Sleepers Page 9

“Why do I care?”

  Bill shrugged, “Just making conversation.”

  I wanted to say, ‘well, don’t, but I didn’t. Bill really didn’t irritate me, I wasn’t feeling well and the worry about Danny was getting to me.

  The Major appeared at the front door of the store, stepped to the porch and waved us all in with an ‘it’s clear’.

  I shut off the SUV and looked behind me. “Danny, do you need help getting in?”

  “It’s my arm, Mom, I can walk,” he replied.

  “I’ll help you anyhow,” Randy told him. “Just in case. You lost a lot of blood.”

  Personally, I hadn’t seen the wound. The Major had bandaged it with some sort of giant military band aid he ripped from a package. But, Randy had to have been correct in his assessment of the blood loss that Danny suffered. Not only were his jeans covered with blood, there was a lot on the backseat. Which led me to wonder if the ‘I’m okay’ bit that Danny kept projecting was nothing but a mere front for my benefit.

  ****

  AS Survival Haven served a dual purpose to its owner; it was his business and his home. The storefront carried rifles, wilderness survival supplies and other related items, while the back of the building was a larger apartment. Bill was enthralled by the store, checking out every single thing. I was too focused on what was happening in the back apartment.

  Through recommendation of the Major, we shut the store front door and the apartment door as well. Just in case.

  Someone had lived there and rather recently. Everything was impeccably clean and sterile looking. The cabinets had food and the fridge stocked. The electricity was still up and running.

  The Major had taken Danny into the back bedroom. I actually went back to watch, but the second he started to remove the bandage, I grew queasy and excused myself.

  Randy had put on a pot of coffee and said he’d search up something for us to eat before we moved on. I felt funny about that, it was someone’s home. Perhaps after I knew Danny was okay I’d be more apt to have an appetite.

  “Crackers are fresh” Randy set the box on the table. “Have one. Get something in your stomach.”

  I reached for one and brought it to my mouth to nibble.

  “You guys have to see these.” Bill with enthusiasm walked into the kitchen and dropped an armful of stuff on the table. “This place is the coolest. It has stuff I never even heard of. These meals in this foil pouch.”

  Randy reached down to the table and lifted the white bag. “It’s an MRE, same thing they give the military out in the field.”

  “What’s an MRE?” Bill asked.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Randy chuckled. “You have to be. Meals Ready to Eat. MRE?”

  “Ah.” Bill nodded and sat down at the table. “Before we head out, we should see what we can get from this place.”

  The Major’s voice entered the conversation. “Starting with that conversion van. We should see if there are keys around here.” He walked to the sink and began to wash his hands. “It will be a lot better for the drive to Washington.”

  Bill asked. “Are you coming with us? Don’t you have a post to hold?”

  The Major scoffed with a shake of his head. He reached for a paper towel, then a cup and pointed to the coffee pot. “May I?”

  “Help yourself,” Randy told him. Then Randy set a coffee before me. “I don’t believe we’ve actually exchanged names.” Randy held out his hand to the Major. “Randy Briggs.”

  “Gavin Beck. But please, just call me Beck.” With his coffee he sat down at the table.

  “Are you sure we’re not supposed to call you Major? Isn’t that what you told me?” I asked.

  The Major or rather Beck’s mouth opened to respond. He stammered some then said, “I apologize for that. It was a stressful moment at the refugee center.”

  “No,” I waved out my hand. “I apologize. I’m just not myself. How’s Danny?”

  Beck took a deep breath. “He’s resting. He needs to rest. He lost a lot of blood. I don’t think he’s lost so much that he’s in danger of needing blood. It took about thirty stitches to close the bite. I gave him a dose of penicillin and put him on a saline IV. But, as far as anything further, I can’t tell you. He may need more. I don’t know.”

  I asked. “How did you know to do that?”

