Joshua (Book 2): Traveler (16 page)

Martinelli, D’Cruz, and Cornwell warmed themselves by the heater, they never said a word as he went to and fro.

“I shouldn’t have let James go either ... I can’t believe I was that stupid. I think I’m going to go get him and bring him back.”

Finally D’Cruz had something to say, “Why? We don’t need that sissy.”

“D’Cruz, there’s only six of us now. All of us are going to be busy just trying to find food. We need him to look out for the camp when we’re gone. I can’t afford to leave any able man sitting around right now. There’s a lot of little jobs he could do to free the rest of us up for the real work.”

D’Cruz now had a large smile on his face. “Does that mean we get our ‘fringe benefits’?”

“No, he won’t come back if that’s part of the job. I want him to return on his own. We can’t have him running away every time we turn around.” Rob took the radio off his belt and handed it to Martinelli, “I’ve made up my mind, I’m going after him. He couldn’t have got very far. Martinelli, you are in charge while I’m gone. I should be back in a few hours, certainly by dark. If either one of those idiots calls in, tell them to get back here right now.”

Martinelli took the radio, “I don’t think James is coming back. He was pretty mad.”

“I can smooth talk him. I’ll get him to come back.”

“You sure? You did take his boots, you said some things ...”

“Don’t worry, I know just the kind of crap that boy needs to hear.” Robert grabbed up his rifle, pack and James’s boots and headed out the door. He crossed the yard and found James’s prints in the snow. Rob immediately started following the tracks down the road.

Chapter Nine

James struggled through the snow for nearly three hours and by now his feet were completely numb. He found a house along the way but it had been abandoned years ago, there was nothing of value inside the vacant structure. The windows and doors were broken and the interior of the house facing the wind was heavy with snow. A little further on he found an abandoned car, one of the doors was torn off making it useless as a shelter.

The boy checked his pockets and it only took him a second to inventory all he owned: a small pin knife, a disposable lighter, and a medal of Saint Aloysius, the only thing he had left to remember his mother.

He took the knife and cut two large pieces of cloth out of the car’s seat covers, wrapped them around his deadened feet and bound it up with the plastic bags again. The boy knew if he was to survive he would have to find someone to take him in, and very soon.

Later that morning he saw a commercial truck parked on the shoulder of the highway. One front tire was low, its rim sitting on the ground. Behind it was a large metal container used to import goods from overseas and its two large doors were hanging wide open.

The boy picked up his pace, hoping, praying there was something inside he might use, some clothes, boots, or even food! Stumbling closer he could see the back of the container was packed with cardboard boxes. A wall of them stacked right to the top. A few boxes had been pulled out and were on the ground along with some strange items scattered about, covered with fresh snow, but still with a little crimson color showing through.

His heart sank when he finally recognized what was lying on the ground. The container was filled with identical boxes, each one marked exactly the same,

“7527661960 – ROSES, RED – QUANTITY 144 – MADE IN CHINA.”

They were spread across the road, plastic long-stemmed roses; the kind you might see for sale at gas stations and convenience stores on Valentine’s Day.

In desperation he pulled a few more boxes from the container, opening each one with his knife, only to be disappointed again and again. They were all the same and now a new layer of fake silken roses covered the ground at his feet.

Trying to find a silver lining, he decided to use the cardboard to make himself a fire. The boy started limping around the truck searching for the best spot that blocked the wind.

As he went around the front of the truck, he detected a very faint smell; something he knew but couldn’t yet name. Finally it came to him, it was kerosene!

Frantically he searched until the source of the odor was clear; it was a length of plastic hose that was affixed by wire to the back of truck’s cab jutting out the top. With his eyes James followed the hose down the cab, across the hitch and to the side of the container, where it abruptly stopped. The end threaded through a small hole in the metal wall and it was sealed with tape. The boy started wondering and suddenly it occurred to him; there was someone living inside!

