Chapter 2

It took the rest of the day and a stop at a truck stop to refill the tanks, but by nightfall, we were in the Valley, negotiating back roads and occasionally cutting across pastures or orchards. At the rest stop just south of the I5-I580 junction, I stopped to give Crystal a chance to clean up and change clothes.

Cora and I waited by the truck to give her privacy, but tore into the ladies' room when we heard her scream. 9mm in hand, M16 slung over my shoulder, I burst in, ready to shoot somebody.

"Wait! Wait, Gavin!" Crystal yelled at me trying to use her body to shield a gaunt-looking woman who cowered in the corner. "She just startled me. It's okay."

The woman appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, and she, too, had barely survived the sickness. Her clothes were fairly fresh, so she must have changed them.

"We were trying to get to my sister's house east of Barstow," the woman sobbed, "but we had to stop to use the bathroom. By the time I got back to the car, Ted was too sick to drive, and I couldn't move him from behind the wheel! I don't know how long I sat there, out of my head with fever, before I realized he was dead, along with everyone else out there, so I got my clothes and I've been living here for the last three or four days."

"Why didn't you come out when you heard the truck?" I asked.

"Would you?" She replied. "I had no idea who was driving it, but I knew damn good and well that there wasn't going to be any law around to protect me, so I stayed hidden, hoping to get a clue as to whether I could trust you or not. When the young lady came in here alone, I figured it was safe enough to approach her."

"My name's Gavin Thompson," I said, "and this is Crystal."

From behind me, Cora, too, introduced herself.

"I'm Ruth Goldman," the woman responded, holding out her hand. "Is everybody really dead?"

"All over the world, apparently," I told her. "According to the notice that's playing on all the TV channels, Scientists figure this was a bio-weapon that terrorists released, only they didn't count on it propagating around the world so fast. Seems it hopped flights to pretty much every place on Earth before the first deaths occurred, including the Middle East. Certain people, like us, seem capable of developing an immunity to it, but not very many."

"I'm sorry to ask, but you wouldn't happen to have any food, would you? I've been living on toothpaste and a bag of Cheetos..."

"Sure, Ruth," I told her, then raised an eyebrow in Crystal's direction.

I told you she was smart - she nodded her assent to let Ruth come with us. Truth be told, I think she had been waiting for me to ask. Cora, too, caught on and gave silent assent.

"Look, we're going to try to find a place that will be safe for us for awhile, and try to start over," I told her. "You're welcome to come along..."

"Where are you going?" She asked.

"I'm sorry, but until we get there, I can't afford to tell anyone else. If any of you should decide you don't want to be with me, I don't want it to come down to a choice of killing you to protect the rest, or letting the secret out. You three may be the mothers of the New Earth, and killing you is not an option."

"What do you mea... ? Oh! Well! That certainly puts things in a different perspective, doesn't it?"

Crystal looked puzzled, and I guess, despite her brainpower she was too young for the repopulation of Earth to have become a major personal concern, as yet.

"It's like this, Crystal:" I told her, "There are very few people left on Earth. We are social creatures, not accustomed to living alone, so in order to survive as a race, we must make more people as quickly as possible. That means we need every woman we can find to start trying to get pregnant."

"And you, no doubt," Ruth said, sarcastically, "will be the Father of the new race."

"I won't lie," I shrugged. "I would like to leave a child or two or three behind before I die, but my ego aside, I know enough about genetics to know that me fathering a whole race is not feasible. I remember enough of my history to know the dangers of inbreeding. We also need to recruit other men, and even then, genetically, it could be touch and go. I see no reason why pairing needs to be done any differently than it has throughout human history. If I appeal to you, then fine, maybe we'll make babies, but if I don't, and there are other candidates, then make your own choice. As a matter of genetics, the more fathers you women find to give you babies, the better off we'll be, so monogamy might not be the best thing for a while. The only sin is staying celibate. Women, I'm sorry to say, will have to become over-protected baby factories again for a while."

"That's pretty harsh!" Ruth said, then her tone softened, "but I guess the world has just become a much harsher place, hasn't it?"

"It has. Unfortunately, there are some who haven't yet realized the import of what's happened, or don't care..."

"Yeah, like that guy who only wanted to steal jewelry from the dead," Crystal put in.

"Just like him, or worse. The point is, if you want to survive and have a chance at resurrecting civilization, then we need to find as many others like ourselves as we can, and try to make an enclave somewhere where we can be relatively undisturbed for a while."

"What do you mean 'like ourselves?'"

"I mean people who are serious about giving the human race a new start, and not just living off the leftovers of the old society until they run out. I mean people who are willing to work to see that the things we have learned over the last few centuries don't get lost in a new dark age and a descent to barbarism."

