Absense (The original edit)

It is said that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Her name is Tracy. She is fourteen years old in this picture. The picture in the heart-shaped locket on a gold-plated chain. Her long, brown hair is parted in the center and cinched up in two pigtails. Her big, brown eyes sparkle and the curl of her smile makes me wonder what mischief she is up to. I think as I walk through unfamiliar forests, will I recognize her if I find her, no, when I find her. How will she react when she sees me? I continuously practice what I will say to her as I tramp through fallen leaves and weave my way around twigs and branches and other detritus, my ears keen to hear anything of danger to me. I have little to steal: A bedroll, a knife, an air rifle and a few sundries that make the journey a bit less of an ordeal. The most valuable item is, of course, Tracy in a locket. She is the only thing keeping one foot in front of the other.

I made it a point to avoid all highways and metropolitan areas, as the NMEs have no doubt taken all of the populated areas, and are keen to capture or kill any stragglers or refugees. I chose to try to keep an easterly course, and I expect to only make maybe ten miles a day, depending on the terrain and obstacles. Often, I see others in the distance making similar sojourns, to where I can only guess. Most seem timid, fearful of any human contact lest they fall victim to predators disguised as human beings. All sorts were among those I've seen: young and old, men, women, children, even the elderly have dared to escape the cordoned areas. I keep to myself as well. I have only one goal, and I occupy my feverish mind by repeating over and over what I want to say to Tracy.

Days have passed, how many I am not so sure. A week, maybe more? I sleep in whatever hollows or depressions or hidey holes I can find, covering myself with leaves in hopes of evading assault or capture. I don't sleep well, curled up in a fetal position, as the autumn weather turns cooler and rainier. My air rifle is a break barrel in twenty-two caliber, good enough to take down small game, and I managed to kill a few squirrels and the occasional rabbit. Cooking the meat is a luxury, as I am wary of giving away my position. Luck has been overly good to me, and I managed to eat a few hot cooked meals. What few people that actually approach me always ask if I have food or water, I can't help them, I'm sorry. They look pitiful or they look like if they could summon up the energy they would attack me and take what they can find. I made it a habit to look as haggard and lost as all those I meet, so nobody thinks I have stuff they want. Some see the barrel of my air rifle and retreat in fear. Most seem beyond caring.

**

I was startled awake by a foot kicking me in the ribs. I raise my hands defensively, as I open my eyes to find myself peering into the barrel of a shotgun. The man behind it demands to know who I am and what am I doing here? I can see he is backed up by four others, they all seem more like locals with the way they are dressed and their collective demeanor. Three outliers are young, wiry and a bit nervous. They stand guard, facing different directions, as if to expect an assault. A fourth man is middle-aged, bearded, wearing camo coveralls, his deer rifle lowered but ready to raise if I become a problem. Mister Leader is stern, a three-day growth of beard over his gaunt face and seems ready to end me if I don't answer right. He reminds me of Harry Dean Stanton. I steady myself, and explain my situation to them. I assure them I am only passing through and that I expect to go to the town of Gurley. Number One tells me that I should avoid even Gurley, as they believe the NME may have a major checkpoint there. I told them that Tracy lived there, Number One stops me and tells me I should make way for the northern end of Paint Rock Valley, as most everybody will most likely have fled there. He recommended I aim for Putman Mountain, having heard rumors of a safe haven there. His face has softened and he has even dropped his shotgun and offers a hand to help me up. He has an FRS radio hanging on his breast pocket, and he speaks into it, saying the 'stranger seems to check out' then asks for an escort.

He orders the others to take positions, and they form protective flanks around us. We march through the woods for awhile, then arrive by the banks of the Elk River. Number One points north and tells me to cross a couple of miles past the crook in the river. He hands me a half-liter bottle of water and stops for a moment. He seems to want to ask me something. I guess what it is, and bring out the locket for him to see. He gazes at the dangling chain for a moment, then looks me in the eye. He said, “I just wanna make sure my gut is still telling me the truth.”

