Adrian's War Page 2

  Adrian knew that her concern was valid; she wasn’t being melodramatic. Suicide wasn’t an isolated event these days. Many millions had killed themselves since the grid went down. Many still took that way out rather than face the hardships of survival. It was a common occurrence.

  Alice gripped his hand. “Promise you’ll never consider it. Never.”

  “I swear it. I swear it from my heart. Never, under any circumstance, for any reason.”

  Alice still had the nightmares, but over their year of marriage they had come less often and were less vivid. Adrian didn’t know it at the time, but that sworn declaration would play a key role in keeping him alive, or he might well have taken that way out himself.

  Spring 2015

  Over time the Fort Brazos field hospital had drawn people from hundreds of miles. This was good for the village, but became a curse for Adrian. Alice worked long days and nights with only occasional days off. The flow of patients was far from steady. They would come in waves, followed by long periods of no one at all. She bore the brunt of the work because she loved healing. To her, practicing medicine wasn’t about her need to serve, it was about the sick and injured. It was about using every skill and talent she had to heal. She was a much of a warrior as her husband, with a different outcome when successful. They made an odd match, the healer and the killer, but it was a match that worked. They were well-suited in temperament and intellect.

  It was Alice’s diligence that killed her. It started on a slow day of a slow week. There were no patients in the hospital, and Alice had sent the entire staff home. She was inventorying their sparse medicinal supplies when a man knocked on the open door and asked for help. He had running sores on his face and arms. Alice took a long look at him, then led him to the nearest room and told him to lie down. She said she’d be right back.

  Alice went outside, spotted Matthew nearby, and shouted to him. “Matthew, come here please.” Matthew immediately turned and headed toward her. When he was fifty feet away she shouted, “Stop Right There! Don’t come any closer. I have a patient that may be contagious.”

  Matthew stopped, alarmed.

  “I need you to spread the word to everyone to stay far away from the hospital until I can confirm the diagnosis” Alice continued. “Otherwise it could wipe out the village. Make sure you tell Adrian to stay away. He’ll want to come, but I am already exposed and there is no going back. I absolutely forbid him to come near. Tell him in those words; make him understand he is under strict orders from me to stay away. He can wait by that tree over there, no closer, and when I know something I’ll come out and tell him. Please, will you do that?”

  The patient died the next day. Alice wouldn’t let anyone near the hospital until she determined if she herself was infected. By the fourth day, she knew she was. She called out to Adrian, who had come to wait by the nearby tree, just as she had expected. “Bring me a weeks’ worth of food and water, leave it halfway between us, and then walk back. I’ll stay here and see if I can pull myself through this. Now, listen to me. If you try to come in here I have a syringe already loaded with an overdose of barbiturates. I swear to God I will use it on myself before you get halfway to the door. I’m infected and I can deal with that. I’ve always known this could happen; it’s a condition of my profession, one we all accept as physicians. But if you get infected…I…I couldn’t deal with that. You know how I feel about this, so please…don’t make me do it.

  “If I die, burn this building to the ground. It’s the only way to be sure the infection doesn’t spread. Burn it with me inside, but don’t enter; burn it from the outside, and stay on the up-wind side. Keep the generators running all the time until then. I want that body to stay cold. Make sure the building burns hot and that my body, and his, are completely incinerated.” Alice sobbed and turned back into the building, closing the door behind her.

  Adrian stood guard at the point Alice had told him not to cross. He camped out on the spot, leaving only occasionally for sanitary breaks. Sarah brought him meals three times a day. Alice and Adrian talked frequently as best they could across the distance they had to maintain. The entire village stayed away and out of sight, giving them what little privacy they could have, and avoiding the plague inside. As Alice weakened, their conversations grew less frequent.

