by Lissa Bryan
She set the bowl down on the counter, no longer hungry. “I have. I think you’re right. I don’t have what I need here to survive. And as much as I hate it, I think I’ll have to leave. I don’t know if I want to go to Florida, but I have to find a better place to live than my apartment. Maybe a house with a fireplace or something.”
“Do you know how difficult it is to keep a house warm using only a wood fireplace or stove?”
“No, not really.” Carly admitted it with a bit of reluctance. “I know there are lots of people who do it, so it can’t be too bad, right?”
Justin shook his head. “For one person? Chopping all that wood?”
“Chopping. What do you mean? Like, cutting down trees?” She had been leaning more toward finding wood to burn. There was a hardware store on the other side of town that sold lumber but she’d still have to cut that up, wouldn’t she?
He chuckled, and Carly felt a flare of anger. “Look, I’m sorry I don’t know this stuff. I may look stupid to you, but I—”
“Wait, Carly, no, I don’t think you’re stupid.” His humor vanished the instant he realized she’d been stung by his comment, and his voice gentled. “You just don’t have an inkling of what it takes; most people wouldn’t if they had no experience with it. But, you need to understand we’re talking about life and death here. You could freeze to death if you didn’t know what to do, or if you weren’t able to get enough wood split to keep you warm over winter. Even with chainsaws and log-splitters, it’s a lot of work. That’s why I suggested a warmer climate. It would be better for you in the long run.”
“I’ve never been out of Alaska,” Carly said. She wasn’t sure she could explain to him how awful a prospect it was to leave everything behind, to give up on the idea the world might return to normal if she just waited there instead of abandoning her hope and home.
“I’ve never been to Florida.” Justin took a large bite of his cold pork and beans and chewed with relish. “Here’s the thing.” He pulled a paper towel off the roll beside the sink and used it as a napkin. “We need to leave soon. It’s going to be a very long journey, and I don’t think we’ll manage to make it all the way to Florida, or even south of the Mason-Dixon for that matter, before the winter sets in. So we have to hurry and get as far as possible in the time we have left.”
Carly hesitated before asking, since she knew it was another dumb question, but she had to know. “If we can’t take a car or a motorcycle, what are we going to do?”
“Ride bicycles. Walk.”
“Justin, you’re talking four thousand miles here.” The idea of moving into a house across town had been daunting enough, let alone the idea of traveling across most of North America.
“I know. It took me about one hundred and thirty days to do the entire Appalachian Trail, and I was going a lot faster by myself than I’ll likely be able to go with you.”
“How many miles did you hike in a day?”
“Most days, about fifteen to twenty, depending on the roughness of the trail. Since you’re not an experienced hiker, I’m expecting us to make five to ten, at least at first.”
“What about if we ride bicycles?”
“Double it. Maybe twenty miles per day, at first. More, as you get stronger. Some experienced cyclists can do eighty miles in a day.”
Carly shook her head. “You’re talking about more than half a year, maybe more.”
“Do you understand, then, why I want to leave as soon as possible?
“Couldn’t we go somewhere else, somewhere closer, like Los Angeles? It’s always warm down there.”
“But arid. The irrigation systems might not work without electricity and regular maintenance. We need to go somewhere we can grow enough food to sustain ourselves. Florida has an excellent climate for farming. I’m not saying we have to get all the way to Florida. There are other states in the South that would have a good climate for us, but I’m thinking of Florida as my goal. We may be able to use different vehicles during sections of our trip, but that’s not a guarantee. The ones we find may have dead batteries, or the fuel could have gone bad. If we encountered a roadblock or traffic jam, we’d have to unload the vehicle and try to find another. Bikes are more reliable.”
“Do you actually have this planned out, or is it just an idea you have?”
Justin chuckled. “Once you get to know me, Carly, you’ll find I have everything planned out.” He went out into the hallway and grabbed one of the bags that contained his gear. He opened up the front pocket and withdrew a map. A route had been highlighted, cutting across Canada and through the US, a bumpy line, but almost perfectly diagonal. She saw the first part of the journey took them north to Haines and then to Skagway. From there, they took the only highway east, through the mountains, into Canada.
“But the ferry isn’t running.”
“I know how to operate a boat.”
“Is there anything you don’t know how to do?” she asked, a hint of a sour note in her voice.
“I can’t play the piano, and I can’t dance.”
Carly tilted her head. “Did they teach you all this stuff in the army?”
Justin’s eyes were guarded. “Some of it, yes.”
She traced her finger over the long line. “What if I refuse to go?”
“I can’t leave you here to die, Carly.”
Die? She gave him a startled look, but he didn’t back off and admit to exaggeration or soften the comment with a shrug or smile. Instead, he looked straight into her eyes, and his steady gaze told her he wasn’t trying to scare her or embellish. He saw it as an inevitable consequence if she were left there on her own, not as a possibility.
She looked away, unable to meet his eyes any longer. “Because you knew my dad?”
“No, not just because of the promise I made when I joined The Unit, but because I fancy myself to be a decent fucking human being. One way or another, I’m going to have to convince you, but I hope to hell it doesn’t take very long.”
“What about Sam?”
