Another Like Me

by Albert Norton, Jr.

  “Where’s Peter?” Jack asked, sitting up in his nest of Navajo blankets.

  “With the horses.” The horses Jack had not noticed, until, after his long soliloquy the night before, the two youths had decamped with three horses that had been quartered at the other end of the barn. His two interlocutors had said almost nothing about themselves. After Jack’s story, Peter had suggested that they go; that Jack sleep there in the barn with the blankets they left behind, and that they would see him in the morning. Jack had taken it as a final test. He had watched them leave, heard the scrunching in the snow, and then all was quiet. More quiet than all the accumulated quiet of the last three years. Jack had then settled into the fire-warmed Navajo blankets, surprised at his sudden exhaustion.

  Now they were back, or at least Robin was. Jack was now more or less an open book to them, but they remained as much a mystery to Jack as at the moment Robin’s almond eyes were seared into his consciousness. “I still don’t know anything about you,” Jack declared.

  Robin just shrugged, as if it were too obvious that there was nothing to say. Jack chuckled. She had appeared to him as the last living person on earth, beside himself, and was wholly enigmatic except when she revealed a thought by a gesture such as this. Were the world again full of people, she would still be a walking mystery. Her eyes and her reticent but confident bearing marked her. She was a sprite, a ghost, an apparition—yet she was consciousness itself.

  She leaned forward, elbows on knees. Dewey had lain down next to Jack. It was gratifying—as if Jack were part of Dewey’s little clan already.

  “Well, where are you from? This little town?”

  “No, Alpine,” she said, nodding toward the west. Alpine would be the next town to the west, just over into Arizona, not that the boundary between the two states had any relevance anymore.

  “But you’re here,” Jack began.

  “We make trips. Sometimes we get some found food, sometimes we hunt. Or just explore. ‘Found food’ is grocery-store food, you know.” Jack knew because he’d described his own self-provision the night before, but hadn’t called it that.

  “Why horses?”

  “Our truck broke down. Then we took the horses to try some of the neighbors’. They didn’t work, either—all the batteries were dead. We might have figured out how to do what you did, but we had the horses, and we figured they would last, and the cars wouldn’t.”

  Jack was chagrined that he hadn’t seen this long-term reality. At least, a reality for someone who knew a little about horses. “Plus, no need to zip around at seventy miles an hour on the highways, I guess.” He had told them about his solo accident—about how the highways themselves were impermanent. And even more so the bridges. “So you and Peter live together, in Alpine? Where? On a ranch?”

  She nodded. “A ranch. We still keep some cattle. Well, they keep themselves. We don’t keep up the fences, except the ones around the garden. There’s no one to sell the cattle to.”

  “Or anything to spend the money on, if you did.”

  She looked back at him with those mysterious dark eyes. An expression like she’d never considered this. And maybe she hadn’t, Jack realized. “Can I ask how old you are?”

  “Almost fifteen.” A hint of renewed wariness.

  “And how long have the two of you been alone?”

  “A couple of years, or a little more. This year was our first real garden.”

  Jack paused a moment, despite his curiosity, seeing that Robin’s mind ran in a different direction than his.

  She continued. “We traveled around a good bit for seed, back when we still had the truck. Peter built a big greenhouse. We spend more time on that now that it’s not really a working ranch. More time on the gardening, I mean.”

  “And learning on your own.”

  She looked at Jack quizzically.

  “Books. Homework.”

  “Oh, yeah. We do ‘school’ all year when we’re not out like this.”

  “Pretty industrious.”

  Robin shrugged. Jack had a sense that they were probably no more so than before the calamity.

  “How long have you been together?” Jack wondered if he was crossing a line.

  Robin looked momentarily puzzled. “Since . . . all our lives.” She paused and then evidently understood the gap in Jack’s understanding. “Peter’s my brother. Well, same mom.”

  Jack thought a moment was appropriate in which not to press her further. He hadn’t expected her to be even this forthcoming, but anyway he did have one big question that couldn’t wait longer. “Do you know about any others?”

