Chapter 10: Return to Hope
I hear the voices following behind us. It sounds like there maybe three or four LD out there. I’m getting that eerie feeling again, sensing is a Demon close by. We walk rapidly through, and over the darken debris, eventually making it to the street. We have about a half block to go before we reach the protection of the alleyway system. I let go of Tiffany’s hand in my attempt to gain speed. I tell Tiffany to stay real close and follow every move I make. What’s behind me does not worry me as much as what may be ahead. I believe the evil group has discovered the spot I rescued Tiffany from. I can’t make out their words, but they sound angry. I hear lumber slapping from the direction we just exited, as if it’s being tossed in a fit of rage. I think they might be upset. We probably left some evidence at the site telling them who we are, maybe its footprints or a wrapper. It might even be my blood. There is something we left that they found to make them react so aggressively. Tiffany must hear the commotion they’re making by now. I look over my shoulder watching her concentrate on me though. “She’s a smart soldier,” I think. She’s turning her fear into something useful-determination. We hustle into the alley and “double time” it. I want to expand our lead and put as much distance between them and us as promptly as possible.
We make it to the end of the alley and turn right. I want to move over one entire block and reenter the adjacent alley. This “zigzagging” should confuse any LD following us to our exact whereabouts. Tiffany and I are breathing pretty hard now. We make it to the intersection and dash across it. I don’t stop to look, but I give a passing stare in both directions. I do not notice anybody. We continue running till we’re well in the confines of the next alley. We slow to a fast pace walk as I listen for possible footsteps following us. All seems quiet. “Stay with me just a little longer,” I tell Tiffany. I determine this quick pace should keep us “on track” of putting optimal distance between us and them, while giving us a chance to catch our breaths. I don’t want to stop just yet. I want to be at least five blocks away from them, with as much random trail covering our tracks as possible.
We again turn right at the end of this alley and chance going two blocks down this time. I keep Tiffany at my side as we move along in a duck, cover and observe maneuver. I whisper as we approach the intersection, “We’ll rest as soon as we make it to the next alley.” Tiffany has been really great keeping up and following everything I’ve done. We stop momentarily at the intersection and hide next to a utility pole. I see it’s been snapped in half with the other part dangling ten feet to our right. I don’t see anything in this direction except some small craters in the street. I look left and see movement that startles me. It takes my mind a second to distinguish that it is the shadow cast be the swinging utility pole. I grab Tiffany’s hand and move across the intersection. My heart’s still racing by the sudden scare.
As we near Tiffany begins to steer me into the alley. I whisper to her, “No honey, we have one more block.” I see the exhaustion on her face and the drops of cold sweat streaming down her face. I reinforce her fortitude with a “thumbs up” and a quirky smile. Her pace hastens in her determination to keep up with me. She looks at me as if she wants to ask me something important. Instead of acknowledging her urgent request, I instead give her the “shhh” sign with my finger over my lips warning her to be extremely quiet. The reason is that we’re approaching the next intersection. She bites her lip and ducks with me next to a covered heap of something. I peek out past it to observe my right flank, while getting a good whiff of the pungent remains under the tarp. This section of street seems clear, so I look left. All I see are just more craters and debris. I pull Tiffany away, and try to leave the smell behind. I have a good idea what is under the tarp rotting, but I block the thought from my mind for now. Tiffany is breathing heavy again as we make to the alleyway. I immediately begin looking for the closes cover for us to rest.
I find a big dead bush that has a gap between it and a stack of discarded bathtubs. We scoot in between them and sit. I can barely see anything except our dark figures. I take my rucksack off and use it as a pillow for Tiffany to lean against. She continues to breathe hard and fast, so I use my controlled breathing technique to slow it down. My hand proceeds to slide into my sack and fidget for the canteen while I ask her what she was trying to tell me earlier. She is still too out of breath to talk. She leans slightly forward and unties her shoe, and then removes it while pointing to the answer to my question. I hear her responds as she dumps her shoe out. Several fairly large pebbles bounce off the asphalt as Tiffany nods her head up and down in the dark. I tell her, “What a trooper,” while feeling guilty for the pain I put her through. I decide we’ll take one more minute to rest. In the meantime, I do some calculations while Tiffany catches her breath.
