by James Sperl
The kids all nodded at Catherine, their eyes bulging wide. Catherine reached out and caressed Tamara’s cheek, trying her best to quell the overwhelming fear she and the others most surely had.
“Now we’ve been at sea for a long time so it’s going to feel funny walking for a while. If you need to slow down or take a break then let me know. Okay?”
“Okay,” they all said in unison.
“Okay,” Catherine confirmed.
“Do you know where we are?” Josh asked.
Catherine stood up part way and peered toward the darkened monoliths of downtown, then crouched back down. “If I’m not mistaken, I think Sandy Shoals is that way,” she pointed. “Maybe two or three marinas over. If that’s right then that means just outside of this marina is Shorecrest Drive and the onramp to the highway. If we’re really lucky we’ll find a car we can use then drive home under the cover of night and no one will even know we’re here.”
“If we’re lucky,” Josh reiterated.
“Yeah,” Catherine nodded, sensing this was most likely a long shot. But they needed a plan. Find transportation, get back to the house as quickly and covertly as possible then hightail it to the meeting point—it sounded as good a plan as any.
“All right, we ready?” she said to her children, new sweat already forming on her brow.
Everyone nodded nervously and collected whatever items they were carrying. Josh and Catherine flung the backpacks over their shoulders as Abby toted a small shoulder bag and Tamara clutched Sniffles.
“Let’s go,” Catherine said, forcing out the words as she headed down the pier, checking over her shoulder every three or four steps to make sure her family was still with her.
The navigation through and out of what turned out to be Sandpiper Marina had been mercilessly void of incident. Whatever ships remained tied to the docks seemed to have been abandoned. And if the thick layer of chalky dust that coated the decks of the boats was any indication, Catherine guessed they might have been tethered there for the duration of her time away.
But what had been an uneventful escape from the piers of Sandpiper Marina had, unfortunately, spilled over into an equally uneventful hunt in the parking lot. While there had been numerous vehicles to choose from, ranging from powerful, gas-guzzling SUVs to sports cars, random and thorough searches had yielded the same dispiriting result: no keys.
In the cases where tops were left down or doors remained unlocked, interiors were explored for any sign of a key, however ridiculous and unlikely. But even when Abby had discovered a magnetic spare key case on the underside of a BMW Sedan, the initial rush of adrenalin from the discovery was instantly snuffed as the turn of the ignition yielded not so much as a sputtering cough from the engine. The car was flat out dead.
And that’s when Josh discovered something.
“Mom, look at this,” he said, drawing Catherine’s attention to the gas tank door which was ajar.
Catherine bent over, squinting her eyes. But even in the darkness it was obvious, the raised sections of paint feeling like Braille under her fingertips as the tiny door swung freely in her grasp.
An “X”. Crudely etched in the upper right corner, it had been gouged deep enough so that there would be no mistake: this car had been drained and marked.
“Check the others,” Catherine said fretfully as she indicated the rest of the parking lot with a wave of her hand. And as she shuffled over to a yellow Humvee then onto a cherry red VW Tiguan, the same incriminating evidence revealed itself beneath her touch.
“They got those over there, mom,” Josh said, returning from across the parking lot. “And the batteries are all missing. We couldn’t go anywhere even if there was fuel.”
“These, too,” Abby added, thumbing over her shoulder.
Damn, Catherine thought. Damn, damn, damn. Someone or a whole lot of someones had completely siphoned off the entire parking lot. It only stood to reason that the same outcome would be met in adjacent marinas and probably worsen the closer they got to the city. But how far out did the fuel and battery deficit radiate? And how long ago had the cars been sucked dry? Clearly there were survivors, Catherine reasoned, and for the amount of fuel that had been siphoned off so far from the city center—the likely epicenter of human activity—more than one person was most likely involved in its acquisition and transport. The likelihood that there had been a group of people set to such a task made Catherine at once both wary and exhilarated.
“So what now?” Josh asked, leaning against the BMW in defeat, arms crossed.
“I’m thinking,” Catherine replied as Tamara inched her way into the protective arms of her mother.
Catherine chewed her already jagged nails, surveying their location and weighing all their options. The chance of locating a car with keys still in it was slim, she thought. Add to that the unlikely possibility of it also containing fuel and a battery and the slim became anorexic. So what to do? The house was too far to even think about attempting walking, but without a vehicle they didn’t have much of a choice. Even if they were to give it a try they’d be pulling an all-nighter in their efforts and would most likely not reach home before daylight. And who knew where they’d be when the sun rose and what sets of eyes would be watching them when it did. There was only one real option. But it was one that, despite its apparent probability for success, offered the most potential for risk.
Catherine stood tall, adjusting the backpack on her shoulder and taking Tamara’s hand in hers. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” Abby queried.
“That way,” Catherine said, pointing smack dab into the menacing cluster of buildings, which at one time served as a vivacious and spirited downtown.
“We’re heading into the city?” Josh forced out.
“I think it’s our best and, really, only option.”
“But what if there are people there?” Abby added. “Bad people.”
