Sunrise

by Kody Boye

  “Good. If and when we decide to untie you, we’ll talk about it then. For now though, just listen to what we say and do what we tell you to do. Dakota may think you’re worth saving, but I don’t trust you, not one bit. You’re gonna have to prove yourself to change my opinion.”

  “Sounds right. What’s your plan?”

  “The moon’s going to be out tonight, so we’re going to take full advantage of it. We’ll take the highway for three-hundred miles toward Arcburrow. We should have enough fuel to make it there. I siphoned the gas out of the rest of the buses.”

  “What if we don’t have enough?” Dakota asked.

  “There’s stops along the way. We can make it.”

  “What happens if we get stranded in the middle of nowhere?” Ian asked. “What then?”

  “We won’t get stranded. It’s a one-way shot.”

  “And the zombies?”

  “Won’t be able to keep up with us,” Steve finished.

  “All right then,” Ian smiled. “When we leavin’?”

  “Just before the sun sets.”

  Night washed over the horizon like a fresh tide to a sparkling beach, along with a sense of dread unlike anything Dakota had ever felt. While Steve helped Ian onto the bus, struggling with his broad shoulders and his equally muscled weight, Dakota stared out of the garage and tried to imagine what life would be like away from the town he had grown up in his entire life.

  This is it, he thought. You’re leaving.

  Settling down at the foot of the open garage door, he crossed his legs and set his gun in his lap, taking slow breaths to try to fight off an oncoming headache that threatened to bloom at the base of his skull. He heard something fall behind him, then one of the two men swear, but chose to ignore it. He couldn’t help them—not now, especially if he couldn’t even help himself.

  “It’s ok,” he whispered. “What was ever here for you anyway?”

  Home.

  If it could even be called that—the adoption center was never really home. Home wasn’t supposed to be a place where a dozen children ran amok, asking a woman who was not their mother if they could go somewhere. Home wasn’t meant to isolate twelve boys into one designated room, then make them sleep together up until the day they turned eighteen. Home wasn’t supposed to strip away dreams and inspire fears. No. Home wasn’t supposed to be anything but good, a happy place in which you could feel comfortable regardless of everything else going on around you.

  The adoption center was never home.

  He hadn’t been home for nearly seven years now.

  “How you holding up?” Steve asked, setting a hand on his shoulder.

  Dakota tensed, fingers tightening around the gun in his hand. “Kinda,” he said. “Sorta.”

  “Worried about leaving?”

  “Worried about how I’m supposed to feel is more like it.”

  “Think of it this way,” Steve said, crouching down beside him. “We’re leaving to go somewhere safer.”

  “I’m worried about leaving...”

  “Leaving what?”

  “Home.”

  Steve remained silent.

  As the sun began to fall and the night began to lay it to rest, Dakota felt the last shreds of his old life dying.

  He’d been holding onto the past for so long.

  Now…he had to let it go.

  The sun passed by in a flicker of brief moments. First like light divided by plastic curtains, then like a glowing object slowly sinking in the sea, it crested the horizon until it eventually fell into nothing. Its light, however, did not wane. For at least an hour after the sun disappeared, its presence could still be seen in the sky by the halo pulsing in the far distance and the tones of pink and purple bleeding from its existence.

  When the sun finally disappeared—when the world finally went dark—all that was left was the road, the bus, the men inside it and an endless, rolling plain.

  Seated in the frontmost seat on the right side of the bus, Dakota watched the plains roll by with a dead sense of wonder, body slack and eyes slowly willing themselves to close. At his side, Steve navigated the stretch of road with a stunted yet fluid ease. It was obvious from the way he drove that he’d never handled a bus, let alone a vehicle bigger than the standard moving truck or something similar. He’d speed up, stop, then speed up again, much to Ian’s displeasure, who almost always slid about in his seat whenever Steve adjusted their speed.

  “Could you try and drive a little slower?” Ian asked, grunting as he fell back into his seat. “Or at least try and keep your speed?”

  “Never drove one of these before,” Steve replied.

  “I can see that.”

