Vacation

by Matthew John Costello

  “All right, all right. Listen, I’ll go check out the restrooms. I’ll give you a wave and then everyone”—he leaned down so he could see Kate—“and I do mean everyone can come in. This will be our only stop before the Paterville Camp. So, make use of it.”

  Then back to Christie.

  “But not until I give you a wave.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain. We’ll wait for the official wave.” Christie said.

  Jack grinned at her. She had every right to be pissed at him, scaring the kids; instead, she cut the atmosphere with humor.

  “Okay. I’m off to take a look.”

  Jack made a signal with his finger—rolling his finger to indicate that the window should be rolled up.

  When Christie had done that, he turned and walked to the QuikMart.

  * * *

  Jack pushed the door open.

  Couple of cars outside. Got to be some people in here, he thought.

  But the aisles were absolutely empty.

  Can’t all be in the john.

  He saw someone manning the cubicle where people could pay for their sodas, the gas, some smokes.

  The man had his head down, as if staring at a newspaper.

  Jack spotted the way to the restrooms to the right, a corridor with the universal male/female sign hanging above it.

  Jack started walking down an aisle of snacks.

  What the hell do they make this stuff out of?

  Salt was still plentiful. There were new sweeteners that replaced the suddenly, improbably rare high fructose corn syrup. The packages all in screaming colors, as if promising insanely good taste.

  As Jack moved down the aisle, he kept looking at the cashier. Not even a look up.

  Not like the place was exactly swarming with customers. Not like the guy didn’t hear Jack, see Jack.

  Once again, he reminded himself to maybe—just maybe—stop being a cop. He was just here to scope out the restrooms for the kids.

  No need to engage the guy.

  No need to ask him how things have been.

  Quiet on the highway?

  Business kinda slow these days?

  These weeks… months… years…

  Feet away. Still, the guy didn’t look up.

  “Hey. Um, the bathrooms. I mean, do I—” Jack pointed to the corridor to the right “—need a key or something?”

  And that’s when a different tumbler clicked in Jack’s brain.

  Guy didn’t move. Didn’t fucking move.

  Jack didn’t bother with another greeting.

  In a reflex, he bent over, his hand sliding down to unholster the revolver strapped to his left ankle.

  No more words as Jack moved around to get a good side view of the cashier so engrossed in his daily news. So engrossed that he couldn’t move his head from the paper. Or flip to a new page.

  Until Jack got a good side view of the grizzly-bearded man sitting on a stool. Perched on it.

  More like placed on it.

  Because now Jack could see that a good portion of the man’s lower body had been chewed down to the bone. A pool of blood, dry and crusty, gathered below the man.

  No two-way radio with police backup waiting, this time.

  Jack was on his own.

  He looked right. No movement. But he could see an open door, leading to a back area—storerooms, maybe—behind the counter.

  Jack took a few steps in that direction.

  An open door in the back, only a quarter-way open, but enough so that he could see the outside. The brightness of the day, the sun, and even—beyond the tufts of grass overdue for a mow—the fence that girded the rest stop. The tall electric fence topped with curlicues of razor ribbon.

  Except he could see that the fence had been cut, a triangle of wire pulled back.

  So much for the electricity.

  He didn’t give that view another look. Not when he imagined that whatever came through that hole could still be here.

  He spun around, his eyes darting, looking at the silent aisles, over to the restrooms, and then—as if catching on to the game way too late—to the tinted glass windows facing outside.

  “Shit,” he said, moving quickly now.

  Something smacked into him from the side, sending him flying against a rack of newspapers and magazines. He tumbled awkwardly, falling, and despite his grip—so tight—a metal spoke of the rack jabbed his hand, forcing his fingers to loosen.

  His gun slipped away as he fell backward.

  Unarmed, as something—and he knew, of course, what it was—jumped on top of him.

  He wished time slowed, the way they said it did.

  But after so many raids, so many times fighting Can Heads, he knew that was all a bunch of bullshit.

  * * *

  “Mom, I really have to go!”

  “You really want to buy some of that junk they sell,” Kate said.

  “I do not. I—”

  “Simon, Kate—can you guys just cool it a minute? Dad will be right back. And we can go in.” Christie turned to the QuikMart. She had seen Jack in there a minute ago, but now he wasn’t there. Maybe checking out the restrooms? “He’ll be right back. Just…”

  Just what?

  Come on. What are you doing in there?

  Christie waited.

  13. The Decision

  Jack felt the body on him, then smelled the breath, the mouth close to his head. Classic Can Head strategy. Go for the neck. Like any feral creature, any trained predator.

  Immobilize your prey. Bite down.

  The attack in Red Hook all over again.

  Jack’s head turned to the side, meshed in the wire newspaper rack. He could see his gun, so close, but it lay feet away, an impossible distance with this thing on him.

  Normal human-body vulnerabilities supposedly didn’t apply to them. Too amped up on whatever drove them to feed off their own kind, it was hard to cause any distracting pain when they were attacking.

  Hard. But maybe not impossible.

