Reckoning.2015.010.21

by Michaelbrent Collings

  I shouldn't be seeing this. Shouldn't be seeing this out the side window.

  The Marauder had spun completely sideways. Turned perpendicular to its proper course. Still skipping along the road, but if this didn't change they'd end up barreling into the burning trees north of the road.

  He looked at Amulek. Expecting to see the teen wrestling with the wheel again, trying valiantly to bring their sideways skid under control.

  Amulek was doing no such thing.

  Christopher was mostly behind the teen, but even with the small sliver of his face that was visible at this angle, he could tell Amulek wasn't fighting the wheel. At least, not to turn the car back onto the road. He was turning the steering wheel in exactly the wrong direction for that. Guiding the Marauder not back onto the highway, but forcing it off the road.

  Spinning the wheel again.

  Maggie: screaming. Buck: holding her down. Aaron: bracing for impact. Theresa: hand in his.

  Amulek opened his mouth in a wordless scream. Christopher remembered Mo, battling zombies in the bunker, screaming a Māori war cry. Christopher suspected that Amulek was shouting the same words, if only in his mind. Words in a different language, but Christopher had understood the gist of them, all the same: Screw you. My enemies will fall, my friends will stand. I spit in the face of the death that's come.

  The Marauder slammed off the road. Hit the soft shoulder with a grind and a lurch that ate up a good chunk of its speed. But it wasn't stopping.

  Aaron lurched over. Tried to grab the wheel from the boy, and Christopher could tell from his expression that he thought the kid had lost it.

  Aaron's good hand fell on the wheel. And Amulek shot out a hammer fist that caught the cowboy in the temple and knocked him clear across the cockpit with a single powerful blow. Aaron hit the passenger side window hard enough that Christopher thought he might crack the reinforced glass.

  The air suddenly heated up – a matter of twenty degrees in the space of a second.

  Then the soft shoulder disappeared. It was just dirt.

  They had entered the forest.

  They were in the fire.

  73

  One of the teachers at a religious boarding school Christopher had attended was very fond of telling him he was bound for Hell. This had usually come with a vibrant description of the place: worms crawling in and out of the faces of the damned, screaming and wailing of the tormented, and an eternal flame that devoured everything but was never sated.

  Two out of three.

  Everyone was screaming as they flew into the forest. And the fire all around might not have been eternal, but in that moment it was the sum of Christopher's universe. A flickering light that consumed everything around them, that writhed its way up the trunks of the trees.

  All we need's the worms and we're in Hell.

  Christopher kept screaming, a shout that seemed ever farther away, as though he were losing track of himself.

  A trio of gunshots severed the scream. He went from full-throated roaring to silence in an instant as the explosions rattled around the Marauder's interior. He almost dove to the floor, probably only stopping because that space was more or less occupied by Maggie and Buck and the girls, and even Buck was in danger of slipping headfirst through the hole the acid had burned through the floor.

  BOOM.

  Another explosion. It finally penetrated that he wasn't actually hearing gunshots – the sounds were too high-pitched, with strange crackles at the beginning and end.

  Another explosion, and this time Christopher was looking out the right side window, watching as a tree with a boa of flame curling around its base and writhing its way up the trunk suddenly blew apart. The moisture in the tree had expanded too fast to be contained in its trunk, and the resultant explosion ripped the tree – easily fifty feet tall, and proportionately broad – right in half.

  The top half of the tree tore away. Spun in the air like a propeller. Plummeted and slammed into the ground only a few feet behind the Marauder.

  And Amulek kept driving. Pushing deeper into the fire. Deeper. The air getting hotter, so hot it hurt to take in breath. Christopher felt some of the hairs of his arm begin to singe.

  What's going on? What's Amulek doing?

  He's lost it.

  We're done.

