by Ryan Husk
As the jeep shot around a bulldozer, a thought occurred to Gordon. He checked his cellphone for any messages or missed calls. Nothing. Molly, where are you, girl? The note stuck to the refrigerator was a thousand years ago, but even after all this time and the intervening ending of the world, the words were still fresh.
Gordon,
I don’t love you. I don’t know that I ever did. I wanted kids, but you didn’t. I had hoped to wear you down, but I didn’t. I’ll never have kids now.
Like the beating that Edward had given him, the memory of it almost didn’t seem real, but the pain reminded him that it had happened.
Kids? he thought. That’s why it’s over? That’s it? Kids?
The very first line hurt the most, though. I don’t love you. And then she went on to say that she didn’t know if she ever had. What the hell kind of thing was that to say to a person? It’s not enough to say you fell out of love, but you’re not even going to form a lie around it? You’re just going to tell me that you never loved me?
Random memories flashed unbidden past his mind’s eye; Myrtle Beach, that stupid circus they had stood in line for hours to see and had sucked; the Christmas spent in New York, visiting Arlington National Cemetery to watch the changing of the guard, and, oh, the sex they’d had at the hotel room later. Other, more recent memories…how excited she’d been to hear they were making Les Misérables into a movie…how frightened she’d been when cockroaches invaded their home…how frisky she’d been after reading Fifty Shades of Gray…
Despite the mushroom cloud off to his right, Gordon smiled. I thought we were doing okay then, he thought, as they skidded and slid around the muddy lot. Edward handled the jeep with mellifluous ease, and could keep up with Wade and the others with little problem. They moved down a sloped, gravel drive, around a pile of girders and steel pipes fastened tightly together.
The collapsing mushroom cloud caught his attention again. Gordon looked past his reflection in the window, and stared at the cloud. That bomb was nothing compared to the one that had been waiting for him on the refrigerator door.
I’m sorry I wasted both of our time, the last line had read. Goodbye.
I gotta find her, he thought, looking back at his phone. Molly, you don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re just suffering through menopause, or something. He tried dialing Molly again. It rang and rang, but no answer. He lowered the phone, looked at it, dialed again. Same thing. He sighed heavily, and glanced in the back seat at Janet. “You doing okay back there, kiddo?”
She wiped away fresh tears. “Yeah.” Which meant no.
He glanced up at Edward, tried to see beyond that inscrutable face. Gordon started to ask him if he thought this path was going to work, but Edward snorted and said, “Didn’t take them long, did it?”
“Who?”
“Look behind us.”
Gordon turned in his seat. Janet did the same. Behind them, three cars were following: an F-150, a Miata, and a Volkswagen. “What the hell?”
“They must’ve seen us moving like we knew where we’re going. They smell a way out, and they’re taking the chance.” He shook his head with a rueful smile. “Pretty soon it’ll be a mud derby out here. Other cars will see them, assume they know where they’re going, and before you know it a line of cars will be hauling ass through this site, a line of ants following an unknown leader.” He added, “It’s about to get really messy.” Edward’s smile widened.
Kevin was right, Gordon thought. He’s enjoying this. People like him wait their whole lives for the end of the world and they never get it. The CVS manager had been frightened, no doubt, but he still had sense enough to see that much in Edward.
Up ahead, Marshall looked over his shoulder and waved. Sitting on the back of his Harley, his woman Margery signaled again to make sure everyone saw. There was a road at the other end of the construction site, beside a large but inactive fountain with the form boards and marker flags still all around it. Marshall and Margery were signaling that everyone should take that path.
Edward followed them onto Harper Road. Gordon looked all around. Ahead of them and behind them were other cars coming from smaller connecting roads. Trees lined each side of the road now, blocking the view of the remaining cloud over Atlanta. This suited Gordon just fine. He didn’t want to see.
He attempted to call Molly again. It rang and rang. Nothing, not even voicemail. Then, all at once, there was a squeal from the phone, then static, then silence. Gordon tried again, but this time when he dialed there was nothing, not even a ringing, just silence. “That’s weird,” he said.
