The Road Trip At The End Box Set

by J N Wood

  ‘Ah, it’s Shouty McShouterson,’ the sheriff said as Jack passed him. ‘You’ll be glad your brief stay in the Overlook Hotel is over.’

  ‘Yep, just anxious to look at the list,’ Jack replied.

  ‘Well, I just need to get all your details first, and then you can see it. Don’t worry, it won’t take long.’

  The sheriff locked the gate as we walked to his office.

  ‘So he’s a Hi-de-Hi, and a Stephen King fan,’ I quietly said.

  ‘And a whiskey fan by the smell of him,’ Jack replied.

  At the far end of the container was an ornate desk, inset with green leather. It did not suit its surroundings. Behind it was a large, well used leather office chair. Behind them were bookshelves, stacked with pads of paper, presumably containing the names of the incoming refugees. An eighties style boombox sat on the floor in front of the shelves. As I’d walked in I noticed an old looking sofa, tucked into the corner by the big double doors. It looked like the sheriff had spent many a night sleeping on it.

  ‘Coming through, make space,’ the sheriff said as he manoeuvred his way through us. ‘Oh yeah, forgot to ask, are any of you zombies?’

  He was answered with blank stares.

  ‘Zombies don’t speak,’ he said. ‘So it’s probably best you answer me with actual words.’

  One by one, we all said no. I looked down and smiled after seeing the three kids vigorously shaking their heads.

  ‘That’s good then.’ He opened up a pad of paper and placed it on his desk. ‘Oh hey,’ he exclaimed, looking up at us and smiling. ‘A new pad. Just need to write the date on.’ He closed it and started writing on the front. ‘Okay then.’ The sheriff looked up at us, scanning our faces. ‘You,’ he said, pointing at Theo. ‘Come here,’ he requested, leaning down to open a draw and pulling out what looked like an iPad. ‘My hands weren’t built for modern technology, so I need you to input everything I write down onto this.’ He held it out towards Theo.

  Theo’s eyes darted between Sandra and Pete for a few seconds, before shrugging his shoulders and walking around to stand by the sheriff. He took the iPad. ‘Where do I? Oh right.’ Theo showed the screen to the sheriff. ‘This one?’ he asked.

  ‘Yep, that’s the one. They tell me it’s real easy but I always struggle.’

  ‘Have you got electricity here?’ Shannon asked, staring at the iPad.

  ‘Oh no, the Canadians charge it up when I give it back to them.’

  The sheriff finished writing on the front of the pad, and then opened it up again. ‘Okay, iPad Boy, you first. Name and age?’

  Theo continued staring down for a couple of seconds, before realising it was him that was being questioned. ‘Theodore Rodriguez. I’m seventeen.’

  ‘Mexican American?’ the sheriff asked.

  ‘He’s American,’ Sandra stated.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ the sheriff said. ‘Nothing sinister going on here. They just want to know for…I don’t know, to see if anything adds up, you know? To explain why whoever survived, survived.’ He threw his hands up into the air. ‘I’m not a scientist.’

  ‘Our family is originally from Mexico, yes,’ Theo said, glancing at his surviving family members.

  ‘Okay let’s stick with the…’ He paused to read his own writing. ‘The Rodriguez’s.’ He pointed at Sandra. ‘You can go next.’

  ‘Sandra Walker, thirty one. These three are mine. Seth is six, Jonah is four, and Max is four.’ Sandra closed her eyes when she realised her mistake. ‘I mean three, Max is three.’

  The sheriff looked up. ‘It’s okay. I don’t care.’ He leaned forward slightly and whispered, ‘Father?’

  Sandra gave her head a brief shake. ‘I would also like to look through your list when we’re done please.’

  The sheriff sat back and smiled kindly. ‘Of course you can. Next, how about you,’ he said, pointing at Pete.

  ‘Peter Rodriguez, I’m twenty two.’

  ‘Next,’ the sheriff said.

  ‘Alison Rodriguez, twenty eight.’

  ‘Right, I’m guessing you two aren’t Rodriguez’s?’ the sheriff asked, looking at Michael and Shannon.

  ‘You are correct. I’m Michael Presley, thirty one, African American.’

  ‘Shannon Presley, thirty two, also African American.’

  Jack elbowed me in the ribs. ‘Told you,’ he whispered.

