The Last Tribe (3 page)

Greg’s eyes opened with the sun. 
He looked at his watch out of habit.  It read 7:37am.  He had been asleep for 2
hours, taking the first nap of a schedule he devised and implemented one week
ago.  Greg was reversing his sleeping habits, sleeping in the day and staying
awake at night.  His plan was to leave his school and travel under the cover of
darkness.

His first thought was always, “I’m
late for breakfast!”  His stomach ached with hunger pains.  Reality quickly set
in.  As much as Greg wanted to forget his current situation, the fact that it
was freezing in his dorm room, and he was a smart and grounded 14 year old,
made it impossible.  He was alone at his prep school, Hightower Academy, outside
of Boston, Massachusetts.  His friends, teachers, and everyone else at the
school were dead, rotting in a building just yards away.      

Three months earlier the pandemic
struck New York City, Boston, Washington D.C., Philadelphia, and all the cities
up and down the coast.  Panic ensued and roads shut.  Greg was 700 miles from
his home in South Carolina, attending baseball training camp in Massachusetts. 
With at least ten major cities closed between him and his family, Greg was
stuck. 

The last phone call he had with his
father was over a month ago.  It came with news that his mother was sick, which
meant she was now dead. 

Greg replayed that conversation in
his head every morning.  His father was strong in the face of the disease. 
“Look, I don’t know if you are going to get sick.  I don’t know if I am going to
make it either, but right now we aren’t sick, and that’s weird.  Your Uncles
are healthy too.  We have a plan.  It starts with us heading north, away from
people.  We are going to Hanover, up to the lake house to figure out a life. 
Do you think you can get there?”

“I guess, I mean, I know how to
read a map, it’s kind of far, I can’t drive.”  Greg was terrified.

“Don’t try to drive, the highways
are shut.  You’ll get picked up.  Locked up.  Studied.  You have to go at
night, in the woods, or on back roads.  When you see the military, you have to
hide.”

“You really think everyone is going
to die?”

“Greg, you are about to grow very
fast.  Yes, everyone is either dead or in bed with the rapture.  The phones are
going to stop working, maybe even today.  The power is going to stop working,
maybe today.  Here is what you need to do.  Stay low at school for another few
weeks, hiding like we talked about.  Wait until you don’t see anyone for three
or four days.  As soon as you are clear, head to Hanover.  Get up there, find a
house, maybe the one where I grew up.  Find food, make fires to keep warm, boil
water.  I’ll come for you when I can.  Use the lake house if you want, but get
up there.  If I live, I’ll get there.  Your Uncles will get there.  Remember,
people are scared, they’re desperate, don’t trust anyone you aren’t related
to.  The police, the government, they are trying to find a cure.  If you aren’t
sick, they’ll take you and do whatever they can to try and save others.  Don’t
get caught. “

“Dad, I’m scared.”

“I know.  I’m scared too.  I’m sad,
I’m scared, but I know you can do this.  I love you, know that I love you.” 
There was a pause.  “Greg, tell me you understand what you need to do.  Stay at
Hightower, hiding, and then get to Hanover when you know everyone is dead.”

“I can do it.  I love you too,
Dad.  Tell Mom I love her.  Tell Matt and Craig I love them.  I’ll see you soon. 
Whenever you get there, I’ll be in Hanover waiting.”  Greg was crying.

“Greg, I love you, your mother
loves you, your brothers need you to stay alive.  I don’t know how long it will
be, but we’ll see you again.  Don’t lose faith.  Stay alive, just stay alive.  I
love you.”

Cell phones signals ceased a day
later.  Greg did not tell his dad about his food situation, or how the
radiators were out and the cold was keeping him awake.  He could not talk about
the smell, which grew stronger and more rancid every day.  Greg kept all of the
windows and doors shut in his dorm to escape the odor. 

Greg was cold, and he was almost
out of food.

Late October in New England is
beautiful, but it can be unpredictable.  Greg looked at the thermometer suction
cupped to his window, 42 degrees inside his dorm room. “I have to leave today. 
It will be freezing over night in the next few weeks.”  He talked to himself. 
It helped him deal with the new world’s silence, and almost made him feel as if
there were other people around.  He was not having conversations with himself. 
He was not losing his mind.  At least he hoped he was not losing his mind.

