by John L. Monk
“Miguel’s our Montezuma,” Jack said. “After we kicked him and his motormouth brother out, he went to the Pyros and said we have a mountain of food out here. And electricity, and running water, and anything else that’d make a more interesting story.” Jack shook his head. “Now everyone they don’t want is coming here.”
Steve swore.
Molly glared at him. “Not in front of the baby!”
“She don’t understand English yet,” Steve said defensively.
“She will if you keep teaching her,” she countered.
Larry was frowning. “So, these kids—they’re coming to take our stuff?” His voice dropped an octave. “Like to see them try.”
Jack shook his head. “They’re desperate. The food we left for the Pyros didn’t get divvied out the way we wanted. Only the big kids got it. How anyone else survived I have no idea. According to Corey, some of them are pretty bad off.”
Steve said, “That Miguel’s a backstabbing rat. Wants to load us down so nobody pushes up on him and his new friends.”
“Maybe Corey’s lying,” Tony said. “Can’t believe a guy like that, goes around shooting people supposed to be his friends.”
Jack had told everyone about Blaze’s assassination.
“We’ll find out pretty soon,” Jack said. “Question is: do we wait to see who makes it here alive, or go out and find them? It’s a long way from Centreville. Corey didn’t make it very far before crashing into that ditch.”
“We need to put up a roadblock and tell them to turn around,” Larry said. “We ain’t got enough food, and the shitter’s almost overflowed. Everyone’s sleeping on top of each other. There’s no room.”
“So we dig a bigger hole,” Molly said angrily. “We ain’t turning no one away, and that’s a fact.”
“Oh, it’s a fact, huh?” Larry said.
“Yeah, it is,” she said.
“That right?” he said.
“I said so, didn’t I?”
Larry snorted. “You think ’cause you have a baby you can call the shots now.”
“Would you two shut up?” Steve said.
Larry glared at him and Steve gave it right back.
Jack normally tried to keep out of it when these little arguments flared up, figuring it was better for everyone to fall into a natural understanding of each other rather than artificially impose his will. His one rule, though, was not to allow any such childishness at the conference table. Because of that, the others were now watching to see if he’d lay down the hammer.
“Guys,” was all he said, and the two seemed to deflate. Not because of any power he had over them, but because they didn’t really want to fight. They were guys, and guys needed a reason to save face. He’d learned that with the kid on the bus.
“We don’t turn away people in need,” Jack said and pretended not to notice Larry’s sigh. “Miguel made a big mistake. There’s nothing more valuable in this world than people. Not guns, not computers, not electricity … Not even medicine. We can find some of that and do without the rest, but we can’t make more people.” Then, realizing what he’d said, he glanced furtively at Molly.
Greg snickered.
“Oh, I’m sure it was real easy,” Tony said suggestively.
“Shut your mouth!” Steve shouted, standing up.
“Steve, he’s only kidding,” Molly said.
“But he—”
“Do I look mad?”
She smiled to prove she was fine.
Jack banged the table and the room quieted, all eyes on him. “Tony, you’re out of line. Steve, she’s fine. Now everyone shut up so we can get through this.”
Steve looked from Tony—smirking away—to Molly, and then back at Jack. He muttered something and sat back down.
“Olivia,” Jack said, “help Brad with the hole. Recruit from the Skyline.” He thought for a second, then added, “Please.”
Olivia smiled and nodded.
Larry said, “I’ll help.”
Brad said it’d be hard to build another outhouse anytime soon. Jack told him to move the old structure over the new hole and cover the old one with a car.
“What about food?” Larry said. “Barely got nothing left, ’cause of the chicken sitters.”
“We’ll get more,” Jack said. “I’m working on a plan—Greg, if you say chosen one, I’m going to smack you.”
Greg closed his mouth—a study in innocence—and everyone laughed.
Olivia said, “If it turns out to be true—these kids heading our way—where will they sleep? There’s no room.”
Jack thanked her with his eyes for steering the meeting back to where he wanted. “We’ll set them up in town with wood, food, and extra clothes. Whatever they need. And we’ll leave guards there, like at the farm. If any of them are older, we might not even have to do that. Cross your fingers.”
“So, what’s the plan for food?” Greg said. “We’re almost out of grain and beef. Though there’s still enough of that horrible liver …”
“Glad you asked,” Jack said. “How are your studies coming along?”
“You mean on rabbits? I guess I haven’t been—”
“Not rabbits. Sailing.”
Greg blinked in surprise. “So you were serious about that. Awesome! But I’m still reading up. Maybe this summer we can find a place and try it out, see if we could go fishing.”
“We shouldn’t wait that long,” Jack said. “Every day we lose is a day closer to next winter. The Potomac and the Chesapeake have gone a whole year without anyone fishing them. My dad and I used to go there sometimes and we’d catch plenty. Must be amazing right now. Soon as the roads clear, I want you and some volunteers to set up a base near the water and learn how it’s all done.” He smiled brightly. “You’re officially in charge of fishing and sailing. How’s it feel?”
Greg gulped nervously. “Um … officially? I don’t know … why can’t you be in charge? I’ll mess up.”
