Chapter 25 - Ingress
We wheeled over a high overpass. Every one we came across on this drive could be classified into a spectrum with two sides. Beneath it was either a sea of cars with their undead owners or an eerie absence of activity all together. This one fell into the latter category; underneath it was a vacated enough to wonder if the road was open before the world ended. Considering this would be our last highway to drive over, I was relieved to see the roadway close to our final destination wasn’t a major artery for the infection.
“I think that’s it!” Sarah excitedly announced. Her finger extended towards a tiny road that I could have been missed with an unfortunately timed blink.
There was no street sign, no indication that this turn would lead us to anything at all. It veered off next to a solitary oak tree through an open field that bordered a dense tree line. Although it looked felt familiar, the intense pounding in my temples made me second guess everything. I pulled the map closer to my face, intensely scanned every detail for confirmation before speaking. “Yeah... Yeah I’m pretty sure it is! The turn for the farm should be over there at the start of the woods.”
“Hold on, babies,” Sarah called back. “This will probably get bumpy. I want both of you on one of those wall handles. I’m not turning until you tell me you’re ready.”
“I’m all set, Mommy,” Maddox answered.
Calise giddily replied, “Me too Mommy. My kitties are ready too.”
A laugh simultaneously echoed from everyone but Calise. Her persistently adorable qualities were a cherished highlight in any tense situation. Sarah eased the wheel over for the rocky turn. Everything shifted towards the left then slowly switched to pull to the right as the new road veered again towards the wooded area ahead.
1610 hours:
“Daddy, it’s really bumpy!” Calise cried. “It’s hurting my tummy.”
Sarah glanced back at me with a look of worry. “Will it be like this for long? We made it two hundred and thirty miles without anyone getting car sick. After a thousand stalled cars, psychos, and zombie speed bumps this is what does her in?”
I tried to hold back my laughter. “Just ahead. See where the trees thicken? The road forks up there. According to the map we’re supposed to hang left. That road will go past another farm then finally ends at my parents’ place way down.”
“Hang in there, baby girl,” Sarah said. “We’re close but the road is going to be bumpy for a few minutes. After that we’ll be there so try to stay strong. Monkey, do you have any gum you can give your sister to help her tummy?”
The loud foil crinkling from a blister pack of gum could be heard. “It’s okay, Calise,” he said. “Chew this piece of gum and you’ll feel much better. Grandma and Grandpa are going to be really proud of how much of a big girl you’ve been. I’m proud of you too.”
Sarah and I exchanged proud smiles. I felt confident that our family wouldn’t have made it this far if it wasn’t for our amazing children; it was safe to assume that my bride was thinking the same thing. Our attention realigned to the front as we passed through the tree line. A minute later we saw the fork in the road.
“There it is,” I said pointing to the space. “Hang to the left. If we miss it and go right then I’m not sure how easily we’ll be able to turn around without going up the way to another house.”
The trees were dense. Lots of pine and holly trees occupied the outer line of the wooded expanse. It created a natural wall that made this place all the more perfect for long term survival. In the spring I imagine the fork in the road would become even easier to miss once the seasonal trees regained their foliage.
Sarah slowed as she guided the wheel to the left. Then she slammed on the brakes shouting, “HOLD ON!”
Some expletive escaped my mouth and I jerked forward into the dashboard. Screams came from the back where the kids hopefully had a good hold of the handles that had been installed in place of seat belts. 522 had just enough speed to slightly fishtail when Sarah slammed on the brakes.
“Everyone in one piece?” I called out. Shaken replies came from all three of them. Fragile nerves were shaken but no one was hurt. If we had been going faster injuries would have been unavoidable.
“Did your dad mention a damned roadblock?” Sarah angrily said, offering her middle finger towards the obstacle ahead.
“I don’t know what the hell this is, hon. I’ll go make an opening big enough for the truck to squeeze through.”
“Let’s just drive through it! I don’t want you going out there.”
“Come on, Sarah. We’re practically in their driveway. If my dad put this out here then he probably wouldn’t want us flattening it with the truck. When was the last time you saw one of the infected? There hasn’t been one for at least two miles that we could see. Even if one happens to be out there then I’m not going to let it stand in the way of us getting to the house.”
She folded without a fight. “Go. If a bear comes after you then poke it with your damn sword.” She unbuckled and moved to the middle so I’d have room to scoot by.
With a quick kiss I said, “Sarcastic to the bitter end. That’s one of the reasons I married you.”
She stuck her tongue out, like any adult would in a dire situation. “Such a smart ass. And you wonder where the boy gets it?”
A second later my boots landed on the gravel of the street. I was struck by how remarkably quiet it was in those woods. Grinding pebbles beneath my boots was the loudest thing my ears could detect other than the loyal hum of the modified vehicle that brought us there. The winds that brought a lick of winter weather to our region the day before had long since dissipated into a faint breeze. Snow cover had diminished much like the winds, leaving trace highlights of white around the forest floor’s most shaded spots.