I place us around fifteen blocks away from “Project Hope.” The chill is setting in as we cool off. I am getting the shivers and think it’s unusually cold tonight. I check my watch to find it is a little after eight. The current chill at this time of day suggests the temperature is going below freezing tonight. I look at Tiffany and see the waves of body heat floating up. My leather jacket she is wearing is tough and light, but it’s not design to keep the heat in. I try not to let her know just how cold I am without my jacket. After evaluating the situation, I decide there’s no way we’ll be able to make back to “H” before hypothermia sets in. I rise up and immediately start looking for the closes place to bed for the night. I turn and tell Tiffany “It’s time to ‘move out’.”
A fog is forming. It’s hard to see the fog in the dark, but I can feel the dark dampness floating over me. My soaked undershirt tingles with the thick moisture, and I smell the fresh bite in the air. Tiffany stands and reacts to the cold by wrapping her arms around herself. I conclude this must be a fast moving cold front suddenly moving into town. We start walking as I pan the surroundings for LD and a place to stay. I don’t know how long it will take to find suitable cover for the rest of the night, so I keep my intentions a secret. It’s better to keep moving for now. The asphalt is slick with dew that is helping soften the crunching sound of the meteorite fragments.
We travel two blocks before I see a possible spot. The fog is getting real thick now. Visibility is down to a half a block. I just wish it wasn’t so darn cold. This would make perfect cover to travel in. It’s also a perfect setting to come across an unexpected Demon. We stop then stoop in the alley, as I see a small dwelling through the missing fence slats. “I want you to wait here while I check on something.” Tiffany pulls her knees in and leans her head over her bent legs. She looks like a giant hairball in the dark. I set my rucksack next to Tiffany, and then cautiously step through the gap in the fence. I proceed to very quietly sneak up to the small dwelling. I silently chuckle to realize what the fog disguised as a small building. I bend down to view inside this fairly large doghouse. “What a perfect bed and breakfast,” I whisper. I return to retrieve Tiffany from out of the cold foggy darkness.
“I found us a place for the night girly.” I grab her cold clammy hand along with my rucksack. I observe and judge how hard this place might be to detect from the alley as we cut our way through the ubiquitous cloud around us. I whisper as we arrive at the doghouse, “Welcome to my humble abode.” I can’t tell if she is shaking her head in disbelief, or if it is due to the chill. I reach inside and turn my flashlight on to see cobwebs, dust, a cloth mat, and a metal dog bowl. I toss my sack towards the back wall and quickly wipe the webs away with my twirling arm and flashlight. “Come on in,” I whisper, “And make yourself at home.” I prop the flashlight so it faces towards the back wall, and then open my rucksack. I tell Tiffany to wait at the entrance, so she’ll block any light from escaping. I center the smelly mat in the middle of the floor. The wet air brings back the mat’s memories of a wet dog odor. But, it will help keep us warm.
I reach into my sack and pull out a roll of 30 gallon black plastic trash bags, courtesy of Scotty. I inform T
iffany these things have many purposes. I tear one off the roll and make a door cover to seal in the light and our body heat. With a English accent I state, “I figure the doghouse is six feet long by four feet wide, and,” I raise my hand horizontally to guess a measure, “Four feet high.” I try and keep Tiffany’s mind off the cold using my favorite secret weapon-humor. It has gotten me through many hard times. I hand her the canteen and a protein bar while opening one for myself. “Drink,” I gently command her. I want to make sure she stays hydrated. I place the protein bar in my mouth as I grab the dog bowl. While chewing, I use my other hand to grab a “Tuna” can concoction I made back at “H.” “This, young lady, is our heater for tonight. This is what you call homemade ‘Canned Heat’.” I light the can and set it in the dog bowl in the middle of the floor. I proceed to give her a survival class, while I rip off another trash bag. “The can contains rolled up corrugated cardboard and melted coloring crayons and a dab of vegetable oil. Melted paraffin works best, but candle wax is hard to find now a days. This little baby will burn about four hours, heating this fine establishment in no time.” Tiffany seems amused at my repugnant but eloquent English humor.