  She looked at him and seemed to shake her head, but the gesture was ambiguous this time. She said, “I thought you would tell us there were others. You’ve been all over. We went to Los Angeles before we gave up. Other than that, just Phoenix and down to Tucson. That was back when we had the truck. All we know about are the zombies.”

  Zombies. Wait. Zombies? “Did you just say zombies?”

  She made a face that told him it was just an expression she used.

  “Living dead zombies?”

  She made the first fourteen-year-old expression he’d seen. Exasperation at a goofy adult.

  Jack held his hands out in front of him, trying to imitate a walking-dead zombie. “‘Must eat brains . . .’” He thought he saw just the hint of a smile, but a smile on this ageless Eve might be exactly the same as the enigmatic all-knowing look he’d seen thus far.

  “It’s just a name we use. We should be more kind. We’ve just gotten used to it ourselves. It’s our name for them.”

  “‘Them.’ Humans.”

  “Humans, yes, of course.” She quickly explained, seeing Jack’s puzzlement. “Drug addicts. Drinkers. They’ve just kind of given up. We used to take them food, try to talk to them. But they don’t think they need food or anything else. They just think they need to drink. Or take whatever drugs they take.”

  Jack was stunned. “How many? Where?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe twenty? Just guessing.”

  “Where?”

  “Just little towns to the north of us. Flagstaff. We used to see different ones at different times. We tried to tell them about Jesus.”

  Jack sat back on the blankets, leaning back on one elbow, trying to take it all in. So much new, just with these two, and now there were others besides? Drunks, apparently, but so what? But then, on top of that, here was this oracle of Delphi, his first link to mankind, talking about Jesus. Jesus? The Christ? The Sunday School subject? Peter and Robin had been way too isolated. Could have as easily been him. Who was the zombie, after all? The ones addicted to drink, or to religion?

  “Jesus?”

  She nodded.

  “You have got to be kidding me. Jesus.”

  “Yes, Jesus.”

  “No, I wasn’t repeating ‘Jesus,’ I was saying ‘Jesus.’”

  Her turn to look at him with puzzlement.

  “I wasn’t, I mean, I was just . . . Oh, never mind.”

  They both sat for a time that was long but nonetheless normal now. Both looked in different directions.

  Well, what did I expect? thought Jack. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he had encountered a person. Not one, but two. And apparently there were some addicts around somewhere, though why here, in nowhere, New Mexico, and not in the whole of New York City, who could say? Time to take a breath. Reevaluate. He had opened his soul to them the night before, as was fitting under the circumstances. They had shared almost nothing in return, and that seemed fitting, too. Why should he expect more from them now? They were living breathing human beings, survivors like him. And very young.

  “I’m sorry. Remember, I don’t know the first thing about you. You know my life story.”

  Her head sank. “I’m sorry, too. We were being cautious.”

  “And I came at you with a gun. My fault, you shouldn’t apologize to me. I apologize to you.”

  “You did that enough already last night
.”

  “Your brother seems like a good man.”

  At this, Robin smiled. A real smile, not the Mona Lisa kind.

  “What now?” Jack asked.

  “We’re going back to Alpine.”

  “I’m not a zombie.”

  Those eyes gazing back.

  “I mean, you know Luna, New Mexico wasn’t my final destination in life.”

  “Peter’s in charge.”

  “I understand.”

  “He’s making venison and eggs.”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  Another almost-smile from Robin. “When you’re ready, just come down.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “There’s another barn kind of like this one. Just go straight down to the highway and go west, and you’ll see us.”

  “Should I drive?”

  “It’s less than a mile.”

  “Thank you.” Jack said it with all solemnity.

  Robin alighted from the bucket, and Dewey stirred. She walked toward the barn’s entrance and then paused, looking back at Jack. “It’s okay what you did. I had Peter.” Then she disappeared, and so did the dog.

  Jack felt a lump in his throat. He was experiencing another long-since-unused emotion—gratitude. He saw himself in her eyes and saw his loneliness. Her compassion was like the sun that followed days of clouds and snow.

