By the time Tanner and Samantha jumped off the old Country Squire and put in some fresh fuel, it was getting near lunchtime. A quick trip back inside the home yielded six cans of chicken noodle soup, an unopened box of crackers, and a Costco-sized tub of fruit cocktail. After everything was opened, they hopped up onto the hood of the car to enjoy their afternoon feast.
Sister Mary Margaret seemed less than enthused by their culinary choices.
“Shouldn’t we warm this in a pot with some water?” she said, eyeing the soup.
“No need,” Samantha said with a noodle hanging out of her mouth. “All you gotta do is pour a little water in on top every few bites.” She used her water bottle to demonstrate. “See?”
Sister Margaret took a quick whiff of the soup and set it aside.
“I think I’ll wait to eat until I get back to the monastery.”
“Suit yourself,” said Tanner. “More for us, right, Sam?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, her mouth full.
The nun checked her watch and let out a frustrated sigh.
“Believe me,” said Samantha, “it’s better to let him eat. Tanner turns into an ogre when he’s hungry.”
“I do not.”
Samantha looked at Sister Margaret and mouthed, “He does.”
The nun turned and stared down Highway 11 as if hoping to spot a taxi.
“How much further is it?” asked Samantha.
“At least two hours. Maybe three,” she said, not hiding her frustration at their slow pace.
“You’re worried about the nuns.”
Sister Margaret said nothing.
“Can I ask you something?”
“I feel like you’re going to ask either way, so go ahead.”
“Why didn’t you and the other nuns fight those men? Is it against your religion or something?”
“Defending oneself is not against our religion. Unlike your father, however, we don’t prescribe to the idea that violence solves every problem.”
“But you have to admit that it’s needed sometimes, right?”
Sister Margaret was slow to answer, and when she did, her eyes were distant.
“During my time in the war, I saw enough violence to last a lifetime. Never once did I see it actually solve a problem. For every person who was killed, two more were convinced to take up arms because of his death.” She shook her head. “Violence solves nothing.”
“You know, Sister, you may be right,” Tanner said, tipping the can up to pour the last bit of soup into his mouth.
Samantha wheeled around in disbelief. “Huh?”
“I’m just agreeing with her. Violence probably isn’t the best way to solve problems. Unfortunately, your enemy often doesn’t share this enlightened view and keeps coming with hatchet in hand.” He wiped his mouth with a sleeve and let out a little burp. “That leaves you to either accept the moral shortcoming of putting a bullet in his eye or have him cleave your skull in two. Like it or not, that’s the reality we face.”
Sister Margaret frowned. “You’re doing your daughter no favors by putting these notions into her head.”
“You say that, but yet here she is—fed, safe, and of a mindset never to become a victim. All in all, I’d say she’s doing just fine.”
“Don’t forget loved,” Samantha said, brushing cracker crumbs from her shirt.
He leaned over and kissed her on the head.
“And loved.”
“Yuck! You just got soup in my hair.”
“Get used to it, darlin’. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you—love’s messy.”
Sister Margaret seemed little amused, and walked to the rear of the car to sit on its bumper.
Tanner leaned over and whispered to Samantha.
“I don’t think she gets us.”
“Give her some time. She’ll come around. We’re pretty adorable.” She paused. “Well, I am, anyway.”
After retrieving the remaining fuel from the Power Wagon, Tanner turned the Country Squire north on Highway 11. For the next two hours, they passed through a handful of small communities, including Pulaski, Dublin, and Radford, without seeing a single soul.
As they neared Salem, Samantha said, “It’s awfully quiet out here.”
“Nothing wrong with quiet,” answered Tanner.
“I guess.”
“You don’t like quiet?”
She shrugged. “It’s sort of like the dark. You never know what’s out there, hiding.”
“You worry too much.”
“I’m making up for you not worrying enough.”
A series of gunshots sounded from up ahead. They were still some distance off, perhaps a half-mile or so. Even so, Tanner rolled to a stop.
Sister Margaret turned to look at him. “What are we doing?”
“Tanner and I have a strict rule about staying out of other people’s troubles,” explained Samantha. More gunshots sounded. “And that is definitely other people’s troubles.”
