“Do you think she’ll be okay with him?” I asked.
“Yes, I do.” Callie tossed me an extra blanket. This one was shiny. “That’ll keep you warm.”
I looked around, the darkness ascended and the flood of cars and statue people faded into the black. It was so dark, I couldn’t see any hint of light from Del’s fire.
The night would be long and I was still absorbing the fact that Stone had died. It was lost for a while when we found Del, yet returned with a vengeance once we got back to the Humvee.
We retreated inside the vehicle for the night. I pulled out the lantern and notebook. I wrote a note to my husband Davis, telling him about Del and how I believed he, like Bruce, was waiting for me and protecting our family.
I knew they were alive, I felt it. Would they be there when I arrived? Sitting waiting with a survival escape plan like Bruce?
That, I didn’t know. Truth was, I had been gone for weeks and I was still half of a country away from getting home. Each short day and longer night, made that journey to find them seem a little less likely with each passing day.
Callie was up and about before the first hint of daylight crept in. As soon as it was semi light enough, she left to find Madison. She wanted to get on the road, make as much progress as she could, forgo small town sweeps and get to the camp outside of Kansas City as fast as she could. Stone’s death was a game changer. She actually even stated she thought about turning around and just returning to Arizona. It was closer to do that than keep going. I was glad she didn’t do that.
I don’t know why, but I expected to see only Callie and Madison returning to the Humvee. I was surprised that Del decided to join us. After all it was a man who trekked across a barren country to find his family, then set up camp outside the house where all of them had died.
To me he was done with life, settled, resolved possibly to die himself.
He came with us. Deciding he would go south with those at the Kansas camp. He wanted to be on one of those ships. His life as he knew it was done and he needed to start anew.
Madison seemed saddened by that. Mainly because once he boarded a bus, it was farewell. Like with Ruth, there would be an idea of where he would go. But there was no registry of survivors, or refugees. Once separated, once a goodbye was said, it was like death.
That was it.
Del was a lot less talkative in the Humvee when we left. He kept staring out the window. He grew sadder as we drove farther away. The reality of his lost family sinking in. He was leaving them again, only this time for good. Del seemed like a good guy. He wasn’t well and was troubled with an annoying cough that occasionally broke into a raging coughing fit.
We all had a cough, that was a given, it was so common place, it was barely noticed. Del’s was. His was worse. It made me wonder how much he had absorbed into his lungs. Would it stop? Would any of us stop coughing?
When there was no conversation, when I wasn’t writing in my notebook, all I did was have time to think.
Think about what was, what would be.
We were a day and a half from arriving at the Kansas camp. I hoped things would get better the farther east we drove. It seemed endless, ash covered roads in a gray dead world.
I didn’t know what Kansas would bring, but I knew one thing. Once we arrived… I was halfway home.
I focused on that.
NOTEBOOK – DAY TWENTY-FIVE
Davis – a side note,
You know I have written all of you, each day. I say things, how I feel, what’s going on. I know they haven’t been much. It’s so hard to describe what I see out here.
Today though, was genuinely the first time I was absolutely hopeful. See, I didn’t know for certain until today, that there was even a world left in the east.
I know there is. I know you’re fine and I know that you believe I will find you.
TWENTY-SIX – Thievery
The Kansas City camp wasn’t exactly in Kansas City, more on the outskirts. It was much larger than the one in Arizona, so large it was hard to see where it ended. A huge flow of people blocked the road, making their way there. It reminded me of the movie the Ten Commandments. People lugged belongings on carts, wagons, were bundled in heavy coats and blankets.
While the ash and dust flow was more of a light dusting, and we could actually see colors, the temperature was cold. Much colder than we had experienced. Every hundred miles it dropped five degrees.
Fortunately, we were in an authorized vehicle and permitted to go straight through. We weren’t looking for help, at least not like those who lined up for a mile.
We pulled up to a checkpoint where an armed solider asked for identification.
“I’m here for a refuel, reload,” Callie said.
“You dropping off them?” the soldier asked.
“No, they’re special volunteers,” Callie answered. “They help me. We’re EPAS Unit Nine out of Arizona. Command of Major Graham.”
“I’m sorry. Not familiar with Graham. Still trying to get a grasp, on Emergency Patrol Units. But I know Nine is in the heavy Southwest shit.”
“We are,” Callie said.
He returned her identification. “You can pull through to the right. You’ll see the quarters for enlisted. Supply and refuel is behind it.”
“Thank you,” Callie said.
“EPAS?” I asked.
“Emergency Patrol and Sweep,” Callie replied. “It’s new. Easier to keep track I guess cause there aren’t that many.” She pulled forward, telling us. “Let’s get the truck loaded before dark, have a hot meal, rest and leave first light. I don’t want to hang out here any longer than we have to.”
I agreed. It was crowded. I could see, hear and feel the agitation and impatience.
Once we parked, Callie engaged in conversation with another soldier who showed her where things were. After we removed Stone from the back and turned his body into command, all three of us helped her load up. In the middle of that, another soldier approached us.
“Sergeant Callister,” he called out. “Hey, wanted to let you know, if your people want a boat pass, they gotta get over there. I can take them over to the line for the passes, but they don’t get one today, they’ll be waiting another two weeks.”
“Thanks.” Callie nodded to us to go with him.
Neither Madison nor I were getting on a ship any time soon, but if we could get passes for the boats leaving in two weeks, we could get them for our families as well.
“How does this work?” I asked as we followed him.
“Each of the camps were issued only so many passes for each ship,” he replied. “There are seven ships leaving ports in four days. After that, the next wave of ships is August seventh, then the twenty first.”
It took me a second to realize it and I looked at the date. It was the twentieth of July. July. The sky looked like a major snow storm approached and the air felt it. Hard to believe it was the middle of the summer.
Del asked, “What do you mean ports? Where are they?”
“Depends what color pass you get. Some Texas, Mexico, Virginia, Florida. It depends.”
“And you’re bringing people there?” I questioned.
“Not the East Coast from here. No. Those are evacuation ports. People evacuated or were part of an exodus, or even just made it there on their own. For as long as we can we are looking for people,” he said. “Getting them to port as fast as possible.”
“Must be hard,” Madison said. “Having to stop at night.”
He shook his head. “Nah, we don’t stop. Convoy buses have huge spotlights, lights the way. We push through.”
“It has to be dangerous,” Madison said.