Frantic, Paul was close behind. Outside, he began to scan the area, looking for any sign of ferals.
Without concern, Kevin tore through the dry stalks. His anger overcame any concern. He couldn’t let them take the truck. In it was everything they needed to survive on the road. Tools and ammunition were the main things he was concerned about losing, but what also angered him was the fact the truck was Megan’s. It was the last physical memory he had of her.
Paul’s heart felt like it was going to explode. Even after weeks on the road, with limited food, he hadn’t lost much weight. His belly bounced with each footfall and his face was bright red.
Kevin exited the cornfield and cursed loudly when he saw the truck was gone. “Shit!” Anger turned to rage; he kicked and threw whatever was in front of him.
Paul emerged and instantly fell to his knees. He gasped and coughed for air.
Seeing Paul, Kevin snapped, “I asked you to do one simple thing, stay up and keep watch!”
Coughing, Paul managed to spit out, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. We lost all our gear, water, ammo and the truck!” Kevin bellowed.
“Bro, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened,” Paul whined.
Kevin paced the dry flattened grasses, kicking any rock he came upon.
Paul got to his feet. He walked towards Kevin. “We can find another car. There are abandoned cars everywhere.”
Kevin clenched his jaw, veins in his neck throbbing with anger. “Sabrina was right. You’re a fuckup, a total fuckup.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No more apologies, that was your last chance, you understand?” Kevin scolded.
Paul nodded.
Kevin brushed by Paul, bumping his shoulder, and marched back into the cornfield.
Paul turned around and asked, “Where are you going?”
“To find another truck.”
***
The sun’s warm rays were gone, but its light still cast from behind the rolling western sky.
Frustrated and tired, Kevin, with Paul in tow, walked back to the warehouse. Their plan was to lock themselves in for the night and get back to looking for a truck first thing in the morning.
Each time Kevin thought of Sabrina, an anger welled up inside him. From an early age, he’d prided himself on having few friends, but those friends were the type he’d could call upon at any hour and they’d be there. He’d thought Sabrina was one of those people. Their time together was short, but the intensity of life on the road tended to accelerate the process of friendship, you either knew or you didn’t. With Sabrina, he’d found a person who was reliable, strong, and intelligent and, up until this morning, trustworthy. His anger didn’t stem only from disappointment and betrayal, but heartbreak. How could someone he considered a friend do that?
The hours in between waking until now were filled with countless pleas for forgiveness from Paul.
After the twenty-third I’m sorry, Kevin told him to be quiet. The past was the past; their energy needed to be focused on finding another form of reliable transportation.
Inside the warehouse, Kevin headed for the first pallet of cereal. He pulled two boxes of sugared wheat flakes and went to the loft.
Paul did as Kevin had, grabbed a box and followed him to the second-floor loft.
Lost in thought, Kevin didn’t notice Paul was right behind him until he sat down and saw Paul climbing the stairs. “Did you lock the doors?”
“Ah, no, sorry, forgot,” Paul mumbled. He quickly turned around and raced back to the front door.
Kevin shook his head in disgust.
Minutes later, Paul emerged and began the ascent.
“Paul, you have to get your shit together. You know the last person in always secures the access. We’ve been doing it that way for weeks,” Kevin said just before stuffing his mouth with cereal.
“I forgot, sorry,” Paul replied.
“No more apologies, just do it!” Kevin snapped.
“I’ll try harder, I promise,” Paul said.
“I’ll take first watch. You get some rest,” Kevin said.
“But I’m not tired,” Paul complained.
“When we decide to sleep, I’ve got first watch, okay?” Kevin clarified.
Like an awkward child, Paul was all thumbs opening the cereal. After several failed attempts to open the bag, he pulled with force. The bag exploded open, flakes flying everywhere.
Kevin shook his head in disbelief. Sabrina was right, Paul was a screwup. He wanted to hate the man, but each time he’d think poorly of him, he could hear Megan’s sweet last words pleading with Kevin to take care of her baby brother. Being a man of his word, he’d fulfill that request to the best of his ability.