  Jack shot his right hand up to grab under the chin of the Can Head trying to chomp its way up to his neck.

  That served to pin the thing’s jaw back a bit, and—for the moment—keep the teeth closed.

  Now Jack risked a quick glance to his left.

  Has to be something.

  The Can Head wriggled its head violently left and right to free itself from Jack’s jaw-closing grasp.

  A few more twists and it would be free.

  Jack’s left hand reached out and began to search the area around his pinned body.

  He only felt more metal spokes of the rack—but then one piece jiggled a bit. Loose. A bit of the metal frame sprung loose.

  Maybe it could be detached.

  Jack closed his left hand on it even as he kept his other hand locked on the creature’s head, squeezing so tight that his fingers dug into the skin of the Can Head’s throat.

  He yanked on the metal strut. It moved back and forth, but it still wouldn’t come free.

  Then, again, now making the piece wriggle, jerk up and down fast until—

  It came off.

  Jack felt a surge of hope. Now he let the other thoughts in—what might be happening outside. With his family. His kids.

  He didn’t let himself imagine other possibilities. That there might be more Can Heads in here. That this one was only the first. That the trap was indeed hopeless.

  Hand tight on the metal strut, he looked at the Can Head, now rearing back to free itself of Jack’s grip.

  Jack letting that happen.

  ’Cause then it would come nice and close.

  And as the Can Head reared back, it opened its foul hole of a mouth and dived forward. Jack was ready.

  Though the thing’s head moved fast, Jack’s left hand seemed to match its speed, and his eyes were on its eyes, those filmy dull sockets, as he jammed the metal strut straight into one eye. As hard and as deep as he could.

  At first, it didn’t seem to make any difference.
<
br />   The Can Head kept coming on its downward, open-mouthed arc.

  But when that plunge was completed, the Can Head turned lifeless, falling onto Jack.

  He quickly twisted to dump the body off, then pried himself out of the mesh of struts that had helped pin him.

  He dived for his gun, grabbing it like it was life itself.

  Kneeling then, turning, scanning the room for more of them.

  Standing.

  No more here.

  Then outside.

  Everything peaceful by the car. Christie, the kids, oblivious.

  * * *

  Christie looked back to the QuikMart.

  Where is he? Just supposed to be checking it out.

  At least the kids had stopped complaining about not getting out.

  Then she saw Jack. Walking slowly toward the car.

  Too slowly, too apparently casual, she immediately thought.

  Then…

  Something happened.

  * * *

  As Jack got closer he felt Christie’s eyes on him. She couldn’t have seen anything, all buttoned up in the locked car.

  But her eyes…

  No question, she thought something had happened.

  When Jack got to the car, Christie opened the window.

  “Bathrooms okay, Officer?”

  He forced a smile. He stuck his head in the car window.

  “You guys all right?”

  Simon nodded. “I still have to go!”

  Kate spoke. “We’re fine, Dad.”

  Then, to Christie. “Can I have a word?”

  That seemed to spur Simon. “Can’t we go in, Dad?”

  Jack smiled at Simon. “Your mom and I… we have to talk, okay? Can you hang a bit?”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Sure, we’ll hang.”

  Christie walked a few steps away from the car.

  “What happened?” she sad.

  Jack looked away. A breath. “Ran into one of them in there. Broke through the so-called electric fence somehow.”

  She moved so her eyes were locked on his. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. No problem. One less Can Head.”

  The joke fell flat.

  Funny, kids and peeing. Used to be no big fucking deal.

  Christie spoke: “So how’d it get in?”

  “How the hell do they always get in? Look—I think this… vacation is a bad idea. We should just—” He stood there, her eyes locked on his. She had wanted this so badly. “We should go home now.”

  Christie didn’t take her eyes off him. And she didn’t say anything.

  Until she glanced at the car. A quick look, but one meant to tell Jack something.

  Then—

  “No.”

  Jack tilted his head. A habit of his when he didn’t grasp some edict about life in the house. Like rinsing dishes before they went in the dishwasher.

  “What?”

  He watched Christie take a breath.

  “I don’t want to go back. And… I don’t want them to go back. You said… you’re okay.”

  Jack’s head tilt turned into a full shake now.

  “Right. Sure. But this place is not safe. This goddamn highway.”

  He spoke quietly, aware that the kids had a window open.

  “And I didn’t know that before? There’s still some TV, Jack. Where do we go that’s safe? Can you tell me where the hell that is?”

  He had no answer.

  She turned away from him and looked at the sky. The wispy morning clouds had all burned off. The sky a clear robin’s egg blue now. A few puffy clouds. Beautiful, if you took the time to look up.

  Then back to Jack.

  “That’s the world we live in.” She gestured at the deserted rest stop. “This is the world we live in.”

  “Which is why we live in a safe complex that—”

  “Safe complex? More gates. Bigger fences. People like you protecting us. Trying to stop them, kill them. Only difference between here and there, Jack, is that maybe we might have better fences. They work—for now. Same world, same fears.”

