—Absolutely. Just give me a gun and I’m good to go.
He gets her set up with the small .38 and begins to make his bed.
—Wake me up if you even think you hear anything or if—
—I will.
—Thank you, he says. I’m so proud of you. I love you so much.
—Love you. Night.
—Night.
—Hey, she says. We gonna use the four wheeler tomorrow?
—Even if I could get it cranked, which is highly doubtful, there’s no way it could carry all three of us and our gear.
—Ah, she says. Too bad.
Soon he’s out. And out hard. Too hard given the current situation and circumstances.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t stir. He doesn’t relieve Meleah. Doesn’t feed the fire.
When he does finally wake the next morning, he finds the fire out, Meleah asleep, and Nobody long gone, vanished in the night the way the previous world had.
5
—I’m so sorry, Meleah says. I can’t believe I fell asleep.
—It’s my fault, Michael says. I was supposed to relieve you.
—Is she really gone? Whatta you think happened to her?
—Let’s look around again to make sure.
They do, searching both inside the structure and the area around it.
—She’s not here, Meleah says. I can’t believe I let this happen. Do you think she was taken or left on her own?
He thinks about it.
—I knew the fire was a risk, he says. May have led them straight to us, but . . .
—What? she says. What is it?
—If she had been taken—especially by the Brothers—hard to imagine they wouldn’t take us too. Or take us out. And I don’t think we would’ve both slept through a struggle.
—So she left on her own. Why? She said you were stuck with her.
He shrugs.
—I don’t know, he says. Maybe she felt like a burden or was scared she was going to infect us. Maybe it’s just PTSD. She’s been through a lot.
—She could’ve heard us talking last night, Meleah says. Maybe she wasn’t asleep.
—We didn’t say anything that would make her leave, did we?
—Talked about her infection. The four wheeler not holding all of us.
—But not in any way that would make her feel like she needed to leave. At least I hope she didn’t take anything that way. Shit.
—What’re we gonna do?
He thinks about it, weighing their options. If someone has her or she really doesn’t want to be found, it’ll be nearly impossible to find her. They could use all their resources and still never locate her. Searching for her could mean they don’t get to the others in time—or at all. What if they get hurt or killed while looking for her?
—We have no way of knowing which way she went, he says. It could be in any direction.
—Can’t track her?
He laughs.
—No, he says. I can’t track her.
She smiles.
—You’ve picked up other skills, she says. Thought you may have learned that one too.
—We could waste a ton of time looking for her and never find her, he says. It could not only delay us from getting to Wewa, but we could get hurt or killed while doing it if we run into the wrong people.
She nods, but doesn’t say anything.
He thinks about the poor girl who had burst out of the FedEx truck. He had failed to save her, had failed to save or even help so many. Here’s an opportunity to not only save a life but a soul. She needs someone to give a damn about her, to come looking for her. The risk is great. But so is the reward. But what if by trying to help her he fails to save Dawn or Micah or Travis? They’d all still say the same thing—you’ve got to try to find her. You’ve got to.
—But, he says, I feel like we’ve got to try.
She smiles and nods her agreement.
—Us arriving a day or so later probably won’t change anything for Dawn and Micah and the others.
—Even if it would, she says, they’d tell us to do it.
—Exactly what I thought. We could give it a day. If we don’t find her, we keep moving.
—Sounds reasonable. We gonna use the four wheeler?
—Be fools not to.
6
Betting that Nobody wouldn’t continue toward Wewa, Michael and Meleah head back in the direction they had come the day before.
It’s still cold. Very cold. But there’s no hail. No rain. No storm.
The four wheeler makes the traveling far easier and them a far more easy target.
Luckily it had cranked after just a few tries and the right ratio of choke. Otherwise, they’d be walking.
Michael is driving. Meleah is on the seat behind him. Both have weapons out.
Michael is responsible for scanning the front and the right, Meleah the left and the back, but unable to help himself, he occasionally turns and checks behind them.
—Da-ad, Meleah says, frustration in her voice. I’m looking back there. Regularly.
—I know. Sorry. But I’m not looking for her so much as threats.
—That’s at least a little better. But I’m looking for those too.
Searching.
Not unlike the fire that kept them marginally warmer last night, the ATV is beneficial but comes with a price. Like a signal fire it draws attention to itself.
Michael tries to keep the vehicle at a steady speed, both for safety and to minimize the noise it makes.
This part of 73 is mostly empty, but when the occasional object appears in the road, the four wheeler can quickly and easily negotiate around it.
Random abandoned vehicles.
An upside-down doghouse.
A dryer on its side.
A Christmas tree lying on its side, lights and garland still wrapping it, busted and broken ornaments on the asphalt around it.
The tree reminds him that though it is February now, it was just before Christmas when all this happened.
