“You really think people are going to want their kids alone in a room with one of the refugees?”
“Fair point. Who says they have to be alone though? Times are different now, I know it was a raging debate before, but I see no problem with armed guards in the school. In fact, I'm shocked you haven't assigned them already.”
“We did at first, but a lot of the kids have been traumatized. When we had guns present they were visibly upset and any attempts to return to normalcy were out the window. We took the guns away to ensure the kids that it's a safe and emotionally stable place for them. We could talk about reintroducing them later, I suppose, if we find one of the refugees that can help.”
Linda nodded, impatiently waiting for the interaction to be over so she could retreat back inside. It wasn't the cold that bothered her so much as it was the feeling of being spread too thin. It seemed that everyone that approached her was wanting something more of her. She was already straining at the seams due to sleep deprivation in her current duties and yet here was Yen asking for yet more. She was fast becoming antisocial and started actively avoiding anyone who wasn't confined to a hospital bed.
“I’ll take a trip out this afternoon and see what I can come up with,” Yen replied as he watched her start to edge back towards the building. “One more thing, Lin.”
“Sure thing, what is it?”
“I really don't want you going out among the camps without guards. We talked about it at length and don't think it is a good idea.”
“Who? You and Nala?” Linda snapped back, suddenly at full attention.
Yen gulped visibly and stared doe eyed at the suddenly furious glare he received. Linda and Nala had argued a number of times about her duties and responsibilities to the town since they had become romantically involved. It was a recurring bone of contention between the two and all of the arguments ended with hard feelings for both of them. Nala, only concerned for Linda's safety and having no roots in the town, saw only danger in it. Linda knew her concerns were out of love, but the idea of offering survivors help at gunpoint didn't sit well with her, and she wouldn't leave them to suffer while she had it in her to help.
“Nala has a vested interest in keeping me safe,” Linda replied sharply, bristling that Nala had gone behind her back.
“Look, I have no interest in getting involved in the domestic squabbles of you two, but Nala is right. You are the town's only doctor and putting yourself in unnecessarily dangerous situations puts the rest of us at risk. It puts the children at risk. She says you won't listen to her, so I am going to tell you. Without Tar and Daltry here, the burden is left to Nala and me. If I hear about you going out alone again, I am going to assign a personal guard detail to follow you twenty-four hours a day.”
*
Between the spring thaw setting in and the excitement brought by the sight of the helicopters, a new energy had sprung up in the house. Aside from the late night discussions, conversations were mostly jovial and smiles were abundant. The mood was a far cry from the previous week, when everyone was suffering from cabin fever after being cramped into the odoriferous farmhouse through the long Wisconsin winter. Though they were far from agreeing upon it, the winds of change were sweeping through and the itch to be on the road again had struck all of them. Nearly all of the conversations revolved around the helicopters. Dozens of theories flew around about where they were going or coming from as well as who was on-board and what might be at those places. These speculative conversations eventually led to talk of resupplying in order to chase after them. Those who were opposed to the departure gradually had their resistance eroded by a combination of hope and the heavy spring rains.
“Jen, why are you so suddenly dead set that we should leave?” Christine asked, frustrated with her sudden change of heart. “You were the one who argued the most at first.”
The two had been the opposition, the two most vehemently opposed to going back out into the world. Jen's sudden reversal bothered Christine, who was starting to show her pregnant belly prominently.
Jen looked long and hard at her, deciding whether or not to be honest about the real reason. In the end she sighed heavily and decided to be blunt.
“The other day I was looking around for some twine to tie up the corners of the rain tarps. While I was in the workshop, I came across a container of Sta-bil. My eyes scanned right past it at first. It wasn't until I sat down for dinner later on that night that my mind came back to it.”
“What's Sta-Bil?” Christine asked, confused as to where she was going with her story.
“Oh, shit!” Tim called, walking into the living room. “It's fuel stabilizer.”
Will and Christine both tossed their hands up, not understanding the significance of the find.
