Vaccines: Divided We Fail

December 21, 2021

This pandemic revealed how science is not understood, nor conducive to instant gratification. We all want it to go away now but aren’t willing to do the work. We complain that it’s not over, and we whine about wearing masks and taking the vaccines that could end it. Who says it must make sense?

Why so many variants? Who’s producing them? Easy answer: we are. That’s how evolution works, and with viruses, it works at a pace faster than we’re used to. The virus wants to live, to reproduce, to continue being. It can’t do that by killing the host, but ensuring the host passes it on to the next. With each change in hosts comes the possibility of evolving to the next variant. Hello, omicron.

So people protest. Not in front of those making the laws, but on establishments required to enforce it. In retail outlets and restaurants, it is the minimum wage worker. At the hospital, it is those caring for us when we catch it. How dare they, right? Wouldn’t this be like protesting the car lots when seatbelt laws were put in place?  Were stoplights protested when put in place?

Of course, we have rights. And the protestors have let us know it. This is nothing new. Back when, women were fighting to gain personhood under the law. That whole, right-to-vote thing. Followed by the Black population, and the First Nations. There were also fights for child labor laws and workers’ rights.

These protestors are fighting for the right to oppose public health measures, resulting in increased risk of getting COVID and prolonging the pandemic. I don’t believe this is equal to those previously mentioned. It reeks of self-interest, which is definitely not the same as human rights. Doesn’t this endangerment inhibit the rights of the chronically ill to participate in society?

Are those abiding these rules and laws paranoid and suckers? Perhaps they’re concerned for the community, and don’t want this to continue any longer than needed. Perhaps it’s the precautionary principle that social distancing is the best approach to keeping the virus from jumping hosts. As we get reports on the virus, we find the science adjusting to new facts which is making people suspicious. Science is like that; it adjusts what is true as the fuzzy comes into focus.

The divisiveness is venomous. It’s safer to speak about your politics, religion, or gender preference than anything related to the pandemic. Opinions are strong with this one. The American ex-president fueled this, igniting a new race war, and forming an anti-science and anti-democratic following. That rot is becoming evident across our border, and worldwide. We live in a world full of doubts, which are so much easier to spread than truths. Their emotions blind and deafen them, eventually detaching from the mainstream logic.

People deny the vaccine because they don’t know what’s in it. I question how much research they’ve done into everything else they’ve ingested and rubbed on their body. Like the food mimicking our hormones, or those mounting the cancer war. Perhaps the stuff that feeds the obesity epidemic or pollutes our ecosphere. How much research have they put into every pharmaceutical and vaccine already introduced to their body?

When the pandemic passes, what are we to become? Will the rifts heal, or is this separation the new norm? This is but one aspect of what’s driving the world nuts right now. Our economy makes less sense, while the climate takes bites out of society. Democracies are shaky, and past atrocities are being unearthed. We are facing multiple crises, which can go one of two ways: A breakdown of all we’ve built leading to either chaos, or a better way of being. Our generation makes the decision, and I hope it’s the one that leads to unity.

The Denial of Racism – June 6, 2020

Photo by Harrison Haines on Pexels.com

Entering this world in a profound sense of love, along the way we learned to hate. How does this happen? Our memory works through the catalogue of stereotypes as a shortcut to thinking too much. Our preconceptions blind us with mental shortcuts, justifying what we see as ‘normal.’ But what if that ‘normal’ wasn’t ideal?

Flash Mob – Chapter 1

April 16, 2010

Part I

The yellow-orange flash echoed across their irises. The unsuspecting spectators, gasping and tearing up from the smoke, witnessed another Phoenix flare-up.

“Damn,” Monty muttered, fisting his eyes and waving away vapour tendrils threading off the victim’s scorched seat, “That’s the fifth time this week!” Pushing off his stool, he brushed the ash off his pants, muttering, “Why do these people keep doing this to me?”

The bartender stepped back from the smoke with a grumble as his sledgehammer hands reached beneath the counter. He resembled a biker who just survived World War III. His sneer could break the neck of anyone asking for anything less than a stiff whiskey or beer; the sign behind him said “ONE RULE: No Martinis.”

Looking slightly annoyed, he pulled out a small air purifier, brushing the half-finished pint aside, and placed it on the counter. Turning it on, he graced his heft towards the other end of the bar, grabbing what appeared to be a gun before opening the gate.

Had this man, with salt-and-peppered hair slicked back, long straggly beard, and a belly that would make Buddha smile, approached Monty at any time before the Great Ashing, he’d be moving in the opposite direction. Straining his neck to look him in the eye, Monty figured he was six-five at least and proportioned like a mini-giant.  The crooked nose and slash-scarred cheek, Monty doubted many people crossed him, but there were some attempts.

On the other side of the singed stool sat a stubble-chinned young man, jaw dropped in disbelief. Minutes before, him and his buddy were riffing jokes back and forth. With his eyes pinned to the smoke, he said, “That can’t be possible!” Barely in his twenties, the kid removed his backwards cap and blinked repeatedly before stumbling from his seat. Almost tripping himself as he backed up, his gaze never left the pile of ashes. He reached back for his pint glass, tipping some to the ground and guzzling back the remains, oblivious to the trail dribbling down his chin.

The room around them was empty and quiet. Where there was a usual background turkey-farm babble of voices, a funereal gloom ruled supreme. Outside, silence reigned as well.

The bartender turned to the kid and mumbled in a gruff lumberjack voice, “Relax, bud. It’s not contagious.” The man-giant was elegant, swift and fluid as he cleaned up, tapping Monty aside before he knew he was even in the way.

Monty whirled around and faced the sneer of a bandito holding him up with a hand vacuum. As the man powered up his weapon, he continued, “I’d use the house vac, but it’s full. This one’s got a hepi-filter.” Waving his hand like a wizard, he said, “None of this ash shit’s left floating around.”

Monty eyed the shock victim with a sympathetic smirk and asked, “Never seen a flint before?” It had been six months since the flashintegrations had started; people self-combusting, bursting like skin balloons filled with ash. The survivors of the mass depopulation suffered from a whole new dimension of flashbacks.

When the flinting first started, Monty was consumed with dread and loss. A dead weight dropped anchor in his stomach whenever he dwelled too long on all that he lost. The first few months of flinting took his family, friends and even the people he didn’t care for; it was something he thought he’d never get used to. The Great Ashing was only half a year into its inception, but it felt like a millennium. With everyone gone, he didn’t expect to last much longer. So he waited.

The kid snapped out of his shock, responding with a long drawn-out, “Dude.” Pale like a porcelain figure, he continued, “He was my buddy.” Grasping for another sip from his empty glass, he turned to vomit on the floor before running to the men’s room.

The bartender switched off his hand vac cursing, “Goddamn!” Looking at the spill on the floor, he half-turned back to Monty and growled, “What’s with these people?! Ashing and puking all over my bar all the time!” Slamming the vacuum on the bar, he stomped into the back room and returned with a mop and bucket.

Shrugging, Monty said, “They’re kids. What can ya do? We’ve all survived a double-dose of death-defying. Guess we gotta deal with what we’re dealt.”

Having survived the first plague was once considered a fortunate turn, until the ‘lucky ones’ started flinting from existence. The irony was tasteless. Some considered themselves survivors, but Monty felt more like he was cursed to watching society crumble.

The bartender returned, ignoring Monty as he continued grumbling to himself.

Tipping back his drink, Monty placed a twenty under his glass and made towards the exit. He felt comforted by the bartender’s company nonetheless, and connecting to someone was never a good thing. Self-preservation meant cutting any social connections; those relationships meant more loss and pain. Having seen too many people disappear, Monty knew that these unknown people had no one left to remember them. This he dreaded most: becoming one of the forgotten.

The glaring daylight flashed across the bar as Monty exited, leaving the man to his cleaning duties. The empty seats framed the lone figure as he mopped the floor, waiting for an audience that may never come.

 

 

Chapter 2

Aside from the smashed windows, the town remained amazingly intact. The sidewalks were obscured by weeds, dirt and garbage, while doors remained closed with the dark interiors staring out. The morning light glared in Monty’s face, making him squint as he maneuvered the streets. Abandoned cars coated the street like dandelions making traffic the pits.

The slow crawl through this small Alberta town, accompanied with his beer buzz, replayed a week’s worth of flinting through his mind. He’d jumped from one desolate town to another across the prairies and was starting to feel like some ghost suffering its own private purgatory. Surviving a major plague and an epidemic of internal combustion should be considered a lucky strike, but with nobody around to talk to he didn’t feel very alive either.

Staying put was out of the question. He fled Toronto to find a safe community, but most towns were either burned to the foundation or trashed like a post-Vancouver riot. Some communities’ entire downtown sections were looted or burned, while others were left untouched but wiped clean of human life. Stability in this chaotic world was a rare touchstone left of civilization, but it was almost out of his grasp.

When he started across the Prairies, he decided he was going to convince others to join him on his trek out west. The first few were either pessimists or cynics, so he ditched them. The last thing he needed was to travel across the country with a bunch of whiners. He couldn’t blame them. Who didn’t feel left to live out the rest of their life as some cruel joke? Why bother seeking out others to console the pain of knowing that they were going to burst into ashes anyway? After the emotional system gets overwhelmed, shutting the world out is the easiest option. Traumatized, most survivors curled up in a corner and waited to die. Hidden away, anxious and lonely, the reclusive was convinced that life was at an end; they just had to wait to be taken.

Holding tight to his sanity was less a natural reflex and more of a learned necessity, especially not knowing when it would be his turn to combust. Desolation was his sole companion since his escape. Monty, restless and idle, made it his daily quest to find extraverts. He ran across some survivors who were hiding amongst the small-town wreckage, but they all flinted before he had a chance to even learn a name. That kid in the bar spooked him. He didn’t seem the type.

Everyone he found was jittery, like they had a caffeine overdose. Speaking a million miles a minute, they made just a splinter of sense as they jumped through topics like the next would slip away. Some were drunken messes; others, doomsayers of the apocalypse. The plague and its aftermath did dangerous things to people, breeding a society that feared one another.

There were many times when Monty would talk a person out of hiding, only to watch him flint. He was careful about getting close to anyone after that incident. Others were chased through town until they tired out. This almost guaranteed a flint, yet he chased them hoping for that one sane companion. The chase should have been a sign. However, he took pride in his persistence; others called it stubbornness.

He planned on returning to the bar, but thought that the bartender would need some time to clean things up. Maybe some time to cool down a bit, too. In the meantime, scouting the town to search for supplies and survivors could turn something up.

He drove onto what appeared to be Main Street. It looked like a still-life Norman Rockwell painting, had Salvador Dali thrown in a touch of zombie-mayhem to it. Like every other small Canadian prairie town, though only every third or fourth building was burnt to cinders. It was bereft of life, where the cars scattering the street were the only shadows left of a life that no longer existed. Life came in the form of overgrown shrubbery and weeds poking through concrete.

Monty cursed himself for not asking the others if anyone else was around. He pulled into a parking spot to wander around. As the car door opened, the dry heat immediately extinguished the air conditioning, turning the car into an instant convection oven.

He found every store unlocked but nobody tending the floor. Entering the supermarket, his nose cringed, his eyes started to burn, and he gagged from the stench of rot. The shelves were bare, but the produce aisle was lined with decayed fruit and vegetables; for added support, the dairy products had turned. He passed each aisle and found miniature deserts of ash and tipped-over shopping carts that resembled the havoc outside. The shelves singed from the shoppers or looters making their last purchase.

With a crowbar that he grabbed from the hardware store, Monty cracked open a pop machine in front of the store and found some soda and water, hot from sitting in the sun. Taking a seat on a sidewalk patio table, he imagined the ex-inhabitants who once crowding the sidewalks. He pictured lattes and cell phones, fashionistas and beggars, all finding different ways to ignore each other (aside from the beggars).  Mothers and strollers, boys and their girls: all pursuing lives that would end up in ash.

