by Lane, Summer
“I’m glad I wasn’t driving when it hit,” I mutter, thankful for the Chinese takeout text that possibly spared my life.
Chris makes a sound in the back of his throat, reminding me that he was driving when the EMP hit. A motorcycle, no less. “You do a lot of biking?” I ask, trying to make small talk.
He nods.
“I’ve never been on a bike,” I say. “I mean, I’ve been on a bike but not a motorcycle.”
“And why is that?” he asks.
“Bugs. They get in your mouth, right? That’s just gross.”
Chris smirks.
“If you ride around with your mouth hanging open, I assume that could be a possibility.”
“Well, unless you wear a helmet,” I point out.
“I don’t wear helmets.”
“Why? Do they ruin your perfect hair?” I tug on my waist-length locks. “I don’t know if I’d be able to fit all this into a helmet, anyway.”
In a sudden act of uncharacteristic playfulness, Chris steps to the side yanks on the ends of my hair. “Hey, knock it off!” I laugh, slapping him away.
“Damn, you’re like Rapunzel,” he says, threading his fingers through the long locks. “A ginger Rapunzel, actually.”
“A ginger?” I roll my eyes. “Who says Rapunzel couldn’t be a redhead?”
“I don’t know. Who said?”
He swings around and blocks my path. I walk right into his chest, his arms coming up around me to keep me from falling. “What do you think you’re doing?” I demand, totally baffled.
“Nothing,” Chris says, raising an eyebrow. Staring at me with those electric green eyes. “Just messing with you, kid.”
He uses both hands to comb the hair back from my face, making my arms prickle with Goosebumps – and they’re definitely not from the polar temperatures. He rests his thumbs against my cheek and we stand there, staring at each other in awkward silence. He seems to be searching my expression for something, some kind of secret signal, as he leans forward, too close.
The tip of his nose touches mine and right then it becomes painfully obvious exactlywhat’s about to happen. I step backwards and twist out of his arms, pretending to adjust my backpack. My entire face is suddenly incredibly hot, tingling with a rush of warm blood. My heart beats quickly, hyperaware of even the soft touch of fabric against my skin.
“We’d better move faster,” I say, breathless, avoiding looking up. “Maybe we can find shelter before it starts to rain.”
Chris turns around, his face showing only a hint of irritation. He nods, wordless, and we set off together, the most uncomfortable silence in history hanging between the two of us.
I push the whole almost-kiss thing out of my mind and stare at the rest stop in the distance. It will be my goal of the moment. My focus. Apparently Chris feels the same way, because he seems determined to leave me in his dust as he walks along, making a point of staying in front.
Men, I think.
It takes us about forty-five minutes to walk down the massive freeway slope. It makes me appreciate that much more the awesomeness of cars. And trains. And planes. And bicycles.
At the bottom there’s an empty restaurant without a single car in sight.
I blink, a weird feeling coming over me. I saw a scene like this in a movie once. It was about a zombie apocalypse, and some cowboy walked into a western town and found out that everybody had been turned into one of the undead. He spent the rest of the movie hacking off heads with an axe.
While the zombie part is completely ludicrous, looking at everything totally abandoned is giving me the serious creeps. There should be at least some military vehicles like the National Guard coming in to help with a gigantic crisis like this. Not every single vehicle in the military is gone. Are they?
Or is the entire country down?
And if so, who did it?
And what purpose was behind it?
I shudder, picturing a nuclear explosion or an invasion. Then I push the thought away and focus on the abandoned rest stop. There are about four restaurants, three gas stations and a bunch of fast food places. It’s so big that it spreads to both sides of the freeway.
“Do you think it’s safe?” I ask, voicing the obvious question.
Chris doesn’t answer for a long time.
Finally he says, “I doubt it.”
“Then we should bypass it.”
“No. We need to rest and a storm’s coming up. We need shelter.”