He gently rapped on the side of the shipping container with his knuckles making a dull metal sound. After a minute he tried again, but louder. Still, nothing happened. The boy did it again, but this time knocking as hard as he could. Now he had his answer.

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?!” came a gruff reply. The boy wasn’t sure if it was a woman or a man.

The boy lightly rapped on the metal again, “Can you let me in? I’m cold.”

The voice was short and to the point, “NO!”

“Please ... I’m freezing, my feet are numb. Please let me in ... if you don’t I’m going to die out here.”

After a pause the voice from inside the box came again, “So what, we’re all going to die out here.”

But the boy wasn’t giving up without a fight, “Please ... don’t let me die. Please, help me. Please ...”

Suddenly he heard a strange sound and he crouched down looking for the source that was coming from underneath. There was a hole in the bottom of the trailer just big enough to climb through. Unexpectedly a head dropped down from it, upside down. The head had a shoulder and arm attached that was holding a gun aimed in his direction. The head’s long gray stringy hair hung there in midair.

“Listen, brat, this isn’t going to work, go away!”

Still James kept at it, this person was the only chance he had of staying alive. “Please let me in, just for a little while, until I can get warm. Please ... you can save me. Don’t let me die out here, please.”

At long last this person’s resolve broke, some, “Okay, you can come in, but I’m not going to feed you. You understand? You understand that? I’m not going to feed you.”

“Yes ...”

“Take your coat off and turn around.”

James nearly stumbled as he tried to turn on his deadened feet.

The pistol waved him up inside, “Come on.”

The boy pulled himself up into the near darkness. Once he was there he heard that strange sound again as a thick piece of plywood was slid over the hole in the floor.

James steadied himself against the wall as he strained to see in the small shadowy room. It was roughly eight foot square. One wall was made up of boxes like at the other end while the other three and the ceiling were raw metal. The floor was wood with a rough hole cut in the corner through the wood and metal below. On the front side was a small kerosene heater vented through the hose James had found. There were a few meager sources of light; from the center of the ceiling hung an LED lamp and along the walls on both sides were several small holes used for ventilation. They let some precious beams of sunlight in too. On the ground was a rotting sleeping bag, a few books and trinkets, and next to them a small stack of canned foods and several plastic milk jugs filled with various liquids. In the other corner by itself was a small cardboard box full of what appeared to be wet shredded newspaper. The entire room was permeated with the stench of filth and urine.

This person stood across from him in the small room and at last it stepped out of the shadows. He could now see it was an old woman and she must have been seventy, at least. The woman was dirty, she looked and smelled like she hadn’t bathed in a while. Her hair was long and limp and almost completely white, except a scarce few streaks of dingy brown here and there.

After she sealed the hole, she dropped her gun into a pocket of her soiled pink bathrobe and addressed the boy. “I’m not going to feed you. Don’t even ask, all right? If you ask, I’ll throw you right out!”

“All right.”

“You said your feet were numb, right?”

“Yes, they were hurting, now I don’t feel much at all.”

She took one of the jugs and poured some water into a small metal pan. “Sit down and take that stuff off.”

As the boy unbound his feet, she held the pan over the heater. At last he was done and she took a sip from the pan, “That will do, not too hot.” She placed it in front of him and put his feet into the warm water. They were pale but the boy could still feel a little. After a moment, James said it felt like his feet were on fire.

The old woman smiled, “That’s good! That means it isn’t very bad.”

He sat there soaking a while then broke the silence between them, “Thank you, ma’am ... hey, I don’t even know your name. My name is James ...”

She lifted her shriveled hand and stopped him right there, “Don’t say nothing else. You’re not staying very long and I don’t want to know anything about you. You can stay until morning if you want, but then I want you gone. If you have to go in the night use that box,” she said pointing with her bony finger. “I’ve got some tape and I’ll help bind your feet up before you go. I’m sure I can do a much better job than you did. But that’s all I’m going to do for you ... and you should know I’m not helping because I’m a ‘nice’ old lady, or care what happens to you. I’m only doing it because you made me feel guilty, you sniveling little whelp.”

