by Joe McKinney
“One night I was in bed and I couldn’t stop thinking about my dad’s guns downstairs. How easy it would be to curl up with one and pull the trigger.”
He watches the road calmly, but his hands tighten on the steering wheel. He’s never told me about the gun.
“I didn’t know you were that bad.” I want to cry for the kid who contemplated dying. I get a glimpse of how empty my life would be if I didn’t have Nelly and touch his hand.
“I was. But I also knew I could survive anything, as long as I didn’t pretend to be something I wasn’t. So I didn’t get the gun, and I told everyone. Anyway, previous crack-up notwithstanding, you are strong. You would never take the easy way out like that, because it wouldn’t be the easy way.”
It took me two years to admit I made a mistake with Adrian. I’m terrified of confrontation. For instance, I haven’t asked Ana why she’s pissed at me because I’m afraid it will open up a can of worms, and I like my cans shut tight.
I know that’s not exactly what he means. I used to be strong, before my world went up in smoke. It was one of the things I liked best about myself, and I hate how weak I’ve become. I’ve spent the past years just surviving, and I hardly deserve a merit badge for that.
I cross my arms and look out the window at the budding trees. “Well, I don’t see anyone else in this car downing a bottle of pills, so why does that make me so special?”
Nelly sighs. “You could argue a cat out of its fur, you know that?”
I smile. “What’s that, another one of your Texan expressions?”
“Nah, I just made it up. You like?” he says and laughs when I roll my eyes.
He must believe what he’s saying. Well, he’s right about one thing: I’m not going down easily.
Chapter 43
Three hours later the radio still broadcasts the same-old, the New York State road atlas looks dog-eared and we’re only about halfway there.
“All right,” James, now in the passenger seat, says in a weary voice, “County Road seven thousand three hundred forty-two is the next left.”
Every road has a name like County Road 42 or Albany-Jingletown Post Road. They’re ridged and potholed, and our top speed is forty miles per hour. I’m thankful we haven’t hit any problems thus far, but it’s cramped with four people in the back seat, especially since no one, including me, smells very good. But we’re alive. I know it’s ridiculous to focus on the fact that my right butt cheek is numb when the world is ending.
I vacillate between a combination of worry-terror that makes my chest tighten and feeling bitchy about little things, like how stuffy the car is and how guys think sitting with three feet of empty space between their knees is a basic human right, even when three girls have their knees glued shut in the same row.
It’s a while before I realize that I’m not just grouchy. I don’t feel well. Every time we hit a curve I close my eyes to take away the sloshing in my stomach, but it makes it worse. I lean my head on the cool window glass.
Penny turns to me. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” I say between bouts of nausea. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“Nels, you’d better stop the car. Cass’s going to puke,” she says.
He pulls over on a wide shoulder. The cool air hits and my nausea recedes a little. I lean against the truck and close my eyes, glad the world has stopped its jolting. That’s when the stomach cramps hit.
“Pack.” I gasp, doubled over from the knife twisting in my intestines. They look at me blankly. “Toilet paper.”
Penny rushes to the back and grabs the roll. I stumble into the woods. When I return ten minutes later everyone stands outside the truck.
James suddenly stubs out his cigarette. “I kind of feel nauseous too.”
“Need the TP?” I ask weakly. “It was tons of fun out there. I wouldn’t want you to miss out.”
He gives me a wan smile and perches on the front seat, head hanging in his hands. My legs are shaky, and I plop down on the ground, breathing hard. The nausea creeps back.
“I haven’t felt right all day,” Peter says with a frown. “Did we eat something weird?”
“Everything was packaged,” Penny replies. “I guess it could have been something, though. We filtered all the water, so it’s not that.”
Ana and Peter exchange a quick look.
“What?” Penny demands. “What’s the matter?”
It dawns on her at the same time as I remember Penny giving them water duty a day ago. We even showed them how to use the filter properly. Ana looks at Penny meekly.