***

I had a hard time circumventing the scrub along the river's edge, so when I caught sight of the way across, it was already getting close to dusk. But the sight of the trestle filled me with dread. I hate trestles. Ever since the trestle scene in the movie “Stand By Me”. I can't help but to think no matter what I do, a train will inevitably come to run me down. I decided to look for a spot to hunker down for the night, but was interrupted by a distant whistling sound. As I looked across the river, I spied a tiny figure standing squarely on the tracks, their tiny arm waving and that distant whistle wafting over the meandering water of the Elk. I wanted to refuse, but couldn't find a way to do so without offending what I determined was my guide. I took my time gingerly stepping over and through the underbrush until I reached the tracks. Stood there for a moment or two to steel myself for the coming ordeal, then with a deep breath and a 'dammit' under my breath, I lurched into a semi-run, skipping every third or fourth step as my long stride offered an advantage. With every step, I imagined the ghostly diesel engine was at that very moment hurtling closer and closer to me from miles behind, spurring my panic, threatening to break my concentration and cause me to falter just long enough for it to catch me before I can make the other shore. I even heard the horn that wasn't there, screaming into my head to get the hell across, booming closer and closer, breathing right down my neck...

Suddenly, I was stepping onto firm ground again, as my guide came forward to lend a hand. He was a tall, slender man, maybe thirty years of age, dressed in woodland colors, a brown cap atop his pointed head and steel-toe work boots on his enormous feet. He introduced himself in a Tennessean drawl as Mort, which seemed to suit him. He told me to follow him and do not deviate from the path. He didn't elaborate on why, but his tone convinced me it could be very bad for me if I did. We walked briskly until it was almost dark, making better time than I would have thought. I had the impression we had gone a good couple of miles before the darkness descended on us. We came upon a small clearing, where Mort slowed and pointed towards a massive oak tree. “You can hunker down over there. Nobody'll mess with you 'round here.” I went over to the tree, not really seeing any suitable spot there to settle in, but once I got closer, I saw there was a makeshift lean-to made of branches, underbrush and nylon cord next to the north side, pointing away from the clearing.

Mort asked if I was hungry or thirsty, I admitted I was both. He pulled a small packet from an upper pocket, and handed it to me. It looked to be some kind of jerky. “There should be a bottle of water in there for you...” I croaked a thank you as I stooped down to enter the lean-to. “Stay as quiet as you can, just in case. Not much NME activity in these parts, but there might be mountain lions or coyote show up.” I asked how I can repay him, he said make sure you survive the night, you have a locket to deliver. I was taken aback, and asked how did he know?

Mort stood over me as I was in a squat at the entrance of the lean-to, a towering figure from my perspective. He could have easily cut me down in any number of ways, and the thought gave me pause. In the darkening gloom, he calmly spoke.

“Beau radioed me and told me what yer up to. Ya know, the fella that sent you to me? Seems to me you have yerself a bit of a quest. We can't go the distance with ya, but we will make sure you get to the county line awlright.”

It was then that I noticed several dark figures approaching from all around me. Men and women, all shapes and sizes and ages came up close, all softly wishing me well, some handing me small packets, that turned out to be foodstuffs. Some were nuts foraged from that woods, some were some kind of hard bread, even a baggie of blackberries. This felt like a feast to a starving man, and Mort sensed my predicament. He told me to take it easy at first so's I don't get sick. I was close to tears as I struggled to express my gratitude for the kindness these strangers have shown me. Mort squatted down in the dark near me and told me they were just trying to stay peaceful and safe and remember what it was like to be just regular folks. He asked me a strange request. I said name it. The others began to sit down nearby as Mort asked me to tell them the story of Tracy. It hit me as if my ordeal had started all over again. I managed to tell them the story of how I came to be traveling seventy or more miles to find Tracy. They listened in rapt silence as I finally said 'and here I am, not a third the way yet.' All went silent, and I felt awkward as Mort brought out a small, round tin object, placing it on the ground between us and lighting it with a Bic. It turned out to be a five-wicked candle, which cast a bit of light about us, and I could see the faces of my benefactors better. They looked in good enough health, clean and fed. Some had rifles slung behind their shoulders, others apparently unarmed. A couple of younger men stepped away, twenty-two caliber rifles at the ready and disappeared into the night. I heard a few agree among themselves that this was indeed a momentous event. I thought for a moment and brought the locket out of my top pocket. I was surprised at their enthusiasm at seeing such a simple object, and a couple of the women even squealed in delight and clapped their hands. I could see tears welling in some eyes, and it seemed to shame me that I should even be alive for this after all I had been through.

