THE TRASHMAN (10 page)

After lunch, the same go round except when they pulled a trigger, live bullets flew to the targets I’d placed at one-hundred and five-hundred feet. I didn’t feel there was a need to place them any farther out. In my mind, I wasn’t training for sharp shooting. I simply wanted them to hit what they aimed at.

They all performed well with the rifles. I set them to cleaning the used weapons while I moved the targets, setting them ten feet, and thirty feet from the line. I explained that the shotguns loaded with buckshot were for close-in shooting.

Individually, they stepped to the line and fired two rounds of twelve-gauge double-ought-buck into each target.

The targets—by the time Sam, the last to step to the line—were little more than two-by-fours with scraps of foam attached. The ground behind the targets was littered with the results of twenty-four rounds of buck striking them. Even the wooden stands for my silhouettes were mostly tatters.

Leaving the others to clean the weapons and pick up the mess of foam bits littering the ground, it was nearly 3:00 in the afternoon when Becky and I walked away from the makeshift firing range to go to the small community Salvo had laid claim to.

It’s odd how a small gesture can change one’s mindset. We turned right onto the two lane paved road at the end of Sam’s drive. I was leading the way, rifle at port arms, ready for action. Becky closed the distance to walk beside me, patting my arm as she did.

“Give me your hand.”

I slung the AR onto my opposite shoulder and took her hand in mine. Suddenly we were strolling and I felt differently, not so intense.

“It’s a beautiful day,” she said.

The day was beautiful. Not chilly at all. If not for the slight breeze, we wouldn’t need the light jackets we had on.

“It sure is.”

“Can you smell the pines?”

I had to chuckle. “How could I not? We’re surrounded by them.” This section of road between Sam’s and the trailer park had been logged off and replanted with rows of pines. They were all the same height, I guessed twenty-five feet, and came to the edge of the road; only a narrow graveled shoulder held them back.

“Ralph, what’s going to happen? We go find a place to hide. We stay until it’s safe, but what denotes safe? I know the plague will die out, but even so, will it be safe to leave our hideout? Will we ever be safe again?”

A glib, reassuring answer almost slid from my mouth, but I caught it short. She wasn’t asking for reassurance. Forming my thoughts took longer than she expected.

"I hope you have some sort of plan brewing,” she said.

I squeezed her hand and stopped walking, bringing her to a halt.

“Let’s step into the pines and talk. I don’t want to stand exposed in the middle of the road.”

I led her into the trees. Near the road, the underbrush taking advantage of the sunlight at the edge of the forest, was thick. A few yards deeper, and the ground was clear of brush, almost park-like.

“Let’s grab some dirt.” I led by example, lowering myself to sit on the carpet of pine needles beneath the trees. She sat beside me and I put my arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer.

“Honey, I wish I had firm answers to your questions. I don’t. I want you to think about this. Before the plague, before we had to flee the city, we weren’t safe, only safer. We had the police and other government agencies as a buffer between us and anarchy. Still though, any one of us could have been killed at any time, a stray bullet from a shoot-out or drive-by. Even a car-jacking taken to extremes could end in death.”

Becky spoke, “But we had lives. We had a home, jobs to go to. We knew what we were doing tomorrow and next week. Ralph, we don’t know anything now. Nothing’s stable or sure.”

“I disagree. We
are
stable and sure. I mean all of us, Sam’s family, ours, the two J’s, we’re like a huge family now, and you’re wrong about not having jobs. Our job is to survive and to keep each other alive. Our job is to find a safe place to ride out the storm.”

“Ride out the storm. Jeez, Ralph. The world has come to an end. There aren’t many people left alive and we don’t know if we can trust any of them. Our civilization is dead. What if one of us gets hurt, cut or breaks a leg. 911 is over.”

“We’ll sew the cut or set the leg. We’ll do whatever we have to do.” I tightened my grip, pulling her even closer. “Honey, I’m scared, too. The future is a huge unknown and there’s nothing we can do about it. We’re still alive and there are other people, other good people who survived.

