The Last Tribe (39 page)

Craig slept in the third row bed. 
Matt and John drove quickly towards Hartford, Connecticut.  Once they got onto
a highway, they drove as fast as the conditions allowed.  The snow was
dangerous, but the chains on the tires gave enough traction for a safe 60 miles
per hour. 

“We have a decision to make when we
get to Hartford.”  John told Matt.  “We can drive towards Boston and check to
see if Greg stayed at Hightower, maybe consider looking for survivors, or we
can skip Boston and drive directly to Hanover, doubling back to Boston from
Hanover if we don’t find Greg up there.”

“I’m still not sure what’s going
on.  Why did we suddenly jump in the car and drive to Hanover?  I thought we
were waiting until Sunday.”  Matt envied his youngest brother, sleeping in the
back seat bed. 

John could not take his eyes off
the road, he was driving too quickly over the ice and snow, but he wanted to
look at his son and let Matt see the sadness in his father’s face.  “I couldn’t
wait, I’m sorry.  I miss my son.  I can’t take not knowing if he is alive.  If
the snow was that low in New York, there is a good chance it’s melted up in New
Hampshire.  Maybe we can get through.  It’s a sunny day, the snow will be
slushy, easier to manage.” 

“You just woke up and couldn’t take
it?  I mean, I’m excited we are finally going to find Greg, but I don’t get
it.”  Matt looked out the window at the scenery racing by. 

“I’m sorry if I’m scaring you or
causing confusion.  I was at a breaking point.  I can’t sleep, I’m not eating
as much as I should.  I had to go.”  He paused.  “What do you think?  Hanover
or Boston?” 

“Hanover” Matt said with
confidence. 

“Agreed.”  John replied.  “He’s in
Hanover, you and I know it.”

Matt looked at his watch, double
checking the time he read on the dashboard clock.  “It’s only 7:30?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well, I didn’t get breakfast,
Craig didn’t eat, we just hooked up and left.  I’m not even sure I have
clothes.”

“Don’t be such a wimp.  We’ll find
you some clothes up there.  Grab some of the cereal from the box in the seat
behind you.  All Todd’s home cooking as made you soft.  Time to toughen up,
enjoy the adventure.”  John teased his son. 

“I’ll be okay.”  Matt whined. “It’s
just, I could have gotten some breakfast.”  He reached behind his seat and
pulled out a box of corn cereal.  He looked for something else, anything else,
and found only a bottle of water.

“Are we out of the breakfast
shakes?  I get dry corn cereal and water?  Come on!”

“Soft, this new life has made you
soft.  Unbelievable.”

“I can tell this is going to be a
fun ride.  I hope there is food up there.  Food that hasn’t gone rotten in the
last 6 months, or burst from being frozen.”

“Soft.”  John repeated. 
“Marshmallow soft.”

They reached Hartford in 90
minutes.  After Philadelphia and New York, John believed there was little
chance survivors stayed in the northern cities.  Finding the New York survivors
was a fluke, a mistake made by people who did not leave when they should have. 
As John drove further north, to colder cities, he assumed they were empty. 
What could keep a person in Hartford?  The ocean was 200 miles east.  “I’d have
gone to Providence, if I stayed up north at all.”  John thought to himself. 
“Being near water is a must.”

“Are we stopping?”  Matt asked.  It
was the first thing he said since their breakfast debate.  “You think anyone is
here?”

“If we come through, honk our
horns, maybe survivors will be ready for the caravan tomorrow.  No, I don’t
want to stop.  We have a tough drive left, lots of turns and probably snow
covered roads.  I don’t want to wait and talk to any survivors.  It will take
too long.”

“So unless someone flags us down or
runs in front of the car…”  Matt said jokingly.

“I’ll slow down and yell where
we’re going, how’s that?”  John said back.

“What’s going on?”  Craig sat up,
waking from the conversation.  “Did you carry me from bed and put me in the
Suburban?  Where are we?”  He was confused.

Matt turned around in his seat. 
“We left to find Greg.  The rest will follow us tomorrow.  We decided, as a
family, that we waited long enough.  It is time to get our brother.  What do
you think?”

“Awesome!”  Craig yelled.  “But
what’s for breakfast?”  He leaned over to look in the trunk area of the SUV. 
“Oh, never mind, I found a box of breakfast shakes.”

Matt glared at his father.

