Chapter 2

He made good time and let his mind wander. He stopped for lunch and a nap and took off again. A warming chill rushed through him as he saw the sign for Bandon city limits. Only a few more miles to go. Then he passed a man whose age he couldn’t determine, walking south on the road. He wore a blank stare. Travis passed him, remembering the man he tried to help while still in Washington state. When Travis asked if he needed help, the man pulled a large knife and slashed. Travis held his bike as a shield, and after a minute, the guy wandered off. Travis pedaled off, fear gushing through him. He could have been killed.

It wouldn’t bother him to die. He just wanted it to be quick.

He turned right onto Rosa Road as the sun was setting, and he got an adrenaline rush. Only two more miles. He pedaled harder, anxious to get there. After one and a half miles, he turned left onto Windhurst Lane. The road was gravel and in bad shape. He slowed to avoid the potholes, but he finally turned left to his grandparents’ driveway. He biked the three hundred thirty-three feet and saw the house. He gasped at the prospect of seeing his grandparents again. There was a large greenhouse and plants in raised beds. They seemed to be doing well, and that had to mean his grandparents were still alive. Then a thought came to him. He heard of strangers taking over the homes of others.

“Please, God, or whoever is up there, don’t let that be the case here.”

Then a shot rang out. Very close. He spun to stare down the barrel of a semi-automatic handgun.

“What the fuck are you doing on my property? Get out. You have three seconds. One, two—” 2

Travis’ jaw trembled, and he swallowed at his heart that jumped to his throat. “Grandpa! It’s me, Travis. I’m your grandson. Yeah, I have long hair now and a beard and mustache, but it’s me.” He raised his hands to show he had no weapons.

“How do you know my grandson’s name?” His eyes turned to slits. “Get the fuck off my property.”

“Grandpa, I bicycled from Seattle. Remember, that’s where the family moved when I was eighteen. When I was six, you taught me to fish. You took me out in your boat on the Coquille River. When I was ten, you spanked the shit out of me for trying to use your chainsaw without permission, before you taught me to use it. When I was fifteen, you caught me jacking off to a gay magazine in the old garage. You accepted me. You said God made me as I was. You hugged me and said you loved me.” He lowered his hands.

Grandpa wasn’t convinced, but he stopped counting.

“Grandpa, look at me. I have the Japanese eyes and thick black hair. I’m short like most Japanese, but I have black skin.” He smiled. “And a big dick that came from the black side of me.”

Grandpa let out a crooked smile and holstered his firearm and covered it with his shirt. “Travis, I heard you died.” He stepped close and hugged Travis hard, leaning down with his tall and lanky frame.

With a tremor in his voice, Travis said, “My sister and brother and mom and dad died from that damned N-Virus. I don’t know why I lived.” He hugged tight. “Grandpa, it’s so good to see you. I love you so much. Where’s Grandma?”

“Dead.”

Travis sobbed, and his heart ached.

So did Grandpa.

They held each other for many minutes. When they broke apart, Grandpa looked into Travis’ eyes. “You were always my favorite grandchild. My first. My favorite.” He led Travis inside, and they sat at the antique dinner table from the 1800s.

Travis grew his wise-assed grin. “And you were my favorite grandfather.”

He laughed. “Hell, boy, I was your only grandfather. Your mom’s dad died before you were born.”

The smile ran away from Travis’ face. “When did Grandma die?”

“Two years ago, shortly after that damned N-Virus started culling the herds. Don’t know why I never got it. My parents died, too.”

“I feel the same way, and after Patrick died—”

Grandpa snapped, “You should be over that by now.”

“I know. But I’m not.”

“Are you hungry?”

“What do you do for food, Grandpa?” He never saw Grandpa with such long hair and a beard and mustache.

“I grow food. I get mushrooms and other plants from the yard and wild blackberries and other mushrooms from the forest. I hunt a little and have chickens and goats. I still have some grains like rice and lentils and things left. You know I was always a prepper. I grow a bunch of shit.”

“Yeah. I always thought you were a bit loony.” He chuckled and looked around. “You don’t keep the place as clean as Grandma did.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the way it is. I live alone. No one to impress.” He reached across the table. “Are you staying a while or forever?”

“Grandpa, I have nowhere else to go. Is it okay if I stay forever?”

He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, that will do. I’m tired of talking and arguing with myself. Once I got so mad, I even hit myself, but I apologized later.” He smirked. “I’ll clean a little more, but in the meantime, I bet you’re hungry. I have rice, lentils, turkey that I shot, and some vegetables.”

“I feel bad taking your food.”

He stood and went to the refrigerator. “I have more than I can eat. Some of it ends up in the compost pile.” He pulled containers out and went to the stove, grabbing a cast iron skillet.