by Jeff Olah
“Thanks.”
He sounded anything but sincere.
Natalie looked from her son to Chuck and then held his gaze. “You okay?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll be fine.”
“What the hell happened? Where’d you go?”
Chuck leaned back in his seat, didn’t respond. Instead he glared out the window, and ran his hand over his face. As he turned to the side, a trio of red streaks ran from his hairline down to his chin. It looked like war paint.
Natalie turned back, now glaring at him in the rearview mirror. Unable to hold it back, she regarded him with a smirk. “You are a mess.”
“Uh huh.”
“And you’re bleeding.”
“Yeah, I realize that.”
She almost felt the need to apologize, to offer some condolence for him risking his life trying to save her and her son, but she wasn’t quite there yet. And, it was his choice. She hadn’t asked him to do it; he took the chance and in turn ended up needing to be rescued. Maybe he was the one who needed to apologize.
Maybe.
Her eyes drifting from Chuck to Noah, Natalie’s thoughts were quickly drawn back to the only other things that mattered—her husband and her daughter. With the sun now beginning to warm the day and the crowds mostly at their back, it was finally time to go find them.
Again eyeing Chuck in the mirror, she said, “You ready to go?”
“Just drive.”
36
Owen’s eyes snapped open. His neck was stiff and his mouth tasted like a trash can. He struggled to remember exactly where he was and then blinking through the haze, he focused on his daughter. “I think I was dreaming.”
Ava leaned in, put her face close to his, and gave a half smile. “Yeah you were making all these weird noises, like you were choking or something.”
Owen had slid down in his seat, the belt near his throat. He pushed himself up, squinted through the midday sun, and put his hand above his brow. And leaning toward the dash, he shook his head.
“That can’t be good.”
Fifty feet away, his charcoal grey Hummer H1 sat in the exact spot he’d left it, only now it was nearly unrecognizable. Tires flattened, rims to asphalt. Every window, front to back, busted out. Doors propped open, hood bent at an odd angle to the frame, and more motionless corpses then he was able to count.
Beside him in the driver’s seat, Kevin had discarded his black leather jacket in favor of a white t-shirt, at least one size too small. He was bent forward leaning into the steering wheel, now turned to Owen. “You want to check it out? There’s probably not much left, but if you’re going to do it, now would be the time.”
Owen nodded. “Might as well.”
The cab and second row were as expected. Not a thing remained, not even the spare change in the cup holder. Owen laughed. What the hell good is it now? Moving back to the rear hatch he pulled away a body that was so badly destroyed he was having trouble determining the gender.
Moving aside a plastic bag filled with more plastic bags, he noticed a familiar brown leather satchel. He recognized it as Natalie’s, although he hadn’t remembered packing it before they raced away from their home. Pulling it free and turning away from the Hummer, he tucked it under his arm, and started back toward the gargantuan F-250.
Sliding back into the passenger seat, Owen set the bag in his lap and turned to Ava. “You remember Mom bringing this?”
Her eyes dropped and she sat back. “Yeah, she put it in the back right before we left.”
Owen peered down at the satchel for a moment. He wasn’t sure he wanted the reminder and figured that he already knew what this was. She rarely, if ever, left the house without her work, but this just didn’t make sense. Folding back the flap, he reached in and began to pull out a sealed Manila envelope, his name written across the front.
As Ava went back to petting Zeus, Kevin turned to him. “Something she’s gonna need?”
He was frozen. There were only a few things it could have been, and not a single one was something that was going to put a smile on his face. Not then and most certainly now not. A part of him wanted to open it, see what she felt the need to put in writing, but another part of him was afraid it would be what it had always been, her disappointment put into words.
Owen dropped the envelope back into the satchel, closed the flap, and set it on the floorboard. “Let’s go find out.”
Another hour and they’d come to yet another dead end. A wall of Feeders clogging the boulevard from one end to the other. There were only a handful of routes to Cecil’s and although they hadn’t exhausted every last one, time was running short.
Kevin looked into his mirror. “Still one we haven’t tried.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Straight through, couldn’t be any worse than this, not possible.”
“The city?”
Kevin shifted into reverse and checked his mirrors. “If we’re gonna do it, we need to do it now.”
Owen turned to Ava. “Whatta ya think?”
His daughter had stretched out in the backseat, Zeus now resting half his body on hers. “Um …”
He could tell she wasn’t listening, hadn’t been since climbing into the backseat and befriending the large canine. But it seemed to be good for her, and with the world falling apart at every turn, it couldn’t have come at a better time.
Owen hesitantly reached into the back, waited for Zeus to make eye contact, and then held his hand in front of his snout. Zeus looked at Owen’s hand for a second, sniffed it, then turned back, and again dropped his head into Ava’s lap.
To Kevin he said, “You train him yourself?”
“Yes sir.”
Owen had never had an animal, not even as a child. And although he been around many, he was never completely comfortable in their presence. Most seemed overly aggressive or downright indifferent. He never understood the need to bond with the four-legged creatures, and assumed they could sense that in him. “I’m impressed.”
