Barren Waters - The Complete Novel: (A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Survival) (28 page)

“How many are there? Can you see?” he whispered to his father.

Liam answered by lifting the gun from his waistband, barrel pointed down, and holding it out in front of him. Jeremy strained to see around his father’s body, couldn’t, and began to feel impatient as the three waited for what seemed like an eternity. Dropping his gaze, he pulled Susan away from the wall and pointed to the corner where the floor met the molding.

“One foot away from the wall,” he reminded her. “Bullets can ricochet.”

Her eyes widened and he had to remind himself that she had wanted to be here. They circled the nurse’s station first, slipped inside, and quietly nosed through wreckage that had already been thoroughly pillaged. Having found nothing they followed signs toward the operating rooms then finally to a large supply room at the back. It had been badly plundered, the majority of its contents strewn about in careless piles. Most of the equipment was useless to them, or to anyone else for that matter. High tech equipment that rested on rolling carts lined the walls. Test tubes, lengths of hollow rubber piping, and various smaller apparatuses littered the floor.

And if the supply closets were bad, the hospital pharmacy was worse. The destruction here was total. It was as if a battle had been waged within. Bullet holes peppered the walls. Empty shell casings littered the floor. But it was here they figured the best of the lot could be found. They spent hours searching its depths. Each chose a corner of the room, and each sifted through the rubble with meticulous care. Jeremy peered at Susan over his shoulder. On one side of her body, she was forming a pile of trash, and on the other, a tiny collection of items she must have thought valuable. His gaze traveled over the room as he mentally performed the ritual he’d been taught. He located the nearest exits, scanned for places of concealment, or large objects that would provide decent cover. It was a ritual that had become instinctual to him, one that he’d need to instill in his wife. He returned his gaze to the heap of crap in front of him. His search had yielded nothing useful and he was beginning to feel discouraged to say the least. Susan stood, dusted her khakis, and moved toward him from across the room. A barely perceptible shake of her head confirmed that she’d been no more fortunate.

In the end they found nothing useful, gave up, and pressed on to the next facility. The entire expedition was a series of repetitions. Wash, rinse, and repeat ad nauseam, and after all was said and done, they’d searched three separate care centers and not gained much to show for it. They’d amassed a collection of clean needles and several bundles of towels, two bottles of antibiotics left in a patient’s overnight bag at the bottom of a closet, and of course the coup de grâce: three bottles of insulin pills. The treasure was small and disheartening, but Jeremy tried to tell himself it was more than they had before.

The three gave up and headed for home just as the sun was beginning to brighten the eastern sky. It bled purple as it arose, blackness giving way to shades of indigo and eggplant; a growing bruise that mirrored their own battered sentiments. Jeremy was the first to break the silence. There was no denying it. It hadn’t been a successful night and he was worried about his father’s state of mind. Liam was taking this much too personally and Jeremy suddenly trembled at the sight of his father. He’d passed well beyond his characteristic determination and had begun to border on obsessive. Clearly unsettled by their small measure of success, his body was rigid, taut as the high E string of a guitar. He was alert and scanning his surroundings with wiry energy. His hands were balled into fists that hung unyielding at his sides. Jeremy hated seeing him like this, but it wasn’t hard to consider this whole thing from his father’s perspective, was it? Liam had spent years planning for every eventuality. He’d been meticulous with it, practically made a career of it, but had never conceived of something like this. Jeremy sensed an underlying anger that seethed just below the surface; a simmering rage that he feared his father might turn inward. Jeremy knew his father loved Sam, but it was the depth of that adoration that so terrified him. He feared his father would never forgive himself if she ran out of medication before she’d lived a full life. So the true question remained, one that kept Jeremy awake at night: what was his father willing to do to ensure Sam’s safety? What was he willing to sacrifice?

Jeremy posed a rather inane question to bridge the silent chasm between them. He winced at the absurdity of it.

“Didn’t find much did we, Dad?”