Only the feathered creatures accompanied Monty beneath the glaring sun. Without the din of motors and aircraft, a murder of crows pirated the airwaves. Birds and insects now dominated the world; Monty was forever the outcast. Luckily, these surviving species didn’t learning the same extermination techniques that the humans used. Yet. Perhaps they already knew that we’d do it to ourselves.

A roaring engine echoed off the buildings followed by the crushing grind of metal-on-metal. It sounded like a street-side demolition derby. Screeching tires tore up the street a couple over. Monty froze. He thought the bartender was making a run for it, or letting off some steam.

He didn’t plan on returning to the scene of the ‘crime’ so soon, but that might be his only connection. The roar continued, accompanied by the smashing and crunching of vehicles, and it was drawing near. Monty ran back towards his car but gapped out, unable to recall which one it was. He hopped into the first unlocked vehicle and brushed a pile of ashes off the seat, finding the keys still in the ignition. Turning the key, the engine clicked. “Shit!” He’d ran to another car finding it too had been left to run dry

He got out and heard the rumble pulling away. Reaching for his keys, he looked down the row of abandoned cars. The heat fried his brain and the lack of food wasn’t helping. From the keychain, a Ford insignia dangled along with a big black key with a large Toyota mark on it.

Across the street, he spotted a blue Prius and sprinted toward it, the keychain appearing to pull him along. The roar grew fainter, growling its last audible gasp.

“WAIT UP!” he yelled, futilely hoping that just for once the universe was on his side. Starting up the Prius and backed out, squealing the tires as he swerved around vehicles in pursuit of the escapee. Ripping through an intersection, a muffled giggle materialized from the back seat.

Though not ominous, it sent goose bumps down Monty’s arm.

Knowing that jamming on the brakes meant losing the chase, he kept his eye on the rearview mirror and pressed the gas, praying that the giggler wasn’t some crazed psychopath ready to throw piano wire around his throat. It sounded like a child. Maybe the heat was getting to him.

Zigzagging to a street over, he took a guess to which road the roar went down. Up ahead, a pickup truck glimmered as it swerved back and forth, knocking vehicles aside with its tail as it went where it wanted to go. With the vehicles cleared away, Monty gathered speed without having to shimmy around quite as many cars. With each swerve, the giggling returned; so did the goose bumps.

Lowering his voice, trying to sound authoritative, Monty yelled, “Who’s back there?” It lost its substance to a squeak.

Silence.

“Don’t make me pull over!”  His hand was ready to reach for the door handle.

As he sped through a clear patch of road, the rearview mirror revealed two twinkling blue eyes looking back at him. “Good God!” he yelled as he slammed on the brakes. Putting the car in park, he got out like it was contaminated. Unsure what to do, he walked away and tried to fit what had just happened in to his plan. He turned back and saw a little girl grinning at him from his pile of bags and boxes stacked on the back seat.

He walked back to the car and leaned in through the driver’s door. Giving her an evaluative glance, he asked, “How did you get in here?”

The little girl pushed away a garbage bag full of Monty’s clothes; she was filthy from head to toe, her dark hair strangling her purple butterfly barrettes that propped up random chunks of her locks. Her head looked like it sprouted a fountain of tangled hair. Panicked and confused, Monty said, “What do you want? Where’s your mom?”

When no answer came forth, he slowly lowered himself back into his seat; he was unsure that his legs would hold out much longer. Little people made him nervous. He always felt like mama bear was going to come bounding around the corner, pounce on him and rip him to shreds just for even looking at her child. He angled the rearview mirror to keep an eye on her and said, “Please don’t tell me you’re deaf and mute, too. Things are weird enough as it is.”

A little girl giggled some more as she climbed into the front seat and said, “I was hungry. You got anything to eat?” Her hair was natty and greasy, her clothes stained and splotchy. She wore torn up jeans, and a Barbie T-shirt that would never be white again. She looked like she just crawled out of a Dickens tale.

Monty looked over, stunned, as she fastened her seatbelt. Like she’d been a part of the chase from the start, she pointed ahead and said, “You better go if you’re wanna catch him. He’s gonna get awa-ay.” She said it like a sing-song warning.

Monty stared past her as he weighed his options. He had no idea what to do with a stray child. Cursing the fates, he gunned the gas pedal and continued his pursuit. “Where did you come from?” he asked as scanned the horizon for his escaped prey.

“I jumped in.”

“No shit, Sherlock.  When?”

“Watch you language, mister. I jumped in while you were looting the stores.”

Seeing no movement ahead, he turned to her and asked, “Who are you? And this is my car and I can say whatever I damn well please, missy.” Telling off a little girl didn’t feel like he was gaining any ground, but he continued, “And I wasn’t looting the stores, I was looking for people.” Justifying himself seemed just as awkward.

“I’m Ezmeralda,” she said, “Who are you?” Then, assuring him that it was okay to answer, she added, “My mom says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

As the cars dwindled to a clear street, he sped up his pursuit as he looked over and asked, “Seriously? Ezmeralda?”

“Hey! You asked, and I’m Ezmeralda!”

“Did your mom give you that name? And speaking of which, where is she so I can drop you off…she’s probably worried. And how old are you anyway? Do your parents know that you’re jumping in strangers’ cars?” He winced when he said it. Anything to do with other people he considered taboo, but he couldn’t talk politics with a child.

“I’m eight,” she said. Then, looking down at her feet, she added, “And they’re gone.”

Tensing up, the last thing Monty wanted was a crying little girl next to him. He said, “What were you doing downtown? Is there anybody around taking care of you? Should I drop you off somewhere?”

“There’s the hippies,” she said looking over to him with renewed excitement, “Chinadoll and her friends come to town to get water and stuff. They usually bring me treats! I haven’t seen them in a while.”

Monty squinted as he surveyed the glaring landscape; the truck was gone. They had driven into a residential area where the streets were more maneuverable. Where the homes weren’t burned to the ground, the yards were overgrown and yellow resembling little wheat fields;. Looking over to Ezmeralda, he asked, “So…you’re out here alone?” Looking over the thin little girl, he asked, “How do you survive? What do you eat?”

She crossed her arms and said in a defiant tone, “It’s not like I’m in the middle of nowhere, you know. I grew up here and I know my way around! And I’m staying at McDonalds, but the burgers and fries are getting gross. And I have gardens,” she said, tapping her chin in thought, “And Chinadoll brings me smoked meat. The hippies are just outside of town somewhere. They asked me to go with them when mom died, but I didn’t want to live out there.” Opening the glove compartment, she looked at the trunk button and asked, “What’s this? Do you have any food?”

“Don’t press that,” Monty said, resisting the urge to slap her hand. His stomach growled as he said, “I don’t have any food either. I was hoping to find some before you snuck up on me…and did you say McDonalds?” He looked over to see her ponytails nodding as she looked out the window. “You’re kidding, right? You’re talking some fantasyland thing.”

“Nuh-uh. Golden arches, French-fries, McNuggets,” she said as she fiddled with the power sunroof.

Monty slowed the car down and looked at her, “You’re gonna have to tell me where this is.”

“Gardens?  I’ve got them all over the place,” she said. Pointing out the window at a yard they were passing, her finger followed it as she sped up her pace saying, “You just passed one of them.”

“McDonalds, Ezmeralda.  Where are the hamburgers?”

Chapter 3

“I’ll be damned,” Monty muttered as he pulled into the empty parking lot. “Is anyone in there?”

Eying him like the stinky kid in the classroom who just asked her to dance, Ezmeralda said, “Didn’t I say ‘nobody’s around’?” She rolled her eyes and jumped out as he hit the brake.

Aside from the faint applause of rustling leaves, things were so quiet that Monty felt like he just stepped into a photograph. Ezmeralda skipped to the restaurant entrance when Monty called out, “Are you sure it’s safe?”

People had a knack of hiding anywhere, they were like cockroaches. Back in Toronto, he was deceived one-too-many times by someone playing the sweet-and-helpless before trying to mug him, or worse. Most people were manic time-bombs ready to blow. Some babbled gibberish, walking around with their arms flailing and spittle flying. Lunatics were a big reason that he left home.

As Ezmeralda reached the entrance, she stopped and turned to stand in Monty’s way. Holding out her hand in a ‘stop’ position, she said, “You’re not allowed in.”

Monty stepped back, not in any mood to play games, and smirked, “You’re kidding, right?” She didn’t move so he went on, “You know it’s not a good idea to mess with me right now. I haven’t eaten anything, you see. And when that happens, I get kinda…grumpy. And, trust me, you won’t like me when I’m grumpy.”

Her arm dropped an inch as she paused before saying, “You mean you can get grumpier?” Then regaining her composure, she said, “No entering until you tell me your name! My house, my rules!”

“You’re house, eh?   Monty smirked and said, “Is your last name McDonald? ‘Cause that’s what it says on the door.”

She furled her brow and gave Monty the evil eye, looking like a constipated squirrel. Giving in to her ‘serious’ look, he said, “My name’s Monty. Now may I come in?”

Stepping out of his way, she asked, “Monty?!  What kind of name is that?”

He looked around and, aside from toys lying everywhere, clean. “Believe me, I’ve been asking that question all my life, but it’s what’s on my birth certificate.”

She scurried past him like a tour guide who had lost her spot. She led him to the back of the lobby to a Plexiglass door. “So? Do you think mine says Ezmeralda? NO! But I hated Gertrude.” She opened the door just enough for her are to reach in and flick on some switches that lit up Playland. She turned around and asked, “Why do parents have to name their kids after grammas? Do they know how mean it is?”

“Do you think Montgomery is a common name?  Do you know how many times I heard ‘ex-cellent’ growing up?” Trying to follow her scattered footsteps, he muttered, “Damn Simpsons. People called my best friend ‘Smithers’ all the way throughout high school. The girls thought he was gay!”

Ezmeralda stopped as she held the door and said, “LANGUAGE!”

It wasn’t the Playland that Uncle Ronald left behind. It was like the entire little girls’ section of Toys’R’Us had conquered McDonaldland. Posters plastered the walls, and toys, dolls, games and jewellery were scattered around every corner of the room. Dresses and teddy bears dog-piled the remaining space. The playground was furnished into a bedroom, a sitting room, a dining area and a play area.

“This is nice, Ez,” Monty said as he scanned the bouncy ball chamber. “You’ve got a pretty sweet set-up for a shrimp.”

“It’s Ezmeralda, Mont,” she replied as she gave him a distrustful look. When he looked away, she quickly grabbed for a key hidden behind some books. “C’mere,” she said as she walked towards the kitchen, “food’s this way…and I’m no shrimp! I’m tall for an eight-year-old!”

She unlocked the manager’s office, glancing back as if to assess Monty’s trust one last time, and allowed him to follow her in. He asked, “Why lock up? You said nobody was left.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” she said as she reached up to flip on some switches. The kitchen machines hummed in harmony. “I want to keep it away from the weirdoes. They come through town too, sometimes.” They walked across to the kitchen as she said, “I’ve lived in more places than this one, y’know. Mom said this was one of the last places left in town.”

Having lived in the dark for months, basking in artificial light was a luxury that Monty had long given up on. Crossing Canada, he was too preoccupied with raiding houses for food; checking out the restaurants didn’t cross his mind.

The sustainability shift resulted in most franchise restaurants going off the grid and becoming self-sufficient. Ezmeralda’s restaurant was ready for business. Monty admired how the place could function so long after humanity bit the dust; like a cockroach.