Ruth nodded curtly, "Well, if you don't intend to rape me or one of these ladies, let's get on the road."

"I wouldn't mind having consensual sex with you, Ruth. You're quite an attractive lady, as is Cora. Crystal will be, also, in a few years, but until her body matures, it's too risky for her to be having sex. Her body may not be able survive giving birth."

"Oh, my mom put me on the pill..." Crystal interjected.

Cora raised an eyebrow in her direction. "And how many of them did you bring with you? Where will you get refills? He's right sweetie. The days are past when you can afford to have sex for fun, unless you're really good at the ol' 'rythm and blues' method."

"What's that?"

"Exactly my point, dear. If you haven't heard of it, you don't know how to do it, so don't mess around with boys for a couple of years, okay?"

With that, Ruth picked up a suitcase from one of the stalls and marched toward the door. A noise from outside caused my arm to shoot out and hold her back. Holding a finger to my lips, I motioned them to wait for me, and eased around the corner to where I could see the truck.

A pair of sandals disappeared on the other side of the cab as I peeked around the corner. I didn't expect any real organized resistance this early, but I scanned the surrounding area before ducking back behind the building. A quick circuit of the restrooms brought me out near the rear of the truck. The only weapon I had left in the cab was an extra Ka-bar knife stuffed under the driver's seat, and I didn't picture anyone wearing sandals as coming to this party heavily armed, so I slipped around the back of the truck and eased up to the driver's door. The guy had found a can of peaches and was busy pouring it down his throat.

He almost choked when I poked him in the ribs with the barrel of the M16.

"Finish the peaches and step down, very carefully."

He did, and while he was tense, he wasn't afraid. He kept both hands visible without being told and climbed down slowly.

"Sorry about the peaches, mister, but I haven't eaten in a while, and, well..."

"Never mind that! Keep those hands where I can see them!" I told him, taking a step back, "At ease, soldier! You're not in any danger if you don't get stupid, but I know the score here and I WILL pull this trigger "

He stopped trying to shift his weight into a fighting stance and stood, hands at shoulder height.

"What service, soldier?" I asked.

"United States Marine Corps, Gunnery Sergeant, Recon. Name's Garcia, Ramon Garcia."

"Good. You lookin' to hook up with somebody or are you planning to go it on your own?"

"I'm okay on my own, but having a secure base would be nice."

"You got combat experience?" I asked.

"Yeah," he answered. "More than my share I reckon. Two tours in Iraq, one in Afghanistan."

"Well, then, maybe I oughta turn this show over to you," I said, thinking hard. "I did a few years in the Navy, but never saw combat."

Garcia shook his head. "I'm not much for leadin', sir, but I know how leaders think. While I was doing what everybody else did - trying to run away from the inevitable, you figured out something else. You got it organized, and didn't hesitate to do what needed doing to make it work. If it's all the same to you, and you'll have me, I'll handle any fighting that comes up while you keep doing what you're doing. Looks like you've got the right idea.

"If we're going to hook up, you'll have to teach the rest of us about fighting. Basic weapons first, as we travel, then, when we get to our destination, more rigorous training, especially hand to hand. You up for that?"

His grin was ear to ear. "Did a stint as a DI at Parris Island. I think I can handle it."

"All right, get your kit and climb in. Cab's full, I'm afraid, but after you've inventoried what's in the bed and equipped yourself as you see fit, you can probably make yourself comfortable back there."

"And Gunny..." I said, as he swung up over the tailgate.

"Yes, sir?"

"If you think of anything else we need, after the inventory, make a list and we'll fill it in on the way."

"Where we headed?"

"Need to know, Gunny."

Garcia just nodded. Everyone who had ever been in the service knew that information was doled out on a 'need to know' basis. It was a security measure, but it had led to some Class A fuck-ups over the years as the 'need to know' always preceded the actual dissemination of the intel, often in some very hostile situations. I would have to determine how far I could trust this Marine quickly, in case something happened to me.

I saw Crystal peeking around the corner of the restroom and waved her over. Ruth and Cora came with her.

"Hey Garcia, why don't you hop down for a sec and meet the rest of our little band."

He had already found the weapons and equipped himself with a sidearm and knife, but instead of an M16, he carried one of the shotguns I had picked up at the sporting goods store. His pockets bulged with ammo for it. I was a little tense as the Marine came toward us, loaded for bear, but he held the shotgun casually under his arm and extended his hand, first to Ruth, then to Cora, then to Crystal.

"Ramon Garcia, meet Ruth Goldman, Corazon Mendoza, and Crystal Adams."