“By this time next year, maybe even before winter of this year, gas is going to go bad,” Jen said flatly.
“Gas goes bad?” Laura asked from the side while playing with the children.
“Yeah, it usually takes a while, maybe six to nine months, but once it does . . . well, Jen is right,” Tim replied.
“Well, we have all the wood we need here. If it goes bad we are safe, right?” Laura asked.
“It's not that Laur,” Tim said, hesitant to broach the conversation that led to so many arguments once again.
The two had almost constantly been bickering about leaving since the helicopters had passed overhead. Laura was putting her foot down about it, but Tim persisted in arguing about it.
“What it means, Laur, is that we need to make up our minds right now about leaving. Whatever we decide will most likely be for the rest of our lives, including the kids. It likely means that if we are really going to leave here, it's either now or never. By the absolute latest of fall or spring of next year cars won't be running. We would have to leave on foot if we needed to.”
The statement made everyone in the room feel immediately claustrophobic. Will became suddenly aware that biding their time, resting up and building their strength wasn't an option if they wanted a realistic chance to make it anywhere.
*
Forty-five minutes of anxious driving later, the town of Union Creek opened up in front of Mark and Amber. The town amounted to a restaurant with an attached country store and a handful of cabins that were for rent to hunters or vacationers. Mark could tell from a distance that things were not right ahead, but chose to remain silent until they could see in detail what was happening. The Tesla slid across the vacant northbound lane and into the parking lot of the country store, its pearly-silver hood streaked with congealing gore. A man wearing hunting coveralls lurched off the porch of the store and came towards the car. As he turned they could both see that he had a ragged hole in the center of his chest. He had his hands outstretched and mouth open, his milky eyes stared into the nothingness on the horizon. Amber's nails dug into Mark's inner bicep as her grip tightened upon seeing the thing.
“Mark!” she said, her voice rising and on the edge of hysteria.
“I see it, Amber,” he replied pressing his foot down on the accelerator and guided the slowly rolling car back onto the barren, forest-lined roadway.
They rode on, slowly and in silence for a few minutes. Mark was at a loss for what they should do and Amber sat silently, wringing her hands in front of her while chewing her bottom lip. Just as Mark was about to pull the car over to discuss their course, Amber slapped at his arm and pointed down the road in the distance. There was a car on the horizon coming towards them. It was flashing its headlights and had its hazard lights blinking. Mark breathed heavily, suddenly nervous at the sight of approaching people. He checked the rear-view mirror, and seeing it was clear, stopped the car in the middle of the road to wait for the vehicle to approach. Thirty seconds later a mud encrusted Ford Bronco pulled alongside them and came to a rest. A man with a finely trimmed gray goatee and a pair of Oakley wrap-around glasses leaned out from the driver's window.
“Whazzat, a Maserati?” the man asked.
The silence broken, Amber let out a long string of nonsensical syllables and sobs as she tried to convey what they had seen since Crater Lake. The man held out a hand and she quieted as her sobs turned into a low moaning cry.
“Y'ain't headed south I hope?” he asked, staring at Mark.
“Why? What the hell is going on?” Mark replied, a bit more sharply than he had meant. “Look, these things are running around.”
“Oyah, yessir. News's been nonstop since morning 'bout em.”
“So, why shouldn't we go south?” Mark asked as the man trailed off.
“Let’s say there's about forty million reasons why you shouldn't go to California,” he cast back, trailing off at the end as the person in the passenger seat spoke quietly to him.
The man sucked on his lips and looked off in the distance ahead for a minute before continuing.
“Going to Bend, we are. Well, east of there at least. Got a cabin outside the Ochoco. Gonna hole up there for a bit and see what shakes out of this.”
The man proceeded to look Mark up and down for a minute before he turned and started having a conversation with the passenger. Mark couldn't see who the person was, because the Bronco sat much higher, but two distinct female voices came drifting down out of the truck. After a moment longer the man turned back and addressed Mark.