The light from the “Canned Heat” allows me to save the battery life in my flashlight. I tear three holes in the bag, and then quietly shake it open. I watch her nibble the remaining portion of her protein bar as I tell her, “Excuse me madam while I dress for the occasion.” I slip my new plastic jacket over my head and on my body. I fumble my invisible tie while asking her, “Is this tie suitable with my suit?” She almost chokes laughing. I hand her a bag and tell her to put it on under her jacket. I inform her it will keep moisture out and more of her body heat in. I unroll two more sheets and rip them from the roll. “Here is my precious Egyptian cotton sheet.” I tear another two sheets off the roll and tell her, “And, this is your copious plush blanket.” I lay it over her legs and slide it up till it covers her chest, while shaking it slightly. “Yes my lady. If you wouldn’t mine; please hold this.” After she grabs it, I spread my sheet of plastic over me and proceed to brace myself up against the opposing wall. In just a few minutes we are warm as toast.
“On a more serious note,” I state. I cautiously and compassionately advance in asking her certain questions, but I am curious to know how she survived the last month alone. “I’d like to know more about how you got inside that hole.” Tiffany starts explaining where she left off. It seems Tiffany and doctor dad were abundantly prepared for the end of the world in their basement. By her description though, it was more like a house underground. She tells me there were loud explosion one day, followed by their place being torn apart. I figure I know what caused it. I remember the jets shooting missiles that day. Tiffany cries as she explains how she survived, but daddy didn’t.
I’m not able to figure out if this bombing was intentional, or if they were just random casualties of the New California Air Guard assault on Irreverent. I am able to figure out the basement was not designed to be a bomb shelter. I learn that she eventually was able to crawl up and out of the rubble she called home. The first thing she saw was the entire neighborhood flattened. She had no place to go so she just hung around surviving on the little food and water she rummaged out of the debris. I reason, she must have been living that way for over a month. I guess she was foraging when she slide down a pile of debris into the hole. It seems this caused the pile to loosen and avalanche the surrounding rubble over her, sealing her in. She believes she was trapped in her cold dark confinement two days before I found her.
Tiffany’s recollection takes a toll on her emotionally.
She tries not to cry, but I can see the flood gates opening. I slide alongside her and toss my right arm over her shoulders. “Don’t worry honey; I’ll take care of you.” I inform her we need to get some shut eye. I help her to lie down on one side of the heater, while I lie down on the other side. I pull my rucksack under my head, and then prop my hands behind it. I prepare myself to rest rather than to sleep. I want to be alert to any unusual sounds. As for Tiffany, she tucks the plastic in around herself, and then asks me, “So, what happen to the goblin?” I quietly smile and think how she is still a child at heart. “If you promise to go to sleep, I’ll tell you.” She rolls on her side and slides her “praying hands” pillow under her head, and then attentively waits for my finale.
I tilt my head slightly towards Tiffany and say, “Now, where was I? Was it at the snowy part or the rainy part?” I reach my left hand around and begin tapping my index finger on my chin acting like I’m trying to remember. “It was the part where the kind little girl went to cheer the sad goblin,” Tiffany emphatically states. “Shhh, you go to sleep,” I warn her. “Okay then. The kind little girl knocks and asks, ‘Won’t you please let me in nice goblin’?” I continually stare at this fine young lady as I tell the story. My heart feels her sorrow and her pain. I think how she might possibly be about the age of my daughter; if I ever had one. “The goblin grew tired of her bothersome knocking and honored her request by opening the door. The kind girl thanked her and said ‘We’re sorry for treating you so mean’. The goblin’s pitiful tears soon changed in to ones of joy and tenderness.” I watch Tiffany’s innocent eye lids tucking in her tired eye balls slowly “goodnight.” I softly speak, “The goblin hoisted the little darling to her shoulders and proudly proceed to the harvest festival. Along the way, she made a giant beautiful Harvest Moon for all to enjoy.” Tiffany looks as if she is sound asleep. I lean over and whisper, “The townsfolk welcome her with open arms and hug her. They had a wonderful time together. From then on they always remember to pay tribute to the goblin.” Real softly I whisper in her ear, “And, all the world was right.”
Oh so softly, I kiss her head and whisper, “Goodnight honey.”
I lay here and listen to the sounds in the night. I meditate in the stillness supplicating my prayer of protection with God. There are distant sounds amidst this extraordinary quietness the fog brings. I figure the laden drenched dew is causing teetering debris to lose its battle with gravity. The occasional intermittent sounds are preceded by a symphonic concerto of subtle screeching sounds. The lurking clandestine evil mixture of the night makes me feel like I am the ghost “Eric” from “Phantom of the Opera.” I try fighting to remain alert, but the sirens of the mysterious mist sweetly serenade me to a finer time.
