Last Woman (8 page)

“Dodge, this looks all clear.” I peered over my shoulder as he gathered the things.

“I’m betting it’s that way for a while. People were trying to get out of the city, not in.”

“I suppose you’re right.” I started to walk. “Maybe we’ll get to my house in no time. Find a car and …” A few steps into my walk, I didn’t hear Dodge and knew he wasn’t walking with me. Even without a squeaky wheel, the rolling suitcase made noise.

I stopped and Dodge wasn’t moving. He was staring at something in his hand.

“Dodge, what is it?”

He held out his palm and had a look of shock on his face. “An M&M.”

“Oh, don’t eat that. You don’t know where it’s been.”

“Do I look like I’m gonna eat this?”

“I don’t know. Why pick it up?”

“Why is it here?” he asked.

“Someone dropped it.”

“Faye, what were you eating a little bag of last night? You didn’t finish.”

“M&M’s. From the MRE. They were stale.”

Just then I saw Dodge bring that M&M to his teeth. “Dodge!” I scolded like a mother.

He bit down, cringed and spit it out.

“Why would you do that? You said you weren’t gonna eat it.”

“I wanted to see if it was stale like those ones from last night. It was.”

“Okay.” I tossed out my hands. “It was stale. The point?”

“The point is ... if traffic ended over there. What’s a piece of candy, stale nonetheless, doing over here?”

“Someone dropped it.”

“Exactly.”

It took me a moment and a second glance at the look on his face to see where he was going with it, what he was possibly thinking. “Dodge, anyone could have dropped that. Before the flu. A soldier would be eating an MRE.”

“But it doesn’t make sense. It looks like it was just dropped.”

“Do you think someone else was eating a bag of candy from an MRE and dropped it while making their way across this bridge?”

Dodge nodded. “I do. What do you think?”

“Honestly?” I paused and inhaled. “I believe you’re thinking too hard and looking too much into it.”

Dodge tossed the candy to the bridge. “You’re probably right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No …. I am. I’m just looking for anything and everything.” Almost defeated, he swung the pack over his shoulder, and started walking, pulling the suitcase with him.

I didn’t want to say anything else. Dodge was hopeful. He truly did believe there were other people alive. Me, I believed, if there were people alive, they’d be a lot harder to find than that tiny piece of candy on the bridge.

The bridge was more than just a crossing over the river from one side of town to the next. It was a bridge to a different story.

The empty bridge led to a vacant south portion of town. A section of which was
barren even before the flu. Run down businesses that once thrived decades earlier. Pizza shops and car repair places. Not a residential area by any means. And I knew, with one glance, we’d be at my house before it was even afternoon.

Just blocks after crossing, we saw our haven. Dazzling Dan’s Buy Here Pay Here Car
Lot. A virtual smorgasbord for Dodge. He moved around that lot, looking in each car, almost as if searching for something particular.

Pick one, please,
I thought.

Then he did.

He broke the window to the front door of the trailer office and emerged with keys.

“Half tank of gas, I can fix this one if it breaks. I gotta plan for gas later,” He said.

Later. Dodge always seemed to be thinking about later. We tossed the suitcase and backpack in the car, then after a few futile cranks, the engine turned over and we were off.

We were a
bout ten miles from my home.

I asked Dodge again if he wanted to stop at his place or his ex-wife’s.

“Maybe.” He replied. “Not now. I’m just not ready to see it. I know how sick they were.”

“I understand.”

It wasn’t until a mile into our trip, when we drove through the first stretch of road with homes that something clicked in Dodge and I know what it was. It was the bodies on the sidewalk, the shoulder and verge of the road. Some in trash bags, some in official body bags, and others covered loosely in what looked like drapery and sheets.

Dodge turned and looked at me, then continued staring forward. “I think maybe I’ll have to go there. I’ll have to bury them. I owe them that.”

“I’ll help you if you want.”

“I’d like that but …. I’m gonna do it alone.”