Wandering around the grill and deep fryers, he inspected the results of the ‘Sustainability is Cool’ campaign. It had the worst slogan ever, but caught on like wildfire. When support went global, corporations lost their economic stronghold; they could no longer reign the world. Instead, they had no choice but to conceded to the public’s demands: “Quit using up all the energy and resources or we’ll stop using you!” The consumer had turned on its creator and this scared Wall Street enough for stocks to fall with each mounting protest. Within a year, renewable resources and energy industry stocks blew through the roof; oil industry bled like a geyser. The people had changed the world, and then had it taken away.

Monty smelled French fries.

“The fryers need ten minutes to warm up,” Ezmeralda said. “I gotta go pee. Then I’ll show you my garden!” Before Monty replied, she was off. The smell of grease brought back childhood memories of burgers and shakes. He had to admire its relative cleanliness, being under the care of an eight-year-old.

Turning around, Monty faced the hulk of a bartender standing at the entrance; his double-barrelled shotgun aimed at Monty’s knees. With a Clint Eastwood-like growl, the man slowly mumbled, “What the hell are you doing with the little girl?”

Raising his hands in front of him, Monty said, “She highjacked me.” It didn’t sound as good as he hoped and  slowly backed away.

Without a flinch, the man said, “Don’t screw with me, bub. What are you doing with ‘er? You looked like trouble the moment you walked into my bar.”

Taking the stance of an innocent bystander, Monty said, “Hey! Whoa! Sir! She found me! I was parked downtown, got out, got in, drove away, and there she was!”

“A likely story,” the bartender said as he cocked the gun, “You’re not the first bastard I’ve had to bury. I promised her mother I’d protect her, and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

He felt his knees buckle but wasn’t ready to collapse. Feeling unearned guilt close off his windpipe, Monty froze and squeaked out, “Mama Bear!”

“ENRIQUE!”  Both the captor and captive jumped as Ezmeralda’s voice squeaked through the tension. Seeing the man with the gun flinch, Monty saw a flash of his life.

They both turned to see the little girl at the bathroom entrance, ponytails flopping in every direction with arms crossed. She said, “Why do you always come here and scare my friends away?”

A sheep would envy the crease in the bartender’s brow eased. Lowering his gun, he turned to Ezmeralda as she said, “Put down the gun, Enrique. This is Monty. He’s a friend!”

Watching the spectacle, Monty stood silent with his hands still raised. The bartender slowly lowered his weapon to his side and he said, “Just trying to help, Ezmeralda. You know the type of kooks that we get around here.”

“Well, Monty’s not one of them. And I kinda brung him here,” she said as she approached them.

Looking like a petrified mime stuck in his invisible box, Monty asked, “May I go have a smoke?  Please?”

The bartender slung his weapon over his shoulder and said, “I’ll join you.”

Eyeing the two men back and forth, in a pose ready to nag, Ezmeralda said, “You guys better play nice. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Monty followed Enrique outside to a picnic table, patting his pockets to find that he was out. Looking to the bartender, his pack was already on offer.

Offering a lighter, Enrique said, “These things’ll kill you.”

Lighting his smoke, Monty said, “Not if you do it first. So far I’m doing pretty good.”

“I was just trying to help, bub,” the bartender said, “The name’s Willis. Call me that, and we’ll find out if my gun’s loaded.” Monty looked to see a smile, not menacing but not entirely readable. “I’m not so hot on the whole ‘Enrique’ thing, either. Crazy girl. I go by Feldspar now.”

“Feldspar, it is,” Monty said before introducing himself.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” Feldspar said, “But like I said, I promised her mother I would protect her.”

“Have you ever had to use your gun?”

Feldspar leaned away to indicate his mass before adding, “Does It look like I really need it? I can handle myself, but I prefer entering situations with the upper hand.” Cracking the gun open, he showed Monty and said, “I don’t keep any rounds for it, either. I ain’t gonna to be responsible for any more death around here.”

“Good to know,” Monty said, “But that won’t get back any of the crap you scared out of me.”

“Good to know it was effective,” Feldspar said with a smirk. Taking a deep drag of his smoke, he added, “Let me cut right to the chase here. What are your intentions?”

Monty paused and then asked, “Since you’re the one with the gun, I’ll be getting the hell outta Dodge.”

“Listen, pal.  Let me tell you what we’re dealing with here. We have an orphan in that restaurant who’s too stubborn to move in with either me or Chinadoll. The girl will have neither.” With a pause, he added, “I don’t think she likes me.”

Feeling less like a prisoner to the guard, Monty relaxed before saying, “What happened to her mother? How long ago did she flint?”

“Couldn’t have been a month. Saddest thing I’ve ever seen,” Feldspar said before lighting another smoke. “I came by to check on them… Found the little girl looking like she’d been crying for years. Her mother’s ashes were gathered on a bench in the corner.” After a pause just short of being awkward, he went on, “I entered the restaurant and the little girl ran to me, hugging and sobbing. Now, I’ve dealt with a lot of loss like everyone else but I wasn’t ready for that. It stuck with me like a bad habit, that crying girl. I felt helpless for the first time in eons and I cried for days.” Monty sat silent, staring at the table when Feldspar continued, “If you tell a soul, I will find a round for this gun and hunt you down. It probably goes without saying.”

Comfortable to let the subject drop, Monty asked, “So you’ve just let her stay here alone?”

“Buddy, I told you she was stubborn. The girl loves Chinadoll, but won’t move to their commune, either. But I think she wants to get out of town.”

Monty froze, in the distance a record scratched off the disc. He slowly said, “You’re not suggesting that I take her with me. I don’t even have a destination.”

Pointing his finger at Monty, the bartender said, “Listen, bub. You’re not the only one in an awkward position here. I’ve been stuck here, too. I couldn’t let anything happen to the little girl and her mother. But I can’t stick around here forever.”

“Why don’t you take her wherever you’re heading?” The idea of toting a little girl across the country sat in Monty’s gut like a rototiller. “Take her up to the hippies. What can the little girl do once she’s up there?”

“You haven’t had much experience with the little folk, have you?”

“That’s nothing I care to talk about,” Monty said, feeling dread grind up his throat. “I don’t think I can handle it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That makes two of us, but it seems that the girl likes you,” Feldspar said, butting his smoke out on the table.

“I have to think this through,” Monty said as he ran out of an argument. “Where am I going to go?”

“I take it you haven’t run into Mercury yet, eh?”

“Mercury?”

“Yeah, he’s on some quest or something,” Feldspar said as he stood up, “He left the bar looking for you. I probably should have mentioned this place, but you don’t point out little girls to passing strangers, y’know?”

“Where is he?”

“Hell if I know, he’s been ripping around town in that pickup playing bumper cars down the streets,” the bartender said before turning around and walking away. Over his shoulder he said, “You can’t miss him.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to check the bar, see if he’s returned. I’ll catch up with you after,” Feldspar said, waving a hand and slinging his shotgun over his shoulder before walking around the corner.

Monty sat on the table, wondering if he could reverse time and drive around this town.

“Ready?”  Ezmeralda poked her head out the door and said, “Where’s Enrique?”

“It’s Feldspar, chicklet,” Monty said as he looked to the corner, hoping the bartender would pop back, say ‘Just kidding!’ and take the kid with him. “Apparently, he had a meeting to attend to.”

“Feldspar? Is that his real name?”

“I’d tell ya, but he’d have to kill me.”

Ezmeralda shrugged her shoulders and turned to return to the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready, by the way,” she said as the door wheezed shut, “And we’re out of ketchup and dips. And burgers and fries.”

Monty followed her in, smelling the sweet scent of grease. On the counter sat a tray with what looked like dark misshapen starfish arms garnished with a few radishes. Ezmeralda stood at the opposite side of the counter, looking for approval.

After all the preservatives and canned food, the texture of deep-fried crispiness was like biting into a heavenly cheesecake. Too busy chewing, he looked to Ezmeralda and gave her a wide grin and a thumbs up.

Satisfied, she put out her palm and said, “That’ll three-fifty, sir.”

Stopping in mid-chew, he looked at her to read if she was serious.  She let out a giggle that quickly burst out laughing. Monty continued with his meal when she said, “That one got the last guy too!” While Monty continued, she pulled out a tray of her own and ploughed her way through.

After dinner, Ezmeralda said, “Okay. Now you’ve gotta see my garden.” She grabbed his little finger and pulled him from his seat, “It’s out back. C’mon, it’s cool!”

He didn’t notice them coming in, but the planters lining the parking lot were gutted and bedded with vegetables. It was too early for most of the crop but the greenery looked well tended. Admiring the garden with a smile, Monty said, “Nice work, kiddo. Who taught you to garden?”

With her hands on her hips, Ezmeralda said, “Thanks!”  With a matter-of-fact sincerity, she continued, “It was pretty complicated, really. First, I got the seeds. Then I found dirt. Water helps.”

“You’re a smart-ass, y’know that?”

“Watch your language!  You’ve got it wrong, anyway,” Ezmeralda said.  Her stance said I-told-you-so when she said, “Mom always said I’ve got a smart mouth. At the other end, smarty-pants.”

Monty said, “One and the same, m’dear.  Either way, you’re dealing with sh-…”  In the distance, an engine roared and it was heading their way. Monty looked at her and whispered, “You hear that? He’s coming back!”

Monty scrambled for his keys and ran for the car. Ezmeralda chased him and called, “Wait! I’ll be right back.” Like a little comet, she ran into the restaurant yelling, “One minute!”

He raced towards the car, hearing tiny footsteps chased behind him yelling, “WA-it! I’m coming!” She jumped into the passenger seat and threw a Strawberry Shortcake backpack on the back seat. Swivelling around, she buckled up and yelled, “WELL!  Hurry up! He’s going to get awayyyy!”

Chapter 4

The truck weaved and fish-tailed through the vehicular obstacle course, nicking back ends of haphazard cars as it stormed through the streets. Its bush-bar took most of the impact, but its sides and tail-gate were almost equally trashed. Monty caught up easily, following the rampage-cleared path behind his target. The collisions were the only thing slowing the truck’s progress and they were soon within sight to catch the other driver’s attention.

“Honk your horn,” Ezmeralda said, laughing as she leaned in hard along with their swerving progress.

“That thing’s useless,” Monty muttered, “We couldn’t outrace a parade of clowns with this piece of shit.”

Ezmeralda threw him a glare, “Ahem.”

“Sorry, kid,” he said, focusing on their street-sweeping target. When the truck spotted them, it slowing to a stop and allowed them to catch up. Monty pulled alongside, lowering the passenger window, and yelled across Ezmeralda, “Dude! You’re a maniac!”

Looking down from the truck, the kid who lost his lunch on the bar floor slurred, “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you…Didn’t think you’d’ve left town yet.” Peering down, he continued, “Hey! A little person!” He toned himself down to a two-year-old level and said to Ezmeralda, “And-how-are-you-doing-little-girl?”

Ezmeralda looked over to Monty, “Gun it. He’s a creep.”

Monty shut the car off and got out, the other driver did likewise; gasoline might be everywhere, but it wasn’t easy to find. Finding a car with gas then having to siphon it was time consuming and it tasted bad. Without power, gas pumps were useless; something that the gas companies were kicking themselves for after they refused to go the sustainable way.

Monty introduced himself, holding out his hand, and said, “This here’s Ezmeralda.” Pretending to hide it with the back of his hand, he said, “You might want to watch it with her. She’s a little firecracker.”

From behind him, Ezmeralda said, “HEY! Are you talking about me?” She opened her door and stepped behind Monty.

The kid stepped out of his truck and extended his hand, “I’m Mercury.”

With a pause, Monty said, “As in the planet?”

“As in the messenger,” he replied, “You were sitting beside my buddy, Revere.”

“Yeah, sorry you had to deal with that,” Monty said, “Flints aren’t easy to deal with, no matter how many you’ve seen.”

“Flint? What’s that?”

“Flashintegrations.  F-L… I-N-T…  I’ve seen far too many myself,” Monty said.  He jumped topics before the memories caught up, “What’s with the names? Did nobody like their old ones?”