  He glanced behind the Marauder. Saw motion everywhere: branches falling, fire leaping up from every flammable bit of grass or wood or leaf, and…

  … and dark things that shimmered in the heat waves. Black lines behind them. Streaming into the woods like their own kind of forest fire. This one not of heat and brightness, but of cold and the black of the damned.

  The zombies had followed them. Followed into flame, and now this truly was Hell.

  Hotter, hotter.

  Christopher realized there were still a few gas tanks in the back of the Marauder. And though he was fairly certain that Amulek had lost it and they were going to die in this place, he didn't want to go up in a ball of flame.

  Maybe that'd be faster. Better.

  He rebelled against the idea. They might die. But he was damned if he was going to help the process along.

  He tried to get out of his chair. Fell back, tried again. Fell.

  The black lines in the forest were coming closer. Still wavering in the heat, but looking less like mirages with every passing moment.

  Christopher crawled over Maggie and Buck. He stayed on hands and knees – the only way motion was possible in the cargo area given the pounding it was taking as it crashed through brush, especially if he wanted to avoid being tossed out the hole in the floor.

  Shouldn't we have hit something by now?

  He looked over his shoulder. Saw Amulek whipping the wheel back and forth. Spinning it expertly as he turned the Marauder from left to right and back again. Trees appeared in front of the vehicle, over and over, and each time Amulek moved the wheel just enough to miss.

  Christopher didn't understand. Clearly the kid didn't want to crash them into anything. But why would he care after sending them into this certain death in the first place? Surely one way to kill them all was as good as another?

  Christopher crawled to the back of the Marauder. There was a latch on the side of the tailgate, and he yanked it. The back tore loose, and as it did he realized he'd made a terrible mistake.

  74

  A fire needs heat, fuel, and oxygen. And no matter how much of each it might have, it always hungers for more.

  The second Christopher opened the tailgate of the Marauder, he felt heat flash over him. It was almost a physical push, the temperature rising so fast that it nearly staggered him.

  At the same time, he was almost yanked right out the back of the Marauder as the air that had been trapped inside found a larger hole to escape through than the hole in the floor. Wind whipped past him and Christopher lurched forward. Grabbed the inside of the tailgate latch. Barely kept from falling out, hardly noticed the flare of pain that blossomed on his palm as he grabbed the hot metal.

  He weaved, right there in the threshold between what safety remained and a headlong pitch onto the burning ground passing below.

  He blinked. Couldn't see. Everything hot. Too hot.

  Something swam in front of him. Black threads in a red tapestry. More blinking. The red continued to swim and waver, but the black threads solidified.

  The zombies. Loping through the trees, following the Marauder in its mad dash to death.

  Christopher heard their flesh popping. Seething as the moisture inside expanded, just as it had done with the trees.

  One of the zombies stumbled. Fell. It didn't get up.

  Christopher acted on autopilot. Not thinking. Muscle memory taking over. He let go of the tailgate and grabbed something flat. Heavy. He pushed it out of the Marauder. It hit. Bounced. Disappeared behind them.

  Another item. Flat. Heavy.

  Push.

  Out.

  One of the creatures was close enough he could see it reaching
forward. Running, its features melting like wax and then turning to charcoal and ash.

  A fireball, larger than the ones already blooming among the trees, blazed into being. It engulfed the zombie. The creature disappeared in flame as the gas can Christopher had just tossed out exploded right behind it.

  The explosion pulsed out, catching Christopher and shoving him back like a fevered fist to the chest. Which was a good thing, because he had been about to fall out.

  He flew back. Tumbled into something –

  (Buck he's always in the way why doesn't he sit on a chair like a normal person)

  – then flipped sideways into something else –

  (don't grab her boob she'll kill you for sure if you do that again)

  – and then his head smacked into one of the windows and the world went from red and white and yellow to black.

  75

  The darkness came and went swiftly, but long enough for things to change radically. The fire was still there, the crackling and explosions of trees bursting within themselves. The heat still washed over Christopher in searing waves.

