by Bob Williams
Gun in front of me, I walk out into the lobby and do a 360-degree turn, scanning for danger. I’m not naive to the fact there could be Freaks in here, but I haven’t necessarily gotten that vibe. That truck outside is more likely a guy who ended up dead before he could address the issue under the hood. Coming around a large welcoming kiosk, I see a sign that directs bathroom users down the hallway to the left for relief. I hadn’t really paid attention to the bathrooms initially because I pissed outside. Why? Because, well...because.
Heading down the hallway, I hear the scratching noise again and what sounds like crying. Great. I approach the women’s room and I can feel my heartbeat quickening and the sweat dripping off me. I count a quick one-two and kick the door of the bathroom open. Nothing obvious.
“I’m armed and really pissed off,” I call out. “I’m going to check each stall and if you’re Freaky I’m gonna waste your ass.”
I continue down the row and cautiously push each stall door open and am quite relieved to not find anything. Human or not. I have no interest in killing anyone right now. Or bringing on a travelling companion. God help me if that happens. I can’t leave them, but I just don’t have enough provisions for anyone else.
I leave the ladies room and head down the short stretch to the gents’. As I approach the door, I hear the scratching again. Not the crying, though.
Dammit.
Okay, shit, I’m not ready for this. I’m not even close to being in the right frame of mind for this. I holster my gun and back down the hallway.
With my back against the wall and facing the entrance to the center, I slide down to the floor. First things first. I bring out both Glocks and drop the clips. I’m so delirious I can’t remember if my guns are fully loaded. They must be. I’d never leave for a fight without loaded guns. I’m not prone to swimming in the waters of self-doubt, but my condition has left me in serious need of some arm floaties.
I slowly return to my feet and take a minute to stretch. Yes, stretch. I’m hurting anyway but throw in twenty-four hours in a car and I’m proud to actually be walking. Okay, back down the hallway, gun drawn, and intensely focused. I hear the scratching right on the other side of the door. It grows in intensity. Whatever’s on the other side of the door knows I’m here.
I figure I only have one shot at this. I back up, count to two, and bum rush the door. It flies open a whole two feet and stops cold. My momentum carries me smack into the door and I get rewarded with a beautiful jolt of pain as my fist digs right into my stab wound. Falling to the ground, I grab my gun off the floor and scoot backwards, gun trained on the door.
Shit. What the hell was that?
I get up and approach the door again. I’m over this. I have ravioli in the other room.
“I’m coming in on a count of two. Freak, human, whatever, if you pull any shit with me I’m gonna torch your ass. Seriously, speak now or I’m gonna punch your ticket. I’ve been driving for a fucking day and I’m pissed off and hungry.”
I switch the gun to my left hand, which normally isn’t ideal, but whatever is on the other side of the door is close enough to hit just pulling the trigger. I’m not feeling super great, after all, so I need the advantage. I push the door open very slowly and then surge through the small opening into the bathroom, ready to shoot that shit up like the OK Corral.
Right I away I see a man who is clearly Paul Bunyan’s distant cousin. He’s been dead for a good while. The smell hits right away and I stifle my gag reflex. Next to him is a German Shepherd who is close to being Death’s new buddy. The dog is very skinny, and while I imagine she’s been drinking from the toilets, who knows the last time she ate.
What the hell happened here?
I holster my Glock, kneel down, and start to search the man. First thing I notice is he killed himself with a gunshot to the temple. The gun is partially under the dog. The spatter is all over the wall and, thanks to my pills, looks like a unicorn.
He’s a big dude. Seems to me he should’ve been able to protect himself. Not having been here, though, that’s a stupid thing to say. Could’ve been him and the dog against ten Freaks for all I know. His coat looks pretty sweet and it’s freezing, so I decide to take it. As I sit him up and begin to pull his arm though the sleeve I see the bite. Instinctively I scramble backwards and almost compliment his headshot with a full clip before I catch myself.
I have his left arm through and have the coat almost off when I see a folded note sticking out of the inside pocket. There’s blood on it and the writing is chicken scratch at best.
