by Gwynn White
“Sir, please leave her medications. You can have the rest.” He thought he was being smart. She didn't take any irreplaceable prescription meds, but maybe the guy would feel sympathy.
The man moved back to the front, directly outside Liam's window.
“You don't get it. I'm taking it all! If you say another word … ” He jiggled the pistol menacingly.
Grandma piped up, “I'm getting it all together for you.”
Liam sat stewing in his impotence. Can I start the car and speed off without getting shot? Probably not. But maybe if I push him back first … I've been lucky so far.
He shoved the door open to push the guy backward. It didn't surprise the thief at all. The man was so agile that he helped pull the door open, side-stepped, knocked Liam dizzy with a stiff punch, then dragged him out of the car onto the street.
Liam heard the soft murmur of Grandma's voice saying, “I have your backpack ready, sir.” Then he blacked out.
Liam woke up lying face down on warm asphalt. One side of his face was in excruciating pain, but he could move his jaw and didn't feel anything crunchy in his mouth.
Still dazed, he staggered to his feet and saw Grandma sitting in the back seat, her head lolling to one side. She'd put on a flowery head scarf, but it had come undone and sat flatly over her head.
Oh, God, don’t let her be dead!
He ran to her window and heard a soft, nasal sound coming from her. She was asleep.
Relieved, he leaned against her door. His head was throbbing, and the flashing blue lights from the police car parked behind them made it worse.
Then everything came rushing back. He looked around quickly for the man with the gun, sending another wave of pain through his aching head. He steadied himself against the car again and noticed the backpack the man was going to steal was still resting beside Grandma on the car seat.
Then, he saw feet sticking out from behind the car.
Carefully, he moved back toward the rear. The thief was lying on his back between both vehicles; his eye was a bloody mess, but otherwise his face and the rest of his body looked normal. He wasn't infected or anything. But he was very dead.
How did I miss seeing him before? Too scared about Grandma, I guess.
He looked around for a Good Samaritan in a high window but didn’t see anyone who might have saved them by killing their assailant. He saw cars moving on distant streets, but no one seemed interested in him. He thought about saying a prayer of thanks for his good fortune, but like so many false starts in his recent past, he didn't know if he believed his prayer would be heard by anyone. He secretly hoped there was someone listening. Perhaps even the same God Grandma believed in.
For now, he said a quick “thank you” to anyone who would listen and jumped back into Angie's car to start it up.
He thought about going back to check out the cop car but didn't like the idea of stealing from anyone. Plus, if he was caught ransacking a police car ...
Instead, he put the car in gear and drove quickly away from the scene. It had all happened so fast he hadn’t had time to be afraid. He saw himself in the rearview mirror as he drove and realized … he was looking at a survivor. He just survived an encounter with a hardened criminal. He survived multiple encounters with Angie, the plague victim. He even survived falling down a flight of stairs.
But it all seemed so random. He knew any of those incidents could have ended his life, making this whole survival schtick the mockery he knew it to be. He saw the survivors of this thing as big, hulking men carrying large guns, sharp swords, and wearing full police riot gear. How else could anyone truly survive such crazy times?
He wore jeans and a lime-green Mountain Dew t-shirt, and his 104-year-old partner in survival was a dressed in a light blue pantsuit, complemented by a plain metal cane. Hardly the stuff of legend.
Whoop de do. We've survived the twenty-four hours since the sirens.
He tried to get back into the important task of driving. He found the highway again and was disappointed to see the traffic remained stopped. The memory of the gun barrel between his eyes buzzed as he observed cars continuing to pour off the exit ramp, into the streets of this part of the city. Streets that were nearly clogged. It wouldn't be long before everything was in total gridlock. Before he was trapped.
He turned the car around to give himself some open space. Not many cars were heading back into the city. He needed a chance to think through his next move. They weren't going to make it going south on the highway or any of the side roads. He pulled over into an empty parking lot, far from anyone or anything that could harm them. He again remembered the gun in his face but ignored it. He aggressively scanned for threats as he tried to concentrate.
Could they walk out of the city? He'd seen many people walking along the highway, but how far could Grandma go on foot? She could walk pretty well for her age, and he'd seen her walk for short distances without any cane at all. But those were rare instances when she was at 100% health and rest. Now, she could barely stay awake while sitting in his back seat.
He thought again about the gun in his face but pushed it back with a few calming breaths.
“How far could we both get on foot?” he whispered.
Not far.
As he sat there, he found himself unable to further ignore the incident with the thief. Of having the business end of a gun touch his nose. Of being punched. Of being yanked out of the car and tossed to the ground. His hands started shaking, so he gripped the wheel.
How close to death did I come?
He imagined himself being shot dead. Oddly, he thought of his parents, and how they'd never know how he died. He imagined Grandma getting pulled out next. He imagined ...
NO! I will not let that happen!
He silently began to weep. He couldn't help himself. He was slightly embarrassed Grandma might hear him, but once it started, he was unable to check it. His head collapsed on the steering wheel as he let the emotions of the past day consume him.
