by Henson, Lynn
"Ugh... I'm not even driving that fast. It's too dark to really go at the speed that I want to. Just take a nap or something. I'm not going to crash," she suggested.
It took another half hour, but Blake eventually slipped back into a fitful sleep.
eighteen
Behind his eyelids, the world intruded and colored his sleep red. Suddenly aware of how hot his face was, Blake snapped his eyes open and regretted it immediately when the sun's light blazed in and forced them shut again. He turned away from the light and wiped at the drying drool that had leaked out of the right side of his mouth. He managed to angle his head such that his eyes were not in direct line with the sun and tried again to open them.
The car was stopped. Bree wasn't in it. He looked around some more. Drab concrete building to his right. Little blue signs with iconic symbols of a man and a man wearing a dress. They were at a rest stop.
He peered around and saw a dust-covered SUV sitting a couple spaces away. No sign of Bree. Well, she probably had to tinkle. He opened the door and stepped outside, stretching his legs and pinwheeling his arms around. It was uncomfortably hot. The desert sun was already high in the sky and shining brilliantly, unimpeded by clouds. Uncomfortable with the lack of SPF protection, Blake moved into the shade that the restrooms afforded.
His eyes took a moment to adjust to the new non-offensive level of illumination and he could make out words written on the wall of the rest stop. “Dook box” someone had thoughtfully scrawled on it in bold black marker. Who are these people who carry markers around with them wherever they go? Do they step out of their home with the intent to write on walls when the whimsey hits them? He leaned back against the wall and gazed out at the desert. It really is hot. He could make out the waves of heat coming off the highway in the distance. People still shuffled along, but there weren't as many now as he remembered seeing the previous night. They were bunched up in groups which had somehow spread themselves apart based on whatever speed individual people were capable of. He could see slower ones gradually get overtaken by larger groups of the ones that shambled at the same speed. Blake yawned and kicked at the wall behind him with the bottom of his foot.
If I'd known last week that the US would be in the midst of a terrible pandemic and that I'd be on a road trip to Vegas with some Asian chick that I'd met in a massage parlor, I probably would've called in sick all last week leading up to when the world got messed up. I mean, money isn't exactly useful anymore. And even worse, fast food staples like Jack in the Box tacos would probably disappear unless the government figured out how to deal with the situation. Even worse than that, things like the internet would become a thing of the past. I wonder if anyone emailed me since my cell phone stopped receiving reception. I'd turned it off to save the battery and I still carry it in my pocket as if it were still useful. It makes me feel better somehow, to hold on to a little piece of normalcy, even if it wasn't good for anything.
He exhaled slowly and started pacing around, kicking at pebbles.
What's taking her so long? Maybe she's taking a shit. Come to think of it, I never knew of Sherri having to take a shit. She must have pooped at some point, but it was never my presence. During dates, or just hanging out at home the subject never came up. I wonder what she's doing now? Did she survive? And if she really was so uptight about shitting, then how is she dealing with it? I bet if she's with friends she probably tries to sneak off to do her business so that they never know that she takes shits. Wait... could it be that the reason she never brings it up is that her dumps smell particularly bad? Or maybe there's lots of loud farting when she pinches a loaf.
He giggled.
That all made sense. Sherri was sensitive to the subject of taking dumps because she was a terror on the toilet. Loud farting, giant turds, horrifically bad smell, I bet she's guilty of all that. I wonder if Bree is like that too. Speaking of, I’d better see if she’s ok.
Determined, he glanced at the women's bathroom. He cautiously went inside and peered around the corner into the main part of the bathroom. It was dark but some light did stream into the room from a small open window set close to the ceiling. He could clearly make out a woman standing in front of the stall. His heart skipped a beat and he pulled back out of sight. Damn, that’s not good. He quietly went back outside. Blake moved to a position that was not visible from the doorway. Not long after that, a figure emerged and stepped forward into the light. She was blonde, with disheveled shoulder length curly hair. She was wearing a light blue dress that was stained darkly around the neckline. Her mouth gaped open but she didn't seem to have much in the way of teeth. She was shuffling around like she’d had too much to drink. He inched away from her when his foot knocked an empty can over which noisily bounced a couple of times before rolling around the corner and ending up at the woman’s feet. The woman lurched towards the noise, walking towards him.