Whoever finds this—My name is Cory Stalker. Me and my dog were attacked by the freaks. I killed 2 of ‘em but the last one got my arm when I got between him and Lexi. I killed it straight away but I know my time is short. I’m going to kill myself. I hope you find this and Lexi is ok. She is a great dog. A loyal dog. My life was shit til I got this dog. Make her your own and she will reward you. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring myself to shoot her. I’m leaving her in here with me in hopes that you will get here in time. It’s starting. I can feel it. Take care of Lexi. Thanks.
I fold the note and put it in my back pocket. I turn to the dog and say, “Lexi, huh? Not the name I would’ve chosen but okay. Listen, I’m gonna let you out of here but you gotta find your own way. I got another hundred miles or so and I can barely feed myself. Nothing’s gone my way so far.”
I’m not sure why but I take Cory Stalker’s Kentucky driver’s license out of his wallet and put it with the note. I walk to the door, open it wide, and gesture for the dog to come with me. She looks at me but isn’t able to muster the strength to get up.
“Oh, come on, Lexi,” I say to the dog. “Don’t do this to me! I’m done with partners. They always die. I can’t have you coming with me to Nashville. I can’t worry about you right now. I can’t. Now get up and get your ass out here in the hall. Go chase a squirrel.”
Lexi is weak, hungry, and for good measure you could throw in scared, since I’m yelling at her. I close my eyes and shake my head. This is a bad idea. No, a fucking stupid idea. I’m spitballing here, but I guess if I’ve learned anything in the last forty-eight hours it’s that life is precious. Maybe I should wipe the tears away with my tie.
I’m a damn fool. A dog named Lexi? Jay gave me rations for two days. I’ve been at it thirty-six hours and I’m not even to Nashville yet.
“Okay, Lexi, in for a penny, in for a pound. Let’s go, girl.” I can’t explain it, it’s totally irrational. Maybe I was supposed to find this dog. That’s crazy, right?
I put my hands out in a calming gesture and approach the dog. Lexi’s ears are pinned back, but I’m not entirely sure she can do anything about it. I slip my hands underneath her, picking her up, and I ease out the through the door I had pinned open with my foot. I carry her down the hallway to the welcome kiosk where I’d left my Coleman grill and the Chef Boyardee ravioli.
I takes only a few minutes to get everything up and running, and a short time later, my new pal Lexi and I are feasting like kings. Except not really. The dog scarfs down what I give her and desperately wants more, but I don’t have much myself and can’t share. I am able to boil some water, though, so she has clean water for the first time in who knows when. After we’ve eaten, if you could call it that, we saunter into one of the offices and I wedge a chair underneath the knob, intending to sleep. I’m behind on my internal schedule, and I have to rest. Balling up the new coat I took from Cory Stalker, I have every intention of getting some serious shut-eye.
Several hours later, I still haven’t fallen asleep. I’m relaxed and feeling tremendously better as far as my body was concerned, however, my mind is swirling. Maybe Jay has the right idea. Since before the Descent, and especially after I rolled with my two closest friends—brothers in my eyes—I never had a single reason to distrust Coop or Pollock. They were my support net. They always had my back and me theirs. Then Coop died. Pollock betrayed me in the worst way. Just two fucking days ago. I still can’t belie
ve all that shit was forty-eight hours ago.
I shouldn’t be trusting anybody. I don’t want friends right now. I need to be alone, but I can’t quite make myself do it. I went straight to Normal and aligned with Jay. Maybe I should just be like Jay. I mean, everybody we love is going to die anyway. It’s how this world currently works. I can’t cut people off. God knows I want to. Maybe just the opposite. Maybe I need to get as many people in my corner as possible. If I’m going to take Kade down I simply can’t do it alone. I always thought of myself as a Lone Gunman, but I wasn’t, was I?
Nope.
Sometime during my internal debate, Lexi creeps over to lie next to me. She isn’t touching me, but she’s close. Without thinking, I put my hand to her head and pat her. This is all new to me. I still don’t love the name Lexi, but the dog looks old enough that a new name would confuse her.
