All Is Silence - Deserted Lands #1

Chapter 19 - Part II

IN SONORA, CITY OF A THOUSAND single-wides, Mannie made a pit stop to give his knee a little stretch. There was a text from Lizzie. He called up to report in and got voice mail.

"Hey. It's Dad." He wandered as he talked, breaking into some calf raises and partial squats. "I'm doing fine. Probably about an hour from San Angelo. Gonna call Jess, give her some warning. Thanks for the help this morning. Maybe you can help me remember to give myself another shot in seven days. Need to figure out what day it is. Talk to you soon. I'll call when I get to Jess." He hit end call; then he pulled the slip of paper with Jess' number from his pocket and dialed.

"Hello?" The voice had a hint of the southern softness.

"Jess? It's Mannie. Lizzie's dad." A flash of lightning appeared off to the east under the dark blanketed sky. Thunderstorms were coming.

"Thanks for coming to get me." She sounded hesitant.

"No problem."

"Where are you?"

"In Sonora. An hour away, I think."

"You'll be in time for dinner."

"That'd be great. How do I find you?"

"Call back when you get in town. I've been sleeping at the Motel 6. I'm at Central High School with some survivors, but I'll meet you at the motel.

He ended the call and continued his stretches. The only time he ever did the damn exercises the physical therapist had taught him was after the aches started. He climbed back into the Jeep stiff and tired of driving. He rolled through town on 277 as it twisted and turned. It was desolate here before the end of days, scrub pines bordered the road, outcrops of low stone jutted out of the bleak desert. Every few miles a large sign proclaimed some cattle farmer's domain—Broadwell Ranch, B & D Acres, Deer Creek Ranch. Sometimes there was a fancy stone gate with its cattle grate. Red and yellow strata showed where they'd cut the road straight through a hill. He drove past boarded up buildings, roadside stores, an empty strip club. Too bad the Jeep didn't come with an autopilot; this country was going to put him to sleep. He opened another Coke.

                                                        *       *       *

San Angelo was a thriving metropolis comparatively; someone had whitewashed a billboard of a rodeo with 'Survivors Welcome! Follow the signs to Central High' painted in broad red strokes.

He stopped the Jeep under the sign and hit redial for Jess.

She picked up and told him how to get to the Motel 6.

He found it. A pretty girl with a cowboy hat in hand detached from the late afternoon shade of the building and walked toward him.

He pulled into the shade, the warmth of the day still oppressive for November. He pulled his stiff body from the cab and hopped down; shaking his leg and knee out. He put his right foot up on the tire and rubbed around the knee.

"Hi, Mister Guerrero." She put her hat on her head. Her cloudy grey eyes held a touch of sadness that made her more beautiful.

"Jess? Call me Mannie. Or Manuel." He stuck his hand out.

She looked at it for a second. "How's your hand doing." It was an excuse, he realized. This soon after the plague, shaking hands with strangers seemed risky.

He pulled it back. "Doctor cleaned it up outside San Antonio. Good to have somebody who knows what they're doing..."

She nodded. "You hungry?"

"Not too much, yet." He bent his gimpy leg a couple more times. "I could use a walk."

"A walk sounds good. I can take you over to the school and introduce you around." She started ahead of him and then slowed down. "I remember meeting Lizzie in grade school. We were inseparable. Lizzie thought she loved horses." Jess told him the story of how Lizzie's first real encounter with a horse had not gone well.

Mannie nodded, listening. It seemed like a peace offering. Jess was giving him something about his daughter he didn't have, a memory. Or perhaps it was a warning—just because Lizzie liked the idea of a dad, didn't mean she would like the real thing. They walked in silence for a while.

After a couple blocks Jess said, "I missed her when my family moved down here."

Mannie nodded again. "I miss her, too."

The school looked like any other high school in America, faded Homecoming Dance signs, white patches of paint to cover graffiti, and an awful lot of blue and orange—school colors.

The people Mannie met seemed haggard, but pleasant. Jess introduced him to Tom, the baker. He handed her fresh baked rolls.

"How's San Antone?" Tom asked when he heard where Mannie had been.

"Seem to have things under control. Lots of military folks. Martial law."

Tom nodded. "Yep. Times like these. A bit of discipline keeps things together."

Mannie smiled, wondering if people really needed to be under control.

They walked back to the Motel 6 as the sun set. Jess heated up a large can of beef stew and the rolls. It was nice to see people sharing in a time of crisis. He had seen enough of neighbors turning against neighbors in Afghanistan.

The bread was melt-in-your-mouth tasty and Mannie ate like he hadn't eaten in a month. Having people around to talk to was something he didn't realize he missed. "Any idea how many people have come into town?" He sopped up the last of the stew with another chunk of bread.

"They've got a count going; 792 was the last number I saw."

"But nobody you know?"

"Oh, I know some of them. A couple of the jocks and cheerleadery types. Nobody I liked. When I found out Lizzie was alive, then Zach and Nev..." She sniffed a little. "I was kind of jealous. When Lizzie phoned to say she was sending you, I was packing a bag before I hung up the phone.