by Lukens, Mark
“You’re going to learn to drive today,” Ray said.
“Can Brooke watch?” Kate asked. “Just from the doorway here?”
Ray had asked Josh, Emma, and Luke to give him this time alone with Mike, to allow him this moment to teach Mike something he would use from now on. A father was supposed to teach his son how to drive . . . in a normal world, anyway.
But Ray couldn’t help saying yes to Kate. He couldn’t tell Brooke no. She looked almost as excited as Mike, the first real emotion—at least a happy emotion—he’d seen from her. He nodded. “Sure.”
Moments later Mike sat down in the driver’s seat of the van while Ray got in the passenger side.
“First, we’re just going to sit here for a few seconds,” Ray said. He’d already looked up and down the fence line—no rippers. Jo had her walkie and she communicated with the spotter on the roof (Luke was up there right now too), and the report was pretty clear so far; many of the rippers had wandered off to the gas station at the intersection in the distance, some wandering beyond the partially constructed building, a small group of them sifting through the wreckage of the airplane in the other direction, hoping to find a scrap of burnt human flesh from the pilot and shooter that had crashed and burned with the plane.
“First, let’s adjust your seat,” Ray told Mike. “There’s a lever on the side. It’s motorized.”
Mike figured it out within seconds, moving the seat a little closer. Even though he was only twelve years old, he was only a few inches shorter than Ray. He had long arms and legs that were skinny now, but they would fill out with muscles through his teenage years, like Ray’s had done.
God, let me see him grow up. And if not, let me show him the skills he needs to survive.
“Okay, that’s good, Mike. Now you want to adjust your mirrors. The rearview mirror there, the two side mirrors. You can see out the back window of the van, but you need to learn how to use the side mirrors too.”
Mike got the mirrors adjusted where he wanted them.
Ray pointed at the shifter. “This is an automatic transmission. You shift into D, which means drive. P is for park. R is for reverse. N is for neutral.”
“What’s neutral?”
“It means you’re not in gear or in park. If you need to push the van you would have to have it in neutral.”
“Why would I need to push it?”
“Or tow it. But, yeah, you’re right; you’ll probably never need it.”
“There’s a 2 and a 1.”
“Lower gears. You won’t really need those either. Let’s just concentrate on drive for now—to go forward, and reverse—to go backwards. And park to park. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“The pedals on the floor. The one to the right is to go; the one to the left is to stop. Only use your right foot, not both feet at the same time. Okay?”
He nodded. “What about the other pedal?”
“That’s the parking brake. It’s for if you park on a hill. You won’t need to use that right now. We’re just going to drive around back here.” And try not to hit the fence. “So you’ll just worry about putting the van in drive and then either pressing the gas to go or the brake to stop.”
“Okay.”
“Your switch over there is for the headlights, but there’s only one headlight on this van now. That switch lever on the other side of the steering wheel is for the windshield wipers.”
Mike nodded.
Ray handed the keys to Mike. “Stick the big key into the ignition and twist it.”
Mike twisted the key and started the van. It rumbled quietly.
“Good. Now put your seatbelt on.”
They both put their seatbelts on.
“Okay. Press your foot down on the gas a little.”
Mike looked at him.
“It’s still in park. It won’t go anywhere unless you put it in drive. See? The shifters in the P for park.”
Mike pressed his food down on the gas pedal. The van roared a little.
“Okay. That’s a little too much gas. Just press the pedal down a little.”
Mike eased down on the gas.
“That’s good, son. Now the brake. Press your foot down on it. Get used to it.”
Mike pressed his foot down on the brake pedal.
Ray turned the heater on. “Still cold, but it will warm up in a few minutes. We might as well be comfortable, right?”
“Right,” Mike said with a smile, but he was nervous.
“It’s okay, Mike. There aren’t any rippers around yet.” He picked up the walkie Jo had given to him. “And Luke’s up on the roof looking out. He’ll let us know if a bunch of them are coming our way.”
“Or he’ll shoot them.”
“Yeah. Maybe he’ll do that too.”
“I . . . I just don’t want to hit the fence. Tear it open.”
Ray was glad Mike was speaking aloud the fear he’d been secretly harboring. “You won’t. Don’t think about what you don’t want to do, think about what you want to do.”
Mike nodded.
“We’ll go slow at first. You’ll see.”
Mike took a deep breath. He was ready.
“Okay. Hands on the steering wheel at ten and two.”
“Ten and two?”
“Yeah, like a clock face. Left hand at ten o’clock and right hand at two o’clock.” Ray realized he was talking to a kid who only looked at digital numbers. He held up his own hands like he was holding an imaginary steering wheel. “Like this.”
Mike copied his movements.
“That’s right. That’s how you drive. Both hands on the wheel.”
“But you drive with one hand on the wheel.”
“That comes with experience.” It was time to get going. The longer they sat here with the engine idling, the more gas they wasted and there was more of a chance some of the rippers might hear the van running. Ray still had the walkie, but he kept glancing at the thick woods beyond the fence in the distance. He didn’t see any movement in the woods, but the rippers could be at the fence in seconds, seemingly materializing from the trees. He remembered how fast they had appeared on that lonely, sun-dappled road when the little girl had sat as bait to stop their vehicle, to lure them out of it.