I watched his face carefully, and while he had a healthy appreciation for a good-looking woman, there was no hunger in his gaze, and Crystal, to him, was a child. A good start. Maybe good enough.

"You three get yourselves sorted out in the cab," I told the women. "I want to have a word with Mr. Garcia."

I walked the Gunny back to the tailgate, noting with some surprise that he had created a nice little machine gun nest there with the 7.62mm I had taken from the Reserve depot.

I nodded my approval and asked, "Okay, what have I forgotten."

"I haven't had a chance to do a thorough inventory, " he said, without hesitation, "but I didn't see any tools. We're going to need them, especially axes, saws, and hammers, unless I miss my guess. Eventually, we'll probably need stuff for a smithy, and I'm guessing that before too long we'll need horses, so saddles, bridles, boots, that sort of thing."

I nodded as he ticked off each item on his fingers. I should have thought of that stuff, but then, that was why I double-checked myself. No one is infallible.

"All right, Gunny," I told him, "until further notice, you're my number two. We need to find a place in the desert where a fair sized group of people can survive for several years. That's why I'm heading south."

"Why the desert?" he asked. "Why not the mountains, or a city - hell even a small town?"

"If I've just survived the worst disaster to hit humankind since prehistoric times, and I'd rather take from others than do things myself, where would I go?"

"Cities, first, then towns, then probably, farms. I'd probably want a place I could fortify, and I'd collect others like myself, so hills and mountains are my hideout. I'd avoid the desert, because I wouldn't like the heat and I wouldn't expect to find anyone there. Okay, so desert it is, but me, I'm trained for it. What about you and these women?"

"I've done my time in the desert, Gunny. I might even be able to teach you a thing or two. As for the women, they'll be dependent on us for a while, but they'll learn. They're smart."

"If you say so. Hey, my car's stuck in that mess on the freeway about a mile and a half south. Think we can stop and let me pick up a few things?"

"Yeah, I was going to top off the tanks at Westley, so you just sing out when we get close. But that brings up a thought - do we keep moving or try to get some rest tonight, and start out in the morning? "

"I'd say use the night. There's at least two of us to take turns driving. If you need a break, just let me know and I'll take over."

"I can go for a while. Maybe after Patterson or Crows Landing we can switch. I got some good maps from the National Guard, and I want to go over the planned route with you, see if you can improve on my idea."

I followed the shoulder of I-5 until I came to one of the underpasses built by Caltrans for the farmers whose land straddles the freeway and crossed to the east side. It wasn't bad going for the mile and a half that we needed, but we had to find our way around orchards and over irrigation ditches which took more time than I liked.

Garcia called out as we got to the point where he had left his car among the derelicts on the freeway.

I waited by the cab, and in less than ten minutes, now dressed in desert fatigues, and carrying a short-barreled, camouflaged shotgun, Garcia gave me a thumbs-up as he climbed back into the bed. To save a little time, I took the first road I found that was headed east and soon came to CA33. We made much better time on that road, since it was little known, and most of the drivers who had died along it had pulled over or driven into one of the ditches along the side. I wondered how many of them might have survived if they had stopped before a crash put them through the windshield. Not many, probably.

At Westley, I turned back toward I-5 and filled up with diesel at Joe's. While I was pumping the fuel, Garcia went scrounging and came back rolling a 55 gallon barrel. The inside appeared to be clean and when I finished filling the truck, I started filling barrels, while Ramon rolled out new ones. By the time we were finished, we had four barrels of diesel and one full of gas for the Hummvee, as well as a couple of hand-operated pumps. So far we had been lucky and found working pumps with the electricity still on, but we knew that wouldn't last forever.

We secured the barrels with some tie-downs that Joe had for sale in his mini-mart. Garcia rummaged through the back of the place and came back with a toolbox overflowing with mechanics tools. Those might come in handy if we had any problems with the vehicles, so I was grateful for his initiative. Back on the road, we headed back to Highway 33 and continued south.

Just outside Patterson, I slowed when I saw someone standing in the road ahead. Garcia's head appeared around the side of the bed, and I gave him a rapid series of hand signals, hoping they actually meant something to him.

"Stay down, ladies," I said quietly. "There might be some shooting."

The way the guy was standing in the road, he clearly expected us to stop for him, but in these times I wasn't taking any chances. As I slowed, I caught a glimpse of Garcia melting into the brush on the right side of the road. If this guy had help, I figured there couldn't be many of them, but the way he was blocking the road screamed 'Don't look over there, look at me!' so naturally, I had wanted Garcia to look over there.

The guy's hands were behind his back, so I had to assume he was armed. I stopped about a hundred feet away, which was obviously further back than his plans called for, and with an irritated expression on his face, he waved me forward, with his left hand. I stayed where I was, transmission in gear, engine idling, and waited.

