There had been several gas stations on the way and I had stopped at two of them. They were, as I had anticipated, without electricity and completely empty. The third gas station actually had a sign on each pump that said in large, angry letters NO GAS. An angry face peered out from one of the gas station windows as I drove by, and I didn’t bother to stop. I wanted to not get shot more than I wanted gas, and I wondered if they did, in fact, have gas and just didn’t feel like sharing. I couldn’t judge them, not really. Maybe I would do the same thing if I had a gas station. I didn’t know.
Either way, I was now at least 50 miles from home and I now had the option of hoofing it or staying put. I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel for a moment and sighed. Ugh. I could do this, I reminded myself. I was a strong, independent woman, right? And hey, I had made it this far. The rest of the journey couldn’t be so bad. At least I was out of the city and away from the worst parts of the virus. Maybe the outbreak wasn’t so bad when you weren’t around other people. Farmers were a reliable bunch, I knew. Maybe they were more resourceful than people gave them credit for. Maybe they were fine.
Finally, I got out of the car. I was suddenly aware of how badly I stank after not showering for a day. I felt sweaty and gross, and my hair was already matting against my face. I slipped my trusty hairband from my wrist and pulled my hair back once again. I grabbed my backpack and locked up the car. The gravel crunched loudly as I made my way to the back of the car and popped the trunk. I still had my bug out bag, too. I didn’t need both bags and knew I was already pushing my luck even thinking about walking on gravel in a pair of flip flops. The first mile or two might be okay, but I realized that by the end of the day, I would need to figure out an alternative form of footwear. Maybe there was a Wal-Mart still open. As quickly as I thought of it, I brushed the thought away. There was no way I’d be setting foot inside a store. Not only would it be full of germs and looters, but it would also be full of people who wanted to take advantage of the situation and of anyone they could. Rape? Murder? Kidnapping? There were no police anymore. Anything could happen.
My schoolbag was bigger than the red backpack, so I shoved as much from the Bug OutBag into it as possible. Almost everything fit. I pulled out my extra sweatshirt and wrapped it around my waist. Then I had enough room for everything. I would be okay for the rest of the day and probably most of tomorrow, but I didn’t have a ton of food and I knew that all the walking I would be doing would mean I was hungrier than usual. I glanced up at the shining sun. How could it be smiling down on me when the entire world was dead? When the entire world was in pain? It seemed almost sacrilegious, almost evil for the sun to be so brilliantly sparkly today. I felt a little mad.
I slammed the trunk shut and jumped at the echo. Being in the country was so different from city life. It was quieter here. Peaceful. Serene. And, if it wasn’t terrible to think, more than a little bit creepy. I started walking south on the road and actually began to pay attention to my surroundings. The morning had flown by and I’d been so focused on making good time that I hadn’t paid much attention to everything on the side of the road. Although I’d grown up in rural Kansas, I hadn’t been back much since school started and it didn’t take long to forget how different life in the country really is. Here there were no blaring horns, no flickering lights, no clubs or bars. Here there were just scattered houses and barns and lots and lots of pastures.
The highway was a mile to the east. There was a city a few miles to the west. The road before me was gravel with deep ditches on either side. Beyond the ditches were a few trees. The open field on the west side of the road was probably grazing pasture for some farmer. I didn’t see any cows, but the fence posts that held the barbed wire border in place were leaning toward the road: a telltale sign that a herd had been there.
The east side of the road was cornfields. I walked for a few moments and wondered if I should cut through. Would it be better to be near the highway, to see what was going on? Would it be safer than the back road? Probably not, although I was sure my feet would feel better getting to walk on pavement instead of gravel.It didn’t take long for them to feel sore and I chided myself for not keeping my boots. I knew, logically, than ditching them was probably the safest choice, but right now I didn’t care about being safe. I cared about how every piece of gravel I stepped on tore into the arch of my foot. I would have bruises tomorrow.
I realized, as I walked, how boring it was to be alone. The pastures and meadows were beautiful, butI yearned for a friend. Any friend. I felt nothing but sorry for myself as I walked down the road, staying near the edge in case a car did come by and I needed to jump into the ditch to hide. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, although by the second mile, I probably would have jumped into any car that was coming just to get off of my feet.
By the third mile, I was done. I hadn’t seen a single house and my feet were killing me. I jumped down into the ditch and climbed up over to the barbed wire fence. Laying perfectly flat, I slid under the bottom strand and entered the empty, quiet field. There were plenty of trees and hedges to hide behind, so I found a particularly close set of trees that wasn’t too far from the road and settled in beside them.
My pack hit the dirt and I opened it. I greedily downed a bottle of water and two granola bars before I finally convinced myself to stop. Who knew how long it would be before I found more food? I had to find a house soon. Surely someone would be able to spare some shoes for me, even if they were oversized rubber boots. Anything would be better than flippy floppies.
My belly finally full, I leaned against the tree and closed my eyes, just for a moment. My legs were aching from the walking and my feet were throbbing. A little rest wouldn’t hurt anything, I told myself. A little rest would be fine, and then I’d get back on the road.