Blake took a step back and asked, "Uh... I don't suppose you're still human and just look like shit because of too much Rum and Coke?"
Her eyes and mouth opened wider as she reached forward, stumbling faster.
As Blake started running away from her, he realized that she actually did have teeth, he just couldn't initially see them because they were stained with something dark.
I don't suppose it was because she was eating lots of black licorice.
He led her around the restrooms, careful to make sure she wasn't gaining on him and started thinking about what to do. Maybe I could lead her away and find some kind of pit and stand on the other side of it so she falls in and gets stuck? He looked around for something like that as he completed his second lap around the restrooms. Damn. There must be something around here I can use. After his third lap around the restroom he heard a crunch behind him followed by a thud, then a dismayed gasp.
He turned to see Bree dropping a paper towel dispenser to the ground as she turned around and squatted on the floor and started making gagging noises. The woman was sprawled down on her face, but the blonde hair covering the back of her head was now a sticky looking mess of black. Her head now looked oddly flat. He also realized at that point that she smelled a lot like expired hamburger meat. Holding his nose, he skirted around the body and crouched down next to Bree. She had her eyes closed, her hand covered her mouth, and she was taking deep breathes punctuated with barely suppressed retching.
He touched her shoulder and asked, "What happened? Are you ok?"
She shook her head and squeezed her eyes even more tightly closed. She dry heaved again.
He took her hand and slowly stood her up. Then he led her over to the car. She put her back to the car and slid down to a squatting position again. Her breathing gradually got back under control and she opened her eyes. Then she looked at Blake and narrowed her eyes. "Where have you been? I've been trapped inside the restroom for two hours! I don't know why I decided to let you just sleep in the car. I looked around and no one was here, so I did my business and when I was done, there she was."
He shrugged. "Sorry." He glanced back at the corpse. "You didn't have to kill her you know."
She turned white and shut her eyes and straightened her back. Then she blew out a sigh and looked him in the eyes. "I wasn't trying to. I thought I'd just knock her out. I don't think I even hit her that hard. The back of her head just..." She closed her eyes again and held a breath.
"Never mind," he conceded. "Maybe whatever has made them sick has also made them more fragile."
"It's not going to be one of my fondest memories." She opened her eyes. "Let's not talk about it for a while, I'm going to think about flowers, Hello Kitty, and shit like that for a while. You gotta pee or anything?"
He shook his head.
"Well, get in the car and let's get the hell out of here."
nineteen
Blake saw more and more abandoned vehicles as they pressed onwards. Without power, the people who'd managed to flee in their cars could only get as far as what they had in their gas tanks. Mercifully, th
ere was no sign of the people who had driven those cars when they drove by. If we saw people in need of help I'm not sure I could convince Bree to stop and give them gas. And I'm not sure at this point that I would disagree with her. Our own fuel supply was hugely dependent on liberating it from abandoned cars. They'd been fortunate so far, but Blake thought that the longer this crisis went on, the harder it would be to get fuel if they were in remote areas. Any cars they came across on the freeway probably wouldn't have gas. Thankfully, Bree was thinking ahead and refills the gas containers in the trunk whenever she found fuel. In fact, it was largely due to Bree's efforts and paranoia that had got them this far. I'm sure that without her, I'd have been lunch already. Or worse. He shuddered.
As night fell, Blake was able to make out large buildings on the horizon. "Finally. Vegas," he astutely observed.
"Haven't been here in a while?" Bree guessed. "We're just about to cross into Nevada. That's Whiskey Pete's."