“What is?” asked Edward.
He tossed his cell onto the dashboard. “Molly’s phone, it’s not even going to voicemail at this point. And then there was this high-pitched noise.”
“What kind of noise?”
“Yeah,” said Janet from the back. “I’m getting that, too.”
“What does it sound like?” Edward pressed.
“A kind of whine, I guess.”
“A whine?” Edward said, reaching for the radio. He turned up the volume, and heard only static. Gordon watched Edward channel surf for a minute. It was the same on every station. Nothing more than static. “You say you’re hearing a whine?”
“Yeah,” said Janet. “Or, like, a squealing. Is that what you heard, Gordon?”
“Yeah,” he said. “And now my phone won’t work. I tried dialing several times, but there’s nothing, not even a ring. My phone’s not dead, so I don’t know what it could…holy shit!” he said, looking ahead at the traffic jam. “What’s up with this?”
“Aw, fuck,” Edward said.
It was a roadblock. About twenty cars were ahead of them. Maybe two hundred feet straight ahead, Gordon could see flashing lights. And there was one large truck, unmistakably military. An armored personnel carrier, like Jeb said he saw on I-20, Gordon thought. In front of them, two cars backed up, turned around in the street, and headed back the way they’d come. Edward put the Wrangler in park, and just in front of them Wade and his pals did the same.
“How long is this gonna take?” Gordon asked, exasperated. Nobody said anything. Then, he noticed something. “Huh, I don’t see any cars coming through the roadblock from the other side. I know most people are thinking of getting away from Atlanta, but you’d think there would be at least a few wingnuts coming from the other way, looking for family they have down this way.”
Gordon looked at Edward, who was biting his tongue for a moment, appearing to think. Then, he squinted, cocked his head to one side. “You know what, Gord-O?”
“What?”
“You’re starting to use that ol’ noggin of yours.” He honked his horn once, and Wade turned his bike around. He and his pals put their hogs in neutral, set their feet on the pavement and walked the bikes backwards until they were facing the jeep. Wade grumbled on over to the driver’s side. “What do you boys think?” Edward asked.
“Doesn’t look like they’re lettin’ anybody through, from either direction,” said Wade.
“Yeah, we see that. So what now?”
“I dunno. Marshall, you know this area best.”
The huge biker put one hand on his huge beer belly and drummed his huge fingers on the orb, cogitating. “There’s a park!” he said suddenly, snapping his fingers. “A community park. An old girlfriend o’ mine used to live down thisaway. A subdivision called River Run. This road right over here,” he pointed to a side street up ahead, close to the roadblock. “That’s Hazelnut Street, and it ought to take us over to Hodgson Road…and yeah, River Run is over there.”
“What’s the deal with this park at River Run?” Edward asked.
“It’s a community park, just for the folks who live in River Run,” Marshall explained. “But you can cut right through it on a bike. The trails’re probably big enough for your Wrangler to squeeze through, too.”
“Lead the way.”
Marshall nodded and turned around, his Harley grumblin
g and Margery hollering something in his ear. Probably wondering what girlfriend he had over at River Run, Gordon thought, remembering the days when he’d had to explain such innocent items to his own woman. Those days had just been yesterday.
Once Wade and the others were in the other lane, Edward pulled right in behind them. Now that they weren’t behind so many vehicles, and were in the empty lane, Gordon could see the roadblock more clearly up ahead. “You don’t think they’ll turn us away before we can get to Hazelnut?”
“We’re about to see,” Edward said, creeping along at ten miles an hour with eyes set hard on that APC.
As they drove past the others waiting obediently in line, Gordon looked down at those driving, and those in the back seats. He saw a small girl holding a bright stuffed animal—it looked like one of those My Little Pony type of things—and she was hanging halfway out of the rear window. There was a Tacoma with a few bags of luggage in the back and four Hispanics in overalls sitting or standing in the truck bed, craning their necks to see what the holdup was.
