Dawson places his hand gingerly on my shoulder. “Dude, I’m so sorry.”
I muster a slight nod as my palms try to dab away the tears. “Yeah, me too.”
Dawson retrieves a few plates from the cabinet near him as I regain my composure.
“What are you going to do, then? Last I heard, chasers are everywhere, and they’re multiplying like freaking rabbits. It’s been all over the news for the past day or so,” he says.
“I don’t have many options right now. I’m going to do whatever I have to in order to get to Mom and Cindy.”
The microwave dings. The smell venting from its sides makes my mouth water. Dawson’s mom, much like mine, cooks food that always tastes great. Whenever I would come over, she was always asking if I wanted a plate. Like she had to ask.
“Dude, if I remember correctly, that cabin is a long way away from here. How are you planning on getting out there with no wheels? Sounds like a suicide trip to me, bro.” Dawson opens the microwave door and reaches inside. He grabs the plastic container by the sides and pulls the food out. Steam vents out from under the lid that is positioned slightly askew. He hurriedly sets it down on the countertop.
“Maybe, but they’re the only family I have left, and I need to get to them,” I retort.
Dawson removes the lid. He jams a large silver spoon into the dish. He shovels out a heaping mound of the casserole on one of the plates and slides it my way.
My stomach growls, begging me to fill it full again. “What about you? What’s your plan?”
“To be honest, I think I’m going to try and ride this out here. So far, I haven’t seen too many chasers around the house. I think if I stay quiet enough, then it shouldn’t be a problem.” Dawson loads his plate down, and we both dig in. The conversation is tabled as the sound of fork to plate plays over the kitchen. That, and Duke is still working on that thick T-bone steak he was given.
“And what if that doesn’t work? What if they manage to get inside the house? They did in mine. We were lucky to get out when we did,” I pose as I take another bite.
“I don’t know, James. What do you suggest I do, then? For all I know, my parents are dead and the closest family I have are hundreds of miles away. Might as well be on the other side of the planet.” Dawson hisses.
“Don’t think like that. I imagine they are perfectly fine and safe.” I can understand Dawson’s point and his mounting frustration. We always thought and acted like we were adults—too grown up to have our parents coddling us like little babies—but in reality, we were just kidding ourselves. We aren’t ready to face the world on our own yet, and sure as hell not this, but we can’t sit by and do nothing. We don’t have that luxury anymore.
“Come with me and Duke to the cabin. Once we get my mom and Cindy, then we can figure out how to find your folks.”
Dawson polishes off the remainder of his food. He balks at the suggestion with a dismissive wave of his hand. He places the plate in the sink behind him and turns on the water. He shakes his head.
“Go to Portland? Are you thinking straight, bro?” Dawson’s eyes grow large at the notion, acting as though I offered an outlandish plan of action. “That sounds just as big of a suicide trip as going to your cabin. I want to find my mom and dad, but we’re not prepared for anything like that. Like this.”
“I know you’re scared, Dawson. I’m scared to death too. The past twenty-four hours has been the worst of my life. I didn’t think I would make it. But we can’t give up. We need to do what we can to get to our families.”
My voice grows more with every word that parts my lips. It probably isn’t the best idea to call Dawson out like that, but right now, I don’t care. Regardless of how big a prick Dawson can be at times, he’s still my friend. I’m not going to stand by and leave him behind, all alone.
He’s coming with us. He just doesn’t know it yet.
Dawson shuts the water off, and leans against the sink with his arms folded across his chest. I can tell my words don’t set well with him by the scowl on his face. It wasn’t my intention to piss him off, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides, I think we’ll both have a much greater chance if we stick together.
“Listen, I didn’t-”
“If you or Duke want some more to eat, get what you like. Just keep it down and leave the lights off.” Dawson disappears around the corner without speaking another word.
I hear a door slam in the silence of his home, which brings Duke’s head up and his ears on end.
“It’s nothing, boy. Don’t worry about it.” I finish the rest of my food off and place my plate in the sink. I contemplate getting some more as I’m still hungry, but don’t want to take all of Dawson’s food. I’m feeling content, at the moment, and that is good for now.
My phone vibrates. It scares me at first, causing me to shudder, but then I think that maybe Mom is sending me another message. I hurry and dig it out of my pocket. The battery is running low. I wish I would’ve gotten another phone when Mom mentioned it. The battery in this one doesn’t seem to hold a charge anymore.
I temporarily ignore the warning and dial Mom’s number again. I just need to hear her voice, whether it’s for a few minutes or a few seconds. It rings and then cuts to voicemail.
“Hey Mom, I’m over at Dawson’s right now. We’ll be getting on the road shortly. Hope you and Cindy are safe. See you soon. Love you.”
I move over to my pack and find that I actually had a charger tucked in a little nook in the bottom.
I get the phone attached to the charger and plugged in, then leave Duke to polish off the remainder of his steak. I head into the living room.
With it being as dark as it is, I’m starting to get sleepy again. I plop down onto the couch and sit there. My thoughts stretch in every direction.