I roll my eyes, realizing that I’m the one who said that very thing just a little bit ago. But men will be men so I just keep my mouth shut and let him think it was his idea all along.
We reach the rest stop about thirty minutes later. There are cars everywhere, though the ones here don’t appear nearly as ravaged as the ones up in the Grapevine. Still, no sign of people. We walk down the off ramp that leads to the rest area, my whole body tense because of the lack of background noise. No jets flying somewhere in the sky, no distant car alarm going off, no impatient mother yelling at her kids to get the heck into the car before she takes away all their toys.
“This is unusual,” Chris says.
I stare at him.
“You think?”
We walk across the freeway overpass, where I note something bizarre. There is blood all over the guardrails. It’s not a lot of blood, but it’s also splattered all over the sidewalk in a long, uneven line. As if a bunch of people were standing in a line and just started bleeding for no particular reason.
“Chris…” I murmur.
“I’ve seen this before,” he replies, his voice dark.
“You’ve seen this?”
He nods.
A cold feeling shoots down my body.
What does that mean?
Chris sets his jaw and walks forward. This time he takes out his gun and holds it like one of those military guys in the movies. Only he actually seems to know how to hold the gun without shooting himself in the foot. That’s something I could never do.
I swallow and walk in his footsteps, staying behind his shoulder, getting a really bad feeling about all of this. As we come over the end of the overpass, I find myself struggling to breathe. A horrified scream sticks in my throat as I look out over the four lane boulevard leading into the rest area.
It’s covered with bodies.
Bloody. Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. They are strewn out in uneven patches, some stacked on top of each other. The stench from the drying blood is so strong that it permeates everything – including me. I run to the guardrail and puke over the side, not able to stop myself. It’s horrific. It’s unimaginable.
It can’t be real.
“What the hell…?” Chris says, doing a full circle. “What the hell is this?”
I look down at my feet and notice something else. The pavement is streaked with the same sticky blood that covered the sidewalk on the overpass.
Chris suddenly turns to me, a look of hard anger on his face.
“This is no accident,” he states.
I stare, knowing that I’m shaking like a leaf.
“Cassidy,” he says, his tone making it sound like a question. “Look at me.”
I can’t. I’m just smelling the blood, seeing the blood, looking at the bodies lined up - no, piled – on the boulevard. I always thought seeing gross stuff would be easy to handle. But this? No.
Chris walks up to me and places his hands on the sides of my face.
“Look. At. Me.” It’s not a request.
I barely managed to lift my eyes up to meet his – not quite as emotionless as I would have expected. Instead, his expression is soft. “Say something, kid,” he says, stroking my cheek. “Look at me.”
“What happened?” I say, monotone.
“I don’t know.”
He searches my face for a long time before turning me around. He laces his fingers through mine and pulls me forward, purpose in each step.
“What…where are we going?” I stutter, still shocked.
“Whatever happened here,” Chris says, shoving a few loose strands of hair away from his face, “was not an accident. It was a systematic extermination.”
“By who?”
He shrugs. Obviously neither of us can answer that one, but chances are that whoever did this was the same group of sickos that hit our world with an EMP.
“What about shelter?” I say, by this time jogging across the overpass.
“Not here. This blood is fresh. This didn’t happen more than twenty-four hours ago,” Chris points out. “Look at this trail of blood. People were lined up and wiped out.”
I start to hyperventilate.
“Oh. My. God.” I cover my mouth with my hand, more food coming up my throat. “Is this some kind of nightmare? This isn’t real, right?”
Chris rubs his chin, assessing my freak-out moment.
“This is real,” he says at last. Firm. “And we’re going to be okay. Got that?”
I nod, numb.
He takes me hand again and we walk down the onramp. I start to notice how buildings along the freeway have broken windows. Some of the glass is black – like it had been blown up from within. The freeway is also covered with funny black marks. Not tire marks. Something else.