“You’ll be fine,” Jack said. “While you’re doing that, the rest of us will look for more livestock. Freida’s herd is all cows and steers.”
“What’s a steer?” Brad said.
“It’s a bull with no, uh …” Jack gulped nervously. “You know. They cut them off so they’re easy to deal with and grow fatter.”
“He means balls,” Larry said helpfully.
The laughter took forever to die after that. Everyone wanted to know if Jack was sure they were steers—had he really looked closely?—and Jack felt himself blushing under the attention. He liked that they could feel at ease around him, but it bugged him that he was the only one concerned about these things. Well, Lisa too, but she was away. He needed her here.
The truth was, he missed her. He hoped she’d figured out whatever was bugging her and act normal again. Then she could un-dump him and they could maybe pick up where they left off last fall, when she’d kissed him. He thought about that day quite a bit. Which was weird. Totally crazy that such a small thing could occupy so much of his waking thoughts.
After the meeting, Jack and Greg—and Tony, surprisingly—pored over charts of the Chesapeake Bay and the Potomac River, tracing out likely places to fish and where to start a new base.
Jack noticed Tony’s eyes kept straying to a section of map closest to D.C., but thought nothing of it.
Before they quit, Tony stood up and said, “I ain’t never gone fishing before, but I’m bored as hell sitting here all the time doing nothing. If Greg’s going, I’m going with him.”
Jack smiled at the prospect of several weeks without Tony challenging every little thing he did and causing trouble.
“Works for me.”
13
The boy’s name was Derek. The way his breath rattled in and out, Lisa was pretty sure she’d hit a lung. He wouldn’t survive, but she told him he would.
“We … didn’t mean … nothing,” Derek said, wheezing for breath between each word. His face glistened wetly from a steady stream of tears.
“Not … far. Not … good at …” He seized up suddenly in pain, then started coughing.
Lisa watched helplessly as he thrashed. “How long did it take to get here?”
When the spell had passed, the boy said, “I don’t know … not long.”
“How fast did you drive?” she said.
“Fast …” Derek said, wincing in pain. Abruptly, he blacked out.
Five miles? Ten?
Lisa went to her car and came back with a map. She shook the boy gently awake and showed it to him.
“You and I are right here,” she said, pointing at a spot on it. “Which way did you come from? This way, here? Or from over here?”
With Derek’s help, she traced with her finger to I-66, and from there to I-81. About twenty miles away.
“You sure this is it?” she said.
Derek nodded. “Think so … gas station … McDonald’s … past that.” He traced with his finger again, leading away from 81. “Thanks … taking me home.”
His eyes looked hopeful and lost, and she almost didn’t do the right thing. Being kind would drag out his suffering unnecessarily. Lisa could be hard if she had to, but never cruel.
When the boy fainted again from pain, she pulled his wool cap down so she couldn’t see his face.
“Lucky,” she whispered.
Then she shot him in the side of the head.
Sleep was a long time coming that night. The house was creaky, and there were mice in the attic. Every time she heard something, she woke up thinking they were coming for her.
If she waited a few days, the roads would be clear, and Jack would show up with a bunch of food—and his chest puffed out heroically as if he’d rescued her. By then, Cassie could have made a third and more determined attempt—slinking up from the sides and waiting for Lisa to come out.
After a few last-minute preparations to protect the farm in her absence, Lisa set out the next morning. The roads were mostly free of snow, though not entirely. If those kids really had driven fast then they were twice as dumb as she’d assumed. Snow tended to accumulate wherever the road dipped or turned. Sometimes it snuck out over the highway like an icy finger, lying in wait for someone to come zipping along. Other times, it was covered in a nearly invisible layer of ice.
Lisa snorted. They probably thought skidding around in cars was fun.
In case she got stuck somewhere, she carried a full tank of gas, her tent, some camping gear, and a bagful of venison.
The houses along that stretch were visible on the hillsides. With windows for eyes, they tracked her passage with the solemnity of Easter Island statues, and the world had never seemed emptier. To shake off her crushing loneliness, Lisa tried singing. She had a good voice, even if she hadn’t used it much lately. She sang church songs because those were the ones she remembered. When her voice got tired, she put on the radio. It was an older unit with a CD player, and there was a CD in it. Some sort of country music, but not the kind her dad liked. Her dad had been a fan of older country, calling the new stuff “rock with a twang.” Lisa had agreed, though mainly out of loyalty.
She wiped away her first tears since the kid in the barn.
“Way to go, dummy,” she said.
The heater was starting to burn her foot, so she turned it down. Five minutes later, she pulled over at the turnoff to 81. She left the car running, stumbled across the soggy ground, and urinated. Overhead, a yellow sign proclaimed to no one at all the recommended speed limit.
The thought came to her unbidden: I’m peeing as fast as I can!
Her laughter was interrupted by a thundering sound from down the road, and she scrambled up quickly. Seconds later, a herd of horses burst into sight. There must have been twenty of them, including several foals and ponies. Jack would be delighted when she told him. The horses whinnied loudly and stamped around when they saw her … and then suddenly she was afraid. She’d never seen so beautiful or terrible a sight before as these massive animals, and her innate sense of human superiority abandoned her.