“You didn’t filter the water? Don’t even tell me you didn’t use the filter, Ana,” Penny says, her voice rising.
“We didn’t think it would be a big deal. The water looked clean. And it was taking so long,” Ana replies. She crosses her arms like she’s explained it to everyone’s satisfaction.
“That’s why they’re called microbes, Ana. They’re microscopic. And what else did you have to do that day? Shopping? I can’t believe you guys.”
She shakes her head in disgust at them, arms akimbo. I look up at their faces and it makes me dizzy.
“I’m sorry,” Peter says, but he looks more annoyed than sorry. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have done it.”
Their arguing voices get distant. The sun is so bright. I want to close my eyes and lie down right here. Another wave of nausea hits. I try to scramble away, but I throw up violently on someone’s shoes. I curl up on the soft dirt and hard pebbles of the road and groan.
Chapter 44
I hear the sounds of tents being erected. They moved me somewhere, but I couldn’t open my eyes without vomiting. I squint and see a flash of grass in a clearing before it all starts rotating. This time I throw up all over my hands while I crawl toward the woods. Penny crouches next to me with a drink of water and fans the back of my neck. I hope it’s new water.
“Oh, God,” I moan. I sink down in my own vomit as my stomach cramps. I know it’s disgusting, but I can’t even care. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
The bathroom. Funny. What I would give for a bathroom right about now. Even the vault toilet at the campground would be better.
“Let me help you,” Penny says.
I stumble on her until we find a spot in the trees, then she wraps me in a sleeping bag and puts me in a tent. I want to ask where we are and if it’s safe, but instead I drift into a feverish sleep.
I’m sick again and again until I feel I might actually wish I were dead. I hear moaning during the night and have dreams that the infected are after me. I can’t run, so I hide and hope they’ll go past. In the dream Penny tries to get me to drink, but I knock the water out of her hand, because I know that’s how they got infected. Finally, twisted and sweaty in my sleeping bag, I wake to the chirping of birds. Penny sleeps next to me. On her other side is a long lump. James.
Penny sits up with a worried frown. “What do you need? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” My voice is dry and raspy. “Water.”
She hands me a bottle. I drink and wait for the stomach lurch, but it seems okay. I’m so thirsty I want it all, but I take careful sips instead.
“Did I sleep all night?” My head is still a little spinny and I lie back down.
“You slept all night, twice.” Penny looks me over carefully but must think I look okay, because her face relaxes.
“Really? I lost a day?”
She nods. “Not just you. James and Peter got sick, too. Nelly’s hit yesterday, but he’s not as bad, and Ana and I are fine. We’ve been taking care of you all.”
The last conversation I heard comes back to me. “It was the water?”
I can’t believe Ana and Peter didn’t filter it. I told them how important it was. But I think they only filled our containers. If they made the Washingtons sick and they had to stop somewhere to recuperate, they could be dead right now. We could have been dead right now, camping out here. Wherever here is.
“It see
ms most likely. Ana finally told me that they filtered some of it. I guess that was before it got too boring.” She makes a face. “So maybe I was lucky enough to get uncontaminated water. We washed all the containers as best we could and refilled them with filtered water. Ana knows how to use that filter now, you can bet on that.”
She looks triumphant, like a mother who has taught her naughty kid a lesson.
I laugh. “Thanks for taking care of me, chica.”
She smiles. “Of course. Even though you were a pain in the ass and kept trying to knock any drinks I gave you away. You kept saying it would make us moan, too. I was worried about you.”
“I was having crazy dreams. Sorry I was so annoying. Sounds like it must have been fun.” Penny shrugs and smiles. I motion to the lump that is James. “How is he?”
“About the same as you. Peter, too. It hit them later, so I figure by tonight they’ll be feeling better. If you’re feeling better, that is.”
I nod. “I might actually be a little hungry. Not much, but a little.”