  The air at the doorway was much fresher, and Jack surveyed the valley below, down to the San Francisco River. The snow was less powdery and had crusted over, though the brightness of the day outside the mountain’s shadow suggested that it would soon enough be melting. It was still early in the fall. He could see Robin’s and Dewey’s tracks headed southwest at an angle from the barn, a different route altogether than their approach the night before. At a distance, he saw them emerge from behind a tree line and skirt a steep fold in the earth, en route to the western side of the little village. They knew their way around. He wondered when Robin had first realized he was pursuing her. In all likelihood, the house he accosted her in was just one she had ducked into for just that purpose. She’d probably watched his movements from a long way off. Maybe these were part of the survival skills they’d learned, living in a world of zombies. Zombies! If they had encountered people here, maybe they were elsewhere, too. Maybe they would only be found in the most remote areas, like this piece of New Mexico and Arizona.

  Jack gathered up the Navajo blankets, admiring the work. One was blood-red and the other a melon orange, both with intricate deep blue and purple zig-zag and triangle patterns. He looked around and realized this was all he had to carry. The fire was fully out, but with a newfound sense of responsibility, he scooped up a few handfuls of snow to be sure. Then he left the way he’d arrived, to view the same approach with different eyes—as different as today’s brilliant sunshine was to the previous night’s ominous twilight and cold shadow of night. He took the same road back down. The world was a different place. All things seemed possible. The contrast with his state of mind on the previous night made Jack self-aware of just this shift. So much was different in the space of fewer than twenty-four hours. He’d been on this same road with these same views, and yet they now seemed so different. As much as the difference in light affected the outside world, the presence of Robin and Peter affected Jack’s inner world.

  At the place of Jack’s near-undoing, he found the Sig, leaning against the patio wall not far from the front door. Robin must have set it there in the brief moment his back was turned. What a cool customer. She had to have been as alarmed as he was, yet she had the pluck to pick up the rifle rather than leave it in the snow. Perhaps even then she saw how this would likely all play out. Maybe she could somehow picture his utter aloneness though she had not experienced it herself. And knew, moreover, that her self-defense would give way to a neighborly exchange. And no use damaging a perfectly good rifle.

  Jack slung the rifle over one shoulder. For once, it didn’t make him feel more complete, nor less vulnerable. In fact, he felt almost guilty as he stepped around the corner and retrieved his binoculars. He could still see Robin’s footprints from the night before. He retraced them across a field—back-to-back empty lots—to the street on which “his” house was situated. Up ahead was his car, and between him and it were the tracks he’d first seen that had so raised the alarm. When he reached the car, he paused at the jumble of disturbed snow all around it. He tried to recreate the experience of believing himself to be alone in the world, and then discovering for the first time that he wasn’t. It was impossible.

  Inside the little house, he collected his belongings and carried them out to his car. He’d let down his discipline in recent days. Things were a jumble. He placed the Weatherby and the Sig in their places on the passenger side floor, leaning against the front seat. Then he debated whether to take his spare pistol. On the one hand, why should he be unarmed? The possibility of predators was no less than before. In fact, now there were these “zombies” out there somewhere, too. On the other hand, Peter and Robin had taken his .45 and had chosen not to return it, and it seemed the right spirit to respect that, at least for now. Anyway, he wasn’t going far. With his stuff stowed, Jack walked down to the highway and headed west, walking down the middle of it. Off to the left, the orange morning light was playing out among the treetops. Soon the road and the hamlet of Luna would be in full sun. Jack followed his nose to the barn a few yards off the road. Dewey greeted him as he approached. Peter was in front, on one knee in front of a propane stove.

  “Good morning,” he said, and rose to his feet.

  “Good morning to you.” Jack shook the offered hand. “Smells delicious.”

  “Your timing is good, it’ll be ready soon.”