  Alice died after ten days. She had grown too weak to stand without supporting herself against the doorframe. She couldn’t shout loud enough for Adrian to hear her anymore, but he could see her well enough to know she was covered with pustules. His heart was beyond breaking; it was shattered. She had come to the door several times every day to speak to him, then it became only two times per day, and then one. Then, on the ninth day, she didn’t appear. He knew she was gone. He waited three more days before he completely gave up. Honoring her last wish that he keep his distance, had been the hardest thing he had ever done in his life, and he knew nothing would ever come close to being so difficult. But honoring her request was the last and best thing he could do for her. The smell of decomposing flesh wafted out to him as he approached the building with a bucket of hot lard mixed with some carefully hoarded diesel fuel. He alone approached the building; it was his wife, his duty.

  The building burned for two days, and it was another two days before the ashes had cooled enough that he could search for her remains. It had been a long, hot fire, but he expected to find some of her bones. He knew which bed she had used, so he knew where to start looking. He found her remains, and knelt in the ashes silently. He carefully brushed the ashes from around her scorched bones; much like an archaeologist would, and began gently placing them in a quilt-lined box that Sarah had prepared. He would place her remains into a full size coffin and she would be given a funeral service and burial, then he would leave for the mountains in Colorado. As he collected the bones, he wept. Her skull was especially difficult for him.

  Her remains were partially covered by a piece of sheetrock and fiberglass insulation that had fallen from the ceiling during the fire, protecting her stomach area from some of the heat. With utter disbelief he found a tiny partial skull nestled in her pelvis. It was comprised of cartilage and had been darkened and hardened by the heat, but had been somewhat protected by the sheetrock and insulation. Its shape was unmistakable. Alice had been pregnant, and he hadn’t known. Shock coursed through his body as he realized what he was holding. He was stunned and unable to move for a long time. Gathering his will, he carefully collected every bone and piece of cartilage he could find and placed them in the box, then returned home where he tenderly laid them in the coffin that waited there. He walked to Roman and Sarah’s house after washing the ashes from his body and changing clothes.

  The horror on his face told Sarah what he had discovered. “Oh God, I wish you hadn’t found out,” she said. “She was so thrilled to be carrying your child. She was waiting until she was absolutely sure, one hundred percent sure, before she would tell you. She didn’t want to be wrong and get your hopes up. She made me promise not to tell you, and then when she got sick and you didn’t know, I…I couldn’t tell you. I wouldn’t have anyway; a promise to Alice was a promise kept and it would have been so much better if you didn’t know.”

  Chapter 1

  ADRIAN HAD KILLED MORE THAN his share of men in his life, yet this was his first funeral. He had missed his parent’s double funeral; he was in the hospital recovering at the time. He felt betrayed by the weather; it should have been a cold, gray, rainy day, wintry and exemplifying death. Instead it was a sunny, late spring morning bursting with the promise of new life. Adrian hated everything about it. He and Alice had been married for only eighteen happy months.

  Roman put his hand gently on Adrian’s shoulder. They stood silently for a few moments, staring down at the freshly turned earth.

  Roman said, “I wish there were words that would ease the pain, even just a little. But there aren’t. Words won’t heal this.” Roman dropped his hand from Adrian’s shoulder, gently grasping his elbow instea
d. With light pressure he turned Adrian to face him.

  “I know you’ve heard time heals all, and you probably don’t believe it right now…but it’s true. Time passes, and with it the pain eases and someday you’ll find you’re able to move on. Before that, though, the pain is going to get deeper and harder to bear. A lot worse.”

  Roman released his elbow. Holding eye contact, he continued. “You’re still in shock. You’re in the early stages. I hate to say this, but you should know. It’ll take months before the pain bottoms out, before you reach the lowest point. You’ll remain there for what will seem like eternity. But eventually, gradually, the pain will lessen a tiny bit with each passing day. It’ll never be gone. It will always be right there behind your eyes. But you’ll reach the point where you carry on, day to day, without it being the only thing in your mind.”

  Roman dropped his eyes back to the grave, the sweet smell of fresh turned earth filling his lungs. He stared at the simple grave marker without really seeing it. It was quiet, the only sounds the singing of a mockingbird, a slight rustling of leaves from the soft breeze.