Before I know it, I’m out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bang!
What was that?
I jolt up from the couch in a manic state with Dawson lingering right there above me. He grabs me by the shoulder, and places his finger over his lips.
Duke’s fur running down his spine stands on end. His ears are folded back as he bears his fangs. I hear that all too familiar low tone growl coming from his chest.
“There’s one of those chasers at the back door,” Dawson whispers with a gun in his hands.
I blink rapidly, trying to erase the sleepiness from my eyes. “How long have I been out?”
Dawson whispers as his head trains towards the clatter, “About three hours or so. There was a group of them that moved through about an hour and a half ago. A few stopped and are hanging out.”
I dig the palms of my hands into my eyes and get to my feet. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Dawson keeps peering over to the windows beyond the kitchen. He looks worried, eyes large and hands tightening over the rifle. “Because, I was hoping they would just move on and didn’t want to take the chance of anyone making any noise.”
“I’m taking it since you have your gun that they aren’t just moving along then?” I inquire.
“Yeah, they’re not.”
My gear is by the couch now along with my gun. My phone sits on top of my pack. I spot a portion of the charger hanging out of the top. I rub my eyes once more, trying to wake up and get ready for whatever might happen next.
I scoop up my pack from the floor and toss it over my shoulder.
“So, what’s the plan, then?”
Dawson briefly glances at me. “I’ve been thinking about what you said and I’m in.”
“In as you’re coming with Duke and me?”
“Yes,” Dawson replies. “As much as I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I am scared. Not knowing if my parents are alive or dead and with those things out there, I’m pretty stressed. I don’t want to be here by myself.”
I place my hand on his shoulder and offer an understanding nod. “I know, bro, I am too.”
Bang!
The door
rattles under the onslaught of the chaser’s bulk. Fists hammer away. The brass doorknob violently jiggles. The chaser groans and the sound of wood cracking nabs our attention.
I quickly retrieve my Remington and take aim at the door.
Dawson points to my left as Duke’s growling grows with every noise the chaser makes.
“There’s another vehicle inside the garage we can use. I’m not sure how much gas is in it. It’s my dad’s work truck.”
“Hopefully, there’s enough to at least get us out of here.”
I grab my gear and toss it over my shoulder while working my way toward the kitchen. The food that was sitting out is now in a big red igloo cooler.
“I packed some munchies for the trip,” Dawson says.
“Let’s grab the cooler and get the heck out of here, then.” I can hear the chaser moaning and breathing heavy through the door as it scrapes its fingernails down the wood.
Dawson grabs one side of the igloo and I the other. It’s pretty heavy. Its bulk makes it cumbersome to carry. At least we’ll have plenty of food this time.
Working our way out of the kitchen and through the hall that leads into the garage, Dawson takes the lead. Duke is in tow, pausing every time the chaser slams against the back door.
My muscle-challenged arms struggle to carry my end, shaking, and my fingers lose their grip on the white handle.
“Dude, did you bring the entire refrigerator? This thing weighs a ton.”
“You never know when you’re going to get the munchies, bro. Besides, would you rather have too much or not enough?” Dawson poses with a raised brow.
“True.”
Dawson turns on the light to the garage and cracks open the door slowly. Although the outside door is down, it doesn’t hurt to play on the side of caution. With nothing stirring inside, we scramble in.
We get over to his dad’s truck, which I must say is much nicer than I remember.
“I thought your dad had some beat-up piece of crap that he drove to work?” I inquire as we shuffle our way to the driver’s side of the truck.
“He did, but it keeled over. So, his job bought a new truck and gave it to him to use.”
“Nice.”
Dawson opens the driver side rear door. We slide the cooler in the back. I remove my gear, and throw it in as well. Duke jumps into the backseat, and I close the door.
“Crap!” Dawson slams his fist down on the side of the truck with a deep huff.
“What?”
“I need to get the keys. Hopefully, they’re where Dad generally keeps them in his room. Be right back.”
With the banging noise intensifying, Dawson bolts back into the house, vanishing around the corner.
Duke sticks his head out the window and barks at every noise the chaser makes.
I reach in and run my hand along his side. I gently pat him and give him some love. He eases off a bit. His tail wags, and the growling slowly subsides.
Crash!
“Dawson? What’s going on out there?” I skittishly ask, my voice thick with fear.
No response is given. The turmoil from within the house sounds as though the chaser has gained access now. Like a bull in a china shop, the bedlam of destruction increases tenfold.
Crap!
“Dawson! Dude, this isn’t funny. Quit screwing around and come on!” I shout.
I pull my arm free from the truck and train the Remington at the doorway. I hold steady.
This better not be some sick little prank that he’s cooking up. I’m not finding it amusing if it is.
More disruptive clamors escape into the garage. Sounds like someone or something is destroying the house. Duke growls again.
“Come on, man, answer-”
Dawson explodes from around the corner with a panicked expression on his face. “Get in the truck! We got to get out of here now!” he yells as he grabs the handle to the garage door and slams it shut.
