by Ben Stevens
The mountains were still misty against the sky’s early morning blueness. Summer was slowly starting to fade and so it wasn’t as hot as it had been, yet Parker understood that the desert ahead had its own ‘micro-climate’, as it were.
His eyes were always everywhere, never still. Probing whatever they passed for the slightest sign of danger. He’d already accepted that should they run into a group of hogs and it then seemed certain that they were about to be captured, he would put a bullet into Abigail’s head before killing himself. That was all.
The mountains were drawing ever closer. Losing their distant mistiness. The superstores left behind and the straight road with the yellow markings proceeding through land that appeared evermore rocky and arid. Past a gas station, the nozzle of the solitary stand lying on the cracked concrete base. Something decayed and bony, wearing wisps of clothing, lying nearby.
A low wind blew into Parker’s face. Dusty, making him cough. Using a small towel to wipe the sweat from his brow. Looking back at Abigail, asking if she was okay. The answer coming back – Yes, John. She was also continually looking around her, captivated by this peculiar journey. Helped immensely to have another pair of eyes on the lookout, thought Parker.
More cars to have to cycle around, now. Sometimes obliged to leave the actual road, although the ground on either side was nice and flat and level for several metres, so no real problem.
There – a sign. White lettering against a green background –
You are about to enter desert country. Ensure that you have sufficient water/supplies in the event of a vehicular breakdown. Emergency phones are located approximately every ten kilometres. Cell-phone coverage may be limited within desert. In the event of vehicular breakdown, remain with vehicle after making emergency call. Help will arrive shortly.
Not now it wouldn’t, thought Parker. He stopped the bicycle and checked over his supplies again. Canned food and water. Also bottled carbonated water, which would still be okay to drink. A large, ten-litre plastic container of water to use for washing (a wet towel would have to suffice here), and cleaning teeth. Toilet paper and other such essentials...
...Something was nagging at Parker, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what. Nothing more than natural nerves concerning the desert crossing, he guessed. Best just to get on with it. Once he and Abigail were out the other side, it was only a couple hundred more miles back to the town he’d lived in with Carrie...
It was now approaching midday and already very warm. Parker made Abigail drink some water before he began cycling again. They were in the desert, now. Long straight highway littered with rusting cars. Mountains and rocky crevices set back either side of the cracked grey asphalt concrete with the fading, sun-bleached yellow markings. Parker saw that there were regular, overhanging rocks and small caves and such set in the base of these towering rocky walls. Wouldn’t be hard to find shady shelter to rest up in, in just another hour or so.
More water for Abigail and him. Christ, had he brought enough...? It had seemed a lot back when he’d packed it in the large, deep plastic ‘tray’ below the seat occupied by the girl; but both of them were already having to drink so much...
Still, he was slowly eating up the miles. T-shirt saturated with sweat by the time he decided to pull off the highway and seek shade. Idiot not to have found himself some sort of hat. Maybe that was what had been nagging at him. But at least Abigail had that cap. Plus her seat was covered in any case. Still, Parker had also insisted she wear a towel over the back of her neck. But her forearms were still exposed...
Shit – always so much to have to try and think of...!
The sun was getting to him, realized Parker. He cycled off the highway just before he reached an overturned lorry, lying on its side, that was blocking the entire road anyway.
He cycled over to where there was a small enclave in one rocky wall. Some stunted, prickly bushes growing around it. Parker got off the bicycle and wheeled it into the shady area before lifting Abigail off. She looked tired, and once Parker had improvised a bed for her on the dusty ground, spreading out a towel and making a pillow from some clothes bundled together, she soon fell asleep.
Parker sat with his back to the rock face and stared out at the expanse. Early afternoon yet that was a crescent moon still showing in the massive blue canopy up above. Rocks, dried, dead-looking vegetation, cactuses, sand and dust – and a highway clogged with thousands of cars, many with one or more corpses inside.
And how many of the drivers and passengers had turned into things, after they’d got sick and started coughing during this doomed attempt to flee to some sort of ‘safety’...?
But nothing except nature and the rusted metal of all those vehicles showing. No sign of any ‘movement’, save for the odd bird flying high up above. In time Parker would need to sleep; he would need Abigail to keep lookout. But how could one entrust a young girl with such an essential duty? She might just get tired and drift off herself...
Still, this wasn’t an immediate consideration. Parker had had sufficient rest (well, never sufficient – but enough) to remain awake until darkness fell, when he would see if there was sufficient (there was that word again) ‘natural light’ – from the moon and the stars – to try cycling at night.
(How amazing the sky appeared at night now, with no light shining upwards from Earth to diminish its glory. Still Parker sometimes gazed up at the heavens as he stood in the darkness – when he judged it safe enough to do so, for just a few seconds – and marvelled at it all. It was one of the very few pleasures which could still be extracted from existence.)
...Just how cold would it get at night? Parker had got clothing for himself and Abigail, thick jackets and some rugs along with underwear, T-shirts and such...