“Yeah, that’s where I put the
breakfast stuff.  Sorry about that.  I knew we had it somewhere.”

Craig flipped Matt a milkshake. 

John turned on the CD player.  He
respected Craig’s sleep time, but Craig was awake now so the music came on.

Two hours after Hartford the road
became tricky with lingering snow.  John was forced to reduce his speed.  They
hit patches of ice on overpasses and perpetually shady spots on the highway.  Most
of the time there was a single strip of clear road.  John kept his right tires
in the strip for traction.  The snow, while a hazard, was soft and slushy. 
John was confident he could make it to New Hampshire, but it was going to take time. 
Towing a heavy trailer full of animals did not help his situation.

“We’ll make it, I just didn’t
realize it would take us all day.”  He explained as they passed a sign that
read, ‘Lebanon – 21 miles.’

Matt slapped Craig on the back. 
“That’s where we’re going.  21 miles!”  He rolled down his window and yelled. 
“We’re coming for you Greg!”

John slowed the Suburban to 35
miles per hour.  “Probably an hour unless we hit a clear patch, or a bad
patch.”  John checked the fuel gauge.  They still had over half a tank.  He
looked at Matt.  “Give him another yell.  Tell him it will be an hour.”

Matt rolled his window down again
and repeated his father’s statement.  Eight months of heart ache were coming to
an end.  John felt like he could run the last miles if needed.

50 minutes later they were looking
down at West Lebanon’s shopping centers as they drove slowly over the frozen
bridges.  The SUV was silent, hoping Greg was alright, praying they would find
him in Hanover at John’s childhood home.  The drive was slow, but thankfully
uneventful.  John kept his speed low, and the truck with trailer under
control. 

They approached the exit ramp to
Norwich, Vermont and stopped at the top.  John inspected the exit’s condition. 
“Just snow, it doesn’t look like the ice is too bad.  I’m going to take it
slowly.”  He let up on the break and inched the truck down the ramp.  The
chained tires gripped the snow, and they had no issues.  John continued his slow
pace down the small hill towards the bridge spanning the Connecticut River and
separating Norwich from Hanover.  Matt pointed across the bridge.

“Is that a jeep?  It doesn’t have
any snow on it.  It’s parked in the road.  Wait, does Greg know how to drive?” 

“Maybe he learned.”  Craig replied.

“It’s possible, or there could be
another person here.  Maybe Greg found someone.  Look at the worn tire marks
from the bridge into Norwich.  Whatever the situation, it tells me that
Wheelock Street is too icy to go up.  We’ll have to walk from here.  It’s not
far, don’t worry.”  John pulled the Suburban next to the Jeep and turned it
off.  “I hope you brought your snow boots.”

“I’m not sure I brought a jacket.” 
Craig said, looking around the backseat.

“It’s 48.  I think you’ll live in
your sweatshirt.”  Matt rubbed his brother’s hair.  “Have the last few weeks
made you soft or something?  Unbelievable.”  Matt’s wry smile was pointed at
John.

“We’ll come back for the animals,
figure out a different way into Hanover.  It might require us to drive back
through Lebanon where the hills aren’t as bad.”  John pulled a backpack out of
the Suburban and stuffed water and power bars into it.  He did not know if he
would find Greg thirsty and hungry like the people in New York or healthy like
the people in D.C.  He prepared for both.

The Dixon men walked up the hill,
following the footprints left by Hank and Greg that morning.  “There is at
least one person here, and they’ve used this hill a bunch of times.  I’m not a
tracker, but I swear there are two sets of footprints.  There is fishing tackle
in the jeep.  There must be a good fishing spot for the person to drive to. 
Maybe in Norwich?”  Matt enjoyed a good mystery.  He knew his brother did not
know how to drive, and self teaching was an interesting theory, but not
probable.

“Dad’s fishing club.”  John said to
himself.  “There’s a fully stocked trout pond, you both remember, right?  How
would he remember that?  How could he even find it?”

“Greg must have remembered.”  Craig
was getting excited.

At the top of the hill they looked
into the town and at the buildings surrounding the Dartmouth Green.  The leaves
from autumn poked through melted patches of snow.  It was just after 3pm.  

“It’s so peaceful, just like
everywhere else we’ve been.”  Matt spun around.  “It’s nice after New York.  I
thought that place was creepy.  All those buildings and windows?  I felt like
people were watching us.”

