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?”
After a moment, Kit shook her head. “No.”
“No?”
“No. Jonas came through here four times and never found his wife. We were here, probably miles from my mother, and we missed each other. You said it before, if everyone is looking, how will they find each other. Someone has to stop in order to be found. I’m gonna go back to my son.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I’m positive. If she gets to New Mexico, they know where we are. If we keep going we’re gonna always be one step ahead, or behind. It’s not how I wanted this to end, but it is what it has to be.” She pulled out the family picture she was going to place on the wall, wrote the words, ‘Maltese Colorado’ signed her name with the date, and gave it to Abe to place near where he found that book cover.
As they walked away from the wall, a man from the table asked, “Do you need us to call out a name?”
Before answering, Kit looked at the Alas, Babylon cover. “No,” she said. “We found our answer.”
They had. She placed the cover to the book in her backpack. Abe and Kit moved on.
THIRTY-FIVE – Retreat
The multiple blisters on Zeke’s palms were huge and he held his hands under the water to relieve the stinging pain.
Harland peered over Zeke’s shoulder. “I have ointment for those.”
“I’ll be fine. Just trying to cool them off.”
“Ointment will work, too,” Harland said, placing a towel next to the kitchen sink. “Finish up. Supper’s on the table.”
“Yes, sir.” Zeke wanted a few more seconds with the water, then he used his elbows to shut off the faucet and gently dried his hands with the towel.
“There are other jobs around town.” Harland took a seat at the kitchen table, “Other than working on that fence.”
“Like what?” Zeke asked, joining him.
“You can work at the school or help with the bodies.” Harland dished out the food.
“Chief Rogers said the fence can’t wait. The bodies can wait.”
“Oh, yeah? Tell it to the bodies. While you’re at it walk by and get a good whiff.”