Class of Armageddon

Marty

 I woke to what seemed like an earthquake with the noise and the ground shaking. As it turned out, a caravan was moving behind the rock I was sleeping behind. I figured I would trade with them, so I got up and called out. They suggested I talk to the head of the caravan. I ran up to the front of the pack, which was a pretty good distance, showing the size of the group. Had I been more awake I would have realized this was the caravan that I was looking for. Instead, I was surprised to see Martin leading the group.

"Well, son of a bitch," he said as I came up to him. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was told to speak to the head of this thing. Could you point him out for me?" I asked him, joking of course.

"You asshole," he laughed out loud, knowing full well that I already knew. "How have things been in these wonderful times?"

I told him about what had happened to me after the disasters, and then went on to talk about Jess in Gary and the events in Bloomington. It only seemed to depress him. Luckily, there wasn't anything left to tell.

"Man, I can't believe what happened to Sarah," he lamented, shaking his head, "I just saw her a few months ago, too. Shit."

By then it was getting dark. So they decided to camp for the evening. Over dinner we talked about what's been happening with him.

"It started out with just a few guys from the office and their families traveling around looking for food. We became good at it. Soon other people started joining with us, people with skills that could help us out. Almost every town we went to we lost some who wanted to settle down, but we gained more. Some towns it seemed that we were better off than they were. It was surprising, how easy it was for us. I've heard about other caravans; they don't seem to do nearly as well as we have."

"I've never come across one this big." I told him. It was true. This was by far the biggest and most successful caravan in this area. It was good to see Martin at the head of it.

We talked for a few more hours. Then it was time for bed. I told him about my trouble sleeping since Bloomington, and he told me to find a guy named Geoff Pearson, the camp pharmacist. I decided to wait until the next day since it was late.

In the middle of the night, I was still awake, and decided to walk around, hoping that Pearson was awake. I noticed a small camp fire near the back, in the direction Marty said Pearson was. I was feeling lucky.

As I approached the fire, I heard a heated discussion going on.

"But what do you expect us to do, Pearson?"

"He doesn't keep guards; we'll be able to take him." This guy, I assumed, was Pearson.

"When do you want to do this?" a third person asked.

"As soon as possible," Pearson answered, "I"m tired of having a nigger in charge. I say we do this tomorrow night. Make it an old fashion lynching."

As I started to run to warn Marty, I saw a small figure running around the caravan. If he was going to tell Marty about the meeting, I got there first.

"Marty? Marty!"

"Wha-? What is it?" he asked groggily. "Can't this wait until morning?"

"I don't think so." I turned and looked for the other person. "I went to see your doctor and overheard him and a few others say they were going to lynch you."

"Man, stop fuckin' with me. I need my beauty sleep," he said as he turned over to go back to sleep. The other person finally got to the tent. It was a young boy, about twelve.

"Mister Martin! Mister Martin!" he shouted in a whisper, out of breath.

"Catch your breath first," I told him. He waited a minute before continuing as Marty sat up again. "I just heard Mr. Pearson tell a group of people that he wanted to kill you." He was still breathing heavily.