Going Home (8 page)

“Good thing you’s on time. That ole woman’s mean as a cottonmouth,” he said while poking a thumb her direction.

“Knock it off, you old geezer!” she barked and threw a dish towel at him. He ducked like she was flinging a skillet at him.

“See what I gotta put up with?” You could tell these two old people were still in love. Actually it was more than that; they were two parts to one soul, inseparable. Edith walked over to the table and sat down, knocking James’s elbows off the table when she did.

“Mind yer manners, ole man, an’ say grace.” They each folded their hands and bowed their heads. I’m not a religious man, but I followed suit.

“Lord, thank you for the bounty before us. May it nourish our bodies, an’ thank you for Morgan showing up when he did. Lord, please keep Mandy and the youngins safe. An’, Lord, watch over Morgan on his travels. Amen.” And in true Baptist tradition, he continued, “Let’s eat!”

Supper was awesome. Everything we had was grown on the land they owned. The beef was from a steer that Mr. James bought and butchered himself. He explained he bought one every year from a fella down the road and processed it himself. Some of it they canned; some they froze. This was from what had been in the freezer; Ms. Edith went to canning everything as soon as the power went out. They had a propane stove; but as Mr. James explained, they had a wood cookstove that belonged to his grandmother out in the barn that he would put in when the gas ran out. The talk was light and enjoyable, like eating with a couple of old friends. The hard veneer Ms. Edith put out was a true front. She was a sweet woman; she stuffed more food in me than I knew I could hold.

“There’s a spare bed in the sewin’ room. You can sleep in there.” She was clearing the table and pilling dishes in the sink.

I stood with a couple of dishes in my hand and headed for the sink. “I appreciate it, ma’am, but I’ll stay next door. There’s a few things I need to do over there. But thank you.”

She turned to look at me. “Give me those! I’ll take care of this; you git. No guest in my house is cleanin’ up supper!” She took the dishes out of my hands and shooed me out of the kitchen.

“Don’t worry, son, she don’t let me help out in there. I get even though. I don’t let her in my shop!” He chuckled.

“Breakfast’ll be ready about six. I ’spect you’ll be here,” she said over her shoulder.

“Mr. James, I appreciate it. Supper was terrific, but I really don’t want to impose.” I felt kinda bad, these good folks giving me food they can’t replace.

“Son, I weren’t askin’. We’re fine. If you ain’t here, I’ll send Edith over fer ya. Your choice.” He was looking at me sideways with a squint.

“I have a feelin’ I’d rather sandpaper a wildcat’s ass than tangle with her.” That got him to laughing.

“You’re a pretty smart kid. I’ll see you in the morning. By the way, there’s a jug of kerosene on the back porch for that heater.” He stuck out his hand, and I took it. “Thank you for what you done today, son. I mean that.” He held onto my hand while he said it and then continued, “You’re a good man, an’ I hope you git where yer goin’.” With that, we shook hands.

“Thank you, Mr. James. I appreciate it. But I’m just a regular guy.”

“Good night, son. See you in the morning,” he said as he turned to go into the house.

“Good night, Mr. James, and tell Miss Edith thank you for supper. She’s a real hoot.” With that, I headed back to the house.

“Oh, by the way, if ya need any water, there’s a pitcher pump out back of my place. Jus’ help yourself.”

“Thanks, that’ll be great,” I replied.

The house was dark when I went inside. Taking my flashlight from the right cargo pocket, I lit my way inside. From my pack, I took out the Glo-Toob and turned it on and the flashlight off. Using this, I went back to where the bucket of laundry was and carried it into the living room. I found my headlamp in the pack and put it on. Carrying the laundry, I went over to the back of James’s house. After pouring off the soapy water, I pumped the handle on the old pump, covering the clothes again. I agitated the water until it was soapy again, repeating this process until the water was clearish. I wrung out the clothes, getting as much as I could out of them. Laying them over my arm, I headed back to the house.

After laying the wet laundry on the kitchen counter, I went back to the living room and pulled the fuel tank from the heater. It was an old catalytic style heater; I had two of them in the shop back at the house. On the back porch, I filled the tank and returned to the heater and dropped it back in. Going through the startup procedure, I got the heater lit. As it was warming up, I looked around the living room for a place to make a clothesline. By the door were a couple of coat hooks. The only other thing I could find was one of the latches on a window. Taking a roll of 550 cord from my pack, I tied one end to the latch and stretched it across the room. About a foot from the coat hook, I tied a loop in the line and then wrapped it around the coat hook. Running the loose end through the loop, I pulled it back using the added leverage to get it tight and secured it with a couple of half hitches. With the line in place, I moved the heater so it was close but not under the line, and hung my clothes up. It took a couple of adjustments to get the line tight enough to hold them off the floor.