I find myself floating free through this temporal tunnel in time. I stand at attention on a sunny summer’s day. I hear the General end his ceremonial speech with, “You should be proud of your achievement soldiers. Will you please help me in congratulating these top graduates?” I stand perfectly still in this darn heat wondering when I’ll be able to swipe the sweat burning my irritated eyes. Then, the applause and pride tackle me in a joyful sea of cap tossing cadets. I improvise and turn my cap in to a handkerchief before I exalt it to the sky. I feel the pats, and grasp hands slaps, as I stare off towards the distant shore. I see joyous family members ride the crest of this approaching tsunami. A multitude of outstretched chaotic arms are flung, or flinging, to rescue my fellow comrades with their hugs and kisses. I brave the wave and push through it, as I am blinded by the bright blaring sunshine sparkling off a million small brass mirrors. “Mom, Sis!” I call to them. I watch helplessly as they are caught in the undertow of the floating frenzy. I twist, turn, and struggle through the wave that’s battling to keep us apart. I raise my arms as a guiding beacon to let them know, “I’m over here!” Again, their wonderful faces bob up from the approaching surf. I hysterical hoist them a tow line by tossing my right arm, and open hand over the top of the wave. “Grab my hand momma!” I scream. Firmly secure, I tenderly pull momma and my sister towards my embrace.
“Honey, I am so, so, so proud of you” momma tells me. I can hear her quiet whimper vibrate off my chest as this sea constantly roars with loud pounding voices. My sister tries repeatedly to tell me something, but she is frustrated in the futility of her drowning words. I see off in the distance
a peaceful island. I hold tight while jerking us in and out of the waves to this secret secluded paradise.
We finally reach this tropical bastion surrounded by the shady underside of the bleachers. Sis yells, “I tried to say-I knew you could do it!” She abruptly wraps her present of love around my formal wool attire. This is surely a treat, and something I’m not use to from her. I want to return the appreciation, but she refuses to retire her salute long enough for me to embrace her. Mom joins the festivity finding just enough room to maneuver between us and the bleacher. I surrender in the serenity of this surreal memory. A strange sound permeates the moment. I hurry to reach under their embraces and secure them. I will never let them go, but this ruthless noise behind me tears me from them.
I see darkness and feel my cold hands rubbing my eyes awake. I hear a voice and several footsteps coming down the alleyway. I freeze in fear within the cold dark damp quiet. I’m very careful not to make a sound. The noise stops. I hear a slow creaking sound and the rubbing of moist wood sliding on a lubricated surface. I now hear a slow crunching sound; similar to the sound of first steps on fresh packed snow. I promptly determine the dead grass is frozen outside and someone is coming through the gap in the fence. I remain still hoping we’ll go unnoticed.
The steady stepping of the crunching sound slowly encroaches upon us. “Think, think!” I tell myself. I try and formulate a possible weapon, while I frantically joust with the decision to wake Tiffany, or not. Swiftly, I decide “no” to the latter, and my flashlight and penknife to the former idea. The sound is creeping around the doghouse as I prepare my weapons. I methodically maneuver into position at the entrance. The sound stops on the other side of the plastic curtain. My whole body is in overdrive of its “fight or flight” nature. I elevate my shaking flashlight, preparing the first part of my plan. Hopefully, I will temporally blind it long enough to stab a vital part of it. It just stands there waiting.
Leathery fingers move to my side of the plastic, and then slowly pull at it. I see its legs are covered with unusually fine material immediately confusing my logic. I patiently wait for that most opportune moment when the curtain reveals the face of this foe. I time turning on my flashlight. I see a dark face appear from behind the plastic. I shine my light at it, and then I stab at it. I blind it and see it fall away from my swipe. It slams backward on the ground as I hear Tiffany jump up. I race to leap on it attempting to cut its jugular vein. I shove my light in its face and pause. I don’t see a brand on his head. I just see someone who looks as scared as me. “Who are you?” I demand! I hold my cold steel blade against his throat as I force my light further in his face. Shaking under my restraint he mutters, “I’m Irreverent Militia.”
