by Lucin, David
She put weight on her right foot and swore under her breath.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Friggin’ blister.” She pulled off her shoe. The stench made her recoil. On her heel, a hole larger than a thumbnail had worn off the sock. When she tapped at it with a finger, she felt blood.
She slung off her backpack and dug around inside for a fresh pair of socks. Good thing she brought two. At this rate, she’d wear through this new pair by the time they reached the cabin.
Sam coughed, then doubled over and coughed again. He took a drink of water as Jenn peeled off the old sock. “We’re almost there,” he said.
“How long?”
“Hour? Maybe a bit more. The cabin’s on the far side of town.”
With a groan, Jenn slipped on her fresh sock and her shoe. Her eyes burned from the smoke.
They continued along a wide four-lane road leading into Payson. Soon, they passed an abandoned motel, the neon vacancy sign dark and lifeless, then a foreclosed house and a stalled minivan. A breeze rustled the trees on her left. Beside her, Sam wheezed and dragged his feet on the asphalt with a crunch and a scrape. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, and the zippers on her pack jingled with each step.
The hairs on her forearms stood on end, and she glanced behind her. Still no one there. Not that she could see, anyway. Then again, she couldn’t see farther than two blocks in the smoke. What would be more frightening: seeing someone or not? After losing Sam’s car and running from those men, she didn’t know anymore. What Sam had said about Leviathan and kings and laws and barbarians niggled at her. She wanted to believe that people would come together in desperate times, that they wouldn’t devolve into monsters within a few days.
But what about her? Was she a monster? The man at the Go Market might think so.
The silhouette of a single-story building loomed on the other side of the street. Boards covered its windows and doors, and the red moon illuminated a sign emblazoned with “LAUNDRY” above the front entrance. The parking lot sat empty. Next came an old, closed-down gas station with an attached storefront, boards across all the windows like the laundromat. Beside it was Jimmy’s Hardware. The R and the A in “hardware” had disappeared, and the door hung wide open. Looted, maybe?
“Has Payson always been this dead?” Jenn asked. “I mean, I get that it’s nighttime, but it’s a ghost town. Worse than downtown Flagstaff. Way worse.”
“Yeah. It’s been pretty quiet as long as I’ve been coming here. Housing prices were crazy until the crash, obviously. All the farmers and ranchers left. Tourism was the last thing, and the war killed that. There’s a golf course, a liquor store, and a supermarket. That’s it, really. There used to be an elementary school, but I think it closed a few years ago.”
“So, yes,” Jenn said. “Ghost town.”
“Pretty much.”
“Why does anyone bother coming up here anymore, then?”
“Weather,” he answered without hesitating. “It’s cooler in the summer. You know what it’s like in the city, even the nicer parts. Payson’s fine if you stick to your cabin and the hiking trails.”
Ahead, an idle cargo van sat under a dark traffic light.
“Left here,” Sam said.
Jenn followed him along another four-lane road before they veered right, down a narrow street with no curbs and no sidewalks. The expansive, empty parking lots of the main strip gave way to single-story houses atop yards with dirt lawns and leafy trees. Orange flickered in the window of one. Jenn wiped a clammy hand on her jeans and wrapped her fingers tightly around Sam’s. Her neck hurt from twisting and turning and checking behind her.
A shrill scream cut through the air. Ice filled Jenn’s veins, and she froze. So did Sam. Where had that come from? Was it really a scream? No, it couldn’t be. The last human beings they’d seen had stolen Sam’s car. That was twelve hours ago.
“Stop!” a woman shouted. Panic punctuated the word.
Sam’s eyes went wide. Then he let go of Jenn’s hand and took off down a dirt alley on their left. “Sam!”
He kept running.
“Shit,” Jenn muttered before following him.
She passed a light-colored SUV. Gravel crunched beneath her shoes as a second scream pierced her ears. Sam stopped and ducked behind a wooden fence, and Jenn knelt beside him.
“What the hell are you—” she started, but Sam held a hand over her mouth.
