by Cross, Amy
“They didn't mention zombies,” Martha adds. “That might mean that there aren't any around here. And they looked like they've got food.” She turns to Riley. “I'm not saying that it's the perfect solution. I'm not even saying that it's a particularly good idea. I'm just saying that it might be our least bad option.”
“Those guys were up to something,” Riley says, before turning to me. “You could sense it, Thomas, couldn't you? It's a miracle they let us get away. That was only because we outnumbered them. Otherwise, they'd have been all over us.”
“I'm not sure,” I reply hesitantly. I feel as if everyone always expects me to be the voice of reason, and I'm pretty sure that I'm totally inadequate for that role. “I guess it's good that there are some signs of life out here. Even if we don't go to Philadelphia, we know now that there are people around.” I pause, trying to think of something useful to say. “Maybe we should either go to a city, or stay far away from them. I mean, if we just stay around the edges, there's a danger that people have already taken everything that might be useful.”
“That's actually a good point,” Martha says, “but -”
“Hey, what's that?” Riley asks suddenly, leaning forward.
Looking out the front window, I see that there's an overturned car at the side of the road. We've seen plenty of wrecks over the past few months, but this one is still smoking slightly, and as Katrina slows us down I realize that there are several bodies on the ground. Each body is beaten and bloodied, and as I look at one of them in particular I start to worry that this accident must have happened very recently.
Katrina brings the car to a halt.
“Let's just keep going,” Riley says.
“They might be hurt,” Katrina suggests.
“They're dead,” Martha says flatly. “Look at them. You can tell, even from here. There's no point risking our own lives to help people who are already gone. It looks like their heads have been...”
Her voice trails off, and then suddenly she opens the door and steps out of the car.
“Where are you going?” I call after her, but she's already making her way over toward the crash scene.
I hesitate for a moment, and then I climb out after her.
“Thomas, wait!” Riley hisses. “You don't know that it's safe!”
Martha's already examining the scene as I catch up to her. There's a strange, bitter smell in the air, and I wince a little as I see the nearest body. The dead man's legs are twisted and broken, but it's his face that really catches my attention as I realize that his cheeks and eyes have been gouged away, exposing patches of bare bone beneath. It's obvious that this was a hard, fast crash, and the guy could well have been sent through the windshield, but I'm not sure that I quite understand how most of his face got carved away like this. In fact, as I peer closer, I realize I can see lines cut into the sides of his skull, as if somebody used a knife.
Turning to Martha, I see that she's taking a look at the other two corpses.
“Are they the same?” I ask.
She glances at me, and I see the answer in her expression. A moment later she turns and looks over her shoulder, and I see that there's a patch of blackened dirt on the ground with smoke rising from a few charred sticks, almost as if...
“Did someone start a fire over there?” I ask.
Martha looks back at the bodies, and then she heads to the fire.
Figuring that she's not in the mood for answering questions, I wander to the other side of the car. Crouching down, I look inside and see a few boxes that have been left open in the rear section, but they've already been emptied. I go around to the rear and see that the car seems to have been completely emptied, and it's not hard to understand that someone has already been past here and scavenged anything from the wreck that might have been useful. As I take a step back and look at the whole grim scene, I figure that the guys from the camper van are the most likely culprits. In ordinary times, of course, I'd be horrified by their actions, but I have to admit that there's a part of me that wishes we'd been here first to get any gasoline and food and water.
I mean, if these people were already dead, taking stuff would be better than leaving it to waste. I'd want someone to use our resources if -
“Move!” Martha says suddenly, grabbing my arm and dragging me back toward our car, where Riley and Katrina are waiting.
“What's wrong?” I ask.
She doesn't answer. I look over my shoulder, but I don't see any signs of danger.
“Are they turning into zombie?” I continue. “Are they infected? Is the car about to blow up? Martha, what's wrong?”
“I'm driving,” she says to Katrina. “Hurry. Get out.”
“Why?” Katrina asks. “What -”
“Get out of the car! Get into the back!”
Katrina hesitates, but then she does as she's told and Martha quickly takes her place.
I get in, taking the front passenger seat, and I'm still swinging the door shut as Martha stamps her foot on the gas pedal. The car shudders a little as we set off, and after a few seconds, I look over my shoulder and see the site of the wreck already disappearing into the distance. I turn to Katrina and Riley, and they both seem pretty confused by whatever's happening right now.
I look over at Martha.
“What is it?” I ask finally. “What freaked you out back there? Is it something to do with zombies?”
“No zombies,” she says firmly, gripping the wheel as she checks the mirrors.
“Then what?”
“Those bodies,” she replies. “I've seen injuries like that before.”
“From a crash?”
“They were definitely hurt in the crash,” she explains. “There's no doubt about that. But that's not what killed them. Or, if it did, then it's not what caused what happened to their faces.”
“Then what did cause it?” I ask.
I wait, but she doesn't reply.
“Martha,” I continue, trying not to sound too worried, “you're starting to freak me out.”
