As they rounded the ticket booth, the clown emerged from behind the small money-changing stall. He was very close—eight feet, maybe. He held Mason’s knife in his right hand and a miniature baseball bat in the other. His makeup was smeared and splotchy as the rain slowly washed it away. The madness in his eyes, however, could never be cleansed.
Connie stopped singing.
Mason and the clown stared at one another. The distance was close enough that the blade and the gun were at even odds, especially when wet hands were involved. Mason let out half a breath, and both men moved at the same instant.
The clown lunged forward, blade extended like a samurai performing the fine art of Iaido. He was very fast.
Mason drew his Supergrade, leaning hard to the right as he fired. He was faster.
The bullet hit the clown in the forehead, splitting his skull and ricocheting back and forth a few times before finally finding its way out through his neck. Even death, however, did not stop him from inflicting pain. The blade caught Mason along his left shoulder, cutting a deep gash before it fell from the clown’s hands.
Connie rushed forward and saw the steady trickle of blood mixing with rain as it flowed down his arm.
“You’re hurt,” she cried, sliding her arm around him for support.
For a moment, Mason thought he might pass out. He didn’t. And when the world finally stopped spinning, he bent down and picked up the blade.
It was, after all, a very good knife.
CHAPTER
11
Tanner drove for the better part of an hour before the flatbed truck finally ran out of gas, choking to a quiet stop on the side of Highway 219. Samantha had fallen asleep on the seat next to him, and he simply eased to a stop and laid his head against the window. When he awoke hours later, it was to the sound of her door opening.
He jerked upright.
She patted his arm lightly.
“I’m going to pee.”
“Take your—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
Samantha grabbed her rifle and slid out of the truck.
His sleep broken, Tanner sat forward and yawned. He felt stiff and groggy, like he had spent the night on the floor of a jail cell. He opened his door and stepped out. The morning air had a fresh smell to it, and the temperature was cool but comfortable. He rolled his head and arms around, taking a deep breath to see whether nature might replenish him.
It helped, but only a little.
He stumbled off into the bushes and relieved himself. Briars and poison ivy were everywhere.
“Hey,” he said over his shoulder, “be careful not squat next to anything with three leaves.”
Samantha said something that he couldn’t make out.
When he finished, he went back to the truck and began rummaging through his backpack. Samantha returned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She looked even worse than he felt. He tossed her a breakfast bar, and she caught it with one hand.
“There was a time not so long ago that that bar would have bounced right off your forehead,” he said with a chuckle.
She shrugged and tore open the package.
“I guess I learned to catch somewhere along the way.”
“No,” he said, “you learned to survive somewhere along the way.”
Samantha looked up at him.
“Do you think I’d be okay on my own? You know… if something happened to you.”
“What’s going to happen to me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll get eaten by a crocodile.”
Tanner looked around. “I don’t think there are any crocodiles around here.”
“That was just an example. More likely, you’ll be eaten by zombies or shot by one of the violent convicts—no offense.”
“None taken,” he said, taking a big bite of an oatmeal-flavored breakfast bar.
“So, what do you think? Would I make it without you?”
He thought about it a moment.
“You might.”
She nodded. “That’s what I thought too.”
“But don’t worry about it,” he said, passing a bottle of water over to her. “I’m not going to get killed.”
“You say that, but how do you know?”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m unkillable.”
She laughed. “Unkillable?”
“Yep,” he said, taking a long drink of water. “It means I can’t be killed.”
“I know what it means, but it’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Of course.”
“How do you know?”
She shook her head as if trying to rattle something loose.
“Why would you even think something like that?”
“I’m basing it on historical evidence.”
“What? Like George Washington?”
“No, not George Washington,” he laughed. “Think of it this way. How many scrapes have we been in?”
“I don’t know. A lot. You tend to attract trouble.”
“And have any of them killed me?”
“Well, no, but that doesn’t mean—”
“Like I said,” he thumped his chest. “Unkillable.”
“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle,” Samantha said, running her hand across the Harley Davidson’s black and orange fairing.
Tanner swung his leg over the seat and lifted the kickstand.