CHAPTER TEN
SOUTH OF BLACKROCK, IDAHO
JUNE 11, 2020
Kevin woke. He blinked repeatedly, but the darkness that surrounded him prevented him from seeing.
A rumbling came from outside. It sounded like the throaty exhaust of a vehicle.
He shot up and reached for where he remembered putting his rifle; his hands found it.
“Psst, Paul, wake up,” he said.
No response.
Using his flashlight, he flashed over in the direction where Paul slept but found he wasn’t there. Is he downstairs on watch?
The rumbling and popping of the engine stopped.
Kevin leaned over the railing of the loft. “Paul, where are you?” he called out just above a whisper.
Still no response.
Kevin listened intently. He could hear the distinct sound of feet crunching gravel just outside the back door. He put his rifle to his shoulder and placed his cheek against the rear stock. If someone was coming through that door, he was going to put an end to them.
The ferals were their top adversary, but marauding humans came in a close second.
The back door creaked open.
How is that possible? Kevin thought, remembering he’d locked it himself just before ending his watch hours ago. Could it be? Being a man who shot and asked questions later, he placed his finger on the trigger and began to apply pressure. He couldn’t see, but he was at least pointed in the general direction of the threat.
Click. A light streaked across the ground floor.
The bright white LED illuminated the space and gave Kevin a clear shot.
He looked through his optics but paused when he identified the trespasser. “Paul?”
Paul swung the flashlight towards the loft, blinding Kevin. “Yeah.”
Shielding his eyes with his left hand, Kevin asked, “What are you doing?”
“Sorry, I, um, felt so bad about you losing the truck that I decided to go look for one.”
Kevin headed down the stairs.
“I was going to wake you, but I know you needed the sleep. Anyway, I remembered seeing this old house a half mile or so back along the county road. I thought maybe there’s a car there; well, there was,” he said, motioning with his finger towards the back lot, where the truck was now parked.
Kevin marched towards Paul.
Unsure of his intentions, Paul took a step back. “Sorry I didn’t wake you, but I also didn’t want to get us both killed. I figured I needed to, you know, take the risk since I fucked up.”
Stopping inches from Paul, Kevin stood stoically.
“Are you mad?” Paul asked sheepishly.
A smiled cracked on Kevin’s heavily stubbled face. “How can I be mad now? You got us a truck.”
“A cool one too, it’s like some hot-rod-type oldie.” Paul glowed.
Kevin could see Megan’s eyes in Paul’s. There could be no doubt they were related. He put his hand on Paul’s shoulder and said, “Let’s go look at our new truck.”
EAST OF CHUBBUCK, IDAHO
Kevin weaved around the few abandoned cars at the intersection, keeping an eye out for any threat, human or feral.
“Looks clear,” Paul said, gazing out the side window down the
long road that led north.
“From the bodies strewn around, it appears these people were attacked. Keep your eyes peeled for anything unusual,” Kevin warned as he moved the truck around the rotting corpses and debris.
“You’re gonna hate me, but I have to go to the bathroom,” Paul said, grimacing.
“Once we’re clear of this, say a half mile up, I’ll pull over,” Kevin said, his eyes fixed on navigating the tight turns through the wreckage that partially blocked his path.
“I was kinda hoping for a toilet.”
Clear of the intersection, Kevin slammed on the accelerator. The truck lurched forward. “Clear road ahead.”
“Um, did you hear me?” Paul asked.
“Yeah, I did, but I don’t want to waste time looking for a pearly white toilet. Just piss outside the truck. In fact, I think there’s an empty bottle behind the seat. Just fill it up and toss it out,” Kevin said, pointing behind him.
“I don’t need to pee.” Paul winced.
Kevin gave Paul a look and said, “Oh, well, just take a dump on the side of the road. I don’t want to waste more time than we have already.”
“There’s no toilet paper,” Paul complained.