Again, I wait.
“I've seen injuries like that,” she says again, finally. “A while ago, when I was back out west.” She pauses again, and I can tell that she's struggling with the memory of whatever happened. “Andrew and I happened to bump into some people who'd set up a camp in a forest. There'd been six of them originally, now there were only four.” Another pause, this one longer, and for a moment I start to wonder if she'll ever finish the story. “The other two had died of natural causes,” she adds finally, “and then once it was clear they weren't infected, their friends had...”
Her voice trails off.
“No way,” Riley says from the back seat. “You mean they... ate their buddies?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, “you're wrong, you have to be.”
“You don't think people will resort to cannibalism when they're desperate?” Martha asks.
“Sure,” I reply. “I mean, I guess, but... Are you sure that's what had happened to those people in the car wreck just now? How do you know that animals didn't get to them first?”
“My bet,” she says,” is that someone came past the wreck and saw an opportunity for a free feast. They cooked the meat first, I noticed the smell in the air and then I saw what looked like a few scraps near the site of the fire. Thomas, I know you might not want to believe this, but desperation pushes people to do crazy things. That was true before all of this started, and it's doubly true now.”
“Imagine getting that desperate, though,” Riley says.
I turn to him, and then I look over at Katrina. She's fallen silent, but when she looks at me I realize I can see absolute fear and dread in her eyes.
“Hey,” Riley continues, nudging her arm, “can you imagine that? Can you imagine being so desperate for food, that you'd eat another person?”
Katrina doesn't reply, but after a moment I notice that her left hand is resting on her belly.
“I wouldn't do it,” Riley says, shaking his head. “No wa
y. I'd rather eat dirt than chow down on some guy.” He pauses. “It'd be even worse if it was someone you knew. I mean, no matter how desperate you get, you have to, like, maintain some kind of standard, don't you?”
“I didn't like the look of those men in the camper van,” Martha says. “There aren't a lot of people out this way, and I noticed some tire tracks back there by the wreck. I'm no expert, but it sure looked as if something big and heavy had stopped there recently. Either way, I want to cover as many miles as possible today. I want to be well out of range of those assholes by nightfall.”
I look back along the road, but there's no sign of anyone following us.
“There's something in the air,” Martha continues. “Something I don't like, something about this area. And the sooner we get far away, the better.”
Thomas
We don't stop, not for hours and hours, not until the sun is beginning to set. Riley and I suggest a few spots that might be worth checking out, but Martha insists that we keep driving. She seems almost possessed, as if she's driven by an absolute fear of what might be following us. We pass a couple of gas stations that look pretty trashed, but usually we'd still stop and check them out. Not today. Today we keep driving, and I start to think that Martha might be planning to keep going all through the night. I'm actually a little surprised when she brings the car to a halt at the side of a road, a short distance from yet another gas station.
Riley hasn't said a word for hours.
“So are we stopping now?” I ask cautiously.
I wait, but Martha doesn't immediately reply.
“We need to check this place out,” she says finally. “We don't have enough gas left to make it through the night.”
“What makes you think there'll be any here?” Riley asks.
“Nothing. But we need to take a look.”
“What if there isn't any?” I ask.
She turns to me, but I already know the answer. We've kept going for months on a wing and a prayer, and we've always managed to luck into a half tank of gas here and there. I knew there was an increasing risk that we'd finally run out, but I didn't think it was going to come quite so soon.
“There's no point sitting around here like idiots,” Martha says suddenly, opening the door and climbing out of the car. “Does everyone have a flashlight?”
“Sure,” I mutter, grabbing mine.
“I'll check for gas,” Martha announces, already heading toward the building. “You guys try to find something. Anything. And whatever you do, don't make a fire.”
“We need to keep warm!” Riley calls after her, but she doesn't reply. “We need to keep warm,” he says again, turning first to Katrina and then to me. “What does she want us to do? Freeze all night?”
“She's probably just worried that we'll attract attention,” I point out.
“Those losers are miles away by now,” he replies.
“We don't know that. And a fire would attract attention.”
“We still took that risk before.”
“If you build a fire,” I explain, “she'll just put it out.”
“And who made her the boss?”
“Can you guys just stop arguing?” Katrina snaps, opening the door on her side and climbing out. She mutters something under her breath, but I don't quite catch the words as she storms toward the building ahead.
“What's bugging her?” Riley asks. “Apart from the usual zombie apocalypse stuff, I mean. I swear, the past few days she's been different somehow.”
“Have you asked her about it?”
“I asked if she's okay,” he replies, “but she said she is.” He pauses. “I'm starting to have my doubts. I don't know, man, there's something weird going on. She and I have been pretty close lately, but now she doesn't look at me the same way. It's almost as if she's hiding something. Sometimes I even wonder if she might be...”
His voice trails off.
“If she might be what?” I ask.
“Forget it,” he mutters. “I'm just imagining things.”
“Maybe you should ask again,” I tell him, “and this time, when she says she's fine, keep asking.”
