“Me too,” said Lucy, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.
She followed Jackson to the abandoned house, leaving Lopez to further consult the compass.
The house was modest inside. Lucy explored, tentatively, while waiting for Jackson to finish. The décor was several decades out of date. A bed with a black duvet but no sheet on the mattress. Posters of classic rock bands on the walls. In the lounge there was a faded linen sofa and a hamburger phone. Dark patches stained the sofa, and clothes lay strewn across the cushions.
“All yours,” said Jackson, leaving the bathroom.
Lucy entered, holding her breath. The room didn’t smell, but the toilet seat was warm. Steam rose from Jackson’s urine, which was seeping into the toilet’s frozen water.
Lucy defecated then instinctively went to flush. No water was released, but the handle felt warm. Lucy prized off the plastic cistern lid and peered inside, immediately feeling the warmer air rise up to greet her. Growing out of the water pipe and stretching onto the cistern walls were short, fine blades of bleached grass, tightly packed together. They looked damp. Lucy peered closer. It grew as far down the pipe as she could see. A rattling sound pricked her ears. There was a distinct rhythm to it, like something scuttling. There was a loud clang and the cistern shook. The scuttling got louder, and faster. A second clang. Lucy shoved the lid over the cistern and ran back to the truck.
“Drive!” she insisted.
Lopez released the handbrake and hit the gas, propelling them forwards.
“What’s going on?” said Jackson, following Lucy’s gaze to the rear of the truck.
“There’s something in there,” said Lucy.
“A beast?” said Jackson, grabbing her rifle.
“Something else,” said Lucy.
“What?”
“I didn’t wait to find out,” said Lucy, as the house shrank behind them.
“You see that?” said Jackson, squinting down the sight of her barrel.
Snow sprayed up from the front of the house as something dark scuttled down the path onto the road. Lucy fumbled for the binoculars as the creature darted across their tracks and burrowed into the neighboring virgin snow. The snow spraying ceased, but cracks and ridges would appear in the snow as the creature scoured the house’s surroundings, moving sideways across the road in a narrow zig zag. Jackson slumped back into her seat. She looked pale. Lucy continued staring until the creature’s tracks were out of sight.
***
They’d been driving for almost an hour when Lucy broke the silence. There’d been no further sign of the scuttling creature, but a car had caught her eye.
“Pull over,” she urged, as they passed the stationary vehicle.
“If we stop to check out abandoned vehicles we’ll never make it to DC,” replied Lopez.
“There’s a gun in there,” she insisted.
“What?” said Lopez.
“The driver shot themselves,” said Lucy, eyeing up the car’s blood-splattered windows.
“How’d you know it wasn’t a beast?” said Jackson.
“Because none of the windows are smashed. Now pull over,” said Lucy.
Lopez backed up until they reached the abandoned car. Lucy and Jackson climbed out. There were no tire marks in the vehicle’s wake. Snow covered the bottom half of the windows, while the frosted top half was stained with brown blotches. Lucy prized the cold handle open, revealing the frost-bitten corpse of the driver inside. Dried flecks of brain and bone had frozen to the roof, where the bullet had left the man’s skull. A small pile of snow sat on the man’s shoulders and hair, beneath the hole in the roof. The man’s pale skin had turned dark blue, and was chapped. His eyelids were closed, and his mouth hung open where he’d inserted the gun. He must’ve been around forty.
Lucy prized the gun from the man’s rigid, mottled hand. The frozen body could have been anything from a week to a couple of months old. She checked the glove compartment and pocketed the bullets, tissues, and mints therein. Jackson’s sweep of the other seats found nothing useful, so the pair checked out the trunk.
There was a car manual, a spare tire, bag of fertilizer, and a shovel. Jackson grabbed the shovel and Myles’s head split open with a crack. He fell to the ground and Dan smashed down on his head again, and again, hammering the flat blade into her boss’s skull until the man’s head was but a bloodied pulp. The road was smeared in blood and brain tissue, soon to be baked by the Californian sun. Myles’s knife lay discarded by his body. They had to get rid of the evidence before anyone saw, but Dan was going into shock. She shook him. “Look at me. Look at me! You’re OK! Take his legs,” she said, sliding her hands under Myles’s arms. She could feel the warmth of his body through her rubber gloves. They had to get him in the compressor before anyone saw.
