James Van Pelt - Summer of the Apocalypse

Eric broke their sustained silence with, “When are we going to get there?” Dad stopped, put his hands on his hips, the right hand cupping the holstered gun, and sighed loudly. He didn’t turn to face Eric, but looked up the ramp until Eric reached him.

“We better talk,” Dad said.

Eric closed his eyes for a second. Dad’s “talks” were always a bore, or bad, or both. He opened them and tried to look interested. “Okay.”

“Your mom is sick. I’ve been trying to figure a way to tell you while we’ve been walking, and I don’t know any way but this.”

It hadn’t occurred to Eric to wonder what Dad was thinking. Hours of silence from him weren’t unusual. Eric assumed he wasn’t thinking. The idea that Dad was churning something in his brain at the same time he was struck him peculiarly, like finding out that escargot was snail. Then the words themselves sunk in. Mom is sick.

Dad continued, “She’s sick; maybe you and I are too, so we’ve got to get to Idaho Springs for medicine. They may have a doctor and a clinic. We can bring her into town if there’s room. Perhaps it’s not the… the…” He paused, searching for a word. “…disease, but it might be. We can’t be too careful.”

“We should be with her.” Eric wanted to run down the ramp and back toward the cave. He could almost see her, alone, frightened, a big, heavy woman who needed someone to care for her.

“She’ll be fine. It’s just a cough now, an itchy throat. She has aspirin. She wanted you to go with me.”

“But she would have expected us hours ago. She’ll think we’re dead.” Dad wiped his face with a bandanna he pulled from his back pocket. Then he tied it around his neck.

“She’s a tough bird, Eric. Besides, she saw us go by this morning.”

“I didn’t see her.”

“You weren’t paying attention. She waved from the lookout. Anyway, we may not be walking much longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Listen.”

Eric turned his head side to side, like a hound dog catching a scent, then he heard a rumble over the cascade of water. It rose in volume, then fell, and Eric realized he’d heard the sound several times while they were standing on the ramp.

“It’s trucks on I-70. We can catch a ride. We’re only a couple of miles away, now, but I’m getting tired,” said Dad. Eric started toward the highway. Dad caught his arm like a clamp. Eric tried to shake him off, an automatic response. He hated his dad to touch him. It made him feel like a baby. Dad said, “We’re not done talking.” Eric relaxed in his grip. Dad let go. “If we get sick, son—I mean your mom and I—we’ve made some preparations, some things at the house you need to know about.” Dad fished in his pocket. Eric heard the clink of coins, then Dad handed him a key. “This opens a drawer in the back of my desk in the office. It’s not likely anyone would find the drawer, even if they broke into the house. In it are instructions for you.” Eric looked at him uncomfortably. Dad continued, “You know, if we do get sick.”

Eric put the key in his pocket. “You’ll be okay.” He looked away. He didn’t know how to deal with this. He thought maybe he should hug his dad. Dad coughed into his hand.

“If things don’t work, you’ll have to make decisions on your own. We’ve got plenty of supplies in the cave to get you to winter, but I think you’ll need to go back to Littleton before the snows hit. I’m thinking the worst will be past by then. The disease will have burnt itself out. Do you understand what I’m saying, about us getting sick, about what you should do?” Dad put his hand on Eric’s arm again, but he didn’t squeeze it this time.

“Sure, Dad. I got it.” Dad’s hand pressed a shade harder on Eric’s arm, and Eric looked directly into Dad’s eyes behind his glasses. They were dark brown with little flecks of brightness like gold in them. He couldn’t remember ever looking into his dad’s eyes like this before. “Sure, Dad.” Dad pulled his hand away.

Most of the trucks were military, flat green diesels hiding their cargo behind green canvas that snapped in their own wind as they passed Eric and his dad. They walked west toward Idaho Springs, Keeping their thumbs out. Dad had put the gun and holster in Eric’s puck. The weight felt scary. He could feel its presence like a black heart.

An eighteen-wheeler blasted by, driving wind past his ears. Eric Waved his fist at it. Mom needs us to hurry. She could be huddled under a blanket now, unable to reach water, wondering if her son deserted her.

After ten minutes, a silver and red U-Haul truck slowed as it passed and stopped a hundred yards up the road, its emergency lights flashing. They ran to it.

The passenger door opened before they reached the cab. Dad stepped onto the running board. “Thanks. We just need to get to Idaho Springs.” Eric couldn’t see the driver. Dad sat, then stuck down his hand to pull Eric up.

“You folks aren’t sick, are ya?” The driver, a young man in army fatigues, lay across both of their laps and yanked the door shut. He checked the rear view mirrors and drove onto the highway. “We got lots of sick’uns in Denver that are trying to get out. You wouldn’t be one of those, would ya?” Dad said, “No, we…”

“Crazy in Denver, you know. People just up and driving and they don’t have half a mind to Tuesday where they’re goin’. Government’s right to shut the roads. If it were up to people, ever’body would be contaminated afore they can get this thing licked.” He moved through the gears smoothly. “I heard there was shooting at some of the blockades. Can’t take a man’s car away in America.” He laughed. “My name’s Beau. How do you do? Haven’t seen many hitchhikers. Fact, you’re the first.” He spoke with a Southern accent, but rushed from word to word so fast that Eric wondered when he took a breath. Eric’s dad smiled. “I’m Sam and this is my son Eric.” Eric couldn’t believe he could be so friendly, so unhurried. The road unwound before him like a slow-motion film. He half thought he could get out and run faster than the truck was moving. The speedometer needle inched past forty miles an hour. The soldier shifted again.

“Like I said, name’s Beau. Got to make this haul to Salt Lake City, but they didn’t say I got to do it alone. You only going to the Springs? Well, it’s a short trip to heaven, too, they say.” Dad said, “What’s this about blockades? We haven’t heard the news for a week.”

“Cut off, are ya? Marshall law. Civilians can’t drive, and they can’t leave the city. Utah shut its borders, and so I heard have the rest of the states, but that kind of news is hard to come by. I ain’t telling you no secrets neither. Army isn’t saying anything to us. We just drive the trucks. Got to keep supplies moving. Commandeered anything that can roll and the Army and Reserves are doing the delivering. Some second assistant to the Surgeon General, guy named Washburn, handles all the medical releases now. Says they got a cure in the works and to ‘Be brave in the face of adversity.’ I like that kind of talk.”

“So, is there a lot of sickness?”

“I ain’t sayin’ there is and I ain’t sayin’ there isn’t. I got half a mind to believe I got medical supplies in the back of this rig, though. It’s a sinful world. That’s all I got to say. My minister says you reap what you sow. You watch the T.V. guys on the religious channel. They’ll set you straight. A hard wind’s a gonna blow. Bible says that.”

“Do you think we can buy medicine in Idaho Springs?” They passed a sign warning they were one mile from the Idaho Springs exit.

“You got cash money, sure. Don’t expect they’ll be takin’ checks, and your plastic won’t be worth anythin’ either if they’re behavin’ like they are in Denver. Seller’s market. Depends what you want to buy, too.” He downshifted as they approached the exit. “Can’t take you into town. Got a schedule to make.” The heavy truck slid to a stop. Dust billowed past the window and, when Eric opened the door, into the cab. He jumped onto the gravel shoulder. Dad climbed down more carefully. The young soldier grinned at them, a little sadly Eric thought. “I got a son just two years old in Texas. Haven’t talked to my wife for three days. Can’t get through. Hope they’re all right. A man ought to be with his children. Good luck, guys.” He slammed the door.