In the back, Grandma slept on.
For the first time in his life, he envied her.
7
Maple Syrup
Liam sat, exhausted, in the front seat of the car. His tears had dried, and he found himself staring out the front window. It hadn't been long since he'd pulled over. Glancing back, he could see Grandma was still asleep.
He attempted to move beyond the botched robbery. He needed to look forward. Time for the “big guy pants,” as his dad would say.
He turned on the radio again.
Did they say all the bridges to Illinois were closed? Surely not.
All stations were now playing the emergency announcement loops, including the one previously broadcasting freely. They advised listeners to evacuate the city but were stingy with clues about how to do it or where to go. A week ago, he wouldn't have listened to a government broadcast to save his life. Now his life did depend on a government announcement, and he was dismayed to discover they had no answers.
Going south didn't seem possible, given the traffic situation. Going west might work in a pinch, but that would take him into the bulk of the population of the city—enough reason to avoid that way. North would take him directly away from his goal, so that made no sense at all. Finally, he figured his best bet was to drive east into Illinois, where it was less crowded, then turn south and try to return over a bridge into Missouri somewhere. It would require going through downtown, which made him anxious just thinking about it, but it was the only place to cross.
With no help from the radio, he had to make a choice soon. He gently woke up Grandma.
She opened her eyes, looked out her window, then into his backpack.
“He's gone, Grandma. He didn't get our stuff either, but I'm not sure what happened. I was lying on the ground, and when I woke up, the crook was already dead. He got shot. I jumped in the car and sped us out of there.”
“I must have passed out from all the excitement. I'm so glad you're OK. I'm not doing a very good job taking
care of you, am I?”
“We're both alive. That's all that matters now. Someone shot the yoga woman for me too. I think I have a guardian angel. I've learned an important lesson; the rules are changing. I'm going to be smarter from now on, so I can protect you and me both.”
Grandma leaned forward just enough to touch his shoulder with reassurance.
“We make a good team.”
“Well, teammate, we need a new plan now. Traffic on the highway to the south is completely stopped. All the main roads next to the interstate going that way are also filled with people trying to escape. It didn't look like any of those vehicles were going to be moving anytime soon, so I pulled into this parking lot to think. The radio has nothing useful on where to go. I figured we'd try to get across a bridge downtown and then drive south on the Illinois side of the river.”
“Sounds like a good plan, Liam.”
“Will you help me navigate? I'm afraid I don't know where to go.”
The extent of his driver's education with Dad ended at Grandma's house. The rest of the city was a blank space as far as roads went.
“I'll do what I can.”
He pulled back onto the road, in the direction of downtown. Unlike the lanes going south, the northbound side of the road was virtually devoid of traffic. He wasn't willing to use the term “good luck” just yet. He knew just how fast luck could go down the toilet.
He felt a trace of a smile on his face as he sped through the dying city. Heading for freedom.
Looking in the rearview, Grandma's face was far more stoic.
The street was a major thoroughfare in this part of the city. It had two lanes of traffic in each direction, with a breakdown lane in the middle. Very few cars were going in either direction. The massive backup of south-bound traffic hadn't reached this far north yet.
He saw several cars on fire, scattered on the roadway in front of a row of apartments. Strangely, other cars were moving among the burned-out hulks, seemingly unconcerned with the incongruity.
He was gaining his sea legs on this terrible ocean. He immediately stopped the car and looked for alternate routes where he could turn down a side street and avoid even being close to such destruction. Grandma was in the back seat, watching ahead as well.
“Grandma, I'm turning. I don't think we should go anywhere near those burning cars.”
“Watch those cars on fire,” she yelled a little too loud. As she sometimes did when her hearing aids acted up.
He smiled as he made a left turn, then a quick right turn onto a narrow avenue running parallel to the main road. They entered a more residential area. There were a few cars parked along both sides of the street, but there were also a lot of trash cans rolling around, along with lots of trash and debris, as if many of the houses had simply thrown their contents right out their doors.
More ominously, he saw odd characters walking aimlessly. Sick? Infected? Lost? Stealing?
He wasn't stopping to find out. He hit the gas, quickly pushing fifty mph down the narrow street. Not bad for a fifteen-year-old with a learner's permit, he thought.
The passenger window shattered as several gunshots exploded from the houses lining the right side of the street. He instinctively jerked his head as low as he could.
“Grandma! Get down!”
The rear passenger-side window blew out next, followed by the one on his side. The shots were either coming from both sides or going completely through the interior.
The rear window blew out a second later, and the headrest on his seat crumpled.
That was close!
He glanced in the mirror. Grandma had fallen over sideways in the back, covered with tiny pieces of safety glass.
“Oh, my lands,” she exclaimed.
He risked a sideways glance, but the shooters were well hidden. He was going much too fast. Shots continued behind them, and he could see in the side mirror a couple of men had run into the street to shoot, even as he drove away.