By this time Tiffany is standing next to me with her own weapon posed to afflict it on the intruder. She is holding a stone in the air ready to smash it down. I signal her with my hand to wait, as I offer him my hand. “My name is Joey and this is Tiffany. We’re Irreverent too.” I assist him up and silently instruct him to follow us back inside. He tells me, “By the way, I’m Doug.” We move back inside the tiny cramped cold quarters and fight to find a spot to sit. I replace the plastic door and light another heater. As the light and heat grows, I ask Doug questions while he explains why he’s here.
“I saw muddy footprint heading up the alley leading to the hole in the fence. I knew the tracks were fresh,” Doug informs us. I figure the moisture and all the meteorite dust gave us away. He goes on telling us how he’s part of a group going around town trying to find others to recruit. The fog seems to have provided them a good opportunity for their purpose. There are six others with him that are currently searching some house near the intersection a half block away. He saw the footprints and thought he’d investigate.
I tell Doug about “Project Hope.” I tell him about its purpose and mine. He informs me that he is actually from Liberty Falls. I never really thought about the name of the town before, but it is kind of ironic now. This is a town approximately fifty miles away. That is where the headquarters of their operation is located. They have only a few weapons to defend themselves, but they’ve made swords and knives. They are in contact with another Irreverent militia further north. That militia has been able to pilfer supplies and weapons by ambushing “Trinity” military affiliates. They’re stock piling the weapons until they have enough Irreverent to take on the enemy.
I hear several people crunching this way on the asphalt as Doug peeks out the plastic. He whispers towards them, “Over here.” I ask him if he has military experience while we wait for the others to arrive. He laughs at me, and then tells me “No.” His specialty is homemade steam and methane powered electric generators. Doug explains how he helps hiding Irreverent by creating electricity for pumping well water. He tells me he uses abandon satellite dishes covered with foil from things like empty potato chip bags. He then glues it to the dish surface. This concentrates the Sun’s heat on any hanging black metal container full of water. The dish uses reflected sunlight, which gets the pot to over 300 degrees. The intense heat forces steam out a nail size hole on top. The steam turns PVC blades installed on any direct current generator creating electricity; much like what Moses built. He also makes methane powered generators out of lawnmower engines. This type of DC generator is powered by capturing methane gas from the tops of septic tanks. He tells me he’ll show me how it’s done sometime. I tell Doug sometime I’ll show him how to put a “sleeper hold” on someone and knock him unconscious in less than ten seconds. We agree with a hand shake while saying, “It’s a deal.”
Doug slides over the plastic curtain to show his approaching brothers our location. I can see they are all fairly well dressed for the weather, wearing really decent clothing. I ask him what they have on. This strikes me as odd. I haven’t seen anyone with clean new clothing in a long time. Doug opens his black rain coat and shows me he’s wearing the old olive drab U.S Army fatigues. He explains they were able to gather a load of military wear from the big surplus store in his town. “And, that’s not all,” he tells us.
We move outside and introduce ourselves as quietly as possible. One of his comrades sees me shivering and compassionately gives me the sweater he’s wearing under his jacket. I hurry and slide it over my plastic bag; a.k.a. jacket, and rub my arms with its supplied body warmth. I check the time and find that the sun will be rising in about an hour. The last two of his militia walk hurriedly towards us as I put on my rucksack. Tiffany slides the extinguished heater back in my sack then tries patting her hair down in place. One of Doug’s associates alerts us that he heard voices coming this way. They sound as if they are still about three blocks away. We all hustle down the alley while slicing the cold fog in the opposite direction those voices were reported coming from. We say our goodbyes at the intersection of the alleyway and the street, and we plan to me up later at “H.” They are traveling south, and we’re heading west.
The fog seems even thicker here. We make it to the intersection of the streets as the fog temporarily reveals the name on street sign. I remember my grade school was just a few hundred feet down from this intersection. I take this thick fog in to consideration and decide it’s too dangerous to travel. We’re likely to fall in a crater, or come upon an LD before we even know it. Plus, I think the school might be a place to pick up some rudimentary things I’ve been wanting. I decide we’ll hide at the school till the fog lifts. We turn and head towards the school.