Soon, Mort turned and reminded the crowd that the man needs to eat and rest, he has a long way to go. I put the locket away as each of them came by and wished me good night. At last, Mort tapped me on the shoulder and told me someone will wake me at first light. He snuffed the candle as I crawled into the lean-to, and found the bottled water laying on a sleeping bag laid out neatly on the ground. I took out a flashlight and took time to pack away the food packs before settling in to snack on jerky and a few sips of water. Then the exhaustion of the events of the day hit me and I fell onto the sleeping bag and promptly passed into the deepest sleep of the journey.

****

I could hear a voice in my dream as I pass by crowds of people, some alive and some dead or dying, all marching along the same trail, all headed towards a huge dark hole. The voice speaks again. And again. Suddenly, I am awake. A teenage boy is softly, almost sheepishly asking me to wake up. Through my grogginess I managed to tell him I'm up. He passes me a small cup. It's hot, steaming in the morning chill. I take a sip, it tastes somewhat like coffee, but definitely not. He tells me it's chicory, the best they can do these days. I welcome its warmth sliding down my throat. The boy goes away and a middle-aged woman approaches. She offers me what looks like a pancake, but as I bite into it, it has crushed nuts in it. I thank her as I wolf it down.

I take about half an hour to prepare to leave, as well-wishers pass by, their faces beaming in a way I have not seen since before the War began. They seemed hopeful and content in their haven in the woods. I never got to see their encampment, and it wasn't necessary. The less I knew, the less I could tell. The sun is peeking through the leaves as it rises, and I actually felt good for the first time since I began the trek. My reverie was broken when I remembered to recite my words. Mort appeared and told me that two scouts will accompany me to the county line. He extended a large and slender hand and shook mine with a firm grip. He wishes me well, but stopped short. He perked up his ear, and listened intently. He then turned and called out to the scouts, telling them to get me out of there NOW!

I felt a sudden sense of urgency as Mort ran off, barking orders, calling for people to muster at the clearing. He glanced back as the two young scouts ushered me away, headed east at a swift pace. As we headed out, I could just hear distant sounds to the south and west. Then gunfire. Then much more gunfire, fading into background as we ran faster and faster. The boys were faster than me, but pulled me along with haste. The expressions on their faces told me this was very bad. They were actually frightened. Afraid of what or who was coming towards their camp. I tried between gulps of air to get them to turn back and let me on my own, but they weren't having it. The running seemed to go on forever, and my legs began to ache with each stride, my breath coming more and more ragged. I thought the next step would be my last, but my legs continued to pump as we rushed further from the action.

It seemed like endless hours that we ran. My lungs were burning, my legs turning to jelly, my head spinning. My escorts seemed unfazed by the marathon, having been much younger and fitter. Eventually, they slowed to a brisk walk and then I realized the extent of their own exhaustion. All three of us stood around gasping for breath, and I soon became sick to my stomach. What little I had eaten that morning came back up, with the foulest taste in my mouth as I reached for the bottle of water in my bundle.

Another eternity passed while we recovered from our emergency run, and I noticed we no longer heard gunfire. Had we run so far that the sounds of battle couldn't reach us, or had it ended already? The older of the two looks at me with worry in his eyes, I got the impression he wanted to turn back. I asked if this was the border with Madison County, he nodded. I told them both to not get killed, and they wished me luck as they ran off. I watched as they disappeared into the woods, me still trying to catch my breath. The subsequent quiet was deafening, with only an occasional snap of a twig or the rat-tat-tat of a woodpecker. Soon, I was rested and headed out, this time alone.