Sister Margaret pointed to an on-ramp.
“Maybe we can get on I-81 and avoid Salem all together.”
Tanner glanced back at Samantha. “What’s the map say?”
She studied the map lying beside her on the seat.
“Sister Margaret’s right. The interstate goes right around Salem. We could get back on Highway 11 in Cloverdale.”
“How far?”
She used her fingers to estimate the distance.
“Six miles or so.”
Tanner looked from the highway to the on-ramp. Both had risks.
“What’s the problem?” asked Sister Margaret.
“The problem is that interstates are dangerous,” said Samantha.
The nun craned her head, attempting to see up the on-ramp.
“Dangerous how?”
“Bandits and wild dogs for sure. Who knows what else?”
“Bandits?”
“It means robbers.”
“I know what it means. Are you saying they frequent the interstates?”
“Yep. One time, we got cornered by a gang of them on motorcycles. They even zapped Tanner with a cattle prod.”
“Lovely, I’m sure,” the nun said, cutting her eyes at him.
Samantha seemed puzzled. “I don’t think you understand. It was a real cattle prod. You know, one of those things they poke cows with to get them to move. It wasn’t lovely at all. Poor Tanner fell to the ground, twitching like a nervous cat.”
“I think she was being facetious,” said Tanner.
“Facetious? What’s that mean?”
“Callous and snooty at the same time.”
Samantha looked at Sister Margaret and furrowed her brow.
“Nuns shouldn’t be allowed to be facetious.”
The sincerity of Samantha’s scolding put Sister Margaret on the defensive.
She tipped her head. “My apologies.”
“It’s okay. I forgive things super easy.”
Sister Margaret worked to strike a more conciliatory tone.
“I’m glad to hear that your father has at least taught you the importance of forgiveness.”
“Tanner? Forgiveness?” She cracked up. “That’s a good one.”
“It’s from your mother, then?”
“I guess so. She always said it’s never good to go to bed angry.”
Sister Margaret glanced over at Tanner.
“The woman must truly have the patience of a saint.”
Samantha shook her head. “Not anymore. She’s dead.”
Sister Margaret’s voice softened. “I’m sorry to hear that. I really am. Perhaps if she and your father had raised you together—”
“Oh, Mom and Tanner were never together.”
Sister Margaret looked confused.
“He adopted me.” Samantha looked over at Tanner. “That’s okay to say now, isn’t it?”
“In present company, I think it’s fine.”
“He rescued me from a burning building last year, and we’ve been together ever since.”
A concerned look came over Sister Margaret’s face.
“You’re telling me that this man is not your father?”
“He is now. I decided to let him raise me.”
“You? A twelve-year-old girl decided that?”
“Actually, I was eleven at the time.”
“But he’s a—”
“Criminal?”
“I don’t know. Is he?” She looked at Tanner with a mixture of apprehension and dismay.
“Not anymore. I think he escaped. That’s right, isn’t it, Tanner?”
“Let out for good behavior,” he said, relishing in her discomfort.
Sister Margaret was absolutely beside herself.
“Don’t you have other family who could take you in? An aunt or a grandmother, perhaps?”
Samantha pursed her lips, thinking. “I don’t really know. Maybe.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter though. Tanner and Issa are my parents now.”
“Who’s Issa?”
“She’s my new mom. I don’t call her that though, because it feels kind of funny. We met her when we were down in the tunnels under Washington, D.C. Tanner fought for her hand in marriage. You should have seen it. It was so romantic.”
“And where is she now?”
“Missing. That’s why we’re on the road. Issa went back to her colony to show them she could get pregnant.”
“Her colony?”
Before she could answer, Tanner said, “I think you’ve said enough, Sam. We don’t want to bore the good sister.”
Samantha was confused for a moment, but then her face cleared.
“Oh, I get it,” she said in a stage whisper. “We don’t know if we can trust her yet.” Samantha pretended to lock her mouth with a key. “Tick a lock.”
“If only it were that easy,” he muttered.
Another round of gunshots from the road ahead settled the decision, and Tanner steered the wagon onto the on-ramp.
“You watch behind us,” he said over his shoulder.