  Adrian looked back to the grave. He didn’t want to hear Roman’s empty words. He was barely paying attention, oblivious to the smells and sounds surrounding him, oblivious to everything except what Roman’s insistence forced him to confront. Only deep love and respect for his uncle kept him from turning his back on him.

  Roman looked back up at Adrian, sorrow evident in the set of his shoulders and the look on his face. “You need to know what will happen. You shouldn’t have to learn this in hind-sight. You’ll have peace with this someday. I want you to know that. “

  Roman stepped closer, aware of Adrian’s emotional distance, trying to close the gulf physically. “I’ll say this and leave you alone. Sarah and I don’t want you to go to the mountains now. We want you to stay here, with family and friends. Being alone right probably now seems like the best thing in the world, but it’s not. You should be around the people who love you, long enough to start healing. Wait a while. Stay here with us.”

  Roman moved back to Sarah. He knew Adrian was not convinced; he could tell by the tension in Adrian’s neck and the tightness of his jaw. Roman knew Adrian would leave as soon as he possibly could without upsetting anyone, if not sooner. He had the body language of a man holding himself in check, but desperately wanting to move, like a runner in the starting blocks.

  Sarah gripped Roman’s hand. She looked at her broken nephew, then said in a low voice that Adrian could not hear, “He has to go, Roman. His life ended in that grave and he’ll not stay a minute longer than he has to. Only respect for you is keeping him here this long.”

  “I know,” Roman responded, in an equally low and husky voice. “You’re right. I should make it easier on him, not harder. Let’s pack him some food, maybe a few things he wouldn’t think to take along.” Still holding Sarah’s hand, Roman raised his voice a little and said to Adrian. “Come by the house before you go. We’ll be wanting to say goodbye.” They turned and walked away.

  Adrian heard Roman’s parting words with relief. He thought, “They aren’t going to argue with me anymore. Good. I can be miles from here by dark.” He looked around him slowly, his ability to see the world around him partially coming back to him. Everyone had left him to be alone at the grave. It was the first time in days that no one was hovering over him, smothering him with well-intentioned concern. He knelt on one knee beside the grave. He remained there, silent, head bowed. He did not hear the mockingbirds. After a long while, he went home.

  In his and Alice’s house he impatiently packed a few things, barely aware of what he was choosing to take. Shouldering his pack, he picked up his shotgun and walked out for the last time, leaving the door open behind him. He had been in the house less than five minutes. Leaving the door open was a statement to his community: they were welcome to what they could use, including the house itself. He would not be back soon. If he ever returned, he would not enter it again. He didn’t look back.

  As promised, he strode swiftly to Roman and Sarah’s home and walked in. In his entire life he had not once knocked on their door, they would have been insulted if he had. They had packed him a supply of pemmican, coffee, salt, and a few other odds and ends. Sarah had stopped by Adrian’s house and picked out a locket that Alice had frequently worn. Alice’s favorite. She placed it in his hand and closed his fingers around it. Sarah sobbed, turned, and fled to the bedroom, broken hearted at Adrian’s pain and departure.

  Roman gave Adrian a firm hug and then stood in the doorway, watching his nephew through blurry eyes as he disappeared into the woods. Adrian would be a deeply changed man when they next met.

  Chapter 2

  HE LOOKED DOWN AT HIS compass, turning it slightly to ease the glare. The needle pointed northwest, right on track. Adrian noted a microwave tower two points off his bearing. Microwave towers were good navigation points. They were generally on the highest ground in the area, and aligned with one another. As long as he walked two points to the right of the tower he would be on course. He put the compass back in his pocket, eased the pack slightly on his shoulders, and walked on.

