Jacqueline Druga - Under the Gray Skies

His name was James.

I stepped from the car and stood above him.

“Thank you, James,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

Oddly, two people in their death unknowingly helped me to live. They provided the means for me to move forward, I would remember them and be grateful to them always.

Two people in a city of the dead.

Something inside told me that they would not be the last.

I hoped that they would and that my journey for help would be short.

I replaced all James’ glove box contents, shut the car door and pulled out of the driveway.

The drive was short, there was a lot of zig zagging around traffic and debris, and a couple of times I had to turn down roads to go around rubble. The night fell quickly and I reached the edge of town just as it turned pitch black.

There were no bonfires, no tents set up or FEMA crews, nothing.

Silence and darkness. The temperature dropped and once again, strange lightening ripped through the clouds overhead. It didn’t feel or smell like rain like it had before, but I didn’t want to take a chance.

At the end of the road, just before the highway began, I spotted a fire station. The garage doors were wide open, there were no fire trucks in there. There was however a blue pickup truck parked off to the side.

The truck was empty. It probably belonged to one of the firemen. I pulled inside the station, into the garage and turned off the car.

There I would make a small camp for the night.

I did try the phones in there, again nothing.

I was still working on the bistro snack pack. That was my meal. I wasn’t hungry for any more. I was more anxious to get home, to get in touch with my family. I wrote a little in my notebook, adding James’ name and what I got from him.

Then I sat in the dark, the floor was my bed. I made a makeshift mattress out of coats that I found in the station. I had my airline blankets and pillow, and I lay there in the silence until I eventually fell asleep.

Janabel,

I know you hate being called that. But I started to think back to when you were eight. When you liked being called that. What made me think of that? Your third grade field trip to the fire station. You loved the trucks and the pole.

You will never guess where I am sleeping tonight. In a fire station. About this point in time, if we had phones, you and I would be texting non-stop.

My buddy.

I miss you, honey. I hope you are strong for Daddy and Evan. They need you. I also hope you know in your heart that I am trying to get home. I’m trying sweetie. It will just take time. I know Grandma told you I called. At least I hope she was able to. I could have imagined it. Sometimes I think I did.

I love you with all of my heart and miss you so much.

La Fluff was the name of the dog I had since I was five years old. My parents got him as a family pet and I won the luck of the draw to name him. Of course, after I matured a little, I realized La Fluff wasn’t the coolest name. At least it matched his appearance. He was always shaggy.

One thing, La Fluff did without fail was grab my foot and bite it when it was time to get up for school. Something my mother had taught him.

He’d pull at my toes unless I was wearing socks. Always a struggle and fight with my foot.

My whole life I stayed up late and slept even later. Every day it was the same thing. My dog waking me up, pulling my feet as my mother yelled in the distance.

“Lacey Annabelle Budziszewisky, get up!”

Yeah. I had a long name. Thank God I married a man with the last name Kale.

My whole life the kids called me beer wench. My last name for some reason reminded them of a beer. At least my married name was a vegetable.

My mother called my name in my dream, then added, ‘Please be alive’ as La Fluff pulled and bit my foot.

I am alive, I thought in my dream. I called you.

“Please be alive.”

My foot moved.

Then I realized my foot wasn’t just moving in my dream, something was pushing on it.

“Please be alive,” the woman’s voice said.

It was a voice.

I opened my eyes and immediately sat up.

“Oh, good.” She grabbed her chest. “You are.”

I blinked trying to get her in focus. Who was she? A woman stood at the end of my makeshift bed staring down at me. She wasn’t a girl, she was a woman, but at that moment her age was hard to tell. Her thick bushy brown hair rested just below her shoulder blades. It was slightly unruly and she tucked one side behind her ear. Her face was full, round and clean, and her thick build body was somewhat camouflaged beneath the baggy 80s rock band t-shirt.

“I was hoping you were all right,” she said. “I really didn’t think you were dead, but I didn’t want to assume, so I waited. I thought maybe it was my imagination that you were breathing. Lord knows I have seen and heard a lot of things that weren’t there. Being alone does that. I was watching you for a while. Not like a stalker, or someone that was gonna rob you and kill you. Just waiting. You know?” She pulled a chair close and a few empty airline bottles rolled. She grabbed a couple empties from the floor as she sat down. “Someone had quite the party last night.”

“I was bored. It was hard to sleep.” I cleared my throat. “I have a stash.” I pointed to my backpack that rested near her against the wall.

She reached for the open pack, peered in, then whistled. “That’s a lot of airline booze. Are you an alcoholic?”

“No. I saw them. I took them. I don’t know why I grabbed so many…” With a grunt, I sat up. “I’m sorry. Are you… are you with the National Guard, FEMA, or the rescue people?”

She chuckled. “No. Hardly. I haven’t seen any rescue people.” She laughed. “In fact, I haven’t seen any people since the choke.”

“The Choke?”

“That’s what I’m calling it. It will catch on. Watch.” She stood and after stepping over me, walked to the far wall, pointing at a rack of radios. “Have you tried any of these? Tried to reach someone? They may work. If we find batteries.” She lifted one.

“Wait.” I staggered to a stand. “You really aren’t a rescue person?”

“Do I look like a rescue person?”

“No.”

“So, why would you ask?’

“We’re in the middle of all this,” I said. “I just…” I paused and extended my hand. “I’m Lacey. Who are you?”

“I’m Madison.” She shook my hand. “And unless you and I find someone, or talk to someone…” She lifted the radio. “I’m gonna say I am pretty sure you and I are the last two people in the world, or at least…” She set down the radio. “In the state of California.”

Madison Hollister, that was her married name, described herself as a woman with Italian and Irish blood, she loved to feed people but watch out for her temper. I didn’t see it. How could this woman who seemed so nice and optimistic, despite everything, have a bad temper? Then again, I was meeting and getting to know her under some pretty dire circumstances.

After I gathered my things, we shared a meal in the firehouse. A meager meal, but neither of us really seemed to need any more. I rightfully assumed she was going to join me as I looked for help. I was glad to have her and grateful for not being alone.

She offered me granola as she said, “We can save those little snack pack boxes for later. But

you have to eat. We should get a move on, daylight lasts about six hours unless you haven’t noticed. Walking is tough when you’re hungry, too.”

“I have a car.”

“Yeah, well, so did I,” she said. “A car, a bike, a car again. You can only go so far then you have to walk. Just the way the cookie crumbles, or rather the world. Lots of walking. That’s why never grab more than you can carry. Don’t I just sound like the wizard of wisdom?” She smiled. “I’m new to this survival stuff. I never even camped. Not really good at this living tough stuff.”