by Dave Bowman
But after that -- what would she do? Where would she go?
The gunshots rang out again, this time a little closer.
If this crazy virus had killed off most of the city, leaving her and just a few other people, society would simply break down. Already the power and cell phones had gone out. Water would be next. Her small pantry full of non-perishable goods -- and the day-old baked goods Frank had given her -- wouldn't last long.
She anxiously considered that there would be no one to enforce the law. Maybe it had already reached that point -- the gunshots sure made it seem that way. There would be looting and theft. And she didn't want to think about what else.
She would have to leave Albuquerque. She didn't know where she would go, but she knew there was no future for her there as the city crumbled.
7
Nick groggily looked out the window at the rising sun. It took him a moment to remember all that had happened, and it hit him in the gut. He saw the empty bed, and the pain came flooding back.
He pushed himself out of bed and looked at his wrist watch. He had been asleep for about 12 hours – much longer than he had intended to sleep. It wasn't a good time to be catching up on rest, but his body had needed it.
He flipped the light switches to no avail. The power was off. He checked on the beef jerky. Luckily, it had dried out before losing electricity. He bagged up the valuable, shelf stable protein source.
The food in the fridge was still cold and had not gone bad, so he finished off the leftovers from the day before. He was hungry, and he knew he'd need some calories to face what lay before him.
He got to work immediately. He didn't know what he would encounter on the road between the city and his mountain lodge, so he gathered up camping gear. He wouldn't need most of it at the lodge, since it was outfitted with everything to sleep and live in simple comfort. But he wanted to be prepared for the unexpected out on the road.
Making a big pile of gear in the living room, he gathered up a tent, sleeping bag and pad, an ax and a saw for firewood, cook pots and eating implements, ropes, tarps, lanterns and flashlights. He packed many gallons of water and enough food for several days, his pocket knives and sharpener, medical supplies, changes of clothes for warm and cool weather, and toilet paper.
He took his self-built AR-15 and his hunting rifle – a 7mm Remington Magnum – from the safe. He packed the boxes of bulk ammo he had bought. Along with the Glock he wore in his holster, it was likely enough to face whatever he might run into.
Standing in the doorway of the bedroom he had shared with Kaitlyn, he felt his heart clench. She would want this. She would want him to survive.
He gathered up some photos of their life together, a few mementos. The scarf she had knitted him last winter, the love letters they had exchanged when they were dating. He stood in Owen's room and the pain of loss gripped him. He took some artwork his son had made, storing it carefully in a family photo album, and grabbed a couple of Owen's favorite science fiction books. He couldn't bear to leave without taking a few of the things that had meant so much to his son.
With his gun in his holster, he stood in the doorway of his home, looking it over one last time. Then he turned and left, his heart lurching in his chest.
A few hours later, Nick wiped the sweat from his brow. He was getting on the road out of town later than he had hoped.
He'd had to bury Kaitlyn's parents in their backyard. He found them dead in their bed, holding hands. Their faces were plastered with that same grotesque smile that the virus left on everyone. He really didn't have the time to spare, but he knew his wife would want them to be buried.
After finishing the grisly task, he pulled out of the residential neighborhood and passed a group of three teenage boys breaking into a convenience store. They looked up as he drove past, startled to see someone else on the streets. The boys were the first live people he'd seen in days. He kept moving, but kept his gun within reach.
He scanned through the radio in his truck, looking for any signal, but there was none. He had no idea how many people had survived this plague, but he guessed that there was no longer a police force, military, or government. Each person would have to make it on their own.
Nick imagined that things would get worse as people searched for water, food, and supplies. He was glad to be leaving the city. Still, he felt uneasy about the hours that faced him on the road, driving a truck loaded down with precious supplies.
He had never told many people about his lodge in the mountains that he and Kaitlyn had stocked for just such an apocalyptic event. Most people laughed when they found out, dismissing him as a nut. They wanted to believe that the modern way of life would never end. They needed to believe. They could continue to go through their lives mindlessly, reassured that all the modern technology would never fail them. The government would always be there to protect them. The water systems would always pipe potable water to their houses, and there would always be trucks to bring food to their stores from far away -- just waiting to be purchased with plastic cards and processed digitally.
In the end, he had been right -- modern civilization's days were numbered. Of course, he wasn't prepared for a killer virus that would claim his wife and son.
But how could he have prepared for that? No one had been ready for it. Within six days of hearing of the Hosta virus for the first time, most of his city was dead. There was no cure, no immunization, and there was no way to prevent its spread.
But Nick had survived. And those kids robbing the store. And who knew how many others, all over the world, had survived. Had ten percent of the population survived? Five percent? Less?
It was a big, empty world now, and Nick had never before felt so alone.
He took the ramp to enter I-10. There were stopped cars with corpses scattered about that he had to weave his way through. It seemed as if a tide of people had tried to flee El Paso, but had gotten too ill during their escape to continue driving. In every direction, he saw the faces of the dead grinning at him. He tried not to look.