  ‘Hey, like the actor?’ the sheriff exclaimed.

  Michael and Shannon glanced at each other, shaking their heads.

  ‘Michael Shannon, the actor,’ the sheriff repeated.

  ‘Don’t waste your breath Sheriff,’ I said. ‘They don’t even know who Tom Hanks is. I doubt they’ll have heard of Michael Shannon.’

  ‘Surely somebody has said this to you before though?’ the sheriff asked.

  ‘No, sorry,’ Shannon replied.

  ‘Okay, don’t worry about it. How about you big guy?’

  ‘Gintaras Adomaitis, I am thirty nine years old, Lithuanian, but resident of United States of America for ten year.’

  Thank fuck for that, I thought he was gonna say thirty five for a second.

  ‘Okay, now onto the Brits, you first,’ the sheriff said, pointing at me.

  ‘Christopher Taylor, thirty six, and yeah, British.’

  ‘Living here or on vacation?’ he asked.

  ‘Vacation.’

  ‘How’s that going?’

  ‘Pretty shit.’

  The sheriff let out a little chuckle before glancing up at Jack. ‘Shouty?’ he said.

  ‘Jack Tillman, thirty four, British but I live here, I’ve got an L-1 visa.’

  Shaking my head and laughing, I looked to Jack. ‘What the fuck?’ I asked him.

  ‘What? I do have a visa.’

  Theo placed the iPad down on the desk, saying, ‘I’m done.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ the sheriff said. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of already stamping out your numbers. I’m assuming you’re all friends and aren’t going to fight over these.’ He opened a draw and pulled out small strips of paper, laying them out on the desk. ‘I think there are twelve there.’

  When everyone moved to the desk, I stayed back to let them all decide amongst themselves. This meant I got the last number.

  I looked down at the piece of paper in my hand. Stamped onto a thin strip was the number, 4 1 7 8 9.

  ‘There’s forty one thousand, seven hundred and eighty nine people in the camp?’ I asked.

  ‘Not anymore,’ the sheriff said. ‘Some have gone across into Canada, and people die. The population of Blaine was about five thousand. Half of Blaine’s houses are on the other side of the fence, so it’s a tight squeeze.’

  I shook my head in amazement. ‘And they let five hundred people in a week?’

  ‘Yep.’

  I couldn’t figure out the maths. ‘Jack?’

  ‘About eighty weeks, so…about eighteen months,’ Jack said solemnly.

  I felt a bit light headed and had to lean against a wall. ‘Fucking hell,’ I slowly whispered. It felt like my stomach weighed a tonne, and was trying to pull me to the floor.

  ‘Hey, look on the bright side,’ the sheriff beamed. ‘Nobody is going to kill you for your number.’

  ‘Do people get killed for their number?’ Shannon asked.

  The sheriff seemed to think about it for a few seconds, before saying, ‘Yeah, no point in sugar coating it for you. It happens. But you’re safe.’

  ‘Sheriff?’ Jack asked, nodding towards the bookshelves.

  ‘Yes, just one more thing, job assignments. You,’ he said, pointing towards Sandra and looking down at his pad of paper. ‘That’s it. Sandra. You are a single parent, so no work for you.’ He opened another draw in his desk, this time pulling out a playing card. He reached out towards Sandra. ‘Don’t lose this please, if you do, it means you have to come back and see me. Never hand this to anyone, just show it to them when you’re in the food tent.’

  Sandra hesitantly too
k the ace of spades from him. ‘Okay, thank you.’ She held the card up. ‘Will people try and kill me for this?’

  ‘No. Don’t worry about that.’

  Sandra didn’t look convinced. We all shared a few anxious glances.

  ‘Everyone else,’ he continued. ‘I expect you’ll be with either the Fencers or the Zombie Patrol. There seems to be more and more of the dead getting in every day.’ He pulled out a map of Blaine and placed it on the desk. ‘Okay, everyone crowd in.’

  We all moved forward to stand around his desk. He pointed out where the south and east inner fences were situated, then moved his finger over to where we would be assigned accommodation, and finally where we needed to go to speak to Frank or Amber, our new bosses.

  ‘Go to the Blaine Senior Centre first to sort out where you’ll be sleeping,’ the sheriff instructed. ‘Make sure you sort out these two somewhere as well,’ he said, pointing at Jack and Sandra.

