He moved his hand back and forth intermittently under the dispenser that hung from the wall between the sinks and filled his hands until they overflowed. It was of the kind that run on batteries and have a sensor and that will dispense a small amount of foamy, white, antiseptic soap onto your open palm as it makes a faint squealing sound. He hadn't experienced this luxury in quite some time. He turned a lever and an unending stream of steaming hot water flowed from an antique brass faucet mounted on a faux marble sink. He held his hands closer to his face. The creases in his palms and fingers were imprinted with an unwashed oily grime. His fingernails had grown long, and a blackness had caked under them. He was taken aback by his image in the mirror. The same grime on his hands had embedded itself in the furrows of his eyes and cheeks. He took off his Lake Okeechobee hat and set it next to the sink. His dark hair and beard had grown long...his face was gaunt...eyes sunken and hollow. He was reminded of pictures that he had seen of unwashed coal miners. That's what he was, he smiled...a Kentucky Jesus coal miner. He filled his hands with the foamy white soap from the dispenser and vigorously began to scrub his face and neck with his rough open palms...swabbing the soap inside his nostrils with his pinky finger. He got his head as far as he could under the brass faucet and let the hot water flow over his head and face and behind his ears. He filled both hands again with the foamy soap and scrubbed his scalp and hair. He had set the stopper in the sink drain and from washing his face and hands, the water had turned a weak coffee color. He pulled the plug and let the dirty water drain from the sink. There was a fluffy creme colored face towel hanging neatly folded over a brass towel ring. He reached instead for the paper towels to dry off with so as not to soil the Colonel's towel. He wiped down the marble countertop and mirror from the water that had been splashed on it and threw the towels in the receptacle. Then he looked at himself again in the mirror. He looked better, he thought, and that feeling of having tiny bugs crawling under his skin had diminished.
When he exited the washroom, he moved to take his seat again on the couch. A platter of hors d’oeuvres had been placed on the coffee table. The Colonel had taken a phone call at his desk but when he saw Van, he paused, put his hand over the mouthpiece and said, "Help yourself Mr. Petrenko. Nadja, my office manager, brought this in for us"...and then resumed his conversation. On the platter were some small toasts with cream cheese and roasted marinated peppers, crackers with fresh guacamole, prosciutto wraps with dressed arugula and parmesan shavings, and cucumber cups with cream cheese and smoked salmon. There were also chunks of gouda, cheddar, and brie cheeses, as well as green and black olives and smoked almonds. His vodka tonic had also been freshened. He smiled sardonically as he gazed at the platter of rich treats setting on the table in front of him...remembering from his time in the "camp", how delicacies like these, when they had been found, had been set aside for the "Seers" while everyone else dined on canned swiss chard and boiled horsemeat. He reached for the cold vodka tonic setting on the table.
Dr. Freedman sat quietly sipping his drink...his attention focused towards the muted tv screen hanging above the fireplace. The closed captions were on, but Van was oblivious as to what was being said. He hadn't been able to follow what had been going on in the world for quite some time. In a moment, the Colonel hung up the phone and took up his seat in the cushioned chair. He took one of the small glass dishes that Nadja had brought in and took from the platter a small selection of the hors d’oeuvres.
"We'd like to hear more of your story Mr. Petrenko...you were telling us about this camp that these people had set up. You must have left it at some point" ...the Colonel queried.
"It was a few days ago...last Sunday. They call it the "Seventh Day" ...we weren't required to work that day...most people took the day to get their stuff washed and cleaned up as best they could or just to sleep and get some rest. We had the whole day to ourselves...we just had to be at the "conclave" in the evening for the " presentments" and then the book burning ".
"Book burning?...that sounds interesting...what was that about?...Mr. Freedman asked calmly.
