Barren Waters - The Complete Novel: (A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Survival) (17 page)

“Dad!” This from Sam, her voice shrill.

One glance over his shoulder set Jeremy’s teeth on edge. Seth had laid his bike on the pavement and was picking his way down the embankment toward the polluted waters.

“Seth!” Jeremy called out in a voice that seemed at least an octave too high. “Seth, what are you doing?” In one fluid motion he stopped his bike and laid it carefully on the ground. “Sam, stay here. Do not move from this spot. Are we clear?”

Her agitation was apparent. She was wringing her hands and hopping from one foot to the other. “Sam! Did you hear me? I said don’t move from-“

She cast and irritated glance his way. “I heard you dad!”

He nodded and began to run after Seth. “Marlin, you can’t go down there. What are you thinking, son?”

Seth’s voice lifted from the depths of the ravine and crested the lip of the causeway.

“I saw something!” he called out. “I just want to see what it is. I’ll be right back.”

Jeremy ground his molars and proceeded over the edge of the pavement in pursuit. The slide was steep, and although he hated to touch anything, he found that he had to brace himself against the slimy earth to avoid slipping altogether. What on earth would have peaked the boy’s interest enough to overcome a natural revulsion of this wretched place? The smell alone was enough to make Jeremy vomit.

He had to negotiate his way down carefully. The water level was lower than normal. He could tell. This year it hadn’t rained as much as recent others, and while one would think it would make the downward climb easier, it somehow made it worse. As the water receded, it had left behind a rancid footprint. Algae-laced trash littered the embankment along with thickets of dead leaves and grasses, unnatural in color and smell.

He heard a sharp scream from Seth and nearly lost his own footing. He was only able to catch himself by plunging a hand deep into one of those revolting mounds of decomposing refuse, and suppressed a gag as a cloud of stinking chemical effluvium burned his nostrils.

Seth moaned and Jeremy raised his head and peered down toward the edge of the river. There, at the edge of the bank, Seth lay on his side, clutching his leg and rolling from side to side. Thankfully he hadn’t fallen in the water, but he was clearly injured. Jeremy’s heart clenched at the sight of bright blood sheeting through gaps in his fingers.

He heard Sam gasp from above.

“No Sam. Don’t you dare come down here!” His tone challenged her defiance. “Hold on Seth. I’m coming. Son, roll away from the water. You’re too close. You cannot fall into that water, Marlin.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Seth! Roll away.”

Finally he reached the bottom and padded out to where Seth lay. Jeremy’s feet were sinking into the mire, mud sucking unnaturally at the bottom of his boots.

“Seth,” he breathed as he stumbled up beside him. “Dear God, boy. What were you thinking?”

Seth gasped through his pain. He peered up at Jeremy, his eyes brimming with tears that hadn’t yet spilled. This kid was brave.

“I just wanted to get her the mirror,” he wheezed.

Jeremy crouched low and pulled Seth against his chest. “What on earth are you talking about? Good grief. Let me see.”

Seth bit his lip and bravely lifted his hand from his wound. Jeremy sucked in a breath. The cut was deep. It was a long and clean laceration that began just below his knee and ended on the fleshy part of his outer shin.

Immediately, Jeremy pushed his small hands back down. “Keep it covered a minute longer.” He peeled off his shirt, rolled it tight, and then in a quick motion, lifted Seth’s bloody hands and replaced them with the white fabric. He pressed down hard, tied a tight tourniquet around the wound, and lifted Seth into his arms.

“You wanna tell me what this was all about?”

Seth’s face was pale. “The mirror,” he pointed out with a red-stained finger. “I wanted to get Sam the mirror.”

Jeremy was aghast. “Whatever for?”

Seth’s eyes darted to where Sam stood atop the bridge. The wind whipped her blond hair against her shoulder as she leaned out over the gorge, and though there was no chance she could hear him, he lowered his voice just the same.

“She told me that she felt ugly, that she hadn’t seen her own face in weeks. I just wanted to show her how beautiful she is.”

Jeremy sighed. “Okay Casanova. Let’s get topside and look at that leg.”

He pocketed the sliver of broken mirror, which had incidentally caused the injury in the first place, and clutched the small boy to his chest. With Seth’s added weight, the uphill trudge was increasingly difficult, and short of breath, Jeremy met Sam’s gaze as he crested the ridge.