"Oh yeah," Blake admitted. "I'd forgotten that they have casinos and stuff set up for you immediately after crossing the border. It's for all the people who can't wait another second to start gambling and stuff."
"There's an outlet too. Better sales tax here," Bree added.
"Maybe we should stop at the outlet?" he suggested. "I'd think there'd be plenty of gas to siphon. Maybe we can grab some new clothes."
"We are getting pretty ripe," Bree agreed. "We'll stop, but we're gonna play it safe. If things seem too whacked, we're outta here."
"Makes sense to me."
She killed the headlights and turned towards the outlet. A quick look might have suggested business as usual with the parking lot full of cars, but with the sun setting fast, the lack of any artificial lighting, and no sign of life, the outlet was ominous.
Bree skirted the edge of the parking lot, going frustratingly slow. She gazed intently at the parked cars and the outlet buildings beyond them taking in all the details. Blake's eyes flitted from car to car, trying to find danger. Bree finally stopped near a group of cars that had parked farthest away from the stores and turned the engine off. They got out and Bree popped open the hatchback and pulled out the siphon and an empty gas container. She settled on an F150 to harvest gas and got to work on it. "You're keeping watch, right?" she asked without looking at him.
"Of course I am," he reassured her and proceeded to do exactly that.
Bree cursed when the F150 proved to be low on fuel and moved on to a VW Beetle. The outlet continued to be a dark mystery as the sun finally sank out of sight. He peered around to make sure nothing was walking out of the desert which bordered the outlet, then looked back out at the parking lot again.
Bree seemed more satisfied with the spoils from the VW and scuttled over to a green station wagon. She had to pry open the gas door on this one, and there was a small cracking noise as it wrenched open. A face suddenly appeared in the passenger side window, hands pressed up against the glass making that high pitched rubbing sound. Bree shrieked, scrambling back, tangling herself up on her feet and landing on her butt. Blake tensed up and looked around crazily to see if this was just the tip of the shit that had hit the fan. When hordes of deranged cannibals failed to materialize, he relaxed a bit and looked over at Bree. Her eyes met his and she let out a sigh, got back up to her feet and picked up where she'd left off with the station wagon ignoring the excitement of the old woman in the car who continued to paw helplessly at the window.
The woman was clearly like the others who had been infected. Fortunately, the car was dirty and the dust shielded him from the full horror of her emaciated state. Judging from the red welts on her cheeks, I don't dare open that car door. The smell would probably make me pass out. Bree stoically focused on the gas moving from the car to her container and mostly succeeded in not looking at the mindless creature who continued to press up at the window.
Bree closed the gas container and gathered her equipment, returning it to the back of the car then closed the trunk. They got back into the car and soon were moving towards the outlet. The quiet thrumming of the Toyota's engine sounded unusually loud as they rolled past the building. Blake looked inside the stores for motion, but it continued to be still as a tomb. Bree continued to cruise past the outlet looking for a reason to peel on out of there, but after running the length of the outlet with no indication of life or otherwise, Bree brought the car around in front of one of the entrances and parked in the red zone. She turned off the engine and turned to look at Blake. "Let’s be quick. Only what we need."
He nodded determinedly.
They got out, Bree locked the car and they walked into the shaded gloom of the outlet.
twenty
It was utterly deserted inside the outlet. Stores were in a state of disarray, things were scattered around and knocked over, but they appeared to be alone. A quick look at the directory revealed that most of the stores in the outlet were clothing stores. "Gah," Bree complained, "No Columbia, no REI... maybe that Nike store will have the good stuff."
"There's a leather shop straight ahead. I bet we could find some nice durable jackets."
Bree nodded as she shot off in the direction of the leather shop. Blake jogged after her.