*****

The next two days were a blur. I tried to keep a quick pace, keeping to the thickest parts of the woods. Every now and then, I came across a country road, two-laned and deserted. The second one had a large open field across from me, at least a couple of hundred yards from the road to the anonymity of the next patch of woodland. I stayed within the tree line while I watched carefully back and forth, making sure all was clear before daring to expose myself in the open. I waited as long as I dared, then tentatively stepped out to cross the road. Walking briskly, I crossed over and pulled the top wire down on the barbed wire fence to enter the field. I started across the field when I heard the sound of an engine. Looking south, I noticed a dark shape emerge from a curve half a mile from my position. It was squarish in shape and dark green in color. My heart sank, as I realized it was a military vehicle and I was in the middle of an open field! Adrenalin kicked in and I found myself running for the next treeline in a panic. I could hear the vehicle roaring closer, and then the staccato of rapid fire and a voice barely audible shouting Halt! There was no way I was stopping. As I ran, the woods seemed to retreat from me and the pinging of bullets around me closer and closer. I could hear the vehicle slam to a stop behind me and the voices of several people as I imagine they were spreading out across the field. I had almost made the treeline when I felt a stinging sensation in the back of my right leg. I stumbled forward and managed to enter the wood before collapsing against a tree. I looked back and saw several soldiers coming towards me in a formation, rifles raised. I had to get away before they killed or captured me. The stinging turned to pain and I looked down and saw blood on my pant leg where a ragged hole had appeared. I think I had been shot. No time, have to get out. My air rifle was no match for their military-grade weaponry, my only chance was to outrun them. I took a deep breath and ran. And ran. And ran. I soon heard shots fired behind me, and the occasional bullet whizzed past me or struck a nearby tree. I ran haphazardly through the thick, weaving back and forth in hopes of evading a well-aimed shot. Suddenly, I hear shouts and a ruckus a hundred yards behind me. More shots and screaming. I was about to continue to run when my leg came out from under me. I fell into a pile of leaves and passed out.

When I awoke, I could hear voices very near me. I kept stock still. I didn't even breathe. I caught the gist of the conversation. Whoever these people were, they attacked the soldiers and, to the man, killed them. Two of their comrades had been killed in the fray, but these people seemed happy they took the lives of the soldiers and stolen their equipment. One wondered where the wounded man had gone, and I bit my lip to not betray my location. My right leg was searing in pain and I waited the longest time for the voices to fade. Hours seemed to pass, until I gathered the courage to risk getting up. Slowly, I raised up out of the pile, trying to keep the rustling to a minimum. I looked around as I found a rock to sit on. Looking down at my leg, I noticed there were two holes in my pant leg. Pulling it up, I found a gash along the inside of my right calf. It had bled a good amount but coagulated sufficiently. The bullet had only grazed my leg. I thanked my Creator for this seeming miracle while I dug out some cloth to make a bandage. Tearing a generous amount of white cotton tee shirt, I folded it over several times lengthwise, then wrapped it snugly against the wound, wincing at every touch. I figured I had better find medical attention soon, before infection sets in. Once the bandage was secure, I rolled my pant leg back down, got up to test my leg. It hurt like hell, but it was good enough to put weight on. I scanned my surroundings again, and very tenderly and quietly as I could, continued east through the woods.

******

Feverish, my progress was slowed due to my injury. I came across more inhabitable areas, and I dared to walk right through. If anyone saw me, they never let it show. I thought once or twice I had spotted a fluttering curtain in a house's window, but it might have been a hallucination. I didn't know. I started following eastbound roads, watching out for human activity along the way. One day, a dog came running across a bare field, barking at me the whole way. I thought at first it was going to attack me, but its wagging tail told me otherwise. It was a lab mix, blonde and female. She seemed eager to befriend me and I was too exhausted to argue. My newfound friend followed me as I limped along, occasionally booping my hand to get attention. I would pet her for a moment then returned to my task. Together, we traveled a good bit until we came close to a four-lane highway. I looked while she wagged, and it seemed deserted enough to me. We took our chances and crossed at an intersection. The traffic light was still cycling like normal, while abandoned cars sat in mute rebuke. The thought occurred to me to try starting a car, and I went around to each one, looking for keys in the ignition. None. So much for that idea. We continued down the two-lane, passing vacant houses and fallow fields, only the blonde doggy and a few birds for company. It felt right for her to be by me, and I called her Girl so much it just became her name. We took shelter in a small ransacked home, and I fell onto a bare mattress in a back room. I slept for I don't know how many hours or even days, but Girl was right there, apparently keeping guard. When she saw I was awake, she came up onto the mattress and licked my dirty face. I gave her some love and slowly rose and hunted for the bathroom. Luck had it, there was some hydrogen peroxide and large band aids and even a pack of Ace bandage in the bottom of a small vanity. I pulled off my pants and poured nearly half the bottle over my wound, which softened the bloody crust around the gash. I found some soap and cleaned the area. Thinking maybe my luck would hold, I turned on the shower. Yes, there is water pressure! I stripped and washed in cold water, thankful that I was coming clean for once. Afterwards, I wrapped a towel around my waist and went through the house in search of clean clothes. A back bedroom yielded some decent looking shirts, a pair of jeans one size too large and a belt that cinched enough to make the jeans wearable. Socks and underwear were serviceable and I came out feeling renewed. Girl seemed to approve and came up and gave me a paw. I made like shaking hands with her and told her I was happy to meet her.