“You’ll have to walk both the bikes by yourself and I’ll ride with him on the handlebars. He can’t walk.” He shook his head then, reconsidering. “No. Leave his bike. We’ll come get it tomorrow. We need to find a place to hole up for the night and then we’ve got to tend to this wound.”

Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly agape as she stared at the blood-soaked shirt. She lifted her gaze to his. “Is it deep?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“But Dad, it’s so dirty down there. Is it-“

“I said he’ll be fine Sam. Let’s get a move on. We’re going to have to stitch this wound.”

At that a small tremor shook Seth’s body, but stoically he didn’t complain. Jeez this kid had it bad for Sam, Jeremy thought with a wince. He lifted the child over the bike and settled him atop the handlebars. He needed to keep the leg elevated as much as possible and so he propped Seth against his chest, held fast to his waist, faced him outward, and let his feet dangle out over the front wheel.

“You’ve got to stay with me son. Okay? Seth?” There was a lot of blood and Jeremy was afraid he might pass out.

His answer was quiet, his voice weak, and his knuckles looked impossibly white as they gripped the metal bars. “I’m okay,” he mumbled. “Let’s go.”

Jeremy didn’t wait. He put on a burst of speed and led Sam off the edge of the bridge onto the flat plain of I-55. There was a handful of old inns and motels down this road. He remembered from the maps. Though they made quick work of it, Seth’s head was beginning to droop, his chin tucking closer and closer to his chest with each passing mile.              

“Look alive, boy. We’re almost there.”

He raced farther west, exiting off a service road and veering left on East Broadway. “There,” he called out to Sam, “Budget Inn.”

It was a cheap-looking sign, the lettering faded, and the plastic coating now warped and peeling. The building wasn’t much nicer than the sign. The left side of the roof had caved in, but the rooms toward the right looked solid.

This would do
, Jeremy worked to convince himself.

He pulled the bike to a skidding stop just outside one of the rooms and lifted Seth into his arms. Letting the bike fall behind him, he ran to the door and kicked it open. “Stay with me, Marlin. Stay strong.”

“I’m doing okay, Carp.”

The words would’ve sounded more convincing if his head weren’t lolling back onto Jeremy’s shoulder.

Jeremy gently lowered him to the bed and propped a pillow behind his head. Sam was at once timid and resourceful. She dropped to her knees beside him and passed him their first aid kit. The leg didn’t look good. Jeremy’s makeshift tourniquet was now fully soaked with blood, and gingerly, he peeled it back from the wound. Thankfully the edge of the mirror had been sharp. The laceration was a clean slice and not a jagged tear, one small blessing at the end of all of this. It would be an easy mend with a bit of needle and thread, but it was going to hurt. Bad.

Sam sensed his reluctance and moved to Seth’s head. She lifted his pale hand from his stomach and folded it between both of her own.

“Merlin,” she murmured, “You’re going to need to be strong now.”

Sweat had beaded along his temples and forehead. “Not Merlin. You said it was supposed to be
Marlin
.”

She pushed a lock of damp hair from his brow. “I think you might be right. I think Merlin is actually better. It fits you better. You’re kind of like a magician right?”

Jeremy gathered a few clean clothes from their pack and a bottle of peroxide. “You ready up there, Merlin? I’m afraid this is going to be painful, son, but we’ve got to clean it well. We can’t risk an infection. Can you be brave?”

Jeremy didn’t wait for an answer. He figured to catch him off-guard and splashed the antiseptic on the wound before he could muster a reply. Seth’s scream was piercing in the closeness of the room, and Jeremy worked fast. After pouring liberal amounts of alcohol on the wound, he pressed the cloth down hard and inspected the clean slice. There didn’t seem to be any dirt or other foreign matter inside the laceration, but Jeremy was more afraid of what he couldn’t see, the bacteria and mold that had coated every inch of that ravine, and the chemicals and pollutants that cast an unnatural sheen to the water. He worried that he’d not been fast or thorough enough. Time would tell.

He pinched the two sides together, and with relief, figured that he might be able to use tape instead of a needle and thread. From the rawness of Seth’s voice, he didn’t think the boy could withstand much more pain.

“You’re almost done! Stay with me. No stitches okay? Let’s try a few butterfly stitches with the tape and see if it holds.”

