Jacqueline Druga - What Tomorrow Brings

Kit couldn’t take another person dying on her.

The fourth time they stopped to take a break, a citizen patrol worker spotted them and recognizing how ill Abe looked, said there was a camp a mile ahead that had medical resources. He even offered to see if he could find Abe a ride.

They declined, but wished they would have when they arrived at the Fife Industrial Park and saw the huge group of people.

Was there that many people needing shelter and help six weeks after the bombs? It seemed insane. Of all the camps, they never saw such a large group waiting. It was so big, they couldn’t see if indeed there was a camp ahead.

They all were crammed close together, where had they come from? There was a lot of mumbling and chatter.

Finally, Kit asked a woman. “Is this the only camp near here?”

“I guess,” the woman said.

“So this is the line to get in?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Everyone is waiting to look at, or post on the wall.”

“I’m sorry… the what?”

“The wall,” the woman explained “This is the biggest one I have seen. People searching for family, they post here, or look. There’s another down in Olympia, it’s nowhere near this big. This one’s about a hundred feet. I was here last week, took me almost an hour to look through every sign or flyer. I’m hoping my husband saw my sign.”

Kit looked immediately at Abe. “Jonas never mentioned a wall.”

“He probably never made it here,” Abe said. “Do you have anything to write on, to leave a sign.”

“I have pictures I took from my moms,” Kit said excitedly. “I can use one of those.”

The woman turned around to Kit. “Don’t forget to date it. Let’s them know how long ago it was you were here.”

Kit thanked her.

She was excited at the prospect of looking at the wall. It actually invigorated her, the entire process of waiting. She even laughed at Abe’s joke that it was the new era of social media called posting on walls.

How true that was, especially when Kit realized people weren’t mumbling, they were ‘passing on’ names.

It was extraordinary.

“James Price, twenty-four, brown hair, green eyes.” And the name would repeat over and over as people passed it on.

Mary Higgins, fifty three gray hair, short.

Mary Higgins

Mary Higgins….

“I met a Mary about that age down near Parkland,” someone shouted. “Got a picture?”

It was continuous and almost rehearsed. No one talked over each other and it made Kit wonder how many times these folks had been at the wall.

The names kept coming for the hours that they waited.

Sam Yoakum, Twelve

Regina Stewart, thirty three…

Edward Crafton, forty-six…

Jonas Gibbons, sixty-four, bushy gray hair…

Abe’s eyes widened. “We met a Jonas!” he shouted. “That age.”

“Do you have a picture!” Kit added.

They never actually saw what happened when someone shouted they had seen the person. But sure enough, people called them forward and parted like the red sea to make room.

They inched their way forward, almost as if they got a pass to move to the front of the line because they had information.

The second Kit emerged, her breath was taken away at the enormity of the wall. It was at least a hundred feet long and ten feet high, it was covered, inch by inch with photos, flyers, pieces of cardboard boxes, anything people could write on.

It wasn’t just a wall, it was a well organized search effort. People hadn’t given up, not yet.

There was a table in front of the wall, with another short line waiting to get to the two men. A woman was the first in line.

“Did you see Jonas?” the woman, about the same age as Jonas held out a picture.

Abe took it and smiled. “Yes, we did ma’am. He walked with us for several days.”

She gasped loudly in relief and hugged Abe, then Kit. “Where?”

“Looking for you,” Kit said. “In fact, he keeps getting kicked out and coming back in.”

“So he’s alive. Is he well?” she asked.

“Very much so,” Kit answered. “I would go to the pass.”

Abe explained. “The road where they have the first barricade set up.”

‘I know what the pass is,” she said. “So I should go there?”

Abe nodded. “He’ll be back through there.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” She turned to the man at the table. “I’m going to mark my sign for him.”

The man nodded his acknowledgement, then looked to Kit. “Go on. Check the wall. After you’re done, come back here, get in line and we’ll do the relay yell for you.” He motioned his hand to wave them to the wall.

As Kit and Abe approached the wall, the hollering of names began again.

“I’m so happy for Jonas,” Kit said to Abe.

“Hopefully they won’t keep missing each other.”

“Let’s hope. This is going to take forever.”

“That’s why the line is so long.”

Through the corner of her eye, Kit saw Jonas’ wife write something on a flyer, then walk away.

The pictures, signs, were heavily overlapped. Abe had to reach up to the higher ones to lift and see the ones hidden underneath. They moved slowly, Kit looked at every single one. So many people, so many faces. There were thousands of faces, signs, box tops, some event tickets, Kit even saw an old Arby’s receipt.

Every single person on that wall was loved and missed. Would they ever reunite with those who searched so diligently for them? People who returned over and over to the wall in hopes that somehow the family member responded or someone recognized the name.

How many of the lost family were alive, how many had died. It was mind boggling how enormous it all was.

“Kit.” There was something about the way Abe called her name that sent a shock through her and caused her stomach to flip.

What did he see?

Abe was reaching upward and when he pulled back and lowered his arm, he held out his hand. Gripped in his fingers was the torn front cover from the thirty-fifth anniversary paperback edition of Alas, Babylon .

Kit felt weak and whimpered slightly. She peered at the orange cover with the man shading out the nuclear explosion. Under the title, written in blue ink were the words, Holland Family.

Kit reached for it.

“It’s dated six days ago,” Abe said. “And there’s a poem scribbled on the back.”

Kit took the cover and turned it over. “It’s my father’s handwriting.”

She read the poem.

Can the life be again

Once it all changes,

Giving up on all that’s lost

Can it keep us down,

Or do we bravely move on

Never giving up on hope

~~NM Dulce

“Oh, my God, she did know,” Kit said softly. “My mother she didn’t figure it out. He told her. He told her in the poem.”

“What are you talking about?” Abe asked.

“Look. Look at the poem. It’s acrostic.” She handed him the cover.

He glanced down. “COGCON.”

“NM Dulce is not the author,” Kit said.

“It’s the place. The CONCON plan. That’s where we were supposed to go.”

“Exactly, and that’s where she’s headed. That’s why she left this one on the wall. Just… in case one of us came here.”

“What about Jillie?” Abe asked.

Kit shook her head. “My mother never would have left if she didn’t know what happened with Jillie, or unless my daughter was with her. But why? Why would she leave to look?”

Abe tilted his head. “Where is your father? What is he doing? What are you doing? She’s is just doing the same. A parent searching for her kids. It doesn’t matter how old or young you are, if your kids are out there, you’re gonna look.” He handed her the book cover. “So do we head there?”