Well, Martina had drunk absolutely no water the night before. That was one thing she did remember. Though it would be hours too late, she could probably use some now.
She flopped her legs off the bed and sat up. Immediately, she froze as her stomach did a complete somersault, threatening to disgorge everything it held.
“Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t, please don’t,” she said under her breath.
When the tumult in her abdomen eased, she tried slowly rising to her feet. The trip to the bathroom was made in a series of step-pauses that probably would have looked hilarious if she had not been the one doing it. There had been a glass on the sink the evening before but it wasn’t there now, so she cupped her hands and fed water straight from the tap into her mouth.
The first couple gulps went down with relief, but the third was a mistake. She barely lifted the lid off the toilet before the water and the rest of her stomach contents made a quick, loud exit.
When she was through, she felt better. Even her headache had eased. Though she was apprehensive, she knew she should drink some more. This time she stopped at the two gulps and was relieved when they seemed to stay down.
Thinking a shower would help even more, she stripped off her clothes and climbed in. She was pleased to find the motel’s water heater still worked. Standing head bent under the warm stream, she let the water pound into her neck and shoulders for several minutes before washing herself. When she finally climbed out, she actually felt, if not exactly normal, 65 to 70 percent there. She toweled off, carried her dirty clothes into the other room, pulled out something clean from her bag, and got dressed.
Though she knew she’d been making a lot of noise, both Noreen and Riley were lying exactly as they had been when Martina had gone into the bathroom. She tiptoed to the door adjoining the two rooms and peeked inside. Craig was still out, too.
Well, this was going to be fun. “Happy New Year, everyone,” she said in as loud a voice as her head would allow her. “Time to get up!”
__________
“THE ROSE PARADE,” Noreen said.
All four of them were sitting around the same table at Carl’s Jr. they had used the night before. Martina had found some frozen sausages and hamburger buns in the back, and had been able to get enough of the kitchen gear working to warm everything up.
At first, no one wanted to touch the food, but after the initial bites were taken, everyone devoured his or her portions and asked for more.
“What about it?” Riley asked.
“I missed it. It’s always over by now.”
Martina eyed her friend wearily. “Noreen, I’m fairly certain there was no parade this year.”
For a moment Noreen said nothing, lost in melancholy. “I know that. It’s just kind of a tradition. Mom and I would always get up early on New Year’s Day and watch.”
“It’s just a boring parade,” Craig said. “You’re not missing anything.”
Martina and Riley turned on him, glaring.
“What?” he asked.
“Were you born an idiot?” Martina asked.
“It’s okay,” Noreen said. “He’s right. It is boring. Was boring. The last couple of years Mom had to force me to get up with her.” Her gaze drifted out the window. “I really wish she’d had to do that today.”
Martina thought her friend would start crying, but Noreen’s eyes remained dry.
“Let’s finish up,” Martina said. “We’re closing in on noon. I’d hoped we’d be on the road for a couple hours by now, at least.”
“Have you decided which way we’re going?” Riley asked.
Martina nodded. “To the coast, I think. If Ben heads south, that’s the way he’d come.”
SANTA CRUZ, CALIFORNIA
10:10 AM PST
BEN SPENT ONE last night in the house he’d grown up in. Maybe he’d come back. Maybe he’d never see the place again. He wasn’t sure which he preferred. He just knew at that moment the place held nothing but memories of death and loss.
South was where he wanted to go. South to the desert, to Martina.
What happened after he found her, they could figure out together.
He loaded up his Jeep with supplies and clothes and camping gear. As he walked through the house for the last time, he considered grabbing photo albums and mementos, but, in the end, the only thing he took was a framed family picture of the five of them. It had been taken at a neighbor’s barbecue. Nothing fancy, just his mom and dad on one side of a wooden picnic table, and he and his sisters on the other. A quick “look at the camera and smile” kind of thing, but his mother had always loved the shot, had said more than once it was her favorite.
Climbing into his Jeep, he tucked the photo under the front seat and started the engine. He had to force himself not to look at the house again. If he did, he knew he would probably be sitting there all day. So he kept his eyes forward, shifted into gear, and pulled into the street.
Even though it had been days since he’d seen anyone else moving around, it was still surprising to be the only one driving down the freeway. Here and there he’d pass abandoned cars, most pulled over to the side, but a few left in the middle of lanes.
A straight drive to Ridgecrest would be, at most, an eight-hour trip, but he wasn’t going straight there. He needed to make a stop at his place in Santa Cruz.
As he moved out of the city and into the hills, he turned on his radio. Like always, it automatically synced with the phone in his pocket, and began playing the song it had left off with last. In this case, Green Day’s “American Idiot.” He dialed up the volume and blasted it. It was something he would have never done in the past, but who would care now?
Thirty minutes later, as he entered the city of Santa Cruz, the Arctic Monkeys gave way to Adele singing “Someone Like You.” The song was too maudlin for his current mindset, so he reached toward the radio, intending to skip to the next track.
His finger had barely touched the button when something darted into the upcoming intersection.
