“She was on the track team at LSU,” Erin said as she pulled even with Stryker and watched Haley pull away.
“She runs like a freaking gazelle,” Stryker replied. They ran on for another few minutes when the Stryker waved a hand and pointed to a boulder to their right. “Break?”
“Sure.” They sat down on the boulder and struggled to regain their breath.
“You want to talk about why you’re curious about me?” Stryker said after breathing normally. Erin was shocked at the bluntness of his statement and remained mute for a few seconds. She looked away at the horizon, then looked back at his face.
“I’m not sure I want to talk about it.”
“Then just listen.” Stryker laid his hand over her thigh with the palm open. She thought about it for a moment and placed her hand in his. He hadn’t really touched anyone since the last time he saw his wife, and it was oddly reassuring, like stepping into a home with the smell of food cooking. There was an odd quality to it; her hand felt both strong and soft. He looked squarely in her eyes and she held his stare with her own. “I think we are curious about each other, and that’s fine. But I don’t want to put words on it before I know exactly how I feel. I’m happy to discuss it with you if you like.”
She thought it over and glanced down. Her hand was dwarfed in his. She wasn’t sure how she felt; he was, at once, both a terrifying and comforting man who obviously cared deeply for those around him, but had an aura of danger to him that was disquieting. Finally she said, “We’ve only known each other for a few days, and I would say I am curious.”
“I am, too. But that doesn’t mean anything except we’re curious. I don’t sleep with every woman I find interesting and I’m sure you’re the same way. So let’s just be honest about this. We live in a very small world now. Secrets in a small group breed distrust and that always ends poorly. And the others are going to notice sooner or later, anyway.”
“Grandpa already noticed it.”
“Did he bring it up?”
“In the jeep on the way to San Antonio.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised. Not much gets by him.” Erin thought about it as they both watched Haley’s silhouette disappear in the distance. “She’s going to get to California before we finish this conversation,” Stryker said. Erin barked a laugh and then chuckled.
“You’re not attracted to Elle?” she asked.
“Of course I am. I’m not a corpse.”
“But, you’re not curious about her?”
“Well, I’m not sure I can cover all the reasons before your sister hits LA, so the short version is she doesn’t have chispa. It’s a Spanish word for ‘spark,’ but it means a lot more than that. It describes a person who is smart and quick-witted. A person who lives life fully. You can be the most gorgeous person in the world, but without the spark, you’re just not as interesting.”
“So, you’re saying I’m sparky?” She laughed again. “That’s gotta be the weirdest compliment I ever had.” They both fell silent again. When Stryker saw Haley running toward them, he spoke.
“The spark is why you are what you are. Don’t denigrate it. It’s important. I like the fact you hold up your end of whatever burden we face. I even like the fact you came back and got into the fight when we asked you not to. It turned out to be the right thing to do, and neither your grandpa or I made the right decision when we asked you to leave. You did make the right decision when you could have just stayed safe. You’re obviously a brave person. I would value your friendship.”
She stared down at their hands, thought for a second, and said. “You have it.”
“Thank you,” he replied and got up. “Let’s make her work for the finish line.” They both rose to follow Haley but she ran up to them and jogged in place for a few seconds as she spoke.
“I’m going to go out another mile and come back.”
“Okay,” Erin replied. Haley turned and began running and Stryker sat back down. “I don’t want her to get too far away from us. Let’s wait here.”
“You’re probably right.” She sat next to him and they both watched Haley disappear and fell into a comfortable silence. Erin turned their conversation over in her mind, then said, “So, you speak Spanish?”
“I grew up working with migrant ranch hands who spoke almost no English. You won’t find too many Texans that own farms or ranches that don’t speak it.” He thought for a moment, then added, “I also had a Hispanic girlfriend in high school.”
“Was it serious?”
“It was at the time. But I joined the Marines and she went off to Dartmouth on a scholarship. She was the smartest kid in our class. Anyway, she taught me a bit, too. Sometimes we went on ‘Spanish only’ dates.”
“So you just went separate ways?”
“We didn’t plan it that way. When you’re that age, you really don’t think realistically about consequences. Putting two eighteen-year-old kids on opposite ends of the country doing completely different things usually has a negative outcome. But if you’re too young to understand that, you do it without thinking.”
“Well, I guess so. That is sort of what happened to me when I joined the fight with Brody. I didn’t think about the consequences. I killed a man. I’m not sorry I did it, but I had no idea how badly I would feel afterwards.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” he acknowledged. “Another way is to think of the outcome as the girl having a chance to live a decent life. If you’ve never survived combat, you have no way of knowing how that’s going to feel. I spend every day, all day, thinking about the choices I make and the probable outcomes of those choices. Your grandpa is the same way. When you spend years thinking about every step you take and every corner you look around, you get that way or you get sent home in a body bag.”
“I guess we all need to get more like that. I don’t think there are going to be a lot of ‘do overs’ in our futures.”
“Probably not.”
“So is that why you told me that you’re curious about me?”