Sam was now cradling his head against her chest and murmuring soft sounds of encouragement. Seth’s hands were tangled in her hair and he was weeping softly. It could’ve been worse, Jeremy realized, but he’d need to have a serious conversation with the both of them. This kind of travel was dangerous. They were apt to come across a myriad of perilous situations, some of which would be much worse than this one. They needed to realize how serious this really was, needed to start thinking more clearly. They needed to treat the process with greater respect. All fun aside, this was a mission of survival.

Sam’s survival.

Jeremy was glad that they’d known a few moments of amusement along the way, sure. Sam had been right. Three
was
better than two, and in a short week, Seth had become an important part of their lives. He was at times a comic relief, and at others, a welcome distraction that provided a counterpoint to thoughts of Susan and the cabin. But neither Seth nor Sam knew the true goal of the mission. Jeremy simply hadn’t told them yet. It wasn’t yet time. No need to worry her. No reason to set her mind to thoughts of her own precarious life. Right? Besides, he didn’t even know if his plans would save her in the end.

The thought made him shiver. Amid the chaos, he’d forgotten to check her meter. He peered up at her and let his gaze fall to the green light that emanated from her belly. Her T-shirt was thin, and through the loose weave of fabric, he could just make out the faint glow of numbers. Two percent.

Two percent.

One thousand seven hundred, seventy-seven miles to go.

Two disks remaining.

She watched the gap between ship and shore grow to a huge gulf. Perhaps this was a little like dying, the departed no longer visible to the others, yet both still existed, only in different worlds.

—Susan Wiggs,
The Charm School

Outside, the Walgreens sign was almost completely shattered. Thick pieces of the faded red background had cracked and fallen to the paving below, exposing the shattered florescent bulbs beneath. The front of the store was badly vandalized, and shattered windows and fractured doors had done little to protect the interior from the elements. Jeremy could see the alien fungi-the exotic stranger that’d moved in and taken over the world-fingering it’s way across the threshold and inching across the linoleum flooring.

He just wanted to check the pharmacy. It was something he did everywhere they went now. He had no other choice. He and Sam had now joined the remnants of scattered refugees that roamed the countryside and foraged and fought for whatever scraps were left. Yes, he had the disks that Susan had passed to him in the cabin, along with several others they’d hidden in the cart all those years before, but that was it. And it wouldn’t last long. Since the loss of the ark, Jeremy had vowed to check each and every convenience store, grocery store, pharmacy, and quick care from here to Kalamazoo, Michigan if it came to that. Anything to keep her safe, he thought—anything to keep her alive.

Sam was walking behind him, slow and preoccupied as she nosed through her new books. Funny how he called them
new
, he noted with a wry smile. They were cracked and dusty, the pages ill-protected from the elements. The pages were yellowed at the edges and warped into curves from the encroaching damp, but they were still new to her. And that was what mattered. She’d found all but two of the Harry Potter books, and the entire Twilight series, and already she’d begun to immerse herself in the familiar stories.

The morning had been pleasant. Dare he say enjoyable? He’d known he missed Sam’s companionship during her long period of silence, but he hadn’t realized just how much, and though there was an ever-present shadow of sadness that underscored her every word and gesture, he felt certain that he’d finally broken through to her. Her eyes were somehow brighter and she was speaking again. Hanging on to hurt, blame, and anger often hurts the self more than the intended recipient, and Sam seemed somehow lighter, as if she’d shed the heavy burden of a winter cloak. Emotions were like that. He was proud of her. As they walked to town she’d been downright chatty. Hell, she’d even smiled a few times!

He pushed through the Walgreens door, battered and hanging, half-open on its broken hinges, and entered the dark store. He didn’t suppose he’d find anything of use here but it was important to check nonetheless. This particular store was situated at what had to have been a bustling street corner, and thus, had been plundered to such a severe degree that he wasn’t even certain a rat would find sustenance within. All the windows had been shattered and most of the shelving toppled over. Some senseless idiot, who failed to understand the sudden obsolescence of money, had thrown the cash registers to the ground in an attempt to break them apart. Fool. He’d probably foregone basic items of sustenance in lieu of nothing but useless dirty paper. Money had become worthless a long time ago. Water was the currency of the world now, and food its coinage.

He stepped into the mess and peered over his shoulder. Sam hadn’t followed him inside. She’d remained just outside the doors, her nose stuck in a book, warm rays of sunlight streaming over her glossy blond hair.

“Want to stay behind?” he called out, though he already knew the answer.

