Fear: The Quiet Apocalypse

by T M Edwards

  I laughed in his face. I couldn’t help it. “I spent half an hour puking my guts out yesterday over a few dead bodies. Or don’t you remember that? Before all this started, I barely left my house. The only reason I’m still standing is because my brain broke so bad that I hardly feel anything anymore. And then sometimes I feel everything, all at once, and it just about kills me. Do you really want that? Because it’s not any better than falling to pieces over a noise that reminds you of being in a war zone.”

  Sam growled, and pushed past me, headed back toward the truck. For a moment I just stared out over the gray-green bushes and rocks, and listened to him slamming things around in the truck bed. Then I heard him raise the hood, and figured I should probably help. I limped back to stand silently next to him as he examined the inner workings of the vehicle.

  Even before I’d managed to make heads or tails out of what I was seeing, Sam cursed and let the lid slam back down. “Well, looks like we’re walking.”

  “You can’t fix it?”

  “Not unless you’ve got a fully-stocked mechanic shop stashed in your backpack somewhere.”

  I groaned and scrubbed wearily at my face. “So much for getting there today.”

  Sam cursed again, and kicked at the gravel. I didn’t know what to say, so I limped around the truck and started pulling stuff down. I rolled up the sleeping bag and tied it to the bottom of my pack. Then I slung my backpack over my shoulders, and grabbed the tent bag. I was going to have to wait for Sam to lift the cart down, since I wasn’t strong enough.

  Then I hopped up on the open tailgate and sat while I waited for Sam to calm down and come help me. When he finally walked around to the back of the truck, it was in stony silence. He lifted the cart full of food down, and carried it over to the asphalt before setting it on the ground. Then he began to walk, and I had to limp quickly to keep up with him.

  We hadn’t even gone half a mile before the pain in my ankle was agonizing. I dropped further and further behind, trying valiantly to just keep walking. The movement of my still-sore knees against my yoga pants broke the scabs, and soon the fabric was sticking to the drying blood. I just forced myself to keep walking, and hoped Sam would notice, because I couldn’t muster the courage to ask him to slow down.

  I felt, more than heard, the cracking sound in my ankle, just as unbearable pain blazed up my leg. My leg collapsed beneath me and I fell to the ground with a cry. Whimpering, I grasped my leg by the knee and rocked back and forth.

  Through the haze of pain, I heard footsteps running toward me on the asphalt, and forced my eyes open to see Sam kneel down in front of me.

  “Deidre, what’s wrong? What happened?”

  “My ankle,” I gasped out, and only halfway managed to suppress the scream when Sam gently took my foot in his hands and placed it on his knees. I fell back onto my elbows while he carefully rolled up the hem of my pants.

  I heard him hiss when he saw my ankle. “That bad?” I tried to joke, but it came out as more of a whine.

  “Deidre, I can see the break. How long have you been walking on this?”

  I shook my head. “It wasn’t that bad…”

  “Well yeah, you obviously made it worse by continuing to walk. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I shifted my weight onto one elbow and angrily scrubbed the tears from my eyes. “It wasn’t like you could do anything…”

  “I could have splinted it so your entire weight wasn’t putting pressure on the fracture.” Sam sighed, and as gently as he could, which was still enough to make my entire body spasm with the pain, he set my foot down on the asphalt. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  I watched him stride quickly away, and grab the cart, then he rolled it back toward me. I watched as he started pulling things out and tossing them on the ground next to the wheels.

  “What are you doing? We need that stuff.”

  Sam looked at me with one eyebrow raised. “You’ve got a choice here. We can hang on to everything in the cart, and just stay right here until it all runs out, or we can lose some of it, you can ride in the cart, and we might be a little hungry by the time we reach Vegas. Which do you prefer?”

  My ankle hurt, and I was exhausted, and the added pressure of being asked to make a decision was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and I just burst into tears. Not strong, silent tears either. This was definitely what my friends would have termed an “ugly cry,” the kind that would make my eyes this frightening combination of green irises surrounded by bloodshot veins, and made me look like the number of my freckles had doubled, because of how blotchy my face became.

  Sam was silent, except for a sigh as he resumed tossing things out of the cart. As I clutched the knee of my injured leg with one hand, and scrubbed in utter futility at my eyes with the other, I heard Sam walk back toward me, then he crouched down next to me. He put one arm around my shoulders and the other behind my knees, and stood up with me in his arms. I looked at his face, so close to mine, but he wasn’t looking at me. He carried me over to the cart, and set me, backpack and all, inside it. My legs were hanging out over the end. It was incredibly uncomfortable.

  Without a word, Sam pushed the cart into motion. I wrestled my backpack off of my back and into my arms, then shoved it between my butt and the end of the cart so that my knees could rest on it instead of the top metal edge. That left my head and shoulders resting against the bare metal in an awkward position. These last miles might very well be worse than the rest of the entire trip combined.