Liam’s mouth was grim. “No, son. We didn’t. But we’ll keep looking. As long as it takes.”

As ever, Susan seemed determined to consider the positives. “That’s right. We press on tomorrow. There are plenty of hospitals, hospices, and other care facilities in the area, not to mention the many Urgent Cares and after-hours clinics. We can easily expand our search grid to Knoxville, Pigeon Forge, and beyond. If we need to, we can even pack overnight bags and journey to Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia.”

“We’ll probably have to,” Liam confirmed gravely, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. “We’ll find more,” he confirmed through clenched teeth. “We will. We just need to think, to plan, and then to execute on those plans with efficiency–“

“Freeze, old man.”

The voice sprang from Jeremy’s left, the sound intrusive as it disrupted the soft cadence of the burgeoning dawn. Susan folded her body in front of Jeremy’s, a brave and selfless reflex that would later stun and amaze him.

“Drop your weapons and raise your hands above your head.“

Jeremy eyed his father sidelong and mimicked his slow three-quarter turn toward the gunmen. There were two of them, most likely the same two they’d heard earlier in the halls of Leconte Medical Center.

“I said drop your weapons.”

The man’s calm voice, soft and insistent, was more effective than a yell would have been. Jeremy lowered himself to a crouch, intent on setting his gun gently on the pavement, but curiously his father didn’t do the same. Instead, he addressed the men with confidence.

“We’ll just be on our way, gentleman. There’s nothing at that hospital worth taking. I know you were there too. I heard you. But I had the decency to leave well enough alone. I only ask for the same courtesy in return. Now—I’m not going to put down this weapon so I suggest you make your decision and let us be on our way.”

The smaller gunman seemed surprised. Clearly he had expected nothing short of full cooperation. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got old man and I might be willing to broker a trade.”

Liam shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”

With a sharp click the larger man cocked his weapon and aimed for Liam’s chest. Jeremy’s panic threatened to overwhelm him. His mouth went dry and a cold sweat bubbled from his pores. His father was being an idiot. Was he too depressed to see reason? Give these men what they wanted and move on. It wasn’t as if they’d discovered a goldmine of supplies. None of what they had was worth their lives. Jeremy’s gaze tunneled on the muzzle of the gun and he dared a half step forward.

“Wait!” This from Susan who had lowered her pack to the ground. “We came across a few things,” she stammered as she rummaged the contents of the bag. Her voice shook as she held the bottle of antibiotics up to the dawn light. Gently she shook them as if she were trying to entice an infant with a colorful rattle. “Here. See? Antibiotics. I’m sure you’d agree these are a rare find. Take them. They’re all yours. I’ll hand over this bottle if you’ll just agree to let us pass.”

The smaller man advanced half a step. “And?” he pressed doggedly, his eyes probing the open flap of her backpack.

He advanced another step in Susan’s direction and Jeremy stiffened. Why the hell weren’t some people as afraid of others as he was himself? Was
he
the idiot? Like fingers scrabbling for purchase at the edge of a cliff, his mind scurried from one unlikely idea to the next. Every scenario didn’t bode well for his family. In all likelihood, these men would strip them of their possessions, shoot them, and leave them for dead anyway. Or worse, they’d shoot
one
of them, and demand that the others bring them back to the cabin. 

His father must have agreed. In a flurry of sudden movement Liam raised his weapon, and without words or further explanation, buried two bullets in the heads of the would-be thieves. The echoes from the blasts were sharp concussive forces, immense pressure on the eardrums that left them hollow and ringing. The two men fell to the pavement in a heap of folded arms and legs. Their scalps gleamed wet in the wan light. Jeremy was astounded.

“Dad?”

He’d never seen Liam cause bodily harm to another person much less kill him. He hadn’t even known that facet lived inside his father.

“Let’s go home, Jeremy.”

“Dad! What the hell?”