She muttered her reply and sank to the edge of the curb without a backward glance. Good. Let her enjoy the freshness of the day. Let her become lost in a world of fantasy and imagination and know a brief respite from this one. Let her be swept from the pain and uncertainty of this new life and know a moment’s peace. God knows he wished for one too.

Alone, he turned and picked his way through the rubble. All convenience stores seemed to follow the same basic floor plan, he’d learned. He hadn’t noticed it before, but registers were always stationed at the front, makeup, hair products, and other cosmetics to the right, small groceries and household items to the left, and the pharmacy always at the back. No point in wasting much time here, he thought as he scanned the wreckage, and so he made straight for the rear of the store. He approached the pharmacy wall and ducked beneath the counter, absently kicking through the empty packaging and trash that covered the floor. He sighed and wondered again why he had wasted his time coming here. What bottles he found toward the front were crushed and empty, and what medicines remained were long expired or useless for his particular needs.

There certainly were myriad brands of diet pills and appetite suppressants available for the choosing. Naturally. These would remain in this store forever. No one could find use for a diet in a world so short of food. Weight gain was no longer among the top ten leading causes of death in the United States. Not these days. But diabetes still was, and he frowned as he moved past over-the-counter medications and ointments.

He moved confidently. Pharmacies were often sketched similarly to convenience stores. The heavy artillery was always in the back. He spotted the needles first and the blood sugar detection devices and glucose tabs next to these. Crouching low, he tossed aside expired bottles and pushed through expensive, though useless insulin pump delivery systems. Nothing. With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, turned to leave, and barely noticed as his toe caught the end of a small box. It skated across the floor with a tearing sound, similar to the shearing of paper, and he felt certain he would have walked right past it, were it not for the soft jingle of a bell inside. Curious, he crouched and examined its contents.

What was this? His pulse quickened as he bent to retrieve the box. Pills? Two packages of multi-vitamins, a faded bottle of Advil, three containers of antacids, and two bottles of insulin pills, a tiny teddy bear curled in the corner of the box beside a tube of Carmex. He lifted the stuffed toy, a key ring actually, and slid his index finger through the end. The tiny bell attached to the collar around the bear’s neck jingled softly and he smiled.

How on earth was this still here? His brow furrowed as he examined the randomness of the carefully packed contents. These things were seldom found on the same shelves. In fact, most were found at opposite ends of the store altogether. Someone had ransacked the store with a rather impressive discerning eye, collected what small items he’d found, and assembled them in this small box. But then what? Had he forgotten it? Left behind a treasure trove such as this? Or had a gang interrupted his fruitful hunting expedition and then neglected to take the spoils for themselves? Both scenarios were highly unlikely.

A thread of uneasiness rippled through him and the walls seemed suddenly closer. This had all of the hallmarks of a well-laid trap. He peered toward the front of the store where sunlight spilled in from the doors, the box held in front of him as if it were suddenly poisonous. Small motes of pollen and dust danced in the light. Sam was just beyond that door. He thought to set the box back down then paused. What of the insulin pills? How could he leave without them?

“Put down the box,” a low voice instructed from behind. “Set it on the ground and I won’t shoot.” The voice was distinctly feminine and throaty, a weary voice worn thin by draught and dust. “Do it now. I’ll not ask you again.”

Jeremy bent to set the carton on the ground, then slowly straightened and lifted his hands above his head, his knees popping in protest.

“I’ll just leave,” he said softly without turning around. “I’m not a threat to you. I have a child and I’d like to get back to her.”

He ventured a forward step toward the light.

“No. Turn and face me. Turn around and walk backwards. I need to see your hands.”

His stomach was performing a tumbling act worthy of Barnum and Baily’s.

“Okay. I’m turning around now. See? I’m doing it slowly. Please don’t shoot. I have a daughter and she -”

He spoke the words as he turned toward the voice, his hands lifted as high as they’d go, but what he saw took his breath away. He was unable to find words. Oh dear God. He pressed hard against the gorge that threatened to rise. This was his deepest fear manifest. This was the culmination of a decade of nightmares somehow incarnate and standing before him. He struggled not to react as he looked upon the woman and her boy.

She was young, perhaps twenty-five or twenty-six, no more than thirty, and her boy was probably six or seven, yet his illness made him appear much younger. He was gravely ill, his arms and legs emaciated.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

Jeremy took a steadying breath, his eyes finding the barrel of the gun and snagging on it. He fought his flight instinct with every ounce of energy.