  Day 38. October 24th

  It was definitely worse. Not just because of the cart, either. Now that I wasn’t walking, and focused on just putting one foot in front of the other, I had nothing to do but watch the arid landscape crawl past. I tried to engage Sam in conversation to relieve some of the boredom, but for some reason I couldn’t fathom, his friendly charm had turned into a sort of stony silence. He insisted he wasn’t angry with me, yet refused to answer my attempts to engage him with anything more than one-sentence answers.

  I wish Sam would realize that I needed something to distract myself from the pain in my ankle. I’d barely slept at all last night, even though Sam had set up the tent for me and let me have the sleeping bag. Last night I’d felt just how hard and lumpy the ground was, and I missed the truck fiercely. Exhaustion combined with pain never made me a very happy person.

  Since Sam wouldn’t talk, I just sat in the cart with my arms crossed and my backpack behind me, and tried to find things to think about that weren’t utterly depressing. I daydreamed of reaching our destination, of being greeted by scientists in white lab coats and ushered into some building where we would be given a hot meal and maybe even showers. I dreamed of somewhere we’d be able to sleep in real beds again, maybe.

  My nasty hair was piled on top of my head in a heavy bun, the knees of my pants were stiff with old blood, as was the place where I’d gashed my leg on the car. I knew I smelled bad, but I couldn’t tell anymore. I constantly felt like my skin and scalp were crawling from the accumulation of so many days of dirt. I couldn’t bear to think about the number of germs that were all over me right then. How did people survive like this, before showers and hand sanitizer became commonplace? No wonder they all died young.

  “It’s about to rain,” Sam’s voice came from behind me.

  I looked up to the western sky, and saw the heavy clouds that were approaching. I groaned. “Great.”

  “Do you want to travel through it, or wait it out?”

  I was leaning back, with my injured leg propped up on the knee of my other one. I shifted to try and move a buckle on the backpack that was digging into my shoulder. “I don’t care.”

  “That’s a first.”

  I sighed loudly, and let my head roll back on my backpack until I could see Sam. “I dunno what your deal is right now, but I really don’t care. You’re the one walking. You decide.”

  Sam leaned over the cart and pushed it a little faster. “Let’s see how far we ca
n get before it hits. I’d like to make another ten miles today.”

  So, on we traveled, toward the cloud bank that loomed to our front and left. I laid my head back and closed my eyes when my anxiety began to mount from watching the storm approach. I was having flashbacks to the monster storm that had caused so much hail damage. Our tent would be useless if this storm imitated the one I’d experienced back home. I couldn’t rid myself of the image of giant hailstones ripping through the fabric to turn us into broken and bloody pulps.

  The first drops of rain pelted my upturned face, and I opened my eyes to see the leading edge of darker cloud directly above us. I closed them again as more drops fell, heavy and cold. An idea flashed through my head and I pulled the tent bag out from underneath my elbow and pulled it out, throwing the plastic over myself to protect my body from the water.

  I heard a noise behind me that sounded like Sam chuckling. “Well, that’s one way to stay dry.”

  “It’s cold,” I mumbled in annoyance.

  “Yes, I’m aware.”

  I pulled the plastic, which was infested with bits of grass and dirt, away from my face. I looked back at him. “Did you ever have to deal with anything like this in the military?”

  “Not so much in the desert, no. That was mostly a hundred-plus degrees and carrying lots of gear.”

  Well, that explained why he never seemed to get tired of pushing the cart. He just strode along, seemingly tireless. The cart would probably wear out before he did. The wheels were already worn and ragged-looking.

  “I can’t imagine. I think I’d die.”

  “Which is why I was the soldier and not you.” Sam’s dry tone took the sting from his words. “But I don’t think that’s true. I think you’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

  I threw the plastic back over my face and snorted as I laid my head back down. “Yeah, sure. The girl riding in the grocery store cart with a broken ankle is ‘tough.’”

  “I’ve known grown men to cry over broken bones. I’ve seen men, good soldiers, tears turning the dust on their faces to mud when an arm or leg was fractured. The injury is not what defines your character, it’s how you handle the injury.”

  I sat in silence, picturing men in uniforms in a desert climate. Raindrops tapped out a rhythm on the plastic. The wind was picking up, and a cold breeze tugged at the corners of the tent. The cart bumped over a rock and I hissed when the jolt sent pain lancing through my ankle.

  “Sorry,” Sam muttered. The cart crunched over gravel, and stopped. “I think we should ride out the storm here. It’s starting to look pretty nasty.”

  I pulled the tent down. The land to the sides of the road rose sharply, and between the slopes, I could see the clouds so dark that they were nearly black. The ragged edges of the stormfront hung low and threatening over the landscape. I imagined every tendril of mist was a tornado in the making.

  Sam took the tent from me, and the bag which still held the stakes, and set it up in the dirt a few feet away from the road, just before the spot where the ground sloped upward. Then he came back and lifted me out. He slung my backpack over his shoulder before he helped me limp over to the tent and crawl inside.