**
A sound like a freight engine woke me and I abruptly jumped to my feet. Groggily, I looked around. How long had I been asleep for? The sun had set so it must have been longer than I imagined. Where had the sound come from? Had it been a car? Suddenly, I heard it again and I laughed. It hadn’t been a freight engine. It had been an angry cow. Apparently, I was no longer welcome in the field. The moo sounded again and before I could be run over or trampled, I darted back out through the barbed wire fence to the safety of the road.
My feet still ached, so I walked in the ditch instead of on the road. The grass was softer to walk on, but my feet were still tender and I hoped I would find a place to rest soon. I didn’t know if I’d be able to walk the entire way to my parents’ house. In theory, 50 miles isn’t so bad. Most of the time, 50 miles is something you can drive in less than an hour, but in reality, walking 50 miles is something that might take a week or longer depending on your fitness level.
The stars were bright and I spent most of the first hour I walked just staring at the sky. Once you got a few miles outside of the city, the sky was much brighter and clearer. There wasn’t that strange smog, that grey cloudiness that hovered over the city out here. Here it was just me and the stars. I felt, for a moment, very small indeed, and I wondered for the millionth time what was happening in the world.
My cell phone was turned off. I switched it on and dialed my mom’s number. Busy signal. I wasn’t surprised, considering everyone else in the world was probably trying to reach their loved ones, but it was still annoying. I had towers. I should be able to make a simple phone call. I punched out a quick text message to my mom:
Am safe. OMW. Not sick. Love you. Walking so may take a few days.
I waited a few minutes and the text appeared to go through, but I didn’t get a response. With a sigh, I shut off my phone. I would check it again later on to see if my parents had responded. My dad still wasn’t one for cell phones but my mom was an avid texter. I hoped that the message had actually gone through and that they were both safe. Knowing my dad, he was fine and probably already hunkered down with the generator ready, his pantry full, and his guns loa
ded. My mom was more of a nurturer and would be more likely to take in neighbors who needed food or shelter, but I imagined that my dad would put a stop to that given the extraordinarily contagious nature of D-Virus.
My feet still hurt and I did my best to avoid rocks and tree branches that lined the ditch, but I kept taking frequent breaks and finally, after what felt like forever, I saw a light up ahead. I approached slowly, gingerly, and with caution. As I got closer, I saw that the light was coming from a small farmhouse just off the road. Excited to find people who were alive, but still not sure it would be safe, I made my way closer to the house.
I paused at the entrance to the driveway for a moment. I couldn’t see much, but I thought I saw the outline of a barn. There were also two small cars and a pickup parked in the driveway. My feet were killing, and while I thought about trying to get into the barn to hide for the night, I had known enough angry farmers to know that trespassing when someone was definitely home was a quick way to get shot.
I wondered if the owners of the house were infected. I wondered if they were sick and would let me stay with them for the night. I made my way slowly down the driveway but stopped short of the house. Did I really want to knock? Did I really want to let them know I had food? It was cold outside and I was shivering. I didn’t want to spend another night outdoors. I also didn’t want to share my supplies with anyone. In a snap judgment, I dropped my backpack behind a small bush in the driveway, making sure it was completely concealed from the naked eye, and I made my way to the front door.
I stepped up onto the porch. The windows were closed but the lights were definitely on inside. I put my small mask over my face. At least if the owners of the home were sick when they opened the door, hopefully the mask would offer at least a small amount of protection from any virus. With a sigh, I lifted my hand to knock on the door. It was now or never.
Chapter 7
The sound of a stranger knocking was probably not what the owners of the farmhouse expected to hear during the worst virus outbreak in centuries, but I knocked anyway and prayed I wouldn’t give anyone a heart attack. The last thing I needed was the death of a poor stay at home mom or an elderly farmer on my hands. I rapped on the door three times. The sound echoed loudly in the still of the night. I wondered what time it was. I hoped I didn’t wake anyone up.
I waited patiently on the porch for a moment, my hands shoved deeply in the pocket of my hoodie. Was anyone actually home? Had the family who lived here been in the city when the virus struck? Had they died and not made it home? I glanced back at the driveway. Three cars were more than enough for a family. They had to be home, right?
After a moment, I hesitated, but then knocked again. I thought I heard a sound inside. Someone had to be here. Maybe they were talking about whether or not to answer the door. Maybe they thought I was here to rob them.
“Is anyone home?” I called out loudly. I didn’t know if anyone could hear me, but it was worth a try. “I’m not sick,” I offered. What did you say to someone when you were asking if you could crash on their couch for a night?Was there some sort of proper etiquette? Something I could say that would convince them to help me and let me inside? “I’m just passing through and need a place to stay. Is anyone home? Please, it’s just me. I’m alone and I’m not sick. I don’t have the virus.”
Finally, the door squeaked open and a pair of old, tired eyes peeked out at me.
“Eh!” Said the old man, “Who’re you?”
“Hi, Sir. I’m so sorry to stop and wake you up in the middle of the night,” I began.
“You darn well should be, young lady. Who’re you? Why you on my porch? Don’t you know what time it is? Don’t you know what’s going on in the world?”