“You and your little china doll are welcome to join us. The missus gave the okay.” He lifted his glasses and shot Mark a wink and a knowing nod.
Mark looked to Amber who was sobbing and offered nothing in the way of help to make a decision. At length Mark turned back to the man.
“Look, we don't know what's going on, I think it's best we get back down to Redding.”
The man took his glasses the rest of the way off and looked sternly at Mark.
“Son, do yourself a favor here, don't make a stupid choice right now. We are offering you a chance here. There's four million people in the entire state of Oregon, most of them on the west coast. How many people in California? I'm telling you right now, this is a shit-hit-the-fan situation. You could be driving down to your deaths down there, I ain't kidding. I gotta get some stuff out of the trunk for the kids, games and shit. We'll be leaving once I'm done. Follow me or don't, your funeral.”
Once he had finished his statement, he looked around cautiously before stepping out of the truck. He was holding a pistol grip shotgun and moved to the rear of the truck with it on his shoulder.
Mark rolled up the window and turned to Amber.
“China doll? Was he fucking serious?” Amber asked, fully composed, a mask of anger splayed across her features.
“He is a bit rough around the edges . . . I don't know though. What if he is right?”
“You're really thinking about going with them? Racist prick called me a fucking China Doll. I want to go home Mark, and I'm not talking about Redding. I want to ride out whatever this is in my own house in San Jose. Bring me there,” she demanded, settling back in her seat and looking straight out the windshield.
“Amber, look, we don't have much in the way of choices here. We don't know what's going on. We can't call the cops and we don't have any way to protect ourselves. What if the guy is right? If this is a terrorist attack or the goddamn zombie apocalypse, why the fuck are we driving towards the most populous state in the country? Let's take this guy up on it, he's got his wife and kids with him, a weapon and a place to go.”
“I don't want to deal with this Mark, I can't deal with it,” she responded quietly.
Amber turned away from him and looked out the window into the forest surrounding them. They sat in silence for a minute with Mark staring at the back of her head while she stared out the window. The sound of the tailgate of the Bronco slamming shut broke the tension of the moment.
“Fine,” Amber said quietly. “But you better be right. If that asshole says any more racist shit, you better not sit there with that dopey, uncomfortable look on your face. You better man up and stand up for me.”
This last part was spoken with the heat of fire in her voice, and Mark knew at that moment that he was going to be put in that uncomfortable position sooner or later. He turned back towards the Bronco and gave the man a thumbs up before he swung the car around in a K-turn to follow behind.
*
Things grew a bit more solemn with the looming perils of being permanently stranded. Eventually, the last of the opposition came around and the group began making preparations to leave Benoit. Laura was the last hold-out to come around, and in her last gasp she had demanded that they linger for a few days longer in the hopes that the mud would dry out. They had all agreed, as it made sense, though, in reality, she was hoping that something might happen to change everyone's minds. She didn't disagree with the necessity of the expedition, she just despised the idea of bringing her family out into danger again. They all had their own reservations about leaving, and no one wanted to rush it. There was no telling how long before they would be able to spend a warm night in safety after they set out.
“Oatmeal again?” Jen asked as she and Will came back through the sliding doors, shaking off the early morning chill.
Will shrugged in response. There was little else in the way of options for breakfast these days. She and Tim had tried to catch chickens on a nearby farm early on, but a number of factors caused them to give up on it. Firstly, they are extremely difficult to catch, secondly, chickens are a pretty noisy bird. On that occasion, they were set upon fairly quickly by undead that were lurking inside a nearby barn. Tim had nearly been bitten that day, and the fear that lingered prevented any further attempts. Over the rest of the winter Tim and Jen had honed their looting and pillaging skills. The half-dozen supply runs were focused on isolated structures that they could enter, secure quickly and loot. They tried to make the runs as fast as possible, without sacrificing safety. None of them liked being away from their loved ones.