He looked at the other bed in his
room.  His roommate, Darrin, died months ago when the rapture spread through
his dorm and the rest of the school.  School had not started.  Greg and Darrin
were attending a baseball camp.  Half of Hightower Academy’s students were back
on campus attending academic or athletic clinics.  Darrin left to go to the
quarantine dorms the first week.  Of the six dorms at the school, four were
converted into hospitals, servicing the students, faculty, and residents of the
town.  Two of the dorms were converted into morgues soon after.  Travel
restrictions meant parents could not claim bodies.  Most of the parents were
sick or dead.  Even without the travel issues, the kids and their bodies, were
orphans. 

Darrin and Greg were best friends
since the first day freshman year.  They played baseball together in the fall
and spring.  When roommate signups came out the previous year, they knew
immediately they would room together, share baseball stories from the summer,
help each other out on homework.  It was a friendship that lasted a lifetime,
Darrin’s lifetime.

Greg kept Darrin’s bed made and left
his side of the room alone after they took Darrin away in August.  Darrin did
not like his property touched, not that anyone did, but he was particularly
protective.  Greg kept to his side of the room for the first month, even after
he knew Darrin and all the other kids were dead.  Greg did not so much as sit
on Darrin’s bed or touch his books, desk, or clothes. 

Soon after the last phone call with
his father, Greg went through Darrin’s things.  He looked for anything he could
find that would help him survive; better clothes, knives, maps, anything.  Greg
searched the entire dorm.  He knew he had to travel light to Hanover.  He
treated his mission like a scavenger hunt.  One day he looked for the best pair
of pants.  He would find a pair and put them in his shoulder bag until he
scavenged better pants with more pockets or warmer fabric.  The scavenger hunt
list included essential items he needed for the long trek north.

Greg began sleeping under his bed
after they took Darrin away.  He set up soft blankets on the floor, and went
under at night.  Anyone looking for students or scavenging for food and supplies
would not see him through the small door window.  Greg found a master key on
one of the dead counselors in the morgue dorm.  He randomly locked rooms in the
dorm so it would seem natural that his room was locked.  He also messed up his
room, giving it the appearance of having been picked over.  He found food in
the cafeteria and moved it to his room so he would not have to leave the dorm. 
He stopped using light at night. 

Greg was used to being monitored. 
He was 14 and at prep school.  It was hard for him to understand that no one
was looking for him.  Even after the phone call with this father, when it was
explained that everyone was dead or dying, Greg was certain there were other
people around.  He treated finding food, staying out of sight, beefing up his
supplies, like it was a game.  How quickly could he get in and out of a
building, how slowly and stealthily could he move through campus? 

Greg was too young to realize
Hightower Academy’s campus shut down weeks earlier.  Doctors worked in the
dorms, people in yellow hazmat suits moved bodies from the quarantine to the morgue,
but all activity stopped long ago.  The power was off.  The phones did not
work.  No one came to campus.  Greg managed to slip through the cracks.  He was
the only person alive at Hightower, and had been for close to a month.

Greg stayed in his room and hid,
but no one was looking for him. 

The world was dead.

After the doctors and yellow
plastic people left campus, Greg continued to hear airplanes, helicopters, and
loud diesel military vehicles.  When Greg spoke to his father on the phone, the
helicopters and jets were a constant in the air, moving from air force bases in
New Hampshire and Boston.  Each week the number of aircraft lessened until there
was one plane a day or every other day.  One week ago Greg saw a jet heading
out to the Atlantic, straight East.  Since that last plane, all manmade noise
ceased.

Greg was in New England in late
fall, needing to travel 100+ miles by foot or bike to Hanover, New Hampshire. 
He studied maps, and knew the two highways he needed to take.  Despite his
father’s warnings, Greg planned on using major highways to Hanover.  Today he
decided to leave campus and walk to his English teacher’s house in the town
near the highway.  He packed his bag during the morning hours, thought about
his route, and went to sleep at 10am.