The kid grabbed a pack of smokes from the door pocket, “We are who we are, Mont.”  He took a smoke out and offered one to Monty. Taking one, Mercury turned to Ezmeralda and asked, “You want one?”

Ezmeralda flinched away like a vampire from garlic and said, “Only if I want to die!”

Monty said, “Ezmeralda, this is Mercury. Mercury, Ezmeralda. She lives at McDonald’s” He paid more attention to lighting his smoke than to whether they were paying attention.

Mercury offered his hand, and Ezmeralda shook it after a moment’s hesitation and said, “Nice to meet you.” She took an audible sniff and asked, “Are you drunk?”

Ignoring her, Monty casually scanned the blue sky and said, “So…what are you doing here? I haven’t run into anyone since Moose Jaw.”

Mercury started, “Me and my buddy…”

“Revere.”

“Yeah, well,” Mercury said before taking a drag, “We’re on a quest.”

Monty’s eyebrows flinched as he took a drag of his smoke to absorb the news, “A quest huh? Fulfilling the Arthurian legend?”

With a desperate laugh and a choke on his smoke, Mercury said, “HA!” He broke into a coughing fit before regaining his composure while the other two looked on. “Not like that.” Cough, wheeze. “We were sent by the tribe to find other survivors. We’ve been on the road for a week now.”

“Survivors?” Monty lowered the cigarette from his lips and said, “Tribe? Where?” These were the first words of hope he’d heard in months; anything he gained during his seclusion was just random and weird.

Mercury said, “Kelowna, dude. It’s in the Okanagan. You know. BC?”

Dumbstruck, Monty shrugged.

“Get a map and head west,” Mercury said, pointing south, “I’ve still got to cover Saskatchewan before I make my way home.” Crinkling his brow, his face collapsed into a frown when he said, “It ain’t gonna be the same without Revere.”

“HA!”  Monty slapped his thighs, “I get it! Revere and Mercury. The MESSENGERS!”

Ezmeralda looked up at him, “Huh?”

Mercury continued, “Yeah, me and Feldspar are gonna go east instead. You remember? The bartender? Where we met? Anyway, he’s gonna join me as soon as he gets something taken care of.”

“Yeah.  Interesting choice of names, his. I had a little run-in with him earlier,” Monty said, “I think he can take care of himself. Just don’t piss him off.” He nodded his head in Ezmeralda’s direction. “I had to clean my shorts after facing the barrel of his shotgun. Are you sure you can trust him? I mean, I met him for all of five seconds, but he introduced himself while holding a gun at me.”

Mercury shrugged and said, “He’s cool. We spent a good amount of time talking after you ran off. He said he wanted a name that honoured his Viking roots.”

“It’s a rock.”

“Do you want to argue with him?”

Monty thought better of it, “I didn’t take up that opportunity.” He looked down to Ezmeralda and said, “It looks like I’ve got my destination. What are your plans?”

With a sarcastic smirk, Ezmeralda said, “Do you really think I want to spend the rest of my life at McDonalds?” Monty recalled thinking those exact words back in his youth, feeling like he’d been trapped there for life.

“Well, you can go with Mercury on his quest,” he said looking at the kid, seeing panic wash over his face, “Or you can come with me. Check this place out that he’s talking about. It sounds like there are more people there.” He couldn’t believe he just said those words aloud.

Noting Mercury’s dread, along with his weaving and slurring, Ezmeralda turned to open the car door saying, “Nice meeting you, Mercury. Good luck on your quest!” She clicked in her seatbelt and gave him a little wave.

Monty turned to the drunk messenger, “Okay, Merc. Thanks for the news and good luck.” They shook hands as Monty started backing away, twirling the keys on his finger. “Are you sure you and Feldspar are gonna be okay?”

“Are you kidding?” he said as he stumbled toward his door handle, “He’s survived this long. And I don’t think anybody’s gonna mess with him.”

“Can you trust him?” Monty couldn’t shake the image of a grumpy biker with a shotgun.

“He’s good,” Mercury said with a shrug, “A little tough on the outside, but who isn’t these days.”

“Had any luck besides here?” Monty said, reaching his door and leaning his elbows on top, flinching back from the heat.

Mercury climbed into his truck, closed the door and leaned out the window, “A few towns had one or two.”  Looking down in a moment of thought, he added, “Let the tribe know about Revere. Tell’em to keep testing.”

Opening his door, Monty stopped and said, “Testing?”

“Long story, dude. And the sooner I begin Saskatchewan, the sooner I can come back,” he said, trying to sound more chipper than his eyes showed. “The tribe’ll fill you in. I hope they don’t have to start fresh.” Starting his truck with a roar, he looked down the street as if it was going to read his mind and tell him which direction to go.

“The bar’s that-away,” Monty pointed out, “You might want to let the bartender drive for a while.”

“Like I said, dude. I was looking all morning for you, and Feldspar didn’t mention any ‘little girl at McDonalds’, or I would have been there sooner. I’ll be driving psychically behind the eyelids.” Putting the truck into neutral and roaring the engine, he added, “Happy trails, mon amigos. And watch out for the craters coming through the mountain pass!”

Before Monty could ask, the kid was swerving down the road and swiping cars out of his path. Ezmeralda called out, “Don’t forget to tell the hippies!”

Returning to his seat, Monty looked at his passenger and said, “Do you need anything from home?”

She had a look that was way too sarcastic for an eight-year-old.  She said, “How about a super-sized double Big Mac combo with an apple pie and strawberry milkshake?”

Monty met her eyes and said, “You better watch that sass, little girl. I’ve got an ejector seat installed in this. You can’t be too careful with who you pick up, you know?”

Returning her voice to peaches-and-cream, Ezmeralda said, “No thank-you. I’ve got everything in my bag.”

Monty looked at the Strawberry Shortcake bag in the back, “You packed up when we left?”

“Well, duh-h! I wasn’t going to let you get away, was I?”

Chapter 5

The map was spread on the car’s hood as Monty scanned the southern Alberta portion. He mumbled, “There’s way too many little towns in this province.”

“You don’t even know where we are?” Ezmeralda was on her toes, trying to peek at the map.

Sternly, Monty snapped, “C’mon. No jokes. Let’s get out of here, ‘kay?”

“Wow,” Ezmeralda said, crossing her arms and scowling at the ground, “What made you so grumpy?”

“I don’t know about you,” he said, “But I’m hungry!” He folded up the map and jumped in the car.

Ezmeralda scooted into her side and buckled up, saying, “Let’s get some more McNuggets.”

“Let’s not,” Monty said. While the previous batch settled in his stomach, he remembered the only good time to have McDonalds was when he had an extreme hangover. He asked, “Was there anything else to eat back there? I’ll drive back if there is.”

“Nope,” she said, “No hippies in awhile and my veggies aren’t ready.” Her stomach belched an audible rumble.

“Then I guess we’re on our way,” he said as he put the car into gear and faced the car west. “I’m guessing we’re in Brooks, right?”

“Give the man a prize,” she said, raising her hands above her head in mock-celebration.

“Do me a favour. Open the glove box and press the button inside,” Monty said, watching her from the corner of his eye.

She opened the glove box, seeing the bright red button at the top, “Why?  What is it?”

“Press it,” Monty said, giving her a sneaky smile, “We’ll find out.”

“It says ‘trunk’.”

“You might want to put a helmet on,” Monty said, barely able to suppress a smile.

“It’s not an ejection seat,” she said, eyeing first the button and then Monty, “You’re just trying to scare me. You want me to believe you’re, like, a spy or something? You got missiles, too?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” he said, leaning over to push it before Ezmeralda’s hand reached out to stop him.

“OKAY,” she said, “We’re in Brooks and you want to keep following this road.  It goes to Calgary.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, “We’ll find food along the way. I’ve got a plan.”

“Like what? Road kill?” Ezmeralda unbuckled her seat and jumped in the back, giggling. She buckled up in the centre as Monty swerved heavily with each turn on their way out of town. Ezmeralda, throwing herself side-to-side, laughed out, “You’re a bad driver, y’know that?”

They raced out of town, ripping by the ‘Brooks Municipal Limits’ sign as they took off into the patchwork of black farmland and lush, weed-infested fields. Monty turned on his iPod and charged down the road to AC/DC’s ‘Highway to Hell’. Ezmeralda crinkled her nose, “What’s this?”

“Good stuff,” he said with a smile, drumming the steering wheel, “Don’t. Touch.” Taking that as a cue, she toe-tapped his arm until he reached back, breaking out the ‘grumpy old man’ routine. Laughing and giggling, she pulled away with each grab at her foot. At twenty kilometres out of town, he turned off the highway and drove up towards a farmhouse sitting amid a field of dead grass and weeds.

Getting out, he motioned to Ezmeralda, saying, “Coming?”

Uncertain, Ezmeralda sat still and said, “Do you know these people? Where are we? Who lives here?”

Starting towards the front door, he heard her door shut before he reached the steps.

“What are you doing?” she asked as she scampered up next to him.

“It’s an ancient survival technique,” he said, finding the front door locked. She followed him around the building. As her questions and comments became easier to drown out, she eventually gave up and kept following him. With everything locked, Monty grabbed a large rock and went to the patio door at the rear. With a good heave, the glass barrier shattered as he shielded Ezmeralda and his face.

“Are you CRAZY!?”  Ezmeralda cried out as she took shelter behind her elbows, “What if somebody’s home?”

Monty gave her a deadpan look, “Really?”  He stepped in and entered the kitchen. The blinds were drawn and the house was silent. He felt like he entered a tomb; just like every other house. The floor had an even layer of dust covering it, the ashes of the fallen. As he looked around, the room went off kilter and he stumbled.

Ezmeralda stayed outside, “Anybody there?”

Holding steady on the counter, Monty stared at the untouched dust and said, “Not in a long time, Ezzie.”

She crept into the kitchen with a scolding glare, “Any food, Monty?”  She couldn’t win that one, so she started peeking through the cabinets.

“I wouldn’t try the fridge if I were you,” Monty warned, recalling the science experiments he’d found growing in previous fridges. “You’ll need a gas-mask if you do.”

Finding bare cupboards, Ezmeralda turned to Monty and said, “Maybe we should check the fridge, just in case.” She placed her hand on the handle.

“Maybe we should check the rest of the house,” he said, opening a door to find stairs leading down.

Each creaking stair further darkened the room. Monty pulled out his lighter but it gave barely enough illumination so that he didn’t bump into anything.

From the top of the stairs, Ezmeralda called, “I’ll stay here and watch the door, ‘kay?”

Monty mocked back, “Chicken.”

“Don’t remind me,” she called out, “You didn’t want to go back for McNuggets, remember?”

Ignoring her, he followed a narrow path through a jumble of boxes and furniture. At the back of the room, something reflected his orange flame. A chrome flashlight faced him and, grabbing it, he was relieved to find that it still had power.

Beneath the stairs, a door sat ajar. Monty peeked the flashlight in and said, “Bingo.” Inside were jars of preserves and jam. Monty smiled and said, “Thank God for old ladies that can can.”

Ezmeralda called through the dark, “I think I heard someone upstairs, Monty. Let’s get out of here. It’s creepy.”

Feeling the cold finger of the creeps descend his spine, Monty knew some of the homes were haunted. He said, “It’s probably just the wind, Ez. We’re on our way out, anyway.”

He got to the top of the stairs and handed his motherlode of food over to his accomplice. He said, “Put these in the car. We’ve got enough here for the trip.” After they loaded up, they had a lunch of pickles, strawberry jam and crab apples.

After a mini-feast, they continued east, taking a northern detour around Calgary to avoid dealing with any possible mobs, lunatics or scam artists. From a distance, Monty saw smoke rising from the city, bringing back memories of the madness that chased him out of Toronto. The craziness was the main reason for leaving as things still had plenty of room to get worse if he stayed.