I lower my gun to my side. “What happened?”
Dawson breathes heavily, his face flushed and full of fear. “The one at the back door broke in. Man, those things are fast and strong. I barely made it past him.”
“Did you find your dad’s keys?” I ask, my voice strained with stress.
“Yeah I-, oh, no.” Dawson feels his pockets.
I narrow my eyes and throw my hands in the air. “Oh no what? You better have those keys.”
Dawson pulls the keys free from his back pocket and shakes them at me. He exhales a sigh of relief while gazing upon the distressed look on my face. “Dude, I thought I dropped them back there.”
The chaser’s bulk slams into the door with a hard thud. Duke growls and barks once more as the chaser shrills and moans.
I quickly move around to the other side of the truck and get in. Dawson settles into the driver’s side seat as we shut our doors.
“I just thought of something. What if the highways and roads are covered with those things?” Dawson’s chest heaves.
“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, but for now, we have to get out of here.” I motion to Dawson to start the truck.
“All right, here we go.” Dawson fires up his dad’s truck. The engine comes to life. That subtle rattle never sounded so good. I latch my seatbelt and place the Remington next to me on the floor board. Duke lays down on the back seat.
“Looks like we have about a half a tank of gas,” Dawson informs as he taps the fuel gauge on the dash.
His free hand grips the steering wheel tightly. A look of fear, panic, and uncertainty all roll up and smash together on his face.
“Well, that’s better than what I was thinking. Hopefully, that’ll be enough until we can find a gas station, so we can fuel up,” I respond.
“Okay, you ready for this?” Dawson glances my way, beads of sweat racing down his face.
“About as ready as I can be,” I reply. “Just do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t kill us.”
“I’ll do my best.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dawson is roughly a year older than me and has been driving forever. His dad was always taking him out on back roads and trails, letting him go wherever. I rode with him from time to time on those little driving lessons, which makes me reemphasize my point of not killing us.
He presses the garage door button that’s attached to his visor, but nothing happens. He presses it again with the same result.
“Damn it,” he growls, while glancing over his right shoulder.
“Why isn’t the garage door coming up?” I inquire.
“My dad was supposed to have fixed this already. There’s a short somewhere in the motor. He took it apart and thought he had found the problem.” Dawson keeps pressing the button with the same result. That scared and aggravated expression on his face grows more intense with each push. His eyes narrow and lips become taut as he smacks the controller against the palm of his hand.
“So, how do we get out of here?” I stare at Dawson, waiting for him to respond as the chaser continues its assault on the door.
“Well, aside from ramming the garage door and hoping nothing happens to the car from us doing that, we could disengage the motor and lift the door ourselves. That’s about the only thing I can think of.” Dawson points straight up and shrugs his shoulders.
As much as I want to just stay in the truck and have Dawson gun it, I don’t want to risk messing up the truck to the point it breaks down.
“Okay. I’ll get out and lift the door up.” I can’t believe those words escaped my lips, but they did.
“You sure?” Dawson asks with a surprised expression on his sweaty face.
“No, but we really don’t have a choice, do we? Can’t risk messing up the truck.” My hand takes hold of the door’s handle before Dawson stops me.
“To lift the door manually, you’ll need to pull the rope with the red handle down that is attached to the motor. You’ll hear it break free, and you should
be able to lift it up then.”
“Got it.” Taking a deep breath, I grab my Remington and open the door. Duke gets to his feet and climbs over the center console. “Stay right here with Dawson, boy. I’ll be right back.”
Duke sits down in my seat, groaning a little. I can tell he wants to get out with me, but he doesn’t.
“As soon as you get that door up, get your butt back in this truck,” Dawson urges from the cab.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” I reply.
Holding the Remington close, I flick off the safety and move around the truck to the other side. The chaser in the house is still pounding on the door. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to give up until it breaks through.
I spot the red rope with the red handle dangling from the ceiling. I reach up. My fingers lace over it and pull. It pops. The track for the door is now free from the motor. That was the easy part.
I turn back around and head to the garage door. I press my ear against the cool steel to listen for anything that might be on the other side. The truck’s engine is overpowering, making it difficult to hear.
Glancing back toward the truck, I signal to Dawson to kill the engine. It dies immediately.
He pokes his head out of the driver’s side window and asks, “What is it?”
“Nothing yet. I can’t hear over the engine going.”
Taking another listen, I press my head back against the door. It seems quiet. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t anything out there, but I can’t pick up on whether or not any chasers are close by.
I shoulder my Remington and lift up a little on the door. It’s not too heavy, but enough to where I can’t hold the door and take a peek outside. I lower it back down and glance back over my shoulder. I spot a stack of red bricks. An idea gels inside my brain. A way for me to assess the situation beyond the garage door. I snag a brick from the pile.
“What are you doing now?” Dawson inquires once more.
“I’m trying to prop up the door, so I can see if any of those chasers are close by. If I open this door and there’s a handful waiting on the other side, then I am as good as dead.”
Fallout Page 8