“It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
“Shouldn’t we have helmets?”
“We should, but then we wouldn’t look as cool.” He started it up, and the engine purred with a smooth, high-pitched whine.
“It sounds… clean.”
“This is a high-end touring bike. Trust me, it’ll feel like you’re floating on a cloud.”
Samantha reached over and felt the raised passenger seat. The black leather was smooth and soft.
“I’ll probably fall off.”
“Probably.”
“But you’re going to make me ride it, anyway.”
“Sam, I won’t make you do anything. If you prefer to walk on a zombie-filled, dog-infested highway, I’m fine with that.”
“And I suppose you’d just leave me?”
He faked an impatient sigh.
“You coming?”
She hesitated, looking back down the desolate highway. Something big darted across the road a few hundred feet behind them. It was probably a deer or an elk, she thought, but it could just as easily have been a werewolf.
She carefully climbed aboard.
When she was finally settled, he gave the bike a little gas, and they started down the highway. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his thick waist.
“You won’t fall off.”
“Maybe not, but it wouldn’t hurt you to skip a meal or two,” she said under her breath.
“What was that?”
“I was saying that it feels good to be back on the road.”
“Uh-huh. Sure you were.”
They drove through the early morning hours, weaving around cars and the occasional cadaver, watching as the sun slowly rose in the eastern sky. Samantha leaned against Tanner’s back, enjoying the wind blowing past her face as she fought against growing exhaustion. They passed through the tiny town of Grampian, speeding past an Arby’s and a Checkerboard Pizza. After that, they turned east on Pennsylvania Route 729, a rural two-lane road lined with rock quarries, farms, and long stretches of undeveloped forest.
“Cool, right?” he said over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice weak and faint.
“There’s nothing quite like riding across the country on a motorcycle.”
“If it’s so great, why doesn’t everyone do it?”
“Because when it rains, you get wet. And when you crash, you get dead.”
“
Oh.” She held on a little tighter.
“Like I said, there’s nothing quite like it.”
They drove on for another hour before coming to a large green sign welcoming visitors to Altoona, Pennsylvania. Tanner had never been through Altoona before, but from what he could see, it was a pretty good-sized town, easily spreading a few miles in every direction. He pulled to the side of the road and climbed off the motorcycle to stretch his legs.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Should we detour around Altoona or plow straight through the middle?”
Samantha was slow in getting off the bike.
“Either way,” she said.
Tanner glanced over at her. She looked pale and sweaty.
“You all right, kiddo?”
“Just tired, I think.” Her legs buckled, and she put a hand on the bike to steady herself.
Tanner scooped her up and carried her over to a small patch of grass.
“Rest for a minute,” he said, setting her down.
“Yeah,” she said, lying back, “a little rest.”
“Are you hurting anywhere?”
She shook her head. “But I feel kind of weak and tired, like I have the flu.”
He checked her eyes. They were glassy and seemed to lack their usual spark. He leaned down and put his forehead to hers. She was definitely warm.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Personal space, remember?”
Both of them managed a smile.
“I think you’re sick.”
“Lucky me.”
Tanner stood up and looked around. Old houses were on both sides of the road. He didn’t see anyone out in the yards or any other indication that the homes were still occupied.
“How about we get you somewhere to rest?”
She nodded but didn’t open her eyes.
The closest house was a two-story home with a wraparound porch and faded yellow shutters. A sign out front read, Mama Benson’s Bed and Breakfast.
“You stay here while I check the house.”
She said nothing.
Tanner grabbed Samantha’s rifle and set it beside her. Sick or not, it was always better to have a gun within reach.
Snatching up his shotgun, he hustled up to the house. Like the home they had checked earlier, this one had a thick netting of cobwebs blocking the porch stairs. Obviously, no one had been in or out of the place for many weeks. He pushed through the web and tried the front door.
It was unlocked.
As soon as he stepped inside, he saw that everything in the house had been mothballed. The curtains had been taken down, sheets were draped over furniture, and stacks of cardboard boxes filled nearly every corner. He did a quick search of the downstairs and didn’t find anyone, alive or dead. Samantha would be happy to hear that, since she had an aversion to sleeping in buildings with dead bodies.