“Put your foot on the brake pedal and shift into drive. You can’t shift without your foot on the brake—it won’t let you do it.”
Mike pressed his foot down on the brake pedal, pushing it down hard. He shifted into drive, the transmission barely making a sound as he shifted.
“Now ease your foot up off the brake. The van will start rolling just a bit.”
Mike lifted his foot up. The van rolled a little.
“Okay, good. Now put your foot back down on the brake pedal.”
Mike slammed his foot back down on the brake hard, the van rocking to a sudden stop.
“Not so hard, Mike. Okay. Just ease your foot down.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It just takes some getting used to. Try it again.”
Mike did a little better the second time.
“Now we’re going to try some gas, okay? Just a little. We’ll drive that way over there, and start to turn left. Got it?”
Mike nodded nervously.
“Okay, Mike. Just a little gas.”
Mike pressed the pedal down a little too hard.
“That’s okay. Take your foot back off, then the brake.”
Mike slammed the brakes again, the van stopping suddenly, the seatbelts tightening up.
It took a few more tries before Mike got going again. He turned the van to the left and drove toward the gate at the far end of the building. He hit the brakes a little too hard again, but not enough to screech the tires.
Ray had Mike turn in a wide circle and head back to the concrete ramp. He had Mike park next to the ramp. Then they drove toward the gate again, a little faster this time. Mike was already catching on. After two more trips around the back area, Mike parked next to
the ramp again.
“You did really well, son. I’m proud of you.”
“Can we drive some more?”
“Maybe later. Tomorrow.”
Mike looked a little disappointed.
“Right now there’s a second part to your birthday present.”
“What?”
“Luke’s up on the roof. He’s going to teach you how to shoot.”
“Seriously?” Mike whispered in awe.
“Yes. And you need to take it very seriously.”
“I will.”
“Cars and guns aren’t toys. They’re weapons and tools that we all need to survive now.”
“I know.”
“Okay. Go meet Luke up on the roof.”
“What about you?”
“Later. You need to do this with Luke on your own at first.”
CHAPTER 8
Kate
Kate, Jo, and Brooke watched Ray teach Mike how to drive the van, the three of them standing just outside the doorway to the loading bay, leaning against the metal railing on the concrete landing, six steps leading down to the asphalt of the loading area of the store.
Brooke smiled as she watched, then she laughed as Mike hit the brakes too hard, the van rocking back and forth for a moment.
It was good to hear her laugh, to see her engaged in something, happy for a moment.
“Oh Lord,” Jo said. “I remember learning to drive.”
“Me too,” Kate said.
“My mother taught me,” Jo said. “She had a big car, a ’69 Plymouth Fury. It was a burnt orange color with a dark brown vinyl top. The hood looked as wide as the road to me. My mom was a nervous wreck teaching me. She made me even more nervous than I already was.”
They watched Mike drive a few feet farther and then hit the brakes hard again, not hard enough to skid the tires, but enough to rock the van again, the brake lights flashing.
Brooke laughed again, covering her mouth like she was doing something wrong, but unable to control herself.
“What about you, Kate?” Jo asked. “Who taught you how to drive?”
“My dad. He had an old pickup. I actually learned how to drive a stick shift first. My dad was so calm, though. So patient with me. No matter how many times I stalled, he told me, ‘You’ll get it.’” The pang of the memory hit her hard. She watched the van, wondering if Ray was as calm right now as her father had been, or if he was as nervous as Jo’s mother. Maybe a combination of both, she guessed.
They watched Mike drive around for fifteen minutes, and then he drove back, reversing next to the concrete ramp to park.
“Ray’s going to let Mike learn how to shoot a rifle up on the roof,” Jo said.
Kate looked at her.
“Luke’s going to teach him. The next part of his birthday present. Which reminds me, I need to get started on the third part.” She patted Brooke’s head. “You want to help me make a cake?”
Brooke’s eyes lit up. “Yes.” She looked at Kate for permission.
“Go ahead with her.”
“What about you?” Brooke asked. “Don’t you want to help?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there in a little while.”
As Brooke and Jo went back inside, Kate waited outside the door. She watched as Ray and Mike got out of the van. Mike rushed up the stairs and shot past her inside the building.
“He’s just excited about learning how to shoot,” Ray explained as he climbed the steps.
“And to drive,” Kate said.
Ray nodded. “Yeah. He needs to learn these things.”
Kate thought about Brooke and Patrick—they were still too young, but even they would have to learn soon.
“You going back inside?” Ray asked.
“I don’t know. I might sit out here for a minute.”
“It’s cold.”
“I know, but it feels good to be outside again, even for just a few minutes. Not on the roof, but out here on the ground.”
Ray nodded like he understood.
Kate sat down on the first step.
“Mind if I join you?” Ray asked. “If you want to be alone, I understand.”
“No. Please.”
Ray sat down next to Kate. “At least the rippers stayed away while we were out here.”
“There are less and less of them every day. I think a lot of the herd, or whatever you want to call them, has been moving on.”