I swing open the rusty wrought iron gate that’s been unlocked for many years now. I immediately feel the rush of so many good memories flow over me. Now the place looks like the decrepit mansion on the hill from “Citizen Cane.” We maneuver up the shattered concrete steps leading us inside the main corridor. I shine my light carefully towards the floor and look around. The roof is gone, for the most part, and many of the walls have caved in. I try and locate the stairwell that leads down to the place where I am hoping will have what I am looking for. I look at Tiffany and notice she is bare
ly able to keep awake. This will also probably be a good spot for her to nap for a few more hours. I see the lower entrance exactly where I remember it, but it is mostly hidden by leaning broken book cases in the main hallway. We slide carefully behind them and attempt to descend to the lower level.
There is just one obstacle hindering our descent. It’s nothing that will stop us though. The hand rails are missing, but all the stairs are still intact. The metal stairs have fared much better than any part of the building I’ve seen so far. Tiffany asks, “Where are we going?” I tell her, “To the ‘Janitor’s Room’.”
We make it down to the bottom of the stairwell. I face the light towards where I remember the room being. I recollect it being at the end of this hall just past this litter of broken desks, and the protruding roots sticking out from the cracked walls. I try not to say anything that might scare Tiffany, but this feels like a horror movie. It looks like a crucible filled with grabbing arms reaching out trying to snatch us. I get the “he bee gee bees” walking around these things. I pray along the way the thick metal door to the “Janitor’s Room” is unlocked. I sigh in relief to find it is.
I open the door to an orchestra of screeching violins and tell Tiffany to wait here for a minute. I proceed inside while wiping away a zillion cob webs with my spinning arm and flashlight. I carve a path down the steps, and then call Tiffany to come in. I shine the light up to the door to watch Tiffany reluctantly descend the darken flight of metal stairs. “Yep, just as I remember it,” I tell her. “I use to come here and talk to old George the janitor. This is a combination room. There are the boilers,” I move my flashlight to show her, “And, there is George’s nap room.” I walk behind the boiler to the closet not expecting to find anything, but I see the bed old George would hide out and nap in. I think about him every now and then. He might have been a bit lackadaisical, but he was a superfluous body of wisdom. He took me under his wing teaching me a lot of wise things about life. I reach in my sack and retrieve some “Canned Heat.” I light it and place it on a small end table next to George’s old napping bed. I invite Tiffany to rest as I swipe the dust away from the bedding. I cough, but she seems too tired to care. “Sleep,” I tell her. “I’ll get you up in a little while.” After I help her get situated, I head out to find some goodies.
I try and remember where the school supplies were kept as I journey back towards the stairs. I stop in one of the old class rooms along my way and find the first ingredient on my “wish list.” I see the chalk that is still in the slot at the base of the chalkboard. I gather all I can find, and then place it in my hand. I see the teacher’s overturned desk and check inside it. I find three unopened boxes of the white stuff, and a “baggie” to put it in. I think, “Life is good!” I continue gathering all of it while placing it in the baggie. I seal it and then slide it into my rucksack. I stand here a moment reverently recalling my childhood memories of a sweeter time before moving back out into the dark scary hallway.
I jostle by the debris in my attempt to make it to the far end of the dark dirty corridor. I occasionally stop in other classrooms along my way checking for items I on my “wish list.” I find more chalk and crayons, and eventually the supply room. “Ah, rock salt and filters.” The school stored bags of the salt to melt winter ice off the exterior steps. I also find “air conditioning filters.” They contain activated carbon. I fill a bag full of the rock salt and place it in my sack. I proceed to tear open a couple filters to scrape out the black gold. I collect all of it in the other baggie, and also stash it in my rucksack. I decide this should about complete my mission.
I return to the “Janitor’s Room” and see the first morning light as I pass the main stairwell. I check the time and see it’s just after sunrise. I begin feeling the toll from yesterday’s activity and the excitement of this past night. I clang my way down the short metal stairs while coming to the decision to catch some “shut eye” myself. I find a spot next to the old boiler, which I’ll use as my pillow for the next couple hours. My exhaustion relaxes me to sleep in this most uncomfortable position. I cross my arms and close my heavy eyes for a short nap.