“I can’t say I did everything by the book, but he always knows what I want him to do, and he’s loyal to a fault.”
Owen adjusted his seat, rolled his neck from left to right, and took in a long slow breath. He yawned hard, looked out toward the city, and was about to respond when his stomach started to growl. It caused Ava, Kevin, and even Zeus to turn toward him, the sound like the rumbling of a distant thunder.
Without missing a beat, Kevin reached into a black backpack behind his seat, dug around for a few seconds, and came away with a chewy chocolate chip protein bar. Tossing it to Owen, he turned back to the road. “When was the last you ate anything?”
Owen smiled and nodded. “Don’t remember.” He then looked back at his daughter. “You need—”
She stopped him. “I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when you were out, it was good.”
“I’ve also got some fruit,” Kevin said. “And a half a loaf of bread. Probably should eat that stuff first, before it goes bad.”
“Thanks.” Owen ripped open the bar, shoved it in his mouth, and had bitten off nearly half when an almost panicked look started across his face. He looked quickly around the cab, first at the doors, and then at the cup holders.
Kevin looked into his mirror. “Ava, you mind grabbing a water? They’re down on the floor by your feet. Just don’t let Zeus get ahold of it, he thinks they’re toys.”
Owen chugged the water and eviscerated the protein bar. A week ago, it wouldn’t have been his first choice; he favored actual food over something formulated in a lab. But today, he would have eaten just about anything, and as the last few bites made their way into his stomach, he gazed out at the road ahead, his mind beginning to clear.
“What are the chances we get through the city?”
Kevin again checked his mirrors, watching the horde fade into the distance. “We’ll make it,” he said. “Might have a few bumps and bruises at the end, but we’ll make it, one way or another.”
<
br /> Owen had a gift for reading people, for seeing what others didn’t. The subtle cues that said what words didn’t. There were times when it came in handy, but mostly it was a curse. Today it was telling him that Kevin wasn’t being completely honest.
37
Natalie checked the rearview mirror for the tenth time in as many minutes. The midday sun reflected against the dash, making it much harder to know for sure if her suspicions were correct; however, she wasn’t particularly fond of how things had progressed over the last several hours.
Gazing into the backseat she noticed that her son, head pressed against the seatbelt, had drifted off. He seemed, for the most part, unfazed by all that had happened over the last five days and even now appeared to be taking it in stride. He’d been this way in the past—the complete opposite of Owen—but never with something so traumatic. Maybe it was simply due to the fact that his nine-year-old mind was having trouble piecing it all together.
Natalie liked the idea of her son being able to escape the mental anguish brought about by the end of the world, but knew there was absolutely no way it would last. The thought of what lay ahead was now causing the pain in her temple to return with a vengeance.
Across from Noah, Chuck had also nodded off, although his was a more fitful slumber. He jerked and twisted, leaned into the door, then back against the seat, never quite able to find the perfect spot.
Back to Lucas, Natalie rested her hands on her thighs and rolled the tension from her neck. “Were you a sophomore or a junior?”
He looked confused by the question. “A sophomore?”
She wasn’t sure she was ready for the memories it would bring, but for some reason she felt the need to continue. “My daughter, Ava. She was a freshman … uh, she is a freshman.”
“Where at?”
Natalie had him talking, and about something other than his own misery. She was sure his story and the obvious pain that came with it would surface at some point, but for now she wanted to give him time to think about something else, anything else.
“Ridgeview Academy, you?”
Lucas pushed the hair away from his face, the bruises much more evident in the daylight. “Northwood.”
“You like school?”
He shrugged his shoulders, feigned a smile. “It was okay, not like somewhere I’d choose to go.”
“Sports? No wait, let me guess. I bet you played football, no basketball.” She glanced at him out of her peripheral. He was slowly shaking his head. “No, how about baseball? Oh wait no, I got it, soccer?”
Lucas nodded. “I made varsity this year. I worked my butt off all last summer to get ready, and,” he motioned out toward the destroyed city, “then all of this hit.”
Natalie could see where the next few minutes would go and decided to change course yet again. “What do you think?”
“About what?”
“About all of this, what do you think happened?”
“I don’t know, some sort of biological attack. Maybe terrorists?”
She was typically uncomfortable around anyone his age, most times having a hard time relating to anything outside her corporate bubble. But Lucas was smart, articulate, and easy to talk to, not at all what he seemed a few hours before.
“You’re probably pretty close.” She wanted to tell him, to tell someone. She should have had the conversation with Owen, but at the time there was no way he would have understood. She only hoped she would have the chance to do what she should have done months ago.
Lucas scanned the console to his right and then the dash. “Yeah, I wasn’t really sure—”
Chuck lurched forward and coughed violently into his hands. He had been muttering incoherently in his sleep for the last few minutes, but now sat up straight, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, his forehead damp with sweat. “I’m sorry.”
His voice was different, lower. It was only two words, but she could see what was happening. Over her shoulder she glanced at Noah, careful not to make any jerking movements. There wasn’t going to be a good way to do what she was sure she was going to have to do, although she knew better than to take any chances.