I then went to the kitchen and scrounged around. Not much here, it seemed like the pantry had been pretty thoroughly scavenged. I managed to find a can of dark kidney beans and after some creative can opening, I ate the entire contents. I had not realized how hungry I was until that moment. Girl looked up at me as if asking for what I was eating. There was a bit left, so I spooned it out and let her lick it. That tail wagged like she had just enjoyed a feast. I found myself starting to feel some affection for this big, yellow dog.

I took some time inspecting other parts of the house, coming up almost empty-handed. I thought maybe I should try the attic, and went into the garage to access it. Dropping the attic stairs, I climbed gingerly up to the attic. I found there was much personal memorabilia, picture albums, a suitcase full of postcards, old toys and such. I felt as though I was the invader, intruding into the people's private lives here. I could see they had a full family history, children who grew up and had families of their own, the elders who enjoyed their final years. They were gone now, run off or killed, I don't know. I descended the ladder as quickly as I could, feeling a bit ashamed for my snooping.

As the morning gave way to the noon hour, I decided it was time for us to move on. Girl trailed just behind me as we left the house behind. I strapped my bundle over my shoulders and then my air rifle. We stepped out onto the road and began our long walk down the deserted road. Hours passed in quiet as Girl and I walked at an almost leisurely pace along the straight road. The hours passed with more peacefulness than I had expected. We made good time, and with each creek we passed, I stopped long enough for Girl to go splashing and drink her fill. She was having more fun than any of us had a right to, and I warmed in a way I hadn't in years. I had almost forgotten my recitation, and had to make myself concentrate on that. As we walked along, I began to recite my speech to Tracy out loud for the first time. I repeated it as Girl circled me, wagging and booping away. It was almost a game, and I had almost lost the gravitas of my task. By the time the sun was low in the western sky, we had walked another ten miles. I stood at the intersection with Winchester Road. Only a few more miles on the other side and I will be at the foot of Putman Mountain.

*******

I had that queasy feeling, the one I'd get when I thought I was being followed. I think Girl sensed it too. She was antsy, I could tell. It wasn't her usual manic playfulness, she acted as a watch dog now. Her floppy ears began to perk up, and she would scan all around us as we walked along a curving gravel road, like radar dishes whirling around in circles, searching for blips. The hairs on the back of my neck raised, and my pace slowed. I joined Girl in watchful alertness, turning quickly to spot what I thought was a lone figure darting into the brush by the side of the road a couple hundred yards behind us. Girl woofed under her breath, her body tensing, making ready for the chase. Her nose wiggled as she sniffed the air, her head stretching outwards. I softly whispered to her to calm her nerves, but she was on alert. I said come, and began to walk again. She reluctantly complied, and took her place by my side.

A mile further around the curve, we were approaching a gate barring the road. It had a sign that stated plainly that the property henceforth from that point belonged to the Bailey brothers and no trespassing was allowed. I knew that Putman Mountain was up this gravel road, and I was about to breach the gate when we heard the snap of a branch and Girl came undone. She growled and ran headlong into the brush to our left. I tried to call her but I was frozen when I heard a click behind me. A deep voice much like the actor Sam Elliot ordered me to raise my hands and slowly turn around. I did as I was told and found myself for a second time staring down the barrel of a shotgun. The man wielding the weapon was dressed in a ghillie suit, looking like a walking, talking, guntoting bush. If the situation had not been so serious, I would have laughed. As it was, I dared not. Girl came running back towards us, barking her head off. Mr. Ghillie Suit said she had better shut it, and I told her sternly to stop barking. Oddly enough, she obeyed me, shut up and sat down. Now, he said to me, drop my pack and my rifle, real nice n slow. I snickered and said I hardly think my air rifle is any danger to him. He was not amused. I dropped any pretense of jocularity and asked what he wanted with me. He let out a whistle and others came out of nowhere, all surrounding me, all dressed as bushes. Mr. Ghillie Suit tells me I was trespassing, and I said I hadn't trespassed... yet. He was still not amused.