“My name is Jeremy Colt and my daughter’s name is Sam. I’d like to back away now and leave you to your property and your business. I’ve business of my own to tend and I’m not interested in getting in the way of other folks.”

She nodded and motioned soundlessly with the barrel of the gun, an efficient and militant dismissal. He chanced two giant steps back and carefully judged her reaction. She was stiff, almost manic, and her deeply lined face and puffy eyes betrayed the depth of her exhaustion. His eyes slid to the boy and to the small cache of medicines his mother had collected, and he felt a lump rise in his throat. This could easily become Sam. Against his will, his arm had lowered, and his fingers had crawled up his body and found his nose, almost as if they moved of their own accord. He pressed down awkwardly and cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, hopeful that Sam was still engrossed in her book.

The stench of the boy’s gangrenous foot was ghastly in the heavy heat of the early afternoon, and it pulled his gaze back to the two of them with a clumsy jerk. He was but two-dozen steps away from the door and practically fell backward as he attempted to lurch away from the unpleasantness before him. This boy was on his deathbed. He was sprawled on his back in the basket portion of a shopping cart that was much too small to contain his body comfortably. He lay folded and half-swaddled in a dirty blanket, his legs awkwardly lifted and dangled over the side. It was his left leg that showed the advancement of his disease.

Jeremy coughed into his fist in an effort to cover the faint mewling sounds that seemed to be emanating from his own throat. He had to get away from this. Away from this harsh reminder of how things could’ve been, how they would’ve been without the careful plans he and Susan had made, how they still could be if he was unable to find solutions. He stuttered and tottered his way backward.

“I’ll…I’ll just be going then.”

Though his body pulled at him to leave, the sight before him was a train wreck that he was unable to tear his eyes from. Damn how his eyes betrayed him. Unwillingly he found his gaze pulled to the small boy again and again. The child was all but unresponsive at this point. He probably wasn’t even aware of where he was anymore. It was a small blessing, Jeremy thought as his gaze settled on the boy’s left leg.

The decay must have originated in the foot, as it often did for most diabetics. Four of the child’s left toes were blackened beyond the capabilities of regenerative healing. They were twisted and gnarled, the shiny skin peeled back and glistening wet. The rot itself seemed to crawl up the ankle and the outside of the calf in a way that was similar to the fungi that wriggled over the bark of trees. It was slowly staking its claim, necrotizing healthy flesh as if it were sentient and purposeful. It appeared almost as if it were reaching for his knee, as if once it scaled that final bony hurdle, it would find ample flesh and abundance beyond. Jeremy was quite sure he could see a bit of smooth white bone peeking through the deepest patch of it.

He shook his head and continued to back away. He’d never let this happen to Sam. Never. How could this mother have done this? How could she have let this happen to her own child? He shook his head vigorously, disgusted by the prospect of such deep neglect. Wait. Neglect? Was that even fair? Did he really believe this poor woman had allowed this to happen due to some sort of negligence of self-possession on her part?

His eyes met her gaze. She was exhausted. Drained. Unimaginable fear coiled in the depths of those eyes. She made no attempt to conceal it. Clearly she was doing everything she could to help her son. And didn’t Jeremy know firsthand just how hard that could be? His thoughts turned then to Susan and he knew a moment of crippling guilt. Would she behave as he was now and abandon this sick family when he had plenty of resources at home? Even without the cabin or the ark, he was still a rich man walking among those stricken by poverty. Would he not offer aid to someone else in need?

He lifted his palms and held them out to her.

“I have a house not far from here. Food. Water. Shelter. Medicines.” His voice sounded strained and hollow in his ears.

“You seem like a decent guy,” she breathed, “but you’d best get out of here.”

“I will. I am. I’m just saying. I mean, you look like you could use a bit of help is all. My daughter is—“

“You’re lying. You don’t have a daughter.”

“I do. You’re wrong. She’s sitting just outside. On the curb of the street corner. You can see if you peek out the window.” His words came fast. “She’s reading. We just came from the library. She likes to read.” His eyes flashed to her boy. “She picked up a few Harry Potter books. You could come with us if you want. Back to our house, and she could read to him. You could get some rest and a hot meal. I’ve plenty of food. Cans of beans, vegetables, and bags of rice.”