" Well, the "Seers" had decreed that only the "Holy Scriptures" were approved reading material and that any other books or magazines that we found in our salvage details were to be collected and burned. There were a few exceptions... "how to" books on electrical wiring or first aid or anything about food preservation...or "Foxfire" books...the "Seers" were big on those "Foxfire" books. I heard of a "compeer" who had found a complete set of them in the back of some damaged old mobile home that he was gleaning from...the "Seers" were jumping up and down over it...they rewarded the guy with a couple tins of smoked oysters and a gallon jug of "Carlo Rossi" wine...he was a suck -up"...Van smiled contemptuously..."I think they promoted him to being a Varlet". The Colonel and Dr. Freedman exchanged glances.
"I had gotten up early that morning. I had planned to ride "Fireball" over to Antler to see if I could find some food without an "Abettor" breathing down my neck. I figured that I had time enough to get back for the "conclave" that evening".
"I assume "Fireball was a horse"...the Colonel smiled. "How did you come up with that name?"
"Well, the Seers would often talk about when this "Day of Fury" would happen, that there'd be fireballs raining out of the sky incinerating all the wicked people...basically that meant anyone who wasn't an "Inheritor". I guess naming him Fireball was just kind of tongue-in-cheek humor...or gallows humor you might say...the "Seers" weren't too amused by it though".
"And you mentioned the term "Abettor"...what was an "Abettor?...Dr. Freedman asked.
"Abettors"...Van said darkly..." Simply put they were thugs...illiterate thugs...enforcers for the "Seers"...damn goons"...they couldn't pour piss out of a boot with the directions on the heel...but they had the power"...I despised them"...he said through gritted teeth. He reached for the cold vodka tonic and took a long drink with a detached look in his eyes. "I saw them beat a young kid...stripped his shirt off and flogged him with a rubber hose because he had kissed a girl...everyone just stood there and watched...everyone was in fear...you couldn't say or do anything, or they'd do the same or worse to you...they said it was the Lord's judgement...I wanted to punch that son of a bitch in the throat. And that wasn't the worst of it" ...he said, his voice trailing off.
The Colonel exchanged glances with Dr. Freedman and said emphatically, "Well, I'll make our teams aware of the situation. You can rest assured that if these people have been involved with criminal activity during a natural disaster, that they'll be brought to justice".
Van looked directly at the Colonel and asked incredulously, "Natural disaster?...are you saying what happened was a natural disaster?"
The Colonel shifted forward in his chair, clasping his hands together. His brow furrowed and he said in a serious voice, "Mr. Petrenko...have you ever heard of the Tunguska event?"
"Tunguska?" ...he said puzzled... "No...never heard of that before."
"The Tunguska event was something that occurred in Siberia over a hundred years ago"...he paused gathering his thoughts. "What about Hiroshima...you know what happened at Hiroshima at the end of World War II right?"
"Oh yeah", he nodded knowingly..."We dropped the atom bomb....big explosion...ended the war...my grandfather would have been part of the invasion forces into Japan...he used to say that he'd have kissed Harry Truman's ass all the way to San Diego for doing it. "
The Colonel chuckled, "That's right Mr. Petrenko...but imagine an explosion with a destructive force a hundred times more powerful than the bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima"...he said emphatically..."a force so powerful that it would flatten everything in a swath twenty miles wide and forty-five miles long. That's what happened when you were in that hospital basement over there in Bottineau. You were almost smack dab in the center of it...but you survived"...he smiled.
Van slowly shook his head. "I'm not following you sir...I don't understand...what uh...what could have caused it?"
"Meteor"...the Colonel stated flatly. "It was a meteor that caused all this. Our best scientists have classified it as a "meteor air burst". They believe that it may have been two to three hundred feet wide and traveling at a tremendous speed...they estimate somewhere close to sixty thousand miles per hour."
"A meteor"...Van said quizzically..." I always thought that those things just burned up in the atmosphere...you know...like a shooting star".
"Well, I'm learning about this as I go along too Mr. Petrenko"...the Colonel admitted...but from what I understand, sometimes these objects are so large, and their trajectory is such that it doesn't impact our planet but just comes extremely close...a near miss you could say. Our scientists say that this one came within twenty thousand feet of hitting us. As a matter of fact",...he paused and reached for the television's remote control..." if I can work this thing there's something I'd like you to see. This is an animation that's been produced that shows us quite accurately what happened".