“What about him? He’s a wolf. They’re tough, and they’re built to run for hours without tiring.”
She was thankful he wasn’t going to try to insist she leave him behind.
“Listen to me, Carly, I know you don’t know me very well yet, but you’ll find I’m a person who keeps my promises. And I promise you I will do my best to keep you safe, warm, and fed. I’m your best shot at survival.” He tugged up the sleeve of his T-shirt and showed her the symbol tattooed there, the same symbol that was on her father’s ring. “This once meant something. It meant enough that I had it permanently etched into my skin because it’s a part of me. It wasn’t just a military unit. It was a code of honor. I may be the last man standing, but I swear to Christ I’m not going to let that code die, too.”
And gazing into his eyes, Carly believed him. She might have very little experience of the world, but she knew sincerity when she saw it. He truly cared about what happened to her, for whatever reason. Her doubts and fears warred with her instincts, which told her Justin was what he presented himself to be. He was a nice guy with a mischievous sense of humor and a strong sense of honor and duty. Her father had told her to trust no one, but he had also told her about the symbol and what it meant to the men who wore it.
“I’m scared,” Carly said. She felt her cheeks warm in embarrassment at the admission, but she felt like he deserved her honesty.
“I am, too. None of this is going to be easy, but I’d put our chances at reaching Florida higher than most.”
“That doesn’t sound too encouraging.”
Justin was quiet for a long moment. “Do you want me to be honest or comforting?”
Carly blinked when tears stung her eyes again. He already thought she was stupid. She didn’t want to add whiny to the list. “Just for a little while, can you be optimistic?”
He took her hand in his own. “Sure, honey. I understand.”
The first thing Justin wanted to do was find a wag
on and a pair of bicycles. Carly directed him to the bicycle shop, which was not far from the bridge, and he returned on a bike, towing a trailer with another bike stowed inside. The wagon was the size of a queen-size bed, with a metal mesh floor and waist-high sides of tubular metal rails. It was surprisingly light when she tried to lift it.
He’d also brought them helmets. Both of them were blue, and she wondered if he’d intentionally selected a matching set or if there weren’t many options.
“We don’t know the road conditions we’ll encounter. We could go around a curve and . . . well, I don’t want to risk a head injury.”
Carly tried hers on and found it was a perfect fit. She turned and saw Justin grinning at her.
“What?”
“I’ve never seen anyone who actually looked cute in one of those before.”
Cute. He thought she was cute. Carly blushed and pulled the helmet off.
She helped him load the wagon, and Justin surprised her with how organized he was about it. He stacked the supplies they weren’t going to use right away—such as the antibiotics and the ammo that didn’t fit their guns—on the bottom.
The night before, Justin sat at the kitchen counter and had taken apart some of the guns. He used a small, metal file on some part inside the scary-looking black rifles. Carly had watched with interest. “What are you doing?”
“Turning them from semi-auto to full auto.” Justin handed the reassembled rifle to Carly, who turned to carry it into the spare room.
“Something else you picked up at Gymboree?”
“Yep. You know, you look kinda hot carrying that.”
Carly blushed and kept her face turned away from him as she headed for the spare room. Was he teasing her, or was he actually flirting with her? Carly didn’t know. She wished men came with an instruction manual.
That morning, Justin had told her she needed to decide what she was taking, but he cautioned her to remember they didn’t have much space, and weight was an important consideration. “I know you’d rather leave your things here than have to abandon them alongside the trail.”
Carly had ended up taking the string of pearls her father had given her mother for their tenth anniversary and her father’s ring—the one with his unit symbol. She tucked the Lord of the Rings DVD into her bag when Justin wasn’t looking. She knew she’d probably never be able to watch it again, but it was her last happy memory with her father before everything had gone to hell.
She took just a few changes of clothes, as he had suggested. She chose two pairs of cotton yoga pants and a small selection of short- and long-sleeve T-shirts that could be layered. A handful of sports bras, boy shorts-style underpants and several pairs of socks completed her packing. Justin looked over her selections with approval, suggesting only that she add a pair of jeans and a sweater for cooler weather.
Sam’s bag of dog food went into the wagon, along with his soft pallet bed and a few favorite toys. Carly insisted if they had sleeping bags, Sam should have a comfortable place to sleep, too. Justin rigged up a water bowl on the back of the wagon so Sam would always be able to get a drink when he was thirsty. Carly thought that was sweet and considerate of him.
And then it was time to go. Somehow, even with all the preparations and packing, the reality of it hadn’t sunk in. She cried herself to sleep the night before, and in the morning she made a slow circuit around her apartment saying good-bye to her things. Her dad had bought her the recliner, joking Carly would never get herself a man unless she had a soft, comfortable recliner for football-watching. Her mom had bought all of Carly’s infrequently used pots and pans, proud when her daughter had set out on her own, even if on her own was just two floors above her parents’ place. Her grandmother Sally had made the quilt that lay over her bed, which Carly had smoothed into place with gentle hands when she got out of her bed for the last time. Carly knew, without asking, it was too heavy and bulky to take with them, but leaving it behind hurt just the same.