Only a few seconds more ...
He took a right turn too fast and was just able to maintain control of the car as it aligned itself on the new street, but scraped a car on his side. The sedan lost some paint, but they escaped the flying bullets.
Rather than being scared, he was mad as hell again. People were using this disaster as an excuse to—do what exactly? Were these bad people showing their true colors or good people gone wrong due to the chaos? It had scarcely been one lousy day since law and order was put on hold. Things were going downhill fast if this was how it was going to be.
He slowed enough to take a left turn back onto the main street safely and was pleased to see they had traveled beyond the burned-out wrecks. Were the men on the previous street the same ones who burned the cars on this one? Why would anyone randomly destroy cars and shoot at people they didn't know? Were they trying to kill him? He had no explanation that fit the circumstances, and he sure wasn't going back to interview them.
Pardon me. Would you refrain from killing me while I ask you a few questions?
They quickly overtook another vehicle—a cramped, blue coupe—with a family inside who looked over at him as he matched their speed for a second before accelerating past them.
The open road was just as dangerous as everywhere else. Even a friendly-looking family couldn't be trusted. He could trust no one but himself and Grandma.
In the distance, he got his first glimpse of the Gateway Arch as it twinkled in the mid-day sun. He had many memories seeing it as a kid—how many times had his parents excitedly pointed it out as they were driving? It was a source of fascination and pride for locals like him. A snarl of traffic came into view on the street ahead, interrupting his pleasant memories.
Will anything be easy ever again?
The traffic wasn't as bad as it appeared at first glance. A major intersection in this part of the city was catching traffic from the nearby highway, as well as the growing traffic heading downtown. Several other drivers must have gotten the same idea to head that way once they realized the highway out of town was toast.
After several minutes snaking through the busy intersection, they found open roads before once again coming upon a jammed intersection. It was much worse than the previous delay.
They were only a couple miles from downtown. They could now see the big Anheuser-Busch brewery that was a cultural icon in this city. As they came through the big intersection, they could see the traffic ahead had stopped completely. As cars came up on the tail of the northbound traffic jam, they shut off engines, and passengers got out and joined the people ahead of them on foot. He could already see a few cars coming in behind him, which would make sure he never got out of this entanglement.
He turned the wheel hard to his right. Angie's severely damaged car jumped the curb and came to a stop in a tiny parking lot for a fast-food joint. He heard a loud pop. He backed his car sloppily into a spot up against the building, allowing himself a clear shot to drive in any direction he chose—except into the traffic jam itself—should he change his mind about joining the sea of walkers going downtown.
Several other cars took his lead. Soon the little parking lot was full, as were several other open spaces on this side of the road. He was silently impressed with himself for thinking of something that was so useful to his fellow travelers. It felt nice to lead, even if it was just a bit of luck on his part for thinking of it.
His pleasure faded once he exited the vehicle and saw the condition of the car. Angie had some pride in her vehicle and took care to keep it washed and waxed at a local hands-on car wash. If she saw her car now, she would fall over dead.
Not funny, Liam!
Four windows were blown out. Several bullet holes peppered the passenger side, including a couple up near the engine. It was a miracle nothing got permanently damaged under the hood. He walked around and inspected as much as he dared. One bullet had mangled the locking assembly of the passenger-side rear door, making it impossible to open. He reached in through the broken glass
and grabbed his backpack. As he pulled back, he noticed the front tire had gone all the way flat. He thought it made the car look sad.
“So much for getting to Illinois.” He said it out loud, but mostly to himself. They were now committed to the only place anywhere that seemed to offer some help—the area down by the Gateway Arch.
Grandma exited on the driver's side and shook herself free of the bits of glass. She reached back in to grab her cane and then casually leaned against the exterior to wait for Liam to gather his stuff.
She quipped, “I guess we don't have to worry about locking the doors,” and let out a little giggle. He had to laugh too.
One of the people nearby gave a little whistle when he took in Liam's damaged ride.
“Whoa! You a stunt driver, kid?”
Liam wasn't really in the mood to deal with strangers but couldn't resist bragging about it.
“Not really. A couple of dip-wads a few miles back were shooting up cars. They got the drop on us, but I just put the hammer down and blew through their trap.” He said it with the same emotion he would if he were talking about the weather.
He looked at Grandma to see if she would scold him, but she was looking the other way.
The man seemed unimpressed. “Yeah, we had to drive through someone's lawn to get around some fellas holding up cars about three miles south of here. I guess we're all lucky to make it here. Good luck out there,” he said as he walked away.
So much for basking in the glory.
With his pack on his back, he walked around to Grandma. She was silently looking at the crush of abandoned cars and beyond, toward the Arch.
“Do you think you can walk to the Arch from here?”
She was silent for many moments before responding.
“I don't see any other option at this point. I'm going to need your help, but I think I can do it.”
She held up her cane so she could bring it closer to her face.
“I'm going to need your help too, Mr. Cane. Don't let me fall!”