The trunk slammed shut.
“Young? You OK?” said Jackson, eyeing her warily.
Lucy realized she’d recoiled several paces from the car.
“You went weird,” said Jackson, her eyebrow cocked.
“I’m fine, let’s get back to the truck,” croaked Lucy.
“Look on the upside, he died doing what he loved,” said Jackson, gesturing to the driver with a bitter laugh.
Lucy’s mouth was dry. The traumatized look on Dan’s face lingered on her mind. She climbed back into the Humvee, dully registering the warmth inside. A strong and welcome scent greeted her – one that she hadn’t smelled in months.
“Breakfast is served, people,” said Lopez.
He handed her and Jackson a foil package each – they were piping hot. Jackson unwrapped hers eagerly and let out a gasp of delight. Lucy copied, her hunger bringing her brain back into the present. Nestled in the folds of creased metal were steaming flakes of tuna.
“How did you-?” said Lucy, tearing off a glove and grabbing the hot fish with her fingers, shoveling it into her mouth and venting the steam with each ravenous chew.
“Don’t tell me this is your first carbeque?” said Lopez, setting the Humvee in motion.
Jackson beckoned Lucy for the juice.
“Finally!” cheered Lopez, pointing to a road sign up ahead. “Welcome to Route 56, folks. Let’s hope it’s our lucky number.”
Once Jackson had finished eating she took over driving from Lopez, who tucked into his own foil package. A plume of smoke caught Lucy’s eye. It was rising from the chimney of one of the isolated roadside homes.
“Should we stop?” she said.
No-one replied, and Jackson drove by. More empty homes dotted the road, but within a few miles there was another plume of smoke.
As the houses became more regular, a second sign greeted them. Welcome to Madison.
The number of active chimneys was increasing too. Lucy counted a few each minute they drove, but they only made up a tiny fraction of the otherwise deserted homes they were passing.
“Look!” said Lucy, pointing ahead.
A man in his fifties was leaving his driveway. He was on foot, pushing a supermarket cart onto the snowy sidewalk. The cart’s wheels had been adapted with spikes that gripped the powdery terrain. Inside it were some tinned goods. The man looked up, hearing the truck. He released the cart and waved, furiously, becoming increasingly animated the closer they got.
“We should stop, right?” said Lucy.
“And say what?” shrugged Jackson, driving past the man.
The stranger jumped up and down in a desperate bid to flag them down. Lucy watched as he tried to run after them but his pace in the snow was pitiful. He gave up quickly and stared, with drooped shoulders, as they left.
“Jackson’s right. We’ve got no business with these people. There’ll be more like him. No point stopping for one, if you can’t stop for them all,” said Lopez.
Lucy took in the town. Heads were appearing in the windows of chimney-using homes, drawn by the rumbling engine. A few people dashed out onto their drives, trying to catch the visitors.
The homes gave way to retail units a
nd factories as the center became more urbanized. “Bingo,” said Lopez, spotting a mall up ahead. Jackson pulled into the parking lot. The superstore’s front windows were smashed, and several inches of snow lay inside.
“We get in, we get out. Be quick - people know we’re here. Find what food and drink you can, and meet me back here in no more than five minutes,” said Lopez.
“Where are you going?” asked Lucy, as they clambered out.
“Bathroom,” said Lopez, stepping over the shards of glass and making a beeline towards the men’s room.
“You wanna push or grab?” said Jackson, swinging an empty cart around.
“Not sure there’s much to grab, but I’ll try,” said Lucy, eyeing up the shelves. The store was around forty percent full. Lightbulbs, greeting cards, DVDs, air fresheners were all in abundance, but the food shelves were barren.
“There’s gotta be something,” said Jackson, as they hurried down the aisles, doing lengths of the store until they reached the far end. The yield was depressing. Cooking oil, tea bags, cat food, and several bottles of ketchup. They reached the edge of the checkout area. Lucy glanced at the registers and wondered if they had any cash left in them, or if some couple had robbed the place, back when money was useful.
