Tammy and Ringo (17 page)

In reality it hadn't been that long. In less than fifteen minutes from when Hiram had used the forks to lift Mack Bodine's body from the ground, he was tilting the forks to drop his neighbor's body into a dumpster as Tammy stood lookout for him. Backing away as the body fell inside, Hiram positioned the tractor where he could see into the dumpster and upended the gas can inside it, saturating the body of his one-time fishing buddy. The guy he knew.

Just a guy I knew. That's all.

Once he was done Hiram moved away from the dumpster and dismounted the tractor, leaving it idling. He motioned for Tammy to retreat and she obeyed. Hiram took a road flare from the tractor and lit it, allowing it to spark fully into life before tossing it toward the dumpster.

He hadn't used much gas, less than a quart by his estimation. The fumes had already formed an invisible cloud around the dumpster and they ignited before the tossed flare even reached the trash bin. A loud whump that seemed to shake the ground was followed by a flash of fire. By the time Tammy had looked back toward the dumpster flames were licking at the sky from within. She looked at Hiram but the man was stoic as he watched.

They stood there for perhaps two full minutes watching the flames before Hiram turned back to the tractor.

“It ain't goin' nowhere,” he told her, climbing back into the seat. “Let's get home. We're too exposed out here like this. Even if it gets out, rain soaked everything. It's fine.” Tammy nodded and got back into her car, turning around in the road as Hiram moved away toward home. She caught up easily and resumed her post behind him. As they neared the house she called Helen to tell her they were almost to the gate. There was no reply, but Tammy could see the gate opening as Hiram approached it. Soon they were both back through the gate and it was closing behind them.

As she parked her car, she noted Helen on the porch with the shotgun, a grim look on her normally cheerful and pleasant face. Tammy was sure the look on her own face matched it. She had allowed herself to believe she was safe here. And she might be.

Then again, Mack Bodine had opened that gate. As she got out of her car she looked southeast, the direction Ringo had gone. She wished he were here. She trusted Hiram but Ringo was a known quantity. She knew for a fact that he was more than capable of making a difference.

If he wasn't infected himself, that is. That thought brought her crashing back to reality. There was a lot to do today, considering what they had learned. Might have learned, she corrected herself. She could think about Ringo later once she had helped make sure that Birdsong Bed and Breakfast was really secure.

*****

Hiram was reclining on the front porch when he realized something was wrong. Something was missing...

“Where the hell is my phone?” he asked aloud, looking around the porch as he patted down his pockets. Nothing. He walked inside, checking the vestibule and then the counter in the kitchen. Still nothing.

“What is it, dear?” Helen asked from the table where she was cutting potatoes for supper.

“I can't find my satellite phone,” he replied, still absently patting his pockets even though he'd already checked them.

“Where did you last have it?” Helen asked.

“You can use mine,” Tammy offered at almost the same instant.

“Ringo won't have the number for yours,” Hiram shook his head. “And I've had it with me all the time since he left. I must have dropped it when we carried the body off,” he all but groaned. There was no telling where the phone was or if it was undamaged.

“I don't think so,” Tammy shook her head. “I was watching pretty close, Hiram, and I didn't see anything going or coming. Are you sure you had it with you when we left?”

“Of course I. . .” he stopped.

“The bench,” he almost breathed the words. “I left it on the bench where I was sitting this morning. I forgot it after Mac. . .after this morning,” he corrected himself. He walked away headed for the bench. Tammy and Helen followed after to help look in case the phone wasn't there.

It was there. Blinking.

“Shit,” Hiram muttered, his step increasing slightly. “Shit, shit, SHIT!”

“Hiram,” Helen chided gently.

“I left the son-of-a-bitch and Ringo tried to call!” Hiram almost yelled but caught himself. He held the phone up so the other two could see the screen. “Dammit!” He punched a series of numbers, calling the teen back. Ringo might be in trouble and he had forgotten the damn phone!

He listened as the phone rang and rang some more. It kept ringing until the service interrupted to tell him that the number he was attempting to call was not available at the moment and then disconnected.

“Not available?” Hiram looked at the phone incredulously. “What the hell do you mean not available! It's a damn sat phone! The whole point is that you're always available!”

“Hiram!” Helen's voice was stronger this time. “Control yourself. You aren't on a parade field.” Hiram glared at her and for just an instant Tammy saw a glimpse of what Hiram must have been like when he was in the field. Just as quickly it was gone.

“Sorry,” he muttered to both, looking back to the phone. “Dammit, he tried to call me and I left the damn phone sitting here!”

“You were attacked this morning,” Tammy pointed out. “And we had to check the fence and dump the body. It's not like you were just ignoring him.”

“You don't get it,” Hiram managed not to snarl. “When someone's in Indian country you do not leave them hanging. There is always someone for them to contact, even if there's nothing that can be done to help them. I left Ringo hanging.” He spat the last four words out as if they were a foul taste in his mouth.

“He could have been calling to say he was in trouble, to warn us of trouble coming our way, or to tell us. . . .” He trailed off.

“Tell us he's infected,” Tammy finished for him evenly. “We get it, Hiram. It's not your fault.”