Up ahead, the interstate was impassable. There had been accidents on the overpass, and the cars had just piled up, some of them burned.
He took the exit from the interstate and got on the access road, following along the highway. There were still a few wrecked cars that he had to dodge, but it was at least passable.
Nick was nearly out of the city when he saw movement. A couple of young guys standing next to a parked car waved him down. The guys seemed to be stranded, and they looked harmless, but he touched his gun in its holster, just to make sure it was ready.
Nick pulled his truck up next to them, but kept his engine on.
"Man, are we glad to see you!" the first guy said. He wore a baseball cap and spoke in the neutral accent typical of El Paso.
"Yeah, we're stuck out here in the suburbs," the other guy said. "Ain't nothing around here for miles."
"Nothing but dead bodies, smiling up at you. Creepy as hell."
“Not too many of us left alive,” Nick said. “What can I do for you fellows?"
The second guy, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, approached the truck. "We need gas. Our car just ran out and died. Can you help us out?"
Nick looked them over, and then opened his door and walked over to the men.
"I don't have any to spare, but I can help you siphon off some gas from that car over there," he said, nodding his head in the direction of an older Buick. "It'll be an important skill to have now, considering the gas stations won't be running without power."
The guy in the black T-shirt peered into the back of Nick's truck, craning his neck to see all the gear. He whistled.
"Looks like you're all stocked up. You got all kinds of useful stuff in this truck. You're all set up for the end of the world, ain't you?"
Nick turned sharply to face them. The kid in the baseball cap looked away, but the other one stared at Nick, who steadily met his gaze.
"Maybe we should just take his truck.
What do you say, Brad?"
Brad looked at his partner, then at Nick. The three of them were still, eyes locked, for just a moment. Then Nick reached for his gun as Brad and his partner lunged at him. Nick was just a split second faster, though, and he drew his gun on the young men. They froze, their hands raised.
"Shit, we didn't know you were gonna go all Clint Eastwood on us," the second guy said. "You know we were just joking, right?"
"Like hell you were," Nick said. "Hands on your head. Both of you."
He made the guys march through the parking lot and stand against a building, facing the wall.
Suddenly full of remorse, they whined and pleaded with Nick, who ignored them their pleas. He didn't want to shoot them, but he did want to give them a good scare.
"I'm guessing you're not really out of gas," Nick called out to them as he returned to the truck.
"No, we are," the baseball cap kid called out. "We really are stranded out here."
"Guess you'll be driving out of here in a new car after all. You just gotta pull one of those corpses out of the way."
The kid in the black shirt whined. "Come on, man, leave us some gas. I don't wanna touch them dead bodies!"
"You're lucky you're not dead along with them," Nick said, settling in behind the wheel once more. "I could've shot you for trying to steal my truck. If I see either one of you again, you won't be so lucky."
He drove off, chiding himself for letting his guard down. He'd come so close to losing his vehicle. If there had been more of them, and if they'd had guns, it could have gone much worse.
He'd have to be much more careful from now on. No one was around to stop the criminal elements in the world. And going through something as hellacious as the end of the world was enough to make even good people do crazy things.
This new world he found himself in was already turning to be colder than the one he knew before.
8
Liz looked at her state map, trying to decide where to go. South of her was the Gila National Forest, where she had been camping with friends once or twice before. It was also mostly drier country. She would need to be around fresh sources of water. North of her were mountains with cool creeks and scattered lakes. It was also closer. North it was.
It was already well into the afternoon, and she hated to be getting on the road so late, but she didn't want to stay another night in the city.
She had buried her best friend today. She knew that Victor must already be dead, along with Sarah's family, so it was up to Liz to dispose of the body. It had taken her most of the day, and her muscles already ached from the demanding physical work she was unaccustomed to. Dragging Sarah outside by pulling on the bed sheet she was wrapped in was almost mentally and physically impossible for her, and digging the hole was exhausting. Liz had wanted to give up many times. But she had forced herself to carry the task out to completion, unable to leave her friend lying dead on her bed.
After saying goodbye to Sarah, she had returned home one last time. Now, her car was already loaded and ready to go. She had packed her small assortment of canned and dried food along with what remained of her fresh food, her bottled water, a few changes of her most practical clothes, hiking boots, and some pictures of her family. Luckily, she had a little camping gear that she had inherited from her family -- a tent, a sleeping bag, tarps, a water filter, and cooking gear. It wasn't much, but she had never had much to begin with.
At least it was enough to get her out of the city and away from the gunshots she heard occasionally. What she would find in the woods, and how she would survive when her food ran out, she didn't know. She had been on her own for a while, though, and knew that she would figure out some way to live.
What she didn't have was gasoline. Her car was at a quarter of a tank. Not nearly enough to make it to the mountains to her north. She would have to fuel up somehow.
She locked herself in her Honda and left her deadly silent apartment complex. She was glad to go -- she assumed that her neighbors were lying dead in their apartments all around her, and it gave her an awful feeling.