  Everyone was screaming.

  "What –"

  "Where are –"

  "Are you insane?"

  That last was Theresa, and he realized dully that her arms were around his chest. She must have pulled him in after the gas can blew. But she wasn't letting go.

  Isn't that wrong? Shouldn't she let go? Or at least grab my boob?

  He looked around. Blurry. Everything swimming in and out of focus. Thoughts swimming as well.

  Why doesn't she grab my boob?

  Why isn't she letting go?

  Indeed, he realized that she was pulling him tighter, holding him with surprising strength, her arms closing around him to the point it was hard to breathe.

  And now he saw that everyone was looking in the same direction. Even Buck and Maggie had sat up, and were peering ahead while still holding onto the children and each other.

  Christopher turned his head to look. It felt like it took hours to complete the motion, and he swore he could hear something crackling in his neck. Like bubble wrap exploding inside his head, pop-pop-pop and crinkling crunches.

  Then he finished the move.

  Saw.

  He started screaming, too. "No, no, no, bad idea bad idea bad IDEA!"

  Even Aaron was screaming, though his shout of "Whoa whoa whoa!" sounded more like he was trying to get a stubborn horse under control than like anything resembling panic.

  Only Amulek was silent. His face a stone as he grimly struggled for control of the Marauder, which was now wobbling so hard Christopher felt like he was a mouse being batted back and forth between a cat's paws.

  But Amulek kept it on course.

  Kept it moving forward.

  Straight at the cliff.

  76

  The land in front of them just disappeared. A stretch of nothing – no tree trunks to swerve around, no exploding zombies to avoid –

  (they'd be in back though I blew them up, eat that cheese, Buck, don't try to teach a master chef how to make eggs)

  – and then… nothing. The land just wasn't there. And even at this odd angle, peering over Amulek's and Aaron's backs through the small front windshield, Christopher could tell that it wasn't some gentle incline they were heading toward. It was a complete absence of anything that could support the Marauder.

  He had time to scream, "Bad IDEA!" one more time, then his stomach fell out of his body. Plummeted so hard it left him a hollow shell. He cried out, then his body followed after his stomach.

  The fall was shorter than he expected. For some reason he thought he was going to take a Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid-style tumble – fifty or sixty or a hundred feet into nothing. Instead, he barely caught up to his stomach before the Marauder fell on what felt like a pile of bricks.

  Only… do bricks splash?

  In the next moment he felt water coursing around him. The sudden cold was welcome – it both woke him up and made him forget the aches and pains that were shouldering their way into his consciousness. He was on hands and knees in the back of the Marauder, and the water was up to his chin in an instant. It invaded his mouth. He spluttered. Shook his head.

  Something drifted past him. He grabbed it. Yanked it above the rapidly-rising water.

  Hope.

  The little girl had her eyes closed again. Perhaps unconscious, perhaps something deeper and more devious. Either way, he pulled her back from where she had been drifting: the open tailgate of the Marauder.

  The jammer. It's gonna break under water.

  No time to worry about that.

  They were all moving. The Marauder was drifting under/around them. And with that realization came a bit of understanding.

  We're in a river. Kid drove us off a cliff into a river.

  "You're kidding me." The words came out without his really thinking about them. They sounded slurred, drunk. He took a deep breath – a wasted effort since he swallowed water again and ended up sputtering. Though that cleared his head a bit more, and that was the result he'd been hoping for, so he counted it as a win.

  Something grabbed him. Buck. "You okay, Christopher?" Christopher nodded. Buck pulled something over. Maggie, who had a drenched and unconscious Lizzy clutched to her shoulder. "Idiot drove us into the Pacific Ocean."

  "That's ridiculous, Clucky. This is clearly the Atlantic."

  Buck growled.

  Something surfaced. Aaron. A cut streaming pink down his face, the red of it diluted by the water that surrounded them. The cowboy held an unconscious Amulek, his bad fist curled around the teen's chin in the classic drowning rescue position.