“Other herds will come,” Ray said, hunching forward a little, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, mist clouding up in front of his face as he spoke.
“It’s not safe out there beyond the fence. It will never be safe out there again.”
“Maybe one day.”
She looked at him. “You really believe that?”
Ray didn’t answer.
“That place you’re going to . . .”
“Avalon.”
“Avalon. You really think something’s there?”
“I do. There could be a cure there. A vaccine. Could be a whole city of survivors down there in that bunker, people who were never exposed to the Ripper Plague.”
Kate watched Ray as he spoke. He stared at the chain-link fence in the distance, watching for rippers, watching for Dark Angels. He was always watching. They all were.
“It’s a big risk going there,” she said.
“Yes, but I believe Craig meant for us to find the information on his laptop at his house. I don’t think he would’ve called me and told me about it if it wasn’t something important.”
She watched Ray as he stared at the fence. She saw something on his face, some imperceptible twitch, something in his eyes, some kind of doubt, or maybe he was lying—lying to them or himself, or both. She didn’t know him well enough to make the judgment; it was just a feeling she got.
“It’s risky. Whatever we do is risky. It’s risky staying here at this store.”
“It might be better than being out there on the road.” Flashes of her trip across North Carolina ran through her mind: stranded on the rooftop with Ted in the city after being chased by thousands of rippers, running for her life in the small town where she’d found Brooke, driving through the hordes of rippers as they tried to flee her parents’ home while a few of the rippers tore Lisey apart. The horrors she’d seen . . . she didn’t want to see them again.
“The Dark Angels will attack this store eventually.”
“Max is going after Petra. Your friend is going with him. He said he’s going to kill the Dragon.”
Ray didn’t look like he believed any of that. “If they don’t succeed, and believe me, I hope to God they do, then the Dark Angels will just keep coming back. They had at least one airplane in Hell Town, maybe they have more. The cabin we stayed at in West Virginia, they blew it up with some kind of rocket launcher or something. They had military vehicles they’d taken from the National Guard and the police. They’ve got way more weapons than we do, way more ammo, way more soldiers. Eventually they’ll get in here.”
Kate knew Ray was right. As much as she loved Jo, she also knew Jo was afraid to leave the store. Jo would defend the store up until her death, and maybe everyone else’s death.
“Look,” Ray said, his voice softer as he turned to look at her. “I’m not saying abandon this store or set out for something like we are, I’m just saying everything we do has risk right now. Everything. Running, searching, staying in one place.”
Kate nodded in agreement. For just a moment the lure of going with Ray and Mike attracted her. Maybe it was just being outside again in the fresh air. Maybe it was the promise of a great discovery, something that could help everyone. She’d been a scientist, and every scientist’s dream was discovering something great to help humanity.
But there was something that held her back, something in Ray’s eyes, a truth he was hiding from everyone . . . maybe even from himself.
CHAPTER 9
Luke
Luke crouched down next to Mike who was hunched down right behind the kne
e wall that surrounded the roof of Jo’s Super Bea’s store. Mike rested the .30-06 rifle he was holding on top of the knee wall, the finger of his right hand on the trigger guard.
“That’s good, Mike,” Luke said. “Now squeeze your left eye shut and look through the scope with your right eye.”
Mike did what Luke told him to.
“It’s like looking through a telescope,” Luke continued. “You see the parking lot?”
Mike nodded, still concentrating on looking through the rifle scope.
“Try to focus on one of the rippers in the parking lot.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me when you’ve got one in your sights.”
“Okay. I do.”
Luke looked down at the vast parking lot below, at the dozens of rippers roaming around like zombies from a horror movie. But these were no zombies wandering around aimlessly; these were animals always on the hunt. Some of them formed small groups, a few occasionally fighting with each other, brief but violent altercations. Sometimes there was a flash of a knife, or the blur of a stick swinging through the air. When they weren’t squabbling and roaring at each other, most of the rippers were looking around, always alert for any movement of possible prey, alert to any sounds. Many of them looked up at Luke and Mike perched at the edge of the roof, just their heads and arms visible from below, and the rifle in Mike’s hands. But even though the rippers were alert, they didn’t seem to be aware that a weapon was pointed at them. Or maybe they just didn’t care—too desperate for food now to care.
“You see the crosshairs in the scope?”
“Yeah,” Mike whispered. “It’s like a video game. Like Zombie Takeover.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” Maybe Mike was more prepared for this than Luke had expected. “You got one of them in the crosshairs?”
“Yes.”
“What’s he look like? Describe him to me.”
“A man. Short hair. His face and hands are stained. He’s wearing a white shirt, like maybe an undershirt, with a dark shirt over it. He’s got jeans on.”
Luke pulled his binoculars out from his hoodie, the strap already around his neck. He brought them up to his eyes, panning a little until he found the ripper matching Mike’s description. This ripper was alone, one of the loners. Luke still wasn’t sure why some of the rippers formed into smaller packs and some didn’t. And even so, they still attacked as one gigantic group when they needed to. But there was some kind of pecking order among the rippers that Luke couldn’t understand.