7
Even with shades on and a bandana tied around the lower half of his face, the cold wind stings his cheeks and causes his eyes to water, and though he blocks most of the wind off Meleah, he can tell from her arms around him that she is freezing.
Like the land, the road is flat, visibility good.
At the top of the only elevation for miles, he stops, removes the binoculars from his bag, and looks across the prairie-like pine lands in every direction.
He scans for any movement at all—both on the road and along the edge of the woods lining it.
He hid most of his gear in the hangar they’d slept in last night and only has a few items, like the binoculars, in one bag that hangs from the handle bars.
He looks again.
There’s no sign of her.
—I think we’ve already gone farther than she could’ve walked by now, he says.
—Yeah, Meleah says. Was just thinking the same thing. So where is she?
—Could’ve gone in a different direction, he says. Could be avoiding the road, walking the woods the way we did. She may have even hidden when she heard us.
She nods slowly, seeming to think about it, scanning the area around them again.
—If it’s none of those, he says, somebody could’ve taken her.
—How about we go a little farther then turn around and call her as we head back?
He nods.
—Sounds good, he says.
8
Like all the others since the end, the day is gray and hazy, its colorlessness bleaching everything out into a faded monochromatic photograph.
Thick, gray low-hanging clouds make the space above them seem more like a ceiling than a sky, and make him feel claustrophobic.
He drives to the point on the horizon that marks the farthest distance he could see through the binoculars before.
Pulling the binoculars out of the bag, he glasses the area again, carefully looking as far as he can see in every directi
on—down the road both ways and as far into the forest on each shoulder as the density will allow.
Nothing. No sign of her or anyone else.
—It’s like she just vanished, Meleah says.
He nods, continuing to look through the binoculars.
—No way she walked this far, he says.
—Head back yelling for her? Meleah asks.
—Okay, but I really need you to hold on tight. We’ll be calling even more attention to ourselves and I may have to take off fast.
—Will do.
He puts the binoculars away.
—Are we really going to yell Nobody? she says.
—What choice do we have?
9
They drive along, a little faster, calling for Nobody—Michael to the front and left, Meleah to the back and right.
—NOBODY, Michael yells.
—PLEASE COME OUT, Meleah says. WE NEED TO TALK TO YOU.
They keep this up for a few miles.
When they reach the same slight hill as before, he comes to a stop and pulls out the binoculars again.
Slowly scanning the area around them.
Right side. Nothing.
Left side. Nothing.
Behind them. Nothing.
In front of them. Noth—something.
Movement. Slight. But there.
Some two miles up ahead on the left side of the highway. Old, leaning, unpainted wooden barn. Small, elderly black lady on her hands and knees behind it.
He takes a closer look, lingering on the lady and the area around her.
Wrapped in rags, she appears to be unarmed and harmless.
He can’t be sure, but it appears as though she’s gardening or perhaps burying something small.
—Look, he says to Meleah, handing her the binoculars.
She squints into the eyecups and adjusts the view.
—What am I lookin’— Oh. What’s she doing?
—Not sure.
—Looks harmless. We could go ask her if she’s seen Nobody.
—And what the hell she’s doing out here by herself.
10
She’s among the most emaciated individuals he’s yet encountered.
Boney black fingers grip a small garden trowel and spade.
Elongated neck. Razor-sharp jawline. Sunken cheeks. Hollow, hooded eyes. Skin so black it’s got a blueish hue.
—Got nothin’ worth stealin’, she says, stepping back, holding up her small implements.
She hasn’t been gardening. She’s been working her worm bed.
Small damp pile of dirt. Piece of pressboard propped to one side. Compost scraps—browning banana peel, rotting apple core, wilted lettuce.
—We’re not here to steal from you, Michael says.
—We’re not here to hurt or harm you in any way, Meleah says.
—What y’alls want then?
—How are you surviving out here? Michael asks. Are you on your own?
—Er’body else done dead and gone. Won’t be long ’tils I am too.
—Where do you live? Michael asks. What do you eat?
—Gots a little house on a little lake not far from here, she says. Grub worms to catch fish. Sick of fish, but sho beats eatin’ worms.
—Bet it does, Meleah says.
—We’re looking for a friend of ours, Michael says.
—Teenage girl, Meleah says. Blond hair. Heart tear tattoos on her face.
—Why y’alls lookin’ for her?
—She was traveling with us, Meleah says. She left because she thinks she’s a burden, but she’s not.
—Have you seen her? Michael asks.
She hesitates.
—We won’t force her to go with us, Michael says. We’ll just make sure she’s okay and make sure she knows we want her to, but she’s free to do whatever she wants.
—We’s all free, she says. In theory. But I ain’t seen much what looks like real freedom in a minute or more.
—Have you seen the girl? Michael asks.
She shakes her head.
But before she has finished, Nobody steps out of the barn.
—You came looking for me? she says. But why?
—Why’d you leave?