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The animation began to play on the television screen. It realistically showed a large meteor tumbling through the darkness of space at an extraordinary speed...the planet earth in the distance...getting closer and closer with each passing second. The viewer could see that the trajectory of the lifeless rock was going to bring it very close to impacting the planet. The view suddenly changed to that of a person standing on a city street. The meteor entered the atmosphere at a high altitude. It went streaking across the clear blue sky like a glowing fireball...leaving an immense trail of steam, dust and smoke. As it passed overhead there was a tremendous explosion and a blinding flash of light more brilliant than the sun. The animation depicted the shockwave that followed. Small buildings and homes exploded from the force...cars and trucks were flipped and tossed through the air like chaff. Trees and power poles shattered like dry twigs...electrical lines snapped through the air like whips. Then the view changed as if the person was slowly lifted above the town and was gazing into the distance along the path that the meteor had taken. It was a scene of complete devastation and ruin. The land and everything along the meteor's path were either scorched black or on fire. A thick dust clouded the light from the sun. The view held for a few more long seconds and then the screen went dark.
Van sat staring at the blank screen. He slowly started shaking his head back and forth. "A meteor"...he muttered...still gazing at the blank screen. "Every crazy thing that we all believed and went through...and all along it was a dang space rock...old Aristotle was right"...he whispered. His head dropped into his hands...the fingers of both hands running back through his hair...his eyes swollen and red. He slumped back into the chair and sat silent.
The Colonel and Dr. Freedman glanced at each other solemnly and then set their drinks on the table. After a few moments the Colonel asked with concern, "Where are you headed Mr. Petrenko?"
" Charbonneau...I'm on my way to Charbonneau "...he said, his face brightening. "My wife and child are there. I'm going to get to Charbonneau if I have to crawl there"...he said determinedly.
The Colonel smiled..."There's not a doubt in my mind that you'll make it there Mr. Petrenko...not a doubt. Mr. Petrenko, I want to tell you how much I enjoyed meeting you and our conversation. I think that you're a man who's honest and truthful and always tries to do the right thing. We need more men like you"...he smiled. "I wish you well on your journey. If there comes a time when you need help with anything, don't hesitate to reach out to me".
At the entrance to the base, he turned the Flamingo right and headed south towards Minot. The sun had come out and the skies had cleared. Before he left, the Colonel had offered him the use of the exercise facilities. There was a tiled shower room there with endless hot steaming water. He stood under the spurting showerhead for what seemed a very long time just letting the hot clean water wash over him. He had been graciously provided with an assortment of toiletries...a pair of scissors, a comb, a couple disposable razors, some wonderful pine scented soap and a small vial of cologne. It took him a while to shave the hair from his face as his beard had grown long. When he was finished, he looked closely in the mirror, rubbing his face like men do after they shave and thought Kaydee would be happy. Just as he was finishing up an airman entered carrying a pair of fresh and folded fatigue pants and shirt, a couple clean pairs of issue socks, a brand-new pair of suede desert sand boots and a new utility cap.
"Sir, the Colonel sent me down to the supply hut...he wanted you to have some fresh clothes for your trip. Would you like me to do something with your other gear"?...he asked respectfully.
Van looked towards the bench behind the sinks where he had piled his clothes; the Liberty overalls, the worn boots that he had taken from the young "Abettor", the mustard colored "Hooters" tee shirt and his signature "Lake Okeechobee" mesh hat.
"No...I'll keep them...brings back fond memories...thanks for the new clothes"...he smiled.
On his way out he passed through the same front office area as he had when he entered. The young female airman at the front desk rose from her chair as he approached the door. She held in her hands the plate of left-over hors d’oeuvres that had been neatly wrapped in clear plastic.
"Sir, the Colonel wanted you to have these for your trip"...she smiled. He thanked her and, in a few moments, had set them on the front seat of the Flamingo.
