Movement caught his eye in the review mirror.
A pack of those alien lion-dogs honed in on him because he was the only moving vehicle for miles. Brad clenched his jaw and pressed the gas pedal. Easing the Forerunner up to thirty-five made for a bumpy ride, but he could bear it if he outran those demons behind him.
He leaned into his steering wheel. Refusing to check the mirror again, he fixed his eyes well ahead of him and making decisions on the fly. How fast could those aliens travel? They didn’t seem to jump any higher or run any faster than a common dog. What was the top speed of a dog?
The air conditioner vents blew cold air straight at him, but sweat beaded on his face. His palms felt slippery on the wheel when he loosened his grip to allow it to spin through freely. He maneuvered around a Volvo. When he reached a clear spot, he leaned back and glanced up in the rearview.
They were still coming, but the distance between him and the dogs had doubled. So they couldn’t maintain a thirty-five mile per hour run. That was good to know. Smiling to himself, he concentrated again on his path. He nodded his head with the guitar riff playing on his speakers. The droning outside might have been loud enough to throb in his chest, but he didn’t know. The bass in the Toyota vibrated in its own beat.
Jennie
IT HAD BEEN A HALF hour, and Jennie’s father kept scratching his scalp. How much longer would he have?
“Hand me another board, honey.”
She handed him the longer of the two left, and he nailed it into place over the shutters of the last window on the first floor of their house. Her father concentrated on the task but grew weaker by the moment. More often than not, his hammer blows missed their mark. When finished, he stepped back. His face was pale, and he sweated profusely. Closing his eyes, he sat down hard on the back deck. “Okay, it’s finished.”
Jennie nodded, even though her father’s eyes were shut and he couldn’t possibly see her do so. She dreaded what he would suggest next.
He held the hammer up, supporting his elbow with his other hand and opened his eyes. His grey eyes looked soft and sad. “I’m sorry, Jennie.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get the Cassels to take you in. I’m sorry that I couldn’t get food without being attacked. Maybe I should have tried harder, paid better attention.”
“No, Dad.” She choked on a sob and took the hammer from his hand.
“Make sure you take care of Mickey.”
She shook her head and started sobbing, but her tears were spent and her eyes remained dry.
“Go on. Go inside. I can feel a heat rising up in my gut, and my joints are burning. I feel like I’m dying. I feel confused, disoriented, but most of all, tired.”
“I can’t leave you like this.”
His eyes turned hard. “You have to. I don’t want to hurt you or Mickey. I have done enough that I’m sorry for, and I don’t need to add more to it. You’ve got the shotgun. Take that hammer and nail the front door shut once you’re inside. Stay in there until I change and leave. Make sure I’m long gone and then you guys will have to make it back to the church.” Tears sprang in her father’s eyes as he added, “I’m sorry I took you away from there. You would have been better off if I’d never picked you up.”
“I love you, Dad.” It was all she could think to say.
His eyes were soft again, as he scratched his scalp and a clump of brown hair stuck under his fingernails. “I love you, too, Jennie. Now get inside.”
Hugh
BEEF STROGANOFF FLAVORED HAMBURGER HELPER, without the meat, sort of tasted like macaroni-n- cheese gone slimy and sour to Hugh. Hungry as he was, he shoveled it down without much complaint. He’d run out of cat food, so he set down the bowl so Tiger could have some sustenance. The cat sniffed the contents with curiosity but turned his nose up at it. “Come on, Ty, it’s all that we have. And it’s got milk-type products in it.”
The cat met his eyes with malicious intent, accusing him of a poisoning attempt, and hopped down off the table for the living room. Hugh left the bowl on the counter, licking a bit of the gravy from his thumb. “Maybe later then.”
He was still hungry. Although he’d cut back on his food consumption to one meal a day, things were not looking good in his cupboard. The Robin Hood gang he’d run into earlier didn’t look so crazy for their pantry raiding. He wished he’d taken the bag the girl had offered, but he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet. With a sigh, he turned on the emergency radio just to break through the silence that settled over the apartment like a wet blanket.
“Fort Eustis is clear and can take in four hundred more clean civilians. Authorities estimate it will take them another twenty-four to thirty-six hours before Fort Monroe is clear and ready to take in civilians. Langley Air Force base is currently full. They will be closing the bridges to traffic later today.”
Hugh sat down heavily on the couch as the message repeated itself three more times. When he found the radio was saying nothing more of importance, he clicked it off. Tiger jumped in his lap. With a scratch behind the cat’s ears, Hugh said, “What do you think, buddy? Should we be making a run to Fort Monroe when they open up?”
With a nod, he lay on the couch to sleep off the remaining hunger gnawing at him. The cat jumped down and headed for the window again. Outside, the darkness of nightfall seemed peaceful except for the continued drone of the aliens. His eyelids drooped, and he embraced sleep as it came.
JENNIE WOKE AND COULDN’T TELL what time it was. She blinked, bleary eyed, around the dark room and tried to make sense of it. Her neck hurt from the way she’d slept on the floor of the living room next to Mickey. She had not been able to leave him and hadn’t known if she could carry him up the stairs. Instead, she spent most of the night sitting on the floor beside the couch reading her Bible and praying.
