Once Christine had recovered from emptying her stomach, the group begrudgingly filed back into the Yukon. They spent the remainder of the day quietly watching the grasslands drift past through the shattered windows as they traveled the breadth of South Dakota towards Sturgis. The brown grasses were mesmerizing in their seeming endlessness. The SUV was a mess of dented, rumpled metal with shattered windows and lights, but the motor seemed undamaged by the hundreds of undead it had mowed its way through. As it were, they were all bundled up in their sleeping bags in an attempt to stave off the wicked cold that whipped at their faces. Their eyes were permanently squinted against the fierce spring winds that buffeted in off the grasslands. The wind whipped their hair across their faces, squeezed tears from their eyes and threatened to steal their breath.
Tim, Laura and Will's hearts were weighed down, thinking of Bob's passing and after the string of ill fortune on leaving Benoit. They were in no mood to talk. Only Jen seemed of the mind to converse and after a few attempts getting the others involved in a story or song she started playing patty-cake with Sophie and peek-a-boo with Luna. Laura was grateful for Jen's high spirits for the sake of the children. It was painful at points to put on the happy face, even though she knew how important it was. She was glad that she could relax and let go of the pretense.
Laura was extremely nervous about making the trip and everything that happened since they left seemed to reassure her that they had made the wrong choice in coming out. Leaving a safe place voluntarily did not sit well with her, no matter how much Tim told her it meant in the grand scheme of things. It all made perfect sense to her, trying to find somewhere where there might be a better future for the kids, but none of that would matter if they got killed looking for it. For the first time since they stepped onto the back porch of Will's childhood home, Laura felt the full weight of dread settle back on her heart. The dread she felt was always accompanied by feelings of helplessness. It was a sensation that she could only describe as drowning.
The rest of the morning went by without a hitch. They stopped on a wide stretch of the roadway to refuel as the sun started its descent towards the horizon. As tempting as it was to drive at a faster pace on the lesser frequented byways they moved along, the undead staggered out of the rolling grassy hills in front of the Yukon often enough to make the prospect of a wreck a very real hazard. They cruised along at a steady thirty miles per hour. It was a fast enough pace to outdistance any of the fast undead that pursued them, but still slow enough to allow them the mobility to safely swerve around the undead or brake the vehicle entirely if a different hazard popped up.
Will was taking his turn behind the wheel driving and with Jen keeping the kids entertained, Laura sat in the front passenger seat to keep him company. Her mind was too preoccupied, struggling with the newly rediscovered anxiety to do much more than simply 'be'. Tim and Jen alternated between sleep and tending to the kids. Although Chris was willing and able to help with the little ones, they wanted her to rest as much as possible. In truth, the longer she was awake, the more she needed to urinate and no one relished the idea of stopping on the side of a rural highway after dark for that. The pregnancy was getting harder and harder on her as her stomach grew firm and taut, her breath grew shorter and harder to catch. She slept soundly as they spotted the first fires ahead. It was just after two in the afternoon if the clock on the radio could still be trusted.
Tim, who had been drifting in and out of sleep with his head inside his sleeping bag, awoke as the vehicle slowed to a stop in the middle of the two-lane rural highway. Poking his head out, he immediately smelled the smoke. Seeing the fires and smoke in the darkening sky immediately snapped him to full alert. He whipped the sleeping bag down off his lap and brought his pistol to the ready, using his other hand to clear the sleep out of his eyes.
“Holy shit!” Laura and Will said simultaneously from the front.
“You guys seeing this?” Will continued, his voice raised to be heard over the whipping breeze.
Jen groaned and shifted to a seated position from the floor behind Tim as he leaned forward, craning his head in between the front seats. Will cast a quick sidelong glance at him before returning his gaze to the scene before them. Laura was transfixed.
A line of burn-barrels illuminated a billboard advertising a healthcare provider called SDPHP. A doctor and patient smiled broadly at one another in the image. The original wording of the advertisement was obscured by giant red letters painted across it. Pierre is closed, no stopping. We are armed ready and watching. Below, in smaller letters was painted Well armed. On both sides of the billboard, as far as the light from the barrels and the Yukon's single working headlight shone hung crucified forms. It was obvious that some of the people were undead. It was not so certain on some of the others.
“So fucked up,” Jen whispered, breaking the silence.
The other three looked at Jen, who merely stared out of the windows at the macabre display.
“What do we do?” Laura asked, breathlessly.
“Keep going, don't stop,” Jen stated, drawing incredulous looks from the rest. “What? If they wanted us to go away the sign would say “Turn around” or “Go away” not “No stopping”. So, let's go, just don't stop.”
*
Nala buckled the seatbelt in the passenger seat of the pickup truck. Harold grabbed one of the rifles from the back seat and handed it to her as he put the truck into gear.
“Get comfortable with the feel of it. Dry fire it with the barrel out the window. I want you ready in case they're layin' in wait on us.”
Harold reversed and spun the truck so it was facing the road and waited for the others to get situated in the bullet ridden Explorer. At length, Yen pulled the truck up alongside them.
