Chapter Sixteen: The Wayward Ones — Part 1

The truck coasts down the road, set in its lowest gear, eased by the break. Joe hasn’t touched the accelerator once, even uphill. Those following him aren’t in any condition to run, and he has no intention of pushing them harder than he has to. He’s certain that the Major will wait until morning to start the hunt. Joe watches the gas gauge; thankful the tank was full before he left for the day. He has nearly a full tank as it is, but he’d rather lose the whole tank and be covering serious ground than sputtering along at the edge of a storm. As if in response to his thoughts, the rain begins to fall, tapping on the roof of the truck. In some places it sounds like metal and water talking, in others, like the tap of bearings over leather. It’s not the warmer rains caused by the Storm, but part of a cooler weather pattern. The wind starts to build, and the sound of the rain builds in power.

Despite the fact that they could find some shelter in the trees, despite the fact that the lightning seems distant but closing in, nobody stops moving. They know that the storm is slowly building, that its brutal intentions will be known soon enough. Even when it is dark, even when the intensity of the storm builds to something fierce and terrible, even when the lightning rips the sky into millions of pieces, and their skin tingles with the feeling of loose electrons looking for a path to the ground, there will be no break from the road. The outcasts march on from five in the evening until close to eleven at night, following the truck’s red and yellow lights with unexpected persistence. Jon and Terri check ChoCho’s vitals every so often, until, as the storm dies down, ChoCho comes back around. He’s covered in a hot sweat, but he looks physically healthy.

“I was dreaming of rats, eating at my clothes.” He says this as if it is important. “It was very disturbing.”

Nobody talks to him about his collapse, everybody is just happy he’s not hurt. The storm is close to done when Joe brings the truck to a stop at the base of an incline in the road, where water is building and flowing gently by. There’s no real threat of a flash flood from what he can tell, or at least if there had been a more hostile flow, it has already died back. Joe takes the time to step out of the cab, walk back to the pedestrians, all of them sopped to the bone. Not one of them has gone back, and he knows, eventually, that he’ll have to find out why. He walks around the corner of the truck, wishing he could do something to make the journey more comfortable for those following him. If the storm hadn’t carried for so long, he would have considered driving ahead with Jynx, George, and Jude and coming back for them. The storm hadn’t allowed that, really.

Joe sits down on the truck step, the metal grill biting into his bottom. “I know all of you have been walking a long time. I was impressed that none of you asked to take a break.”

“It’s not like any of us were thirsty.” One of the kids says, and everybody laughs a little.

“I guess that none of you feel you have a home to go back to. I’m not going to bother to ask why.” He pauses, thinking. “Are any of you hurt? Beyond blisters and the general suck that comes from walking seven hours straight, is there anything we need to tend to before we push on?”

“Bathroom?” Somebody asks.

“Don’t have any toilet paper.” Joe says.

“Not a problem.” The kids disperse, and in about fifteen minutes or so, all of them have returned from the trees.

“Anything else?” Joe asks, feeling anxious to get them to safety,

There is no response from the young faces at all, so Joe continues, well aware that all of them are shivering wet. “Over this hill are the remains of a private school. It was empty when Blake and I found it, but we’ve since made it a waypoint between here and where we’re eventually headed. There is food, and there are showers. Most importantly, there is a generator for power there. We’ll have hot water and some time to put your clothes to wash and get you dry. We are still, technically, too close to stay more than the night here, but since it’s the way point, there are enough trucks that we should all be able to leave off to the next without having to walk.”

“Sounds great. How much farther?” The leader of the group asks gently, his voice sounding a little rough.

“Two miles. At our current speed, that puts us something like an hour out.”

“Then let’s get going.” Somebody else from the crowd says.

“What’s your name?” Joe asks gently of the first person that spoke to him.

“Heath.” The boy says with matching tone.

“Heath. What a beautiful name. Thanks for everything. Hopefully we can repay you and yours in kind.” Joe says.

Nobody talks much on the last part of the walk. If they weren’t all brutally soaked and chilled, the lot of them might actually have just found a corner and gone straight to sleep in their clothes. Twenty one teenagers between the ages of 13 and 16 endured the hike through a terrible storm, and now all of them look so tired that ChoCho is reminded of how he felt the first night when he slept under the awning of Jynx’s window, how he didn’t know if she would let him stay, or if he would be homeless. The private school is made for maybe two thousand students, and though some of the buildings have burned to the ground, two buildings remain unharmed. One smaller single story building, and a larger, two story complex sit next to each other, and at a distance from the main cluster. Joe drives the van to the smaller building, parks, and steps out, walking back to address the shivering mass that has followed him, thus far, in what must be perfect misery.

“All right, boys and girls, mans and womans. And all of you cats and dogs in between.” Joe shouts out. “I know it looks like it’s smart time to rest up, but the truth is I only want to stay here long enough to freshen our eyes before we head out again. We took a road straight and true, and I know if I were the Major, I would be sending out a search party, in trucks, at first light, or sooner, if possible. Though, we have enough vans and vehicles, and enough drivers to get us out of this mess, time is not on our side. We are parked in front of what passes for a gymnasium with public showers. There are also some massive industrial clothes washers and dryers set up, probably for towels and such. Break off, get stripped, get showers, get clean, get rested and by the time you’re ready to leave, your clothes should be too.”

The party moves into the building, turns on the lights, and the building’s generator kicks on in response. The gymnasium has all wood floors set over a concrete foundation. Its walls are the same industrial white that one can find in most schools. Its ceiling is 25 feet high, and the support framework is visible. The water heating system stores water on the roof, a common enough occurrence in buildings on level ground. The generator, which Joe has been keeping fueled and running, has been doing its job of feeding the boiler system, so that hot water is waiting. It comes as a surprise to everybody when Heath lines up with the girls, strips to a body that matches her friends, and heads for the showers with them.

“I’m guessing Heath is short for Heather.” Arpie says, when it’s apparent that he needs to say what others are thinking.

“Or maybe Heath is just Heath.” Jynx counters.

“Guess you could be right.” Arpie grunts, his hands aching suddenly when he hadn’t noticed them before.

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