“I’ll make the effort, Lexi.”
Her eyes shift to me and her look says, I’m with you now. I start to cry. I’m pretty sure I know exactly why. The crying turns to a straight-up heaving, bawling, snot fest of sobbing. This is forty-eight hours in the making. At this point, Lexi does get up and come closer. She licks my face and tells me it’s going to be okay. We both fall asleep shortly thereafter.
I wake up the next morning sore as hell from the hard floor but feeling pretty good. Hungry again. I notice Lexi sitting by the wedged door and, with a low growl, she makes it known she wants out. This is going to take a while to get used to. I grab my Glock from the floor and we make our way into the lobby. Nothing jumps out as being any different from the evening before, but you can’t rest on your laurels. I instruct Lexi as best I can to stay with me as we check the remaining offices and bathrooms. The place is clean.
Lexi and I bond over a piss together, then we retrieve our morning meal of ramen noodles and a couple of old granola bars. I boil more water and give some to Lexi before bottling the rest up for the trip to Nashville. My phone signal is a no go, but the atlas tells me it’s about a hundred and thirty miles.
I don’t know what to expect from a potentially indeterminate car ride with a new canine travel partner, but this is how it’s going to be from now on, so I guess I had better figure it out.
It takes no time at all to hook up with Interstate 24, and we’re on our way. I’m shocked by the easy passage on the Interstate once we cross over the state line. We’re making great time. I have the window down on the passenger side and most of the time the dog has her head out the window. As we come into Clarksville, the CB, which is always receiving, I suppose, comes to life with some bizarre chatter.
“You…living soldiers...where do...go?”
“Where...you?”
“...Skeleton...window...two...cabins here.”
“Go up fifty yards to the parking lot, hang a left, chief.”
“Who’s on this channel?
I grab the handheld and jam the button. “Hello! Hello! My name is Prescott, over! Who is this? Hello! Again, my name is Prescott. I’m sixty miles or so from Nashville, over. I’m looking for friendlies.”
Dead air.
I didn’t intend to sound as desperate as I did, I was just caught off guard. That was so weird. Who are those people? Where are they? In Nashville?
“Prescott. Repeat, Prescott. This is Michael Cole, formerly of the United States Army, and I represent the Murfreesboro Safe Zone. The Network says your name is good, so please be advised. The Nashville Safe Zone has been destroyed. One hundred percent casualties. In this part of the country, if you’re Freak, you are dead. Over.”
I feel a rush of adrenaline surge through my body. “I read you loud and clear, Mr. Cole. Uh… please… uh, advise me where I should proceed to get… uh… hooked up with you guys. Over.” Not the most beautiful words ever spoken, but it gets the job done.
“Do you have a map?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Okay, well, forget it. I need to get you here quick as possible, so listen closely.”
He gives me very detailed directions and tells me he and an associate will be waiting in a camouflaged Dodge Ram in front of an Italian restaurant called Carrabba’s.
“The interstates and roads are fairly clear, so we’ll give you three hours and hope you’re here. The Network says you’re good. Not sure why you’re here, but we can talk about that later.”
We sign off. I turn to Lexi, who is looking at me intensely.
“I love it when a plan comes together,” I say to her as I rub her behind the ears.
Like Cole said, the roads ahead look good, and there’s promise in the air.
I’m making friends already.
WELCOME TO NASHVILLE
Cole sent me from Interstate 24—which I was already on—and told me to hook up with 44 and then get off at 21st Avenue. Once there I take a left and follow it for a short distance until I see Carrabba’s and the camo Dodge Ram. I’m going to mention one last time how amazed I am about the debris-less streets. Driving in the state of Tennessee today has been some of the easiest, trouble-free driving I’ve done in years.
I pull into the parking lot and stop about twenty yards from the Ram.
“What do ya think, Lexi? It didn’t even occur to me until right now this might be a trap. I’m really fucking up, aren’t I? Well, let’s do this. Watch my back?”