I hear laughter and someone calling me. “Joey; I’m over here.” Out of the dark comes this tall old black man who I immediately recognize. It’s old George! He’s waving to me to come and visit him in his office below. I see him smiling and giggling with anticipation as I approach him. “How are you doing my little friend?” His guiding arm wraps around my tiny shoulders, and then accompanies me down his polished steps. This place always smells so clean with its mixture of pine scent and cleaning supply perfume. I notice the buffed shine of the boilers and feel their perfect warmth radiating throughout George’s comfortable office. “So what cha learn today?” he asks me. I reluctantly reply, “I don’t know.” He immediately reminds me, “Every day is a wonderful gift from God.” I look at his starched and well pressed overalls, while I ponder his words. I always feel like more than I am, around George. He is like the father I wish I could have. Mine died last year. “You’re gonna be a scientist, or a doctor, or some fine author. You’re gonna write books and change the world one day. You just wait and see. So, don’t tell me you didn’t learn anything today.” George opens his metal lunch pail and retrieves a pair of small cakes that I can see through the cellophane wrapping. He opens the pack as I stare in wonder at the whiteness of his name tag. “I couldn’t eat all this sweet stuff today. Would you help me finish these cakes? Mrs. George will get mad if I don’t eat all my lunch. She’ll think I didn’t like it.” I happily oblige his request by jutting my hand out offering my acceptance to help him with his dilemma. “You see this bag of rock salt?” My eyes trace the trail his pointing finger is laying. “That stuff is actually a chemical compound of calcium and chloride.” He then points to the chalk mark on my pants that I got from leaning against the chalkboard earlier today. “That there is another compound called calcium carbonate.” I nibble my cake and marvel on every one of his words. George was magical and full of passion. He could make anything interesting to learn. “Yep, these can be used for a lot of things. That’s how life is. They can be used to make medicine or poison. They can be used help people or hurt people. They can be used for good or bad.” I finish my cake, and then lick my little fingers clean. “It seems everything is that way Joey.” He raps his knuckles softly on the top of my head then rubs my hair messy as part of his daily ritual. “It’s all up to you what you do with it,” he reminds me.
He looks up at the clock and tells me, “You better be on your way before your momma gets worried.” I grab my backpack loaded with books and swing it onto my shoulder. Old George helps me up from my chair. He hurries to write down on his clipboard my “word of the day.” He tells me as he writes, “You remember this. You can do just about anything, or be anything, if you work hard enough. I expect big things from you Joey.”
I rise and turn to see the clock and realize momma’s probably waiting out front of the school by now. George shoves the folded paper in my pack and pushes me up the steps, as he tells me, “If you don’t know where you’re going in life, it don’t matter which path you chose.” I run up the “Janitor’s Room” steps then dart down the hall just in time to hear the final school bell ringing. I wave over my shoulder to old George, and feel his warm spirit follow me. I turn and dash up the main stairwell as I hear his words echo, “Bye Joey. You be a good boy and listen to your momma. And, learn everything you can! God bless.”
A cold chill stirs the dust in this room waking me into another world of wonder. This world is not so pleasant. The faint yellow light permeating the room warns me to get up. I stretch while attempting to rip back the Velcro’s cover of my watch. The color of the morning light tells me the fog has lifted. My fuzzy eyes force their stare towards my bouncing watch face and determine the time is now 10:14 am. I immediately notice I don’t hear any noise. This suggests Tiffany is still asleep, and we are still safe. I take a few seconds and allow my brain to wake up,
as my mind rummages through the remnants of my dream. Suddenly, I have an epiphany to what George wrote for the “word of the day.” It was this simple word with a complex meaning. I unravel the neatly folded paper and read the small word. This gem has made the biggest difference in my life. It simply reads “grace.”
I stand and complete my stretching exercise as I remember scurrying through the front door of my home to lookup the meaning of the word. This tiny word has numerous definitions, but I figured out which one George meant for me to learn. It is the one that deals with the free gift of forgiveness that is not deserved or earned.
I can see well enough now to find my way without the assistance of my flashlight. I manage to maneuver to Tiffany’s bedside while hearing her slightly snoring. I stand and stare at her thinking of the kind of life she’ll have. As I do, I feel a sense of guilt by not honoring George’s high standards for my life. But, maturity immediately slaps me with his true intentions. It was to encourage me to achieve. It was not to present a bar filled with impossibly high standards to hurdle over. I think about what standards I can give Tiffany, but they all just deal with the art of survival.