Liam quickly turned and caught him off guard. “Son, we don’t have time for this kind of nonsense and we don’t have bottles of anything to spare for anyone.” He peered over at Susan, his eyes accusatory. “Not antibiotics, not insulin pills, not even a bottle of Tic-Tacs. It’s every man for himself out here, and given your daughter’s condition, it’s becoming more and more apparent to me that we’re going to have to venture farther and farther from the comfort of our sanctuary to find what we need—as most others have been doing for decades, I might add.”

Jeremy peered at the bits of bone and brain that had splattered the road. He tried to swallow but couldn’t. “But did you have to kill them?”

His father moved closer and grasped Jeremy’s hand in his. “Son, it’s only when we hesitate that we fail. Act boldly and without fear. Particularly when you’ve got something to lose. This world doesn’t reward the meek and docile. It doesn’t reward those who sit and do nothing.”

Jeremy furrowed his brow, squeezed his father’s hand, and lifted it to the light. He flipped it over, massaged the weathered palm, felt the aftermath of adrenaline beginning to manifest as tears that gathered at the corners of his eyes. What would he have done if his father had been shot? What would any of them done? He drew a ragged breath and smoothed his father’s hand in his. Jeremy had always thought his father’s hands were beautiful. Though Liam had always joked that he’d spent his life inside a lab, his hands told an altogether different story. Perhaps they may have been lab hands once, but to Jeremy they were the hands that had worked and toiled to create this life. To him, they were the hands that had stopped at nothing to shape a world his son could find comfort in. To him, they would always be beautiful, skin pleasantly browned, nails clean and white.

But tonight something was off. Tonight his hands weren’t the same.

“Dad, your hands. You’re shaking.”

He peered into his father’s eyes and allowed his suspicions to rise to the surface. For several weeks Jeremy had worked hard to misdirect his mind from fully contemplating what he knew to be true. People often did that. Funny, he thought absently. Funny how people could deceive themselves. Funny how they could believe only what they wished and ignore what truly was. But now the truth was standing right in front of him and the scattered pieces suddenly slid into place. His fears spread wings and took flight. Many times over the past few weeks, Jeremy had caught his father standing at the kitchen counter, a funny twitch at the corner of his mouth, swaying as he stared at a bottle of pills he held in his hand. Deep in thought, he’d remove the cap, shake a few into his palm, and roll them around as he gazed out over the landscape. He’d peer first at the pills and then at Sam, watching her as she played in a warm square of sunlight that shone from the large picture window.

Liam held his son’s gaze and didn’t blink.

“I just shot two men,” he said slowly. “I suppose I’m a bit shaken up is all.

Beneath the pale light, Jeremy stared at his father. He hadn’t really looked at him—not for quite a while. Not this close. He seemed drawn. Pinched. Though not gaunt, he’d certainly lost too much weight. His cheeks had hollowed and the line of his chin had become more distinct. The flesh beneath his eyes had puffed and deepened in color.

Jeremy felt a clenching in his gut. No. Please not this. This he couldn’t face. This was for people
out there
. Not people who had planned. Not people who had so much. His father was a stubborn man, but he was also a deeply devoted one.
Too
devoted. So devoted that he would play the role of martyr? Jeremy somehow found his voice as Susan stepped closer and laid a hand on his back.

“Dad, please,” he whispered. “Don’t do this. You don’t have to. Please tell me you haven’t stopped taking the pills. We can figure this out. Please don’t sacrifice yourself for Sam.”

I cannot tarry longer.

The sea that calls all things unto her calls me.

―Kahlil Gibran,
The Prophet

Sam’s rear tire was the first to run flat. Jeremy crouched low and inspected it with a frown. There must have been a pinhole leak, a small rupture that had been seeping air for miles. She’d awakened early that morning, gently roused Jeremy and pointed to the meter at her belly. Her eyes had been sad and hollow.

“Zero percent,” she’d whispered softly.

With a nod he’d wordlessly fished the last disk from his pocket, his sense of dread so profound it nearly threatened to overwhelm him. Quietly he’d injected the thin tube and pressed the plunger.