Paul’s mention of toilet paper brought the other luxuries now long lost to mind. “Listen, I’ll find a reasonable place to stop. Just give it a bit. If you’re going to shit yourself, please let me know though.”
“I’m fine, but I can’t hold it forever.”
A slight grin appeared on Kevin’s face. He looked at Paul and asked, “What’s the one thing you miss the most?”
“You mean since the outbreak?” Paul asked.
“Yeah, since civilization came to a screeching halt. What’s the one thing you miss the most?”
“Ice cream, rocky road ice cream. Wait, I’ll change that, banana fro yo from my local frozen yogurt shop. That stuff was so good. It was creamy, like a custard, really. Simply the best fro yo I’ve ever had,” Paul answered with a big grin.
“Sounds awesome,” Kevin said.
“Oh, it was. Whenever Megan would come to my place, I’d take her there. She loved the—”
“Tart with fresh strawberries and blueberries,” Kevin interrupted.
“Yep, that’s it, her fave.”
Both men grew silent for a bit. Thoughts of Megan swirled around in their heads.
Breaking the silence, Paul asked, “And you? What do you miss?”
“I have a tie between pizza and coffee. There was this place a few miles from the house, their pizza was the best. Thin crust, so crispy. God, I can taste it now.”
“Yum.” Paul smiled.
“But I also miss my morning ritual, getting up and making a large cup of dark roast coffee. I’d add a tiny bit of cream; it was perfect.”
“That I could do without,” Paul said. “I never liked coffee. I always thought the ritual of it sounded fun and the smell is so great, but I find them all so bitter, even if I sweeten them, just not my cup of tea.”
“You mean coffee,” Kevin joked.
“Ha, exactly.”
“What I’d do for a cup of hot coffee right now,” Kevin said, his mind reminiscing about his mornings.
“I feel that way about Mountain Dew,” Paul quipped.
“Gross,” Kevin said.
“That’s how I feel about coffee, so there,” Paul fired back.
“I’ll tell you what, wherever we go, keep an eye out for coffee, and I’ll do the same for Mountain Dew,” Kevin said.
“Deal,” Paul said, laughing. He spotted something and barked, “There! Right there!” Paul pointed at a house along the side of the road.
Kevin slowed the truck as they approached.
Signage indicated the house was now being used for a quilting and fabric store.
Always cautious, Kevin pulled the truck over and stopped a few hundred feet away. “See anything out of sorts?”
“I see some sheds and a detached garage in the back, but it looks…abandoned,” Paul said.
Kevin tapped the accelerator; the truck inched forward. “Looks approachable. We’ll stop, but we need to clear this like any other place.”
“Agreed.”
Kevin pulled into the gravel parking lot and turned off the engine.
Both men sat, looked and listened.
Nothing. No movement or sounds came from the house or surrounding area.
“I say we do this together. We’ll go through the front door, but after we walk around the house first,” Kevin said, getting out of the truck, his rifle firmly in his grasp.
“Okay,” Paul said promptly.
With Kevin at point, they slowly walked around the right side of the house.
Kevin kept his eye on the windows, looking for any movement.
They entered the backyard to find a car parked near a wooden deck.
A clothesline spanned the distance of the small yard. Sheets and shirts flapped in the breeze.
Paul pointed to the clothes.
Kevin nodded. He swiftly but silently walked onto the deck and stopped just outside the back door.
Paul was right behind him, keeping his focus on anything behind them.
Kevin reached down and touched the knob, turned it, gave the door a slight push, and it opened. He peeked his head in and saw it led to a kitchen and beyond that a short hallway. A pungent rotting smell swept over him. He recoiled and jerked his head back.
The odor hit Paul’s nostrils. He coughed and quickly put his left hand to his mouth to prevent from throwing up.
Kevin pulled a bandana from a cargo pocket and tied it around his face. He looked back to find Paul bent over. “Get it together.”
“What’s that smell?” Paul groaned.
“Rotting flesh,” Kevin answered. “Now let’s go clear the building.”
