They’d all been stupid. Not using their brains. With the chaos and devastation all around them, it never entered their minds that they weren’t the only people out there that might not be bad—that might just need help in some way… that not everybody was dangerous.
Jake approached the woman and put a foot up on the first step. “Does someone here need help?”
The woman looked him over. “Are you a… doctor?” she huffed and then went into another coughing fit.
Jake shook his head and waited for the fit to end. “No… no, I’m not. We don’t have a doctor. But maybe we can help in some way?”
“Did my kids send you?” She looked out to the truck again, her eyes searching.
Jake swallowed hard. “Yes. They did.”
The woman’s chin quivered. “No, we don’t need a doctor. Not anymore. But I do need help.”
She backed the chair up, and waved Jake inside. The sounds of her coughing again trailed behind her. Big, wracking, wet coughs.
Jake took a deep breath, held up a finger to his group, telling them he’d be back in a minute, and followed the woman in.
When he walked into the main living area, the stench hit him. As his eyes adjusted, the first thing he saw was a pile of rolled-up adult diapers in the corner. Beside the diapers were a double row of portable oxygen tanks, like the one hanging from the back of the woman’s chair. The open door shined light into the kitchen where a round table stood, covered in opened soup cans and empty water jugs.
On one wall of the living room was a couch with a dark shape atop it. He squinted, stepping closer.
“Can you take him to the funeral home?” the woman asked.
Jake flinched.
The dark shape of the man barely made a bump under the blanket. The man was covered up from toes to shoulders, still clutching a bible a’top his chest. His mouth hung wide open, as though trying to grasp a last breath. His cheeks were sunken and sallow, a mere skeleton, probably close to eighty years old. At the other end of the couch was a medical machine of some sort, which of course wasn’t working.
“They left them all there to die,” the woman said.
“Where?” Jake asked.
“At the nursing home. They were all dying or already dead. The kids took him to the hospital when the staff said the power wasn’t coming back on. But the hospital was closed. They had all they could deal with and everyone was dying there, too. So, they brought him home. I told them a doctor couldn’t help him. The only thing keeping him alive this long was power. And a doctor can’t make power.”
The woman pulled a used Kleenex out of her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “The kids used all our gas in the van getting him back here. They’ve been out on that bike trying to find a generator and supplies. They haven’t found anything, yet. We’re out of water—and food—and probably gas for that death machine they’re riding too, by now.”
“I brought you a huge bag of rice,” Jake said. “And I can bring you back water in an hour or so, and maybe more food. Do you have more containers I can put water in?”
She shook her head. “How about first you help us out with that truck out there, we’d sure appreciate it. I may not be able to come to the funeral, but the kids can say goodbye to their granddaddy.”
“This is your father?” Jake asked in surprise. He’d guessed it was her husband.
She nodded and then turned her chair around, looking out the window. “The kids should be back any time now.”
Jake avoided her statement. He looked at the machine. “What was wrong with your father?”
“Does it matter?” she asked. “Anyway, at this age… everything. He wasn’t long for this world before the power went out. Then, the nursing home ran out of food and water. But even food and water wouldn’t have kept him alive. We didn’t have his medications either. I tried to tell the kids that. So, it doesn’t matter.”
Jake shook his head. “No, I don’t guess it does matter now.” He knelt down beside her and put his hand on top of hers as it rested on the arm of the chair. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
She dabbed at her nose with her other hand, and looked away, staring out the window again. “It’s Vera. You can call me Vera.”
Jake stood up and looked around the room. The narrow table under the window held framed photographs. College graduation pictures of the young blonde man and woman stood on each side of a collection of crystal paperweights. Jake stared hard at the first one, and then the other. Not twins… but probably just a few years apart.
It was a tragic loss of two young lives, just starting out in life.
The room was quiet other than the loud whistle coming from Vera’s oxygen tube. The woman was obviously in bad shape to need it turned up that high. A silent electronic oxygen machine stood in the corner, unplugged. It was a huge, expensive piece of machinery.
And worthless now.
Jake looked at the portable tanks lining the wall, wondering how long one lasted at this strength, and how she intended on getting more.
He exhaled a big breath and kneeled beside her once more, praying for the right words. He gently squeezed her hands. “Ma’am—I mean, Vera—there’s been a terrible accident out on the road.”
The room filled with silence again.
Finally, the woman lifted her chin and looked at him, her jaw set firmly. “Are they dead, too?”
Jake nodded, and she lowered her head and wept. “Where are they?” she sobbed.
“They’re here… in the back of my truck. I’m so… sorry,” he mumbled, his voice breaking on the last word.
Her head dropped and fresh tears plopped on her lap. “I told them… I said they’d get killed on that contraption. I told them.”
Jake stood up and stepped out the door, giving her a bit of space to mourn a moment, and nearly ran smack into Grayson.
Tina and Grayson had been standing on the porch, listening. Jake quickly sucked through his nose, and swiped at his eyes. Grayson patted his shoulder and walked past him, leaving him with Tina, who had tears streaming down her own face as well.
He approached the woman and moved in front of her, crouching down. “Vera, my name is Grayson. I’m sorry for your loss. The funeral home is closed for business, but if you’d let us, we’ll gladly bury your family here. When we’re finished, you can come with us. We’ll make room for you in our own family for now.”
Vera looked Grayson over and then leaned forward, laying her head on his shoulder. He patted her blue-ish curls as she cried for a few moments, then pulled back and cleared her throat, resulting in another coughing fit. Grayson stood and patted her back until she could talk.
“There’s shovels in the garage,” she said. “You take care of that, and then you can go on home. No need to come back. No use wasting food and water on me. We’re all going to die, anyway. Old people first. Then all these pill-heads that are all over the place. They’ll suffer the longest. The power’s not coming back on. There’ll be no more food. Everyone will starve eventually… you, and all your friends. The children even. Starving is a painful, slow death, and you’ll all be fighting over the last bean and grain of rice. I’ve got no mind to see all that up close and personal.”
Grayson crouched down beside her again. “You won’t. I’ve got food, and plenty of water. My wife and I will take care of you. We all will,” he assured her.
“You’ll run out, too. You’ll see. You can’t save everybody, mister.” She stuck her hand into her deep pocket and came back with small ball of yarn, knitting needles, and a pair of scissors. She dropped the yarn and needles in her lap and held the scissors up.