—Didn’t want to infect you. Didn’t want to slow you down or get in your way.
—You’re not in the way, Michael says. And I really don’t believe you’re infected. Why do you think you are?
—The Deacon’s doctor said I was.
—He lied, Meleah says. You’re not infected.
—I killed him, she says. The Deacon. In cold blood. I’m dangerous and unstable.
—No, you’re not, Meleah says. You’re a strong young woman who fought back. You’re brave and nobody can blame you for what you did.
—You can do whatever you like, but we’d like you to stay with us, Michael says.
She bursts into tears. Big wet drops that moisten and animate her tattoo tears.
—I can’t believe you really . . . she says, her sobs cutting off her words. No one’s ever . . . I can’t believe y’all came back for me.
—Does that mean you’ll go with us? Meleah says.
Nobody nods, then steps over and hugs Meleah. Hard. Tight. Long.
—Nancy, she says. My name is Nancy.
Michael looks back over at the old lady.
—We’re headed to Wewa to find our family and friends. It’s going to be a very rough journey but you’re welcome to join us. We’ll look out for you the best we can.
She shakes her small head.
—Too old to go gallivanting at this point. I’a be content to live out my remaining days right here.
Michael nods.
—Anything we can do for you or help you with before we go?
She shakes her head.
But then reacts as if something has just occurred to her.
—Think you’ll be comin’ back this way? she asks.
He nods.
—Think y’alls could look in on me and bury me if I’m gone? I really don’t want to be eaten.
11
Frozen wasteland.
Frost on the gray ground.
Bleak midwinter blizzard.
Sheets of sleet. Colorless world.
Shaking and shivering.
Foggy breath visible with every icy word.
Robert Frost’s “Fire and Ice” haunts him.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
They are making their way south on 73.
The two girls and most of the gear on the ATV, the man stumbling along beside them.
—Do you think there’s any rhyme or reason for who died and who survived? Nancy asks.
Meleah is driving, her hands wrapped in rags, Nancy holding on to her, huddling into her as much as possible.
—Do you mean in some sort of cosmic sense? Michael asks.
He thinks about humanity’s search for meaning, for reasons and causes and purposes, and how often in the absence of finding any, others are fabricated.
We want to matter. We want meaning. We desperately want for there to be order beneath the chaos. And sometimes there actually seems to be.
—Nothing like that. Nothing like the Deacon or any other asshole like him would say. I mean like is it just blind fuckin’ luck, right place right time sort of thing, or do those who survived have something—I don’t know, a gene or something—that those who died didn’t?
—I have no idea, he says. It’s a fascinating question. Are we immune in some way or just haven’t been exposed yet? Or . . .
—Or what? Nancy asks. What were you going to say?
—I don’t know.
—You just don�
�t want to say it in front of us, she says.
—No, I really just forgot what I was going to say. The truth is I just don’t know.
—And what about the others? Meleah says. The ones who’ve been altered, infected—whatever it is? Are we just as susceptible as them, we just haven’t come in contact with the contagion yet?
Michael shrugs, which with the way he’s shaking and shivering looks more like the gyration of a dance move than a gesture.
—I have no idea. It does seem as though most of the things that appear random at first . . . have some sort of underlying order and pattern waiting to be discovered. I saw people in Atlanta come into direct contact with the exact same things. Some would live. Some would die. Some would change.
—Into what? Nancy asks. What happens when they . . . transform?
—Not sure exactly. Never been around any of them for long. But I don’t think it’s just one thing. Agitated. Aggressive. Animalistic. The ones I saw in Atlanta were different from the ones I saw in the woods next to Lynn’s.
—I figured they’d get me tonight, she says. Knew I couldn’t make it out there on my own. Still can’t believe y’all came back for me. I figured you took me with you in the first place so you could fuck me.
—What?
—Originally. I thought you brought me along so you could fuck me or use me as some sort of . . . I don’t know . . . decoy or sacrifice or . . . but I see the way you act, the way you treat your daughter, the way you talk about your wife.
Michael shakes his head.
—It was your frame of reference, Meleah says. We understand. But he’s not like that. We’re not like that.
—Oh, I know now. But . . . the Deacon didn’t just start usin’ and abusin’ me when the end came.
Meleah nodded.
—Most people in the world aren’t like that, Michael says.
—Even in this world? Nancy says.
He thinks about it. Fear and chaos and desperation and the uncertainty of survival have brought out the baser instincts and brutality of many who remain. Selfishness and antisocial behavior are rampant. But he still believes there are more decent people than not.
—Even in this one, he says.
—I don’t think so, she says. Maybe everybody’s not a rapist or a murderer, but . . . they’re gonna look out for them and theirs and fuck you and yours. It’s why what y’all did is so . . .
CATACLYSMOS Book 1 Part 4: Perish Twice: A Post-Apocolyptic Serial Thriller Page 3