  Dakota chuckled. Steve cast a glance at him in the mirror normally reserved for watching the civilian passengers. “What’re you laughing at, kid?”

  “You,” Dakota smiled. “Hey, Ian, lean back in your seat and push your feet against the seat in front of you. No one’s going to care.”

  “That doesn’t help me any.”

  “It’s better than rolling around in the seat. Besides, at least that way you can get some sleep.”

  “I’m not even tired.”

  Neither am I, Dakota thought, but that doesn’t mean we really aren’t.

  Shaking his head, he bowed his head to his chest and closed his eyes, hoping that he could simply sleep this drive off.

  He had a feeling he would have no such luck.

  What seemed like a moment later, Dakota opened his eyes to find the bus still moving. His hopes dashed and his disappointment more than light, he pushed himself into a sitting position and looked out the window, sighing when he saw no identifiable signs of Arcburrow in the distance.

  “We’re still going,” Steve said, drawing Dakota’s attention away from the window.

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “I dunno, an hour, maybe.”

  “How fast have you been going?”

  “Fifty, sixty. I don’t like the way the bus moves when I’m going too fast.”

  “So we’ve still got at least a five-hour drive before we get there?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Is Ian still asleep?”

  “I’m guessing. I haven’t heard him move or say anything.”

  Lucky bastard.

  Dakota stood and prepared to make his way toward the back of the bus, where Ian sat somewhere between the fifth and eighth row. However, when he gripped the bar above Steve’s head to support himself, he stopped to look at his friend. “You haven’t slept at all,” he asked, “have you?”

  “No.”

  “We can stop.”

  “We’re dead weight if we pull over to rest. I’d feel better and much more comfortable if we kept going. I can sleep when we get there.”

  “You have any ideas about where we’re going?”

  “Not really. I’ll probably just pull into a gas station and see if we can find a parking garage unless you have any better ideas.”

  “Not really.” Dakota readjusted his hold on the support bar, then leaned forward and gripped Steve’s shoulder. “If you want me to drive, I can. Just teach me how to run the controls and I’ll do it.”

  “Thanks, bud.”

  “No need to thank me.”

  Turning, Dakota continued down the row of seats until he found Ian dozing in his seat. Face twisted in a mix of discomfort and content, he mumbled something in his sleep, then slid further down into the seat. Dakota grimaced when he thought of the plastic ties digging into his skin.

  We’ll have to let him go eventually.

  But when? When would it be safe for them to untie Ian and allow him to walk freely among them? When would it be safe to look him in the eyes and not have to worry about what lay on the other side, about the thoughts he could possibly be having or the motives that might be hidden beneath the surface?

  When, Dakota thought, would it be safe for them to sit side-by-side without having second thoughts?

  Probably
never, he thought, thinking back to the man’s horrible confession. We’ll probably never feel completely comfortable around him.

  It seemed hard to believe that a man such as Ian could ever be swayed into doing something he didn’t want to do. He was tall, at least over six feet; broad-shouldered, with muscles broadening his frame and cording his thick arms; and tattoos covered his shoulders and branched out from underneath his shirt. His cold eyes often seemed angry, like sparkling ice in the coldest place on Earth, and the scars on his hands spoke of a life rife with violence and the tendencies it followed. Of anyone Dakota had ever seen or met, Ian seemed the least likely to ever allow anyone to control him.

  “Shit happens,” he sighed.

  Ian’s left eye cracked open. “You say somethin’?” he mumbled.

  “Just talking to myself,” Dakota smiled.

  Ian snorted and went back to sleep.

  Not sure what else to do, Dakota made his way back to the front of the bus and reseated himself next to Steve. It only took one look out the window to summon a thought in his head. “Steve, are there any towns out this way?”“Not that I recall, why?”

  “Because I just got a bad feeling for no reason at all.”

  Chaos stormed their lives as dawn cracked the shell of the horizon.

  “LOOK OUT!” Dakota screamed.

  A group of infected tore out of a gas station parking lot and hurled themselves in front of the bus. Forced to impact with the flailing, once-human creatures, the bus lunged forward, then back, sending Dakota flying up the middle of the bus and Ian into the seat in front of him.

