Journal (30 page)

At
dusk, the ravaged landscape was an hour behind us, and we were maybe yet a day’s
travel from Woburn, if that.  I thought about pushing on, just traveling
through the night (our vehicle had lights), but the truth was we were drained,
exhausted, at our limit of endurance.  I don’t know why that is, it makes
little sense considering we were riding not walking.  Fear maybe, it can take
it out of you for sure.  Or perhaps it was just the accumulation of physical
exertion and too few calories taken-in all these days.  I don’t know, whatever,
we just were, so we stopped to eat and sleep a little.

The
place we stopped to rest and hide was near a nameless cross street.  It used to
be one of those charging station-convenience store combinations that had once been
so common, this one wood framed and white washed.  A wooden sign over the door
advertised “Bait Sold Here.”  Another, posted on an interior wall said,
“Lottery Tickets.”  It of course had long ago been looted of everything useful
and much abused in the process.  The windows were broken out of the place, every
one of them, the shelves turned over, and it looked like an owl or two had
roosted inside because of the excrement all over the floor.

Outside
in the charging area, one of the four, bright red charging poles lay on its
side.  The cables at the bottom were pulled out, cut, and the copper wire bared
as if someone had thought the trouble was at the meter and not at the source.  Nearby
and around, I counted eight cars and trucks left standing in no particular
fashion, probably where their owners had left them when it finally dawned they
were useless.  It was there that we positioned our own vehicle, among all the
others, where it wouldn’t be easily noticed.  It wasn’t the best place,
though.  We knew that.

There
isn’t much more east or west with t of interest to the day.  We built our fire in the hollow of an
upside-down truck tire rim, using wood siding pulled from the store for fuel. 
Once the flames had burned down to a good set of coals, we placed a metal wire
shelf, taken from inside the store, over the rim and roasted some of our potatoes
on top.  We also put the alcohol stove we got from Hank to use, heating a can
of beans and after, making tea.  It was a good meal as our meals went, but it
did little to improve my energy level.  I wasn’t just tired, I was completely
tired.  I could feel the fatigue right on down to my bones.

I
took the first watch so I could finish up the day’s words while events were
still fresh in my brain.  I found that the writing of them, though, was
difficult.  I kept nodding off, so I had to stand and use the hood of a Honda
SUV as a desk.  That’s how tired I was.  But, as you can see, I managed.

As
for the rest of them, Gabriel, Anna, Petra, they crawled into the cars parked scattered
around and went to sleep.  I can hear them now, occasionally turning to find a
better place and even mumbling out a few words of the dramas playing out in
their unconscious minds.  There are few sweet dreams among us, but I hope
theirs are pleasant this time.  I don’t want them to suffer anymore.

These
dark, silent hours standing watch, when my only company is my thoughts, are
often the ones of either most doubt or final resolution.  Tonight, the latter
is king because it’s settled in me that I love the three of them beyond all measure,
and I no longer question the genuineness of that feeling.  They are in my care. 
I’m empowered.  Purpose is granted me and served in being.  So much has
changed.  So much has changed.   Alan Trent (April 16, 2054).

April
17, 2054-

Anna
and I are in a bad fix.  Both of us are hurt, she more than me.  We’re hiding. 
Gabriel has reluctantly gone on.   I pray he is all right.  No time to write
more.  I must attend to Anna’s wounds and our defenses.  Maybe later — I hope. 
They are hunting us with will.

May
5, 2054-

My
name is Gabriel Sanchez.  Today is my birthday.  I’m seventeen years old — happy
birthday to me, ha, ha, ha.  I treated myself to an egg and toasty-bread this
morning.  Been saving that egg for a whole week.  Big celebration, huh?  Well,
it was good enough.

You
probably already know a little about me if you’ve read any of this journal at
all, so I won’t say anymore about that.  I’m not that interesting anyway.  But
what you don’t know is why it’s me who is now writing and not Alan.  I’ll get
to that.  I promise.  It’s part of a longer story, though, and I’m going to
tell it to you from start to now.  I owe it the time.