The sofa was going to be my bed for the night. There were a couple of throw pillows on it; they would do fine. I laid the poncho liner on the sofa and sat down. Between the orange glow of the heater and the light from the Glo-Toob, the room was sufficiently lit. I dragged the pack over to the sofa and fished out my radio and set the alarm for five thirty. I didn’t want to get woken up with a willer switch in the morning. This thought brought a smile to my face. Not that Edith would do it; I don’t think so, but it was kinda funny.

I walked back to the bedroom, lighting the way with my LED flashlight, and pushed open the door. Lonnie’s mocs were sticking out from under the comforter. The light glinting off the spent shell casing caught my eye. Kneeling down, I picked it up and rolled it around in my hand. Tomorrow we had to do something with these bodies. Walking out, I tossed the casing back on the floor and closed the door. In the bathroom, I opened the medicine cabinet again. There wasn’t really anything there—makeup, a bottle of glycerin, and some odds ’n’ ends. I thought about taking the makeup, but none of it was my shade. This made me chuckle and started an interesting conversation with myself.

He-he, now you’re slipping.
My mind spoke out.

Maybe, but imagine the look on the zombie’s face if you were walking around in full makeup and a ghillie suit! Think Eddie Izzard!
This actually caused me to laugh out loud, thinking of his bit about infantry in drag.

Back in the living room, I flopped onto the sofa and turned off the little lamp. Lying there, I started to think of home and my girls. I hoped they were okay. We did everything we could with what we had. I know we were miles ahead of most folks but nowhere near where I wanted to be. Danny and Bobbie were down the road, and I knew they would be there to help; after all, the girls lived at their house half the time as it was. Danny always wanted kids, but Bobbie wouldn’t. Since Bobbie is Mel’s aunt and only a couple years older than her, the kids havd grown up with them, and they treated them like their own. The orange glow of the heater was the last thing I saw before drifting off.

After brushing my teeth and putting my boots on, I headed for the door, using my flashlight to get around with. I picked up the XD from the coffee table and tucked the holster in my waistband and clipped the knife onto my belt. I stepped out on the porch; it was cold, and I could see my breath. I slipped the Carhartt on. Looking over at James’s house, the windows were full of a warm orange glow. Smoke was coming from a stack, and James was standing on the porch holding a coffee cup. He raised the cup to me. “Mornin’, neighbor.”

“Mornin’, Mr. James,” I replied and walked over to him.

“You hungry?” he asked as he took a sip of steaming brew.

“I could eat.” I patted my stomach.

“Good, Edith has a big spread laid out. An’ you better fill yerself up,” he said, jutting the cup out toward me.

“I will; if it’s half as good as supper was, it ain’t gonna be hard. Mr. James, after breakfast, can I borrow a shovel?” I asked.

“Sure, but whut fer?” he replied with raised brows.

“Well, I need to dig a couple of graves, I guess. Can’t really leave ’em like this.” I nodded toward the corpse lying in the yard next door.

“Well, I been thinkin’ on that. My tractor has a bucket on the front. We’ll use that to carry ’em out to the woods. Then I’ll scoop out as much as I can. We shouldn’t have to hand dig much. Let’s go en eat. We’ll worry about that later.” He grabbed my shoulder, and we headed into the house.

Inside, Ms. Edith truly did have a spread laid out. As I came through the door, she called out to me without even turning around from the stove, “How do you like your hen apples?”

“Over medium if isn’t any trouble, Miss Edith,” I answered.

“Ain’t no trouble. You take a seat, and they’ll be there in a minute.” She was busy cracking eggs on the edge of a coal black cast iron skillet.

I took a seat, and Mr. James sat down beside me. “Coffee?” I held up my cup, and he filled it. “We got powdered creamer, if ya want it, an’ sugar.” He reached behind his back to a little set of triangular shelves built into the corner of the kitchen and set them out.

I doctored my coffee, and Miss Edith set a plate of three perfectly cooked eggs in front of me.