Greg awoke in the dark.  He got
dressed, brushed his teeth, and grabbed his gear.  He was used to working in
the pitch black after four weeks with no power.  The moon was half full, and
provided enough light when he left the dorm.

The smell hit Greg as soon as he
opened the door.  He put the crook of his arm over his mouth and nose, and
hoped the odor would subside as he moved away from campus and the morgue dorms.
 It was cold, crisp and dry outside.  Leaves covered the ground.  No one was
around to rake them and keep the campus its typical immaculate condition.  The
dry refuse crunched under Greg’s feet as he walked out of the school’s gates.

Hightower Academy was a mile from
Greg’s destination house.  He wanted a test run on this first night, staying
close to campus.  If he ran into people, Greg could return to the safety and
security of his dorm room.  Campus was deserted, and he believed he could tough
it out for another 8 months, if he could find food and stop the horrific smell.

Greg picked his English teacher’s
house because he saw her in the morgue dorm when he lifted the master key off
his dorm counselor.  Ms. Berry was a single woman just three years out of
college.  She lived alone.  Her house should be empty.  It might be ransacked,
but there would not be any bodies in the house.  Greg was brave, and growing
braver everyday of his independence, but he was still 14, and decided he would
rather not sleep in a house with a dead body.

Greg remembered being dropped off
three months ago by his mother.  They turned off the highway and drove three
blocks when Greg pointed to the small yellow house. 

“That’s where Ms. Berry lives.  She
had our English class over for a cookout last year. “ 

The car ride was the last time Greg
saw his mother.  She insisted on driving him to school, spending the time with
him.  He wanted to fly, despite his secret fear of flying, land at Logan
Airport in Boston, and take the shuttle to Hightower.  His mom would not let
him.  It was like she knew their time was fleeting.  She forced him to take the
long car ride with her. 

He missed his mother.  He missed
his family, but he could not let his grief stop him from moving forward.

Greg made the two turns onto the
town’s main street, and began the long walk towards Ms. Berry’s.  Every house
was dark.  It was 8:30 pm.  The smell of fire and smoke should have flowed out
of chimneys all over town.  Other than an occasional bird or squirrel, and the
crunch of Greg’s feet in the leaves, there was no sound or indication of life. 

Clouds drifted in front of the
moon, blocking Greg’s source of light, and he stopped to listen for noises.  He
did not hear any.  He walked for 10 minutes, and as far as he could tell, he
was the only animal on two feet out this evening. 

Greg moved painfully slow, and he
was soon frustrated with having to watch his step in the dark.  He came to the
crest of a small hill.  Normally, while he could not see the city of Boston,
there was an orange glow over the horizon.  Tonight, on this late October
evening, there was no light.  A town of several million was dark.  Greg
expected fire, carnage, something to show such a large concentration of people
once existed, hopefully still existed.  Nothing.  No sound from the highway. 
No light from the city.  He might as well have been walking through a secluded rain
forest or national park. 

Greg decided not to talk to himself
while on his trek, but he could not stifle the “wow,” as he let the realization
sink in that he was probably alone in New England.  How many people had the
disease killed?  Were the survivors friendly?  Were there even any survivors? 
For the last month he followed his father’s advice, hid from people, moved
around at night.  He was more or less playing a game rather than living in
fear.  Now he did not know how to feel.

Greg looked around.  He had a creepy
feeling that he was being watched.  He did not hear or see anyone.  He shook
off his fear and continued towards his destination.  After twenty minutes he
stood in front of Ms. Berry’s.  The house was dark and quiet.  He tried the
front door.  It was locked.  He walked around the house to find a backdoor he remembered
from the cookout.  That door was also locked.

“Darn it.”  Greg muttered.  He noticed
a window was open a crack.  He reached over and pushed it up.  The window was
at chest level, and Greg struggled to pull himself up from the ground.  He
looked around in the moonlight and noticed a lawn chair.  He pulled it under
the window, and a moment later he was inside Ms. Berry’s house.