Gordon spied a minivan that tried to cut out of line and drive around the roadblock. There was a sound, like firecrackers, only he knew it couldn’t be firecrackers. He spotted a few tongues of white light that were spat out the end of a barrel. The man holding the gun was in an olive drab-colored uniform, wearing body armor. The minivan stopped, then the driver regained his courage and tried again. This time, the soldier aimed at the tires, and the minivan swerved, went into a ditch on the other side of the APC. Soldiers rushed it. The police officers had their guns out, and were approaching the car that had been behind the minivan with hands telling them to halt, as if they were going anywhere.
Janet said, “Oh my god! Ohmigodohmigodohmigod—”
“Oh, God,” Gordon whispered.
“Hang on!” Edward jerked the wheel down Hazelnut Street, just as a couple of soldiers turned their attention to them. One of them even aimed his rifle at them. “Down, down! Get down!” Gordon ducked, and glanced back at Janet to make sure she was safe. The dog barked excitedly. There was a loud panging noise that sounded like it hit somewhere on the jeep’s roof.
“Jesus, are they shooting at us?” Gordon yelled.
“I dunno.” Edward was peeking over his wheel. Ahead, Wade and the others were looking behind them, as if to make sure nobody was on their ass.
“They shot that van!” Janet hollered. “Why?”
“I dunno.”
“You mean you really don’t know?” asked Gordon. “You? I thought you were an expert on what these people do in this kind of situa—”
“Something’s different, something’s changed.”
“What do you mean?”
Edward remained stoic, driving on in silence, glancing in his rearview mirror from time to time but otherwise not acknowledging what had just happened. They followed Wade and the others for another mile. Their little caravan never halted, never slowed, and for a moment Gordon felt like a criminal. They all seemed to understand that the most important thing was to get clear of the roadblock and shake any tails they might have. We’re…we’re running. From the good guys.
He’d woken up that morning a happily married man with no criminal record, now he was wifeless, he had robbed a CVS, and he had been shot at by the U.S. military.
For a moment, for just a few seconds, Gordon considered asking Edward to stop the jeep and let him out. He almost did, until he heard Janet whimpering. He looked back at her, and realized he didn’t know what to do about her. He honestly didn’t know. Would she survive with him? Would she die from the fallout, which was moving inexorably towards them with each passing breath? And what if he left her with Edward? The man certainly seemed to have at least half a care for her, even though he was under no obligation to do so, but how long could that last?
Can’t leave her alone with him. She’s my responsibility, I picked her up. And if Edward’s right, then the fallout cloud is coming, so if I just get out here…
There was little choice. Gordon and Janet had to stay. His moment of doubt was so ephemeral that it could barely be said to have happened at all.
“I guess this is the road,” said Edward. Gordon looked up, saw the sign for Hodgson Road. Margery waved back at them, and the others followed, flipping on their turn signals. Those habits, Gordon thought. They die hard.
Molly’s face flashed in front of him…
“River Run,” said Janet, leaning forward. “That’s it, that’s it. Go, go, go!”
Surprised, Gordon looked back at her. She wants to run now. She’s a runner. Gordon’s heartbeat wasn’t slowing, and he found himself almost wanting Edward to floor it even faster. Guess we’re all runners now. I’m not even sure what we’re running to. Or from.
Gordon couldn’t know it, but this answer was coming. It was out there somewhere, and another countdown was running.
VI.
Marshall overshot River Run, but was able to turn back quickly after Margery slapped him on the back, shouting in his ear, “Ya passed it, dumbass.” He wasn’t frustrated or offended: dumbass was her pet name for him, and they had just been shot at, besides. She had slapped him, though, and she knew how much he hated that. There was little time to feel offended about anything at the moment, and no time at all for any fighting. Besides, poor girl ain’t got much time. Marshall had almost forgotten. His woman was dying. Hard to believe that there was something even more earth-shattering than the tumor swelling in her brain, aiming to kill her any day now.
Never thought anything could be any worse. Never thought she could ever take her mind off of it.