I reach down and slightly tug at her, telling her it’s time to get up. She reluctantly compels herself to assume a combination sitting while waking up position. I give her a few seconds to regain her faculties, as I finish straightening out my rucksack for the journey home. She attempts to finger comb her hair with one hand, and covers her yarn with the other. I pullout a protein bar and split it in half in the meantime. “Good morning. Eat this, and then we got to get going.”
We make our way out the front entrance way and see the devastation the fog and the night hid just a few hours earlier. Various size craters adorn areas of the dead brown ground. I found the missing roof from the school lying shattered on the former play ground. Oddly, a section of it resembling the shape of a “swing set.” It fell exactly where I used to play. It spurs a fond childish memory as we scheme along the walkway towards the main gate of the former schoolyard. I motion Tiffany to wait while I check the street for LD. I look both ways, then down the path I’m currently charting in my mind. I don’t see any signs of life; rather I just hear the sound of that lonely bird returning to sing his distant desperate song.
We turn right at the intersection and begin crunching our way towards the alley. The warm sunlight is drying the moist fragments, causing louder pops with each further step. We turn in the alley and attempt to make our way back to “H” by way of the alleyway system. I see a body strewn across the far end of the alley. I warn tiffany to follow close behind and to stay alert to my every command. I find a long stick as we approach the body. I plan on using it for my examining tool while also check to see if this might be a trap. I walk around the body looking for visible signs he might really be ready to jump us, but all I find is his forehead brand standing out pass his pain filled face. I slide my stick under the body and rock it up to check for attached wires. I do this at several different spots along his body and conclude he is not hooked to any improvised explosive device. I return to a position near his head and decide to poke his eyes with my stick to find if he has any involuntary reflex reaction. I realize the eyes are the most sensitive organ in the reflex system, and it is impossible to hide the defensive movement the body must make to protect itself from my jab.
He does no react in the slightest to my invasion. I don’t need to go any further in determining he’s definitely dead. I remember hearing Paul’s report about the possible outbreak of plagues as I proceed with the utmost caution. I motion Tiffany to stand behind me as stare at his carcass. My first thought is he just keeled over and died on the very spot. I progress in probing the body for possible signs of its demise. I first check for any external signs of intrusion or trauma. I don’t see any puncture wounds, blood, or bruising on the body. I use my stick and move its arm to find rigor mortis has not fully set in. I figure death was within the last few hours. I press down on his chest with my stick and find it is rock hard. I return my stick and use it to lift open the victim’s eye lid. The white of his eye is blood red, suggesting something was in his system to cause capillary vessels to break.
I spot a trail of puddles, just past his remains. We move towards them and immediately notice the overwhelming acidy stench. I try and kneel to get a closer look at its contents, but the smell is just too strong. We step back and take one last look at all the evidence. My mind inputs all the observed information attempting to contrive the most likely reason it died. It seems Tiffany has been analyzing the situation along with me. I hear her whisper in my ear from her studious position just over my shoulder. Her diagnosis confirms my conclusion. He was poisoned!
We leave the remains and hurry back on course. As we move closer to “Project H,” I sort out certain poisons that are not likely candidates, while storing those most possible on my mental list. Tiffany’s staunch stare tells me the inherent doctor in her is doing the same. I am also thinking of a possible motive for ingesting it. Was it intentional of accidental? Tiffany latches her eyes on to me, but she walks along in a hypnotic trance, dedicating her mind to diagnosing the proper solution. I concentrate for the both of us on getting us back safely, as I guide her through the rough terrain we once called home.
We make it to the property edge at “H.” I pan the perimeter for the enemy, while planning our way in to the building. The meteor shower and starvation seems to have eliminated most of the LD in town. The threat entering “Project Hope” is not nearly as dangerous as it use to be. I don’t take anything for granted though. I keep alert as I see Tiffany’s trance snaps back her attention towards me. I pull my knife and tilt the blade several times in my attempt to reflect the sunlight towards the roof of the building. I see the code blink twice back at me, then twice more. Tiffany asks me “What’s going on.” I reply ,“Before I left ‘H’ we decided to set up a ‘watchmen’ position. This is to help alert incoming Irreverent to any LD activity that is best observed from the roof top position. The blinking light is to communicate certain codes for if it’s safe or not. I just alerted the ‘watchman’ to check the perimeter.” It takes a minute then I receive two more blinks. I tell Tiffany “It’s safe, let’s go.” We run all the way right into the awaiting open doors.