It was a couple of years after the Avian SARS epidemic calmed down. He remembered the first morning, reading the Toronto Sun over breakfast. The infamous confession letters from the leaders of our most powerful, and corrupt, institutions were sinking in when he saw smoke coming through his window. The people lost their minds, protests quickly turned to mobs trashing stores and rioting through shopping malls.

Any sign of corporate power made it a target; commercial streets were ablaze. As the crazies fed on the madness, flinting ran rampant. This was new. There had been stories of flash-integrations that were left unexplained since there were no bodies to autopsy. Making things worse, conspiracies of secret weapons, government genocide, and alien intervention ran rampant. He heard rumors that people were burning bankers at the stake in some places. Apocalypse doomsayers amassed in cities all over the world, thumbing their noses at the naysayers. Monty couldn’t handle the insanity. He wanted to survive! In his search for sane survivors, he found Winnipeg to be no better. Regina neither. Due to this, he took the northern route around Calgary.

They played senseless road games until Ezmeralda passed out. The Rocky Mountains approached as the late-afternoon sun lit up the valley. A river rushed next to the highway while tree-lined hills grew into mountains before everything exploded into the Rockies. They rose up like granite finger holding the land its palm. Both driver and occupant were stunned silent as they sped into the hills.

After a half-hour of silence, Ezmeralda woke from her nap and sat silent for a while before asking, “Why don’t you like me?”

Looking confused, Monty said, “What do you mean? I’m still here, right? And we’re going to find a new place together, right?”

“Yeah, but you don’t like to talk to me,” she said as she picked her nail. “You’re kinda boring.”

“Well, what do you want to talk about?”

“Where’s your family?” She looked over to him, “Why are you here? Why didn’t you blow up like everyone else?”

“Whoa-whoa-whoa,” he said, wishing that she had stayed asleep. Looking for a detour away from having to answer her, he reluctantly said, “I… I don’t know. It’s not something I like talk about.”

“Why not?” she said, grabbing a little teddy bear out of her pack, “I talk about mom and dad all the time.”

Twisting his mouth, “With who? Amethyst?”

“It was Enrique. Or Feldspar. Whatever,” she shrugged.  “It wasn’t him, anyway. He’s a weirdo. My teddies were much better company.” She grabbed her backpack, pulling it onto her lap, and pulled out a binder. “I got pictures,” she said as she scanned through the pages, “Took this from home before mom and me moved to McDonalds.”

The cab was getting dark so he turned on the interior light, peeking over before attending back to the road. The sun wasn’t setting, but some dark clouds gobbled it up. “I didn’t grab anything,” he said, “I didn’t see the point of having those memories with me if I had nobody to share it with.” With a pause, “Looking through them only reminded me of how lonely I was.”

“That’s kinda weird,” she said, thumbing through her album. “You didn’t feel happy?” Turning more pages, she continued, “ I was both. Sometimes I cried, sometimes I remembered the day that the picture was taken.” She flipped through, tracing a picture that made her pause. Looking at it, she said, “My mom said, when my fish Slime died, that I can’t be happy without being sad sometimes. I was sad about Slime, but mom said the happy memories keep him alive.”

They drove in silence. Monty’s thoughts drove down roads he left in the past. “You know,” he said, “I remember driving along this highway while in the back seat of my parents’ VW van back when I was eleven. My sister and I jumped around for the whole way to Victoria. We spent weeks travelling in it.”

Drops of rain spit lightly on the windshield as he said, “This drive has been so different. Empty.” Passing a rest area, he pointed over and said, “We stopped at all those sites. Every gas station, park and campground, it didn’t matter where, my parents always met someone to be friends with. They’d be waiting in line to use the can and know everyone’s name before leaving. My sis, Betty, and I made a lot of one-day friends too. I had no choice but to get along with her.” With a smirk, he added, “But we still fought.” Ezmeralda stopped flipping through and stared quietly, listening.

“I miss running into those people,” he said with a deep sigh. “The madness in Toronto was too much. Without my people, who am I?” He frowned as lightning flash in the mountains up ahead and said, “If I hadn’t run into someone else like you or Feldspar, I might have gone as crazy as the lunatics back home.”

With the sincerity of an eight-year-old, Ezmeralda said, “You need a teddy.”

Monty mumbled, “I need a lot more than that.”

“Like what?”

Switching mental tracks, Monty said, “Er… Nevermind. I’m not gonna discuss it with you.”

Quizzically, she looked at him and tried another route, “Okay, so what happened to your parents?”

Shocked by the bluntness, he looked over and said, “Jesus, kid. Do you ever give up?”

“Well,” she went on, “my mom took care of me when dad died. He had the plague.”

Rounding a corner, a landslide ran onto the left side of the road. He slowed the vehicle down to focus on what she was saying. He asked, “Are you sure you want to talk about this, kiddo?”

“I’ve already talked it over with my teddies,” she said, “At least your answers won’t by what mine were.”

Taking a deep breath, he said, “Alright…so what happened?”

“Well, I got sick first. Before everyone else,” she said, pausing upon the memory. “Did I get my dad sick? My mom said he got it from work.”

“Well,” he replied, “Your mom sounds like she knows a lot.”

“She took care of me. Until last month,” Ezmeralda said, slowing her words toward the end. “We both lived at McDonalds for the last bunch of months. She wanted to start the gardens. She was out there all the time. Even before the plague, all she talked about were her gardens. And she didn’t let me eat junk food.”

“And you ended up at McDonalds?”

“It was somewhere to live, wasn’t it?  And better than a cold house.”

“True,” he said. Thinking silently, he remembered how his family dealt with the plague. “My dad caught it first. Him and my mom lived in a retirement village. One of those walled-up places. When the epidemic hit, it blew out its residents like candles in a vacuum.”

Thunder came at them like the mountains roared a warning. “I picked my mom up and we went to my sister’s. We stayed there, but then her husband got sick. By then the quarantine was in place.” He pushed back the memory of tubes and needles poking and monitoring a mere fraction of the body that once belonged to his brother-in-law. When the hospitals overflowed, home-based quarantine rooms were the only option. This way, families could watch their loved ones wither away to nothing. “He barely survived the treatment. It was a cruel joke, him being the first to flint. He was rail-thin when he was released, and nothing would bring him back to health.”

His mind wandered off, sparing Ezmeralda the rest of the details of his family’s demise. With the added stress of having to run a household, his sister ended up flinting not long after her husband. One of Monty’s worst horrors came on the morning that he found his niece. A pile of ash shaped like a sleeping child, the silhouette burnt into the crib mattress. Completing the domino effect, his mom went on a drinking binge and hid away. Monty couldn’t deal with it and found a corner to hide his head in, wishing the tragedy away. When not dwelling on what he lost, he wondered when his own ticking time bomb was set to go. Sometimes he wished for it. And why didn’t he try contacting his own daughter?

Uncomfortable in the silence, Ezmeralda said, “I saw my mom blow up, too.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Ezzie,” he said, pausing and not knowing how to reply, “You’re very strong for being here. You know that, don’t you? Your mom would be proud,” treading into unfamiliar territory whenever he spoke with kids, including his own. “You know, there might be a reason that all this happened.”

“Of course there is,” she said, “My mom always said that we had it coming.”  Looking out the window, she continued, “I’m not sure what she meant by that, but she was always pretty sure about it.”

Chapter 6

Driving into a lidless cave, where the clouds form the canopy draping from mountain to mountain, providing rain rather than protection from it. As they climbed higher, the heavy fog rendered their headlights useless and the vehicle lost its horsepower as it attempted the constant climb. Ezmeralda nodded off, leaving Monty to drive in silence for the first time in a day.

Canmore and Banff, along with their surrounding forest, were decimated; the abandoned homes along the highway were burnt to cement foundations. Searching for supplies was fruitless, and finding fuel had now become worry number one. He wasn’t sure they were making it out of the mountains without resorting to some creative coasting. Almost without notice, the slope changed directions.

Hoping to make up some time, he pushed the car as much as he felt safe with. With an inch of water on the road, driving down a dark, foggy highway with no visibility beyond three feet, he didn’t feel like he was making any time. The rain wasn’t letting up and the landslides got larger after crossing a long bridge that put them on the other side of the Kicking Horse River, sitting to the right of the highway at the bottom of a steep drop.

Some sections of the road were eroded at the shoulders and parts of the concrete barrier disappeared. For parts where the highway pulled away from the drop-off, he picked up the pace. There were far more landslides to drive around, looking like remnants of a war zone. Mother Nature was taking back the land that we took away.

Boulders covered the highway like Lego bricks on a nursery floor. As he swerved around some, he heard Ezmeralda yawning and stretching as she woke up.

Looking around at the surreal surroundings, she grabbed hold of her door like it was about to fly open, yelling “Monty, are you crazy?! SLOW DOWN!”

Eyes not leaving the road, Monty bare-knuckled the steering wheel and replied, “Fuhgeddaboudit. I drove through worse conditions in TO.”

Frozen in position, Ezmeralda screamed, “You’re driving like a maniac!”

“You worry too much, Ezzie,” Monty muttered, just before stomping the brakes. Rocks the size of basketballs were scattered over their path. Hitting one, the undercarriage scraped over it from front to rear; the car let out a grinding howl. The passengers winced and braced for silence.

Past the minefield, the car hydroplaned on the pavement and began sliding sideways. Losing control, Monty gripped the steering wheel like he was willing it to fly. The tires kissed the rainwater as the car rotated further to the left. Trying to see what was ahead, his only response was ‘empty darkness’.

Both feet slammed on the brakes as Monty whispered, “Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop…” Ezmeralda screamed and pointed to where the car was heading. As the car started to rotate back to its forward position, Monty thought that his eyes were playing tricks on him. The centre line stopped and the pavement went black.

The front tires dropped as the car slipped over the edge of the void; there was no bottom. A roaring grind filled the car as they teetered to a stop. Everything fell silent except for the rain rapping on the rooftop. The car sounded like a creaking ship in a sea storm. Teetering on the edge, Monty couldn’t tell what part of the vehicle was still in contact with the road and how much of it was floating.

“Don’t move,” Monty said, more to himself than to Ezmeralda. In the next seat over, he heard a little girl’s panicked whimpers, too petrified to turn and look his way. Holding the steering wheel in a death grip, Monty said, “It’s okay, Ezzie.  We stopped.”

The wind roared, shattering the safety of the car’s interior with a deep howl. The car rocked into another chorus of creaking.

With each breath, Monty felt them shift ever closer over the edge. The darkness was his only reference. He had nothing to focus on other than the vehicle’s movement. He whispered into the darkness, “Ezzie?” Fighting off panic like a lion-tamer, he said, “I need you to do something for me, ‘kay?”

She was hyperventilating as she whispered, “Okay.” After more panicked gasps, he heard, “I’m scared, Monty.”

“The worst is over,” he said, not believing a word he said, “but we’ve got to work together to get out of this, okay?”

“Yeah,” came her answer, standing on the edge of panic and tension, ready to jump, “What do you want me to do?”

“I need you in the back seat. We need your weight back there while I get out of the car, okay?”

Monty could hear the tears perched to jump when she said, “Am I going over the edge?”

“You’re not going anywhere, kiddo,” he said, hoping she didn’t hear his voice waver with uncertainty. “I need you back there while I pull the car back onto the road.”

“I’m afraid to move, Monty,” Ezmeralda whimpered, holding tightly to her seat, “I don’t want to die!”

“We’re going to be fine, Ezzie,” Monty replied, “Can you get in the back seat? It’s the only way I can think of right now.”

Ezmeralda released her seat belt, gently leading her strap back to its cradle and making sure that it didn’t snap into place. She whispered, “As long as you’re sure, Monty.” She pulled herself from her seat and slowly climbed into the back, sitting behind the driver’s seat, still and silent.