“Thirty days,” he’d murmured beneath his breath.

She hadn’t replied to that. Instead she’d tucked in her shirt, peered over at Seth and appraised him with a discerning eye.

“He slept straight through the night. And he didn’t wake up with sweat-soaked clothes this time. I think it’s a win. I think his body has finally gotten rid of the infection.”

“Yup. Seems so.” Jeremy fished a container from his pack and handed it her. “Why don’t you heat a kettle outside and make some oats.”

She’d scrunched her nose. “They’re gross. Now that we’ve used up all the Splenda they taste like cardboard.”

“True,” he agreed then raised his chin and nodded in Seth’s direction. “But they’ll help put some weight back on his bones. We need to make sure he eats five times a day. At least until he regains a bit of strength.”

She’d acknowledged the request, exited the front door, and moved toward the collection of wood and smaller sticks they’d set in a pile the night before. He had waited until she crouched before the ashen heap, waited for her to pull the lighter from her pocket and ignite the flame, before he dared edge closer to Seth and lean in for a more intimate inspection. He’d cupped a palm around the back of Seth’s neck and touched beneath his arms. A smile had broken across his face. She was right. Indeed Seth wasn’t drenched in sweat like he’d been the last few mornings. The lack of sweat was an improvement to put it lightly. For over a week, the infection had raged, and despite the fact that he’d been fever-free close to seven days, his body was still working to expel the last of it by way of his sweat glands. Several times a night he’d awaken, hair drenched and plastered to his scalp. Shivering in the brisk air, he’d tiptoe around the room, strip to his underwear, and drape his damp clothing over fallen counters or broken shelves. He’d rummage through his pack, locate a dry shirt, then slip back to his mat and roll into his blankets. His body was working so hard to recuperate that he’d often resume his soft snoring within minutes.

Jeremy had pressed a palm to the boy’s chest and nodded at the progress. His breathing was less labored; his cheeks now flushed a healthy peach-pink. But what about the wound? He’d lifted Seth’s left pant leg and examined the laceration, now fully covered with a thick and impenetrable scar. The flesh around it was flat and smooth and finally cool to the touch. Satisfied, Jeremy had dropped from his crouch. He’d settled on the linoleum opposite the frail boy and perched to reflect on their options. His fingers had drummed a silent beat against his heels as he considered where they were versus where they had planned to be.

They’d been lucky. This all could have gone different and so much worse. Though he hadn’t said as much to Sam, he really hadn’t known what he was doing with Seth. He’d only done what seemed right, applied the kind of treatments that seemed to make the most sense. It was a miracle that Seth had finally healed, but it was the medicine that had done the work—not Jeremy.

Medicines they were out of
, he reminded himself with a frown.

Fondly he had reached over and tousled the boy’s hair. Once he and Sam had seen Seth’s goofy smile again, things had gotten better. They were reminded once more of the importance of the mission, of the end game and how important each of them was in reaching the goal. And though Jeremy was glad Sam had convinced him to stay and wait, his gut still clenched when he considered the amount of time they’d lost. In total, it had been two weeks, and though Jeremy knew Seth was improving, he’d clawed at the walls of that 7-Eleven like a caged beast. Two weeks. Two ridiculous and excruciation weeks. He’d panic anew if he dwelled on it long enough. Dear God. Two full weeks and no progress. It was debilitating to think about.

He’d shivered in the morning air as he watched the boy’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Thankfully Seth had begun to show improvement that second week, for if he hadn’t, Jeremy wasn’t sure he would have waited him out. But all that was behind them now. They’d been through the worst and seen it through to the end. Now they were left to manage whatever consequences came as a result.

Jeremy was actually proud of himself. For once he’d shut his mouth, clenched his jaw, and let Sam run the show for a change. And he was pretty sure she was grateful, that maybe he had even regained a bit of her trust.

