Ray Gorham - 77 Days in September

She drank in deliberate, careful swallows. Some of the water spilled down her cheeks and onto her blouse, leaving muddy brown spots. Kyle assumed the blouse had originally been white or beige, but it was now nearly as brown as the dirt that surrounded them.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling her head away. “I’ve been so thirsty.”

Kyle nodded and offered her the water again. She took another long drink, then held up her hand, and Kyle set the jug on the ground beside her. “Wait here,” he said without thinking. “I’ll be right back.”

Kyle ran to his cart, and then quickly returned to the culvert again with a handful of food that he dropped onto the ground beside the woman. “What would you like?” he asked.

She scanned the items and motioned to a package of donuts. Kyle tore the package open and fed the donuts to her. When they were gone, she ate a package of Twinkies, followed by a chocolate bar.

The woman ate slowly and said little. Finally, after about a half an hour of eating and drinking, she rested, her arms hanging limply by her side.

“Can I get you anything else?” Kyle asked.

She shook her head. “Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Kyle, “ he responded. “Who are you?”

“Louise Kennedy.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know,” she answered after some thought. She spoke slowly and formed each word carefully, as if she had just awakened from a deep sleep. “My car quit. That was more than a week ago.”

“Why didn’t you go somewhere for help?”

“I was afraid. I thought that someone would come to help, but no one did.” Her voice trailed off as a tear slowly ran down her cheek, turning to mud before it reached her chin. Louise reached feebly for Kyle’s hand. “By the time I decided that I should go, I was already out of food.”

“How long has it been since you ate?” he asked, patting her hand.

“I’m not sure — four, maybe five days.” Her voice was tired and lifeless. “I was going to see my grandkids and had some treats for them. I didn’t want to eat them, but I was so hungry.”

Kyle patted Louise’s hand. “Did you have water?”

“I had a little with me, and there’s a truck that I’ve been getting some from. When the driver left it, he told me that I could help myself. He tried to get me to go with him. I think he thought I was crazy when I wouldn’t, but it’s too far for me to walk. I guess I should have tried, but I didn’t know I would be here so long.”

“Don’t feel bad. It’s hard to know what’s best right now. I don’t think anyone knows how to act.” Kyle let go of her hand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said and shuffled out of the dark tunnel, the sunlight blinding him as his eyes once again adjusted to the bright afternoon sunlight. He scanned the road and saw the truck Louise had mentioned, a red, Coke delivery truck about a half-mile to the North. There was a faint path worn in the dirt leading from the culvert to where the truck had stopped.

Kyle walked back to his cart, his mind wrestling with the situation he was in. He was anxious to get moving and wanted to make good time, at least as good as he could in the condition he was in. Winter could hit Montana at any time in the fall. There might even be snow in the mountains already, for all he knew. Under normal circumstances he would’ve simply made a phone call and waited for an ambulance. Hell, under normal circumstances he’d be in Montana and Louise would be back home. What if he hadn’t stopped to rest where he did? What if he’d noticed the Coke truck further down the road and simply continued on to that point? Then he’d know nothing about Louise and wouldn’t be faced with this dilemma. He wondered how many other stranded people he had unknowingly passed.

None of those “what ifs” mattered now. He had stopped where he had, and her life was in his hands. It would be easy to load up his cart and go. There would be no way for her to stop him. Could anyone blame him for leaving her, as old and feeble as she was? His food and water were limited, and his body was sore from walking and pulling, let alone the bruises and cuts that were still healing. Would she even be able to walk if he took her with him? She was weak and no doubt slow. How far would his obligation run? Where would he take her, and who would take her in? Were there even any shelters operating?

His other option was to leave her. In a day or two, the heat and hunger would get her, if the animals didn’t first. There would be no real consequences for him if he left. Other than Louise, no one would know he’d been there. If he did leave, it would likely be years, if ever, before anyone discovered what happened to the old woman. There were probably thousands of people like her who had or would die on the side of the road, most probably younger than she was. No, he decided, he wouldn’t really be guilty of any crime if he were to leave Louise behind. The only thing he’d have to deal with would be his conscience.

Kyle felt sick to his stomach. Life and death decisions weren’t supposed to fall into his hands. They were the domain of doctors and judges and soldiers, people who had been trained to deal with those matters. He was a simple power company field supervisor. The decisions he made were easy, like who to schedule for what job, or whether to run overtime on a project, not whether someone was going to live or die. Kyle sat down on his sleeping bag in the shade of the truck. The sun was on its downward arc, and the line of shade had shifted noticeably since he had stopped. He knew there were still several hours of daylight left, and he could travel a long ways in that time, at least he could if he was traveling alone.

Kyle leaned back against the wheel of the semi and thought of his family in Montana, without him. As he did dozens of times each day, he wondered how they were doing. He’d give anything for a one-minute phone call. Pulling a handcart gave a person too much time to think.

Sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Kyle got up, quickly repacked his handcart, and pulled it towards him, the handle chattering noisily on the ground as he did. He lifted the handle and started to pull. Every nail and screw in the cart seemed to protest in unison, screaming loudly across the barren landscape.

From the culvert, he heard the faint voice of an old lady. “Kyle?!”

Sunday, September 18 th

Deer Creek, Montana

Jennifer sat at the council table, trying to focus on the group’s conversation. Despite Gabe’s best efforts, the discussion had gone off on another tangent again. This time the conversation had drifted to the subject of what had happened to the people in prison and whether or not they were free and a threat to the community. Jennifer felt it was a useless topic to discuss because there had been no issues with any outside threats so far, but Doug spoke animatedly about forming some kind of militia, and the council was hearing him out.

Doug’s infatuation with her made listening to him difficult. He had stopped by everyday since the last meeting with the excuse “to check on them,” but to her, the visits were obvious attempts to win her over, and his comments made his intentions all too clear. Before the meeting, he hung around her like a dog in heat while she did her best to avoid him. That seemed to upset him, so when the meeting began she waited for Doug to find a seat, then sat as far away from him as she could, only to find that every time she looked up he was staring at her.

The meeting dragged on for another forty-five minutes, with Jennifer too distracted to contribute to the discussions, but trying hard to focus on taking notes. As the meeting concluded, the thought of possibly having to walk home with Doug tightened her stomach. She looked around and noticed Carol Jeffries, the community’s “doctor,” about to leave.