I get out of the Comanche and whistle for Lexi to follow. I draw both holstered Glocks in a ready-to-fire grip, but hold them outstretched in a friendly gesture. I wait for them to make their opening salvo. This is gonna be like dancing. A couple of minutes later both doors of the Dodge open simultaneously and they get out.
Cole, I assume, looks about thirty and has a rifle slung over his back, courtesy of a leather strap. He also has a handgun he’s holding in plain sight. He’s a muscular dude who probably prides himself on a single-digit body-fat number and keeps his head shaved constantly just for effect. He’s wearing camouflage pants, black combat boots, and a solid black T-shirt. He sorta reminds me of the Punisher. Well, even Frank Castle had a few friends.
The woman, a blonde, looks a tad older but equally as tough. She has a fucking sword in a sheath poking out over her right shoulder and two holstered guns on her hips, Old West style. If the situation wasn’t what it was, it might have been love at first sight, but she looks at me like all she needs is a reason to blow my ass away. She walks in stride with Cole and holds her palms at her hips as she walks.
We come to a stop about ten feet apart. The strangers seem to be sizing up Lexi and not worrying about me.
“What’s with the dog, Prescott? The Network didn’t say anything about a dog,” says Cole.
“Well, hello to you, too. First of all, the dog is Lexi. She was bequeathed to me by a dead guy named Cory Stalker in a bathroom in Paducah. We’re still getting to know each other but I feel like we’ve come a long way in twenty-four hours. Right, Lexi? Secondly, what the hell is the Network?”
“The fact that you don’t know makes us nervous, to be honest,” says Cole.
“Super. We can play this game all day, or you guys can piss off.”
“Calm down, Prescott. You’ll be told everything in short order. First things first, nobody comes back to or goes into the Murfreesboro Safe Zone without taking a Freak test. No exceptions.”
He draws a rather impressive blade from a sheath at the small of his back. He flips it around and hands me the knife by the blade.
“Squeeze one of your hands into a fist a couple of times, then open your hand and cut your palm.”
“What?” I say, but almost as quickly I see the logic. Once I cut my hand and it starts to bleed, it wouldn’t be long before a break occurs. If I’m a Freak.
“Just do it, Prescott, and we can be on our way,” Cole says, annoyed.
“Okay, okay.” I quickly run the blade across my hand and wince at the pain. Lexi takes notice and whines her disapproval. “I’m fine, girl.” To Cole and his partner, I ask, “We good now?”
“Yes. I
’m sure you understand the gravity of the… situation,” says the woman. “Let’s go. We have a mid-range location up the road where we can talk before we head back to Murfreesboro.”
“Listen, I didn’t come here to go to Murfreesboro. Doctor Midnite said there’s a guy named Kade here in Nashville that needs to die. I hope to help him do that very soon.”
“Shit.” Cole shakes his head. “You heard that broadcast in Chicago?”
“Normal. I was with…”
“Jay Rives. We know. The Network says Jay is an up and comer. You’d do all right to turn around with your dog here and go back. You’re only going to get yourself killed here, pulling this John Wayne shit.”
“Well, let me worry about that,” I say.
“We can’t afford to,” says the woman.
“Who the hell are you, mystery lady?”
“My name is Shields. Laura Shields. Just call me Shields. Follow us, Mr. Prescott. We have a lot to talk about.”
I follow in the Comanche as we turn left out of the mall onto Hillsboro Road. About fifteen minutes later, we pull up in front a giant Greek replica called the Parthenon. I walk with them down a set of stairs to the interior of the structure. There’s an old gift shop that’s been transformed into a sort of receiving area, a la Normal, but on a smaller scale. I go into a room, answer a few routine questions, then step out to the company of a very large man. He extends his hand. “Wycheck. Glad to meet you, Prescott. The Network says you’re a stud. The Network never lies.”
“Wycheck? Really? I remember the Music City M—”
“None of that shit matters anymore, man. Follow me. Cole and Shields are waiting for you.”
“Cole and Shields, huh? Sounds like a law firm for assholes.”