“Oh, crap!”
He slammed on the brakes, the tires squealing and the Jeep shimmying from the sudden deceleration. For half a second, he thought the back end was going to swing around and he’d flip over, but he was able to keep control and bring the vehicle to a stop.
Ten feet.
That was all that separated his front bumper from the large, brown horse that had run in front of him. Instead of continuing on its way, the animal stopped in the middle of the road, looking at him much like he was looking at it, as if neither could believe the sight of the other.
A bray, not from the horse in front of him, but from back the way the horse had come. A moment later a second horse and then a third ran into view, both nearly as big as the first. Behind them a fourth jogged out, this one clearly younger, half the size of the others. Dark gray halters were strapped around each of their heads and noses. The second horse had a dangling rope that looked like it had been cut so it wouldn’t drag on the ground.
The three joined the first on the street, and as a group they continued on.
Ben sat there, parked in the middle of the road, watching in near disbelief until they passed out of sight. Had their owner, knowing he or she was about to die, used a last bit of strength to let them go?
Ben suddenly realized there must be other horses trapped in stables and corrals, unable to get free and forage for themselves. Not just horses—goats and cattle and sheep. Dogs and cats, too, locked in backyards and houses. He had thought about nothing but his family and Martina since the outbreak had begun, hadn’t considered what had happened to all the animals that relied on humans to survive.
He looked around and saw several houses down the road the horses had come from. Were there animals in them? Should he check?
It was a Pandora’s box, he realized. Check one and he’d have to check the next and the next and the next. He made a pack with himself. Any home he came close to in the course of doing something else,
he would open a door, or, if it was locked, bust out a window. If there was anything inside, it could then come out if it wanted to.
As the adrenaline that had coursed through him began to subside, he started to laugh.
A horse. He was the only driver on the road and he’d nearly run into a horse. That was not something that happened every day.
__________
THE APARTMENT BEN rented was a small, one-bedroom place over the garage of a house about a mile from the university. His landlords, the Tanners, were a newly retired couple who had treated Ben like one of their family, often inviting him down for dinner.
As he pulled into the driveway, he wondered if they had survived. Probably not, but at least their bodies wouldn’t be inside the house. They had gone to their daughter’s place in Los Angeles for the holidays before all this had begun.
Instead of parking in his usual spot, he drove all the way up to the garage and pulled around the side where the stairs leading up to his place were located. The moment he shut off the engine, he was enveloped once more in the near silence that had taken over his world. The sound of leaves rustling in the trees, the squawk of a distant bird, but that was it.
He headed up the stairs, anxious to get back on the road. The main room of the apartment served as living room, dining room, and kitchen. A small bathroom was directly opposite the front door, and taking up the back half of the available space to the right was the bedroom.
He headed to the latter and went straight to his dresser. The item he’d come for was tucked in the bottom drawer. He moved a pile of sweaters to the side and pulled out the box. Palm-sized and only an inch thick, it was wrapped in red Christmas paper, with a white bow on top that was bigger than the box.
Martina’s Christmas present—a pair of small but brilliant diamond earrings. He’d spent over a week searching for just the right ones. They had cost him more than he had intended on spending, but they were perfect.
It was ridiculous, really, coming back here for this. He could have stopped at a hundred places on his way to Ridgecrest, and picked out something ten times as nice for free now. But he had chosen this, had paid for it himself. To him, that meant something more.
After he slipped the box into his jacket pocket, he grabbed his favorite sweater, a couple T-shirts, and his UC Santa Cruz hoodie before heading back outside. He stuffed everything into the duffel that had the most room, and was about to climb back into the driver’s seat when he remembered the promise he’d made not fifteen minutes earlier.
He looked down the driveway. The Tanners didn’t have any pets, so he didn’t need to worry about their place, but he knew some of the neighbors did.
Three houses in either direction and the ones directly across the street, that’s it, he told himself.
The people right next door had one of those small dogs, a Yorkie or something like that. It was a yappy thing that had kept Ben awake more than once. He went there first. The front door was locked, so he let himself into the backyard and tried the sliding glass back door. It was also locked. He found a gardening trowel and used the butt of the handle to smash the window.
He didn’t bother calling the dog. If it was there, it would find its way outside. Returning the way he’d come, he almost shut the gate before realizing that would be almost as confining as leaving the animal in the house, so he propped it open and moved on to the next place.
Over and over he repeated this procedure. He found some doors unlocked, but most of the places required a window to be broken. Limiting his range to only three houses on either side proved to be impossible, however. His conscience wouldn’t let him stop until he reached the end of the block.
He finished up and headed back toward his apartment, not really sure how much good he’d done. Not once had he seen a pet wanting to get out. Still, he was glad he’d made the effort.
He had just turned onto his driveway when he heard something in the distance that sounded like a voice. He twisted around and looked down the street. No one there.
He was probably hearing things. A few times back in San Mateo, as he cared for his dying sister, he’d thought he’d heard voices, too, but every time he’d investigated, he’d found nothing.