I slowly walked to the roadblock that had stopped us so abruptly. It was comprised of a line of seven metal trashcans. This waist-high line stretched between two trees that were so perfectly paralleled on each side that a gate could have been affixed between to block the single lane road. On the other sides of the two trees was a prickly expanse of holly thick enough to make skirting around the road an uncomfortable endeavor for anyone in their right mind.
When I got closer I started to think that there was more to this barrier than just trash cans. That was confirmed when I lifted the rusted top off the fourth barrel in the center. A chain ran straight through the can, then beneath it the thing was a third of the way full with muddy gravel.
“What the hell, Dad?” I muttered aloud.
I examined the side where it brushed up against its neighboring canisters. The chain that went through the interior also connected to the other ones. From end to end, a long chain was strung through like a giant fucked up charm bracelet. Each end of the chain looped around the border trees and was secured by a combination padlock. I tried to test the tensile strength of the entire concoction by pulling the fourth can towards the truck. It didn’t budge more than an inch but as it did the entire thing rattled loudly through every metal component. I cringed as the brief clatter echoed through the otherwise silent forest.
Sarah tapped on the glass to get my attention so I’d see her waving me back. I walked back, the anger on my face had to be obvious. She opened the door and handed me the bolt cutters. “Good thing you bought these.” I took them, not saying anything back. “Are the garbage cans empty? Why do you think your dad put this up?”
I probably should have tried harder to keep my frustration from misdirecting to her honest questions but I was too irritated when I answered, “I don’t know why, Sarah. The whole thing fucking pisses me off. Each one is filled partly with mud and gravel. They are all heavy as hell. I’m sure he was trying to make it hard for a stranger to turn down the road. But the chain? Jesus Christ… give me a few minutes to free enough of them for us to get through. I’ll wave you out if I need help moving the damn things.”
“Okay, sweetie. Just calm down. Listen to me - we are he
re. We’re here so that’s all that matters. A couple more minutes won’t make a difference when we’ll still be up to the house before the sun goes down. Take a deep breath, calm down and do what you do best.”
My eyebrow rose. “And what’s that?”
She smiled. I’m sure it was because she was well aware of her talent for diffusing my anger. “Taking care of your babies… all three of us.”
She gently closed the door as I set back towards the noisy barrier. I paced back and forth along the line of trashcans, trying to pick the best starting point. It was frustrating knowing that if I were to cut the chains in too many places then it would destroy the roadblock my dad had clearly worked hard to create. Since we weren’t going anywhere for a while we would need the security it provided. I concluded that the best place to sever the line was on the inside of the can I’d opened, the central point of it all. Then later I could come back out here and re-secure the thing myself if I had to with another lock.
The rusty lid clanged loudly when I placed it to the side. I gripped the chain in the center to test how much slack was there. Raucous rattles sounded throughout each side in the leftover six links. Any movement caused a loud reaction in the entirety of this blockade.
It clicked then; I understood the full purpose of the trashcans and their frustrating arrangement. Blocking the road was an obvious objective; the noise was another. This was meant to alert as much as it was meant to delay anything or anyone that tried to access the road. It was a clever; I had to credit my dad with that much,
Perhaps it was the rampant paranoia that had fueled my brain for weeks beforehand, but I was suspicious of how clever it actually was. My dad had always been a practical person. I could see him blocking the road if push came to shove. He never had any qualms with taking any justifiable means for the good of our family. However, this setup had a level of strategic flair that I didn’t see my dad bothering with. I told myself that I was being ridiculous then centered the bolt cutters over the chain inside then squeezed.
So many loud noises occurred simultaneously that my brain struggled to process it all. After the click of the bolt cutters’ bite the chain went limp on each side. It didn’t just fall in place, but rather, the tension that existed on the line gave it a little opposing yank. This caused a metallic grinding in every hole cut through the side of the barrels as the two chain halves moved a few inches towards the trees they were tied to. Finally the chains did drop, they smashed against the inner wall, then loudly slipped out of the center can to smack against the outside of the two cans beside it.
This single action produced such an instantaneous chorus of clattering metal that it hurt my ears. It had the volume of a gunshot with a variable echo. A puff of smoke caught my attention from the tree line on the other side of the trashcans.
“What the fuck?” I mumbled.
Then I felt the pain, an intense pain that overcame all other things. Searing fire radiated from my left arm where seconds before I felt nothing. It felt like a hot poker had jabbed into my shoulder. I wobbled on my feet, overcome with the sudden injury and its unknown origin.
Did I hear a gunshot? The chain was so loud, but was there a bang too?
A figure completely clad in black emerged from behind the fading smoke cloud. He was tall, thin and had a very antagonistic presence. This person pointed a rifle at my face. I knew it was aimed at my face because I saw the perfect circle of the gun’s barrel. The gun looked like a weapon carried only by a SWAT team rushing into danger.
He yelled at me, though I couldn’t tell what he was shouting over the numbness that filled my senses. My eyes drifted to the spot that hurt. A mess of blood flowed from my shoulder dripping all the way down the bolt cutters I still held. More yelling came. The man yelled but so did Sarah. She appeared on my other side with the shotgun raised.