James wasn’t feeling too good about himself just then. “I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. But I really needed help ... I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You got what you wanted, didn’t you, brat?”

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way. But I am very grateful for what you did. I want to thank you.”

“You really want to thank me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

The old woman crossed the small room, “Okay,” and stooped down in front of him. Then she grabbed him by the back of his head and pressed her face right into his, hard. As she did the boy could feel her tongue fill his mouth.

It took all the boy’s strength to push her away, “Get off of me!” as she landed on the grimy floor. The boy spit and wiped his mouth; he was sure he could taste the old woman’s last meal.

Instantly she was on her feet again, towering over him, “Come on, give Grandma a big wet kiss.”

James found himself terrified, screaming at the top of his lungs, “GET AWAY FROM ME! YOU’RE CRAZY!”

Suddenly there was a pounding from outside on the metal wall, “What in the hell is going on?! Who’s in there?! JAMES?!”

The woman took the pistol out of her pocket as she stopped and listened.

James was happy to hear a familiar voice, even an ex-friend, “Help me! She’s crazy!”

It was Rob’s voice he recognized, “How did you get in there?!”

“There’s a hole underneath!”

From below came a shove as the plywood sheet barely budged. The old woman was standing right on top of it.

James tried to push her off of it but was not up to the job, “Get off!”

Now she had something to say, “No, that guy is not coming in ... and you’re not leaving.” She turned and started yelling at the one outside, “We’re not coming out, and you’re not coming in! Go away!”

Rob was angrier by the moment, “Open this thing up, or you’re going to regret it!”

“NO! WE’RE NOT COMING OUT!”

James was now right in her face. “Get off of it! I want out!”

But the old woman seemed strangely calm, “No, I’ve changed my mind. I want you to stay. I’ll even feed you ... you’re a good kisser.”

James continued trying to push her off the board but she would not budge.

After a few more unsuccessful tries at shoving his way in, Rob was in need of a new plan. He quickly walked around the truck and trailer taking a good look. Climbing on the hood and to the top of the cab, he closely examined it. Studying the trailer he noticed a few small holes cut in the top and his new plan came to mind. He took off his pack and rummaged around inside until he found what he wanted: a bottle of pepper spray. Rob held it against one of the holes and started drenching the inside.

With a few seconds waiting, he now heard the sound of both of them coughing. He grabbed his bag and climbed down. When he got back to the ground, the two had already scrambled out from underneath. Rob grabbed the old woman’s gun and pushed her down. “James, are you okay?”

The boy was violently coughing and fluids were pouring from his eyes, nose, and mouth. “I can’t see!”

Rob gripped the boy by his arm and led him to a large, fresh pile of snow there by the road. “Here, scrub your face; you’ll be all right in a few minutes.”

After some time vigorously scrubbing, the boy was almost his old self again, although his face was as red as a beet.

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah ...”

“What was this woman doing to you in there?”

The boy spit and wiped his mouth again. “Nothing ...”

The old woman was finally on her feet again; she appeared harmless enough but Rob wasn’t taking chances. “Just stand right there, don’t move.” The boy was still his first concern, though. “James, where’s your socks?”

“Up in there.”

“Well, go get them. Here ...” Robert took from his pack the boy’s boots and another pair of thick wool socks, “Dry your feet and put these on.”

The boy took them and crawled back up inside.

Rob spoke to him through the metal walls, “Hurry up! And if she’s got any food bring it with you!”

James dropped back down, ready to go but empty handed.

“She doesn’t have any food up there?”

“Yes, but I’m not taking it.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Rob was not amused as he tried to climb up inside, “Well, I’ll take it.”

The boy grabbed him by the tail of his coat, “There’s something wrong with her. Just leave her alone!”

Rob climbed back down; he had more important things to discuss. “All right, I’ll leave it. Come on, James, you’re coming back with me.”

“No I’m not!”

“Come on,” Rob grabbed James by his arm again but he immediately wrenched it free.