Monty asked, “Can you roll your window down?”

Her voice, squeaky and uncertain in panic, said, “It – it’s only got a vent opening!”

“Okay,” Monty said, taking it one step at a time, wondering just how his plan would work out. “Open it up. If I say so, you push on that window as hard as you can, okay?”

“Why?”

Telling a lie was not an option, so he said, “If the car starts to slip, I’m going to have to pull you through it.” The back seat was silent.

Through the rain-pounded roof, Monty heard, “Am I going to die?”

“We’re going to be fine, Ezzie, just fine.” The mantra echoed through his thoughts; uncertainty clouded his next step. Putting the car in reverse, he felt it jerk. He held his breath, praying that he wasn’t feeling any forward momentum. It held. Opening his door, he placed his left foot on the ground as he pressed his shoulder into the doorframe to brace the car. When the interior light went on, he looked back and saw Ezmeralda with her palms pressed against the side window, ready to push. Heaving the car backwards, they didn’t slip forward but they didn’t budge back any either.

“Ezzie?”

“Am I dead?”

“We’re going to be fine,” Monty said, “but you need to move again. I need you in the driver’s seat.”

“But I can’t drive,” she said, a squeak rising in her throat, “What are you going to do?”

“I’ve got to push the car back,” he said, “and I need you to hit the gas while I do that.”

Her voice was hesitant, “We’re not going over the edge?”

“No, we’re just stuck.”

Slow like a sloth, she made her way to the front.

“Okay,” Monty said, “when I say so, I need you to push lightly on the right pedal. Can you do that?”

Holding out her hands, fingers in the ‘L’ position, she pointed out the right and scooted down to reach it. “Is the other one the brakes?”

“Yes,” Monty said, “You’ll have to push that one when I say so, too. Can you do that?”

“I think so,” she said, worry stencilled on her face.

He braced his shoulder on the doorframe again. Once in position, he pushed with all his might and yelled, “NOW!”

At the snap of his voice, Ezmeralda panicked and stomped on the gas pedal, the car’s momentum pushing her further. The car jerked backwards and Monty cried out, “STOP!”

Before she could switch pedals, Monty grasped for something to hold onto before slipping out of view. As he disappeared, the back window tore off like a limb. Ezmeralda heard a scream and jammed on the brakes. She sat petrified as she waited to be told what to do next. She screamed out, “What do I do?”

Soaking in the rain, Monty was lying on his back with his right foot twisted sideways under the front tire. Ezmeralda parked on his ankle. The car was perched on top of him like a victorious wrestler pinning down his opponent. Panic gripped Monty’s spine. He was trapped beneath a car at the mercy of an eight-year-old with no driving experience.

“Monty?”

Behind the drum of the rain, she heard Monty growl in anguish, “Back up… NO! WAIT! Forward!”

She squeaked, “I don’t know how?”  The panic had returned, “Do I hit the gas again?”

He snapped, “NO!” With step-by-step instruction, Monty walked her through putting the car into drive without going over the edge. Her gas-and-brake approach put repeated pressure on Monty’s ankle, but the gradual approach succeeded. Once free and clear, Monty lay back on the rain-drenched highway afraid to move his leg. He didn’t want to accept any more bad news. Giving it a wiggle, the pain was immense but he felt his toes move. Nothing was broken.

Peering down from the driver’s seat, Ezmeralda said, “Are you okay, Monty?”

Monty said, “I think so, Ezzie. You did good, kiddo.” He explained how to put the car in park, and laid in the dark for a while longer. Twisting his foot left and then right, he confirmed that things were in working order before dragging himself onto the driver’s seat. “Craters,” Monty muttered, “That Mercury wasn’t much of a messenger. The bastard missed a few details.”

The urgency to reach their destination was side-tracked by the new surprises. Craters and landslides accompanied them for the entire way down the mountain. As they wound through the mountain pass, parts of the road looked like a canyon monster jumped up and took a bite out it. Some sections of the eroded road had barely enough room for them to squeeze by. Beneath, the earth eroded, while above, rocks, boulders and logs pounded what blacktop that remained. The road wouldn’t last the winter.

Ezmeralda was quiet for most of the ride through the hills, her eyes peeled for craters, boulders and wildlife. The rain didn’t relent, and the road’s visibility didn’t improve. By midnight, their progress slowed down even more. The travellers were exhausted from a very nerve-wracking drive. Using the car to nudge some of the larger boulders aside, Monty realized that he used more fuel going up the mountain than he thought.

There was no refuge from the highway war zone, but the rain subsided the mountains moved back from the road. Worries of driving over a cliff eased, but running out of gas was another. A couple of hours passed before reaching the cinders of Revelstoke. Ezmeralda was asleep, giving Monty a peaceful respite. He siphoned gas from an abandoned vehicle left at the edge of the highway and continued west.

It was almost dawn when he pulled up to a beach along the Shuswap Lake. After too many weeks of crossing the burnt and barren prairies, Monty likened the lake and mountains to finding a perfectly formed garden after months of hiking across a sandy desert.

He stepped out to view the lake, breathing in the sweet air and listening to the slight waves tickle the shore. His junior partner was fast asleep letting out a content sigh. He closed his eyes as the sun scampered behind them over the mountain pass. Monty got back in, tilted his seat back and took a nap. The map showed that Kelowna was only a couple of more hours’ drive south. Exhausted, the excitement of reaching his destination kept him awake until he couldn’t hold off his dreams any longer.

Chapter 7

Excitement trumped Monty’s need to sleep. He used the restlessness to scavenge through some homes. One had a store of fruit preserves and fresh blankets. The contents on the backseat were drenched after the window was pulled off during his wrestling match with the car’s front tire. Invisible pins sent electric charges up and down from his shinbone to his ankle. As the morning mist over the lake dissolved and the sunlight exposed its face, his pain receded. After the chaos of the past few months, Monty was living a dream.

The two spent the rest of the morning relaxing on the beach. Where the prairies were nothing but dead harvests and burnt fields, he looked forward to having every morning like this. Soaking up the sun and submerged in the sounds of Nature, the day ahead indeed looked brighter. Where yesterday they were treated like wet rags, today they were wrapped in the warm towel of serenity.

The leaves surrounding their makeshift campsite were aglow with sunlight, holding their resting spot in a green neon hug. Monty slouched in his ratty, torn and faded Canadian-flag-emblazoned lawn chair, a totem he carried with him since graduating high school. It supported him through multiple parties and many years of camping weekends. In his past life, his occupied his seat in a crowd of friends and family; company that should have lasted forever. That certainty seemed chiselled in stone.

Closing his eyes, he imagined the slowly-waking campsite. His buddies would stumble from campers and tents, drowsy and hung over from a very late night. Laziness was the virtue, and one moved only as far as the cooler; the smart camper never left his seat except for Nature’s call.

Monty could almost hear the murmur of quiet voices; like the forest was a cathedral and the campers paying their due respect. The lapping water, amplified in the hung-over silence, competed with the subdued volume of a radio playing in the background, buzzing like a bee. Those mornings were peaceful; now he sat in empty silence. He opened his eyes, returning to the nightmare of vacant world and letting out a deep sigh.

While dazed, Ezmeralda took a seat in the sand, closer to the water. Wrapping her arms around her legs and putting her chin on her knees, she stared blankly over the lake. Monty sauntered over, saying, “How ya doing, kiddo?”

She paused then looked up at him with a squint and said, “Okay.”

“Quite the ride yesterday, huh?”

“It was scary,” she said, turning back towards the lake to draw shapes in the sand, “Is the rest of the trip like that? ‘Cause I don’t think I can do it…again.”

“I can’t guarantee it,” Monty said, plopping down in the sand, “but I’m pretty sure it’ll be nothing like that road. The map says were going through a flat valley for most of the way.”

Ezmeralda said, “Good.”  After a pause, she dropped her chin and covered her face. Her shoulders shook into little spasms as she broke down in tears.

Those tears froze Monty. Nervous and uncomfortable, he shuffled closer and said, “Ezzie, it’s going to be okay.” Unmoved, her sobbing gained volume. Monty stared helplessly between the lake and the little girl, not knowing what to say next.

After an eternity, Ezmeralda said, “That’s not it.” She looked up at him and said, “I – I miss my mom.”

Monty slumped his shoulders, leaned over and hugged her, picturing his little daughter in the same situation. “Oh, Ezzie…It hurts me, too. I think about my family all the time. You know that?”

With a deep sigh, he said, “Yeah…me too.” She leaned in and hugged him back, the two holding each other in silence. The waves took over the conversation, rippling over sand and stones, playing xylophone-trickling music up and down the beach. “Things are gonna get better, Ezzie,” Monty said, “Where we’re going, there’ll be a lot more people. I’m sure of it.”

She pursed her lips, wiping her eyes, and said, “What if they’re all weirdoes? What if Mercury was lying and nobody’s there?”

With only Mercury and Feldspar as his gauge, Monty had no guarantee to what they were dealing with. He said, “I’m sure they’ll be just fine, Ezzie. And I don’t think he was lying. I’m a pretty good bullsh.. BS detector. Besides, it beats being stuck in a McDonalds out in the middle of the prairies, right?”

Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “Sure.”

“Should we head’er?”

“Sure.”

Dousing the fire with sand, they packed their scatterings and headed south. They passed lakes and farmland; everything was green and alive. The near-vacant road allowed Monty to gaze around and admire the landscape. Having spent her short life staring across golden flatlands, Ezmeralda jumped back and forth, front to back, pointing out deer, goats and other wildlife that were near the road.

The highway signs provided their destination countdown. Rather than explore other towns along the way, they b-lined it straight to Kelowna. The road, a black ribbon flowing through a valley of abandoned farmland, was like a string tying together a collection of deserted towns.

Monty fantasized about how many people were waiting in Kelowna. After the eeriest trip ever, where a drive through five provinces produced a mere handful of people, he hoped for some steady and sane company. Meeting groups larger than three was a rarity, such as the bar back in Brooks. Until now, the mere scatterings who remained, the frayed threads of society, were burning themselves from the tapestry of life.  Having witnessed mostly lunacy while in the larger cities, Monty’s optimism was dimming.

His right ankle throbbed. Taking a deep breath, he said, “You know, Ezzie. What you did for me when we got stuck…it…it was very brave of you. I’m very proud of you, y’know that?”

Ezmeralda looked over and asked, “You’re proud of me for running over your ankle?”

Monty smiled and nudged her shoulder, saying, “Don’t use that smart mouth on me. Seriously. You did well. I don’t think a lot of girls your age could have done it.”

She gave him a smirk and said, trying to sound like an old man but sounding more like a constipated chipmunk, “Yeah. Kids my age are pretty dumb, eh?”

Using his old-man mimic, waving his fist in the air, he said, “You kids have no respect these days.  Damn kids.”

A highway sign announced their entry into the Okanagan. They drove through a valley of lakes that escorted them for their final sixty kilometres past Vernon. By mid-afternoon, a sign welcomed them to Kelowna. A blue sky crowned the tree-topped mountains, cradling an expanse of city suburbs. Monty parked the car in the middle of the street and got out to wander. Ezmeralda followed.

Monty looked in the sky and Ezmeralda tried following his gaze. She asked, “Whatcha looking for?”

Without moving his neck, he looks down at her and said, “Ya hear that?”

Straining her ears, “Hear what?”

“Nothing,” Monty said, “There’s nothing happening here. Nobody’s around. That Mercury kid was probably pulling our leg, and I got suckered no questions asked.”

“You mean he lied?” As Ezmeralda comprehended what Monty said, tears prepared to evacuate her eyes taking the emergency exit down her cheek. She said, “That little creep lied to us?”