She chose a handful of pictures from her refrigerator door. Her favorite photo of her parents at their anniversary party the year before. Her aunt Laura with her twin sons, laughing when the boys had smeared their birthday cake all over their chubby little cheeks. Grandma Sally, with a group of distant family at one of the reunions they used to have every few years, and a picture of Grandpa Mike in his uniform, before he’d been killed in the Vietnam War.
Carly was leaving behind everything she had ever known. Though they were gone, it was still hard to leave behind the place where her family, her friends, her security. . . everything had been. It wasn’t easy for her, but Justin didn’t tease her for her tears, and she was very grateful for that.
Carly locked the door for the last time, and put the key on the long chain around her neck with her father’s ring. “I’m never coming back, am I?”
“It’s not very likely,” Justin said, his eyes full of sympathy.
Carly nodded and took a deep breath before she followed Justin down the stairs. When they reached the ground floor, she went down the hall to her parents’ apartment and laid her hand against the door for a moment. She fought back tears as she slipped a note she’d written to them beneath it.
It was a bright and sunny morning. They wheeled their bicycles outside, and Justin hooked his bike to the wagon. Sam bounced around with glee, excited to go on another walk with his humans.
Carly looked back one last time as they mounted the bikes, and then they set off for the short ride to the harbor. Justin had already selected a sailboat, and they found they had to unload the wagon before they could lift it inside. Repacking it took some time, and Carly grew irritable with the process knowing they’d have to do it all over again once they reached their destination.
Sam wasn’t sure about riding in a boat and didn’t want to jump on board even when Carly called to him and tried to coax him aboard. Justin wound up having to pick him up and plunk him down in the boat beside Carly. She felt Sam tremble a little, so she sat down on the deck beside him after strapping a child-sized life jacket around his torso.
It was nearly one hundred miles to Haines, so Carly opened up one of the paperbacks she’d taken with her as Justin pulled ropes and rigged the sails. She wished she could have brought her e-reader, which had contained thousands of books, but she doubted she’d have been able to charge it. Like her other things, she would rather leave it in her home than have to abandon it later.
Justin glanced down at her. “Whatcha reading?”
“Thomas Pynchon’s Mason-Dixon.”
Justin whistled. “I could never get into Pynchon. Too dense for me.”
“He takes some getting used to,” Carly said with a nod, and from there, they launched into a pleasant chat about their favorite books and authors. He confessed a love for Wuthering Heights, and Carly admitted a weakness for Dean Koontz. It was a fun conversation until the thought hit her there wouldn’t be any more Dean Koontz novels. No more books, no more movies, no more music. All of it was gone, and she still didn’t know why this awful thing had happened.
“Justin, did you ever hear anything from your sources about what caused the Infection?”
“No. As far as I know, no one ever knew. If the government knew anything about it, they weren’t talking. I suppose we were just . . . due.”
“What do you mean?”
“Humanity hasn’t had a widespread plague since 1918. Before that, before the CDC, we used to have them with relative regularity. The Black Death, yellow fever, smallpox, typhoid, cholera . . . Things you don’t see in developed nations any longer because of our hygiene, inoculations, and the swift response of the CDC and the WHO when outbreaks occurred. But this one was so insidious. The incubation period was so long . . . People infected hundreds of others before they even knew they were sick. This was no ordinary virus. The lethality rate alone tells me it wasn’t something natural.”
“What else could it be?”
“Something weaponized.” Justin’s expression was
grim.
“Created in a lab? Someone made this evil thing intentionally?” Carly slumped in her seat, stunned and sickened someone could have done such a thing.
Justin hesitated when he saw her reaction, but he answered truthfully, and for that, she was grateful. “I think so, yes.”
“And what, it got loose or something? Someone spilled a test tube of it?”
Justin shook his head. “Paris, London, Beijing, New Delhi, Moscow, Osaka, São Paulo . . . My contacts reported almost simultaneous outbreaks. It was intentionally released in the most populous cities all over the world.”
“Terrorists?”
“Perhaps.”
“Are we immune?”
“It seems that way. You took care of your parents while they were sick. If you weren’t immune, you should have caught it for certain from sustained close contact. But even if we’re immune, we could be carriers.”
“Like Typhoid Mary?”
Justin nodded. “It’s possible. There’s no way for us to know for sure at this point.”
“Were you around any sick people?”
“I was camping when the Crisis hit. I stayed out in the woods until . . . until it was over, but if I wasn’t immune, I should have caught it as soon as I came into the city. There were still Infected wandering around. And I wouldn’t be surprised if the virus lingered in the environment, perhaps in the water supply or even in the air itself.”
“I thought viruses died fast if they didn’t have a host.”
Justin shrugged. “Some do. Others can survive outside a host for days, even weeks, in some cases. If they made a weaponized virus, they’d ensure it was able to survive for long periods outside the body.”
“Only two survivors out of over thirty thousand people in Juneau,” Carly mused.
“There may have been others. We don’t know. They could have hidden from us. Or they could have died after the Crisis was over from accidents, suicide, or health issues. People with medical conditions like diabetes would be unable to get their medicine. Most modern people aren’t prepared to survive, and more will die when winter comes.”