“Yes. We’re all going to have to be honest and mature about how we treat one another or things will get very, very difficult for everyone.”
“Fair enough. But to be clear, I have no idea what’s going to happen to us, or how we’re going to live. I don’t even know what tomorrow is going to be like. I need some time to adjust to this new world.”
“Nobody is holding a stopwatch.” They fell silent again.
“So, what’s your story?” Stryker asked.
“Well, aside from spending the last two years locked up in a dorm and in a cage, I guess things were pretty normal. I did well in school, went to college to become a nurse and planned to go to medical school; everything was going according to plan. I had boyfriends along the way, a few of them serious, but I always knew I was going into medicine and thought I would start a practice or join a group, marry another doctor, and have kids. Nothing really bad ever happened to me. My family was great. I never really saw evil in people until Brody came along. I don’t think I will every really trust anyone again.” She thought for a moment and added, “except for Grandpa and Haley.” She paused again. “You know he’s sick?”
“Yes.”
“You worried about him?”
“Of course. But what can we do about it? All I can say is he told me he went through the chemo and who knows, maybe he’ll be fine. He’s as tough as they come.”
“That’s what he said about you.”
“We’re both right,” Stryker replied, his face splitting into a lopsided grin.
“What about you? Can I trust you?”
“You’re the only person who can decide that, Erin.”
“That’s not a very reassuring answer.”
“The truth seldom is reassuring.”
“God. Would you please stop with this relentless optimism?” she said sarcastically.
“You’re right,” he deadpanned. “Life’s a bitch, and then you die.”
She just rolled her
eyes and looked away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DIE OFF PLUS SIX MONTHS
Stryker stood over the grave of his wife and child. He was about to depart and make a new start at what had been his grandfather’s ranch. He had loaded weapons, civilian clothing, food, and water into his Jeep for the trip and came back to say goodbye. He touched the crude crosses, sighed, and made his way back to his vehicle.
He had thought for months that it was time to leave. But, the notion of not being able to see their graves deterred him from making the move to go. A week earlier, the power and water grew intermittent, and then ceased to function. Stryker decided, after days of spending evenings reading by flashlight, that it truly was time to leave.
After following Highway 78 and service streets until he was out of town, he headed south and finally turned onto the entrance ramp of Interstate 8, accelerating to cruising speed. The lush landscape around him changed to the dingy, washed-out look of the desert. It was a cloudless, sunny day and the air was much drier than in the city. He ascended a series of hills speckled with cedar and pine trees, then passed through Alpine, California.
The town hugged the south side of the freeway and he passed empty gas stations and fast food joints before again entering the countryside. He crested the last hill and began descending to the desert floor. The miles rolled past, with the vast dreary desert landscape whizzing by him.
He drove through El Centro with the windows rolled up and the air-conditioning on to deaden the smell of rotting flesh and decaying garbage. When he was on the east side of town, he spotted a rest stop and examined it carefully. A black Honda sedan was parked by a picnic table, and smoke rose from a portable weber grill on the table. As he was passing the rest stop, two men emerged from a restroom and gaped when they spotted the car. He hit the brakes and barely managed to navigate the exit without hitting the ditch. As he rolled to a stop about fifty meters from where the men stood, he noted both carried holstered pistols on their right hips. He got out of the Jeep with his carbine held loosely in his right hand.
“You guys want to talk?” Stryker yelled.
The two men looked at each other, one shrugged, and the man on the left said, “Sure, just keep your weapon pointed toward the ground.”
“Okay. You guys keep your hands away from the holsters.” The man nodded. As Stryker approached them, he saw they were identical twins, both with sandy hair and brown eyes. They were slender but not thin, and considerably shorter than Stryker. Both men looked fit and healthy.
“I guess it’s okay if we forego the handshakes,” the man on the left said.
“Works for me. You want to sit and chat for a bit?”
“Sure,” the man replied, moving toward the picnic table. His twin followed and they both glanced nervously over their shoulders until they were seated facing him. Stryker sat down and they examined each other for a minute. Stryker noted they were both impeccably dressed in chinos with tucked-in, collared shirts, their hands were almost dainty, and their nails were clean and recently manicured. Every hair was in place; their smiles revealed perfect sets of teeth. They looked as though they were heading to some art opening or opera rather than traveling across the country through a post-apocalyptic world.
“My name is Stryker.”
“I’m Grady and this is Matt.” The men all nodded.
“Where are you two headed?”
“We’re on our way to Temecula. Our family’s from there and we decided to see if anyone is alive. Our father had a vineyard there and we were raised just outside of town. We were getting pretty bored sitting around doing nothing, so decided to go check things out.”
“You guys have any idea what happened? Where the plague came from or what actually happened?”
“I was an emergency room physician at the Tucson Medical Center. Grady was a biology professor at the University of Arizona,” Matt explained. “We don’t know exactly what happened. But we’re pretty sure the virus was a strain of Ebola that was weaponized because it was spread by airborne transmission. Normal Ebola spreads by human fluid exchanges. The only thing we can conclude is that the virus was man made.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“Only a madman,” Matt replied wearily. “Or someone who had no idea how deadly this disease would become. It was still mutating when we gave up trying to find a vaccine for it.”