Driving slowly through Minot he thought that life looked quite normal. There were vehicles moving up and down the streets, people walking about, and businesses were open. He turned off Broadway and drove east on 1st Avenue and after driving a few blocks passed the "Blue Rider" where he had tended bar years ago. The place looked the same as he remembered. He wondered if there was still anyone working there that he knew. They had built a new outdoor deck off the east side of the building. He smiled when he remembered that it was just a parking lot when he had worked there, and it was where he had first met Kaydee. It was about five o'clock one Friday afternoon...he had just started his shift when she walked in. She had been out walking her little dog...a miniature Yorkshire terrier when a loaded gravel truck drove by and the guy driving had hit the jake brake. The sudden noise startled the little dog and Kaydee lost her grip on the leash. The frightened dog had run under a car that was parked in the lot next to the bar and the end of the leash had flipped up and snagged on an exhaust bracket. He remembered that she was a bit distraught and had pleaded with him to help rescue her little dog. He had gone out with her to the parking lot and after a few moments of crawling under the car had managed to disentangle the leash where it had snagged. He remembered how happy she was as she held the little dog close to her face...the little dog licking her on her nose and cheek and she mildly chastising her in that funny voice that people use when they talk to cute little dogs. He had managed to get grease and dirt on his clean shirt from crawling underneath the car. Kaydee had been so apologetic. She had been so insistent that she would take the shirt and wash it for him that he had smiled and agreed to it. He put on one of the tee shirts that the Blue Rider sold to patrons and let the beautiful dark-haired girl take his other shirt away so that she could wash it. She had brought it back the next day to the Blue Rider but he wasn't working that day. When he did return for his next shift, a girl that he worked with smiled coyly and teased him that a dark eyed Indian maiden had left a package for him and that it was on a shelf under the bar. He found his shirt neatly folded along with another tee shirt. He had smiled when he shook it out and looked at it. On the front was a picture of Mount Rushmore, but instead of the faces of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln, it portrayed the images of four prominent Indian chiefs. There was also a note pinned to the shirt with a straight pin with a turquoise-colored bead on the end. It read, "Thank you so much for helping me and little Wanahca". She had told him later that Wanahca was Lakota for bloom or flower. She had drawn a heart, a smily face and left a phone number. He had teased her so many times that the whole experience with her dog was just a charade and a ruse that she used just so that she could meet him. She would just smile and roll her dark eyes. He asked her out and they went to the State Fair. They had rode the Tilt-a-Whirl, shared a deep fried pickle and curly fries, and walked through all the animal exhibits. As the sun was going down, they sat in a far corner of the grandstand and listened to a young local girl sing Dolly Parton's song "I Will Always Love You".
He turned west at Gasman corners on 247th avenue. It would take him almost three more hours in the old Flamingo to get to Charbonneau. The old Buick purred across miles and miles of flat countryside bursting with alfalfa and corn, wheat and an endless expanse of blue sky. At the Four Bears Bridge he pulled off and parked near the river’s edge on the gravel area to the south side of the bridge. His hip was bothering him, and he wanted to get out and stretch his legs. He had rummaged through his things in the back seat and had found the Bloody Butcher bourbon that he had taken from the Cabin Bar in Antler. He poured a generous amount of the bourbon into a plastic cup and topped it off with some bottled water. He had taken that along with a couple of the prosciutto wraps that he placed in a paper towel and stood in front of the car looking out across the Missouri. He could almost visualize the flatboats being poled laboriously up the river by bearded sweating men...sometimes cursing the blazing heat and the fickle currents. And there sat a uniformed man in the prow studiously scribbling in a leatherbound notebook his observations of what passed before his eyes. He imagined the challenges and struggles that must have befallen these hardy men on their voyage through this unknown, uncharted land, and finally the joyous celebration when, after two and a half years, they found their way home to St. Louis...home to their beloved wives and families.
It was just 4:00 when he wheeled the Flamingo back onto 247th avenue and headed west across the Four Bears bridge. The late afternoon sun was low and off to his left. With luck he could make Charbonneau in just under two hours. "I'm almost there Kaydee...I'm almost home"...he whispered.