“Right.” Samantha spun in her seat to get a better view out the rear window.
Like every other interstate, I-81 was congested with abandoned cars, trucks, and tractor trailers. Most had been pilfered, leaving purses, clothes, plastic cups, and human bones strewn across miles of roadway. Trapped on the cold stretch of asphalt, people had slowly settled into their cars to die, like elephants into a dark cave spilling with ivory.
Sister Margaret began to whisper a prayer, and neither Tanner nor Samantha interrupted her. A little heavenly protection was welcome by convert and heathen alike.
Tanner steered the big car through a winding path that meandered its way around the wreckage. A pack of dogs dug through an abandoned bakery truck, pulling at blue plastic crates with their teeth. The animals were little more than skin and bones, their ribcages visible through their sparse fur. As the station wagon approached, a few scattered, but most stood and watched it pass, hoping for an opportunity to feast on something tastier than stale hamburger buns.
“Sister Margaret,” Samantha said without taking her eyes off the road.
“Yes, dear.”
“Why does God allow so much suffering?”
Sister Margaret seemed startled by the question.
“Tanner says that suffering’s just part of the world, but he’s a Buddhist. I wondered if you might see things differently since you’re a nun.”
“My faith teaches that suffering is a result of sin. When God first made the world, there was no sin, and thus no suffering. Once we began to sin, however, suffering forever became part of our existence.”
“Are you saying that God is punishing us just because we made a few mistakes along the way? That doesn’t sound very fair.”
She offered an understanding smile. “No, dear. God isn’t punishing us with suffering. We brought that upon ourselves. Even so, perhaps He does allow it to exist because of all the good that comes along with it.”
Samantha looked out at the starving animals.
“What good could possibly come from those dogs dying of hunger?”
“The good, dear, is that you saw their suffering and felt compassion.”
Samantha sat quietly for a few minutes, staring out the rear window as she mulled over Sister Margaret’s words. In the end, she filed them away to sit alongside other tidbits of insight that Tanner and her parents had shared with her. One day, she thought, she would need to sort through them, deciding what to keep and what to throw out. For now, though, they could stay, each doing their part to make the world a bit less mysterious.
They drove on for several more minutes, and whether it was due to divine providence or simple dumb luck, they managed to travel the brief stretch of interstate without being accosted by man or beast.
Tanner took the off-ramp just past Cloverdale, and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief at being free of the interstate. An immediate left turn put them back on Highway 11, a Hardee’s to their right and a Pilot gas station a little beyond that. A school bus sat parked in the center of the four lanes, a steady cloud of pale gray smoke puffing from its tailpipe. Its windows were covered with newspaper, and a handful of bullet holes riddled the back door.
Tanner brought the station wagon to a stop twenty yards behind it. Going around the bus would put them at risk of taking passing fire from its windows, the equivalent of being broadsided by a pirate frigate.
“What do you think happened to them?” asked Samantha.
He slipped the car into park but left it running.
“Nothing good.”
“Are we checking it out?”
“Have to,” he said, climbing out with his shotgun in hand.
Samantha snatched her Savage .22 rifle from the seat and reached for the door handle.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Sister Margaret said with a disapproving tone.
Samantha pushed open her door. “I go where he goes.”
“But it might be dangerous.”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m going.”
As they approached the school bus, Tanner and Samantha heard sobbing coming from within. It was a deep emotional weeping that was uncomfortable to listen to. Together, they hugged the right side of the bus, ducking beneath its paper-covered windows as they shuffled forward like members of a SWAT team. When they arrived at the forward door, they found it partially ajar.
Tanner leaned around and peeked into the bus. The driver’s seat was empty and the interior nearly dark. He motioned for Samantha to stay put as he leaned forward and pushed the door the rest of the way open.
Voices could be heard, someone pleading, “Please! We have to do something!”
Tanner crept up the stairs. The stench was so pungent that he had to force himself to breathe only through his mouth. When he reached the top step, he spun to the left with his shotgun raised.
Two dozen men, women, and children huddled together on green vinyl seats, each of them with the classic symptoms of having been infected—black glossy eyes, swollen joints, skin marred by blisters. A small group of people stood near the back of the bus, tending to a teenage girl lying on the floor. One man in particular seemed utterly heartbroken, sobbing uncontrollably as he held the young woman’s hand.