  ‘And me,’ I said. ‘I’ll help Jack look through the list. There’s no point in you staying here Sandra. We’ll look for Dale and Sophia’s names. You take care of the kids. It’s Walker, right?’

  Sandra looked torn. ‘And you’ll look through every single one of these?’ she asked, pointing at the bookshelves.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I replied.

  She looked down at the kids, and then back at me. ‘Okay,’ she sighed. ‘Yes okay. Dale Walker, thirty three, and Sophia Walker, she’s eight. I have no idea if Dale would have mentioned anything about her having a Mexican family.’ She shot a glance at the sheriff, but he seemed more concerned with the contents of one of the desk drawers.

  ‘If their names are here, we’ll find them,’ I assured her.

  As they started to leave the container, a thought jumped into my head. ‘How do we find you when we’re done here?’

  ‘After you’ve got your accommodation sorted,’ the sheriff said. ‘Just leave the Brits names with the guys at the Senior Centre.’ He turned to look at me. ‘Then when you’ve finished here, just go there, and they’ll tell you where you’re sleeping.’ He gave us a toothy grin. ‘Problem solved.’

  ‘Okay, see you soon yeah,’ Ali said.

  Sheriff McCallany stopped as he was leaving, turning back to face us. ‘I need to let them into the camp. I’ll only be five minutes. Please wait until I get back before you start. I don’t want you messing my system up.’ He spun around and exited the container.

  Jack and I stood in the open doorway, and watched them walk towards the inner fence.

  ‘Eighteen months? A year and a fucking half?’ I said. ‘I can’t stay here for that long. Nobody could live here for eighteen months. Eighteen fucking months.’

  ‘We won’t be here for that long,’ Jack said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because things always change. Don’t worry about it yet. Let’s find Beth first.’

  I started to pace up and down in the container. ‘Fuck’s sake. Eighteen fucking shitty fucking months. No fucking chance. I need to get back home.’

  ‘Find Beth. Find a way to cross into Canada,’ Jack said.

  I stopped pacing and tried to calm myself down. ‘Okay. Fine. The names are on the iPad,’ I said, turning back to face him. ‘Surely we can search for them on that?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  When the sheriff returned, carrying two chairs he’d picked up from the school, he delivered us the bad news.

  ‘It’s wiped every time I hand it over to the Canadians. I don’t even think it’s the same iPad I started with.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ I said.

  ‘You can check it for the last few days. That’s when I last handed it over. Only had a few people enter the camp in that time though.’

  A quick search on the iPad gave us nothing. Not for Beth, or Dale and Sophia.

  ‘Do you speak to the Canadians?’ I asked him. ‘Do you know what’s happening in the rest of the world?’

  ‘We exchange the odd word here and there. They don’t really tell me anything. I would always ask them something at the beginning, but I soon gave up when they wouldn’t answer my questions.’

  Jack was looking anxious to get on with searching through the lists.

  ‘No idea at all then?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh there are rumours. The Russians, the Chinese, the rest of the world embroiled in a new Cold War. Who knows?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said flatly.

  He placed the two plastic chairs in front of his desk, and pointed at the shelves. ‘From the beginning?’ he asked.

  Jack slumped down onto one of them. ‘They set off from California ten days ago, so we don’t need to start at the very beginning.’

  ‘I think we probably should start at the beginning Jack. What about Sandra?’

  Jack’s head rocked back and he let out a long sigh. ‘Yeah okay, we don’t know when they’ll have got here. Beginning please.’

  ‘Okay, this here is the very first one,’ he said, pointing to the left side of the top shelf of one of the bookcases. He then pulled out two pads, placing them in front of us. ‘Please put them back in the same order you found them.’ He walked over to the sofa and sat down. ‘Had over one hundred people working for me just a week ago.’

  Jack looked to me and sighed again, shaking his head.

  ‘I thought the first few days were like hell on earth,’ the sheriff continued. ‘It only got worse though. Everyone in Blaine and Whatcom County got out of Dodge, escaped into Canada.’

  Jack was trying to ignore the story, and concentrate on the list of names.