  “Combat.” he answered. “I was just glad to have a field pack on me. When the Sleeper situation took a turn for the worst, we were all issued one.” At that moment, he turned to me, laid his hand over mine and looked me in the eyes. “I know you want to get to your daughter out west. I think, though, its best we just hang back here for the day. Let Danny recoup. According to my intel there’s a small town with a hospital not far from here. Probably wasn’t hit too bad in the event. We can head there if we need something stronger for Danny. Hell, who knows maybe there’s even a doctor hanging around. Okay?”

  I nodded. He slipped his hand from mine.

  With a heavy breath, Randy ran his hand over his face and joined us at the table. “What the hell happened? I heard the Secretary of State’s message. I thought everything was getting under control.”

  Beck shook his head. “It was going to take a while to get things under control. We all knew that. I don’t think any of us had a grip on how many people were stricken with the Sleeping Sickness. But it was enough to shut down cities. They had no phone service along the east coast so it was pretty tough to gauge what was happening there. Last I heard was the order to prepare my men for combat ready and to ship them out to Toledo at first light. That came around seven pm. Nothing since.”

  Randy nodded. “I saw the soldiers leaving.”

  “And I stayed behind to close things down. Well, me and about four others,” Beck explained.

  I wanted to ask questions, too. I had a lot that I needed to know, but my mind spun. Bill had begun spouting out questions about the survival supplies. It was then I heard it, it was hard to hear over Bill. But it was in the distance. “Do you hear that?” I asked.

  With a ‘shh’, Beck held up his hand.

  The sound of a motorcycle grew closer and stronger.

  “Sleeper?” Bill asked.

  Beck opened his mouth to respond but paused before he said, “Doubtful.”

  The motorcycle fluttered and it was apparent it stopped at the survival haven. Beck held a silencing finger to us as he stood, grabbed for his revolver and walked to the door.

  We all stood slowly.

  My heart pounded with each footstep that neared the door.

  Beck was ready, he listened, he waited and then, weapon raised flung open the door only to be greeted with the barrel of a shotgun.

  The shotgun handler wasn’t a short man, but he seemed it facing off with Beck. Probably in his late thirties, he looked rough and rugged. His dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, his beard was trimmed and his heavily tattooed arms were steady as he aimed that shotgun without a flinch. He pumped the chamber before he spoke with a arrogant half smile. “All right, son, care to tell me why you and these people are in my shop when the sign out front clearly says closed.” He gave an ‘up’ nod of his head. “You might wanna put that gun down. You’re in my home.”

  Beck turned the revolver to be flush in his palm and he raised both hands. “I’m sorry. Look, we’re not here to steal anything. We just . . .” He stopped speaking when he saw it.

  We all saw it.

  Shotgun man’s eyes shifted to the kitchen table and the mound of items.

  Bill nervously stepped forward with a raised hand. “That’s me. Guilty. I wasn’t . . . I wasn’t stealing. We didn’t think anyone was coming back.”

  He titled his head with a ‘are you insane’ look. “What in the world would make you think no one is coming back. The sign just said closed. Not closed for good.”

  Beck placed his revolver away. “Listen. Again, we aren’t here to steal. We stopped by because it looked safe and we need get the boy some help.”

  “T
he boy?” he asked.

  I stopped forward. “My son. He was hurt and was bleeding bad. The Major here needed to stitch him.”

  Beck corrected. “He was bit.”

  He lowered the shotgun and looked at our faces. Perhaps reading us, trying to find a sense of honesty or a reason to trust us. “Where is he?” he asked.

  Beck pointed. “In the bedroom.”

  He walked right by us and I followed right behind Beck.

  “Please,” I pleaded. “He just needs to rest.”

  The bedroom was in plain view once we entered the living room and Danny was on the bed.

  The owner of the home rested his shotgun against the wall outside the bedroom door. “What kind of animal bit the boy?”

  “Wasn’t an animal,” Beck replied stepping into the bedroom with him. “It was a Sleeper.”

  “A Sleeper?” He shook his head with a quirky look as he sat on the edge of the bed. His fingers trailed the tubing of the intravenous that was attached to the wall with duct tape. “What the hell is a Sleeper?”