“What's the plan?” Yen called across to the two.
“Tar conscious yet?”
Yen shook his head grimly.
“Well, I'd guess if possible we should run the Sheriff's cruiser on up there as a distraction, then we ride in like the cavalry before the dust settles.”
Yen didn't think it was a very sound plan. He had his doubts about them getting the vehicles up the icy driveway to begin with. He was sure Tyler would have spotters on the road with radios to let them know. He almost agreed to the plan, purely out of a desire for action, when his sense finally restored.
“Trucks aren't a good idea,” he said flatly.
Harold stared at him, interested. He was too old to get bent out of shape over his plan getting rejected, instead he waited for Yen to elaborate.
“It's bitter cold and none of us wants to be out in the elements, I'd guess the Peterson's got to be feeling the same. I bet they got a spotter in a nice warm place with a two-way, waiting to warn them if anyone is coming. Better if we go on foot through the fields, I'd say.”
“Alright, Yen. You know the lay of the land better than me, since you all have been living up there. I'll follow you on up there.”
All of their plotting and planning was for naught. As the vehicles approached the spot they designated to pull over and proceed on foot they could all plainly see the black smoke rising in the distance from the direction of the Peterson farm. They still took every precaution, even when it was plainly obvious that the main house and barn were fully engulfed in flames.
*
Mark watched tensely as the men approached them in the opposite lane. His emotions were jumbled, cycling through panic, fear, and desperation until, with his heart in his stomach, he resigned himself to whatever was going to happen. His heart lifted a little when the men started waving just a few hundred yards down the road. They had broad and sincere looking smiles splayed across their features.
“You're not going to let them in, are you?” Amber asked, her face contorted with confusion and fear.
“We don't have a choice, Am. The car is nearly dead and we have a flat tire that will take the better part of two hours to trade out.”
“They could be dangerous. They c
ould be rapists.”
“We need help Amber, what else are we going to do? Lock the doors?”
“It's a bad idea,” she replied, shaking her head.
“Well, we are fresh out of options,” Mark replied through his smiling teeth as the men closed the last few feet to the car.
*
“And that's the end of it, that's where we picked the two of you up,” Mark finished as he breathed deeply at the conclusion of his tale.
Still uncomfortable, Mark tipped the can of beer back, draining the last of the liquid before tossing the empty into the fire.
“What a fascinating tale! Amazing what you two have been through these past few months,” Grayson replied, his voice oozing with southern charm. “And amazing luck for us, being stranded on the side of the road.”
“And for us as well, we definitely are grateful for the help,” Mark replied, trying to match Grayson's hopeful tone.
“Indeed, indeed,” Grayson shot back, lighting his pipe. “We all need some help in these dark hours.”
*
As the specter of the billboard loomed before them, Will drifted into his own thoughts. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel with the Yukon idling noisily. The others were rapt in discussion about the risks of continuing on their course. The past seven months had been some of the hardest times of his life. In his initial flight from New York City he had nothing more than survival and escape on his mind. Things shifted a great deal on his chance encounter with Jen. He looked lovingly at her face. Once soft and round, the winter had chiseled her jawline, showing a tough resolve. Her appearance had created a distraction from the chaos around them. His attraction to her spawned hope and love in his heart. That love had blossomed fully over the winter in his childhood home, behind the walls and safety of friends. He loved her fiercely. Now, they were back out here in the open, in constant danger. He couldn't help but feel like they had made a huge mistake. A small voice whispered to him in the quiet times, it told him that they were all doomed.
He pushed the gloomy thoughts from his mind as he admired her features. His mind drifted back to the final stretch of highway before they met Tim and the others. He had killed the fast undead as it closed on the two, but its body, in mid-stride had collided with the side of his knee leaving him immobile and in agony. Jen cast aside their meager stockpile of food and comforts and had pushed him for hours atop the camp cart. Her breathing came in short harsh bursts as she pushed herself well past the point of exhaustion as the day faded into night. That terrible journey was when he realized that she loved him as well. She had refused to leave him, even though it meant sharing in his fate. The following weeks of hardship, in crossing New York state and the Great Lakes, prevented anything more romantic than clutching onto one another for warmth.
Everything from before the undead seemed like it was from a different reality, one that he could barely remember. Nothing from before even seemed real anymore. School, work, family and all the other trappings of daily life now were as dead as the crucified figures strung up a hundred feet from where the Yukon idled. This was the world now.
In his teens, Will wanted nothing more than adventure and travel. That lust for adventure led him to New York City. Now that his daily life was an ordeal of survival and terror, he wanted nothing more than a safe quiet rural place for he and Jen to eke out a life. Of course, with that line of thought came fantasies of a future they would never share. Futures of getting married in a church and raising a family together. They had daydreamed on a few occasions and discussed their bygone dreams, but it always ended in sadness, with both thinking of the people that couldn't attend that wedding. Always the thoughts of the future brought back the thoughts of everything they had lost. Marriage and kids were the lingering dreams of the old world. Now, they would be happy for a future clear of the undead. Maybe one with high walls, warmth, and lots of lights.