Tim and Laura's vegetarianism fell victim to the harsh winter and short supply of foods. Before the undead walked, they had the luxury of choosing a kinder diet. As soon as the snows fell, the greens died and so did their options. The stock of canned foods in the pantry when they arrived, what they could scavenge from nearby houses and businesses and whatever game they could hunt was all the sustenance they had to see them through the winter. The luxuries of their former lives had no room in this world, it was all they could do to stay alive.
Will had been home-ridden for all of Tim and Jen's scavenging adventures over the course of the winter. He spent the first few months at the farmhouse recuperating from an injury he had received when one of the fast undead connected head-first with it, the previous fall. Having no eggs, meat, or bread made the choices for breakfast much simpler, there was oatmeal or there was farina. Will hated farina from the time he was a child, when he had to sit in front of a bowl for the majority of a day at his grandparents’ house. That left him with no choice at all, it would be oatmeal . . . again.
Will hobbled upstairs as Jen set about preparing breakfast. He wanted to get his leg brace on. In the cold, humid air of mid-spring, his knee felt weak and ready to buckle without it. Mainly though, he was hoping the rest of the group were awake. He was eager to talk about the specifics of their departure with Tim. As he passed by the master bedroom, the sounds of children at play drifted through the hardwood door coming from the other side. By the time he retrieved the brace, the rest of the group, including Christine were on their way downstairs. Will followed behind the procession, waiting patiently as Tim walked his toddler down the stairs, the little girl babbling happily as she went. The group filed out onto the back porch to use the facilities and Will rejoined Jen in the kitchen.
“Morning guys,” Tim called as he came inside. “Coffee on?”
“Morning,” Jen chirped back. “Yeah, the perc is on the wood stove, should be ready in a few.”
“Cool, thanks,” Tim replied as he moved to sit next to the stove and enjoy the warmth it cast.
Will sat silently bit
ing back his own jealousy over the bond the two shared. Whenever he saw them interact, he felt like he was a kid again, tugging on Mom and Dad's pant-legs for attention. He knew that Jen and Tim's relationship was purely platonic and was borne out of necessity, but he had always been possessive in nature and he hated it. He knew better than to broach the subject with Jen, however. He still cringed at the results of the one time he tried.
Over the course of the long winter, while Laura and Christine took care of the kids and Will sat around resting and recuperating, the burden of providing for the needs and safety of the group fell squarely on Tim and Jen. Whenever they needed supplies; food, batteries, fuel, or medical, it was Tim and Jen that went out to get them. Aside from the scavenging runs, they hunted game together, clumsily, and kept the dead off the fences. They came to trust and rely on one another implicitly. This trust created a bond between the two that excluded all of the others in the group.
Will knew he wasn't the only one in the group that bore a grudge over Tim and Jen's bond. He'd heard Laura making snide comments to Tim frequently, and on more than one occasion a full blown whisper-fight after everyone had gone to bed.
The group quietly ate their meager breakfast of oats together. Before anyone could leave the table, Will interrupted the repast.
“I want to leave tomorrow,” he said flatly.
The rest of them paused chewing momentarily, then had to struggle to get the thick oats down.
“We have been planning to go three days from now-” Tim started.
“My knee is fine, the thaw is here, winter is over, and I've got a case of cabin fever like you wouldn't believe.”
*
It was just after daybreak when Linda and Nala moved out from the safety of the northern barricade. Rather than open road that had been there months previous, they stepped out into the massive refugee camp that had formed over the course of the winter. The camp occupied the breadth of the road, from the banks of the Illinois River to the wall of crushed vehicles welded together that demarcated the border of Sickler's junkyard. From there, the barricade extended northward for a quarter mile before turning east to follow the junk car wall. Linda, who had made numerous trips out among the refugees felt comfortable moving freely. It was Nala who walked hesitantly through the camp. She very rarely came outside the walls, her travels across the landscape in the early days had been traumatic.
Harvest of Ruin (Book 3): A Spring of Sorrow Page 3
