Chapter 5

I had all the lights in the RV turned off, so it was at least as dark inside as it was out. I peered out of the window, trying to see what had gotten Tuesday's attention, hoping it wasn't just another dog; hoping that, if it was a dog, it wasn't one from whom I'd have to rescue Tuesday.

It wasn't a dog. I heard a voice in the darkness -- a woman's voice. "Mr. Johnson?"

A polite woman's voice. I threw caution aside, threw open the door of the RV, and hollered back. "Here! I'm right here! Come closer!"

I was too eager to make contact with another human being to really care, but my 17-year-old psyche registered, with at least slight disappointment, that this was a woman older than my own mother. She was 40-something, a little bit chunky, and looking very much the worst for wear.

Never mind. I wasn't all alone in the world, and that was good! That was very good!

"Come inside," I said. "Are you alone?"

"Am I alone! God, yes! I thought I was alone in the world!"

That had been my thought, exactly. But now, despite my youth, I felt in charge, and I felt new confidence that we would find others who had survived -- whatever had happened.

"Come inside," I repeated. She seemed a bit taken aback. "I thought you were a grown man," she said.

"Well, any port in a storm," I said.

"I'm sorry," she said, realizing, belatedly, that she had put me down. "I just meant, your voice -- on the radio -- sounded older."

"I'm alone, too," I told her. I figured it was time for us to do some non-radio communicating. "Where did you come here from?"

From St. Cloud, Minnesota," she said. "North of the Twin Cities."

"Long way."

"Yes! I was afraid I wouldn't get here in time. You said you'd be here until morning."

"You made it in plenty of time," I said.

"Yes, but I wasn't very clear on how long it would take. My home is much farther from here than you were, in Western Kansas."

"You are probably exhausted," I said.

"I'm emotionally exhausted," she said. "I'm -- God! I'm so glad to find you!"

"I'm glad, too," I said. "It's no fun, being alone."

She noticed the rifle, still held in my hand. "I see you are taking the cautious approach," she said.

"I don't know what to expect -- after... what happened. I thought I ought to be prepared."

"I think that's wise," she said. "I haven't done anything. This is my third car, since starting down here. I don't know how to get gas out of the pumps, so when I ran low on gas, I just took another car. One of them, somebody's body was still in it -- it was... awful. I just had to... drag him out and leave him there, on the street."

"It's pretty bad," I said. "Whatever it was, it happened at night. That was probably a good thing. Most people were in their houses, sleeping. Do you know -- what it was? What happened?"

"No."

"Were you somewhere -- protected? Were you underground, or something?... I was in a mine, deep underground."

"I was in bed. At home. With my husband. I woke up the next morning, and found him there -- dead. It was a shock! He was healthy! He was only 46 years old! I called my daughter -- she's 21. I mean -- she was. When I couldn't get her, I called friends, neighbors, relatives. The phone seemed to be working, but nobody answered me!

"I drove to the campus where my daughter was a student. It was terrible! The dorm was full of dead girls! It was... it was awful!" She broke into fresh tears, and I did my awkward best to comfort her.

"I'm so sorry," I said, patting her on the arm. I didn't even know this woman's name. I hadn't yet asked her... what her name was.

Her name was Bridgett Clancy, and she was 43 years old and the mother of two. Her eldest, her 23-year-old son, had been living in New Hampshire. She had been unable to contact him, after the Event, and she was realistic about it. She thought he was probably dead. Until she'd heard me on the radio, she had thought that perhaps everyone was dead.

Now, despite the exhausting trip south from Minnesota, despite the shock of the past several days, and the horrific way she had lost her husband and daughter, she was -- relatively speaking -- happy.

We both were. Happy that at least one stranger had been found -- alive -- to share whatever came next in this chaotic new world.

I made coffee for her. She reveled in it. She hadn't stopped, in all the time since the Event, to make coffee. Her knowledge of things like gasoline generators was even less complete than my own. She might, eventually, have thought, as I had, to secure an RV for transportation and shelter. But she hadn't thought of it before now, and my coffee was a taste of civilization.