“Do you know something I don't?”
“No,” I lie, “but you two are close. I see that. If you think something's actually wrong, then maybe you should try to get to the bottom of it. That's all I'm saying.”
“Huh.” Another pause. “I guess.”
***
“On a scale of one to ten, where ten is very promising and one is not very promising, this place rates about a... zero?”
As I stop at the broken window and aim my flashlight into the gas station, I have to agree with Riley's assessment. I remember the early days of this disaster, when deserted gas stations were filled with riches. Joe and I robbed one early on, and I felt really bad, but soon I got used to the idea that we had to scavenge whatever we could find. Even after Joe was gone, I used to fairly regularly come across gas stations that hadn't been touched at all, and I'd even leave stuff behind because I simply couldn't take it all away. I used to fill sacks and haul them outside. I rarely ran into trouble, except for that time when I met George.
Huh.
George.
That feels like it was so long ago, but it must be less than a year. I guess those were the good old days.
Now, as I climb into this latest gas station and shine my flashlight around, I find myself thinking back to George and wondering what really happened to him. I know he won't have found his family, but there's a part of me that really hopes he's still out there somewhere. Then again, he was in his late fifties or his early sixties and he had a bad knee, and he set off on foot. I probably should have gone with him, although I'm probably kidding myself if I think I might actually have helped.
Maybe we're all doomed, and the most we can do is delay the inevitable.
“This place has been turned over already,” Riley says with a sigh. “Probably ten times. I bet we're not the first suckers who've come past and convinced ourselves that it's worth stopping.”
“Now you're starting to sound like my sister,” I point out.
“Unfair, man,” he mutters. “Totally unfair.”
I head to the counter and taken a look at the racks, but they're completely empty. At this point, even half a pack of peanuts would feel like winning the lottery, but there's nothing. That realization doesn't stop me going around to double-check, of course, and I look in every drawer just in case someone somehow left a few items behind. I'm already starving, and my belly's rumbling, and the thought of going another night without food is enough to make me feel like -
“Damn it!” Riley yells, and I turn just as he pushes over an old stand and stamps his feet on the side, breaking the plastic.
“What?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” he shouts angrily. “Everything! Look at this place! There's nothing here and we're just fooling ourselves!”
“That doesn't mean that you -”
“I'm sick of this shit!”
He stamps on the pieces of plastic a few more times, cracking them into pieces. All his rage and frustration seems to have boiled over, and for the next couple of minutes I watch as he completely wrecks the stand. I'm simultaneously shocked by his fury and horrified by the futility of how it's all coming out, and finally I feel pretty sorry for him as he steps back and surveys the extent of his work. He's out of breath, and a moment later he mutters something under his breath as he puts his head in his hands and turns to walk away.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Where am I going?” He turns to me. “I don't know where I'm going, Thomas, because I don't even get to choose, do I? Everything's done by committee, and your goddamn sister acts like she's in charge.”
“I don't think she -”
“It's our car,” he adds. “Did you ever stop to think about that? You, me and Katrina stole that car from outside that stupid burger place. What right does your sister have to tell us where we drive our car?�
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“We have to stick together,” I tell him. “I know it's not easy, but at least we're a team. We can figure something out.”
“Keep telling yourself that, man,” he replies angrily, “because at the end of the day, when things really get desperate, it's every man for himself.”
Thomas
“Okay,” Martha says as we sit in the darkness around the rear of the building, both shivering slightly, “in the morning we really need to come up with a proper plan. And it can't be one that relies on luck or miracles, either. We need to figure out what to do once we run out of gas.”
“Are you sure there's nowhere else to look?” I ask. “Don't they have, like, a back-up tank here?”
“Believe me,” she replies, “I've become quite an expert on gas stations over the past year. There's not a drop here, it's all been taken by other people. Good luck to them, I guess. I hope they used it wisely.”
She falls silent, and for a moment I can only stare out at the stars. Every time I've been in a bad situation before, I've managed to find a sliver of hope. From the outbreak of the zombie virus to the time I spent locked in some mad guy's basement, to Lake Erie and the zombie pit, to all that crap that happened in Chicago and Boston, to New York and beyond, there was always the promise of finding some way out. Now it looks like we're stuck here by the side of an abandoned road, and I'm starting to think that Martha was right when she described leaving the farm as a fatal mistake.
Hearing footsteps and voices, I turn just as two silhouettes appear against the night sky, and I realize that Riley and Katrina are back from their walk. Although I know it's unlikely, I can't help but hope that she's told him her news.
“We should stick together,” he says as they come closer.
“I just want some time alone,” she replies.
“Katrina -”
“I'll be fine!” she snaps. “I just want to think!”
I hear Riley sigh as Katrina heads around to the other side of the building.
“How did it go?” I ask.
“There's something wrong with her, but she won't admit what it is.” He sits next to me. “It's like she's keeping something from me. Do you think she's tell me if she had a problem? I mean, if something was really wrong, would she confide in me?”