Enough. He’d find everything out soon enough. For now he had just to sit, and wait. A few words mumbled by Abigail in her sleep. Hours ahead in which to remain as still as possible and keep constant watch. And then more cycling...
‘John...’
Parker saw them at exactly the same moment as Abigail quietly uttered his name with an underlying note of urgency. Early the following morning, the sun rising in a great flaming golden ball of glory. The night not as cold as Parker had feared; a sweater had been sufficient to guard against the chill, with Abigail also wearing a rug as she was not moving her body but just sitting still.
...Two figures on horseback, on top of one rocky outcrop. Not moving, just sat watching the bicycle below as it wound its way through and around the countless vehicles abandoned along one of the desert’s highways.
Parker squinted and strained his eyes to try to make out any details... Seemed the figures were both wearing something strapped to their backs – rifles, figured Parker. Their heads were covered with some sort of black cloth, guarding against the sun. (Parker had by now also tied a towel around his own head.)
‘Who are they, John?’ said Carrie in a whisper, as though the two distant figures might hear.
‘Don’t know...’ replied Parker slowly, nervous every time he had to snatch his eyes away from the two figures sat on horseback in order to steer the bike. But they didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move; just staying there in the same spot, watching him in return.
Then they turned round, and in a few moments vanished from sight.
There were numerous, natural ‘trails’ leading down to the highway from the high, rocky areas either side. Had those figures on horseback (male or female, Parker had absolutely no idea) wished to apprehend Abigail and him, they could have done so in much less than a minute.
Yet several more hours passed, Parker’s eyes continually flitting either side of the highway as he patiently pedalled, and no more mysterious figures on horseback presented themselves. Really starting to get hot, now. Abigail asleep in the child’s seat at the back of the bike. Time to pull off the highway and find another shaded area in which to rest.
Parker did so, meaning that he was now obscured from sight from o
ne side of the highway – the side where those two figures on horseback had presented themselves. Yet still they’d find him and Abigail easily enough if they wanted to – if they wanted to.
And if their intentions were hostile? Parker had his gun, but no way of knowing if those two figures weren’t just part of a larger group. Hell thought Parker – a genuine tribe, if you like.
His mind was racing with such thoughts; yet still his eyelids felt heavy as stone. He had to sleep soon, just for a few hours. As he told himself this, he observed Abigail awaken and slowly sit up on the rug Parker had spread out for her on the dry, sandy ground.
‘Here,’ said Parker, passing her a can of water he’d already opened. ‘Take a good drink. You hungry?’
‘No,’ replied the girl, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand after she’d drunk.
‘Abby,’ (it was what the girl had since told Parker she liked to be called) ‘can you do an important job, just for a few hours?’
‘You want me to keep watch, while you get some sleep?’ returned Abby.
Parker’s dusty, sweat-smeared face cracked in a grin.
‘You’re a bright girl,’ he told her. ‘That’s exactly right. But – this is important – you see, hear or even sense that something isn’t right, you wake me up immediately. You got that?’
Parker’s smile disappeared with that last question.
‘Like those two people on horses?’
‘Them – or anything else.’
‘Okay, John.’
Taking out the gun from his jacket pocket (currently wrapped around his waist) and putting it on the ground beside him, Parker then sat with his back against a rock face. Was hardly the most comfortable of positions – but then, Parker didn’t want to get too comfortable. Couldn’t afford to do anything that might result him in going into too deep a sleep.
Still, his eyelids descended and he was almost instantly asleep. Back, dreamless...
...He awoke to discover that it was almost evening, and that Abby had gotten sick. She was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, shaking. Parker felt her brow and it was burning. This was undoubtedly a fever.
‘Abby,’ said Parker gently, holding a can of water to her lips. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Don’t feel... good,’ said the girl hoarsely. ‘I miss my mommy.’
She began to cry, quietly. Parker rubbed her back with a mounting feeling of dread. This couldn’t be the virus, surely. No way would she survive all this time, only to develop it now – out here in the very back of beyond.
And yet... Could Parker be completely sure of this?
He picked Abby up and carried her over to the bicycle. As the attachment at the back had a wheel either side, the bike always remained upright.
He looked back at the way he’d come. The countless vehicles winking metallically in the slowly-setting sun. Looked now at the way he still had to go. How many more miles? Sixty at least. He certainly hadn’t completed even half the journey through this desert yet.
It was down to him. He had to find the strength to get them through. He’d cycle all night – fortunately the moon shone bright and there was little to no cloud cover. Twenty miles; he had to do that at least. Easier said than done, however, especially when he had to keep circumnavigating all those long-since abandoned vehicles. Making it impossible to get up any real speed.
He put Abby in the seat and checked the luggage in the large tray beneath before he sat on the saddle and, with an effort, got the bicycle moving.
Slowly it darkened as he rode. Abby now and then moaning quietly in her fever-racked sleep. Parker stopped the bike to put some water to her lips – and checked her for boils. There were none visible.
What happens if she turns? Leave her here? Shoot her?
Enough – there were certain things he just couldn’t think of right now. Concentrate on eating up those miles and getting to the other side of this rocky near-desert – that was all.