Finally the guy couldn't stand it any more and pulled out a nine mil automatic, holding it sideways like the gangsters do on TV. "Get yo white ass up here, muthafucka, 'fo I bust a cap in it!"

He couldn't possibly see me through the glare of the headlights, so I slid the barrel of the M16 out the window and loosed a short burst into the asphalt next to him. "I like it right where I am, thank you very much."

He stood there trying to decide whether I was willing to use the piece on him or not. Garcia made up his mind for him by tossing his accomplice out into the cone of light from the headlights, where he lay in a heap. The gunny's smiling face would have chilled a corpse as he appeared from nowhere with the stubby shotgun held steady as a rock on the speaker's belly.

"I know what you're thinking," He said quietly. "You're wondering if the boss, there, has the balls to shoot you. Well I really don't know for sure if he does, but I know I do. Ball's in your court. Whatcha gonna do?"

Slowly, carefully, the guy showed us that he was putting the safety on as he laid the weapon on the road and stepped back.

"You didn't kill him, did you? He's just a boy."

"He'll have a headache, but he'll be okay." Garcia told him.

I turned off the engine and dropped from the cab, M16 still trained on the one who was still standing.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Warner," he answered, "Jamaal Warner. That kid right there, that's Smiley Brown, or so he tells me. Met up with him yesterday."

"What the hell was this?" I continued, waving my hand at the truck and at the two of them.

'We figured if any white folks survived, they weren't goin' to be all about helpin' out a couple of black guys, so when we saw the truck coming, we thought we'd help ourselves."

'Well, you had the first part right, anyway." I told him. "We're not about helpin' a couple of black guys, but if we were to find some guys that were willing to work hard and follow orders, we might be able to fit 'em in. What do you do, or what did you do before the sickness?"

"I'm a plumber. I been workin' construction down here in Patterson 'til about a week ago," he looked miserably around him. "Then, well, I guess you know what happened."

The kid on the ground was starting to stir, and finally stood up, weaving, but ready to fight.

"Ease up there, son," Garcia told him. "You're outgunned and outnumbered."

The kid looked briefly around at us, then walked over and stood by Warner.

"You still in high school, kid?" I asked.

He nodded sullenly.

"You two willing to work and take orders?"

"We're willin' to work, but this is a whole new world, now, and the black man don't hafta take orders from whitey no more."

"Suit yourself. Back up," I backed them off a couple of yards and picked up the nine mil. "You want to start this world off the same as the last, you go right ahead. What we're planning to do is start a community with as many reasonable humans as possible - white, black, hispanic, chinese, whatever. Doesn't matter 'cause in a few generations, all that blood's going to be mixed up together so you can't say that anybody's one race or another. But if you want to go off and separate your little two man band of black people from the rest of us, you can start the whole chain of events all over again. Few years, there'll be tribes popping up all over the land, and those that can't get along with their neighbors are going to be at war all the time. You think about it. I'm going down into town to do some shopping. If you two decide you'd rather join us, you come find us and say so. Otherwise, I'll leave this gun under the city limit sign as we leave Patterson."

Gunny kept the shotgun on them until the truck was well past, then he swung up over the tailgate. I drove on into Patterson. We had cleaned out the Ace hardware of everything useful and moved on to Bennett's Hardware when Jamaal and Smiley showed up.

"If we join you, we ain't takin' orders from nobody." Jamaal told me truculently.

"Then you won't be joining us, Jamaal." I turned back to loading hand tools and wire into the truck.

"Why the hell should I take orders from you?"

"Because I can give us a chance of surviving to become a new civilization. You won't survive a year on your own."

"How you know that?"

"That half-assed ambush, for one thing, and the stupid TV gangster style way you held that piece," I shrugged. "You want to learn how to fight and to survive, and be part of the community we're going to build, come along, but don't be under any illusion that it's going to be a democracy. You'll do things my way or you'll live somewhere else. Those are your choices. Take 'em or leave 'em."

"What's wrong with democracy?" Smiley spoke up for the first time.

"Democracy depends on everyone being informed of the issues important to the survival of the community, and making informed choices based on that knowledge. Here, we're starting from scratch. I know most of what's required and Sgt. Garcia knows much of what I don't know. That's why he's number two. The rest of you will fill whatever roles we need filled based on your own demonstrated willingness and ability. And by the way, if we come across someone better qualified to lead this group, I'll gladly turn it over to him or her. Further down the road, when the community has stabilized and the knowledge needed to survive has been disseminated to everyone, then we can start thinking about having elections. Not before."