“Once the plague is over, we’ll find those people. Most of our civilization is still intact. Produced goods are everywhere, only the infrastructure of our nation is gone, or in jeopardy of disappearing. Right now, we have negotiable roads, cars, and trucks for the taking, gasoline in abundance. There’s no reason that we, with a group of like-minded people can’t create a pocket of sanity and safety somewhere.”

“Yeah, as long as we carry guns and kill people.”

“The only difference is that it will be us protecting ourselves. Like I said, before all this happened, the police carried the guns and killed people for us. Darling, it’s what we have. We may be in anarchist times but we don’t have to bow to anarchists. We’ll find or develop strength in numbers. Make a community. That has to be our goal. We won’t be able to hide in the woods forever.”

“You’re right of course.” She slid from my arm taking my hand again and stood, pulling me with her. “Let go see Salvo. Besides being the right thing to include him and his family in our plans, we’ll have more guns between us and the world.”

I didn’t release her hand. I used my free one to pull her into an embrace, and sought her lips. I loved Becky and I knew her strengths. If anyone of us was a bastion against evil, it was her.

*****

As we approached the house, I saw Salvo had taken my advice. There was a big Dodge Ram pickup parked near the front porch. He, or one of his family must have been on watch because he appeared on the front porch before were halfway up the drive. He wasn’t happy to see us coming toward the home he and his family had claimed.

“What do you want here again?” he shouted. He held a rifle, not exactly pointed at us, but close enough to look menacing.

“We are leaving this area. We want to speak with you before we go,” I shouted back.

“Come, but not too close,
por favor
.”

Holding hands, Becky and I walked side-by-side and stopped twenty feet from the flight of four steps to his porch.

Salvo asked, “What is it you want?”

“We are moving from this road because it is not safe to be here. We are hoping your family will come with us.”

Salvo ran a hand nervously through his well-groomed black hair. In truth, he was well groomed period. I guessed his age at forty-five. His clothing was clean and pressed and he looked healthy to a fault.

“What is the trouble, the danger you speak of, Señor?”

Between Becky and me, we conveyed our fears about being in such an exposed location. I related the event we ran into with the highwaymen that led to the two J’s being orphaned. We told him our plan to go to a cabin in the mountains, and what we expected to find there, running water, electricity from a generator, toilets that worked.

“
Si
, I understand. I hear you for two days shooting your guns. I too have fear about evil people who may pass this house. I have fear about you, too. I do not know you, Señor, and I wonder why you come to me.”

I understood his reluctance to unite with; for lack of better words—white people. “Salvo, I’ll be honest with you. The more people we gather together, the safer we’ll be. More men with weapons in case of trouble, more people to stand guard.”

Because of the distance separating us, our voices were loud enough to carry inside the home. A slender Hispanic woman came out the front door onto the porch. She seemed to be the same general age as Salvo. He turned to her. She spoke to him without an accent.

“I want you to listen to these people. They are here to help. You and I have had the same thoughts, spoken of the same fears. I think we should join with them and go to the cabins in the mountains. We will be safer and if all goes as he says, with the well and the electricity, we will be better off. Think of José.”

“But what of
la plaga
?” he asked.

“Like us, they have kept away from others. They are not sick.”

Salvo grimaced, but capitulated. “
Mi esposa
say we go. I will ask you if in your heart there is no trick.”

I answered. “No trick, Salvo. We are here for ourselves and for you.”

“What of the old lady? If she is not welcome, then we will stay. I think we will have to rope her. She will not want to leave her home, but we cannot leave her alone with no one to care for her, to bring her
agua
.” He turned from us to address his wife. “I say this in front of you. She goes with us, or we stay here.”

A look of horror crossed his face as she left the porch and strode to take Becky’s hand.

“My name is Mercedes. Salvo is cautious because he is our protector. You and I will go see Missus Hawking. Her name is Sarah.”

Mercedes spoke to me. “Ralph, I know your name from your first visit. You may as well go onto the porch and get to know my husband. You won’t find a better man in the world.” Still holding Becky’s hand, she turned and led her away. She paused to half-turn to the porch. “Take Ralph inside, José is frightened.”

I glanced from the women to Salvo. He shrugged and motioned me forward.

“Come, Señor Ralph. My wife is the boss of
mi casa
.”