Cautiously—avoiding any sudden moves—Lisa edged her way back to the car. The horses stared at her with big, intelligent eyes. The lead horse—a stallion, she was sure of it—ducked its head suddenly and charged.
Lisa tripped, fell down, and scuttled back several feet. At the last second, the horse pulled up short and spun around kicking wildly into the air. The other horses scattered and regrouped like rapt spectators hungry for violence.
The beast trotted around to the driver’s side, watching her balefully while stamping and snorting. Moving slowly, Lisa got in on the passenger side of the still-running car, then inched over into the driver’s seat. The stallion spun around and kicked again, this time smashing the door with a loud THOCK!
A little bit higher and it would have busted the driver’s side window.
She crept forward carefully to avoid the other horses. She needn’t have worried—the animals flowed around her like water in a stream. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her hand—when she held it up—shook from way too much adrenaline. It hadn’t taken very long for the beasts to forget who used to care for them.
Wild again.
Lisa and her brother had ridden horses at a fair they’d gone to. Those horses had been so friendly, you could feed them hay right out of your hands and rub their huge heads.
In hindsight, she realized how lucky she’d gotten today. If she hadn’t pulled over, she might have plowed right into them. Yet another reason to go after Cassie and her dumb friends. If they were “driving fast” everywhere, they could end up smashing into a herd of wild horses. The world was better off with horses in it than asshole kids who needed to get even.
Lisa found the exit easily enough. After that, she didn’t know where to go.
There weren’t any cars parked at the McDonald’s, the Denny’s across from it, or the nearby gas stations. The place was dead.
She parked behind the McDonald’s, then smashed her way inside and sat at a plastic booth with a view of the road. The road stayed empty for an hour, then two hours, then three hours. Then—because she’d been awake half the night worrying—she fell asleep. When she finally woke up, her leg was numb and most of the day had passed her by.
Limping to her car, Lisa called herself every name in the book for falling asleep on duty. Twenty kids could have driven up and down that road while she’d sat snoring away.
It wasn’t quite dark yet, so she pushed her seat back and closed her eyes. When next she woke, it was dark out. Groggy from bad sleep, she started the car and drove for a mile with the lights off. The road looped through woods and hills and eventually ended in a T-intersection. She stopped and got out, then sniffed the air for wood smoke—and actually smelled some! The wind was coming ever so slightly from the left, so that’s the direction she chose. The hills flattened out and opened to wide pastureland with the occasional farmhouse barely visible in the moonless gloom.
Thicker woods emerged on her right and left, and she stopped about fifty feet out from a roadblock formed by two cars. She’d only seen it because she was driving so slowly. If the cars were occupied, someone was either asleep or not paying attention.
Not liking the odds of a head-on confrontation, Lisa put the car in reverse and backed down the road until she’d rounded a bend. Then she parked and got out.
14
She returned to the roadblock and stood in the shadows watching it. When nothing happened, she approached cautiously with her rifle ready. The two cars were positioned so one could pull past the other to open the way—the most common form of manned roadblock there was.
She passed the roadblock and checked her watch—8:30 p.m. A two-story house with a detached garage stood in a clearing ahead and on the right. Steady light from the windows on the main floor suggested electricity, as did the low hum of a generator from out back. Lisa remembered how much Carter had admired the one at Big Timber. Her skill with ele
ctricity had been one of the things he’d liked about her. Hard to believe Cassie had set one up, if she was so jealous. Or maybe it was her way of balancing things.
Lisa snorted. “Crazy freak.”
The front yard was packed with about twenty different cars, all of them the sporty-looking types preferred by the Dragsters. It was too dark to tell if they had those little checkered flags on them. The kids back at Big Timber had stopped using theirs after quitting the gang and joining “Jack’s Rippers”—a name Jack discouraged and privately said he hated.
Across the road was another house set farther back. This one was quite small, and backed by woods. Out front was Steve’s yellow Mustang and another sports car.
She approached the bigger house cautiously and wrinkled her nose at the smell of open-air sewage on the light breeze. A door opened. She scooted to a nearby tree and stooped down with her back to it, rifle ready but not armed to fire.
Laughter and male voices carried clear and loud, joking about something perverted. She counted three of them. A car door opened and shut and the engine started. Light from a set of headlights blazed off to her left, followed by tires crunching on gravel as they headed in the direction of the roadblock.
And her car.
Lisa swore. With luck, they’d barrel right past it without a second thought. Abandoned cars were pretty common, and it was nighttime. Or maybe they’d come back and look for her and she’d finish what they started. She had two full magazines. One in the rifle, one in her backpack. She also had her pistol.
She tore across the road to the far house. This one had a flickering light on the main floor. No music, and no generator.
The smell of sewage grew stronger, and when she entered the back yard, she learned why. It came from an aboveground pool turned outhouse. A quick peek over the side showed a few inches of scummy water at the bottom. Not enough to haul inside to run the toilet, even if they’d wanted to. Instead, they climbed the four steps to the short board with the railing and did their business from on high. Totally gross, but it did offer interesting possibilities.