“It's all my fault!” Hiram shot back and again made a visible effort to get control of himself. “I'm the one who sent him out there! He wouldn't even be in this predicament if it wasn't for me and now I've just left him hanging when he may have really needed to talk to me!” He almost threw the now hated phone into the river but caught himself just in time. Replacing it now would be a cast iron bitch.

“Hiram, calm down,” Helen ordered briskly. “He will call again and this time you'll have the phone with you. Until then that is enough of this nonsense.” Tammy watched how Helen handled the situation, wondering if she would someday have to do the same thing for Ringo. As soon as the thought hit her, it jarred her to the core.

Why would she have to 'handle' Ringo? She wasn't his wife, or even his girlfriend. She didn't need to know how to deal with this. Did she?

“Now, I have work to do,” Helen was saying. “And so do you two. I suggest you be about it.” With that she turned and started back to the house, her back straight.

“Well, she told you,” Tammy said smugly, trying to get Hiram to think about something else. She needed to think about something else too.

“I think that should be she told 'us', young lady,” Hiram snorted, eyebrows raised. “She's right. We do have work to do.” He pocketed the phone, determined not to let it out of arm's reach again. Not until Ringo was back.

“He'll be okay, Hiram,” Tammy said softly, wondering all the time if she was reassuring him or herself.

“I'm sure he will,” Hiram nodded, wondering the same thing. The two of them followed Helen back to the house in silence after that. There really wasn't anything else to say, anyway.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Supper was a subdued affair at Birdsong House. Tammy and Helen had set a good table and the three of them had eaten hardy, but had done so in silence. Afterward Tammy washed up as Helen cleared the table and put away the leftovers. Just as they were finishing up the lights began to flicker. Helen stopped for a moment, almost as if considering something. Suddenly she walked straight to the back door and opened a utility door in the wall that Tammy hadn't even realized was there. Without a word of warning she flipped a series of breakers in the box and the house went dark.

“The power is going,” she told Tammy calmly. “We have solar power to backup the meter but it won't pull everything in the house. We'll have to prioritize from now on.” She opened a drawer near the sink and removed a flashlight. The beam cut across the darkened kitchen.

“Hold this for me,” Helen told the younger woman, and Tammy took the light. Helen returned to the drawer and removed three candles and a lighter. She set one on the bar, one on the counter and the third on the table, lighting each one as she went. She reached out to take the light then.

“I'll go and make sure Hiram is okay,” she smiled. “He's afraid of the dark, you know,” she added and Tammy had to laugh in spite of herself. Chuckling softly Helen went in search of her husband, leaving Tammy in the candlelit kitchen.

She had never imagined the power going out and now that it had she couldn't understand why it hadn't occurred to her. Power had to be generated somewhere and that meant people had to be on the job to make that happen. If too many were sick then there would be no power generated.

Hence no electricity. She shook her head at her naiveté. She was smarter than this. She'd been taught better, too. Military bases were targets in peacetime as well as wartime and her father had taught her how things could happen and what to expect.

She blamed her absentmindedness on the loss of her home, the traumatic experience of her trip after leaving Memphis, including her near victimization at the hands of three thugs, the brief call from her father that had sounded like the last time she would ever hear his voice, the list went on and on.

Added to all of that was the fact that Ringo, someone she was really starting to care for, was out in the mess the world had become sweating out whether or not he was infected. He was probably no more than ten miles away but he might as well be on the moon for all the help she could offer him.

Tammy Gleason was not accustomed to being helpless. She was strong, intelligent, and, as Hiram had pointed out, she was the daughter of a warrior. She was not a silly 'Deb', as Ringo had said, prone to flights of hysteria and panic.

“So it's time to start acting like it, Tammy,” she murmured to herself. She stood suddenly and took the small, but powerful, flashlight from a pouch on her belt. It was a small kit of things she might need in an emergency including a multi-tool, lock blade knife and this tiny AAA flashlight. No bigger than a pen, it produced a wonderfully bright light in the now darkened house. Using the light, she made her way to the library.

It was time to start studying up on what she needed to know if she was going to keep on surviving in this new world and Hiram was bound to have some books she could use to prepare herself better. She ignored the sound of voices from the porch where Helen had found Hiram. The latter had apparently lit a lantern as one was burning on the table. She could hear them talking but not enough to make out what was being said. And it wasn't her business. She had work to do, anyway.

*****

“I can crank the genny if you want,” Hiram said softly, looking out into the dark. While they were isolated here there were always lights visible in the distance, more so in the fall and winter when the leaves were off. There were no lights at the moment. He had observed the same flickering from  them that Helen had noted in the kitchen before they had gone out and not come back on.

“We don't need it and we may need the fuel worse later,” Helen replied, laying a hand gently on her husband's arm. “Hiram, I know you're worried, but remember this. If he is infected, there's no help for him and so there's no point in worrying about it. If he isn't then he is wonderfully capable, as you yourself have noted. He can take care of himself. I seem to recall that when you were his age you were sneaking into North Korea to play. . .'tag' I think you called it.” Hiram's head snapped around at that.

“Who told you that?!” he demanded. “That's Top Secret!”