  I looked at Beck then to the man. “Maybe you don’t know them by that name.”

  He seemed focused on Danny at that second. “Boy’s pale. How old is he?”

  “Sixteen,” I answered.

  “You give him something to make him sleep like this?” He asked as he stood.

  Beck shook his head. “No. He just lost a lot of blood.”

  Danny groggily spoke, “Sleep like what? You guys are so loud.” He closed his eyes again.

  He shook his head with a chuckle at my son, running his hand over Danny’s head. “He needs to be seen by a doctor.” He walked over to the closet and opened it, reaching for the top shelf.

  I breathed out my response of, “I wish. But that’s not possible.”

  After retrieving what looked like a black satchel, the man walked to the bed. He opened the larger pouch and pulled out a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. He placed his hand on Danny’s wrist. ‘Pulse is good.” Then he applied the cuff and took his blood pressure. “Pressure’s good. The paleness concerns me.” He reached for the bandage. “May I?” He asked Beck.

  Beck nodded.

  He carefully undid the bandage on Danny’s forearm. “Now what did you say bit him again?”

  I answered. “A Sleeper.”

  He finally exposed the wound. “Jesus Christ. This was deep. Nice repair.”

  “Thanks,” Beck said.

  “Looks like a human bite,” he reapplied the bandage.

  “It is,” Beck said. “Are you . . . are you a doctor or nurse?”

  “No.” He gathered his items to return to the bag. “I was a Corpsman in the Navy, got out was a paramedic in Toledo for eight years before I decided to chuck it all for my passion. Survival stuff. You know, in case the world ends. But that’s beside the point.” He set the bag down. “Running from the law or not, this boy’s got a human bite. He has to be seen.”

  Beck shifted his eyes to me. He had to have been thinking the same thing as me. Why was this man talking as if we could just hop in the car and go to the nearest clinic? Running from the law?

  “Sir,” Beck took a step toward him. “Are you aware of what’s going on?”

  He was just about to answer when the high pitched, whiney, female voice called out. “Alex!’

  He turned his head.

  She called again, this time getting closer, this time sounding even more southern. “Alex. Why are there men in your kitchen? Alex . . .” Her voice grew nearer. “Honey, you told me you was taking me home. I ain’t seen my babies in four days, can . . .” She stopped speaking when she arrived at the bedroom door. “Alex?”

  Her hair was bleached blonde, to the nape of her neck and poker straight. It was tucked behind her ears and she looked as if she hadn’t washed it in days. She presented herself as the quintessential ditzy girlfriend of the bad boy. Short shorts with boots, a tank top tee shirt, she was very pretty and petite. But despite her lack of bathing or fashion sense, she still sported lipstick.

  But I heard what she said. Four days.

  I spun to Beck. “Four days.” I whispered.

  Alex held lifted his hand to her. “In a minute, Missy, gotta deal with this. Okay?”

  “Another group running from the law?” she asked.

  “Don’t know,” Alex answered. “Just give me a minute.”

  “Fine.” She folded her arms. “Then I’m using your bathroom. I’ve been holding it for four days.” She flew into the bathroom, but before she closed the door, she looked out at us. “You all may want to ignore what you hear. I refused to go in the woods.”

  She closed the door.

  Beck turned to him. “Have you been in the woods for four days?”

  “Yeah, we were camping. Why?” Alex asked.

  “Did you have your phone? Radio? Anything?” Beck asked.

  “When I go, I shut myself off from civilization. Why?” he asked.

  “You didn’t notice the roads or towns when you came back.”

  Alex breathed out in frustration. “Son, I had my bike. I took the back way here. Again, why are you asking me?”

  “Because you don’t know.”

  Folding his arms, Alex tilted his head and peered at Beck. “Know what?”

  17. Discovering Reality

  Alex Sans handled it.

  It was actually kind of hard to tell how well he handled it or if he even handled it well at all. He was a composed man whose fingers tapped in an arpeggio manner and jaw twitched once or twice in the aftermath of the news.