  It had been three weeks since he had left Fort Brazos. He was intent on getting to the Rocky Mountains before winter, but he had plenty of time. Adrian was drifting, physically and mentally, while grieving. He had found that Roman’s warning was right; the grief was deepening daily with no bottom in sight. At first he had been moving rapidly, intent on increasing the distance between him and Alice’s grave, literally trying to out-run the pain. After several days he slowed, realizing it didn’t matter where he was; the grief was inside him, not back there in the dirt.

  He found the only thing that could stop his mind from continually revolving around the pain was to pay close attention to everything outside him. If he looked closely at the ground in front of him, the vegetation and animals, details in the distance, he could distract himself. He had thus become an almost insanely keen observer. But observation alone was not enough. He also discovered that if he became involved in the world around him, it helped even more. Adrian decided to live as much like a Paleolithic traveler as possible. That would require his full attention. He began by looking for flint.

  While at Fort Brazos, Adrian had spent many afternoons studying Roman’s survivalist library. There he had found a small paperback book on flint knapping. Reading the book, he discovered that glass could be worked the same way and with the same tools as flint. He had practiced on broken glass and then found some flint in the river bed and worked it. He wasn’t very good at it, but he could rough out the tools he needed. They weren’t attractive like the prehistoric flint tips he had seen, but they were functional. Central Texas was rich with artifacts. Roman had taught him what worked flint looked like, and that where he found one worked piece he was likely to find many others. He learned that usually, flint was briefly worked at the source where it was found, then thoroughly worked at a campsite.

  He observed the landscape closely as he walked. Thinking “Where to camp tonight? Near water, above the flash flood line. Somewhere with firewood, and a view of the surrounding area. Rain’s likely from the look of those clouds, I’ll need something sheltered from weather.” Adrian drew in a deep breath, tasting the scent of distant rain. His eyes scanned back and forth across the landscape as he walked. The softening light was another rain signal. One spot nearby looked to have the best possibilities.

  It was uphill from a grove of cottonwood trees. “Cottonwood trees often mean water,” he thought. To his west there was a steep cliff face of limestone, breaking the prevailing wind that blew from the North West. Perhaps there would be a cave or overhang. Satisfied that it would be as good a place as he was likely to find, he veered toward it.

  Adrian knew that any good camping spots he came across today had probably already been used as such for thousands of years by primitive man. He had discovered some that showed signs of having been used by primitive man for ten
s of thousands of years. The amount of time they had been out of use until the grid had dropped was only a brief pause on the larger scale. The most enduring signs were flakes from flint working. When he found a good source of flint, primitive man would stop and briefly work the flint at the source. These quarries were not generally great camping places, so the stone worker would chip off large blanks of flint. These were easy to carry and work on later, in a better place.

  Adrian avoided roads and towns and houses. The further northwest he travelled the fewer of them there were. He realized he was seeing the same contours and streams that ancient travelers had seen while on foot. He had found a rhythm to the travelling. A day’s journey from one good, previously used campsite fairly often led to another good campsite. It was as though he was travelling an ancient trail, with regular stopping places along the way. It made sense to him; his travelling pace would be about the same as the ancients’. It seemed that at the end of each day he would find where they, too, had stopped and camped.

  The campsites were usually the place where those flint blanks were worked. The hunters or travelers would work blanks into spearheads and other tools while sitting around the fire. The pieces that were worked off of the blanks, and the broken pieces that didn’t work out, were left on the ground. They never deteriorated, although they would be slowly scattered and covered up by time and erosion. Adrian often found useful tools, sometimes excellent points, at these camp sites. He was never sure if the whole pieces were accidentally left behind, or if the stone workers had a higher standard of quality than Adrian was able to discern from the leavings. Regardless, these places had become treasure troves of once-again useful implements.

  He reached the cliff face an hour before sunset. He wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve while he looked around. Walking about slowly and stirring rocks with a long stick, he spotted several flint flakes and a complete flint knife blade. “Bingo! I’ll stay here a couple of days and see what I can work up in the way of tools.” The thought was punctuated by the sound of thunder rumbling overhead.