“What is this? What’s happened?”
I think I spoke out loud this time. Waves of dizziness became hard to fight.
“PUT THE FUCKING GUN DOWN!” Sarah yelled.
“Afraid I can’t do that, ma’am!” he barked back.
Something about this was so familiar. The voices, the shouts, all of it - I knew it in some way. I told myself I had become delirious. The lightheadedness took me off my feet. When I tumbled over my head caught the side of the third trashcan. Everything went black for a few seconds.
A voice cut through the darkness that enveloped me. “NATHAN?”
The world lit up again as I regained some degree of consciousness. My name hadn’t come out of Sarah’s mouth; it came from the man that had shot me. “Holy shit! Nathan!” he exclaimed as he fell to his knees beside me.
Sarah stood above the man holding the twelve-gauge shotgun to his head while screaming something. I could feel another blackout coming and struggled to remain conscious. Then I looked at his face. Instantly I assumed I was fully delirious.
“Lance?”
From Sarah’s stance she appeared to be seconds away from blowing his head off yet he didn’t flinch. When I said the name aloud she froze, undoubtedly feeling a similar shock. Then he ripped a section of cloth off one of his black coverings. He balled it up, pressing it painfully against my bullet wound. “It’s me, buddy. Stay with me now. You’re lucky I’m a bit rusty with long range shots.”
Lance looked towards Sarah. She’d dropped the shotgun to her side, an expression of confused disbelief written all over her face.
The man smiled with a hint of his notorious southern charm. “‘Bout time you all got here.”
Epilogue: Contrition
Over two weeks later
Sunlight streamed in through the open curtains across from us. We were on the second floor because every window on the first was so boarded up that our morning meeting would have been by candle light. Considering that few clouds were in the sky on this mid-December day, sitting in the dark would have been a waste of rare sunlight. Both of us lounged in a pair of old plush leather armchairs.
I reached for one of the mugs of coffee. The ambient temperature in the room was low so both mugs had an oversized plume of rising steam that made them so much more inviting. My old friend swatted my hand away, tipped a worn silver flask carefully over each cup, and then passed one to me. One sip warmed my core magnificently.
“I think this was his office,” Lance explained while tipping his head towards the little corner desk. Framed photographs dotted the walls of the medium-sized room. Each photo was of a young couple from another era. “Don’t think I’ll take the pictures down any time soon. Doesn’t feel right when this was their house. I started to check the desk drawers. That’s when I found our shiny friend here.”
In the first few days after our arrival everything was explained to us. Apparently, Lance reached his wife, Della, the very same day that he and I separated on the outskirts of the university campus inside Richmond. Their reunion was almost exactly two days past that night when the thirty-third mutation of the virus ended the world. I was glad that he didn’t need to spend a night on a cold railroad bridge as I did. We had yet to speak about our individual experiences after we split, but time was finally on our side so I suppose we eventually would.
Lance and Della arrived at my parents’ farm the next day, ten days before the afternoon he sent a bullet through my shoulder. Lance, Della and my parents retold the story of their meeting like it was an enjoyable distant memory, regardless of how little time had actually passed. Apparently, my dad had stopped Lance at the end of a shotgun when he came knocking. Lance’s muscle memory that was ingrained by years of training countered Dad’s hostile greeting in kind. I’m sure a gunfight was mere seconds away when Della thought to shout, “Nathan told us to come here!” My name was the code word to safe haven, who would have guessed?
Only two properties connected to the long gravel drive where the roadblock was erected. The farm was close to a mile’s drive up while another house sat a quarter of a mile into the woods. Fencing guarded the property line where my parent
s lived then a dense mixture of trees and creeks sufficiently cushioned the entire area around them both. Mom said she regretted not being down here enough before the epidemic to get acquainted with the old couple living in the first house. During the times they did travel here, there was too much to do preparing for a longer stay to ever properly introduce themselves. Dad humored her, although I knew he didn’t share the same sentiments. She’d always been the sweet, neighborly one in the family.
After three days in the guesthouse that was intended for my clan, Lance had the idea of securing the other house off the access road. On the fourth day Della, Lance, and my dad worked to clear out the dearly departed neighbors then the rest of the area. They said the old man in the house must have turned in the first wave and made a messy snack out of his wife. During the initial entry, the withered blood-caked ghoul had lunged at my dad. Lance’s quick reaction greeted the lunge with the end of the same shovel that he had taken from the equipment shed inside the Cary Street Field. In the commotion the walkie-talkie was somehow knocked from my dad’s belt into a puddle of gore and had ceased to work from then on.
Once the second house was clear, Lance and Della decided to move there. Our meeting over spiked coffee took place on the seized property. It was the first time we’d both been away from the others for any extended period. I wondered why they decided to take over another house rather than make long term arrangements on the farm. From what I could tell, staying on the immediate property had worked out and it kept everyone closer together.
“Why the move?” I asked. “I’m sure we could have worked out everything on the farm.”
(Book 2)What Remains Page 23
