by Lisa Acerbo
Jenna’s head tilted. Too much information.
She took a deep breath to control the shudder that attempted to escape. “Like a high?”
“It’s hard to explain. You know we mostly hunt deer and animals in the woods. Their blood keeps us healthy and alive, more so than any other food. There’s a thirst for it.”
Worrisome. What did he mean by a thirst for it?
She was about to ask when a whistle blew, informing the group time was running short to get packed and leave.
The puzzle remained unsolved for now. Rumors existed about clans of the New Race who were worse than Streakers. Stories of attacks and feeding off humans emerged from the shadows like urban legends around the campfire.
“Do you believe the gossip about the New Race collecting humans and enslaving them for a source of food?”
“It’s possible,” Caleb replied. “Anything is possible these days.” His hand topped hers. A cold shiver cascaded along her arm.
Having finished packing, they went to the water barrel for a quick drink and then separated to help load all the gear into the vehicles. Their caravan, a random assortment of ten trucks and cars, lined the road by the entrance, ready to move. While ragtag in appearance, all bore armor or improvements. What the vehicles lacked in looks, they made up for in strength. The group’s trip would last five to six hours using the back roads, which usually had fewer car wrecks to maneuver around.
Jenna found it hard to hide her desire to leave this shithole of a Streaker infested town.
7
Darkness had conquered the landscape by the time Jenna jumped into the passenger side of the last vehicle in line, a Jeep Grand Cherokee. Someone of the New Race would drive, and humans would sit shotgun. She needed peace and wanted time to contemplate.
Victor, a happy, chatty New Racer in his mid-forties, usually drove the Jeep. Despite moody Italian looks, he always found something positive to say, and she’d have to do little more than murmur approval.
Jenna’s mouth dropped open. The thud of her heart and her palms turning hot and damp, indicated Caleb’s arrival instead. She wiped her hands against her pants, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
He saw everything.
A lopsided smirk greeted her before he settled into the vehicle and adjusted the mirrors. Long, lean legs stretched under the dash. The seat moved backward to accommodate his bulk.
“Is it okay if I drive the Jeep tonight? Victor wanted something a little roomier.”
“Whatever.”
This is going to be a long night. She tugged the end of her ponytail.
Quentin emerged from the darkness. “Any extra room in the jeep?”
“Yes,” she said.
“The back’s full of supplies,” Caleb contradicted.
“We could probably move them.” Her brows dropped into a V.
“No time.” Caleb glanced at the line of car headlights. “Aiko needs a copilot.”
“Cool, man.” Quentin gave a wave before strolling through the line of cars in search of an empty seat.
This sounds like a set-up.
Jenna eyed the half-empty seat behind her. “We could fit him in the back.”
“True, but Aiko needs company too.” He winked before the Jeep sputtered to life and put it in gear, sliding into the line of cars. Streetlights, uncommon in the area anyway, hadn’t been functional in years. Caleb focused on the road ahead, his strong jaw set.
The hum of the engine against the midnight black landscape created an eerie void. Time passed in a slow drip. She slid away to stare out the side window, hands resting in her lap.
“I heard all the gory details about what happened at the store.” Loud words filled the car. You doing okay after this afternoon?”
“Sure.” She shifted to relieve cramped legs, his profile in view.
“I worry.”
“About me?”
He frowned at the road. “Of course. Who else does all the stupid shit you do?”
“Hey. I don’t do more stupid shit than anyone else.”
“There are people in the group who would disagree with your statement.”
Why does he care? Most likely because the group becomes weaker every time a person falls ill or is lost to a Streaker attack.
While the New Race were humans, intuition warned her to stay away from the handsome man driving the Jeep.
He’s possibly dangerous. There could be some darkness caused by the virus inside him. Since her parents had died, it was hard to separate the New Race from the Streakers sometimes. They were offspring of the same virus. Rationally, the idea was ridiculous, but after losing everything, blame had to fall somewhere.
It didn’t help Caleb was quiet and reserved, even for someone of the New Race. Much like her.
He hardly ever sought out the company of humans, preferring his few New Race friends. Except for her.
She didn’t understand the change in him the last few days and wondered about this more congenial, more communicative side.
“I look out for my own.”
She bit her bottom lip before speaking. “No one owns me.” The darkness outside the window beckoned.
“I don’t own anyone, but I also don’t want something to happen to you. With a strong swing and killer reaction time, the troops are desperate for Jenna clones.”
Was he joking or sincerely concerned her death would hurt the group? Not sure, she bit her tongue.
“You’re a good fighter. I trust you by my side.”
“Remember the fight the other day, you did all the work. I made more of a mess.”
“Don’t underestimate your skills.” Caleb reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze.
A shock shivered through her system.
She must be getting sick. Or is something else possibly going on between them? God, she needed therapy. What was happening to her? When did it go from survival to getting the shivers when a boy touched her? Keep those defenses up. Don’t let anyone in. It’s the only way to live these days.
“Here’s a scenario. Since I’m so amazing, I get to stay in bed all day. You can bring me breakfast and do the laundry. You can also have all my latrine duties if you like.”
“I’ll take the bed part. The rest is negotiable.”