He raced up the stairs and did another quick walkthrough. There were a total of six bedrooms, but again, all were empty. It looked like a great place for them to rest for a while. He headed back out to Samantha, his gut beginning to twist as possibilities played out in his mind. What if her condition worsened? He sure as hell wasn’t a doctor. He was lucky to put a Band-Aid on straight, let alone diagnose or treat any kind of serious illness.
“Stop it,” he muttered. “There is suffering in this world. There’s nothing you can do to change that. The sooner you accept it, the happier your life will be.”
Rather than console him, the Buddhist tenet only heightened his worry. Sure, there was suffering. And sure, he was willing to take his fair share. But Samantha deserved to live a long and happy life, and he would do everything within his power to ensure that she got that chance.
Samantha lay sleeping on a queen-sized bed, a thick quilt draped across her. Every time he pulled it down, she would slide it back up, accusing him of trying to freeze her to death. He folded it down again careful not to wake her. Her fever had peaked, but wet rags on her forehead and chest were doing little to address the underlying cause. She needed a doctor.
Leaving her presented all sorts of fresh worries. What if her condition worsened before he could return? What would someone do if they found her in such a weakened state? While he could imagine all sorts of bad things that might happen if he left to get help, his gut told him that she would be in real trouble if he didn’t.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and flipped the wet rag on her forehead.
“Sorry,” she said softly.
“For what?”
“For getting sick.”
“I forgive you.”
“Am I going to die?”
“Someday.”
Her eyes slowly opened. “I mean, am I going to die today?”
“Of course not. You’ve got some kind of bug. Everyone gets those. You’ll be fine in a few days.”
“If I do die, promise you’ll tell my mom I was trying to come home.”
Tanner swallowed the lump in his throat.
“She’d probably throw me in jail.”
“Probably,” she said with the hint of a smile.
He reached under the cover and laid his hand on her stomach. She was still burning up.
“You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?” she said.
He hesitated. “I was thinking of going to get a doctor, maybe find a few medicines to help you heal up faster. I wouldn’t be gone long.” He looked around the room and out into the hallway as if to make sure they were still alone. “No one’s going to find you here.”
She glanced over at her rifle leaning against the chair.
“If they do, I’ll fight them. I promise.”
“I know you will.”
“Do me a favor?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to get killed.”
“I was going to ask you to bring me a bottle of Yoo-hoo. I’ve got a terrible thirst for chocolate milk.”
He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.
“You sleep. I’ll see what I can find.”
Based on its size, Tanner figured that Altoona probably had about fifty thousand inhabitants before the pandemic. Surely there were a few doctors left among the survivors. All he had to do was find one and convince him to come and take a look at Samantha. He couldn’t imagine that being too difficult. Everyone loved kids. And in the unlikely event that the doctor wasn’t altruistic by nature, Tanner would be more than happy to provide the necessary incentive.
The most logical place to start looking would be at a large medical center. And according to his map, the Altoona Hospital was less than two miles from where he now stood. He started up the motorcycle, taking one final look back at the house where Samantha rested.
“She’ll be all right,” he told himself. The words sounded hollow, like they were spoken by a politician panning for a vote. “She’ll be all right,” he said again, this time with more conviction.
He pulled out into the street and sped toward Altoona. Over the next mile, the road took on several names, Buckhorn Road, Colonial Drake Highway, and finally, 18th Street. The sides were lined with tightly packed vinyl houses, and the closer he got to town, the more congested the road became.
Tanner saw two teenagers standing in front of one of the old houses, smoking cigarettes. One leaned a hunting rifle lazily against his shoulder, and the other wore two pistols slung across his chest like a Mexican bandito. Tanner placed his sawed-off shotgun on the handlebars of the bike and steered in their direction.
As he got closer, the two youths turned to face him. The one with the pistols tipped the guns forward for a faster draw.
Tanner pulled up and stopped directly in front of them, letting the bike idle quietly.
The young man with the rifle nodded, blowing out a mouthful of smoke.
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