“Nothing is over the clearance level of an Army wife, Colonel Hiram Tompkins. You should know that by now.” Helen managed to keep any trace of smugness from her face as she spoke. Hiram stared at her for almost a full minute during which Helen calmly met his gaze. Finally he turned and looked back out at the river. Or toward it since it was stone black dark.

“Whoever told you that should be tried for treason,” he muttered, and Helen actually laughed at that which only seemed to make Hiram more determined.

“They should!” he insisted. “That's the kind of thing that can start a war, right there!” Even as he said it, she saw the light dawn in his eyes. He shook his head finally, laughing at himself. The world was burning up with fever and he was still worried that something he had done nearly three decades ago was going to start an incident. He really needed to reassess.

“That's more like it,” Helen encouraged. She knew that her husband felt responsible for Ringo and his current predicament, but there really wasn't anything he could do and it was time for him to accept that. There was too much happening for him to be distracted.

“You may want to move any keepsakes and mementos, pictures and the like, to the bunker tomorrow,” his voice broke into her thoughts. “just in case.”

“You think it will come to that?”

“No idea,” he admitted with a shrug. “But if it does then you may not have time to gather them up. It's just a precaution. That's all.”

“All right,” Helen nodded, sobered by the thought. They had made similar moves in the past, but very rarely. Each had been a false alarm, but sometimes it had been close.

“Don't fret too much,” Hiram told her, leaning back. “We're isolated, we're well-provisioned and we're well-armed. There's not much reason for anyone to be out this way unless it's fishing and if they're fishing they shouldn't be a problem for us. Shouldn't be,” he stressed. “If they are, we'll deal with it. The bunker is just in case, like it always has been.”

Helen nodded again but remained silent. She heard something behind her and turned to see a light in the library. She excused herself and got up from the table, going inside to check on Tammy. She found the younger woman looking through the titles on the shelves.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Helen asked, moving to Tammy's side.

“No, ma'am,” Tammy shook her head. “I just realized that I've been living with my head somewhere dark and smelly the last three or four days and it's time to take it out,” she grinned, and Helen laughed.

“I think that's the nicest way I've ever heard that phrased,” she admitted.

“Learned if from Lucinda,” Tammy smiled at the memory. “Anyway, I just thought I'd see what there was in here for me to read up on. This looks like it could be long term if not permanent and I'm not sure I know enough to keep up or be useful. So it's time to change that.” Helen heard the steel in Tammy's voice and almost smiled. This young woman was made of stern stuff. She would do.

“Well, let's start with these,” Helen led here to a collection of books on the lower shelves behind her desk. “These are rather old I admit, but the information in there is priceless if you need it and don't have it. They aren't exactly a How To series, but rather stories and anthologies of people who lived through what we call 'old times' nowadays. Many of them tell how they lived without electricity or modern conveniences, how they cured this or that, and how they made things they needed. There aren't always detailed instructions but it's still a good place to start.” She paused, looking at Tammy closely.

“If this is as bad as it looks, Tammy, then we may be looking at a return to that kind of living. Knowing how things were done way back when is a good place to start in preparing yourself for that eventuality.”

“Where would you start?” Tammy asked.

“Why, at the beginning dear. That's always the best place.” She took the first volume and handed it over.

“Enjoy.”

*****

Ringo stirred slowly, fighting his way out of a deep sleep as his bladder insisted that he get up. He rose slowly since he was stiff and sore from his impromptu exercise session earlier. He stumbled into the bathroom to relieve his bladder, hitting the light switch as he went.

Nothing.

He flicked the switch again and then once more for good measure, though he wasn't sure what that would accomplish exactly. Shaking his head he used his flashlight to take care of his business and then went to check the rest of the house. No power anywhere.

“Well, it was too good to last,” he muttered, glad that he had washed his clothes earlier. No more hot showers either. He sighed mightily at that one having really enjoyed having that option. It was amazing how just two days in the 'wild' could sharpen your appreciation of modern appliances.

He made his way around the small house checking out the windows. It was dark outside, not a light in sight anywhere. So the power's out all over, then, he thought to himself, figures.

Ringo had expected the power to go out, but had assumed it would be in another few days. So much for optimism. He made his way back to the bedroom and checked his temperature. 100.5°. He frowned.

That was lower than before. Wasn't it? He closed his eyes in resignation.

“Why in the hell didn't I think to write that down?” he asked the wall. Wall had no answer for him, of course. He quickly scratched out his temperature on the inside cover of his notebook. It had been. . . what? 100.9° before? Yeah, he was pretty sure that was right. So his temperature was falling. That was definitely a good sign. At least he fervently hoped it was.

He shook two more Ibuprofen out of the bottle and swallowed them with a healthy drink of water. With nothing else to do and no way to do much in the dark, Ringo lay back on the bed and tried to get comfortable. His temperature was falling. He couldn't tell if he was sore or not from infection since he was sore from his calisthenics earlier. Still, he felt better than he had this time the day before. At least as far as he could remember he did, anyway. His head didn't seem as off as before and he hadn't bled anymore, either.

Maybe I'm going to be okay, was his last thought before sleep claimed him again. He never once thought to check the sat phone.