  A twitch of his head, a swipe of his fingers down the corner of his mouth and Alex stood, went to the fridge and retrieved a beer.

  Beck had brought him into the kitchen to tell him. Maybe it was to be outside of earshot of Missy who was still in the restroom. Or maybe even to see all of our faces together. Whatever the reason, Alex sat at the kitchen table, said, “Ok, I’m seated. Shoot.”

  Beck did.

  He delivered it to Alex like a military debriefing. ‘eleven hundred hours this . . .fourteen hundred hours that . . .’ Beck gave statistics. Nineteen cities devastated by tornado. Three volcanic eruptions, twenty three earthquakes. All in the United States alone. The Sleeping Sickness . . . the Event.

  The Event.

  That was the thing that caused Alex after his brief absorption of the news to get up and get that beer. Refrigerator door still ajar, arm resting on top, Alex chugged half that beer and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Another drink of beer, eyes still transfixed on Beck, Alex handed him a bottle.

  “There was a chance,” Beck stated, opening the bottle. “An inkling of keeping it together. Even after all that. But then the Sleepers turned. I believe that was the final straw.”

  “Before it went … did they say what caused it all?” Alex asked. “Curious.”

  Beck shook his head. “Speculation.”

  Bill spoke up. “A lot of Christians are saying that it’s God’s end.”

  Alex gave this look. A weird one. Combination between a scoff and a maybe. He took another drink.

  I asked him. “Did you have children, Alex?”

  He shook his head. “No. No, I didn’t. And I’m sorry to all of you . . .” He took a look around the room at us all. “Who lost. I’m sorry.” He finished the beer, set the bottle on the counter, reached in, grabbed another, shut the fridge and leaned against it. “I had a hunch something was wrong.” Alex stared down to his beer bottle. That one he didn’t drink quite as quickly. “I couldn’t catch a fish. We had to rely on the food I had up there. Just thought I lost my touch for a weekend.” He sniffed and shook his head. “How many kids?”

  Beck answered. “One point eight billion.”

  Alex asked then looked at me as if I were the one with the better answer. “How?”

  “I can only say what happened with my son. He started to convulse and then over the course of the day, it was if every single speck of life was su
cked out of him until he was gone.”

  Alex nearly whispered. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  Randy, who had been quiet, finally spoke up. “It still is. Imagine waking up to the fact that not only your child, but in the course of one day, Saturday, every single child under fourteen years old died.”

  Crash.

  Missy.

  We all turned to look. Her purse and all its items had toppled to the floor and her perfume had shattered. She chuckled nervously. “Sorry. You guys were talking. I got scared, you know, then I realized . . .” she nervously picked up items. “You were probably talking about a movie.”

  The silence in the room was so thick you could swim in it.

  “I need a paper towel. Look at this mess.” She tried to lift the broken bottle.

  “Missy,” Alex only took a step to her. “While we were away. Things happened. That’s why you couldn’t get a line out. That’s why things seemed weird.”

  She stopped and slowly stood. “What happened, Alex? Did war break out.”

  He lowered his head.

  She stared at all of us, taking a second to look at each of our faces as if waiting for one of us to have the guts to tell her.

  Alex reached for her. “Missy, sit down.”

  She whipped her arm from him. “I’m not sitting down, Alex. What happened?” Again she looked at us then focused on Randy. “You said something about all the kids. What did you say?”

  Randy lowered his head. “Ma’am . . .”

  She blasted. “What did you say!”

  “They’re calling it the Event,” Randy spoke soft. “The children are . . . the children are gone.”

  No more needed to be said. With an ‘Oh my God, my babies,’ Missy flew out of the kitchen. Before Alex could get out her name and began his charge after her, she was out of the house.

  Within a moment the motorcycle started and sped off.

  “Son of a bitch.” Alex raced into the kitchen, opening draws. “She took my bike. Where the hell are the van keys?”

  Bill approached Alex with the keys extended. “Take our truck. It’s right out front.”

  Alex grasped them, nodded thanks and turned to me. “Can you come with me? She may need someone there who’s been through it.”