Chris notices this, too, but if he’s thinking that it’s suspicious he keeps it to himself. We walk along in silence, hyperaware of every single sound. Are the killers still lurking nearby? Who in their right mind could possibly be responsible for this? This is the United States of America, for crying out loud.
Things like this?
They just don’t happen.
Chapter Six
Sometime after dark, the storm hits. I’ve stopped keeping track of time since it’s kind of useless when you’re just dragging yourself down mile after mile of bland interstate, knowing that there might be another sea of dead people at the next rest stop.
Not exactly what I would call luxury traveling.
Chris and I take shelter in an abandoned SUV on the side of the road. The entire backseat folds down and creates a spacious tent. We crawl inside, dripping all over the upholstery. I note with sadness that there is a basket of baby toys inside.
I wonder what happened to the passengers in this car.
Pit pat, pit pat. The raindrops seem extra loud without any background noise. I sit with my knees against my chest, cold, wet and hungry. Chris looks unhappy as he shrugs off his leather jacket, totally ruined by the rain. After a few minutes of sitting in silence he finally says, “There’s an explanation.”
I blink.
“What?”
“Those bodies,” he continues. “There’s an explanation for how they got there.”
“Of course there is. I just don’t want to think about it.” I comb back my sopping hair with my fingers. “It obviously wasn’t our side.”
Chris doesn’t answer.
“I mean, it wasn’t our side, right?” I press.
“How should I know?” he shrugs.
“You’re in the military, that’s why!” I exclaim, trying to get my jacket to cinch tighter. It’s a no-go. “You should know these things. My dad would.”
Chris shakes his head.
“I haven’t been active duty for a year,” he says, propping his head against the backpack. “There’s a lot I wouldn’t know. I’m not in the loop anymore.”
“Gee, you’re real helpful, aren’t you?” I make a face.
Chris declines to fling a sarcastic remark right back at me, making me feel slightly childish. I mean, I he could at least try.
At any rate, I unroll the camping blanket from my backpack and spread it over my legs, trying to conserve heat. I doubt there’s any heat left on this side of the planet, though. It got sucked out with people’s sanity forty-eight hours ago.
Forty-eight hours. Is that all it’s been?
I curl up in a tight ball, only a foot of space between Chris and me. In any other situation I would think this was awkward, but I’m so miserable I don’t care.
Chris falls asleep almost instantly. I’m guessing after nine years of being a Navy Seal you can sleep through anything – even the end of the world. It takes me a little bit longer to stop my shivering. When I finally drop off I have weird dreams about all the dead people at the rest stop, so I force myself to wake back up.
I’m surprised to find that it’s already early morning. It’s still raining, unfortunately. I curse the rain gods and make a move to sit up, feeling something heavy around my waist.
Oh, snap.
Chris’s arms are wrapped around my waist, pressing my back against his chest. No wonder I was so warm. Embarrassed, I lower myself down and pretend I’m asleep as he stirs. I don’t want to be awake when he realizes he and I had a cuddle fest all night.
Awkward…
“Cassie?” he whispers, shifting. “What time is it?”
I freeze, keeping my eyes squeezed shut.
“I know you’re awake,” he continues, lifting himself up on one arm. “Don’t deny it.”
I roll my eyes.
“I just woke up, genius. And you can let go.”
“Why? Aren’t you warm?” He smiles against my ear, keeping his grip firm.
“No,” I mutter, extricating myself from his embrace.
“I did it for you,” he smirks, shaking his hair out of his ponytail. “I thought you’d appreciate not turning into a human Popsicle during the night.”
“Whatever,” I retort. “You don’t have to be weird about it.”
“I’m not the one being weird about it. You are.”
I shoot him my most menacing glare before rolling up my blanket, stuffing it into my backpack with force. Not because I’m mad at him for cozying up to me during the night, but because I liked the way it felt.
Great. The end of the world is turning me into a desperate idiot.