  “FUCKING HELL!” Ian screamed. “SOMEONE GET THESE CUFFS OFF ME!”

  “NO!” Steve roared. “Nothing’s coming off of him until I fucking say so!”

  An infected slammed into the side of the bus, screaming as it first wrapped its hands around the barbed wire only to be tossed aside as the metal sliced its hold away. Another group—this one larger, but just as troublesome—stumbled into the road and reached for the bus. A few of their arms were instantly destroyed upon impact with the vehicle barreling down the road.

  Struggling to regain his composure, Dakota sank his fingers into the leather seat hard enough to tear holes in it, then grabbed hold of Steve’s chair. He pulled himself up just in time to be pushed into the man’s side as he rounded a corner.

  “STEVE!” he screamed.

  The tail end of the bus skirted the corner, struggling to follow its front half.

  Ian flew into the seat opposite him.

  Dakota slammed his head into the dash and nearly blacked out.

  At that moment, Dakota thought the bus would tip onto its side and they would all be crushed under the unbearable weight of fifteen-hundred tons of metal.

  Somehow, some way—through an act of God or a stroke of luck—Steve managed to correct the vehicle.

  “DAKOTA!” Steve screamed.

  Stars flashed over Dakota’s vision and what felt like blood was running down his forehead. “We have to do something.”

  “I’m working on it! I’m working on it!”

  “We have to untie Ian.”

  “Don’t do you dare, Dakota.”

  “He’s completely helpless! He just flew into the side of the bus!”

  “You let him go and I swear I’ll—”

  Dakota didn’t let Steve finish. He turned and barreled down the center aisle, desperate to find the ex-con.

  Where are you? he thought, panicking, eyes darting over the seats and into the tight spaces along the floor. Goddammit! I just saw you! Where the hell are you?

  A trembling figure wedged into a seat came into view.

  “Ian! Ian! Listen to me!” Dakota said, falling to Ian’s side. “Snap out of it!”

  “I’M FUCKING SCARED OUT OF MY MIND!” Ian screamed, tears coursing down his face.

  “I know! I know! Here, stand up. I’m untying you.”

  “What?”

  “I’m fucking untying you!” Dakota cried. “Get up!”

  Dakota leaned forward, grabbed the man’s undershirt, and pulled him out of his seat. It took little more than a few pulls and tugs to release Ian’s wrists from their bonds.

  “You’re fucking kiddin’ me,” Ian said, staring Dakota straight in the eyes. “You have to be.”

  “I’m not,” Dakota paused. Steve barreled over an infected and accelerated down the street. “I don’t know if I can trust you, Ian, but I’m fuckin’ hoping I can.”

  “You can,” Ian said, “because I’m not going to do anything to either of you.”

  “HOLD ON!” Steve screamed. “I SEE PEOPLE AHEAD!”

  “PEOPLE?” Dakota cried.

  Steve slammed his foot on the gas.

  Dakota and Ian went flying forward.

  * * *

  “What the fuck?” Erik breathed.

  “What’s going on?” Jamie stood up to get a better look.

  “Look at all the zombies.”

  A booming sound in the near distance stopped Erik from speaking. Unsure of what to say, Erik paused, frowned, then lifted the radio at his side. “Sergeant. Come in Sergeant Armstrong, over.”

  “Sergeant Armstrong here. Over.”

  “Corporal Marks and I just heard what sounded like a crash in the distance. It may be civilians. Over.”

  “A crash? Over.”

  “A crash, sir. I think you should send Kirn and Wills out here. Over.”

  “They’re moving up the road,” Jamie said, raising his gun and setting the butt of the rifle against his shoulder. “It sounds like tires.”

  “Tires?”

  “Yeah. Something moving. Fast.”

  “Corporal Marks reports the sound of a moving vehicle,” Erik said. “Over.”

  “Who the hell could be moving out there?” Sergeant Armstrong asked. “Over.”

  “I don’t know, sir, but I think we should—”

  A bus barreled around the corner and began heading straight toward them.