“I dunno, but I’m not seeing much or hearing much,” Monty said, “but I want to prepare you. We might not see anyone at all.”

“Well, let’s find out, then,” Ezmeralda said, getting back into the car, “Nobody’s here until I see that nobody’s here.”

Monty jumped in and started the car up, “You know that doesn’t really make sense.”

“And how much sense do you make, saying something that you don’t know is right?” she asked, clicking in her seat belt. As they approached the city centre, all of the billboards announced the same message: “Hit the Grand!”

Passing hotels and strip malls, the streets had been swept clear of vehicles, though the parking lots were full. Cars, trucks, SUVs, and almost anything on wheels were parked randomly from bumper-to-fender-to-bumper; it looked like an industrial jigsaw puzzle. They stopped by a large parking lot to get a better view of the spectacle. Entranced by a jumble of colours and angles, Ezmeralda asked, “Did Mercury do this?”

From slight elevation of the highway, the rooftops and the angle of the sun gave the illusion of each vehicle melting into each other. The wavering heat made it look like a multi-coloured mirage. If he squinted, Monty thought it looked like a three-dimensional fluttering Magic Eye without a subliminal image.

As road drew closer to a tree-lined mountain ahead, more creative valet parking herded them down the highway and blocked off side roads to keep the flock from straying. The stores and homes were lifeless, while creeping weeds invaded by the yards, fields and sidewalks. Ezmeralda, losing the excitement in her voice, asked, “Where is everyone?  Maybe that little bastard did lie!”

“Language!”  Surprised by his own bark, Monty said, “That’s not the language for little girls, Ezzie.” Monty wasn’t sure who this guy was sitting in the driver’s seat. “Someone else was obviously here. No way that the little twerp could do all this on his own,” he said as he slowly passed roadblock after roadblock. Looking like he was checking out addresses, he mumbled, “I’m just not too sure if anyone stuck around.”

Pursing her lips and scrunching her brow, Ezmeralda said, “My mom woulda called you a Negative Nellie. Ya know that?”

“It comes with the territory,” Monty said, keeping his eyes ahead.

“Whadaya mean?”

Ash was the sole final memory of all his past relationships, an image that randomly flashed across his vision and was quickly recalled from his memory. Everyone, since he fled Toronto, was ash. Each morning he’d wake up knowing that his time was limited; Ezmeralda, ditto. Same for Mercury and Feldspar. He wasn’t explaining the basis of his pessimism to an eight-year-old, so he said, “Nothing.”

A line of cars cut off the rest of the highway, letting them either turn right or turn back. An arrow pointing to the right was penned with, The Grand! This way! They followed the road through a shopping zone or downtown area. A shallow canyon of high-rises and condos ushered them into the city centre. Eventually a lake appeared to the right, across from what was left of the City Hall. It was burned to the ground. The next building was intact, being the community theatre, but the brick building next to it was gutted, crumbling, and black. Along the lakeside, the park sat next burned out shell followed by a large building that stretched its pinkness on for a couple blocks. Still, no life could be found.

Monty stopped the car next to the brick leftovers, got out and stretched his legs. Ezmeralda mimed him. Hiding his smile, he said, “Whadaya think, kiddo? Should I grab my gun?”

“You have a gun?”

“No,” he said, suddenly wishing he had something for protection, “I was kidding.”

Ezmeralda stopped, tugging on Monty’s pant leg before asking, “Do you think it’s safe?”

They started towards the front of the building. “We’ll be fine,” he said, doubting that anyone was going to be found alive.

“How do you know?”

“It doesn’t feel threatening.”

“What does that mean? Threatening has feelings?” Disbelief creased Ezmeralda’s brow.

“Nevermind.” Monty said as he sped up his pace hoping it would slow her questions down. She ran up behind him, ragtag ponytails flopping everywhere. He slowed his pace as she caught up and said, “Kid, you really have to do something about that hair.”

“Hey! I didn’t say anything about your hair for the whole ride,” she objected, “I like my hair!”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“You look like a caveman!”

“Caveman?!” Monty ran up to a building across the road that had mirrored windows. He saw a thin, scraggly, unshaven bum. He hadn’t had a haircut in almost a year, shaved for a week, nor showered in days. “Damn,” he muttered.

Ezmeralda stood next to him, looking like a poster child for homeless kids. Neither said anything. They turned around and walked back toward the hotel. They took a left, where the driveway did a loop around a water fountain which was lit with underwater lanterns. Further, a revolving door led inside. The lobby was fully lit, clean, and looked like it had never stopped operating. Monty called out, “HELLO?” There was a slight echo, but the carpet muffled most of it.

The corridor ran equal lengths to the left and right.  In front of them was an open area with another fountain trickling over its marble statue centrepiece. To the right, a split-level corridor pointed to another exit. To the left was a similar corridor, lined with greenery and small shops, but it turned off to the left.

Ezmeralda took Monty’s hand and pulled him towards the plants. She said, “Let’s go this way.”  Tug, tug. “It’s prettier!”

With no secondary plan, he relented and let the little girl lead. They approached the end and turned left down some stairs that opened to another high-ceilinged entranceway. Taking stairs heading right, the right side of the hallway was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows; the left had conference room doors. Outside was a courtyard and pool, all well groomed. As their path veered right, they stared at some closed double-doors, behind which music was getting louder with each step.

After a pause, Monty swung open the doors to find a fully functioning bar room. In the back of the room, on the right, were disco- and strobe lights flaring about; at the center was an audienceless performer. Steppenwolf’s “Born to Be Wild” was being attacked by a tone-deaf banshee on a karaoke machine. She sounded like she was giving her vocal chords a whipping.

As Monty and Ezmeralda approached the stage, the performer had her back to them looking like she was screaming at the screen with the lyrics. It was as if the monitor was punishing the person, tormenting a performance from her. She didn’t look like she was enjoying it.

“Hello?” Monty yelled, “HEY!”

The singer swung around, startled by her sudden audience, the bum and the homeless child, and threw the microphone at them. As the cable extended its reach, the microphone stopped before hitting anyone and dropped to the ground. An amplified thud, followed by ear-piercing feedback, framed the three staring at each other with uncertainty.

The short, fit little redhead stood like a deer caught with its pants down. She backed away, moving towards the sound equipment, and punched a red button. The room was silent, like a showdown was about to ensue.

“Who are you?” the cornered performer asked, so quickly spoken that Monty almost missed it, “What do you want?”

The travellers stood silent. Monty was poised, waiting for the next projectile to come his way. Ezmeralda was evaluating how crazy this lady might be. Monty did his introductions first and then said, “We ran into a guy named Mercury. He sent us here.”

The ice shield dropped instantly, “You ran into Merc? And Revere? Are they okay?” Still, she didn’t approach.

“Mercury was okay when we left him, but not in very good shape,” Monty started.

Ezmeralda threw in, “He was drunk.”

The performer paused, looking between the two, “And Revere?”

Monty hated delivering bad news. He paused before saying, “That’s why Mercury was drunk. I was with him when Revere flinted.”

Worried confusion washed over her face as she approached them, “But – That’s not possible. We found the cure! Revere was one of the first to get it!”

“Mercury said to keep testing,” Ezmeralda said, “I didn’t know what he was talking about.”

The singer walked past them, “I can explain. Let’s have a seat at the bar. I need a drink.”

Chapter 8

Part II

Tin-can acoustics ricocheted from corner to corner as Chris Cornell wailed Black Hole Sun out into the emptiness. The pub, split into upper and lower levels, had garage-door sized openings leading to the patio and the lake in all directions. The upper part housed the bar, where Monty and Ezmeralda sat watching their host prepare some drinks.

Scanning the room, Monty pictured the typical Friday night with a packed bar and the patio crammed with people. The time of metrosexuals picking up grrls, or vice versa, had had its last call. The whole concept of hooking up was lost like a dine-and-dash tip. Flicking back to reality, he found himself hanging out at the bar with an eight-year-old girl at his side. Looking to their host, he couldn’t make heads-or-tails of the petite mid-forties tone-deaf redhead. He name was Ponderosa.

She walked elegantly around the bar, stubbing her toe on a stool and nearly dropping the tray with their drinks. She looked up to see if they saw, then gave an ‘okay-you-caught-me’ smile before placing the drinks in each of their hands.

Monty noticed her pleasant figure and realized that she was the first woman he’d met since the Great Ashing started. Aside from Ezmeralda, he hadn’t had a female companion since before the plague. She dropped a coaster in front of each of them, then raised her mug of beer before saying, “To Monty and Ezmeralda! This is…” She looked at Ezmeralda’s drink and said, “One minute!” She grabbed a coaster and put her beer down before running back around to the bar fridge and pulled out a canister. She walked over to the two and squirted whipped cream on top of Ezzie’s rumless piña colada. As Monty watched, he took a few moments before realizing that they were raising their drinks to a toast.

The glasses clinked. Monty looked to Ponderosa and, feeling his insides tighten, said, “So… You’ve been living here for how long?”

“Thirty-two years,” Ponderosa started, “When my dad was transferred here from Saskatchewan back when I was a ten.” Sipping her drink, she continued, “Who’da thunk I’d be watching the end of the world from here.”

“Can’t say there were any good seats for that one,” Monty said with a smirk. “Y’know? It’s weird. Everyone I’ve run into has described a living hell, but each in their different kind of way. Kinda like snowflakes. Really, I can’t blame people for hiding away like that. I mean, who needs to relive anticipating the heartache that loomed over every introduction, right?”

The silence made Monty’s gut tighten again. Ponderosa gave him a quizzical look and said, “So what does that say about us? Are we not worth the heartache?” She reached over to Ezmeralda and pulled their faces side-by-side, both giving him puppy-dog-eyes and a pout.

Monty paused in mid-drink, and pretended that he didn’t just say that. He said, “Well…I’ve been… reconsidering the idea. I mean, before when I was on my own I wanted to do something like what you’ve got here. Kelowna, I mean, not the bar… Anyway…Am I babbling?”

Leaning her elbows on the bar, Ponderosa leaned in and rested her chin on her knitted hands as she looked at him. She said, “No, dear. Keep going, I think you’re getting somewhere.”

“Well,” Monty continued, “there was no point in trying to get people to follow me. I didn’t know where I was going. But at least now, I have this place to point out!”

“What’s this have to do with introductions, Monty?” Ponderosa asked, then added, “And are ya planning on ditching this place already?”

“I dunno,” Monty said, “My mind shoots off on tangents…kinda like my wandering. I don’t know what to do. I was thinking of being a kind of messenger. Like Mercury. You know, going out and finding other survivors.”

“Perhaps,” Ponderosa said.

Ezmeralda looked over and asked, “You mean you’re leaving? Can I come?”

Monty looked over, “I’m not sure what I’m doing, little lady. I’ll play it by ear for now. It won’t hurt any for me to stick around here for a bit.” He skirted around the issue of taking Ezmeralda with him. The whole purpose of coming here was to get the little girl somewhere safe. So far, it seemed that he found a likely candidate.

“Well, you can stick around as long as you want,” Ponderosa said, “So long as you don’t go flashing on me! I’ve seen so much, wadayacallit…flinting, I think I’ll go blind if I see another.”

Monty smirked and said, “That’s what the government warnings said! Remember? ‘Do not stare into flashintegrations for risk of temporary or permanent blindness.’ Like there was any warning sign to look away. It’s not like there was a ticking or flashing indicator saying buddy was gonna flint! When that sh…stuff went off, it was fast!”

“That service announcement was the last ‘great’ service from our government before everything collapsed,” Ponderosa said. “It was like dominoes; everything was knocked out at once! The Great Ashing left everyone in the dark. Phones, Internet, television, radio. The whole communication network, gone.”

Monty said, “Try being in downtown Toronto when the lights went out. Every home went dark except for a few stores and restaurants. Those bloody anarchists fluttered to those places like moths. It wasn’t long before it came down keeping up on basic survival skills. Things went stupid!”