  Jack had carried the blankets, to return them, and now made to put them on the ground just inside the door of the barn, where the snow had not reached. Peter stopped him. “We found a table. Let’s drag it around.” There was a weathered but serviceable picnic table under the trees between the barn and the house next to it, but it was shady there and would remain in the shade. Peter threw a short tarp over it. Jack dropped the blankets on top, and they carried the table to the front of the barn where the sunlight would soon break through. Jack seated himself at the table, and Peter returned to the cooking.

  Robin then emerged from the barn. Walking to the table, she withdrew an object from her pocket, dropping it on the blanket next to Jack’s elbow. It was a loaded .45-caliber magazine. Then she took out the gun, racked the slide, peered into the chamber, and deposited it, too, onto the blanket.

  Jack stood up, leaving the gun where it lay. He looked Robin in the eye, pausing for emphasis. “Thank you, daughter,” he said.

  She allowed only an ambiguous straightening of the mouth in response and then wheeled away back into the barn, with Dewey at her side.

  Chapter 7

  There was a bit of a negotiation, which Jack found embarrassing, until it became apparent that Peter had assumed all along that Jack would accompany them back to their ranch. They talked past each other for a bit first because the mode of transportation was an issue. Robin and Peter rode their own horses and had brought another for gear. It might have made sense for Jack to ride that horse, though he’d never ridden a horse before, but then what about Jack’s gear plus theirs? And for that matter, Jack’s perfectly good vehicle? In one way, Jack had the superior transport. In another way, Peter did. It was a Neo-Luddite clash of modernism in a post-post-modernist age.

  But why abandon either mode of transportation? Jack watched as his new and only friends mounted and headed off, the horses glad to be moving. He was a little unsettled about this departure altogether, and all the more so when they headed out hard to the northwest rather than due west on the highway out of Luna. Cars are worthless without roads. Already, the value of the horses loomed large in comparison. In the moment of watching Peter and Robin turn right, rather than left, Jack obtained a sense that all his careful planning was shortsight
ed, after all. He yet depended on the society that no longer was.

  The ride to Alpine was five hours by horse, and they eliminated riding at night as an option. Peter and Robin could comfortably make it in the remaining hours of daylight, even if they took it slow and went around potential dangers that might be hidden by the snow cover. By contrast, Jack could be there in half an hour, perhaps an hour if he took extra precautions because of slick places in the shadows. But what would be the point of getting there so fast? Jack tromped back up the highway to his road, to his house, to his car—and wished he had a horse. Wished he was westbound already with Peter and Robin. There was no point leaving now, but he was packed, and suddenly Jack wanted nothing more than to be quit of Luna. He’d been on the moon long enough. It was time to launch into the galaxy at large.

  Just as he’d envisioned, the road was wide, and the snow was turning slushy. The slick places still in shadow were few and, in any event, he could see them from far off as he approached. The trickiest spot was a high bridge over the San Francisco River, where the bridge was exposed underneath for its length and connected the roadways with a wide curve. Jack parked at the front of the bridge and walked out onto it. As he had expected, it was well frozen. He looked over the north side of it and thought he saw the river some thirty yards below, but then he realized that he was only looking at wet rock forming the edge of a little chasm; that the river was another thirty or forty yards below that. He’d taken this as another little country bridge, but it was of grand scope— and the countryside, too. He managed to back his vehicle back up the incline and approach the bridge at some speed, so as not to lose momentum when it turned uphill.

  Jack was in Alpine in well under an hour, and it was still fairly early in the day. He had directions to Peter’s and Robin’s ranch, but there was no point in going there. His hosts wouldn’t be along for hours. And anyway, Jack was more than curious about the zombies. Consulting his map, he settled on a quick side trip to Eagar and Springerville, just to see. He had a renewed sense of purpose after his encounter in Luna—and a renewed sense of diligence, too—so he stopped at a gas station at the crossroads in Alpine to go through his whole routine of battery changing, gasoline treatment and rotation, and taking stock of his food rations, even though he expected to be back at the ranch before dark. The gas storage tanks were locked, but he was ready with bolt cutters, and the tanks had plenty of gas.