The grandfather clock in the foyer ticked away, and the gold Roman numerals shone in the light coming from the narrow window at the top of the front door. Five minutes after six. The even rise and fall of her brother’s chest in the almost completely dark room let her know that he was still asleep. He’d been out for nearly fourteen hours. She’d slept maybe four.
She wiped the drool from the side of her face and pulled herself to her feet. Her shoes were still on in case they’d needed to make a run for it. Her father had been silent outside for so long; she itched to get moving so they could make it to the church before Pastor Billy and his wife left for one of the bases. The night before, she thought the wailing would drive her crazy. Her father circled the house never getting too far.
Rolling her neck, she headed for the stairs. She turned down the hallway and opened all the doors on the second floor. The pale, yellow light poured in upstairs, giving her some semblance of normalcy again. She half expected to find her parents asleep in their bedroom when she stepped in, but the bed remained tousled. The way she’d left it the day before when she’d grabbed Mickey. Her throat constricted and her chest tightened, but she shut that part of her off.
Amazing how clinically distant she could make herself feel. The fountain of her tears had dried up anyway. Knowing the mission ahead of her kept her bearing calm. She prayed for strength, and God delivered. For that she was thankful, no matter what the reason for her serenity.
From her parent’s window, she could see the backyard. She pressed her cheek to the glass and stretched her range of vision as far as she could. Nothing seemed to be moving down below, or in any of the neighbor’s yards. No wailing. The monstrous drone sounded in the distance, and she felt no vibration, even in the glass of the windowpane. Nodding, she headed across the hall for her bedroom.
Her bedroom was an eclectic mixture of masculine and feminine, young and old. Movie posters lined the walls, agreeing with her young adult taste, while stuffed animals sat in a row on the headboard of her bed. She hated pink, so her room had been decorated with her favorite color, blue. But, she loved ballerinas, so there were toe shoes hanging on
her wall, and a music box with a statue sitting on her vanity.
It seemed like forever since she’d last stepped in her room.
To keep her heart from cracking, she didn’t spend much time looking around but went straight for the window and opened it wide. Cool, fresh air spilled in from the new opening, dispelling the feeling of the staleness that surrounded her downstairs.
More out of habit than worry, she glanced behind her to make sure Mickey didn’t see. With a deep breath, she grasped both sides of the window frame and set a foot on the porch roof outside. Small bits of black gravel from the shingles cascaded down the front of the porch.
She rocked on her haunches and sat on her back pockets. The gentle slope did not unnerve her like it did when she was younger. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the refreshing air and rubbed her forearms. For a moment, she could almost pretend the droning of the aliens were crickets and the gentle breeze was an early morning autumn wind. But that nostalgia only lasted for a moment before reality seeped in. She opened her eyes and went to work scanning the surrounding yards. Not a soul moved in any direction.
Birds sang in confused voices, all their songs intertwining in a melody that barely rose above the white noise from the aliens. She wondered if they were confused which month of the year it might be, or even by the droning sound itself, as it filled the air with the foreign song.
Steadying herself to her knees, she leaned forward so that she lay on her belly. Her shirt rode up just a little, exposing a small area of her midriff. She gently crawled forward on the sloped roof and the coarseness of the roof scratched against her. She tugged on her shirt as more particles of sand and gravel cascaded down around her arms and face. When she reached the end, she leaned forward as much as she felt safe and peeked around on the portions of the porch she could see. No wailing, but she still felt a visual check was necessary since she couldn’t look out the windows, and this was her only option.
Satisfied that they would be safe leaving, Jennie drew herself up to a kneeling position and closed her eyes once more to the cacophony of sounds that surrounded her and prayed for their safety.
Brad
AFTER A FITFUL NIGHT OF sleep in the Toyota’s backseat, Brad woke up and decided it was time to go. He’d run out of gas just past the Williamsburg/Colonial Parkway exit on I-64. He didn’t remember the exact mileage but was pretty certain he’d had a quarter hour or so left in the drive. And that meant he’d be taking the last twenty miles or so on foot. Unless he got lucky and found an abandoned motorcycle with gas in it, he’d be hiking his way back to Newport News.
In his sleep, he’d heard no wailing, and the aliens he’d seen along the way had long since been left behind. He felt comfortable starting his trek and stretched as much as the truck would allow his long frame. Stinking Japanese cars were always built too small for larger Americans. His mouth felt coated with a disgusting film, proving he could use a drink of water. He also needed to relieve himself.
With a sigh, he opened the door and let himself out to take care of his needs. The pale morning light didn’t let him know the time, but the half-lit sun was so low in the sky it hadn’t yet risen over the tops of the trees. Although there was a breeze, the air still felt humid and muggy. The mosquitoes didn’t seem much disturbed by the temperature change, either. Even though it was barely above fifty degrees, he slapped two of them from his face and arms before he could zip his fly.