“I don’t know what time it is, Sir, and again, I’m so sorry to bother you. It’s just that my car broke down and I’ve been walking all night. I’m exhausted and freezing. Is there any way I could stay with you for the night? I’ll leave first thing in the morning. I promise. It’s just me, and I’m not sick. I don’t have the virus.”
“How do I know that?” The man spat back. “You could be a carrier and not even know it! Ain’t you seen the news? Everyone from here to the coast done keeled over!”
“I know, Sir. I know this is weird, and again, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I-“
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, George,” a woman’s voice called out from inside the house. “Let the poor girl inside. It’s freezing out there. She might catch a cold.”
“Catchin’ a cold ain’t what I’m worried about,” George muttered, but finally opened the door and allowed me to come inside.
“Thank you, Sir,” I nodded to him politely as I darted inside before he had a chance to change his mind. I slipped off my flip flops before I stepped foot on the carpet and took a few steps inside. George slammed the door loudly and locked both the deadbolt and the chain at the top of the door.
Without a word, he marched through the living room and into the kitchen, out of sight. He was obviously unhappy with the way this evening was going. I couldn’t blame him, not really. After all, I probably would have felt the same way about a stranger stopping on my porch during a national crisis. A lot of people were generous when times were good, but most people took steps to protect their own during bad situations This, in my opinion, was a pretty horrible situation. I didn’t know how to express my thanks to them for letting me inside, even just for the night.
I surveyed the spacious livingroom for a moment. The small room was well worn, but comfortable. It was obviously a family home. The orange sofa that sat in the middle of the living room faced a small TV that still had rabbit ears. A single coffee table marred the distance between the two and was covered with books and magazines. Photographs, awards, and paintings filled the walls of the home. A faded picture of Jesus was on the far wall.
An elderly woman sat on the sofa, covered with a blanket. “Come on in, Sweetheart,” she greeted me warmly. “Come in from the cold and make yourself comfortable.” A mop of silver hair covered her head and her face was tired and wrinkly, but I barely noticed because her smile was so huge. I actually felt like she was happy to see me. I felt like I was a beloved guest and not an unwanted intruder. How did she manage to make me feel like that?
I smiled, thankful, and took a seat in a small armchair on the opposite side of the living room. I tried not to stare up at the picture of Jesus. The family was obviously Catholic and while I had grown up Christian, I wasn’t sure what to think of the painting. I was sure that people would use this pandemic as another reason not to believe in God. “What kind of a God would let his people die?” people would say, or “What kind of a God would let little children catch the flu?” But it seemed to me that people worried too much about whether or not there was a God and whether or not he matched up with their preconceived notions of what a God should or should not be.
I settled into the chair and grabbed a nearby afghan. I knew that I smelled bad and that I needed a shower, but I was so cold that I covered myself with the afghan anyway. I wondered if my face was dirty or just how terrible my hair looked, but the old woman didn’t say anything about my appearances and began chatting warmly with me.
“Where are you headed, Dearie? And what happened to you?” She had a soft voice that reminded me of my grandmother.
“I was in Cedar Brook when everyone started to get sick,” I started.
“Cedar Brook!” George’s voice hollered from the other woman. “Cedar Brook!” He ran into the living room. “You’re from Cedar Brook?” He asked, as if he hadn’t said it enough times already.
“Yes. Well, I’m actually from Ferndale but I go to school in Cedar Brook.”
“When did you leave?” George prodded.
“Yesterday afternoon. Why? I mean, I know a lot of people were sick there but I don’t have it. I promise,” I added, as if it would work to really convince him.
But George didn’t seem so concerned with whether I was sick anymore. H
e raised an eyebrow and after glancing from his wife and then back to me said, “Then you don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Oh, dear,” the woman on the sofa sighed. She glanced at George, who nodded to her, and then she told me. She took a deep breath first, but it didn’t ease the pain. “Sweetie,” she said gently. “Cedar Brook is gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Gone!” George practically shouted. “All gone! It burned!”
“Now, I don’t know what happen,” the old woman said calmly, trying to counteract George’s overexcitement. I chided myself for the millionth time about waking them up and getting them riled up with my presence, but I was finally starting to feel warm again so I tried not to feel too bad. “But something happened and the whole town is gone now. George thinks it was bombed but I think we would have heard it. We aren’t that far from there not, not more’n 60 miles. We woulda’ heard it if there had been some sort of bomb. But anyhow, the whole town’s done burned down and is still burnin’, according to the radio. We been listenin’.”
Suddenly silenced, I felt incredibly cold again. Burned? Still burning? Cedar Brook. I thought of Dr. Bailes and Mr. Healthie. I thought of my other professors, my classmates, my friends. Had any of them gotten out before it was too late? Had anyone escaped? So now not only were people dying from the virus, but people were probably burning to death, too? Then I thought of the bodies. I thought of Liz. I thought of the Poggins. I thought of my friend, Nick. None of them would ever have a chance of a proper burial now. Not ever. They would be nothing but ash, nothing but bones in a pile of rubbish in a city that used to be something great. Now they were gone for real. I would never get the chance to give them a proper goodbye.
Never Look Back: A Dystopian Novel Page 6