Right through the night Parker cycled. Thighs aching fiercely. Backside sore from the saddle. Turning the handles this way and that, always having to dodge some obstacle just ahead. Never able to cycle ‘straight’ for very long. He had a towel to wipe the sweat pouring from his brow, even though the darkness brought a chill to the desert. Eyes straining against the silvery brilliance of the moon shining brightly on the ground. Shapes seeming to move, suddenly, causing his hand to dart towards the gun he kept in his jacket pocket before he realized that the ‘shape’ was nothing more than a figment of his exhausted imagination.
He was so tired! Never having a chance to rest properly, and now the added responsibly of having to take care of this fever-racked child. What the hell had that even been about, anyway? Just coming upon the mother and Abby huddled at the bottom of a small set of stairs at the back of a superstore, a load of things seeking to get at them? Had Abby’s mother (Jan – that had been her name – Parker had almost forgotten) thought that the metal door at the bottom of the stairs would be unlocked? Otherwise, how had she allowed her daughter and herself to become so trapped...?
These and many other thoughts flitted across the surface of Parker’s mind as he cycled. The deeper part of his consciousness – his psyche – continually alert to the slightest sign of danger. However this sign might come.
The sun rose again and Parker wiped the exhaustion from his eyes with the back of his right hand. He’d not done anything like twenty miles. Maybe not even half that amount. It was such slow going with the weight of the girl and the supplies, and all the vehicular obstacles continually in the way.
He’d also been stopping cycling every hour or so, to check on the girl and try to give her some water. She was barely conscious but still she gulped the water down, so that Parker now considered it likely they’d have to start on the ten-litre bottle of water (originally considered undrinkable by Parker, and so just to be used for light washing and brushing teeth) before they got to the other side of this desert.
If they got to the other side of this desert...
Nothing for it but to climb back up on the saddle and set off again. Parker was tortured by thirst himself, but he had to bear it. Drink as little as possible, thereby leaving more for the girl. His dry tongue licked his salty lips, and his vision momentarily swam with sheer fatigue. T-shirt soaked with sweat. He pushed at the pedals and emitted a despairing groan before he could get the bicycle going again.
...The hours and the increasing heat all blending into one seemingly endless torture. Finally Parker could bear it no longer and he gulped down far more water than he’d intended to. A solitary tear spilt out of his otherwise dry, aching eye.
They were going to die. The sun overhead was boiling them alive. He’d taken this young girl who was now moaning and wet with sweat to her death.
Fucking idiot! What the hell had he been thinking? Just cycle across a hundred-odd miles of desert, with no problems or complications...?
More hours, heat and torture. A stabbing pain now permanently in his skull. No longer even possessing the energy to check either side of him. Just tunnel-vision ahead, mechanically turning the handlebars left or right as was required. A few times he failed to turn them in time and he just collided into whatever rusting obstacle lay ahead. Sometimes a skeleton or two inside; sometimes lying by the side of the road. Parker ran over a few of them, too. Sun-bleached bones cracking underneath the bicycle’s tyres...
And then it happened.
It was getting ever-harder to cycle. The bicycle becoming ever-harder to steer. Finally it drew to a halt, and Parker swore viciously in a cracked, dusty voice as he dismounted and saw that – yes – the front tyre of the bicycle was completely flat.
Wasn’t hard to determine the reason why. A small but sharp piece of metal, sticking out of the rubber. And now Parker realized what had been nagging him previously – that something he’d been certain he’d forgotten but had still been somehow unable to identify.
Something real simple; something r
eal easy to forget; yet something that right now spelt the difference between life and death –
A bicycle puncture repair kit.
Parker almost collapsed to the ground. Sat cross-legged staring at the flat tyre, the sun burning overhead. Returned partially to his senses a few moments later, realizing that the moaning, fever-stricken young girl still sat on the attachment that was behind the bicycle depended upon him.
...Parker quickly took stock and this stock-taking was grim indeed. At most – at most – he’d covered sixty miles on this bicycle. Which still left over forty still to do – on foot. And the girl sick. And water beginning to run perilously low.
Wearily, Parker stood up and picked up Abby from her seat. She put her sweat-drenched arms around his neck as he carried her to the side of the highway and some shade, beside some small, prickly trees.
‘Mommy...’ she said, her voice just as dry and rasping as Parker knew his own was.
Parker got one of the last few cans of water, opened it and held it to her lips.
‘Water, honey – drink it,’ he said gently.
‘Want... mommy...’ said Abby, eyes closed as the precious fluid mostly ran down her chin. She lay down on the ground and Parker covered her legs with a rug even though the day was so hot. She looked so small, so weak, so vulnerable... Parker had promised her mother he’d look out for her and instead he’d just taken the young girl into the desert and now they were both going to die...
Parker took out his gun and stared at it. Still had this to use, once it truly was certain they were both doomed. Better that way than dying of thirst, anyway.
He’d do it while Abby was asleep. Do it so that she didn’t even realize as he put the barrel of the weapon close to her skull and...