I zip my pack up and take a look around the freeway through the tinted windows of the SUV. There’s still not a soul in sight. Just a bunch of stupid rainclouds and screwed up vehicles.
“Exactly how are we supposed to get to Squaw Valley on foot?” I say, giving voice to the thought that has been at the forefront of my mind ever since we lost my beautiful Mustang. “Because that could be a long, long stroll in the Winter. Besides, I don’t even think I have enough food in my pack to last that long.”
“It’s about two hundred miles away, right?” Chris replies.
“I guess.”
“I’d say if we keep walking every day and make good time, it could take…” he pauses and thinks it over. “Maybe two weeks. If we can do about fifteen miles a day.”
“Do I look like a marathon runner to you?” I say, feeling depressed. “I don’t even lift weights.”
Chris flashes a smug grin.
“Thankfully, I’m in great shape, so if you collapse with exhaustion, I’ll be more than happy to carry you all the way there.”
I whack him on the arm.
“Sure you will,” I mumble. “And then what are you going to do? Bug out with your little brother and leave me in the middle of the wilderness?”
He raises his eyebrows.
“What happens, happens,” he says.
I open my mouth to say something sarcastic and brilliant before I close it again. I don’t have to reply. It’s not worth it.
“Ease up, kid,” he advises, pulling his tee-shirt off. “We got a long way to go and you’re going to want to stick with me.”
I press my back against the trunk and stare, his muscular upper body taking center stage in my brain for a moment.
“What?” I say, absent.
“Forget it,” Chris replies.
I notice a tattoo of a vicious cobra around his left bicep. He’s also wearing a gold chain around his neck. “See something of interest?” he asks, the corners of his lips curving upward.
I clear my throat.
“No. Put a shirt on, will you? It’s not polite,” I say, popping the trunk open. The cold air does a
lot to cool the rush of blood to my cheeks. Apparently being trapped within three feet of a hot, shirtless guy does things to my blood pressure.
Go figure.
“How’s your arm doing?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t notice my now-rosy cheeks.
“Fine. Healing up.”
Chris hops out of the car, wearing a tight black tee. He pulls his hair back and throws his backpack over his shoulder, looking ready to punch somebody out. Or maybe that’s his happy face. I don’t know.
“You got any breakfast in that magic pack of yours?” he asks, nodding to my backpack.
“A little.” I unzip the top, pulling out a high-nutrient protein bar. We split it just as the rain subsides enough to allow walking in it. “Tastes kind of like paper.”
I chew it slowly, contemplating how disgusting it tastes in comparison to scrambled eggs and bacon. Chris is thinking the same thing because he says, “That’s probably the crappiest thing I’ve ever tasted. Then again, I’ve eaten bugs before so maybe not.”
I pretend to gag.
“You’ve eaten bugs?”
He nods.
“Intentionally?” I ask.
“For training.”
I shake my head.
“You really are insane.” I spread my hands apart. “Well, fearless leader, shall we begin our long march towards destiny?”
Chris looks a little annoyed.
“Yeah. Let’s do that, kid.”
And so we begin a boring, flat, wet, cold, miserable and bleak walk across an abandoned interstate. It bothers me that with all of the cars everywhere, there aren’t any people. It makes me wonder if there are more dead bodies hidden around someplace.
“Chris?” I ask. “Do you think we’re being invaded?”
To my surprise, he doesn’t make a smart remark or laugh. Instead he thinks it over before answering, “It’s possible. But how could an army invade so quickly, kill a bunch of people, and then disappear? Where are their vehicles? Why aren’t we seeing them out in the open?” He stops and sighs, frustrated. “This whole damn thing doesn’t make any sense.”
I agree. An EMP, a bunch of dead bodies at the rest stop…maybe that’s why all the people who mobbed us in the Mustang were so freaked out. Maybe they’d seen something. Something bad. Something that had to do with the body bags at the bottom of the mountain.
