“No, he knew.” Regis wrapped his arm around Mark.
Mark slammed his hands to the debris, once, twice full strength, then the strikes slowed down. “It’s over.”
Regis didn’t know what to say, he felt destroyed. Nothing he could say to his brother would help. They made it to their destination, but they didn’t find resolve, they only found more loss.
Regis just pulled Mark closer.
“I love you, Rege.”
“I love you, too, Little Brother.”
“Thank you for being here.”
Regis could hear it in Mark’s voice, it was getting softer, more breathy.
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Regis said.
Mark leaned nearly all his weight on Regis., His head moved to his brother’s chest. “Do you think we should have stayed with dad?”
“No. Not at all. This is where we need to be.” Regis rested his hand on Mark’s head.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Mark slid down, and almost like a child, he curled into a ball on the ground, resting his head on Regis’ lap. ‘I’m so tired, Rege. So… tired.”
“Then you sleep. Just close your eyes and….” Regis paused. He knew. Mark’s hand dropped and there was a stillness and calm. “Sleep.”
Regis choked on that final word. His throat tensed up, his closed his eyes tightly, and leaned forward bringing Mark into him.
His baby brother was gone and all Regis could do was clutch his brother and drown silently in the pain.
GROUND ZERO CITIZEN – Nine
“There are two positive things about the occupation,” Deana had said to Terrence.
Occupation? What did she mean?
Terrence was ill. Each day he fought to feel better. A good day consisted of him sitting up for a few minutes without aching, or wanting to vomit.
She explained, even though he listened with a half ear, that the two good things were medication for him and she was relieved of duty… for now.
“I slept for eight hours, Terrence. In a cot, after I showered and was given a hot meal. They need me strong,” she said. “They need me elsewhere and strong.”
Terrence tried to register what she said. She visited him often, sometimes sitting with him for hours. Then again, he had no sense of time.
She looked better, Terrence knew that. Not as tired, or pale.
Deana told him that the occupation was mainly in densely populated and effected areas. “Which is good,” she said. “I told Macy when things calm down to head west. I wish I could go with you. My heart says to do that, but I have to help. I’ll be leaving. I don’t know where I’m going.”
Terrence teetered between thinking the information was real, or part of a dream. Deana was there, Macy wasn’t. That didn’t make sense. Where was his wife?
He drifted in and out of consciousness for a while. Opening his eyes when some man who barely spoke English talked to him and explained his condition. At one point, he swore Deana said goodbye.
Then one day Terrence woke up and felt nearly one hundred percent better. He was clear, lucid, his stomach didn’t cringe. He had been moved from the dark hospital room to some sort of ward. There were so many cots around him.
Terrence was one of them.
He sat up and looked around, it took a few times of blinking to get his focus. It was a huge tent with white walls. Cot-style beds lined both sides creating an aisle in between. He saw one worker, wearing brown and tan camouflage military pants. He tried to take in the sounds, he could hear shouting outside, trucks revving engines and what sounded like bricks dropping.
He swung his legs over the bed and noticed he wasn’t connected to an IV, it was the first time in a while.
“Ex…” Terrence cleared his throat, calling out to the medical worker. “Excuse me.”
The man was four beds down, he turned around, set down his clipboard and made his way to Terrence, lifting another clipboard from the bottom of the bed.
He had an olive complexion and dark hair, to Terrence he looked Italian and even the accent sounded like it. Then again, Terrence wasn’t really that good with visually guessing where people were from.
“How do you feel?” he asked, placing the stethoscope to his chest. “Deep breath.”
“Better.”
“Good.” He felt Terrence’s neck, then underarms, he pulled a pen from his pocket and made a notation on the chart.
Terrence saw the date. May first. He couldn’t believe it. It was the tenth of April when he arrived at the hospital. He had been there three weeks? A part of him thought it was longer. Still three weeks since he gave into the sickness and nearly a month since the bombs fell.
“Your blood work is good,” the man said. “Clothes for you.” He tapped a plastic bag at the bottom of the bed. “You may go home if you wish.”
“You’re kidding, right? Home? Where is home now?”
The man walked away.
“Where am I?” Terrence asked, then gave up when he wasn’t getting an answer. He removed the hospital gown and opened the plastic bag. It was sealed, and in it were a shirt, pants and shoes. He began to dress, hoping the clothes fit him. As he pulled the tee shirt over his head he noticed the note on the night stand and he lifted it.
It was from Deana. It was brief and stated she had to leave, she didn’t know where she was going, but it was somewhere south. His family was safe at her house. She wished him luck
He folded the note and placed it in his chest pocket, then finished dressing.
Walking was difficult, his legs were weak and he swayed a lot. Before he reached the entrance to the tent, he was stopped by a woman.
She, too, was dressed in a uniform, only she wore a button down jacket with rolled up sleeves. When she placed her hand on his chest, he saw it. The ‘Italia’ patch. He was right, but why were Italian Soldiers there? Surely, Italy didn’t bomb them.
“No,” she said.
“That man said I could,” Terrence pointed back.
“Sit.” She inched him back to an empty bed. “Sit.”
“But…”
She handed him a bottle of water, a spoon, a three inch high, pop top can and something that looked like a biscuit. “Eat. Then you can go.”
“Thank you.” Terrence did feel hungry and his mouth was extremely dry. He took the first few gulps of water so fast, it formed a knot in his stomach. He curled his finger around the ring to pop open the can, it looked like thick vegetable soup. It took only a couple spoonfuls to finish it. It didn’t taste bad. After another drink of water, he placed the biscuit in his mouth. It was hard to the touch and difficult for Terrence to bite because his teeth felt loose. He placed it on the table, nodded to the woman and opened the door to the tent.
The moment he stepped outside, he was stunned. As a child he was fascinated with the story of Rip Van Winkle, the man who slept for twenty years. Terrence felt like him.
Busy was the best word he could use to describe the scene before him. Men in hard hats moved about shouting orders, bulldozers lifted concrete into trucks, some just shoved debris into a pile, while workers erected tents in the nearly cleared spots.
He couldn’t stop looking around. Five feet into his walk, the same woman from the tent shoved a small box in his arms.
“Food. Good luck.”
Terrence could only nod his thanks. He was speechless upon the discovery of where he was. The skeletal remains of the buildings around him gave him a pictorial reality of how bad everything was. He didn’t need a map and he didn’t need to ask anyone.
Terrence was in a foreign aid camp smack dab in the middle of Washington D.C.…
THIRTY-TWO – Names and Luck
The two week transport to Canada didn’t happen. She had hoped it would, but learned from Schriever it was delayed. Things had slowed down in Maltese, a lot of people that had come from Colorado Springs had passed away and they dealt with a lot of mass graves.