Also,
I want to say I’ll do my best to write it out so it makes sense.  I haven’t had
a lot of practice writing, but mom says I’m good at it.  She’s the one who
taught me the most because after the seventh grade I stopped going to school.  All
the teacherhimself; kill or be killed.  s , but ts died.  Most the kids, too.   So the thing is, I don’t know how it
will turn out.

___________

Starting
up where Alan left off, we drove away from that wrecked up station on April 17
^th
,
in the dark and in the cold …cold, cold, cold, always the cold.  We were in a rush
to get to Woburn and warn them of the attack.  That’s where our minds were mostly
at.  So I don’t think one more day of shivers and goose bumps much mattered to
any of us.

For
me, I was also thinking about seeing my friends.  I even had this picture in my
head of what it would be like when I got there.  I saw them all around me, slapping
me on the back, saying they thought I was dead, laughing until our faces
cramped and we had to squeeze them to stop the ache.  And later, when I told them
all that had happened to us — captured, beat-up, our getting away, how Eric
(Ponytail) hunted us, and well, you know, just everything that happened — they were
real quiet like, just listening.  Later, after they went off to spread the word
that we were back and not dead, I got to crawl into my own bed and sleep for
three days straight — warm, too.  It was all just one big made up dream,
though.  The way it really happened wasn’t even close to that.

Getting
back to that morning, we were all kind of quiet at first.  You know how it is
when you first wake-up; your body and your brain are kind of still asleep for a
while.  However, when Petra asked if the “safe place” was much farther, that’s
when things got going between us pretty good.  We were all real excited about
finally getting home.  I don’t think anyone had a thought that we wouldn’t just
drive right into town without any more trouble and that would be that.  I know
that’s what I was thinking anyway, as well as the other stuff I already wrote. 
The only thing I figured that might happen different was that we’d run into one
of our militia patrols or maybe even one of our roadblocks, but it would end
the same anyway.  We’d be home.

Oh,
one more thing; I started off driving.  I liked driving even though turning the
wheel sometimes hurt my shoulder.  You know, the shoulder that I dislocated.  I
didn’t say anything about that to Alan or mom, though, or even make a face,
because I was afraid mom would make me give up my turn.  I guess you don’t
really need me to tell you stuff like that.  I don’t even know why I said it. 
Wrote it.

Eventually
the road we were driving on, the one Alan called Road P, came to an end at an
intersection that went left and right (east and west).  We took a stop at that
point to look at the map one more time and to switch places.

I’m
not even going to try to explain the turns and roads we had to take, according
to the map, to get to back home.  It’d be just too hard to put down for anyone
reading this to make sense of.  But basically, it was like we were on one side
of this huge old block that was maybe fifteen or twenty miles square and we had
to get to the other side of it and a little beyond, where our destination was
at.  To do that, we had to go all the way around this block.  In truth, the
block wasn’t square and the roads weren’t all straight, but I’m sure you get
the picture.  We hoped that because the map only showed highways and main
roads, we’d come across a minor one as we agreementwotdrove along that would be a shortcut
to the other side.

There’s
another thing.  The area we traveled was hilly and covered mostly with grass, except
for a few trees here and there.  There were parts of it that had been farm land
at one time, but there was also a large, large chunk of land that looked more
like it was a wild area or something.  The map didn’t say, but I’m thinking at
one time this was maybe a wildlife refuge or a park even.  None of that really
matters other than to get you to see that it was some pretty rough country in
places.  You couldn’t just go skipping along.