  “I’ll be right back.” He tossed my backpack into the tent and disappeared. The tent shuddered in a gust of wind, and when the sound faded away, I heard the cart being dragged closer. Sam reappeared in the doorway with the blanket that was tied around what little food we’d kept, and a gallon of water hanging from each index finger. He crawled into the tent next to me and zipped the door closed. I was suddenly aware of how small the space was with two people in it.

  The wind roared loudly, and I jumped when the cart fell over with a crash.

  “Good thing I didn’t park it next to us,” Sam remarked as he set the food and water in a corner.

  I just nodded. The sound had made my heart leap into my throat, and my chest was feeling tight. The only thing protecting the two of us from the weather was this tiny building of plastic and canvas.

  “Hey.” I turned to look at Sam when he spoke. “What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head and swallowed hard. “Don’t like storms.”

  He reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be okay.” Then he pulled the backpack onto his lap and unstrapped the sleeping bag from the bottom of it, which he then spread on the ground.

  I moved when he asked me to move, helped when he requested help, but my mind was elsewhere. The rumbles of thunder were quickly growing closer, and rain pelted the tent with ever increasing force. As the wind whipped at the fabric, I got the uncomfortable feeling of being in a giant blender.

  Lightning flashed outside, and thunder crashed only a split second later. I about jumped out of my skin, and then whimpered when the movement jarred my ankle.

  Without a word, Sam moved closer. I didn’t resist as he pulled me onto his crossed legs and wrapped his arms around me.

  “Don’t cry, Deidre. It’s just rain.”

  I hadn’t even realized I was crying until that moment. I turned my face and grabbed at his shirt, burying my face in his chest. His arms tightened around me, as if they were ropes preventing me from flying into pieces with anxiety. I forced myself to breathe deeply, barely even noticing the scent of clothing that was desperately in need of washing, of a man who hadn’t showered in over a week.

  The wind continued to increase, until the tent struggled against the stakes and the rain struck the sides so hard that they sounded like tiny hailstones. This didn’t help my anxiety in the least, and I ended up with my hands clapped over my ears, eyes shut so tightly that I started to see sparkles. I felt Sam’s chest vibrate, but I couldn’t hear what he said.

  We sat like that, I had no idea how long, while the storm raged around us. We were two people, in the middle of nowhere Arizona, entirely at the mercy of the autumn thunderstorm. Protected only by $20 worth of fabric and a few metal hooks and poles. Helpless. Alone. Tiny.

  I prayed to any god that might be listening to please just let us make it through. I knew it was irrational, but the fear had settled so deep into my bones that reason and sanity could no longer permeate. I now understood why people clung to a faith with such fervor. They had someone to depend on when this fear, too large for one brain or body to contain, engulfed them.

  Day 39, October 25th

  I woke to dim morning light in the tent, and an aching ankle. At some point I must have fallen asleep and Sam had covered me with his coat. I reached out a hand to search for him, but I was alone in the tent. I sat up and tugged the hair tie out of the rat’s nest on my head, and re-did it into a slightly less messy bun.

  When I unzipped the tent door, I saw Sam sitting a few feet in front of me on the gravel of the road’s shoulder, with our other blanket drawn around his shoulders.

  Sam turned at the sound of the zipper. “Hey.”

  I would have joined him if I was able to walk. “Hey.”

  “You okay?”

  I nodded. “Are you?”

  Sam shrugged and turned back to face the pale sunrise.

  Even this desolate landscape was rendered beautiful by the few remaining drops of water that clung to dead grass and pebbles. I followed Sam’s gaze to where the sky was turning a pastel pink in preparation for the sun to crest the horizon. I drew a deep breath of air that was crisp with the promise of coming winter.

  Sam stood and folded the blanket. “I guess we should get moving.”

  As he approached me, I could see the deep, dark circles under his eyes. “Did you sleep at all?”

  He just shrugged, and knelt down to crawl into the tent next to me. He handed me a granola bar, which I took, then re-tied the corners of the blanket that held the food. He pulled the cart upright and loaded our stuff back onto it. Once I was sitting in it as comfortably as I could, he took down the tent and packed it into the bag, which he handed to me before walking out of my line of sight. The cart jolted into motion, and the familiar noise of the wheels on as
phalt once again became the ever-present soundtrack of my thoughts.

  The rain had washed away the dust from every surface, and filled the air with the scent of damp asphalt. A cool breeze teased at the curl that had escaped my attempts to tie my hair back.

  I was worried about Sam. I couldn’t help it. I knew he’d been a soldier and was probably used to harsh conditions, but how long could a person go without sleep? What happened if he just collapsed at some point and I couldn’t get myself out of the cart?

  “Hey, Sam?” I asked after a while.

  “Yeah?”

  “How much farther do you think we have?”

  “Once we come up on Lake Mead, maybe about 60 miles.”

  “How far is Lake Mead?”