When Tanner appeared, parents pulled their children close, draping arms protectively around them. Several men scrambled into the aisle and stood defensively, their hands raised in tight fists. One of the women who had been tending to the injured teen quickly pushed her way forward.
“Please!” she begged. “We don’t mean anyone harm. There’s no need for more bloodshed.”
Tanner lowered his shotgun.
As the woman came closer, he saw that she was probably around his age, full-bodied in a hearty sort of way, with a head of short gray hair that looked like it had been cut with garden shears.
“We’re travelers,” she explained. “If we’ve inadvertently stopped on your property, we’ll gladly move.”
He shook his head. “I don’t own this stretch of road any more than you do.” He looked past her to the fallen girl. “What happened to her?”
“Shot in the stomach by men less understanding than you.”
“She going to make it?”
The woman’s face grew long. “She’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t suppose you happen to be a doctor.”
“No,” he said, rubbing his chin. “But I might just know one. Have a couple of your people bring her out the back.” Tanner turned and clomped back down the steps.
Samantha looked at him expectantly.
“Well?”
“Go get the car. Hurry!”
Without hesitation, she wheeled around and raced for the car. Sixty seconds later, the Country Squire screeched to a stop as the back doors of the big orange bus swung open.
Sister Margaret climbed from the car.
“What’s the big emergency?”
Her answer was quick in coming, as two men handed down the teenage girl. The woman Tanner had spoken with climbed out behind them.
“Where should we put her?”
“On the back of the wagon,” Tanner said, hurrying around and folding down the car’s tailgate. Several blankets lay wadded up in the back, and he quickly spread them over the door. He turned to Sister Margaret. “You said you were a combat medic. This girl could use your expertise.”
“Are you kidding? That was nearly forty years ago! And besides,” she said, looking around, “there’s nothing here. No sterile compresses, no saline solution, nothing!”
Tanner leaned into the station wagon and dragged forward his pack. Flopping it open, he pulled out a small first-aid kit and pressed it against Sister Margaret’s chest.
“This is what you have to save that girl’s life.”
She glanced down at the kit and then over to the unconscious girl being laid atop the tailgate. The entire front of the young woman’s shirt was soaked with blood.
“What you’re asking is impossible. Anything I do will probably only kill her that much faster.”
“She’s dead inside of ten minutes anyway. If you screw up and she dies in five, I don’t think anyone’s going to hold it against you.”
Sister Margaret’s eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry,” she choked, handing him back the first-aid kit. “I gave up that life a long time ago.”
Tanner’s face turned red, and he seemed ready to give her the old “Time to cowboy up” speech when Samantha stepped forward.
“Sister Margaret,” she said softly.
The nun looked at her, eyes still clouded with tears.
“I’m just a kid, so I don’t know much. But have you ever thought that maybe God doesn’t only allow suffering so that we can learn compassion?” She shrugged. “Maybe He lets it be here so we could feel the joy in relieving it.”
Sister Margaret stared at Samantha for a long moment, blinking back tears. Finally, she took a deep breath and exhaled hard. Without a word, she moved to the young woman’s side and placed her fingers on the radial side of her wrist. The pulse was surprisingly strong for someone who had lost so much blood.
“We need to get this shirt off so I can see the wound.”
Samantha drew her knife and began carefully cutting away the cloth. As she peeled it back, a dark bloody hole became visible near the girl’s navel. Samantha did her best to ignore it, focusing instead on the blade of her knife as she continued cutting through the sleeves and collar.
Once it was clear, she slid the shirt free and said, “What next?”
Sister Margaret turned to the two men who had carried the teenager out.
“Roll her onto her side. I need to see if there’s an exit wound.”
One man grabbed the girl by the shoulders, and the other took her by the hips as they rolled her toward the nun. Sister Margaret bent over and studied the girl’s back. It was smeared with blood, but there were no signs of trauma.
“Okay. Roll her back over, nice and gentle.”
They did as she instructed.
“Get me a bottle of clean water.”
Samantha raced over to her pack and returned with a bottle of water in hand.
