by A. M. Geever
Kendall’s quavering voice echoed down the tunnel. “Are you coming back?”
She stopped, turning around to face him. “Are you even going to open the door, or is this just more street theater?”
Kendall’s face crumpled. His whole body slumped. New tears made his eyes glitter.
“Yes,” he whispered.
She snorted in disgust, then walked away.
20
They drove.
After an hour on the road they discussed, briefly, finding a place to hole up awhile. Mario wasn’t even sure why they’d bothered, because all anyone wanted was to get as far away as they could from the community of white supremacists. After studying the atlas, they decided to leave Highway 29 and take a secondary route which still took them south, but would not be as obvious a choice.
There was a reason for this, of course, and Mario had been ready to put Bottle Rock Road in the rearview mirror forever. The road, which followed a mountain ridge with at least ten thousand feet of elevation, was well and truly trashed. All the things that had made such roads in Northern California idyllic before zombies—twisty, forested, remote—made it a nerve-racking nightmare now. All he could think was if they broke down out here, they were screwed. If they’d never needed to take Highway 20 and instead stayed on 101, they might—theoretically—be in Marin County by now.
They rounded a bend. The T intersection with Highway 175 East, which also signified the merciful end of Bottle Rock Road, lay ahead.
“I need a break from driving,” Tessa said. “This looks like an okay place to stop.”
“Agreed,” Doug said, straightening himself up.
Across the intersection was an old gas station, the kind of small, mom and pop operation that had been common in rural areas. And because it was a gas station, the paved area around it was concrete, which was more durable than asphalt, so it kept the area relatively clear. Tessa stopped the Tesla in the middle of the large lot, to the right of the canopy that had jutted out from the front of the building and was now half-collapsed over the station’s two pumps. Beyond the lot was an open meadow with a small ramshackle barn. The ground dipped away past the barn, but from here Mario couldn’t tell how big the hill was. Tessa turned off the Tesla. For a moment, nobody moved.
“We should eat,” Mario said. He looked to Silas and Violet, in the seat between him and Skye. “You two hungry?”
Silas shrugged. Violet nodded her head absently. They had been on the road for three and a half hours and traveled about twenty miles. The events of the morning seemed both long ago and immediate. One look at the subdued affect of the children reflected just how traumatic it had been.
Skye and Doug did a quick check on their surroundings before Mario, Tessa, and the kids got out of the vehicle. And Mister Bun Bun, too, at Silas’ prompting. After a bathroom break and a few minutes to stretch their legs, Mario, Skye, and the children ate, sitting on the ground with their backs against the Tesla. Doug was looking at the atlas, spread out on the Tesla’s hood. Tessa was on the other side, keeping watch in that direction while eating her meal.
Mario handed out lunch—crackers and apples, along with a jar of peanut butter that somehow had not gone rancid. Despite their noncommittal interest when lunch had been mentioned, Silas and Violet wolfed down their first helpings and asked for more. When they were finished, Violet crawled into Skye’s lap. Silas leaned into Mario, his breathing steady. The weight of his head on Mario’s chest fastened him to this moment, and to how much he loved these two little people who had become his own.
“I was scared,” Silas said, his voice soft.
“Me too,” Mario said.
“Why did they get so mean?”
Mario looked over to Skye, feeling flummoxed, knowing he had to give Silas an answer. Have The Talk. It should have died, along with everything else, and freed those who survived from having to be told that there were people so hateful, so scared, so rotten, that they didn’t think the lives of these sweet children mattered. He couldn’t even give them an idea who to be careful of; it used to be the police—how to talk, how to move—but now? Mario opened his mouth, to say what he didn’t even know.
“Some people want to feel special and important,” Skye said. “But they can only feel that way if they’re taking something away from someone else. When you do that long enough, when you cling to believing things that are lies, that aren’t right or kind, it makes you mean. And when what you believe is as bad as those people, it makes you want to hurt others.”