I chuckled and went to the steps. “My wife is the queen of my home, too.” I reached out to shake his hand. He hesitated, then shrugged and took it.

“I have the fear, Señor Ralph.
La plaga
kill too much too fast. How many are you?”

I decided to count the two J’s as grown. “Six adults and four children.”

“I hear the guns fire and know you have many. I too have guns. More than I need. I find them in the houses that are empty of the dead, but not so much the bullets.”

“Call me, Ralph, and I’ll call you Salvo. No mister or señor. We are the same and we will need to become friends.”

“Yes. Friends if we are to be together. Come, Ralph. You meet my little heart, my boy, José.”

The women were gone for the better part of an hour. During that time, I learned quite a bit about Salvo’s history.

“That was 1993. The young gringos take my water but do not give me to the patrol. They tell me go. They think I will die in the desert. I almost die. I walk and the sun cooks me. I can feel the heat inside my body. Two days I walk without the water.

“I come to a place where it is not a road, but sand that is grooved as a trail. I see a man coming on the bicycle. He is very young. I think maybe to hide, but it is all sand so I just sit down. The man, he stops and ask me questions. I cannot talk. My tongue is too big.

“On his bicycle he has two water bottles. He gives me one and tells me to drink it all. The young man saves Salvo. He came back with a car. Then he takes me to McDonald’s to eat and he buys me a ticket to Atlanta. There I find much work and learn the roofing.”

“Roofing’s hard work. How did you meet Mercedes?”

“I am walking to the store and I see her by the car with a flat tire. Where I live in Atlanta is not so good a place, too many hombres with guns. Too much trouble. Bad place for the pretty lady to be. I tell you now, Ralph, I see with my eyes the most beautiful
señorita
in the world and I stop and say ‘
Por favor
, I fix the flat if you will drive me to the store, but first to the Waffle House for one cup of coffee with me.’

“She says okay because she looks at where she is. We drink the coffee and I say thank you and stand to go. She say, “What, you no flirt with me? Not ask me for my phone number.” I say no. I was lonely and you have talked to me and paid for my help. She ask for number from me. Some days later, she call and say we drink coffee again at Waffle House. Two years go by that we just talk and then Mercedes is my wife. I am the lucky man, yes?”

I was looking at a man sitting on a couch with his arm across the shoulders of a handsome ten-year-old boy. “You didn’t die in the desert and you have a beautiful wife and boy. Yes, Salvo, you are a lucky man.”

“And still alive, no? I will be the good worker with you and the brother Sam you speak of. Together we will keep our families safe.”

“Or die trying,” I said.

He reached across the coffee table. “Or die trying,” he repeated as we shook hands.

The women returned without Missus Hawkins, but informed us that she would be ready to leave when we came to pick her up.

On the way back to Sam’s place, I held Becky close, my arm around her waist, telling me she was still with me and so far, thanks to luck and the timely warning from her sister, we had cheated death.

Becky was in a talkative mood. “Missus Hawkins is ninety-three, but the way she gets around you wouldn’t guess it. She’s not senile either, she’s sharp and quick-witted. She taught grammar school for thirty years and then went back to college for her doctorate. She was a tenured professor at the University of Georgia in Athens.”

“How’d she end up down here in South Georgia?”

“She and her husband retired here eleven years ago, but he died a year after. Her husband and their architect son, their only child, designed the house and supervised the construction. Her son died last year, taken according to her, in the prime of his life at seventy.”

That got a chuckle from me. “We should live so long. So she didn’t give you any trouble convincing her to leave?”

“None at all. She’s all alone and scared. Coping without running water and electricity is hard on her, especially since she was afraid to leave the house. Salvo’s been a blessing to her. She told Mercedes she’d better keep an eye on her man because she’d take him if she could.”

“She sounds like a firecracker; I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Oh, she is. By the way, I dug out the box I stored the brochures about the cabins in the Smokies. There’s a remote cabin in North Carolina that might be exactly what we’re looking for. It’s right on Yellow River, not too far from Lake Santeetlah, and even Fontana Lake is close. The Yellow River has trout, and both lakes will be good fishing. It was priced way beyond what we could afford, five-thousand for a weekend or ten for an entire week.”