We keep a lookout among the buildings and streets as Greg couldn’t have been the only remaining soul here. Birds flit through the calm, warming air and over the brown grass fields, their life changing little in the aftermath. The only change in their life is perhaps the registration of a new predator. Andrew, the first person we met following the death of the world, enters my thoughts and I wonder if he made it to find his parents in Spokane. With the immunity seeming to be familial, it makes sense that one parent, if not both, would have survived the vaccine. Whether they survived the days following is another story altogether. I find myself hoping he at least survived and manages to find his way back here.
Passing by the hospital, I shudder recalling the close call within. The building carries a foreboding feeling similar to the CDC building; that the façade is hiding a darkness and terror within. I remember the words Drescoll spoke just a short time ago when he mentioned having to care for the injured. The foreboding comes stronger knowing we will possibly have to raid a hospital soon for medical supplies and equipment – knowing it will not be a pleasurable operation. With the traffic surrounding the exit ramps to the hospital and the larger amount of vehicles in the parking lots, I have the distinct feeling the medical facilities will have a greater amount of dead within complicating matters. Not just from the nauseating stench but from the onset of disease with so many dead, plus, the knowledge that there may be quite a few night runners within those facilities. If we are going to go in, we will have to do that soon as the disease from the decaying bodies will only get worse with each passing day.
Robert is quiet during our ride through the base. The smell of the decomposing bodies by the front gates reaches us before we catch sight of them. Again, we have to maneuver our way through them, missing the bodies as best as we can. The stench is overwhelming and my gut clenches with nausea. A few of the bodies have been picked at from the carrion. The sight and smell is disgustingly atrocious.
“That’s just plain nasty,” Robert says as we thread our way through and pull up to the front gate, parking by the two abandoned Humvees sitting cross-wise at the rear of the booths.
“You’re not shitting,” I say trying not to breathe. Drescoll pulls up and parks beside. Several Green Team members exit heading over to the empty Humvees.
‘Why don’t you take this one as well,” I say walking over to his window. “We’ll take the Jeep. Just wait and make sure we can get it started.”
“Okay, Jack. Good luck to you,” he replies.
“You too. See you in a couple of hours,” I say grabbing the tool kit I brought with us from our supplies.
Robert and I walk over to the Jeep I left parked in the visitor lot so many days ago, avoiding the booth with the boots still poking out from the doorway. Seeing the Jeep parked there brings a little comfort. It brings a small sense of normalcy and familiarity in a world distinctly lacking in the normal. Climbing into the familiar seats of the Jeep, we start it up and pull out of the parking lot; waving to Drescoll and the others as we exit.
Mom’s house is only about a forty minute drive. We should have no problems enroute as we have travelled this way before and didn’t notice any road blockage on the way. The lanes to the hospital in Olympia became congested but the left lane was clear as far as I could tell. We drive out of the gate and turn south onto Interstate 5.
“Whatcha thinking about?” I ask Robert as we pick up speed.
“Nothing really,” he answers. “Just hoping Grandma is okay and thinking about Mom. Wondering if any of my friends made it. That sort of thing.”
“Have you tried calling or texting any of your friends?” I ask avoiding talk about his mom for the moment. In truth, I really don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry.
“Yeah, but I haven’t heard anything back.”
“I’m really sorry about your mom, kiddo. I know that must really hurt. Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
“Not really,” he answers. I can tell he is holding back the tears that want to come out with the sadness he is feeling.
“You know, this genetic change may not be a permanent thing,” I tell him keeping my eyes on the road ahead of us.
I offer this as a hope, not really a false hope but in all honesty, I am at a loss for words. There isn’t really anything comforting to say when dealing with a loss that great. He looks over with a “you’ve got to be kidding” expression.
“Seriously Robert, we can’t ever give up hope on something we want or wish for. At any rate, know that I’m here if you ever want to talk about that, or anything. I’m here for you.”
“I know, Dad. I feel at a loss right now as to what to do or where I fit in. I mean, I was fine while we were flying as I knew what to do and had a place. Now, I feel like I don’t know where that place is,” he says turning his face to the window.
“There is always a place and there’s plenty to do Robert. You and the girls will always have a place with me,” I attempt to answer his feelings of being uncertain.
“I understand and know that, but that’s not what I really mean,” he says. “I guess I mean that I’m thinking you won’t let me help, that you’ll try to keep us safe and won’t let me participate. There are guys on the teams that are close to my age and I always get left behind.”
“I completely understand. It’s really hard for me to explain the protective nature of being a parent; the desire to keep your kids safe no matter what.”
“But I’m not a kid anymore,” he interjects.
“I know and you’re right in that I need to let go a little. I would like to wait until you can be trained better but, well, just know that it’s hard for me to let you be put in a dangerous situation. But you also need to learn,” I reply and pause for a moment to collect my thoughts.
In truth, I have thought about this a great deal and haven’t had any revelations regarding it. He needs to learn and gain self-assurance but I am also hesitant to put him in any situations where he can. I had been expecting a light bulb with the correct decision to go off but the bulb has remained dark to this point.
“You know, you’re right. I need to let you go out more but you still need training. Plus, I do need you in other situations. So, with that said, you can consider yourself officially part of Red Team but you’ll be partnered with me and, for now, only go out when I do,” I say knowing I will never reach a fully thought-out decision but also knowing I have to make one.
“Okay, Dad,” he says with a little more spark in his voice.
We pass Cabela’s off to our right as we continue traveling south. To me, it has taken on this aura similar to the Holy Grail of safety. It sits there, mysterious and inviting but with a hint of peril. The light brown walls hide whatever is within; our salvation or danger. I am wishing we were at its doors now as the unknown drives me crazy; like it doesn’t everyone else. For me, the unfamiliar always held an element of excitement but not an unknown like this. This is definitely one of those times I would like it to be known and known clearly; sharp and defined.
“Remember when we used to go in there and browse forever?” I ask as we both look at the structure passing by.