He then ordered one of the other bushy men to pick up my things and waved his shotgun for me to start moving. We actually left the road near the gate, and crossed a wheat field to the left. I was escorted to the edge of the woods about three hundred and fifty yards from the road, and by this time I noticed there were people inhabiting said woods. A man of about sixty approached us, clean cut and with a military bearing about him. He asked what I was doing there. I explained that I was looking Tracy. He was taken aback at my statement. How do you know Tracy? he demanded. I was floored. Is it possible I stumbled onto her location? I was so dumbfounded, that all I could do was slowly reached into my top pocket and brought out the locket. I showed it to this leader and his men, and they stared back in amazement. Finally, Mr. Leader spoke up, telling me they had heard the rumors of the man with the locket is coming to look for Tracy. But how, I asked. Mr. Ghillie Suit said you'd be surprised how fast news travels.

Mr. Leader stuck his hand out. “My name is George Walker. These woods are the property of my family. We welcome you.” I take his hand and it is a good handshake, his beefy hand surrounding mine and squeezing tightly. Walker then asked someone if they had seen Tracy, and was answered in the affirmative. Go find her, he said. I suddenly thought to myself if I will recognize her after all this time, will she accept me after all that has happened? I saw a head of brown hair bobbing through the trees and around people and my heart jumped. Was it really her? The young woman who emerged from the crowd was easily twenty years old, not the fourteen-year-old I knew, all grown up into womanhood. She wore a set of overalls over a green shirt and Doc Marten boots. It suited her. She came running up to us, smiling as if she was set for a family reunion but when she saw my face, her expression fell, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. The moment had come, I had survived a treacherous journey and here was this tall, lanky young woman who I knew was expecting her father, but I had to at last recite the words. I held up the locket for her to see, and she gasped at the sight. I cleared my throat.

“This is Tracy. She is fourteen years old in this picture. The picture in this heart-shaped locket hanging from this gold-plated chain. Your father sent me to tell you he was sorry he could not be here himself.” Her tears began to roll down her cheeks as I continued my monologue.

“I don't know if you remember me, I was neighbors with your father. When the NME troops invaded the neighborhood, your father and I were caught in the middle of a firefight. We were just trying to get out of the neighborhood when they began to shoot at us. Your father shoved me towards a tree for shelter and was shot three times. He fell on top of me. As the soldiers approached, he whispered to me to play dead. I could feel every wincing of pain in his torn body. Luckily, the NMEs moved on, and eventually I was able to come out from under him. He was dying, dying slow and painful, and there was nothing I could to help him. He asked one thing of me. He told me to take the chain from his neck. This chain.” I held it up for all to see. “He made me swear I would find Tracy... “ I choked on the words. “...and give her the chain as a reminder of how much her father loved her, and missed her all these years.”

By this time, Tracy had broken down and sank to her knees, bawling like a baby. A woman came over to comfort her. I could barely speak, I was so filled with sadness at her loss.

“Your father saved my life. The least I could do was to deliver his last message of love to his daughter.” I walked over to Tracy, knelt and handed her the locket. I asked Mr. Walker for my things, and once I was repacked, Girl and I started to walk back towards the road. Someone handed me a bag filled with provisions, and said God bless you. They petted Girl, and we left.

I think constantly of Tracy now, she haunts my dreams. Her grief will fade some day, and she will hopefully make something that resembles a life. I, on the other hand, just keep going, my blondie dog Girl my only companion. We meet others along the way, strangers who heard about the man with the heart-shaped locket on a gold-plated chain who fulfilled a father's last request. They say to meet the man is a blessing and a good omen. Perhaps, perhaps not. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, it is said. I can only hope it will make mine forget.