Wishful thinking then, and wishful thinking now.
He turned back toward his Jeep and started walking again.
“Help!”
That was no wishful thinking.
He turned in a circle, trying to figure out where the voice had come from.
“Please! Help!”
To the right. A woman’s voice.
Ben raced up the driveway to his Jeep, jumped in, and backed it out to the street. At the first intersection, he turned right in the general direction toward the voice. Then he threw the engine into neutral and popped up on his seat.
Cupping a hand around his mouth, he yelled, “Where are you?”
“Oh, my God! Can you hear me? Please, get me out of here!”
The voice was closer than he expected, again to his right somewhere.
“I don’t know where you are!” he shouted. “Keep yelling!”
“I’m over here! Please help me! Get me out of here!”
Ben drove slowly forward, zeroing in on her voice.
“Are you there? Hello? Don’t leave me here!”
As he came abreast of a tired-looking Cape Cod place, he rolled to a stop.
“Am I close?” he yelled.
“Here! I’m right here!”
Her voice was coming from between the Cape Cod and a ranch-style house on the other side of it. He killed the engine and jumped out of the Jeep. As he ran across the front yard, he yelled, “I’m coming!”
“Oh, thank God! Thank God!”
He nearly slipped on the grass as he skidded around the corner. About fifteen feet back, a tall wooden fence stretched between the two houses.
“Which house?” he asked.
“What do you mean, which house? This one! Please help me!”
Her voice was coming from behind the Cape Cod. The gate was locked, so he pulled himself over the top, and dropped onto a concrete patio on the other side. She wasn’t in the side yard, so he moved around the corner and came to an abrupt halt. She wasn’t in the backyard, either. What the hell?
“Where did you go?”
“I didn’t go anywhere. I’m right here.”
The voice seemed to have come from almost directly behind him. He whirled around.
Low on the back of the house was a basement window, broken and barred on the outside. Looking out of it was the woman. She had a dirt-stained face and a head of tangled brown hair, and looked to be in her mid-twenties.
“Oh, thank God, thank God, thank God,” she said, spotting him. “Please, help me.”
“Are you trapped down there?”
“Yes! Yes! I can’t open the door.”
Ben looked around for an outside entrance to the basement, but didn’t see any. He would have to go into the house. “Hold on. I’ll be right down.”
He needed to smash a window to unlock the back door, but he didn’t think the woman would mind. The smell of death hit him the moment he stepped inside. He clapped a hand over his mouth and nose, and had to blink a few times as his eyes watered up. After his vision cleared, he scanned the interior.
To the right was a kitchen, and to the left, a space that would’ve probably been considered a family room. The only furniture, though, was an old couch and a wooden coffee table. Both the furniture and the rooms looked dated but well maintained.
No basement door, though.
He moved into a hallway. The smell was stronger here, and seemed to be coming from the left, so he went right. He didn’t have to go far before finding himself in a living room where the spartan décor continued—in this case, two chairs, another coffee table, and a magazine basket, the latter filled but neat. Again, no entrance to the basement.
Tightening his grip on his face, he returned to the hallway and began opening doors. The first two l
ed to a bathroom and an understocked linen closet. When he opened the third door, he found a room that, unlike the rest of house so far, was fully furnished—a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a desk, and a full bookcase. The walls were covered with pictures and posters, most of which featured an early-twenties Justin Timberlake. It was obvious this had been a teenage girl’s room.
He moved on. Only one door was left, the one hiding whoever had died. Ben pulled it open, already sure it wouldn’t be the door to the basement, but he had to check. Sure enough, it led into a second bedroom.
This one, apparently, had been the master. A simple dresser sat against one wall, and a queen-sized bed against the other. The body of a middle-aged man was on the bed, half covered by a blanket. In a rare break from the cleanliness Ben had seen throughout the house, used tissues were scattered on the carpet.
Ben blinked to keep his eyes clear as they watered up again, and scanned the room, looking for a basement door he knew wouldn’t be there. The only things he saw were three pictures hanging on the wall, family portraits of a man, a woman, and a girl. In the oldest one, the girl was maybe twelve or thirteen, and in the most recent, probably almost out of high school. The man was definitely the guy in the bed.
“Hey! What’s going on?” The floor muted the woman’s voice, making her hard to understand.
Ben hurried out of the bedroom and yelled, “I can’t find the basement door!”
“It’s just off the kitchen!”
“I didn’t see it.”
“Come on! Get me out of here!”
The only thing just off the kitchen was a laundry room consisting of a washer, a dryer, and a closet half filled with neatly arranged cleaning supplies.
He started to close the closet.
“Did you find it?” the woman yelled.
Instead of being muted by the floorboards this time, her voice seemed to be coming through the closet. He ran his hand across the back and found a latch. As he pulled it up, the whole back wall moved out of the way. Someone had gone to great lengths to hide the door.
“Found it!” he shouted as he headed down the steps.
At the bottom, he was confronted with another door, this one metal. He tried the knob, but it was locked.
Eden Rising Page 13