The two corner stores she drove past had been broken into. There was evidence of other survivors in her city, which made her feel a little better, in a way. At least she wasn't the last person alive, like one of the old black-and-white Twilight Zone episodes that had scared her as a kid.
On the other hand, all the evidence she had of survivors was the broken glass at corner stores and the sound of gunfire in the distance. Her city felt violent and unsafe. She wasn't sure she would want to associate with other survivors of this virus. Hiding out in the mountains sounded like the safest bet.
She found a gas station off I-25. No one had broken into it, and it was deserted. She had been worried about the fuel pumps -- would they work with the electricity shut off? It didn't take her long to confirm that no, they wouldn't.
"Dammit!" she said to no one in particular.
She looked around her. There were a few cars nearby -- some parked, some wrecked. She knew there was a way to siphon gas from vehicles, but she didn't know how. Besides, she had nothing to use to collect the gasoline.
Liz paced around the station. She didn't feel safe being in plain sight like this. She felt vulnerable, and she was worried everyone living had gone crazy without any laws to keep them in check.
Her only means of defense was the pepper spray on her key chain. The spray was two years old, and she had never tested it. She just hoped she wouldn't have to use it.
If only she could fuel up her car and get back on the road, she would feel safer. But without a working gas pump or a way to siphon, that only left one option.
Her eyes fell on the SUV crashed into the light pole a hundred feet away. The vehicle wasn’t damaged too badly. She could make out a corpse behind the wheel, all gnarled and twisted in frozen agony. The keys were no doubt still in the ignition, and with luck, there would be gas in the tank. But it would mean pulling a dead person out from behind the wheel – one that would have a grin on its face.
She looked once more inside the windows of the convenience store, as if she would find some kind of solution behind the barred windows. The shelves were well stocked with the usual snacks, drinks, and magazines. Nothing that would help her in this moment.
She wandered around to the back of the station. There was another building connected to the main store. A couple of wilted potted plants, a couple of old kids' toys. Had someone lived here?
The front door was closed, but there was an open window with the screen exposed behind the security bars.
It wasn't that out of the ordinary for a family to live in a small house like this behind a business in the outskirts of the city, so Liz didn't think it too strange. She assumed the family had died in the house, and the smell confirmed it. It was a thought that spooked her, so she turned to leave.
But out of the corner of her eye as she was turning, she saw it. A tiny movement inside the house.
Liz looked again, moving closer to the screened window. She saw a TV, a beaten up couch, and a pile of empty food wrappers. Nothing. Liz shook her head. This whole situation was really starting to get to her. Playing tricks on her mind.
"A mouse," Liz muttered to herself, hoping the sound of her own voice would help keep her grounded in reality. The world was so quiet now, and she wanted to hear something, even if it meant talking to herself. "It must have been a mouse. Not me losing my mind."
She turned to go, steeling her nerves for the task that lay before her.
"Wait!" a small, high-pitched voice cried.
Liz nearly jumped out of her skin.
She definitely didn't imagine that. And it was the first human voice she'd heard since speaking to Sarah two days ago.
The voice had come from inside the house, she was sure of it. She looked back in the window. Behind a reclining chair, a heap on the floor began to move.
A small child poked her head out from under a blanket behind the chair, looking out at Liz.
"Wait," she repeated quietly.
Liz's fear fell away. It was just a little girl. Most importantly, there was someone else alive. She immediately felt relief, but that soon subsided when she realized this kid must have gone through hell.
"Hi," Liz began, her mouth stumbling over the words. "I'm -- I'm so happy to see you. I haven't seen a live person in days. I can't believe it."
The girl didn't respond, but watched her from her vantage point behind the chair.
"My name is Liz. Are you all right?"
She blinked at Liz, clearly paralyzed with fear.
"I'm alone. Are you alone?" Liz asked, her mouth dry.
The girl stared, then slowly nodded.
"What's your name?"
"Mia," came the response.
"Mia," Liz repeated. "Do you live here?"
She nodded.
"Where are your parents?"
Mia looked toward the back of the house.
"Back there."
"Are -- are they dead?"
Mia nodded, then looked down.
"I'm so sorry, Mia," Liz said, grabbing the window bars and moving her face closer to the screen.
“How long have you been in here with them?”
“Two days.”
Liz felt a lump in her throat looking at the girl, who was clearly traumatized from the experience. She wanted to help her, and she wanted them both to get out of the gas station. They were exposed and vulnerable in their current location.
"Look, we need to get you out of there, OK?"
Mia nodded and cautiously inched forward, moving out from behind the recliner. Then she froze, looking curiously at Liz.
"I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," Liz said. "I can get you out of here. I have a car and I'm leaving the city. Well, if I can find gas, that is."
Mia stared at her, unmoving.
"Do you want to go with me?" Liz asked, trying to keep her anxiety and impatience from scaring the little girl, but also feeling pressed for time as the sun got lower. "I'm going camping up in the mountains. It -- it's the only thing I know to do. We can't stay here."