Though the fever had drained Seth to the point of exhaustion, once his temperature normalized, he regained his strength rather quickly. He’d begun to eat solid food, drink copious amounts of rainwater and take short walks. In truth, he’d been insatiable those first few days and Jeremy had worried that they might need to ration the rest of the food. Mealtimes had become debriefings. Seth demanded to know everything about the time he was ill. During the worst of it he’d completely lost his sense of space and time. He queried them about the details with a nervousness that troubled Jeremy. When he was ill, a week had seemed like a day, and when Jeremy had finally told him how much time really passed, it was like a projectile explosive had suddenly punched him in his gut. Eyes ablaze, he’d awkwardly pushed himself to his feet, swayed, and turned in circles as though he were seeing the inside of the convenience mart for the first time.

“That’s not possible,” he’d argued. “Two weeks isn’t possible. Two weeks?” He’d held his hands in front of his face then dropped his gaze and pulled his sagging pants away from his waist. “I’m thin,” he’d stammered. “I mean I’m
really
thin.”

“You’ve always been really thin, Merlin” Sam joked. “Now you’re just scrawny. You’re the size of a tiny toothpick.”

His eyes had gone wider at the sound of her voice, had darted to her face and focused on her belly. He’d tottered to her side and fallen to his right knee, hesitantly lifted the corner of her shirt, and gasped. “Twenty-four percent.” His voice had wavered as if he were on the verge of tears. He was like a deer caught in headlights as his eyes found Jeremy.

“It’s okay,” Jeremy lied. “She’ll be fine. Let’s just get you better so we can get back on the road.”

“But how many miles do we have to go?”

“You let me worry about that. We need you strong, and if you’re strong enough then we’ll make up the time with no problem. We’ll push ourselves harder; try to cover more ground to make up the difference. Okay? Can you push extra hard for Sam?”

He’d nodded slowly; still not convinced this wasn’t his fault. “Yeah. Okay. We’ll push ourselves harder. We will. I’ll be fine. I can do it.”

Oddly the guilt he suffered seemed to better focus his goals. He was determined to regain strength quickly. He’d eaten his food dutifully, stretched, and taken long walks around the neighborhood. He kept the rain catchers empty, even took on the task of tending to the water purification. He double-strained it, boiled it, and bottled it all by himself.

With a swat of his hand, he’d chastised Jeremy. “Wait till it cools. It isn’t safe to pour hot water into a plastic container. It leaches the chemicals from the plastic. It causes cancer.”

Jeremy suppressed a smile. “Where do you kids learn this stuff?”

It was important to Seth to prove himself, to demonstrate his worth and resilience, his ability to pick up and move on. Jeremy didn’t know if it was the benefits of youth or Seth’s deep affection for Sam, but whatever the case, it was just a few short days before they’d packed their bags and set off down the road. And from there, central Texas had come and gone in a blur. He’d meant to push them, and push them he had. Hard. They had quite a bit of ground to cover and time was ticking fast.

Not surprisingly Seth kept his word. Those first few days they stopped more frequently than Jeremy would have liked, but soon enough they rediscovered their former rhythm. Red-faced and cheeks puffing, Seth kept his eyes on the road and pedaled as fast as he could. Sweat dripping from his forehead, he attacked the miles aggressively, as if he were punishing himself or making up for some unspoken failure.

Though Seth would never voice a request, at times Jeremy would force them to stop, rest, and eat. The last thing Jeremy wanted was for Seth to exert himself beyond his ability to recuperate overnight. And they needed their strength now. All of them. More than ever. The path, of late, had become more challenging. The three of them quickly learned that the eastern half of the United States was lower than the west. It was a gradient that began at sea level, an insidious incline so gradual that they didn’t notice it till just outside Texas. But once they did, it was all they could think about. The effort required to travel the same fifty miles in the east was incrementally higher in the west and evident by their unquenchable thirst, tangible in the burning of their legs. And it would only get harder from here, Jeremy thought. New Mexico and Arizona were higher still, and oxygen levels tended to parallel with increased elevation. As they crossed the miles the air would become thinner and thinner.