  “REQUEST TO OPEN PERIMITER GATES TO LET CIVILIANS IN!” Erik screamed. “OVER!”

  “YOU ARE NOT OPENING THOSE GATES!” Sergeant Armstrong screamed back. “UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE!”

  “THEY’RE GOING TO PLOW THROUGH THE FUCKING GATE IF WE DON’T LET THEM IN!” Jamie roared, swiping the remote from Erik before the sergeant could finish. “WE HAVE VISUALS OF A DOZEN INFECTED TRAILING BEHIND THEM—FRESH, RUNNING INFECTED. THEY ARE GOING TO PLOW INTO THE GATE IF WE DO NOT OPEN IT! I REPEAT, THEY ARE GOING TO PLOW INTO THE GATE! OVER!”

  “Corporal, if you disobey my orders, I swear I’ll—”

  Jamie pushed Erik aside, hurled his rifle over his shoulders and threw himself down the ladder as fast as he could.

  The sergeant’s orders notwithstanding, they’d either open the gate and let the civilians in or they’d die. There was no question about it.

  Running as fast as he could, dodging around hunks of loose metal and boxes of military supplies, Jamie pushed himself across the apartment building’s parking lot as fast as he could, desperate to outrun the barreling vehicle and open the gate. Behind him, Erik struggled to make his way down the ladder, but was hung up by his military fatigues in the process. With no time to wait, Jamie grabbed onto the gate, pulled apart the intermixing locks and chains, and hurled the gate to the side.

  A moment later, the bus came barreling toward him.

  He had just enough time to jump out of the way before the vehicle tore into the parking lot in a scream of rubber and metal.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Is everyone all right?” Steve gasped, looking back at them.

  “I’m fine,” Ian breathed. “Dakota?”

  Dakota nodded, reaching up to wipe a bead of blood off his face. He came back with the side of his wrist covered in red. “Yeah, I’m ok,” he managed, finally able to take a breath

  “My name is Private Erik Roberts,” a voice outside the bus said. A lean man in military fatigues stepped forward and knocked on the side of th
e bus. “I request that you remain inside your vehicle until we have more personnel present for your own protection.”

  “Our own protection?” Ian asked. “What the hell are they talking about?”

  “They’re military,” Steve said. “It’s standard procedure.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I used to be a marine.”

  “Used to be?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Dakota closed his eyes. Outside, the soldier who introduced himself as Private Roberts began calling to someone, only to be silenced a moment later by a screaming voice that came out of the building in front of them.

  “Sounds like they’re in trouble,” Ian said.

  “They probably didn’t have clearance to let us in,” Steve suggested. “Oh well, we’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

  The three men that came out of the building immediately stepped toward the bus. One man—presumably the commanding officer—gestured the other two to the front, while Private Roberts stood at the side, waiting for further instruction. The man Dakota had seen open the gate came forward and stood at Private Roberts’ side, lips pursed and face devoid of expression.

  You saved our lives, Dakota thought.

  The commanding officer stepped forward and gestured the door open. “You boys have made quite the ruckus here,” the man said, stepping onto the bus. “I’ll have you aware that you’ll be strip-searched once you leave the bus.”

  “Yes sir,” Steve said, standing. He pressed a hand to his forehead and saluted the officer. “Lance Corporal Steve Earnest at your service, sir.”

  “A marine. Are you still active-duty?”

  “No, sir. Haven’t been for three years.”

  “Reason?”

  “Injured on the battlefield.”

  “I thank you for your service, Lance Corporal Earnest, though I don’t necessarily appreciate your sudden entry.” The man trained his eyes on Dakota and Ian. “Your friends?”

  “Dakota Travis,” Dakota said.

  “Ian Shaw,” Ian added.

  “We came from up north,” Steve said. “We spent two days fortifying the bus to get us here.”

  “Regardless, you brought a good amount of infected here with you. That I don’t appreciate. However…” the man paused, “since there’s no way I can safely remove you from this facility, I’ll allow you to stay. Please step off the bus and do as Private Roberts tells you to.”