“Me too!  That’s so funny.  I
stayed in the trailer because I didn’t like looking up at the buildings.” 
Craig laughed, happy someone else was scared of New York.

“Come on.”  John turned left on
Main Street.  “We can come back and check out the town later.  Let’s get to the
house and see if anyone is there.”  They walked briskly, a purpose to their
steps.

The snow was a few inches deep on
the street.  The men were not prepared.  Even though they stayed in a well worn
path from town, their sneakers were soaked.  They walked about 200 yards down
Main when they noticed a port-a-john one road over from them.  It was sitting
on its side next to a storm drain.  There was a patch of road shoveled out
around the blue plastic rectangle.  A dumpster top sat next to the bathroom.

“That was recent.  Someone shoveled
the snow.”  John looked around.  “How did he haul a heavy bathroom over to a
storm drain?  Why did he haul a heavy bathroom over to a storm drain?”  They
walked between two administration buildings and inspected the plastic box. 
There was a snowmobile track behind the bathroom.  “Let’s follow this.  It must
lead somewhere.”  They stepped into the path made by the sled used to haul the
bathroom.  “Two snowmobile treads.  I know your brother doesn’t know how to
ride a snowmobile, and even if he could, I doubt he could ride two at the same
time.  There is someone up here with him, or two people with him.”

They walked down the road,
following the trail.  The tracks passed a large white building used to raise
money for Dartmouth College and turned left on Main Street. 

Matt continued to inspect the area.
“The town looks intact.  No looting or fires or crazy damage.  It looks
peaceful and empty.” 

John turned to his sons.  “This is
leading us to my old house.  He must have found a port-o-john to use when the
pipes froze or the water gave out.  Smart thinking.  We’re going to take a left
at the top of Choate road, walk right down my old street.”  John’s heart beat
quickly.  No one else would move into that house except Greg.  He was alive. 
“I used to drive down this road every day in an old Ford station wagon.  The
high school is on the other side of town.”

“We know, Dad, we’ve heard the
stories.”  Craig rolled his eyes, and turned to Matt.  “Do you know how bad it
is going to be when Uncle Paul shows up?  The two of them together in Hanover? 
I’ll be going to bed at 7 just to get away from it all.”

Matt laughed at his younger
brother.  “I’ll probably join you.  It’s going to get bad.”

“That’s enough from you two.  I do
not tell that many stories.”  Did he?  John started thinking, maybe he did tell
too many stories when he and Paul got together. 

“My feet are soaked.”  Matt looked
down at his wet shoes.  “I really should have packed some boots.”  Matt bumped
into his father.  “Whoa.”  He said.  “Sorry.”

John was stopped at a white house
near the corner of Main street and Choate road.  Smoke billowed out of the
chimney.  The front path was cleared using a snow blower.  There was a clean
trail from the front door heading towards the golf course.  The sign in front
of the house read “Webster Cottage.”

Matt looked at his father, then
back at the house.  “Mom made us take a tour here.  Daniel Webster lived in
there, or slept there, or something, I couldn’t figure out what he did, but
it’s some historic cottage built in the late 1700’s.  It has a woodstove and fireplaces
in every room.  It’s a smart place to live.”  He looked at Craig.  “Do you
remember that tour?  It was like 85 in Hanover, and Mom made us go in that tiny
house that did not have air conditioning, and walk around while some lady
talked about colonial times.  Brutal.” 

“Well.”  John announced.  “Let’s
see who’s home.”  They walked up to the front door. 

John knocked.

There was a pause before the door
opened.  “Hey, John!  Glad you could make it.”  Hank looked at his brother and
nephews.  “Did you guys walk here?”  Hank wondered why he did not hear a
vehicle.  He looked around for a car or truck on the road.

“Hank?  You’re here?  How did you
get here?  When?”  John was confused.

“Greg?”  Hank yelled into the
house.  “It’s for you.”  He stepped down and gave John a hug, but he could tell
his brother was not interested in him.  “Go ahead, John, he’s in there.”  Hank
looked at Matt and Craig.  “You guys are huge.”  He stepped out of the cottage. 
“You’re brother is inside.  He’s fine.  We’re all fine.  We just finished cleaning
up after lunch.”

John walked into the house,
scanning the surroundings.  The bedroom to the right had four beds, neatly
made, and the living room to the left was clean and uncluttered.   John felt
like he was dreaming.  Not only had he found Greg, but it looked like his son
was living a perfectly normal life.