But they’d made decent progress and Jeremy was starting to feel good again. Until now. They were fifteen miles outside Odessa and Sam’s tire had blown. She’d swerved dangerously, yelping as she skidded to an ungraceful stop. And now here they were, stuck again and wondering how to proceed.

“Shit,” Jeremy swore aloud.

With an audible snap he clamped his mouth shut, unable to bite back the curse. He was such a damn fool. He hadn’t packed a spare. Damn it all to hell! Of all the foolish things he’d ever done, this had to rank among the top five. How could he have been so careless? How could he have forgotten something as important as this? Immediately his thoughts returned to the gleaming bikes set in pretty little rows—the ones in the dark supply closet of that U.T. dormitory over a thousand miles away. Good God, how he wanted to punch himself or tear his hair out. If only his father could see him now. Very impressive, he sneered at himself. Piss poor planning at it’s finest. Great work.

“You said a bad word,” Seth muttered absently. His eyes were fixed on the flattened rubber.

“Dad?” Sam’s eyes sparkled with fear. “What do we do now?”

Jeremy’s mind raced as he met her gaze. She’d been quiet since early that morning, reticent since he’d implanted the final disk. The reality of the situation seemed to weigh heavier on her mind with each passing day. He rolled his shoulders, tried to downplay the catastrophe, but the serrated edge of his voice gave him away. He forced himself to uncurl his fists.

“We find a tire shop. That’s all. We need to find a new inner tube or a whole new tire, but then we’ll be on our way again. It’s no big deal.” He forced a smile. “In fact, we may as well stock up while we’re at it. We’ll grab several tires. One for each of us. Just in case.”

“Yeah,” Seth added brightly. He seemed to sense Jeremy’s desperation and attempted to lighten the mood. “We’ll each get one and wear it on our backs like a sombrero.” He peered at the road sign ahead and pointed. “It says sixteen miles to Odessa. Is that a town?”

“Yup, that’s a town. So that’s where we’re headed.”

Sam’s caginess was dogged. “Dad, sixteen miles? We have to walk the bikes
sixteen
miles? That’ll take us all day. Can’t we do better than that?”

Jeremy considered their options. She had a point. On one hand maybe he should ride there himself, but what if one of his tires popped along the way? Given the number of miles they’d put on these tires, the fact that this hadn’t happened yet was quite remarkable. Each bike was likely to lose a tire at one point on this journey—twice or three times. They’d really just been lucky. He glanced at the sun, low and heavy in the west, and bit his lip. No. He couldn’t risk leaving the two of them here alone. That wasn’t an option. Night was approaching and though Odessa was only sixteen miles away, he had no idea where he’d go once he reached the city limits. He’d need to find a bike shop, sports store, or Walmart—one that wasn’t pillaged or picked over at that. The whole thing could take hours. Hell, it could even take days. He didn’t know what to expect.

He took a steadying breath and walked over to Sam’s bike. Okay. So all he had to do was get them to the city limits. Once he got them there, he could stash the bikes, locate a map, and begin to organize a search grid. They just had to get there, and to Sam’s point, each moment was precious. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered the minimal resources at hand.

“Well, I suppose the first thing we need to do is get this tire off and assess the damage beneath the rim.”

Sam backed away as he flipped the bike over and balanced it against the handlebars. He removed the tire by releasing the clamps then struggled to pull the rubber casing from the rim. The deflated tube was a limp eel inside the tread. He removed it disdainfully, stood and appraised the damage. Sam sure as hell couldn’t ride rubber-to-rim all the way to Odessa. So what then? Carefully he lifted the tube, held it to his ear, and listened for the spot where air whistled through rubber. Hearing nothing, he pinched and pushed at the remaining air till he located the leak. It was just a small hole and thankfully not a long tear. Hopefully he could temporarily plug it. He raised his glance to Sam.