The Jeep skidded to a sideways halt, squelching the witty retort on her tongue. “What the . . .”
Without a seat belt to shield her, she slammed into Caleb’s shoulder. His hands pushed her back to the passenger seat before he hopped out the door. He was on his knees in the darkness, crooning and making kissing sounds into bushes on the side of the road. Like a mad man, he clucked.
Jenna cracked her back, wondering if she had whiplash. Even with the Streakers’ craziness, this came off unbalanced in a world where nothing was normal.
Outside the car, sweet words gentled the night.
But who were they for? Maybe insanity was setting in. It was bound to happen to someone, and she was a likely candidate.
Curiosity won out. Jenna needed answers. She scooted across the seat and jumped out next to him, bat in hand.
“Don’t need that. Unless you plan to bludgeon a cat,” he said, without looking at her.
“A cat? You stopped for an F-ing feline?” She wondered how he saw the animal. The sky lacked a single shining light or glowing star in the immense and haze filled horizon. While she was an animal lover, stopping in the middle of the night, put everyone in danger. Their current situation called for caution, something he lacked.
“It’s hurt.”
“Now you’re a veterinarian too?” On cue, the animal meowed. A small grey and white feline with yellow eyes emerged and twined around Jenna’s feet, limping slightly, ignoring her companion and his attempted rescue.
“It likes you.” He scooped the cat up.
She huffed. “We’d better get going. I don’t want to fall too far behind. They’ll turn around and come back for us. We shouldn’t have stopped in the first place. What if the cat h
as rabies?”
“Seriously?” He loaded the unresisting cat into the car with one hand and grabbed her with the other. When she was close, he shoved her toward the passenger side. “We battle Streakers daily, and you’re worried about rabies. Get in.”
The moment she settled into the passenger seat, the feline settled in her lap. Loud purrs filled the lonesome quiet. She patted the cat’s head with a single finger. “This is your fault.”
“It looks like you’re the proud owner of a cat. What are you going to name it? How about Smudge or Ozzy?”
“He needs a dangerous name. It must be something appropriate and memorable. We should name him Killer Cat.”
“That’s not a name.”
“I’m practical. We’ll call him ‘Cat’ for short.”
“Whatever you want. He likes you, and he’s safe now.” He reached over to pet the cat, but the feline hissed at him.
“He’s got good taste.”
“You don’t know for sure it’s a boy.”
“Killer Cat works for any gender.”
“You can come with us to Virginia, little guy. I’ll protect you from Jenna when she gets grumpy.”
“All this for a cat. I wonder what you would do for a pony?”
His laugh battled with purring, and Jenna relaxed to the point she could enjoy his company.
What was happening to her?
A companionable silence filled the vehicle while it bumped along. Caleb steered with one hand, having no problem avoiding potholes and wrecked and abandoned cars scattered in the road.
“The group’s lucky to have met you and the other members of the New Race. I feel like traveling, finding supplies and gas for the cars, even surviving day to day, would have been a hundred times more difficult without your company.”
“Naw. You give us too much credit for something we don’t want but can’t change. This New Race thing is more a curse than a blessing.”
“It’s a blessing for our group.”
Even so, she had a hard time coming to terms with the genetic changes all too obvious in them but needed to get over the prejudice and fear. To believe the words she said to him. It had been a long time since her parents died and months since she got the scars lacing her stomach, the ones that left her wary. Months were as long as years with Streakers roaming.
When he reached out to pet the cat a few moments later, she didn’t notice. His hand slipped to her knee and stayed there. A row of stalled, flashing headlights distracted her.
“This can’t be good.” He parked and exited the car. Jenna gently placed the cat in the back seat and followed.
“What could go wrong now?” The words sounded strangled.
8
They joined Victor in surveying the unsettled landscape.
The older man ran a large hand through his short, salt and pepper colored hair and frowned in obvious displeasure.
“What happened?” she asked.
His dark eyes radiated unhappiness, unusual for a man who was jovial and eternally optimistic post-pandemic. When he couldn’t find a positive spin to put on the situation, it was serious. “There’s a huge pile-up of cars,” he said. “It looks man-made. People might have been trying to create a barrier against the Streakers at one time.”
“What can we do?” Jenna asked.
“We’re scouting around to see how far it goes, but it’s at least a couple hours of clean-up, or we try another route.”
Caleb’s lips pinched into a frown. “Will it give us time to get to our destination?”
“We’re considering our options, but I don’t know.” Victor scowled at the scene. “We might have to stay a day in a town close by. It’s called Pittsfield. A perfect name or what?”
The rest of the group had dispersed throughout the wreckage, and Jenna wanted to be of use. “What can I do?”
She hauled debris and moved rusty car parts while the New Race patrolled, watching for Streakers, ensuring everyone’s safety. Hours later, Jenna’s muscles burned. They’d hauled car fenders, tires, and barbed wire fencing. She prodded an old, broken Dodge Durango into a ditch. As Jenna deposited the last car battery in a pile that felt thousands of miles away, each foot became a burden to lift. Exhaustion swayed her.