“Let me see what I can find that you can stomach.” She unzips the tent, then stops and turns to me with an evil grin. “Oh, you’ll like this. Remember when you threw up the first time? Well, you puked on Peter’s shoes. He was so pissed. It was great. All he could talk about, until he got sick, was how terrible they smelled even though he scrubbed them.”
Peter’s shoes cost hundreds of dollars. I’m feeling even better now than I did a minute ago. It’s amazing how a little morale boost can improve your health.
I smile and close my eyes. “Good. I hope they smell forever.”
Chapter 45
Three days of people puking has done nothing to improve the aroma in the truck. A bar of soap and limited cold water don’t really cut it when you’ve lain in your own vomit. We’ve been camping in a clearing down a dirt track. Penny says she and Ana heard some cars go by on the main road. A couple of times they heard distant gunshots and what she thought were explosions.
We’re days behind schedule. I’m driving and as jittery as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, or whatever crazy thing it is that Nelly says. I haven’t had much cause to drive, living in the city with no car the past few years. Plus, my dad always said I drove like an old lady, anyway. I’m about three inches away from the windshield, afraid of what’s around every bend. Nelly, who’s resting in the back, finally opens his eyes and asks me if I want him to drive.
“I’ll drive,” James offers.
He’s perked up in recent hours and sits in the passenger seat. He looks almost skeletal now. Penny offers him a snack every fifteen seconds, pecking around him like a mother hen. I’m pretty sure he likes it.
“I’m fine,” I say, and attempt to unclench one of my hands from the steering wheel.
“Dude, you’ve got the wheel in a kung fu death grip,” James says.
I let out a laugh that’s tinged with hysteria. I offered to drive, since Penny and Ana barely ever drive and everyone else still felt worse than me, but I probably shouldn’t have. At least not in the state I’m in. Maybe it’s being weak from sickness, or because I don’t believe the ride can remain as trouble-free as the last hour has been, or maybe I’m trying for two crack-ups in a lifetime instead of one. I feel like a baby for being scared, but I try to convince myself I have nothing to prove by driving this stupid, stinky car. It’s not like I’ve spent the past days whining and refusing to do what needs to be done, not like some people I could mention.
“Okay, I’ll pull over in a few. Somewhere we can have a pit stop.”
The road wends its way through stands of forests, past farmhouses, fields and run-down houses and trailers. When we started this trip the other day there were signs of life: the occasional person outside or smoke pouring from stovepipes. Today most look empty. I can’t figure out why the occupants would have left somewhere relatively safe for a Safe Zone.
I guess I might consider it too, if we hadn’t already escaped from one and heard about the fall of another. I’m looking for a place to stop, so I’m not prepared when I round a bend and there’s someone standing in the middle of the road.
“Shit!” I slam on the brakes and skid to a stop two feet away. There are grunts as everyone in the back hits the front seats. “Sorry! You guys okay?”
“Fine, we’re fine,” Penny says, not taking her eyes off the road.
A man stands with his back to us. His hair is greasy cowlicks. He looks normal from the back, but none of us is surprised when he turns and his face is slack. A network of purple capillaries stands out on the gray of his face. They look just like the tiny, twisting lines of the back roads we’re following on the map. He shambles up to the hood and leans forward. His eyes are cloudy, like grimy old marbles.
“Run him over!” Ana screeches.
Her voice carries out the windows. He moans and pulls himself halfway onto the hood, teeth clacking together. I haven’t seen one this still and close in broad daylight. There’s a brown crust in between every tooth, like he hasn’t brushed in a year. I’m pretty sure it’s blood. I can see the bone in one arm, a flash of white in the tangled mess of tissue.
“Cassie,” James says in a calm voice. “You might want to go.”
I snap out of it. There’s a dead person on the hood of the car. His hands scrabble on the shiny black paint as he tries to get purchase, and I’m afraid he’ll fly up and crack the windshield. I lightly press the accelerator, even though I want to gun it.
“Jesus, Cassie, go!” Peter shouts, and the creature on the hood gurgles with frustration, or something like it.