Another thing I understood. There was probably many reasons Dodge wanted to be alone to bury his family. The emotional aspect of it was private and personal. In a way, I was relieved he said he didn’t want my help. Seeing a child, would just be too much. I hadn’t seen a body of a child at all. It horrified me to even think about it, the torment that innocent had to endure. If I didn’t see one, then maybe, in my mind, I didn’t have to face the reality that children suffered.

As we drove farther, I realized the river certainly drew a line between the contrasts of the two areas.

In the city it was panic, chaos and fear. Signs of turmoil at every corner. In the suburbs it was quiet. There were little signs that people erupted in violence, they weren’t caged in. They were left to die without resources. They brought their dead to the edge of the road like Sunday garbage.

Somehow in my mind, I envisioned my housing plan to be unscathed, that we’d roll in and have to slow down on the speed bumps, or stop because a child’s ball would roll across the street.

The strict fifteen mile per hour speed limit was always adhered to. I lived in one of those housing plans, a step shy of a gated community. Where all the houses looked the same and the lawns were perfectly maintained. Where everyone pretended they had money and only a handful weren’t buried beneath monstrous mortgages.

The second we pulled in I knew my fantasy was blown. My neighborhood was no different than any other. We brought out our dead just the same as the inner city.

My head lowered. “Make the next right. That’s my street.”

“Doesn’t look like any looting took place here.”

“No.” I whispered. “Everyone was too busy being sick.”

I felt the car turn left and reluctantly I glanced up. “Fifth house on
the right.” I told him. Then I saw and a lump formed in my throat. The Reese’s had bodies, the Merrimen’s, they suffered too. Mr. and Mrs. Doyle, my next door neighbors, who constantly brought me food after my family died … they were not immune. One body was outside, I could only deduce the other was still inside, in bed, dying alone.

The car turned and Dodge asked. “This it?”

Looking up I nodded.

Dodge turned off the car. “You ready?”

Actually, I was. I needed to get inside. My house, my home, was the only thing in the world that would be normal to me. Because it was the only home on the entire street, that didn’t suffer a loss to the flu.

It battled and lost long before the sickness took the world. It was empty long before the flu claimed its victims. I opened the car door, stepped out and stared at my front door. Like open arms saying ‘Come here, find comfort', my house called to me.

I was home.

My house had that ‘been away on vacation' smell. Not old and musty, just unlived. The scent of dust and stale air, along with a hint of spoiling food from the fridge. There wasn’t much in there to go bad.

Dodge brought the bags inside. I informed him I had some bottled water but not a lot. Unlike the Doyles.

“What about the Doyles?” he asked.

“Well that Rush Spring Water truck arrived every month with bottles. You know the big ones.”

“Where do they live?”

“Next door.”

“I’ll be back.”

“You can’t go over and take their water.”

Dodge paused, turned and looked at me. “Really? Are you really saying that?”

“Is it right?”

“Ask yourself what your neighbors would want you to do. Would they mind?”

I thought about it and remembered it was the Doyles. They were sweet and caring and would be the first to volunteer their water. “They’d say take it. House to the right.”

Dodge left. He didn’t say much about my home. Then again, he had only stepped in the door. The first thing I did was empty the fridge. It was odd, because I had plenty of paper products. I shopped at the bulk stores, and while Rich and the kids were alive, I went through them fast. Since their passing, one roll of paper towels no longer lasted a day, it lasted a week.

By the time I emptied out the refrigerator, I remove some of the dust and I opened the windows to ‘air’ out the home. I had been lingering in the smell of death for days; I just wanted to smell something fresh. In my mind, we were going to be there a while, and when Dodge returned an hour later, I wondered if he were thinking the same thing.

He must have taken a few trips back and forth to the Doyles because he brought in three of those big bottles.

He also brought in other items, canned good, candles, box products that were still viable.

“You looted my neighbors.”

“Don’t say it. They aren’t using it and it’s guaranteed stock. We don’t know the status of the stores, yet. I plan on hitting the other houses as well. We can’t live off of MRE’s, they’re good in a pinch, but not for your digestive system.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Okay … these…” He pointed to the full bottles. “Are for drinking and food. For cleaning, I brought some of their empty bottles, we’ll use what’s left in your water tank. That water can be used for washing up and if you use it sparingly to wash, we can get a good flush a day.”