“But… Don’t they know it’s wrong to hurt people?” Silas asked. He turned toward Skye but stayed nestled against Mario.
“I think they do know it’s wrong,” Skye said. “But they tell themselves that what they’re doing is okay, that it’s for the good of everyone, even the person they’re hurting. They believe in their lies so they can act like they want to act. I don’t know why they choose to act that way, Silas. I really don’t.”
She smiled at him gently. “We choose how we are in the world, Silas. We choose how we treat other people. Sometimes people will say they can’t help how they act, but that’s not true. It’s an excuse.”
“Why would they want to stay mean?” Silas sounded genuinely puzzled. He twisted around and looked at Mario, his brow furrowed. He looked like Skye had strained his brain.
“Because it’s hard to change, Silas,” Mario said. “It doesn’t mean you can’t change, but it’s hard. And sometimes it’s scary.”
Silas considered what Mario said, frowning, like he thought what they were saying was ridiculous. He turned back to Skye.
“I’m going to be nice,” he said. “It’s not that hard.”
Skye laughed. She had a silvery, tinkling laugh that seemed to Mario the answer to why Doug had fallen in love with her as completely as he had.
“You already are nice, Silas,” Skye answered.
Silas looked at Mario again. “When I was little, Mama and Devon had a fight about a man. I don’t remember it all.” He tipped his face up to Mario, looking guilty. “I was sneaking. They didn’t know I was there. He used a bad word… Not like cursing, but Devon was real mad and wanted to fight him, and Mama didn’t want to.” Silas’ brow furrowed, then he said, sounding unsure, “She told him it wasn’t worth it, and to offer it up?”
Mario smiled at Silas, amused that he thought he was no longer ‘little,’ but pained that racism clearly wasn’t new to him, even if he didn’t completely understand it. He said, “I think your mama was a churchgoing woman, if that was her advice.”
How the fuck had anyone done this with all of their children, Mario wondered. How did you live with the fear for their safety, for your own, without going crazy? It was only an accident of birth that he’d never had to deal with this himself.
“I think that man your mama and Devon fought about was like those people back there,” he said. “They think they’re better because of the color of their skin. And they think anyone whose skin color is different and darker, whether they’re black or brown or whatever, isn’t as good as them. I think the word he used is a very, very bad word that they call people who are black, like you and Violet.”
Mario stopped, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.
“In the old world, and even now, people with lighter skin like mine were called white, and people with darker skin like yours and Violet’s were called black. A very long time ago, way before I was born, white people used to own black people. They called them slaves. Thinking it’s okay to own another person is wrong, but people did because they thought having white skin like mine made them better than people with dark skin like yours. Those people back there still believe it.”
Silas’ brow was creased. “That’s what Mama and Devon were fighting about?”
“I think so.”
Silas’ forehead crinkled together, and his mouth drew into a pout. “That’s stupid.”
Mario smothered a laugh, because it wasn’t funny, but the look of incompreh
ension on Silas’ face was priceless.
“It doesn’t make any sense, Silas. A lot of things about the old world didn’t make sense. Hating someone because their skin is a different color is one of the stupidest, meanest things. Setting up how people live so they can’t have as good a life because of the color of their skin happened in the old world, too, and it was wrong. Sometimes people were killed for no reason at all, except that they were black.”
He sighed, angry that he had to explain the evils of a world that didn’t exist anymore to a child. But racism was still alive and well for reasons he couldn’t wrap his head around. They lived in a world with people, and monsters that eat people. Nothing about that equation was confusing, but Mario knew he’d be putting the children in danger by not helping them understand racism, all because of dirtbags who needed to notch up the misery factor.
“I like to think that now, more people realize that no one kind of person is better than another, Silas,” he continued. “But I know that’s not always true. The people back there are the kind who believe it the most. They’re very dangerous. They’ll try to hurt you and Violet.”
“But why?” Silas asked, still confused, his eyes wide.