To Lucas, she kept her voice just above a whisper. “You have a screwdriver, or maybe a knife?”
The lanky teen turned to her, hair falling all around his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, pointing to the floorboard. “Under your seat, a black leather case, got it for my birthday. You need a flathead or a Phillips?”
She looked back at her son once again and then through the mirror at Chuck. “Doesn’t matter.”
“What?”
“Go left at the next intersection and if it’s clear, I need you to stop.”
Lucas didn’t respond or even acknowledge her request. He stared through the windshield, but didn’t appear to be focused on anything in particular. After a beat he blinked a few times and reached for a mostly empty bottle of water. “Why do you want me to stop?”
“I just need you to—”
Chuck coughed into his hands once again, this time blood shot through his fingers and onto the back of Natalie’s seat and her head. Her first reaction was to leap into the backseat and protect her child, but that wasn’t going to stop what she assumed was coming.
Instead, she reached under her seat, pulled out the black leather bag, and quickly found what she needed. Another glance in the mirror—now speckled with Chuck’s mucus filled blood—she locked eyes with the man who’d saved her life, confirming what she already knew.
An ever so subtle glaze filtered Chuck’s light brown eyes, a milky white glow beginning to set in. He stared back, blood dripping from his chin, almost in an acknowledgement of what was coming next.
Beside him, Noah began to whimper and as he turned to look at Chuck, his eyes went wide and his cry quickly morphed into a wail that echoed through the small space inside the SUV.
Natalie set the yellow-handled, six-inch Phillips head screwdriver on the seat beside her and in a calm but firm tone, spoke over her son’s frantic screams. “Lucas stop. Let me out.”
The teen pointed the SUV toward the sidewalk and slammed on the brakes. “What are you—”
She opened her door as the SUV slid to a stop. Stepping out, Natalie moved quickly to the rear door and pulled it open. Chuck stared back at her for a moment, his hands braced against the seat. “Please.”
“Damn it Chuck.”
He didn’t respond, looked like he was having trouble with his mouth.
With the screwdriver gripped in her right hand, she tilted her head and motioned out toward the street. “You know what this is and how it’s going to end, so let’s not make this any harder than it has to be; no reason to fight it.”
Chuck looked like he understood, like he wanted to cooperate, but there was something else, something that was growing inside him, something he couldn’t control.
She dropped her voice, spoke only to him. “Please Chuck, don’t make me do this in front of Lucas, in front of my son.”
He again only stared back, but now pulled himself to the edge of the seat and stepped out. As his feet hit the asphalt, Chuck fell to his knees and began to vomit. A mixture of stomach waste and blood.
With Noah’s cries tapered into a soft whimper, Natalie turned to Lucas. “Drive through the intersection, park on the left side. You two don’t need to see this.”
When Chuck had finished, Natalie wiped her face and moved to him. She now saw the wound just above his right hip and the trail of black blood that oozed out onto his pant leg. “I’m sorry this happened to you, and I want to thank you for taking care of my son. Your sacrifice means more than you can possibly imagine.”
Chuck looked up at her, his eyes a dense shade of white, and his voice thick with blood-infused phlegm. “Please … I don’t want to live … out here … like this.”
Natalie leaned in over him. She cradled his head in the bend of her left arm and raised the six-inch screwdriver over her head. As she began to cry, she whispered into his ear, “I’m
so sorry.”
38
Owen adjusted his seat, careful not to wake Ava or Zeus. His legs were beginning to cramp and his lower back begged to be stretched. More than half the day was gone and although their most recent route through the city was looking like it may just work, he still wasn’t any closer to finding his wife and his son. And as the day moved toward night, it was the only thing occupying his thoughts.
“You planning on going around on Radar Avenue or under the bridge?”
Kevin slowed the massive truck, looked quickly at the map, and then back at the road. “We go straight through and we’ll be there well before sundown, maybe avoid some awkward conversations, but taking Radar would be safer. We’d have visibility on three sides.”
Owen glanced at the Glock. He thought about the chances he’d be taking with his daughter and if he’d be able to live with himself if anything happened to her. “Radar might be the way to go.”
Kevin also looked down at the nine millimeter before motioning toward the rear of the truck. “Got a few more in the back, but they’re not really my thing. Too loud for what we’re dealing with, and at some point, they all run out of ammo—they always do.”
“Yeah.”
Making a right turn onto Porter Avenue and slowly passing a silver minivan abandoned near the center of the street, Kevin looked ahead. “So …”
Owen glanced into the backseat, watched his daughter breathe slowly in and out. Keeping his voice low, he said, “So, what?”
Kevin grinned. “What did you do before all of this?”
“Really?”
“What else we got to talk about?”
Owen could think of a million other things, none of which included his personal history. He was an aggressively private person before the world went to hell, and had very few close friends. Talking about himself had always seemed foreign, and having led a relatively conservative life, he couldn’t imagine what he’d even have to say.