The highway was a maze of cars. Different colors, makes, and models littered the road like a mix-mash car dealership. As he started down the median, he checked the door handles of several of them. Most of the people had locked their doors before abandoning the automobile carcasses to the carrion birds of time. Once in a while, he’d happen on a car with the door unlocked and he’d peek in to see if he could find a positive reading on the gas gauge but came up with nil after half an hour of slow searching. Finally, he gave up on the search and started to walk as fast as his legs would take him in the overgrown grass on the strip.
After an hour’s trek, his black steel-toed boots became ridiculously heavy. Even in the cool breeze, sweat began to drip down his back and face. His breath came in short gasps, and he’d killed at least a dozen more mosquitoes. It made him wonder if they could carry this virus that affected the bitten. He consoled himself with the fact that mosquitoes couldn’t carry AIDS, so maybe they couldn’t carry the Alien Invasion Disaster Syndrome, either. Brad couldn’t help but chuckle insanely at his bit of creative anagram play.
Elated, he finally saw the sign that declared the next five exits for Newport News. Of course the first four exits were bunk and wouldn’t help him, and the last of them would take him miles out of his way before he could get back to the Hilton Village area. His best bet was the third exit.
Not too far ahead, he found the bridge over the reservoir and started across. Teeth clenched, he found suddenly that he had been in denial. For the past half hour, the droning noise had gained momentum. Now he could feel the rumble in his chest. His worst fear was coming to fruition—he was heading toward the noise. He stepped closer to the wooded area, in the hopes that he might be able to hide if the monstrous aliens were about. But on the bridge, there were no trees, just open expanses of water for almost a quarter mile.
With darting eyes, he continued to check both sides of the highway and across the water for as far as he could up the shore line. He’d remember hearing on the emergency radio that the aliens and victims seemed incapable of swimming. Humph. Some consolation. Islands were safe. If only he could somehow make it to the Bahamas.
He looked behind him again. Nothing. Ahead, where the road met a curve, a sudden movement caught his eye. One of the lion-like aliens jumped on the roof of a car.
Crouching as he went, Brad walked under the cover of each vehicle on the bridge. His heart raced, and his ears strained to hear anything beyond the incessant drone.
The sweat on his brow and palms become so fluid, he needed to wipe them on his shirt. His stooped position slowed his progress. The vibrations in his chest matched those in the vehicles he passed when he laid a hand on them. The moment he made it past the bridge, he ducked into the trees of Newport News Park. A waist-high, chicken-wire fence separated him from the remainder of the park, but he hopped over without making too much noise. He wondered if the aliens could even hear anything over their own reverberating hum. When he looked back toward the highway, he saw no movement where the cars peeked through the trees.
The farther he penetrated into the woods, the more distant the noise and vibration became. They weren’t following. Brad nodded, pleased. He kept up the forced march through the woods, hoping to happen on a trail or something so he could get his bearings. The forest was more shadow than light, but his eyes adjusted well to the darkness. He continued to set one boot in front of the other until he could find something that would lead to a main road. He was pretty sure the park was on Jefferson Avenue. And if he was right, he was still on the opposite side of town. Deep in thought, he hadn’t noticed he’d started walking along a trail until he saw the bench up ahead with a small plaque dedicating the rest point to The Monty Family.
He almost jumped for joy, because he knew the longest of the park’s walking trails was a three- mile loop, so he had less than that before finding a way home. But his joy didn’t last long once the wailing began.
Jennie
ONCE SHE DETERMINED THE COAST clear, Jennie headed back downstairs. Her brother still lay on the couch but restlessly tossed even as she approached him. “Mickey, it’s time to get up.”
Her brother rolled over and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Is it morning time yet?”
“Yep.”
“We got Cocoa Poof cereal?”
Hunger pains hit her own stomach and clenched tighter as she thought of her brother’s needs. She shook her head. “No Poofs.”
“What about a Pop Tart?”
Jennie shook her head again.
Her brother looked sad and abou
t to cry. “I’m hungry!”
She didn’t think she’d be able to do this. Now, her brother was upset about having no food, and how could she blame him? She was upset, too. How would she do this? She racked her brain for some sort of answer. “How ‘bout we go get some food? Does that sound like a good idea?”
He nodded. “Where’s Daddy?”
A lump lodged itself firmly in Jennie’s throat. Her voice cracked as she said, “He’s not here, okay?”
“But wasn’t Daddy going to get us food? Should we wait for him?”
“Daddy told us to try to get back to the church,” she answered, fearing that he would catch her in her half truth. Then, she added hastily, “And Mrs. Crawford.”
“Oh, okay. But we’re going to stop for food on the way? Can we stop at McDonald’s? Will Daddy meet us at the church? And Mommy?” His questions continued in rapid fire succession, as he started for the downstairs bathroom.
She sighed, hoping that he wouldn’t really want an answer for any of them.
Grabbing the hammer from the coffee table next to the couch, Jennie began prying the nails out of the two-by-fours she’d placed over the front door. She shoved the end of the hammer under the block of wood. When she could find no purchase, she tried for the nail heads themselves. The nails made horrendous screeching sounds, groaning their way out of the wood.
Sanctuary Page 9