“The cap’s not even broken on this one,” she said with a note of pride.
Sister Margaret began pouring it over the wound, and a hole about the diameter of a pencil began to take shape. Blood continued to ooze out.
She turned to Tanner. “I need a sterilized wipe.”
Tanner opened the first-aid kit and pulled out several small alcohol wipes.
“These are all I have.”
“They’ll do.” Sister Margaret tore open two wipes and carefully scrubbed her hands. She used two more to wipe off the area around the wound.
Samantha held out her knife. “Here you go.”
“What’s that for?”
“To get the bullet out.”
“Put that thing away. We’re not cutting this girl open.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Finding a bullet without imaging is nearly impossible. Besides, it might be the only thing preventing additional bleeding.”
“But won’t it kill her?”
“If she dies, it won’t be because of a piece of lead sitting inside her. It’ll be because of what the bullet destroyed on its way in.” Sister Margaret turned back to one of the men. “Tilt her head back and monitor her breathing. We don’t want her airway to become blocked by her tongue.” She turned to the woman. “Go find something to put over her—coats, blankets, anything. We need to keep her as warm as possible to prevent shock.”
The woman turned and hobbled back toward the bus, her swollen joints reminding everyone of her affliction. In less than a minute, she returned with two thick blankets, placing one over the girl’s legs, and folding the other to cover her exposed breasts.
Sister Margaret wiped the wound again, studying it carefully.
“The blood’s dark, and it’s not pulsing.”
“Is that good or bad?” said Samantha.
“It’s good, because it means it’s probably not coming from an artery. Of course, that doesn’t mean she’s not bleeding internally.”
“And if she is?”
“If she is, she’s going to die. There’s nothing I can do to stop that.” She turned to Tanner. “I need several clean compresses to stop the bleeding.”
Tanner dug through the first-aid kit, coming up with a handful of thin white gauze bandages and a roll of surgical tape. Neither looked up to the task at hand.
Sister Margaret tore them open and placed them over the wound. Almost immediately, blood began to seep through.
“These aren’t going to be enough.”
Tanner looked through the bag for a trauma bandage. There wasn’t one. He searched his pack and pulled out a white t-shirt that could have been mistaken for a small tent.
“What about this? It hasn’t been worn since it was washed.”
“It’s not sterile, but it’ll have to do.”
Using the windshield as a cutting board, Tanner quickly sliced the shirt into pieces with his knife. Once the stack of cloth was thick enough, Sister Margaret laid it over the blood-soaked gauze and applied pressure with both hands. She stood there for ten long minutes, never once letting up. Once she was certain that the bleeding had stopped, she used the surgical tape to hold it in place.
When she was finished, she stepped back and used the last of the remaining water to clean the blood from her hands.
“Is she going to live?” asked the woman.
“If she doesn’t die in the next thirty minutes, there’s a good chance the injury itself isn’t going to kill her. But if she doesn’t get antibiotics in the next couple of days, the wound will likely become septic.”
She nodded. “They may have medicine where we’re going.”
“Where exactly is that?” said Tanner. A bus load of infected people taking a roadside sabbatical was not something he encountered every day.
“We’re going to Mount Weather. We were told that our kind is gathering there to rebuild.”
Samantha turned to Tanner, her eyes wide.
“Who told you that?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Word has been spreading for the last few months. There’s a community forming there, a community in which we can be safe from violence like this.”
“Do you know who’s heading it up?”
She shook her head. “I have only heard her referred to as ‘Mother’.” The woman turned to Sister Margaret. “Thank you for what you did.”
“She might still die.”
“She might, but at least you gave her a fighting chance.” She turned to the two men. “Be gentle loading her back onto the bus.”
Together, they lifted the girl through the rear door, careful not to disturb the bandage. As they pulled the door closed, the woman turned to face Tanner.
“Why would anyone do something like that?”
“People are always looking for a reason to kill.”
She nodded and then reached out and placed her hand on his arm.
“Thank you.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You did the most of all. You showed us that there are still some out there who can look past our marred skin and black eyes. There are those who can see us for what we used to be. We won’t forget what you did for us.”
With that, she offered one last nod and hurried back onto the bus.