“Please!” a woman’s voice pleaded. “That’s all we have!”
Sam poked his head above the fence.
“What is it?” Jenn whispered.
“Three people,” Sam said. “In front of a house.”
Jenn looked next.
There they were: a man and a woman on the ground. Both carried backpacks. A third, another male, this one in a loose sweatshirt and baggy pants, lorded over them. He moved erratically and struggled to pull off the woman’s bag. The man beside her squirmed on the grass. Coughing hoarsely, the attacker then pushed the woman away and swung at her but missed.
“It’s a junkie,” Jenn said. “There many here?”
“Not usually, but I haven’t been here for a couple summers.” Sam bounced on his heels. “A junkie? Really? You think?”
“Look at him. He’s tweaking out.”
Sam’s features hardened. “We need to help.”
“Screw that,” she said, louder than she wanted. “This has nothing to do with us.”
“We can’t just leave.”
“Yes. We can.”
“Think he’s got a weapon?” Sam asked.
“Probably not.” Jenn regretted the words as soon as she said them. She should have lied. If she’d said the junkie had a pistol or knife, Sam might have let this go. Truth was, the drug addicts in Phoenix were loud, unpredictable, and often mentally ill, but rarely were they dangerous. Dealers were violent, not users.
“What about Gary’s gun?” Sam said.
Her fingers wandered to the waistline of her pants. “Yes, but I’m not—”
“Shut up, bitch!” the junkie yelled. The woman cried out.
Sam peeked at the trio again. “Jenn . . .”
“Fine.” She pulled the Glock from its holster and nodded to Sam, who popped up and shouted, “Hey! Stop!” He made for a gap in the fence.
Jenn followed, keeping the pistol aimed low.
“Leave them alone!” Sam demanded.
With both hands, the junkie tore the backpack from the woman. The man, still on his backside, held his arms up. As Sam broke into a run, the junkie whipped around to face him. A hood covered his head and obscured his features. Bag in hand, he darted away and disappeared into the smoke and the darkness.
Jenn could give chase, then threaten him with the gun and force him to surrender whatever he stole from these people. The Jenn from Minute Tire might have done that. But not this Jenn. If she wasn’t careful, she could end up walking into a trap. He probably wasn’t traveling alone. Junkies rarely did. With a shudder, she pictured herself rounding a corner and being tackled from behind by someone she hadn’t even seen.
Sam rushed over to the woman. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She rolled over onto her side, and the man held her in his lap. He had light skin, pinched cheeks, and thin lips. He wore a polo shirt that hung off his narrow frame. A hole adorned the right knee of his cargo pants. The woman’s hair was short, wiry, and uneven, as if she’d cut it herself with a pair of scissors. Sharp cheekbones accented her defined jawline and prominent chin. Two sizes too big, her old Star Wars T-shirt was faded and fraying around the sleeves.
“It’s over.” The man ran his fingers through the woman’s hair. “He’s gone.”
“Are you guys okay?” Sam asked again and crouched beside them.
Sniffling, the woman said, “Yes, we’re fine. Thanks for helping. I didn’t think anyone would actually come.”
“I’m Sam.” He twisted and pointed to Jenn. “This is Jenn.”
> “Tara.”
The man covered his mouth and coughed into his hand. “Derek,” he croaked.
“What did that guy want?” Sam asked.
Tara sat up on her own. “Water. The taps stopped working this morning.”
“Dumb of us,” Derek added. “We didn’t save up while we could.”
“We went to the creek to fill up,” Tara continued. After another sniffle, she wiped her nose. “We tried the ponds at the golf course first, but they were filthy.”
“Creek?” Sam asked. “Stewart Creek?”
Tara nodded yes.
“That’s by the cabin,” he said to Jenn.