  ‘The Canadians soon stopped letting people across, put up a fence, on U.S. land as well. Then the wall started going up.’ He reached his hand down the side of the sofa, coming back out holding a bottle of something, probably whiskey. He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. ‘More and more people started turning up, talking about the dead rising and eating people. It was the people that turned up with the horror stories that got all these defences built up around us. I didn’t believe a word they were saying. Fucking zombies. What a crock of shit eh?’ He looked to me, holding up the bottle, and gave it a little shake.

  I waved my hand and shook my head. ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Hey Shouty, want a drink?’ the sheriff asked.

  Jack kept his eyes on the list.

  I answered for him, ‘No he’s fine thanks.’

  ‘Please yourself,’ he said, and swigged back another mouthful.

  ‘Did the virus not get into Canada?’ I asked.

  The sheriff shrugged. ‘Must have done, but they had more time to isolate the sick, and to prepare, evacuate, just make sure everyone knew what to do.’

  Jack was already a few pages into his pad.

  The sheriff leaned back and closed his eyes. ‘For days on end, that room you slept in last night, and many others like it, were full of people, sometimes thousands at a time. I’ll tell you something, they didn’t eat as well as you did,’ he said, pointing at the empty metal wall next to me. ‘Been on my own, just me outside the fence for five, six, seven days now. Just waiting…just waiting.’ With a start, he opened his eyes, then twisted around and lifted his legs up onto the arm of the sofa. ‘Going to catch up on some sleep. Wake me up before you go go.’

  Jack looked at me wearily.

  ‘Fan of Wham, Sheriff?’ I asked.

  ‘Never heard of them. Sleepy time now. Don’t mess up my system.’

  I think the sheriff may have gone a bit stir crazy.

  Shaking my head, I started searching down the page. ‘Beth is thirty one yeah?’ I asked.

  Jack was drawing his finger down the page in front of him. ‘Yeah she is, and I’m sure Roy is actually called Royston, and their surname is Gayter.’

  ‘Royston?’ I laughed. ‘How old is he?’

  ‘I think they’re both thirty one, and both English as well, British.’

  ‘Thirty one? He must be the youngest Royston in the world.’

  ‘Yep, they’re from Norwich
as well.’

  ‘What?’ I said, looking up from the list. ‘You never told me they were from there.’

  Jack looked up and shrugged. ‘They’re Beth’s friends.’

  ‘I’m just surprised you never mentioned it. I’d have probably told you if Joanne became friends with someone from Middlesbrough, and that we lived near them on the other side of the world.’

  ‘Well, I’d have found that news completely irrelevant and boring. That’s why I didn’t tell you.’

  No wonder there were so many pads on the shelves. The sheriff had double, and sometimes triple spaced the names on the list. He’d also only used one side of each page.

  ‘This is gonna take fucking ages,’ I said, leaning over to look at the pages in front of Jack. The names on his were also similarly spaced.

  ‘We’ll soon get through it,’ he said. ‘Just keep going.’

  I was on the twentieth pad when my eyes fell on a Royston.

  ‘Jack, Jack, Jack, I’ve found a Royston and…’ I tracked across and saw the surname. ‘Yep, Gayter, thirty one, British, Caucasian. Looks like it could be him. Is he white?’

  Jack stood up and took two quick steps to stand over me. ‘Yeah he is.’

  There was no Sarah, but underneath was a Beth.

  ‘Where is it?’ Jack asked impatiently.

  ‘There’s a Beth underneath him,’ I said, quickly glancing at the rest of the information. ‘Oh…that’s weird.’

  Jack leaned in. ‘What is? Where are the names?’

  ‘Look.' My finger rested on the page under Beth’s name.

  It read, Beth Gayter. 31. British. Caucasian.

  ‘No sign of a Sarah Gayter,’ I said.

  Jack leaned over the desk, his hands planted on either side of the pad. He stared at the page for a good twenty seconds.

  ‘What you thinking Jack? Can’t be them. Can it?’

  Jack continued his silent stare.

  ‘Hello Jack, have you fallen asleep standing up?’

  ‘The ages are right,’ he slowly said. ‘There can’t be another Royston Gayter in the world. And it’s Beth, not Elizabeth, or Bethany, or whatever. Beth was christened Beth. It’s not short for anything.’ He brushed his fingers through his hair. ‘What the fuck? What does this mean?’