“We should check out back,” said Lucy, looking for a staff door.
Jackson followed with the cart. Skylights illuminated the warehouse, in spite of the layer of snow. The place was a mess. Torn cardboard littered the floor, where discarded boxes spewed their contents. Rolls of toilet paper, freezer bags, and clothes, covered the concrete.
“You see that?” said Jackson, pointing to the skylight overhead.
Lucy looked up, squinting. Encircling the frame was dark purple algae, which grew outwards from the light in a radial fashion as it colonized the surrounding ceiling.
Three sharp whistle blasts interrupted her speculation.
“Crap,” said Jackson, swinging her rifle off her shoulder. “On me!”
Lucy rushed after Jackson, back through the store, trying to keep pace with the cart. The whistle blasts repeated. They were coming from the parking lot, where a crowd had surrounded the Humvee. The people were wrapped in thick layers of clothes. Many wore skis and held ski poles – some of the kits were real, others notably home-made. Three people were wearing full ice-hockey uniforms, with hockey sticks slung over their shoulders. The range in height and breadth suggested the crowd spanned ages and sexes.
“I make eleven. Follow my lead,” said Jackson, as they crossed into the lot.
Lopez’s voice carried as they approached. His tone was strained.
“We can’t take you. No, I don’t have any more information. I’ve told you already, there’s a mustering operation at DC. We will come back for you. The army will come back for you. I don’t know when. My guess is spring.”
“Make way!” Jackson called, interrupting Lopez’s efforts. She grabbed the front of Lucy’s cart and sprinted towards the truck, dragging Lucy with it. The people nearest them moved out of the way just in time as Jackson skidded into the side of the Hummer.
“Young, cover me,” Jackson ordered, as she pulled the door open and began throwing the supplies into the truck.
Lucy turned to face the crowd.
“Please, help us,” said an older woman, squeezing Lucy’s arms desperately.
“Take us with you,” said one of the hockey players, edging closer, his young eyes wide with hope behind the mesh of his helmet.
“Shit,” said Jackson, abandoning the truck and pushing her way through the crowd to the far side. A child had opened the door opposite and was stealing the cans Jackson had loaded. Jackson chased after the child, who doubled back and retreated towards their parent.
A rattling drew Lucy’s head back to the front. People were rifling through the cart and stealing the remaining items. Lucy tried to shove their hands away but in doing so relinquished her grip on the cart. The group wrenched the cart away and surrounded Lucy.
“Back up!” she cried, trying to imitate Lopez’s authority as half a dozen hands patted her uniform down, groping for pockets. “Hey!” she cried, trying to fend them off. The old woman had opened Lucy’s breast pocket and was pulling out the tissues and mints. The young hockey players was raiding another pocket, pulling out wound dressings. Another hand found her compass. “Get off!” Lucy cried, but the more she tried to bat away the clawing hands, the more frenzied they became.
“Young, close the door!” called Lopez.
Lucy realized she’d left the loading door unguarded. A second child had pulled it open and was reaching inside. As Lucy grabbed the child’s shoulder, a strong adult hand wrapped itself around her own wrist, pulling her back. More hands scratched at her pockets. They were becoming rougher; shoving her as they searched.
“Jackson!” cried Lopez, his tone urgent.
A stranger had climbed into the driver’s seat of the Humvee, and was looking for the ignition key.
“Jackson, now!” Lopez screamed.
Jackson darted to the truck and grabbed the man, hurling him out of the truck and throwing him backwards onto the ground.
“Bastard!” cried a woman from the front, punching Lopez hard in the face.
Lopez chopped her in the larynx, sending the woman staggering back, spluttering. He pulled out his handgun and fired a shot into the air. The crowd flinched, ducking down on mass and scattering backwards.
“Back up, now!” cried Lopez, aiming at the hockey player nearest him, who was reaching for her stick.
The engine sprung into life. Jackson was in the driving seat. “Young, get in!” cried Lopez, rotating his aim across the crowd as individuals edged closer in alternation.
