?
Journal Entry 3
I thought I’d write a little while me and Tig were just hanging back in the camper. We’re waiting on Mick, he won’t be long. Tig keeps looking out the window. We can hear kids out there playing.
They’re laughing. I don’t understand that. How can they laugh? A part of me feels as if I am not allowed to laugh. That if I smile, it would be wrong.
Not that I want to smile. I don’t have it in me and I don’t think anything, right now, can make me smile. Not a real one or big.
I had the weirdest thought. I wonder if my dad was psychic. Maybe he knew deep inside that something was gonna happen, something big and sad, and that was why he took his own life.
I didn’t understand it when he did it. I mean, why? But now, I’m a little jealous. Why?
Because he didn’t have to see it happen.
He didn’t have to watch Dustin die. What my brother went through was bad. Really bad. He was so sick and he did not deserve to feel that much pain.
Yet, he wasn’t scared. How can you know you’re gonna die and not be scared? I am proud of my big brother. I wonder if my dad was there waiting on Dustin, saying, “Come on, guy, we have to greet a lot of people.’ I wonder if they were sad or happy when my mom got there.
Like I said, a part of me is jealous. I know that sounds stupid. But my dad gets to be with Dustin, my gram, my mom. I get Mick and Tig. Don’t get me wrong, I love Mick and Tigger. I just wish our family wasn’t broken up.
I’d give anything to have it be normal.
I’d give anything to have my mom and brother back.