“Not really. You get adjusted to driving in it. Now, farther east, you get a few more daylight hours. Night is black, but you get longer days. Sky’s still covered. Not like this.” He peered up. “And certainly not like it is more west.”
To me, that was good to hear. We could make more progress with more light.
He stopped and pointed to an area of tables. “You want to go over there, pick a table. Lines all look the same. They’ll announce when they are on the August round.”
There were several tables with lines extended out. People pushed and shoved, it was hard for the soldiers to keep order and fights to a minimum. I could see it. I felt bad for them. They probably didn’t want to be ‘serving their country’ anymore than people wanted to leave their country or homes. It had to be done. People had to survive. All was being done that could be, the pushing and shoving wasn’t going to make it any better.
“One more thing,” Madison said. “If let’s say we wanted to get on a boat from Virginia. How would we do that?”
He laughed. “Why would you want to do that? Buses are leaving from here.”
Before Madison could explain our entire plight to find our families, I gave a short version. One that wouldn’t be ridiculed. “We’re civilian volunteers,” I said. “Last I knew we were headed east looking for people.”
With an ‘ah’, he lifted his chin. “Then you’d get them off a patrol or a camp out that way. If you’re going east, chances are you’ll be given a block of passes to give out to any survivors you find. I mean that’s the way I understand it to work.”
We thanked him and walked to a line. Not that we were getting passes, but we wanted to check. Who knew? Maybe the soldier was unaware they had the Virginia ship passes.
We picked the first table.
Twice during our wait in the line, Callie came over to check on us. The camp was so well lit, it was hard to tell that it was night.
There was a woman with three small children in line ahead of us. One of the children bounced on her hip and she kept shifting the child from left to right. I didn’t understand why she had them waiting in line. Was there no one that could watch them? It had to be exhausting for her. They were well behaved but still it was a lot. I was impressed at how well they did. They were all under five years old.
Madison and I took turns holding the youngest child, chasing the toddler when she ran off, it passed the time.
I wasn’t sure it helped her much.
The woman’s name was Marcy and she told us she was from Hayes, Kansas. She made the trip to the camp with her children in the back of a military truck when her own car broke down on the road en route
“My husband was trying to locate his brother and family,” Marcy said. “He will be here. I wish he’d hurry. They say the bus leaves tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you wait until he gets here?” I asked.
She shook her head. “What if he comes tonight and they’re all out of passes for next ships. I don’t think I can wait two weeks.”
“I understand that,” I said. “He’ll make it. He’ll be here soon.”
Finally we were close, next actually. The man at the desk hollered, “Next.”
Marcy with the children stepped forward.
“Red or green, that’s all I have left for Seven-twenty-five.”
“Were do they go?” Marcy asked.
“Does it matter? I mean, destination isn’t as important as survival, right. This isn’t vacation. Just pick a color. Or you can go with Eight-seven and have your pick.”
“No,” she shook her head. “I want them safe as soon as possible. I’ll take five.”
“I only see four of you.”
“My husband is coming.”
“Is he in the camp somewhere, I need to see him,” said the man.
“No. He’s on his way.”
“Then I can’t give you a pass for him unless I physically see him.”
“He’ll be here. He’s on his way. Please,” she begged. “Can you make an exception?”
“Lady, if I do that for you, I have to do it for everyone. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, one pass, but it is. Suppose… God forbid, your husband doesn’t show up. That’s a wasted pass. Someone will sit behind for another two weeks. I’m sorry. Four or none.”
She sighed out. “Four.”
He took her name. It was good to see that there was some sort of record. From all we heard, there wasn’t.
When we stepped forward the man said, “I have one Red left for Seven-twenty-five, if you all want to go together, you have to go green.”
“We’re willing to wait,” Madison said. “I was just wondering do you have any passes for Virginia ships.”
“Why in the world would you want to do that?” he asked. “Unless you’re going that way.”
“We’re volunteers,” I said.
“I don’t have them. I’m sorry. Once you cross into Illinois, you should be able to get one.”
I thanked him then me and Madison stepped aside so that Del could get his pass.
“Okay, we need a plan B,” Madison said. “What if we make it home, both of our families have been waiting on us, and we miss the ships?”
“Ships are going out for a month.”
“I know. I know,” Madison lifted her hand. “Let’s suppose that happens.”
“Then we head south, as far south as we can, Texas into Mexico, that’s what we do.”
“So you hold no illusion of waiting it out in the north.”
“We’re in Kansas, It’s July. I’m freezing, I don’t want to think about Weirton and how cold it is getting there.”
“Good, just wanted to make sure we were both thinking the same thing.”
During our mini plan, Del returned and we went off to find Callie. It had been hours since we spoke to her. I envisioned her angry because we weren’t there to help. Instead, she looked upset, if I wasn’t mistaken, on the verge of tears.
I knew better, it wasn’t tears, it was something else.
“Everything okay?” I asked. “Can we do anything? I know we were in that line for…”
“No, it’s fine,” she said. “The truck is packed, topped off and ready go…” She exhaled and sat on the cot. “South.”
“Wait, what? South? I asked.
“My orders have changed. Everyone’s orders have changed. Mt. Carmel has been canceled. If you aren’t already east or north east, you don’t go. They’re pulling all troops and National Guard for immediate relocation south. At zero eight hundred hours tomorrow, the exodus of all military emergency personnel begins.”
“The ships are going back and forth for the next month,” Madison said.
Callie nodded. “And orders are to move everyone south and wait it out there.”
“Why?” Madison asked.
“Because it may not be dark, but it is cold. Too cold, they’re saying it will be uninhabitable in a week. If that.”
My heart sunk. I could barely breathe listening to her words. We had travelled so far. We were three hundred and ninety miles from Mt. Carmel. One shot, one road. And the roads were good, not like they were farther west. They were passable, there was visibility, there were longer days. Yes, the sky was gloomy, but there was no ash haze. We were so close. One day. Just one day away…
What now?
What the fuck now?
“I’m sorry,” Callie said. “I wanted to see this through with you guys. I did, it was a purpose for me.”
“No.” Madison crouched before. “We can still be your purpose.”
“The military is all I have now.”
“Bullshit, you have us.”
“I’m sorry. I was ordered south. I go south. There’s nothing I can do…” She stood. “There’s especially nothing I can do if at zero eight hundred hours, I report the truck stolen.”
Attention caught.
“Wait. What?” Madison asked.