“The same happened here,” Ponderosa said with a sigh, “They attacked stores like termites, stealing everything and burning the rest. It didn’t make any sense.”

“When I went through Winnipeg,” Monty said, “the place looked like it was nuked. There was NO common sense left out there. I kept moving. I didn’t bother looking for anyone there. I figured the sane ones were already gone.”

Ezmeralda started fidgeting with her glass, mesmerized by a speck on its rim as tears dammed up behind her eyes. Ponderosa asked, “Ezmeralda? How are you doing, sweetie?”

Deep creases of thought textured the little girl’s forehead, so Monty asked, “What’s wrong, Ez?”

“I-,” she said, amplified by a sob that refused to be swallowed, “I miss my mom.” Tears, taking refuge at the edge of her eyes, stampeded down her cheeks as she broke into the heartbreaking sob.

Ponderosa took her hands and looked over to Monty with sympathetic eyes, also ready to flood. He could see that she wanted to run to the girl and hold her tight, but the long walk around the counter would seem like walking away.

Monty froze. He looked to Ezmeralda imagined if she were his lost daughter.

Ponderosa’s brow motioned for him to hug her. Cautiously, he pulled Ezmeralda towards him and she clung to him like a staticky sock to a sweater. She pushed her face to his chest and let her tears soak his shirt. Flashes of his daughter swarmed his mind; it felt like a cannonball shot to the stomach. A lump formed in his throat, and then a tear trickled down his cheek. All control was lost.

Ponderosa couldn’t hold back. She circled the counter to wrap her arms around the two of them. Then her own grief overwhelmed her.

She gentle kissed Ezmeralda’s forehead and said, “It’s okay, Angel.” She looked at Monty, not knowing what his plans were, “I’ll take care of you. You’re safe.”

Monty flinched when he heard it. Their proximity made it hard to conceal. He had no plans past Kelowna, but he wasn’t ready to plant roots in a place he’d been at for less than a day. Not yet. However, he couldn’t shake how permanent, how normal it felt to be there.

“Are you okay?” Ezmeralda asked looking up to Monty, then looking down at his tear-stained shirt.

“Y-yeah,” Monty said, shrugging and pulling away from the hold. “You?”

“I’m a little better,” she said, sighing before she continued, “Thanks, Monty. You’re better than my teddy bears.”

Seeing her smile, Ponderosa broke into tears again. Ezmeralda looked over and got off her stool, throwing her arms around her new friend and laid her little ear against Ponderosa’s stomach. Monty put his hand on Ezmeralda’s shoulder and rubbed his palm gently on Ponderosa’s back before she pulled him into a tight, pain-filled hug.

They stood together in the bar, eyes shut as they remembered the hugs that they missed most. The silence was cut only by the tinny music playing in the background.

Ponderosa pulled back and took a deep breath, saying, “Sorry.” As they released each other, she grabbed her pint and guzzled back the remains, “I’m sorry, Ezzie. It’s just…” Looking almost shamed, she said, “You remind me of my daughter. Your smiles are identical.”

With Ponderosa in good hands, Monty returned to his comfort zone, walking around the bar to refill their glasses. “I’m sorry,” he said, thinking of his own daughter, “Losing her must have been tough.”

Ezmeralda, still holding on, asked, “I’m sorry you lost your little girl, too.” She clenched Ponderosa a little tighter.

“One day at a time,” Ponderosa said, more sedate as she wiped her eyes with her palms, “Crying over it’s healthier than not, I suppose.”

Sipping off his foam, Monty asked, “Were you married?”

Ponderosa let out a shuddering sigh and said, “I had my daughter and son with me as we watched my husband die. We were inoculated shortly after, which was quickly followed by – what did you call it – the flinting. My son went first.”

Her audience was silent as she took a sip, tinny Bon Jovi whined in the background.  “We were fishing on Beaver Lake, up in the hills. Chris, my dear boy, had just come in from a swim with his friend. Someone he’d met at the campground.” Looking off, she said, “It’s so easy for nine-year-olds to make friends. He asked for a snack, so I told him to share a chocolate bar and pop with his friend while I got lunch ready.”

The audience already knew the ending, but hoped for something different. Ponderosa went on, “It was instant. A blinding flash and a burnt smell that I don’t care to remember but can’t forget. That was the last memory of my nine-year-old. When I picture his face, I see a flash…I can still smell his smoke. It was the smell of the taste of blood.”

Her audience’s gaze had gone in different directions, both distant. In a monotone, Monty said, “I was at my sister’s when I saw my first.” The topic was caught in his throat and not wanting to come out. He suddenly craved a cigarette but none were within reach. He continued, “My brother-in-law, Jeff. He barely survived the plague, got home, and flinted. Talk about having no luck, eh.” Monty shrugged and did a horrible job of faking a smile.

Ponderosa, distressed in her memories, said, “The plague was horrible. It tormented people for weeks, eating away their bodies until was nothing left to live off.” After a pause, she said, “Helpless. That was the worst part. Not able to do anything to help my husband. I stopped taking care of myself… really wrung myself ragged.”

“When my dad got it,” Monty said. “Him and mom lived in one of them gated communities. I remember mom calling a couple of days before, saying how the plague had hit one if the residents. She wanted to stay with me for a while.” His voice dropped to an octave of regret, “I told her to stop worrying. The lady was a gossiper. Her Facebook buddies fed her so much crap, and she followed it like the gospel.”

A smile of recognition hit Ponderosa, “My mom was a die-hard old school techie. A hacker when she was a young punk. Got her entire high school grad class fake I.D.s and paid for a party on the principal’s American Express.” She snapped out of her thought and said, “Sorry. Go on.”

He started something that he wanted to get off his mind for a long while. “Yeah, well,” Monty continued, “When she called me back, she sounded deflated. Nothing I could say cheered her up.” He took a sip from his beer, hoping the liquid would wash down the lump forming in his throat. “I told her I was moving in to take care of her. I got there just in time to watch my dad wither away. He was quarantined, and his final comforts involved hoses and tubes plugging every part of his body into machines.”

“The way the authorities handled the ordeal was horrendous,” Ponderosa said, “They couldn’t get rid of the bodies fast enough. We had an entire section of town cut off. They hoped that nobody’d notice a pile of burning bodies smoking out the sky. Then again, maybe people really did stop paying attention. My life wasn’t anything but my family by then. But the smell was impossible to get away from. Smoke’s nasty, that way.”

Ezmeralda sat petrified to her stool. Shocked by her insensitivity, Ponderosa said, “Oh, dear. Ezzie. I’m sorry. I… get carried away sometimes.” Ezmeralda gave an uncertain nod of her head. Without a word, she climbed off her stool, took her piña colada, and walked slowly out to the patio. Ponderosa looked at the ground, “I can be such an idiot sometimes.”

“Relax,” Monty said, “I think it’s something that we all need to talk about, anyway. Bottling it up’s been eating away at my insides more than I realized…I think I’m getting ulcers.”

“Well, you’re in good company,” Ponderosa said, “You’re already ahead of the curve. Acceptance is the final step in the grief process. But I still feel mighty bad for spouting off like that in front of the little’un. I think I’m a little too comfortable talking about the whole thing.”

“We’re all a little desensitized in one way or another, Ponderosa,” Monty said. He refilled his empty glass and worked his way around the bar. He sat next to her and swivelled around to check on Ezmeralda; she was lying in a lounge chair soaking up the sun. “I think numbing out the whole deal was how the sane ones survived,” Monty started, “I’m not sure about Vancouver or Calgary, but Toronto and Winnipeg were like breeding grounds for raving lunatics!” Taking a sip of his beer, he continued, “People just lost it! I mean, what’s the right way deal with it? God knows, I was close it losing it many-a-time.”

Raising her glass and tipped it against Monty’s, Ponderosa said, “Cheers to that, Monty.” Clink. “We had our fair share of crazies here, too. They eventually disappeared. Flinted, I guess.”

“So,” Monty said, “What was Mercury talking about when he said to continue testing?” The question was gnawing at him since Mercury left them, sideswiping his way down the road. “And, while we’re at it, who’s the ‘we’ that you were talking about? The kid mentioned a tribe.”

“Tribe…Hah!” she said, “We are the survivors.” Her tone said it should be obvious. “There’s almost twenty of us here. Scientists.”

“Scientists?” His hungry mind couldn’t wrap around the logic and chances that a group of scientists managed to survive two deadly plagues. Suspiciously he asked, “How is it that a bunch of scientists managed to be the only survivors?”

“It was my idea,” Ponderosa said.

Monty slipped gears, throwing rationality out the window and said, “What do you mean ‘organized this’? Didn’t you say you lost your husband to it? And your kids?? Just how did you organize this? I don’t get it!”

Ponderosa looked at him like he just farted, “What?! …are you talking about?!” Monty gave her a blank and confused stare, then a slow shrug. Ponderosa hesitated before she continued, “I kept in touch with everyone since the plague started. I figured that we should gather here if things got out of control.”

“I’m an idiot,” Monty said, taking his turn to stare at the ground. “Sorry. I get weird when I haven’t eaten much. Low blood sugar…”

“Jesus,” Ponderosa said, “When did you guys eat last?”

“This morning before leaving Salmon Arm,” Monty said.  “Had some canned peaches and apricots.”

Ponderosa jumped off her stool and grabbed his arm, saying, “You’re gonna love this!” She motioned him to stay and then ran through the swinging door behind the bar. The lights went on, fans whirred to life, and pots and pans started banging. Monty approached the din, and upon entering the kitchen, was told, “Out, out, out. I’m going to prep you guys up some magic. And I don’t want to criticize, but you two are more than welcome to use the showers while I’m getting this done. The master key card is behind the bar, and all the stores are unlocked so find something to wear. This’ll take a while. ”

The smell of the grill left Monty salivating. For almost a year, a real meal was a matter of canned preserves and stale junk food. Trying to take one last peek over her shoulder, he backed out and made his way to the deck. Stepping onto the patio, he stopped and looked over the calm, sparkling lake surrounded by a rim of mountains and beaches. Ezmeralda was passed out, reclining in a lounge chair. As he slowly backed away, she said, “I know you’re there, you know.”

“Sorry to disturb you, your highness,” Monty said, taking a seat in the lounge chair next to her. He asked, “Is everything okay? Ponderosa’s really sorry about that. She’s making us a meal right now? Said you better be hungry.

“I’m okay,” Ezmeralda said, shifting the chair into a sitting position, “I’ve seen it all, too.” She confessed it like she was sorry for not getting in trouble. She continued, “Me and my friend… we found movies of what you were talking about. It was on YouTube. Mom was gone. Checking on dad.” She shuffled her feet and said, “I was scared. I never told mom.”

“That’s not something that little girls should see, Ezzie,” Monty said, “Nobody should have to see that.”

Ezmeralda stared across the lake, zoned out in her thoughts. In times like that, the silence was more than Monty could handle, like he’d developed a dependency on having a constant soundtrack playing in order to keep sane. He hoped the noise would help clear the atrocities from his mind. But trauma’s funny that way, how it will keep tackling your memory with instant replays of the atrocities, over and over. With each attempt to poke them out, they grab on to even more tender spots and gain even more strength each time.

He felt a little hand on his shoulder. He looked up to hear Ezmeralda asking, “Are you okay?  Do you need a hug?”

He put his shaky hand on hers, “I’ll be fine, little lady.  Thanks.”

“Can I ask you something?”

His face loosened from its worry, “What’s that?”

“Well,” Ezmeralda said, pausing like she was organizing a long speech, “Where is everyone?”

Smiling, Monty said, “You know, I don’t know.” After all the downer-talk in the bar, he forgot to press an answer from Ponderosa. “I guess we’ll have to ask that over dinner, eh?”