  Buck looked at Amulek. "Lucky he's out or I'd deck him."

  "He saved us." Aaron looked around. The water was within two feet of the roof. Still streaming in. Frothy, freezing.

  Christopher's teeth wanted to chatter. He refused to let them. Not until Buck started showing the cold.

  The Marauder was still drifting. No telling exactly how fast, though Christopher got a sense they were moving forward at a good clip.

  "Saved us?" Buck sputtered as foam leaped into his mouth. "How is trying to cook us then drown us 'saving'?"

  Aaron pulled Amulek toward the tailgate. Toward the water streaming in. Leaving.

  "He drove through the fire at a thin point, which kept the zombies away – at least for a while. And he drove us in here where we wouldn't get cooked, in case you didn't notice."

  Buck growled. "He had a lucky case of crazy."

  Aaron stopped moving outside long enough to stare at Buck. "I barely know this kid, but he doesn't strike me as the type to 'go crazy.'" He shook his head. "He knew the forest was thin, he knew the river bent this way. He saved us." He gripped the roof of the tailgate. "But if you don't get out of here, we're going to die just the same."

  Buck slogged toward the tailgate. Holding Hope with one hand, helping Maggie fight the drag of the incoming water with the other.

  Christopher tried to stand. Feet touched the floor of the Marauder. Then he slipped. Went under. Theresa grabbed him. Hoisted him above the water. Only a few inches between the water and the roof. "Deep breath," she said.

  Then she pulled him under.

  77

  The "swim," such as it was, was awkward. Christopher had one arm around Theresa, she had one arm around him. Like the world's most extreme three-legged race. Only this one ended not with hand-made blue ribbons and a wide variety of potato salads, but with either death or life as the only rewards.

  It was only a few feet from inside to outside. Inches. But it took forever. The water shoved him back, back. Theresa kept them going. Toward the end he finally felt a modicum of strength return to his limbs, but even with that he was by far the weaker person on the strange team.

  And to think she was trying to kill me only a few days ago.

  I'm growing on her.

  His thoughts still weren't moving in the right directions,
he knew. Scattered. Confused.

  But he was coming to himself, a bit at a time. By the time they surfaced behind the Marauder, he felt like something approaching himself again. A very bruised, painful self – but himself, all the same.

  The Marauder was cruising downstream, its hood barely breaching the water's surface. It stayed tilted up for another moment, then it fell. Disappeared.

  The current caught Christopher. Swept him away.

  He and Theresa clung to one another.

  First base!

  The levity was dampened by the suspicion that he was going to die here. They were kicking against the current, getting nowhere.

  Then something caught him. Jerked at his collar. Dragging him to the side.

  He twisted, sure it was a branch or something that was going to turn a bad situation to a worse one. That had been the pattern since the Change, and he saw no reason it was likely to change in the future.

  So he was surprised when he saw Buck. Holding to Aaron, who was holding to Amulek. The teen must have been shocked awake by the water, and now he was holding to a huge root that grew into the side of the cliff they had just come rocketing off of. Maggie had herself twined around another root, holding onto her daughters. Keeping their heads above water.

  Buck curled his arm in with a grunt, drawing Christopher slowly to him. Christopher felt panicked movements on his other side. "Relax!" he shouted. "They've got us!"

  He felt the motions slow, then cease as the words penetrated Theresa's terror. He looked at her, saw her peering at him. Traces of a smile tugged at her lips. "I know, I'm a sexy sight," he said.

  "I just didn't want your face to be the last thing I saw," she said. But her smile didn't go away.

  Buck pulled them to him. Then Aaron drew the group to him. Then Amulek pulled the entire knot of survivors to the side of the cliff. His muscles stood out in huge relief, turning him from a good-sized teen into something of near-mythic appearance. Christopher could almost hear Mo's voice in his mind: "Of course. He is Māori."