“You’re thinking ahead.”

“I’m looking at a woman. I’m kind of thinking a flush is a big deal.” He winked.

“It is.”

“You have neighbors; they have water tanks, too. I just hit the Doyles for now. I found some flashlights and candles too.”

“I see that.”

“Do you mind putting the stuff somewhere? I’m …. I’m going to head over to my ex’s house.”

“Oh, Dodge,” I nearly whispered with words of compassion. “Are you sure you don’t want me there.”

“No.” He closed his eyes. “It’s something I have to do. I’ll be back.”

“Good luck, I’ll pray for you.”

He reached for the door, paused and turned. “Lock this please. I know things seem safe. But lock it and ...” He reached behind his back and handed me a revolver. It was small, almost toy like. “I got this from your neighbors.”

I stepped back as if it were acid.

“What?”

“I’ll lock the door but I don’t want that. I
’ve never touched a gun and I don’t plan on starting now. I’m actually scared of them.”

“Fair enough. But I’m gonna work on you getting over it.”

“Dodge, seriously, if there are people left, are we really wanting to shoot them?”

“We may not have a choice. Lock the door and find a weapon, just in case. Please.”

“I’ll do that. Mark had a baseball bat.”

“Good.” He finally opened the door, glanced back at me with a nod and then left.

I stood there, by the front door, peering out the wide window. Dodge got in the car. He didn’t move with confidence like he usually did. He carried a lot of grief on his shoulders and I felt bad for him, really bad for what he’d have to face.

He was wrong; I didn’t believe bad people would break in. In fact, I didn’t believe anyone was coming at all. The baseball bat would stay in the closet, but just because I said I would, I locked the doors.

<><><><>

Dodge was gone for a while. It even hit a point, where I wondered if he was going to come back. I finished getting most of the dust and then I went to the shed for the extra propane tank for the grill. I fired it up, putting a medium pot of water on
with a lid.

It took forever to come to a boil even though we had a decent grill. I figured I’d make some pasta with the cans of tomatoes. Something different and filling. It was still too early in the year to hit the local farms to see what may have grown on its own. So fresh
food was out. At least for the time being.

I even went to the basement, studied the water heater and found the release spout. Even though I knew no natural gas was flowing through the pipes, I still shut them down. I saw an earthquake movie once where that was reiterated over and over.

I cleaned up, still looking pretty crappy, but I felt better. In my own house, my own clothes. I’d have Dodge fill the buckets to take into the bathroom. Both all the tanks on the commodes were still filled, so our one flush per day was secure.

By the time I finished my miniscule tasks, I was pretty beat, but it was a heck of a lot easier than walking the streets. It was starting to get dark when I heard Dodge pull into the driveway, I was sitting on the back deck
with my second glass of wine, and the dinner was in a pot on the grill.

I felt a lump in my stomach when I heard him return, just knowing what he faced, what he had to go through. Imagining that despite what he said, he had to go over there with some hope, that maybe... just maybe …

Finishing my wine, I went into the house and to the door which was still locked. I opened it as he was stepping onto the porch.

For lack of anything else to say, I just said, “
Hey.”

He cleared his throat and carried a box. I could see there were pictures in there, a couple toys, and Dodge was dirty. Clearly he had been digging.

I mimicked the clearing of my throat and closed the door. “How are you?”

Dodge only nodded, he was quiet.

“I left a bucket downstairs in the basement by the water heater if you want to wash up.”

“I will thanks.” He placed the box on the table behind the sofa and stared at it. His hand grazed over the contents as if he wanted to grab something from there, but then he retracted it.

“Dodge, if you want to talk.”

“Thank you.” His head lowered and he took a deep breath. “I buried my
ex-wife. It took a while, the ground wasn’t as soft as I’d hoped and to find a place in that tiny yard. Then I made a marker.”

“The … the …” I choked on the word. “Children?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t bury them.” He headed off to the direction of the basement door. “I couldn’t.”

“It’s okay, it had to be hard …”

“That’s not it.” He stopped walking. “I couldn’t bury them. They weren’t in the house. They weren’t outside.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “They just weren’t there.”