“Help yerself.”

On the table was a bowl of grits, a plate of perfectly browned biscuits, and another bowl of what I assumed was sausage gravy. And to top it off was a plate of thick, fat bacon lying on paper towels. Mmmm, bacon. I loaded my plate, putting the grits ’n’ gravy right on top of the eggs and chopped it all up together. A generous dashing of black pepper, and my mouth was watering.

Miss Edith came to the table and sat down. While we ate, we talked about family. Miss Edith told me they had a nephew that was “plain white trash,” as she put it, and didn’t claim him. They didn’t have any other family in the area. I talked of my family and where I was going. They both expressed their hope for me to make it.

We talked of what happened only five days ago and what had happened since and some “what may come.” Even with talking about some of the more sinister aspects of what was going on, we had a great breakfast. These two people were very comfortable to be around. Mr. James and Miss Edith cut up a little, and after a few minutes of back and forth, we were all giggling at the table with mouthfuls of biscuit, eggs, ’n’ gravy. I was mopping my plate with the last bite of my second biscuit; there was one left on the plate. Miss Edith picked it up and dropped it on my plate, went to the pantry, and came back with a jar of strawberry preserves. Now, I love Smucker’s preserves. She spun the lid off the jar. “I made these myself.”

“They taste like soap.” James fired off as he was taking a sip of coffee. He obviously wasn’t thinking clearly. Edith reached over and tipped his elbow, and he spilled coffee down his shirt.

“Dang it, old woman!” he hollered as he pulled his shirt up to get the hot coffee off his chest.

“Serves you right, old man. Tastes like soap. I guess that’s why you done ’n’ ate two jars of ’em!” she barked at him.

I got a chuckle out of that one. She threw him her ever-present dish towel, and he mopped at his chest as I dug a spoon into the jar and piled preserves onto my biscuit. Putting the two halves back together, red gooey goodness mashed out all around it. I took a bite. Soap my ass!

“Mmm, ah, Miss Edith, this is great. Like sunshine in a jar.” I licked jam off my fingers and from around the edge of the biscuit. “What kinda soap do you use, and where do you get it?” She started to cackle, and James choked on a sip of coffee.

With breakfast done and my belly tighter ’n a drum, Miss Edith went about cleaning up. James stood up. “Let’s go ’n’ get the tractor started. It’s an old ’n’ cold-natured beast.” He headed toward the door.

“Jus’ like you.” Edith popped over her shoulder. He stopped in the door, looked at me, and shook his head.

I had never seen the back of the house in the light. There was a nice barn; off to the left side was a huge woodpile. The old tractor sat beside it in the barn, a workbench running along the length of the barn on the other side. There was a large garden plot. Collards were coming up along with other cold weather crops. These folks would do just fine.

James took a can of starting fluid off the work bench; turning to the tractor, he sprayed a quick shot into the air cleaner on the old tractor. He set the can down and adjusted the choke and hit the starter. It rumbled for a couple of turns and then caught and started, banging hard with the ether in the cylinders. Thick white smoke belched from the exhaust stack with every chug of the engine. While the tractor was warming up, James went into a door on the barn and came back with a couple of shovels and tossed ’em into the bucket with a clang.

“I’ll meet you round front. We’ll load him up, then take the other’n out the back door.” I nodded to him and headed over to the house.

Walking between the houses, I heard the tractor throttle up and then go into gear, and with a moan, it was moving. I was standing there, looking at the body when he came around from the far side of his house and pulled up, dropping the bucket down and tilting it back slightly. Climbing down off the tractor, he looked down. “Hell of a thing. A dead man layin’ in the front yard all night an’ no one comes ’round. Let’s get this business over with,” he said as he reached down.

I stepped up to Thomas’s shoulders; reaching down I grabbed the coat. James grabbed the cold, stiff legs. Rigor had set in; with the cold, he was stiff as a board. We hefted him up and tossed the body in the bucket. It lay in the bucket at an awkward angle; it didn’t look real. James climbed up on the tractor, and I went into the house and opened the back door. While he was pulling around back, I rolled Lonnie up in the blanket. Grabbing the ends of it, I pulled him across the old knotty pine floors to the back door. James already had the bucket raised; I slid the bundle across the porch and dropped the end I had in the bucket then grabbed the other end and flipped the stiff body on top of the other.