  “And what’s down there? Down the road? You think the camp will be safe?”

  “Could be the same as anywhere else. And this, here… we ended up here on the wrong day.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “It could have happened at home.”

  Jack shook his head but the core truth of what she was saying stuck. This was the world.

  And the unanswered question.

  Is anywhere safe?

  “The kids, you… will be safer back home. Mark it off as an adventure.”

  Christie forced a derisive laugh.

  “An adventure? We just go back home? And what—we live behind our fence? Sealed in our house, terrified. Is that our life?”

  “We don’t have to—”

  “And the kids? Kate will be an adult before you even know it. Will your fences go with her? Your guns? You want her to huddle in some goddamned—”

  For the first time, her voice raised.

  Jack realized this must have been simmering for a long time.

  “—complex? Hiding. Scared.”

  “There are things to be scared of.”

  Only now did she stop. Was she close to tears? Was this about fear, but more than just fear of the Can Heads?

  Fear of life transformed forever. And would the silences between them only grow?

  She pushed stray hairs off her forehead. With the morning haze gone, a cool breeze blew off the highway.

  Coming from the north.

  “Yes. There are things to be scared of. I guess that’s what I’m saying. And I’m scared. For me. For them. You, too.”

  Jack nodded.

  He shook his head at what Christie was saying. Maybe if she had seen how close the attack had been…

  Would she still think that they should continue with this trip?

  This goddamn vacation…

  She didn’t move her eyes from his.

  One idea became even more clear to him: what Christie feared for them all—about their life—was as great as her fear of the Can Heads.

  “So, we go on?” he said.

  She nodded.

  Does she know what that might mean? Jack thought.

  Could be, he thought… no other incidents ahead. The road north safe and secure. The camp the safest place on earth.

  Or maybe not.

  Either way, he saw that Christie felt strong enough that she would brave the unknown.

  It was that important.

  “Okay. We’ll go on.” He laughed. “Have to find someplace up the road for them to pee. They don’t go in there.”

  “An adventure, you said, right?”

  “Sure.”

  Jack didn’t say he agreed with Christie. Because he didn’t. But he understood.

  Now he reached out and took her hand.

  “Let’s go, then. Simon’s gotta pee.”

  Together they walked back to the car.

  14. North

  The question came just as they passed the multicity jumble of connecting highways of what was called the Capital Region.

  Albany, still the capital of New York State, was considered to have the best defenses of any major city. Families relocated there to take advantage of the superior policing and protection.

  The real reason that the Albany-Schenectady area remained safe, Jack guessed, was because no state wanted to risk losing its capital. No one talked too much about the handful of states where that had already happened… places like Lansing, Michigan, that had been hanging on by a thread, even before the outbreak.

  But here, the intersection of the Thruway and the Northway was heavily patrolled.

  Multiple checkpoints, occasional choppers gliding overhead, gleaming tall turrets along the road with expansive views of the area for miles.

  The city area compact and all access points secure.

  As to what happened in the surrounding areas, the once-farmla
nd rolling north to Cobleskill and beyond?

  Who knew?

  A question—Simon’s question—made Jack smile.

  “Dad, are we there yet?”

  Classic, he thought. Some things never change. He started to answer but Kate was too quick.

  “Right, genius. We’re there. This car is the camp and—here we are! Want to go swimming?”

  “Kate,” Christie said. Usually a word from Christie was enough to get Kate to back off her sarcasm.

  Simon chose to ignore her.

  “Are we, Dad?”

  “Well. Look up here.”

  He tapped the GPS. Service was so intermittent as to be nearly useless. Now it came to life.

  “Shows where we are—”

  “Which is in a car, driving—duh!”

  Christie turned to the back and gave Kate “the look.” Not for the first time, Jack though. Things could get interesting as Kate got older.

  Wanting freedom in a world where that simply wasn’t possible anymore.

  “Kate, can you ease up? Please?”

  In the rearview mirror, Jack saw his daughter shake her head and then look out the window.

  “So, Simon, you see… this is where we are. On this map. If I make it all smaller…”

  Jack touched a button on the side and zoomed out from the screen. “There you go. We stay on this highway for a bit, for another hour or so, until we’re in the Adirondack Park.”

  “Then we’re there?”

  “Not exactly. Got to take a country road to get to the Paterville Camp. Bet it’ll be interesting.”

  His question answered, Simon nodded.

  Interesting? What would it be like when they left the highway? All the reports showing no problems ahead did little to reassure him.

  If the Can Heads could break through the Thruway’s fence, then what could be happening in the small towns that dotted the way to Paterville?

  “You okay?” Christie said to him.

  They hadn’t talked much since the rest stop. As if letting time go by would somehow make what happened less real.

  “Yeah. Fine.”

  “I can drive.”

  Jack laughed. “I know you can.”

  “Don’t know why you always need to drive.”

  Yeah. Why was that? he thought. The need to feel in control?

  A cop thing? Something he inherited from his rigid-as-steel father. Someone who didn’t believe women should do—or could do—much of anything but cook and clean and raise the kids.