They did indeed score some nice leather jackets. They were in a class of items that Blake wouldn't have normally considered purchasing because of the extravagant prices, but given the current circumstances, price really had become no object. Who would've bought this stuff at these prices? Is this store counting on the occasional multimillionaire to come by? And when it happens do they close early to keep costs down? They continued through the outlet and Bree, despite her usual seriousness, gushed a little when she passed Carter’s, marveling at a toddler's cute little dress, bright in all its pink glory and proudly displaying a friendly looking orange crab who was all smiles and love as indicated by the little hearts floating above it. She shook herself out of it and moved on, though Blake did see her lingering at a store that was still chock full of cute Sanrio knick-knacks.
In short order, they arrived at the Nike store and promptly liberated a couple sets of durable, easy to move in clothing. "Just don't get what I'm getting," Bree complained, "I don't want to look like we're part of some kind of church group."
Blake scowled and tossed the shirt he’d selected behind him and picked out a different color. Satisfied with his new clothing and a package full of socks, Blake decided to treat himself to some top of the line shoes that he normally wouldn't have given any thought to. He quickly fixated on an expensive pair that was on display, but after a bit of looking, realized he couldn't find his size. Bree wandered over with her items packed in a Nike store bag she'd found under a counter in one hand and an empty one for Blake's things. "Almost done," he reassured her. "I'm just going to take a quick look in the back for my size."
She plopped down on a bench at the end of a shelf packed full of shoes, brushed a lock of hair back into place, and started looking at her nails.
Blake double checked the name of the type of shoes he was gunning for on the shoe box and made for the door to the backroom. He tried opening it. "It's locked," he said dully.
"Well, forget it then. Let's go," she suggested.
"No, no... it's just locked, it shouldn't be a big deal," he said as he walked quickly over to the registers and rummaged around in the drawers. In short order, Blake triumphantly raised his arm up with his hand clutching the manager's key ring. "See? Got it covered," he grinned. She gave him a golf clap and then gestured at her watch. He trotted over to the door started trying different keys. He was so focused on trying to be fast, that he didn't hear the gurgling and moaning until he had the door already open. The door pushed outward and swatted him to the floor. Bodies spilled out in front of him, and he heard her say "Oh fuck!" somewhere behind him. The door to the back room was open now and though it was dark inside, the room writhed with motion as people came spilling out of the doorway at him, tripping over the ones who had been in front. Blake scrambled crab walk
style backward and bumped into a display behind him. Something light fell on him, and a white hand dropped onto his lap. He shrieked and flailed around trying to free himself from its grasp which only caused the arm of the mannequin to fly in the direction of the ever increasing mass of moaning people.
"MOVE!" Bree urged as she took off towards the store exit intentionally knocking over racks of clothing causing workout shirts and knee-length short pants to spill all over the floor behind her. Blake took to his feet, as a skinny looking guy with a grey complexion freed himself from the tangle and lurched forward, his putrid mouth gaping open to take a big bite out of Blake's neck. He jammed the display model of the shoe into the guy's mouth as hard as he could and backpedaled away only to slip in a pile of clothes that had been thrown on the floor. He barely pulled himself to his feet at the expense of another rack of clothing which went down when he applied his full weight to it and had to jump back as the skinny grey guy, mouth full of shoe, swiped at him with a bony hand. Blake finally got his balance and took off through the store, adopting the same strategy as Bree when she beat her hasty retreat. He exploded out of the shop and spared a glance back. A mob of people had come out of the backroom and had filled the store as they all began their slow pursuit. He went back exactly the way they came, running full tilt for the exit and the car.
Blake smashed into the double doors, pushing them both open and had to come to a screeching halt when he realized Bree and someone else was standing next to the car.
The guy looked like a mall security guard. He looked unkempt, with wild facial growth contributing greatly to this initial impression. Yellowed stains under his pits, as well as dark patches in a variety of repulsive colors, marred his white rent-a-cop shirt, completing his slovenly portrait. The only thing that commanded any respect from this guy was the pistol he had leveled at Bree. This was the type of guy whose sole joy in life would be harassing the weak. The mall cop peered past Bree and gestured at him. "Alright. He's here. Now let's all get in the car and get out of here."