“Look, I don’t like it any better than you, but here’s the situation. We need a car. Wheels of some sort. Heck, I’ll even take bicycles at this point. But the one thing that looks like a given is that gas is a rare commodity these days. Whoever cleaned this place out, it stands to reason they didn’t start or stop here and that every vehicle we’d come across would be just as empty as these.”
“But what if we did find one?” Abby asked.
“Then I’d say we’d be very lucky. But even if we do we still have the problem of trying to get the car started. And while your mom is a lot of things, she’s unfortunately not very good at hot-wiring cars.” Catherine smiled, drawing grins from Abby and Josh.
“What is hot-wiring?” Tamara asked.
“Something I’m glad you have no idea about,” Catherine said, pulling Tamara close.
“So what’s the plan then?” Josh queried. “Are we just supposed to walk through the city and hope we find someone?”
“For lack of a better suggestion, yes,” Catherine said, nodding with the absurdity of it all. “I can’t believe the only survivors left are ones bent on causing harm to others. It flies in the face of everything that makes us human. No, someone can help us. In that, I have faith.”
“But seeing as we don’t know which type of human we’ll encounter first, don’t you think you should get out your...you know?” Josh said, making an “L” with his thumb and index finger. As if for emphasis, he pulled his rifle from his back and clutched it in front of him.
Catherine couldn’t believe she had overlooked this. So eager and fearful to get ashore and begin unraveling the mystery of what had imprisoned them for the past few months, she had completely and irresponsibly forgotten the first rule of preservation: always be prepared. She flipped the backpack around so it was in front of her and unzipped the main pocket. Reaching in the pack, she withdrew the trusty Magnum she hated with every inch of her being. Sliding a magazine into the well and tapping it home, she tucked the nine millimeter uncomfortably into the waistband of her jeans. Readjusting the ba
ckpack to her back she quickly let her hair down only to retie it firmly into a secure ponytail.
“Okay,” she said, grabbing Tamara’s hand with her left hand while clutching the Magnum out of her belt with the right. “Let’s get moving.”
Navigating Shorecrest Drive was a creepy exercise in controlling one’s imagination. While they encountered nary a soul as they snuck along the storefronts lining the street, the various creaks, clangs and moans from swaying trees and lamp posts draped in festive lights and banners provided enough auditory hallucinogenic color to balance out the bleak, dark environment from whence they originated.
It was dark. Brutally, eerily and unrelentingly dark.
They walked at an adrenaline-induced pace, Tamara and Abby able to keep pace as Josh snaked along Shorecrest Drive itself, randomly inspecting the scattered and abandoned vehicles that peppered the road only to report the same negative outcome with each search of a car.
Catherine peered through the darkness at Josh as he opened the door to a minivan. Quickly popping on his Maglite, he shone the slender beam into the cab, shoving his head in and wrenching it around the steering column. But no sooner had he entered the vehicle than he flung himself back out as if ejected.
Catherine could see him standing beside the car, staring in what seemed like shock.
Something was wrong.
Collecting her daughters Catherine pulled them close keeping one eye on Josh. “Stay right here. I’m just going to talk to Josh. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
Both girls nodded, Abby adding, “Hurry,” as Catherine trotted over to Josh.
Even as she approached the van, Catherine could sense that something was different about it over the others they had seen. She reached Josh, gently taking his arm. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I think some messed up shit happened in there.”
Catherine checked on Abby and Tamara still sitting along the front entrance of a Starbucks, then returned her attention to the vehicle. Grabbing the handle, Catherine pulled the door to the van open. The smell had dissipated somewhat, but the gore and the Rorschach-like patterns of what was most assuredly blood remained.
“May I see that?” Catherine said to Josh, indicating his flashlight. Josh numbly handed it to her. She snapped on the light and peered in.
The windshield was caked over with a thick brown film that looked as if someone had splashed a bucket full of watery mud onto it. The spatter had even reached the back window and coated most of the side windows. The upholstery on the seats was an outhouse brown, the texture some form of crusty, stomach-churning residue. Turning her attention to the steering column, Catherine discovered the nastiness was not limited to just the front seat. And when further inspection led to the discovery of the splattered and heinously encrusted roof, its previously flattened integrity now a series of concave depressions, Catherine realized she was in uncharted territory. It was as if something—or someone?—had exploded.
Seeing all she needed to, Catherine shut the door and placed a hand on Josh’s back directing him over to where his sisters waited.
“Not a word,” she whispered in his ear as they approached.
“What was it?” Abby asked.
“Thought we had a winner,” Catherine said. “No go. Come on. Let’s get moving again.”
The girls got to their feet as Josh shot a quick glance back at the van. But it was too dark to really see. Too dark to make out the violence that had occurred there. And it would be too dark to notice if any of the other vehicles on their path had met with similar fates, Josh not really all that interested to learn whether they had or not. Too dark to care and dark enough to remain blissfully ignorant. Yes, it was too dark for all of that.