“Does anyone know who did it?
“Not that we know of.”
“So, nobody managed to find a cure or vaccine?”
“Not that we know of,” Grady repeated.
“Have you seen any other survivors?” Stryker asked.
“We passed a car just outside Phoenix. There were two people in it and it was heading east. But we didn’t stop. We also saw a survivor in Tucson about three months ago.”
“I was in Camp Pendleton when it started,” Stryker recounted. “A lot of people left the base during the first two days. But by the time it was over, I was the only one left.”
“Where are you headed?” Grady asked.
“My grandfather’s ranch in Texas, I guess.” He paused, then asked, “do you have any idea how many might have survived?”
“There’s no way to know,” Matt replied. “But we have talked about finding a radio station and transmitting messages asking anyone who is listening to assemble somewhere so we can try to rebuild whatever remains. If we could do that, we might find people who could get the water and electricity going again and have a shot at regaining some of what we had.”
“I’m not sure that would work very well. I stopped trying to listen to the radio months ago. It’s just dead air.” He paused, then added, “Have you tried calling people on your cell phone? You know, old friends?”
“We did. But the network went down so we gave up on that. And we had no way to charge them once the power went out.”
“I went to a sporting goods store and got a solar charger. If you kept your phones, you could do the same. I was still getting reception when I left Pendleton, but I suppose that will fail eventually, too.”
“We didn’t keep ours,” Grady said.
“I guess it’s kinda silly to keep mine. But I just can’t bring myself to ditch it. My photos are on it and I have a bunch of messages from my wife and old friends I listen to every so often.” He looked up and saw them both gazing at him with odd expressions. “I know,” he sighed. “You two are the first people I’ve spoken to since this mess began. Maybe I got a little weird there.”
“So you lost your wife?” Grady asked.
“And my daughter.”
“We both lost our wives. No kids, though. That was going to be next year. We wanted our kids to be the same age so they could grow up together,” Grady said. The men sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.
“Do you want to come with us?” Matt asked. “I’m not sure you would fit in our car, but we could take yours.”
“No thanks,” Stryker answered after giving it a brief thought. “I appreciate the offer, but I really want to get to the ranch. I should have power and water there, and it feels like home to me.” Stryker paused for a moment, then asked, “I’m guessing we all survived because we’re immune?”
“That’s what we think. There is no way to prove it as we can’t test for it anymore; but there’s no other answer we can think of. Both of us actually worked on the virus. If anybody should be dead, it would be us. We think the immune share some hereditary traits and that family members who share a parent that was immune inherited the gene and became immune. That’s the only explanation we can come up with. Believe me, we looked under every rock.”
“So there’s a chance your parents are still alive? That’s good news,” Stryker said.
“We’re hoping,” Matt replied.
“Is the plague gone now?”
“Yes. It burned itself out after there were no more hosts to infect. We tested samples from several corpses around two months ago and there was no sign of t
he pathogen,” Matt replied.
“So even if you’re not immune, you still couldn’t catch it?”
“We don’t think so.” They fell silent again.
“Did you guys ever think this could ever come to pass? That we could ever sink this low?” Stryker asked.
“Well, no. This was the unthinkable. Nobody ever imagined this could happen,” Matt replied. “We all knew biological weapons existed, but nobody ever foresaw one that had the capacity to wipe the human race off the earth. That was just too far a stretch for the average person, or even people like me, to visualize.”
“So, I guess we are all reduced to cockroaches. All we do is try to stay alive and live to survive one more day,” Stryker said. “Speaking of which, you two might want to actually load rounds in your pistol magazines.”
The men looked at each other and back to Stryker. “How did you know?” Matt asked.
“That model Beretta weighs 2.55 pounds when fully loaded with the standard clip. That usually pulls the holster slightly away from the pants or mounting point, unless you’re wearing a very tight belt, and you guys aren’t. You don’t have enough sag in your pants for those to be loaded. I’m guessing you have the magazines inserted, but without ammo in the mags.”
“We just took them from a gun store in Tucson and didn’t know what kind of ammunition we needed, so we took the holsters and wore them. We know nothing about firearms, but thought it would be a good idea to have a deterrent in case we ran into trouble,” Matt said. They both looked away, chagrined.
“Well, I might have just killed you if you tried to use an unloaded weapon as a threat; so that’s probably not a good plan. I don’t have any 9mm ammo, but I passed a gun shop about three miles back, and I’m guessing you’d find it there. You guys can figure out how to load the magazines, right?”
“I guess so,” Grady replied. “How do we know what bullets to take?”
“Read the label on the box. Somewhere it’ll say 9mm,” Stryker replied. “Also, load at least a spare magazine each and carry it with you. I don’t know what kinds of threats exist in this new world, but my experience tells me they’re never far away.”
Stryker: A Post-Apocalyptic Tale Page 13