So far, Tara and Derek seemed harmless, but they didn’t need to know about the cabin. They looked poor, hungry, and desperate. Jenn knew the type: the ones whom the economic downturn of the 2040s and 2050s had reduced to a subsistence-level existence. Like most middle-class Americans, the Jansens struggled when Jenn’s parents lost their jobs, yet they survived, mostly by selling the house before the market imploded and then renting a smaller place, where Jenn and her brothers shared a single bedroom. Later, during the war, Andrew and Jason sent home their military pay, keeping the family afloat. Tens of millions weren’t so lucky, and they had to fight for every scrap, even if it meant resorting to crime and preying on others. Jenn wouldn’t risk telling these people any more than necessary.
Tara and Derek exchanged glances, then inspected Sam’s shoes, pants, and shirt. They did the same to Jenn. “Where are you from?” Tara asked.
“Flagstaff,” Jenn said before Sam could answer. “We came from Flagstaff.”
“Why?”
“We’re picking someone up,” she said, then changed the subject. “What happened here?”
Sam held a hand out for Derek, who took it and pulled himself up. “The power,” Derek said. “It went out all of a sudden.” He helped Tara to her feet. When standing, she looked even thinner. A soft breeze could blow her onto the ground.
“Is it out in Flagstaff?” Tara asked, her voice higher, almost optimistic.
“It’s out everywhere,” Sam said. “Everywhere we’ve seen, anyway.”
Tara’s shoulders sank. “Oh. Okay.”
Derek coughed some more, and Tara patted his back. “We have an old radio that runs on batteries,” he said. “We heard about the attack. It told us to stay inside. We did for two days. Then this morning our taps wouldn’t work and we—” He stopped himself and covered his mouth with a fist.
“You what?” Jenn asked.
He hesitated. “We sent our dog outside to see if it was safe.”
“So? There’s no fallout here.”
Tara reached for Derek’s hand. “We know,” she said. “Well, now we do. It was a hard decision to send Rocky out like that, especially with all the smoke. We thought it might be radioactive. We’re still feeling guilty about it, but we had to do something.”
“We understand,” Sam said. “So who was that guy?”
“He’s from the city,” Tara said. “I think. Must be. More have been coming up in the spring and summer over the last few years, maybe to avoid the heat. They find a place to squat and hide out, then go down again in the winter.”
“How?” Jenn asked. Her throat itched, so she cleared it with a grunt and continued, her voice hoarse. “The cops don’t stop them?”
Tara touched her hair and Derek scratched his chin. “What cops?” he started. “The sheriff’s responsible for the entire county. They do their best, but there’s not enough of them to help out much anymore. Now, with all the cars broken? We’re on our own.”
Tara spoke next. “We thought it’d be safe at night in the dark.”
“Thank God you showed up.” Derek adjusted the strap on his shoulder. “I would have lost my bag, too.”
Tara reached over and unzipped it. “Here,” she said, reaching inside.
“Hon, we don’t—”
“Stop it!” She yanked Derek closer, then pulled out a one-gallon jug from his backpack and presented it to Sam. “Take it. We have another one. This is the least we can do to say thanks. You should boil it first in ca—”
“No,” Sam and Jenn said at the same time. Sam held up his hands and continued. “We appreciate it. But we have a little left. You keep it.”
Tara smiled at them and dipped her head. “Thank you.”
“We should go,” Derek said to Tara. “Your mom and Aiden are going to be worried.”
“Aiden?” Jenn asked.
“Our son. He’s only eight.”
Liam and Erin’s daughter, Debbie, was about the same age. Children younger than ten or twelve knew only the depression and the war. To them, normal was an unemployment rate nearing thirty percent and a half dozen bananas selling for forty-five or fifty dollars. They might not have even tasted bananas before. Now, with the EMP and the bombs, would they ever?
Derek put a hand on Tara’s hip to lead her away. “Thanks again,” he said. “I hope you find who you’re looking for.”
* * *
“We need to talk about what happened back there,” Jenn said.
They followed a thin, winding road out of Payson and into the hills. Long driveways branching off both sides led to multi-story homes. Tall Ponderosas hid most from view, but the houses that peeked through were dark. No flickering candlelight here.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
He knew. He must have. An hour ago, he rushed to help two strangers. Jenn warned him not to, but he didn’t listen. Instead, he acted on impulse. That wasn’t like Sam; he was the cool, composed, and rational one, not Jenn. When had that changed? Why had it changed?