“Because they’re fucking assholes. I know those are bad words,” he said. Silas’ eyes had widened in surprise that he’d cursed while talking to him. “They’re really dangerous assholes, Silas. I don’t have a better answer for you. But I’ll protect you and Violet from them if it’s the last thing I ever do. I won’t let them hurt you.”
Silas leaned against Mario. Mario looked over Silas’ head to Skye, who gave him a discreet thumbs-up. He mouthed a silent thank you. She grinned and winked, like helping him explain something as complicated as racism and fascism was no big deal. Violet had fallen asleep in her lap.
“Look,” Silas said softly. He leaned forward, pointing at the edge of the lot that bordered the meadow behind the gas station. “There’s a bunny.”
Mario followed Silas’ pointing finger. Sure enough, a small brown rabbit nibbled the grass.
“I see him,” Mario said.
“Do you think he and Mister Bun Bun can be friends? Can we take him with us?”
“No, that’s a wild rabbit. It wouldn’t like being with people. It needs to be free.”
Silas looked up at Mario, his face filled with anxiety. “Does Mister Bun Bun need to be free?” he said, sounding alarmed. “Is he a slave?”
“No, no,” Mario said, chuckling as he reassured him. “It’s not the same thing. He’s your pet, and you take care of him because you love him, and you’re good to him. Besides, he doesn’t know how to be a wild rabbit. It would be cruel to put him outside to fend for himself. He doesn’t know how to live out there.”
“I’m going to put Violet in the car,” Skye said.
Gently, she shook Violet awake and stood her up, then stood and picked up the still half-asleep girl.
“You too,” Mario said to Silas. “We’re going to leave soon.”
“I don’t want to get back in the car,” Silas whined. “I want to watch the wild bunny.”
“You can watch that bunny from the car and tell Mister Bun Bun all about it.”
“Okay,” Silas said, a grumble in his voice.
They climbed to their feet, and Silas said, “I was scared before. But I knew you’d take care of us.”
Mario’s heart softened and warmed, like butter in a hot pan melting into a golden puddle. Silas reminded him so much of Anthony, whether he was serious, like now, or when his dark eyes glinted with mischief. He could see them together, growing up as brothers, because that was what he wanted. He’d called Silas and Violet ‘my kids’ when they’d been threatened, without even realizing it, because they were.
He helped Silas up into the back seat, blinking back tears, and gave his head a rub.
“I love you, Silas.”
Silas smiled, and said simply, “I love you.”
He looked at Silas for a moment, and Violet sleeping beside him. He’d do anything to keep them safe, pay any price. He just needed to get them somewhere he might be able to do it.
“I’m going to talk to the others.” Mario shut the door, then said through the half-open window, “Be right back.”
Silas nodded, then began to tell Mister Bun Bun about the wild rabbit.
Mario took a few deep breaths, trying to get the wave of emotion that had hit him under control. Skye was snuggled into Doug, her back to his front. Doug held her around the waist and scowled over her shoulder at the atlas. Tessa was still eating peanut butter and crackers. Mario took a quick look around, but their surroundings were still blessedly clear of zombies.
“If you’re not careful, your face will freeze like that,” Mario said to Doug.
Doug looked at him sidelong. “Never heard that before.”
Tessa said, “We got away from Nazis and lived to tell the tale. It’s been a shit day but I’m calling this a win.”
“There are just no good routes home,” Doug said, frowning. “We’ll have to go through Napa at this point.”
Skye gasped. “Oh no! There could be wine.”
“You’re a brat,” Doug said, then kissed her on the neck.
Mario squinted at the atlas. Doug was right. They were wildly off track from what they’d planned.
Doug sighed. “I guess we’ll just take the least crappy route we can, hopefully without a repeat of racist assholes. Jesus… I still can’t believe that even happened.”
Mario picked up the atlas, but froze when he pivoted toward the Tesla’s doors, because one was open—the door Silas had been sitting at.
“Silas?”
In two steps he could see that Silas wasn’t inside. Violet was still sacked out on the back seat. Mister Bun Bun was in his carrier, eyes bright, his velvety nose twitching.