He sighed heavily, pushing aside his reverie. The sound drew a look from Jen in the rear, their eyes met in the rear view mirror. It was a loving look from her soft eyes. His heart was filled with love and dread in equal measure. He vowed in that moment to take every opportunity to learn. He wanted to learn marksmanship, bushcraft, hunting, and farming. All the skills in this new world that would help the two carve a spot in the world. Until this point, all of his thoughts had been on finding a safe place to ride it out. A place to cower in while they waited for salvation. That salvation, he realized now, lay solely in their hands. Bob's words had dispelled months of fantasies and illusions that had lingered on through the winter, both about the government and the scope of the catastrophe.
He did his best to shake the thoughts and tune his attention onto the conversation in the SUV. The talk was winding down and seemed that they would proceed through Pierre.
*
Mark awoke early one morning to the sound of a hushed conversation coming from outside the tent. It had been two weeks since they had joined up with Pablo and Grayson and somehow they managed to collect nearly thirty other survivors since then. Grayson seemed to be a magnet for the living. Mark didn't find him all too likable. The man made him feel small, but unlike Jack who never shamed him, Grayson seemed to relish in the discomfort it caused. Even with his distaste, he couldn't deny the strange charisma the man possessed. He also couldn't deny that he felt safer in his company. They didn't get to know Pablo at all during that time, he rarely spoke. Grayson seemed always to speak in whispered tones to Pablo, who invariably nodded or shook his head in return.
All the new people were given a trial period to see their capabilities and to ensure they were suited to the group. After the trial period, all of the newcomers were shifted into one camp or another. Grayson referred to his soldiers and confidants as his trustees and the others he referred to as his flock. Mark and Amber settled into the flock easily enough, although the whole thing reeked of religion to Mark, something he never had time for. Since their first meeting, Grayson was extremely vocal about rebuilding, or rather 'recreating' America. Though he often found himself rolling his eyes at the man's speeches and soliloquies, Mark always fell in line with the others. As much as he distrusted the way things were run, he wouldn't risk their position in the group. He couldn't deny the safety the group's numbers provided. Among those numbers were a great many trained and capable men with guns.
He took a moment in the tent to get his bearings and sort out where the conversation was occurring. Quietly, he spun about so he could see out the partially zipped side flap of the tent. Grayson, a newcomer named Terrence, and Pablo were having a discussion in hushed tones by the smoldering remnants of the previous night’s fire.
“I just really don't like the idea of going near a military base,” Terrence said. “Who knows what or who is there.”
“Keep it down Terry,” Grayson warned before adding. “You'd probably be amazed at how many survivors there are out there. If you pay attention, you can see them in the distance. They are scared like mice, you can see them scurrying to turn out lights or pull their shades closed. You can even see some of them fleeing into the wilderness rather than face you. They won't show their faces for you or me, out of fear for who we may be. But . . .” Grayson paused and in the dim light of the fire Mark could see him hold a finger up and light his pipe before continuing. “But, if we could string together a few military vehicles and put on some uniforms, I guarantee you, those same people will be ignited by the fires of hope, they'll come out of the woodwork thinking that their salvation is at hand.”
Terry sat quietly and listened as Grayson spoke.
“People don't know how to survive on their own anymore, Terrence. They don't know how to hunt and gather, they don't know how to grow their own food. They are living off the refuse of a dead civilization, scrounging and scavenging like vultures, living like desperate animals. We are going to give them a chance to fight for civilization.”
“But the base-”
“Son, I am a United States Senator. They would not da
re to deny my authority as a senior, possibly the senior member of the federal government.”
“But what if they don't want the government?”
“Then they are rebels and traitors and will be dealt with accordingly. Now, let’s get this coffee going, that's enough talking before breakfast.”
*
Tar awoke, strapped to a hospital gurney in the clinic. His hands were tied with bandages to the metal railings of the bed. He immediately started struggling against the bonds when a jolt of pain burst from his clenching stomach. He wriggled on the gurney, within the constraints of his bonds for some time, trying to make sense of the pain and his current situation. Why does my stomach hurt so bad? Why am I tied to the bed? The recent memories of the recent past eluded him. His panicked mind tried to make sense of the blur of thoughts speeding past. Did I get bitten? his mind queried, quieting all the other thoughts. The sobering thought caused him to sit upright, as much as he could, and try to get a better look at his bandages, sending a fresh jolt of pain tearing through him.
“Tar, relax!” he heard a familiar voice call from across the room.
He groaned and flopped his head back down onto the insubstantial hospital pillow in surrender. A moment later Linda appeared over the top of him and started loosening the bonds on his left hand.
“We had to tie you down to keep you from ripping at the bandages. Everything is okay,” she reassured.
“What happened, Lin?”
“You got shot, and more than once. If you want more detail, you'll have to talk to Yenagant about that, he brought you in a couple months ago on the verge of death.”
“A couple months?” Tar swooned, completely disoriented.
His last memory was leaving the house with Daltry to go and speak with Tyler and his clan. Where Yen fit into that story was beyond his recollection.
A Spring of Sorrow Page 14