Lucy scrambled into the back of the car and slammed the door. Lopez leapt into the front. The crowd rushed towards the Humvee and thumped the sides, slamming it with their gloves, beating it with ski poles, creating the effect of a hailstorm striking the truck. Lucy’s door clicked open. She grabbed the handle and pulled back as hard as she could, but the outsider was stronger. With a roar of the engine the Humvee lurched forwards, throwing Lucy’s assailant off-balance, and slamming the door shut. Jackson pulled out of the parking lot at speed, skidding around the snow-covered corner onto the main boulevard.
Lucy looked back. The women who had punched Lopez was on her knees tending to a motionless man on his back – the man Jackson had thrown to the ground. A pool of blood seeped from his head, turning the surrounding white ice to crimson. Two members of the crowd pulled the shopping cart level with the man and bent down to lift him.
More skiers were arriving at the mall, following the Humvee’s original tracks in the snow. From the opposite side of the boulevard, a woman was hurrying across the snow towards them, wobbling in her snowshoes. One by one the strangers gave up and watched despondently as the Humvee escaped them all.
Lucy’s heart continued to pound as they crossed a river bridge and left the town behind.
“What the hell was that, Young?” cried Lopez. “That’s your idea of covering a door? My god!”
Lucy’s blood boiled.
“How about you go fuck yourself, Major,” she said, balling her fist.
“What did you just say?” said Lopez.
“I have zero training. You guys conscripted me barely three days ago, after I was nearly raped and killed by some psychopaths. Then you load me into a truck and drive into a massacre at Camp Oscar. And now the fact that you couldn’t handle a bunch of civilians is apparently my fault? Go to hell.”
“Oh, I get it. Because you’ve had a rough time, it’s on everyone else to look after you, is that it? I got news for you, that’s not how conflict situations work.”
“Don’t patronize me,” snapped Lucy.
“Then pull your god damned weight. I don’t mean with more bullshit experiments that get good people killed, I mean get your head in the game like a real soldier.”
“Like you?”
“That’s it
. You’re officially demoted, gimme me that slider right now,” said Lopez, pointing at her captain’s insignis.
“With pleasure,” laughed Lucy, tearing the slider off and tossing it at Lopez.
“You wanna go it alone, Young? Be my guest. Otherwise, you will shut the hell up, and you will learn discipline, fast, before you get the rest of us killed.”
“Please, Major, teach me everything you know. It was clearly of such value to the hundreds of people who died last night.”
“This is unacceptable. Jackson, pull over. I want Young out of this vehicle now.”
Jackson continued driving.
“Jackson?”
“She’s the reason both of us are alive, Major,” said Jackson, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.
“I’m giving you an order, Jackson,” said Lopez, fuming.
Jackson said nothing.
“I see how it is,” said Lopez, his eyes bulging.
“I’m on your side, Major. But I’m on hers too. We’re a unit. You taught me that,” said Jackson.
Lopez said nothing, and a silence fell over the car. Lucy hugged her sides and stared out of the window as the road shadowed the meandering route of the river. Her daily water-gathering routine seemed a long time ago. Jackson kept their speed moderate, conserving fuel and keeping control on the snow-covered roads.
Lucy’s torso was bruised from the rough pickpocketing crowd. Her mind flashed back to the mob in San Francisco. To the people chasing the train as it pulled out of the station. Arms extended. Running. Reaching. Falling. Gone.
***
“Gas,” said Jackson, some time later.
They’d picked up a deserted highway headed for Cincinnati, but fuel was running low.
“Halle-freakin-lujah,” said Lopez.
“We’ll see,” said Jackson, turning off the freeway and down the icy slip road.
Traffic signals hung above the deserted intersection, covered in an inch of snow. Icicles grew from the lights like a beard, dripping in the morning sun. Jackson followed the sign to the station and whistled, impressed.
“Love what they’ve done with the place,” she chimed.
The station was a charred shell. Scorch marks stretched to every inch of the tattered structure. Along the ground, fallen roof panels poked through the snow, in between burned out cars which had lost their windows. The pumps had been obliterated in the explosion, along with much of the adjacent store. In front of the wreckage, facing the road, was a large hand-painted sign that simply read: GAS, with an arrow pointing the other way.
Convulsive Box Set Page 32