Even with the concerted effort, the cleanup had taken almost three hours of hauling, jostling, and sweating. She caught her breath, watching Caleb trek close through the receding night sky. With the moon hidden behind murky clouds, it was hard to tell when morning would arrive.
“I’m exhausted.” She bent at the waist.
“We’re heading to Pittsfield. We’ll have to spend the day there and then make it to the High Point Inn tomorrow night.”
He put out an arm to steady her.
“I’m fine.” She grumped and moved away.
“You’re dead on your feet. Let me help you for once.”
“I’m no more tired than anyone else. I can do this.” She stalked back to the car and into her seat, checking the cat was still there before promptly falling asleep.
“Wake up.”
Fear shot through her with those words. “What time is it? Where are we? Did we make it to Pittsfield?”
“We found an abandoned movie theater. There’s a scouting party coming out now. The sun’s about to come out too. We’re all trying to hurry inside.”
She shook herself awake. “What can I do?”
“Help unpack.” He pointed to the back seat. People unloaded cars around her. Exiting the vehicle, she readied the equipment and placed them on the curb, waiting for the signal to move into the theater.
She surveyed the barren streets, mentally preparing an escape route if needed. Deserted. She didn’t expect to find any survivors loping along. The group hadn’t come across anyone for months, but maybe . . . there was always hope they would find more people before getting to the High Point Inn.
Jenna peered into the soon-to-be morning sky, unable to ignore the glorious sunrise about to bloom. Colors seeped across the horizon, clouds mixing gray and blue until they merged with the rising sun to blaze red and yellow.
How could the sun continue to rise every day when all the people she loved were dead? She couldn’t wait to get to the inn and hoped life could be relatively normal once again. Her grandest dream was to start a garden like her father had when he was alive.
Remembering fresh vegetables made her mouth water. How she missed her mother’s fresh-made marinara sauce from the tomatoes they grew and her secret-recipe vegetable stew. Not only could the garden feed them, but it would offer some independence. She didn’t want to rely on the New Race for her own survival.
“We got the okay.” Holding a heavy box, he nudged her forward. While the sun forced Caleb and the New Race inside the building, she finished unloading, carrying the cat inside last. An empty box would make a temporary bed for him.
“Be good. Stay here.” She doubted he’d listen, but she wanted to find Emma.
The older woman was in the middle of organizing breakfast with Jackie and Ford.
Jenna joined in, helping to mix a large bowl of flour, baking powder, sugar, and cinnamon with a little oil and a lot of water, forming a lumpy batter for pancakes.
“Can we afford to waste all these supplies for breakfast?” This would be a feast, celebrating the group nearing Virginia, but supplies were low.
“Got to enjoy life sometimes,” Emma said.
They used a propane-powered griddle to heat the food. The pancakes were not like her mother’s homemade recipe, but they’d supply people with the needed energy for the day ahead. The group had been lucky to find some canned peaches, and she hoped Emma, being in such a good mood, might break them out. People picked up the food and wandered off, breaking into smaller groups. Conversations turned into background noise when only the two women remained by the griddle.
She could always beg for the fruit, but that wouldn’t be fair to all the others. Still, begging usually did the trick with the older woman, who wanted
everyone to be happy.
When Cat wandered over, Emma screeched. “Rat. A huge rat. Get it away from the food. Get a gun!”
“It’s a cat. Caleb found him last night. We adopted him.”
“We?” An eyebrow arched.
“I decided to adopt him, okay?” The words slipped quickly out of her mouth.
“We wouldn’t be so bad.” The grin on the other woman’s lips was pure smut. “You need someone in your life, and he’s a good choice. So nice and helpful. I’ve seen you checking him out on a couple occasions when you believed no one would notice.”
“I have not!”
“Plus, he has a nice butt.”
“His butt? This is what end-of-the-world discussions have regressed to? We’re trapped in a movie theater in an unknown town, likely surrounded by undead, and you’re talking about Caleb’s ass. Are we serious right now? Do I need to check your temperature? You’re probably running a fever and hallucinating.”
“There are so many body parts exposed on the Streakers, but usually nothing good to look at.” Her smile remained wicked. “But then there’s Caleb. Along with a great butt, he has some fine-looking muscles. Did you see him last week when he was helping George hoist the Ford to fix the tire? Yummy.”
“Wipe that smirk off your face. Please stop. You’re acting crazy and making me uncomfortable. I cannot have this conversation with you.”
“Who else are you planning to have it with?”
“I’m going.” She grabbed a pancake and skedaddled, perching on a windowsill in a lonely corner.
The conversation wouldn’t fade. Images of a certain someone entertained her.
When the group wasn’t planning on staying at a place for long, there was little to do. No need to begin a project that couldn’t be completed. Gear remained unpacked and clothes left unsorted. Laundry went undone. They would all go another day or five wearing the same clothes. The lucky people would have books to read or a pack of cards to play with to squander time. A day on the road included patrolling, rereading the worn copy of Wuthering Heights stored in her duffel, staring at the walls, or reminiscing about the past. A time when she found Heathcliff’s crazy passion romantic. She didn’t quite see it the same way now that Streakers were relentless in their pursuit and the New Racers often reminded her of the anti-hero.