“You ran away from me.” The words came out laced with acid. Breathing in through her nose, she paused. “You took off toward a random scream, Sam. I get that you wanted to help, but you could’ve gotten hurt.”
Sam rubbed his eye with a knuckle. “I don’t know,” he said.
“You don’t know?”
He kept his eyes forward and refused to meet Jenn’s gaze. “We couldn’t walk away. That’s not us. We’re better than that.”
“That doesn’t make sense. You’ve never done something like that. Remember the tire place and what I did? You told me to sit down and relax. Same as when I tried to drag you and Gary to Carla’s that night. You talked me out of it, and suddenly you’re charging headfirst into trouble?”
Sam stopped, and Jenn found herself stepping away from him. “That was then,” he said. “This is now. Everything’s different.”
“Different how?”
Sam’s eye contact made Jenn feel small. “People are taking advantage of the situation. Things were bad enough as is. Now some assholes are doing whatever they want because they won’t get caught. The car, Tara and Derek’s water.” He pointed a finger at Jenn. “Your food at the Go Market. You stood up for yourself then. Gary and Maria, too. How is that different from me trying to help Tara and Derek?”
“Because you didn’t know them,” Jenn said, almost before Sam had finished speaking. “I think getting hurt for someone you love is a lot more worth it.”
Sam snorted. His eyes wandered—rolled, maybe—and the corner of his lip twitched. Was he smirking at her? “What?” she barked. “This isn’t Arcadia, Sam. You can’t trust every random person on the street.” She wanted to stop, to hold Sam’s hand and walk with him to the cabin, but he needed to hear this. His gated-community naivete had become a liability. “Out here, in the real world, these people won’t hesitate to stab you for your credit card. Remember that I grew up in this. I’ve seen what happens when things get bad. It’s not pretty. That was before everything went to hell. It’s a hundred times worse now. You need to be smart.”
He opened his mouth but clamped it shut.
Guilt settled in Jenn’s stomach. She’d never used Arcadia against Sam before, and he’d never used Peoria against her. It was an unspoken rule in their relationship. Their pasts and differences didn’t matter. Together, they were greate
r than the sum of their parts. The last few days had proved that. “I’m sorry,” she said, rushing to catch up as he continued down the road. Each step brought a fresh burst of pain from the blister on her heel, but she ignored it. “Please, wait.”
Beside him, she reached for his hand, but he slipped it into his pocket.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Jenn conceded. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Yes you did. But it’s fine. We come from different worlds. I get it.”
“No, we’re not—”
“The right thing is the right thing, Jenn.” He rarely used her name, and it sounded wrong. “Doesn’t matter who it is or what happened. Trying to help Tara and Derek—that was the right thing. Besides, you agreed and took out the gun Gary gave you.”
“You’re right,” she said. He wasn’t, but she’d say anything to make Sam smile and kiss her on the head the way he always did. She couldn’t let him be angry with her. Not now. Not when they were in the middle of nowhere, with sore feet, ash-filled lungs, and no car. Not after she’d lost her parents and her home. If she lost Sam, where would that leave her? What would she do?
She shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. Sam only wanted to help. Was that so bad? He helped her and Gary and Maria. Now he was out here in this empty town, doing the same for his sister and a narcissistic mother who treated him like trash.
Sam put his hands on her hips, and something relaxed in her chest and shoulders. “Listen,” he started. “I get why it bothered you. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have run off. But after the Go Market and my car? We need to stand up for ourselves and help when we can. It can’t be every man for himself out here.”
It could, Jenn thought. And it was. Still, she admired Sam for his selflessness. He only needed to be more careful.
When she reached for his hand again, he let her take it, and they continued down the road, toward the cabin.
“We’re almost there,” he said two blocks later while pointing to a cul-de-sac that terminated at a wall of Ponderosas. “At the end of this street. In that loop down there.”