But it was especially too dark to make out the figure in the road. The one that stood motionless, seeming to stare in Josh and his family’s direction as they walked unawares toward it. And when the figure slowly turned and crept away, it had been too dark to see that, too.
The trek into the city had taken longer than Catherine expected. But chalking the slow pace up to a combination of wobbly legs and extreme precaution made the sluggishness a bit more forgivable.
As with Shorecrest, Catherine steered her family from the roads themselves and kept to the extreme shadows of the sidewalks and walkways that crisscrossed throughout the city center. The plethora of parks and pedestrian areas provided ample opportunity to move about clandestinely while also allowing certain vantage points from which to view major public thoroughfares.
But unlike the relatively mild damage found along the winding, vacant curves of Shorecrest, downtown had been a war zone. There was such an abundance of glass in the streets from the hollowed-out skyscrapers and vandalized stores, the millions of shards scattered about literally served as a reflective coating over the existing pavement and concrete. Garbage and debris were strewn everywhere and a curious number of vehicles had been reduced to charred rubble, having been burned out long ago.
There was carbon scoring along the exteriors of several buildings noticeable even in the darkened gloom. Many of them seemed to originate several stories high and extended an additional two or three stories suggesting massive blazes. Huge chunks of brick and metal lay in heaps along the roads and sidewalks, their origins residing somewhere above in the gaps and holes of the buildings from which they were extracted. Bombs perhaps? Explosions? The destruction seemed random and not at all pointed as if whatever happened had been combated in a frenzy.
Traversing the minefield of dangerous rubble had been taxing, but the more onerous feat for Catherine had been in trying to provide reasonable explanations for all that she and her kids saw. The most revolting discovery, however, and one that needed no convoluted answer to explain away had been the inevitable discovery of bodies. This had been something Catherine both feared and expected since setting foot on the dock. More out of the trauma it would inflict on Tamara and Abby then on the actual visceral images it would burn into her mind, the inevitability of corpses lying in the street was something from which she tried at all costs to divert attention. But find them they did and in various states of decomposition. It set in Catherine a certain level of panic when several bodies appeared to have met their demise only within the past few weeks.
Having safely journeyed into the heart of the city, Catherine maneuvered her family into an area known by locals as Coffee Lane. With equal proximity to the business district and the university, the park was at all times rife with men and women in suits and a wide variety of twenty-somethings in tie-dyes and cargo shorts passing the time in between meetings or class, a cup of joe the vice of choice.
Catherine was familiar enough with this pass-through, having taken several classes nearby, and knew of a perfect area where she and her children could watch and rest. It was a small cul-de-sac of a space just off the main drag that offered privacy to those who didn’t wish to engage in socializing. Surrounded on all sides by sculpted shrubbery and with only one entrance point, it was an ideal location in which to hole up. It even had multiple benches so anyone requiring a few minutes of rest could lie down if one desired.
Tamara, to no one’s surprise, asked first. “Mommy, I’m tired.”
“I know, baby. We all are,” Catherine said, meaning every word. “You and Sniffles can rest on one of the benches if you like.”
Tamara nodded blankly as she and Sniffles curled into a ball on the iron bench.
“I think I’ll join you,” Abby said as she rubbed her eyes.
“Go ahead. But remember you two, we’re just resting,” Catherine clarified. “We’re only staying for a few minutes so don’t fall asleep. Okay?”
Abby mumbled something unintelligible as she found her own bench. Tamara was already sawing logs.
Turning her attention out onto the courtyard, Catherine knelt beside Josh. At one point it had been a beautiful green and manicured oasis. Now it was quite literally a shadow of its former self, the foliage havi
ng grown into unmanageable and unrecognizable shapes, the garbage and downed tree limbs strewn as if shot from a canon.
“Anything?” Catherine asked.
“No, nobody. But look at this,” Josh said as he pointed skyward toward the nearest building.
Catherine followed his finger and immediately saw it. A flicker of light emanating from what was most likely a cubicle-ridden office at one point. The orange-ish light seemed to shimmer and fade intermittently.
“Fire,” Catherine said finally.
“That’d be my guess. And look over there. There are more of them.”
Catherine turned, scanned the skyline and was met with an encouraging site. Dim yellowish-orange color flickered weakly from several places among the nearest buildings. She guessed the lowest to be, at a minimum, on the tenth floor, the rest significantly higher.
Catherine grabbed Josh’s shoulder. “This is good news,” she said with a smile.
But suddenly, as if there to contradict Catherine’s feelings of positivity, an enormous, thin glow of yellow-white light popped on just over the horizon. It’s hazy appearance seemed stark against the night sky, its presence unmistakable.
Catherine and Josh instinctively rose to their feet, eyes wide and mouths open.
“What the hell is that?” Josh said.
Catherine shook her head for a moment before finally answering. “I have no idea.”
Josh glanced back up at the buildings again, toward the places where fires had lived. Maybe there was a signaling system in place created by the survivors. One meant to warn or inform of peculiar situations such as this. But as his eyes searched the tall buildings he was stunned to discover that all of the fires previously burning in their respective shells had been snuffed—every last one of them.