He glanced over his shoulder. She looked concerned, and she was squinting a little, which meant the headaches had returned. That was commonplace these days, enough so that she had even developed a sense of humor about it. Earlier that morning, after the flash, and on the way to meet up with Wade and the others, Marge had almost laughed, “Damn! Looks like we’re all gonna go together, after all!”
Presently, Marshall glanced up. He was thankful that the Face hadn’t reappeared. But it also made him suspicious. Was it really gone, or just hiding behind those clouds? He had a theory about it, but didn’t want to say it out loud.
He waved to the others to signal them. He slowed his Harley and turned around in someone’s yard. Wade, Jeb, and the guy in the Wrangler did the same. As he drove past Edward and the others, he shouted, “Sorry ’bout that! I missed the street.” Edward just gave him a curt, understanding, businesslike nod. The girl in the back looked out her window at him. Diabetic, Marshall thought. Jesus and God above, don’t let this be the end o’ the fuckin’ world. The end of the world had always held an allure for men like Marshall, all those movies, TV shows and books about it made it feel…kind of…romantic.
But it ain’t. Diabetics, people with infections but no penicillin, rapists with no government to stop them, and cancer with no chemotherapy. Marshall’s mother had died going through chemo, and after seeing that he never would have thought he would miss the days when chemo was available.
They trundled back up the road. No doubt, all of them were frightened that the soldiers that had fired those shots might come racing after them. So far, no sign of them. They’ve probably stayed where they were, maintaining the roadblock.
River Run was on his left. He paused to let two other cars go by, other brave souls that must’ve taken their chances to squeeze onto Hazelnut. But they obviously didn’t know about the secret of River Run, or else they would have certainly followed. Marshall buzzed on into the community, glad to see that the gate was open—the motorcycles could’ve zoomed around, but Edward and his small clan wouldn’t have been able to get through by any other means besides ramming the gate.
Marshall slowed down as a family Volkswagen came barreling out of a driveway, racing past them. He hollered, “You can’t get out that way!” but the driver didn’t seem to hear him. It was a woman with children in the back, and she was intent on getting out of here the only wa
y she knew how.
People were out in their front and back yards, others had climbed on top of their houses to see over the trees, to get a glimpse of the explosive aftermath. He spotted one old couple hurriedly packing their old blue Chevy C-10 pickup. The old man was near enough to the curb to flag them down. Marshall slowed a bit, not quite apathetic enough yet to turn down helping his elders, just like his Ma taught him. But before he could offer his assistance, the old man shouted, “What’ve you seen out there, young man?”
“Enough to know ya can’t get out that way,” Margery answered for him.
“What do you suggest?”
“If you wanna live, come with us, old-timer,” she said.
Behind them, a horn honked. Marshall was annoyed to find that it was Edward, holding his hand up out the window, his face saying What the hell, man? They had come to a stop, and it was obvious this Ed guy didn’t like to be held up by anyone or anything. Wade and the others waited a little more patiently, Jeb with his helmet removed and smoking a cig.
“Where are you going?” asked the old man.
Marshall answered, “You folks have yer own park in this neighborhood, right? We need to use that to cut around the roadblocks they’re settin’ up back there on Harper Road.”
“The entrance to that park is closed off to anyone that doesn’t have a resident’s card,” the old man explained. “I’ve got one in my wallet. I’m not going that way, but you can have it.”
“I appreciate it, old-timer, but you really oughtta come with us. When I say they’re turnin’ everybody back on Harper, I’m not usin’ metaphor or hyperbole. They ain’t lettin’ nobody through.”
“Ya best come with us,” Margery reinforced.
Behind them, Edward honked his horn again.
The old man looked between his wife and Marshall’s caravan, licked his lips, ran a hand over his bald, wrinkled, mole-ridden head agitatedly, and finally nodded. “A’ight, we’ll go.” He turned to his wife and said, “Get inside, Greta! We’re following these folks!” The older lady was just tossing an orange Naugahyde chair into the back of the truck. Marshall waited for the old man to get his Chevy revved up and then let the old grumbling beast take the lead.