Paul stepped away and moaned. “It’s fine. I’ll shit outside.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m not going in there,” Paul said, walking away.
“Where are you going?” Kevin asked.
“To see if there’s napkins or something in the car to wipe with,” Paul answered. He opened the car and rummaged through it. He popped his head back out and said, “Found some.”
Kevin shook his head. Always curious but, more importantly, always in need of resources, he was going to suffer through the smell and scavenge what he could from the house. Before he stepped inside, he let his rifle hang from the two-point sling and removed his semiauto pistol. Giving one last look back, he saw Paul squatting on the far side of the car. He crossed the threshold and entered the kitchen.
The cabinet doors were closed, indicating the place hadn’t been searched. He walked into the hall and discovered a bathroom on the right. He glanced in but saw nothing of importance. He moved past it into the living room. It had been converted into the showroom for the fabrics and quilts. Nothing there of interest either. To his right the stairwell headed up into darkness, but in front of him, to the right of the landing, was a closed door. He approached cautiously, his pistol at the ready. Using his left hand, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Flies swarmed out of the room and buzzed around him. The intensity of the smell grew, overwhelming his makeshift mask. He paused to overcome the urge to gag. The odor even affected his eyes as they watered.
In the corner, he spotted the source of the stench.
The body of a woman lay on a sofa, her hands perfectly folded on her chest and her eyes closed as if she were sleeping. Several empty prescription bottles sat on an end table. In the far corner, a man sat in a chair. What was left of his head hung down, resting on his chest.
It was evident she had overdosed while he had shot himself.
Kevin marched farther into the room. He wanted to retrieve the weapon the man had used. As he drew closer, he spotted the body of a dog. It too lay as if it were sleeping. It was apparent they weren’t going to let the dog go on living without them.
Kevin imagined scenes
like this were probably commonplace across the country. The thought of people feeling so hopeless that they’d kill themselves made Kevin feel sorry for them. Since this had begun, he never once thought about taking his own life, even after Megan. Self-preservation ran deep in him. Yes, life sucked, but he’d rather be alive than dead.
He reached the desk and on the floor found a Smith and Wesson Model 19 .357 revolver. He picked it up, opened the cylinder, and saw there were five rounds still in it. He snapped it closed and shoved it into his waistband. On top of the desk he found a box of ammunition. He grabbed it and shoved it into a cargo pocket.
Knowing the man had that weapon, maybe he owned more. Kevin pushed the man’s body aside and opened the drawers of the desk.
Nothing.
He spotted a small closet opposite the desk. He opened it and hit the jackpot. Standing right in front of him was an open gun safe full of numerous firearms, from long guns to handguns. The man had a small arsenal of weapons.
“Bingo!” Kevin said jubilantly. “Thank you, Paul, for having to take a shit.” Kevin filled his arms with an assortment of rifles and headed towards the truck. He exited the front door and rushed down the front steps.
“Kevin! Help!” Paul screamed from the backyard.
Not hesitating to respond, Kevin dropped the rifles and sprinted towards the back. He cleared the corner and ran full force into Paul, who was racing towards him.
Both men bounced off each other and fell to the ground.
Paul scrambled to his feet. He gave Kevin a bug-eyed look and cried, “A feral!”
Kevin looked up and saw the feral running at them. He raised his pistol, aimed as best he could, and let two rounds fly.
Both rounds missed. The feral seemingly anticipated the shots and leapt onto a chimney then climbed it to the roof of the house and out of sight.
“Shit!” Kevin barked. “Hurry, get to the truck!”
Paul didn’t need instruction. He was already on his way.
Kevin followed.
A dark shadow cast down.
Kevin looked up and saw the feral hurtling through the air. Its target was Paul. With violent force, it slammed into Paul, causing him to smash against the grille of the truck. Instantly it began to swing its arms wildly, ripping and tearing at Paul’s back.
Detour: A Post-Apocalyptic Horror Story Page 10