“I don’t want to crack the windshield,” I say, as I speed up. “Hold on to something, everyone.”
I swerve and the Lexer slides off the hood. There’s a terrible thump-bump as we run over some part of him. My breath comes in gasps. We’re going fast now, and I have no intention of stopping, ever. I’m so tightly clenched that my hands and neck hurt. Everyone talks at once, but I’m silent, waiting for the next bump in the road, literally and figuratively.
“Sorry, everyone,” I finally say. “I should have moved faster there.” I feel dumb, like I can’t be trusted to keep everyone safe. My cheeks are hot.
“Are you kidding?” Penny asks. “If it were me we’d still be sitting there trying to get me to step on the gas.”
“And I would’ve floored it, and he probably would’ve cracked the windshield,” Nelly says. Peter gives a little cough. “You wanted to take off fast, too. Right, Pete? That’s why you yelled for her to go?” There’s a warning in his voice.
“Not fast enough to crack a windshield,” Peter replies.
I can see him in the rear view mirror; his jaw clenched. He hates when people call him Pete, which Nelly knows, without a doubt.
“Thanks,” I say, to everyone but Peter. “I won’t be as slow next time. I thought we were pretty safe here, but if that guy is just wandering around…”
“It doesn’t look good,” James finishes. “I can drive whenever you want.”
Chapter 46
The houses that looked empty now look menacing; their dead eyes watch us as we go past. I jump every time I think I see a pale face at a window, a corpse inside waiting to be freed. I would think that after days of this my heart would have ceased going into overdrive, but the body knows when it’s threatened, and it isn’t going to let me pretend otherwise. Maria said the virus lives in the brain, where our most primitive reactions are based. It occurs to me that if I allow my brain stem to do its reptilian job in response, I just might live.
The holster digs into my side in the backseat. It’s not an unpleasant feeling. I’ve never particularly liked pistols. They’ve always scared me a bit, even though I’ve shot them more times than I can remember. My dad liked to carry a gun; it was an extension of his body, a tool. Like a hammer. I feel as if I’m using a table saw with no safety cover, no goggles, and my eyes closed. Like any second it might start going off wildly, despite my attempts to control
it.
My dad said I was a natural at shooting targets, and I did enjoy it. But I’m not like Nelly, who holds a gun with ease, who never frowns at the weight of it in his hand like it’s a venomous snake. I’ve never wanted a gun for protection, afraid it was more dangerous to carry than anything I might come up against in daily life. But now I’m glad it’s here. The heaviness weighs me down, roots me, and reminds me that at any instant I might have to use it. I just hope I’m still a good shot.
There are just over thirty miles left. It doesn’t seem like a lot, but it could be impossible. People drive that far to get a gallon of milk around here. Or they did; both small stores we passed were dark.
It’s about ten miles to Bellville, the town my family would visit on summer evenings for a scoop of ice cream or Fourth of July fireworks. This wasn’t our usual route, but I’ve spent enough of my life here to have traveled this road before. The farm with the wagon wheel mailbox means we’re only five miles away. I say this aloud. Everyone nods, but the car is silent.
Peter’s on the other end of the backseat. His profile is still and his eyes flick back and forth at the passing scenery. This morning he mumbled an apology at me, and I tried to be gracious about it. It’s okay, it was a mistake, I said, and tried smiling at him. His answering smile was bitter, and he went back to loading the truck. He’s so angry at me, maybe at everything. Peter’s always wanted for nothing, except the things that really matter. He’s always had money and charm to fall back on, but now all the superficial armor that protected him is gone.
Maybe somewhere in there is that guy I glimpsed now and again in his generosity or in the gentle way he would treat me, which was so at odds with the way the rest of the world saw him. I wish I could smooth things over. Maybe it’s not possible. But he’s here, and though I want to kick him much of the time, I’m kind of glad. He may hate me, but I still care enough about him to want him safe.