“What’s wrong?” Tessa said, catching up to him. “Where’s Silas?”
Everyone spun in place, searching the parking lot.
“I think he’s behind the station,” Skye said, already on the move.
“The rabbit,” Mario hissed, furious with himself for not paying more attention. He’d seen how taken with the animal Silas had been. He should have kept a closer eye on him.
Doug started after Skye, but Mario said, “Stay here with Tessa and Violet.”
Mario was halfway to the meadow when Silas screamed. He bolted, saw Silas, and the world spun. Silas had wandered past the old barn and down the hill. The barn that zombies now spilled out from…thirty at least, with more still emerging. Scalp-pricking moans carried across the still air.
“Silas!”
Skye was already running for him, lithe and swift as a gazelle. Mario raced to catch up, shouting for Silas to run wide, to go around, where Skye could meet him. Skye darted past the first zombie. It lunged and caught her ponytail. She was yanked back hard, like a little dog on a leash.
Mario gaped at what was playing out in front of him. The zombie was attacking Skye. She struggled to keep her footing as more zombies turned her way. Mario charged, ramming the zombie that had Skye’s hair from behind, his shoulder down like linebacker. The zombie lost its footing and stumbled forward, yanking Skye down with it.
His machete slashed through Skye’s hair, dispersing it like a gossamer web. He dragged Skye to her feet and pushed her toward the station, toward Doug, who was running to them.
He ran for Silas. He’d understood what Mario had told him, to run wide, but now Skye wasn’t there to meet him. The zombies hadn’t melted away from her, hadn’t parted like the Red Sea, like they had so many times before.
“Mario!” Silas screamed.
Silas’ sobs were wild with fear. Zombies staggered down the hillside. And if he wasn’t so small, it wouldn’t matter. But the zombies were coming down the hill, gravity assisting them even when they fell, and Silas was only a little boy.
Doug fell in step beside him, charging down the hill beside Mario, firing his Glock. Mario pulled the Sig and s
tarted firing, too. Trying to clear a path, trying to make just enough room, trying to—
A zombie caught Silas’ arm. He screamed like a trapped animal, making that horrible sound that Mister Bun Bun had made when they ran and jostled him inside his carrier. Silas shrieked with terror, struggling and fighting. Mario stopped and sighted, remembered to breathe because he couldn’t miss, and squeezed the trigger.
The Sig clicked.
He was out of bullets.
“No!”
Doug continued firing, but Silas’ next shriek rent the air. The blood arced high, spurting from his fragile throat. The zombie ripped into his soft flesh, ripping his mahogany skin that smelled so sweet: sweat and earth, salt and sunshine. Silas’ screams became mangled as another zombie, and another, fell upon his small, thrashing form.
Mario screamed, charging toward the zombies that had turned away from Silas and now trudged toward him, attracted by the gunshots. He’d promised to keep Silas safe. He’d promised—
He was knocked to the ground, thrashing against a zombie he hadn’t seen. It grabbed him by the arm, then dragged him to his feet.
“We have to go!”
Mario tried to push it off, confused that it was talking, but it wasn’t a zombie. It was Doug.
“We have to get Silas!” he said, trying to pull away, trying to look back, to not leave his sweet, small boy with those monsters.
“We have to go,” Doug said, his face ashen, but with a grip on Mario’s shoulders that felt like iron. His blue eyes were haunted by what he’d never be able to unsee. “We can’t help him anymore. He’s gone.”
“No!”
Doug looked over Mario’s shoulder, at the zombies coming closer. If they stayed much longer, he’d be past helping, too. Past fighting and trying and dying. Past failing and losing the people he loved, like his sweet, innocent son who was right here but out of reach. What was the point? It was going to happen someday. Why not today?
“Violet needs you.”
A chasm opened at Mario’s feet. Another child, sweet and innocent like her brother, who needed him. Who demanded he keep trying, keep living, no matter how heartsick and weary he was. No matter how many more people he lost.