While
we were going over the map, I was also keeping my eye on Petra who, like us,
had gotten out of the vehicle, except she was wandering around a little.  She
didn’t have, you know, too much interest in what we were doing.  At one point, I
saw her walk over to these wildflowers growing nearby where she kind of
squatted down and picked a few.  She liked flowers I guess and had done this
before.  Usually, after she picked them, she would carry them around with her
until the petals fell off and then go and pick some new ones.  For some stupid
reason, I remember these particular flowers were purple or maybe blue and
shaped into kind of a cone with these little yellow things sticking out of the
middle.  I can understand why she was attracted to them.  The stuff you
remember, huh?

Anyway,
I looked away from her for a second or two, and when I looked back I saw her stand-up
real quick and throw her flowers on the ground.  Next I saw her look at her
hand or wrist and slap at it three or four times.  After that, she let out this
high pitched squeal and kind of did a little tap dance in a half circle, at the
same time shaking her hand real fast.  A couple of seconds after that, she ran
our way holding her hand to her body and her face showing hurt.  I right off
started toward her, and I guess mom and Alan saw something was wrong and
started as well.  The three of us weren’t in a real rush, though.  Everybody
was calm like — except Petra of course.  She was worked up pretty good.

When
she got to me, she held out her hand and said it hurt.  I could see two or
three raised welts on her skin that were turning red.  They weren’t spaced close
enough that they could have been a snake bite or anything, which was my first
thought, so I figured that they were probably just insect bites of some kind
and no big deal.  Mom took over and, as she was checking her out, Petra kept up
her little dance, shifting from one leg to another.  I remember thinking it was
kind of funny, her bouncing around like that.  I feel real guilty about that
now.

While
this was going on, Alan walked over to where Petra had been picking flowers and
shouted back that she had probably been stung by a wasp.  He said there was a
nest and they were all over the place.

Mom
gave Petra a big hug, kissed the spot that hurt, told her she would be okay,
and walked with her back to our little car where she lifted her up into the
back.  After that, we all just started driving again, this time going right, (west)
and this time with me in the back with Petra.

Petra,
at this point, kind of leaned into me.  She was resting her head against me and
still holding her arm against her body, so I put my arm around her, you know. 
I could tell her hand and wrist was still that’s what I didwothurting her.

In
just a short period of time, maybe only five or ten minutes, she started squirming
all over the place.  By this I mean that she kept moving her body around and
rubbing her head and face against my side.  A couple of times she also took a
real deep breath.  This went on long enough that I asked her if she was feeling
okay.  At my question, she sat up, looked up at me and said in this kind of
raspy voice, “I don’t feel so good.”  When I saw her face, it scared me so bad
that I yelled right then and there for Alan to stop the car.

I
swear to God, I almost didn’t even recognize her.  Her face was all swollen up. 
Her eyes were half closed.  Her lips were puffed out as if someone had sucker
punched her.  They were at least twice their normal size, maybe even more.  It
also seemed that she was breathing faster than she should have been.

As
we came to a stop, she started rubbing the palms of first one hand and then the
other, fast like, up and down her legs, making a sound as if she was really
bothered or something.  I asked her what was wrong and she said, “I’m itchy all
over.”  She began pounding the bottoms of her feet on the bed of the car and
making even more sounds.

I
think before the car ever came to a stop, mom was right there.  That’s her,
though.  She doesn’t mess around in an emergency.

I
heard her say, “What’s the matter?” and then, “Ah, honey your having a reaction
to the sting.”  She told Petra she was going to be all right, but there was
something in the way mom said it that made me think she wasn’t really so sure about
that, if you know what I mean.

She
picked Petra up and carried her to the front of the car where she put her in
the passenger side seat so she could sit up straight, with a back rest and
everything.  This didn’t seem to make Petra that much more comfortable,
though.  She started breathing a little faster, throwing her head back a little,
and opening her mouth each time she sucked-in.  It was like she couldn’t get enough
breath in her lungs.  She also asked if she was going to die.  This time both
mom and Alan told her she’d be okay, almost at the same time.  That got to me a
little bit for some reason.  I don’t know why.