“You’re not… you’re not burning contaminated wood, are you?” I asked softly as I walked toward Burke.
“Nah. I got this from the basement.”
“I see you got rid of the car.”
“Wasn’t too tough,” Burke said. “Plus, I hope you don’t mind, I cleared out a few more bricks from this wall…” He exhaled as he gazed to where the window used to be. “Yep. Now it’s an indoor-outdoor deck. What do you think?”
“I think it’s gonna take some getting used to, having a campfire in my living room.”
“Pretty cool though.” Burke pulled up a crate next to him. “Sit with me, Jo.”
“That’s why I’m here.” I sat down. “Jerky?” I extended him one.
“Thanks.” Burke took it.
“Everyone’s asleep. It’s not even nine. Can you believe that?” I made idle conversation.
“Everyone had a rough day.” He broke his jerky. “Everyone. How… how are you?”
“I’m doing.”
There was silence, then Burke grunted and rubbed his hand over his face with frustration. “God. I can’t believe this has happened. I can’t. I’m sorry, Jo. I am so…”
“Burke.”
“No, I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “If I would have just went with you. If I didn’t go. If I came back just a little sooner.”
“Stop it.” I grabbed his arm. “Just stop. All the ‘what ifs’ in the world aren’t gonna change what happened, no matter how badly we wished it could. It’s not your fault, Burke.”
“It’s not yours either, Jo.”
“I feel like it is.”
“I think for a time being, we’re all gonna be blaming ourselves.” He paused. “Well, maybe not Dan.”
I smiled slightly.
“However,” Burke continued. “I think it’s normal. But really, Jo. No one is to blame. Things…”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Burke asked.
“Don’t say it. Don’t say, ‘Things happen for a reason.’”
“How do you know I was gonna say that?”
“Because I know you.”
“Well, I wasn’t,” Burke said.
“Yes, you were.”
“No, I had something else to say.”
“Fine, then say it.”
“Fine.” He took a deep breath. “Things… things happen for a reason.”
I growled. “I knew it.”
“They do, Jo. Like it or not. And here’s something else that you may not want to hear.”
“What’s that?” I asked, resting my face against my hand.
“As fucked up as this sounds, things in this world are different. Circumstances are different. We, no matter how bad we feel, we’re gonna have to get past this. Move on.”
“Don’t you think you could have waited a few days before you said that?”
“Nope.” Burke shook his head with an assured look. “Because we have nothing anymore to fall back on. We can only move ahead, that’s our only direction. There’s too much to do. You planned a lot. You can put your grief to work. Work it out of you. But we can’t have you being a mourning fuckin’ Mary. It won’t be good for you, the kids, or the morale of anyone around you. Understand?”
“Mourning fucking Mary?”
Burke grunted. “You get what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do. Thanks.” I sighed out. “I’ll still miss him.”
“Me too,” Burke said sadly.
“Burke? I’m sorry you didn’t find Hebba.”
“So am I.”
I glanced at him with a puzzled look. “Really?”
“What?” he asked shocked. “Yes. I can’t believe…” Suddenly Burke sprang to his feet and took a step forward.
“Burke.”
“Shh.” He told me, then raised his shotgun and pumped the chamber. “Stop!” he hollered. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”
Burke held his aim steady, but I couldn’t see the recipient.
A male voice responded composed, “I’m not here for trouble. I’m… I’m looking for a woman named Jo.”
“Who are you?” Burke asked.
“My name is Tanner Niles. I’m a doctor. I saw her today at the rescue station.”
“Jo?” Burke whispered my name. “Know him?”
I peeked around Burke and saw the doctor. “Yeah, I recognize him.”
Burke lowered his weapon.
Tanner moved toward us.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Looking for you.” Tanner replied. “I felt bad. Really bad about what happened today. I’m not usually like that. I was overwhelmed. I would have been here sooner, I wanted to come sooner, but this was the first break I could get. And it really took some effort to get information from your neighbor about finding you.” The left side of his mouth lifted in a partial smile.
“You came all the way up here to apologize?” I was puzzled.
“Well, yes, but not only for that reason. I came here to do what I should have done earlier. Help you.” He extended his hand to me. “Here. This is what you wanted.” His fingers wrapped around a small bottle.
I didn’t reach.
“It’s Ok.” He nodded. “Take them. It’s penicillin. I can even check on your husband if you want.”
“Dr. Niles…”
“Tanner.” He corrected.
“Dr. Niles.” I found the words difficult to speak. Reaching out, I gently pushed his hand away. “I’m sorry you came all the way here. My husband… he died.”
Tanner retracted his hand causing the pills to rattle within the bottle. He didn’t say anything. Mouth closed tightly, his eyes shifted from me to Burke. He gave a single, solemn nod, then Tanner Niles, turned and walked away. Never looking back at us, he kept moving up the dark street, in a slow, steady pace, until the blackness engulfed him and he was no longer seen.
15. Accounted For
Acceptable became a word associated with the past. Too many things had changed, and nothing would ever be done the same again. I wanted to give Sam a Native American send off, setting his physical being aflame, allowing for his spirit to be free and rise to the heavens with the release of the smoke. However, the spiritual smoke signal would be a detrimental signal, alerting wanderers and looters that an isolated camp of survivors existed. Plus, with an increased risk of infection and disease, we had to place Sam in the ground immediately following his passing.
We needed a send-off, a goodbye, and we gave him one. The following morning we all stood around where we had buried Sam—all but Tammy, who had yet to return from the search for her son. Each of us said a few words about Sam. We ended it with a small prayer service. None of us were particularly religious people, so Dan officiated the ceremony. Not because he was a staunch Catholic, but for nine weeks he played the role of a Catholic priest in a local theater production, so Dan knew the prayer service by heart.
“For with the Lord there is merciful and plentiful redemption…” Dan recited the prayer, “And he shall redeem Israel from all iniquities. Eternal rest grant upon him, oh, Lord…”
Burke and I were the only ones who chanted the response of, ‘And let your perpetual light shine upon him.’
“May his soul and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God… rest in peace.” Dan released a long, soft sigh and bowed his head. “Amen.”
It worked. Real prayers or acting, it served a purpose and brought a sense of ‘pre bomb’ funeral that we all needed at that very moment.
With solace we departed Sam’s grave. I held on to my children, and Simon, and led the pack. Admittedly I did have to smile when I heard Rod comment to Dan on how beautiful of a service he delivered. We all returned to the shelter. Not Burke. He wanted to ‘check on something’ as he put it, and would return in fifteen minutes. What he was up to, we didn’t know.