Vertically.
Ashley sat down beside me. “So what do we do now?”
The million dollar question I didn’t want to from anyone. “How the fuck should I know?” I said, standing up, pacing. “I have no clue. I’m just trying to get to Chicago.”
“And we said we were coming with you.”
“I’m not the leader. Let Tommy be the leader. Tommy, what the fuck do we do now? Huh? C’mon, man, think of something! We’ve got no food within forty miles, no water, no sunscreen, no oxygen. We’ll be demented and dead before we hit the next farmhouse. So what do we do?”
Tommy looked away.
“Louie, any ideas? Huh? C’mon man, you’ve played those video games. You must’ve played one with this kind of scenario. What do we do?”
“Adam,” Ashley grabbed my face. I shook her off. “Adam, you’re the only one who has any clue what’s going on.”
“I do? Bullshit. Here’s what I know. We’re fucked. Ok? Look around. We’ve been on the road a week and we haven't even made it out of Pennsylvania. The Earth is already dying. It doesn’t matter how long, but every day is one day closer to complete extinction. Nothing will ever be the same. No more cable, no more baseball, no more video games. Nothing. We’re surviving just so we can make it to our own deaths.”
Tommy threw the rifle at me. I snatched it out of the air. “Then do it,” Tommy said. “Put the barrel in your mouth and pull.”
I looked at the gun. The long, black, empty barrel staring at me like one of dad’s black holes in space – sucking in all life and light. I thought about it. One quick pull, good-bye brains. Good-bye worries, good-bye everything. I closed my eyes, thinking of a reason not to. Just one reason.
The image of my father popped into my head: an obscure memory that I hadn’t thought about in years. My first look at what he did for a living. My first trip to his lab. We viewed the galaxy through one of the most powerful telescopes in the world. I remembered he laughed at my shock at the hugeness of it. Thousands of little circles of lights. “Stars?” I asked. “Galaxies,” he replied, smiling. I remember…his hand…on the back of my head. Stroking. He loved me once.
I dropped the rifle and walked away. I had to. I was either gonna cut or cry. I didn’t want to do either in front of them.
15.
Ashley came up behind me and noticed the small trickle of blood down my arm. A small cut, quick, not deep. It'd bleed, but not so bad that it couldn't stop on its own. The sun was growing hotter overhead, and my shirt was already soaked with sweat. She sat down quietly beside me. “I just don’t get it,” she said, motioning to my arm.
“Most people don’t.”
“Is it because you don’t want to cry?”
“It’s because I don’t want to feel. I need a release.”
She didn’t reply. “I know it’s not fair, Adam. But we need you.”
I looked at her and she smiled. I reached up to her face. “You’ve come a long way in a week.”
She laughed. “Yeah, well, life’s easier when you aren’t living a lie. I wasn’t sure at first, but I guess I can be myself with you. Especially now that Marilyn’s….” She left it at that.
“You don’t compete well, do you?”
“With this body? My height? Hell, I still get asked if I want a kid’s menu. At least I used to.”
“Why'd you run away?"
She stood up and walked to another tree. For some reason I got the feeling that she didn’t want to tell me. “Never mind,” I said. “That’s cool.”
She stared up at the sky. I took a different tact. “Well, what made you decide to go back?”
Ashley swallowed. “My mom asked me to.”
“You ran away from your father, didn’t you?”
She looked at me like she was trying to stop herself from remembering.
The other two approached from behind and saved her from having to talk about it. “Dude,” Louie said. “You’re hurt!”
“It’s ok,” I said, standing up. Fuck it. If I have to be in charge, I might as well act the part. “We need to resupply ourselves. Starting with something to eat and water. It’s not gonna be pretty, but we’re gonna lose oxygen quickly during the day, and dehydration will only make it worse. Tommy, you know the area. Where’s there a water supply?”
Tommy pointed out further in the valley. “A good sized stream runs through there. That way.”
I scanned the horizon. One, maybe two farmhouses over acres of farmland. “Ok, we’ll go to those houses. They gotta have food. Non-perishables. If we can find a bike or some other mode of transportation that’d be even better. But we’re not moving out until dark. If the houses are unoccupied we’re staying there today. Much as I hate to lose more time, we can’t afford to take a chance in this heat.”
I noticed a line of trees leading across the valley floor. It was a long walk around the line of trees to stay in the shade, but the sun was cooking everything underneath it. It probably made it through the leaves of the trees we stood under. God help us if we stood out in the open, we'd be fried in minutes. “We need to stick to the tree line. Stay in the shade. It’ll take longer but we’ll be better off. Everyone ok?”
They nodded. I hoisted up the one possession I had – the M14 machine gun. Tommy grabbed his rifle and lifted it to his shoulder.
Crossing through the woods was a lot tougher than I thought, especially the breathing. Halfway through we were all sucking wind and slowing down. It was like being at the top of Mount Everest – or at least what I would’ve imagined it to be like. I checked the other three with a quick glance, and no one had any signs of asthma – I half expected Louie to break out an inhaler at some point. The good news was that the forest had more oxygen than outside it, the bad news is most of the trees were dying. Leaves were turning brown from the dry heat and the sudden shift in temperature between day and night.
We came to the stream that Tommy talked about, although the water level was a lot lower than I hoped. We all bent down and cupped our hands into it. It still had some coolness, which felt amazing on our sweaty, sticky bodies. Pouring water over my head was an incredible high. I had to stop and look at the water; this simple thing, this simple act, had taken on a whole new meaning. The others slurped up the dirty water in their hands, poured it over each other as well as themselves, laughing. I sat back and collapsed on the forest floor, staring at the sky through the leaves.
“You guys notice there isn’t a cloud in the sky?” I said.
“Yeah,” Louie replied. “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.” He laughed, along with Tommy and Ashley. But I was being serious.
“When’s the last time we saw a cloud?” I asked.
Ashley stopped laughing. “I dunno. We’ve been traveling at night so much, I hadn’t noticed.”
“None at night, either.”
Tommy flopped onto his back as well. “So that’s a good thing, right? No rain in the forecast.” Not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree.
“No, it’s not a good thing. It means it’s getting dry.” I turned back towards the mountain forest behind us, a thick plume of black smoke rising up. I pointed. “It means that is gonna burn for a really long time. And those crops are gonna catch, probably in a day or so, then that house. And without rain, this whole place will light up like a California brush fire.”
Tommy looked at me, sat up. “So we should go?”
I stood up. “Yeah. We should go.”
We exited the forest and ran as quickly as we could to the porch of the house. The less time spent in direct sunlight the better. It was over a hundred yards, and we could only make it about halfway before we had to slow down. I could feel the heat of the sun on my arm, burning it like God holding a magnifying glass an ant: me.
I knocked on the front door. No answer. I pounded again. A shotgun blast blew out a hole in the wall to our right. We jumped and took cover. “Get outta here,” someone yelled.
“Jesus Christ, mister! I'v
e got three kids with me. We’re not gonna hurt anyone.”
The door opened and an old man, probably late eighties, growled at us. He saw the two guns in our hands and said, “Bullshit!” slamming the door.
We dropped the guns. “No no, seriously. It's all right. We were just protecting ourselves.”
Ashley started to cry as she pleaded. “Please sir, please let us in.”
He slowly opened the door and stared at us. “Fine.” He stood out of the way as we walked in. Ashley glanced my way and gave me a quick smile. She’s obviously used that ploy before.
The old guy followed us in and motioned for us to sit down. He stood maybe five-foot six, with a wife-beater T-shirt on, which was drenched in sweat. His chest sunk in and his back hunched over, but his muscles bulged as he set the shotgun down.
“Buncha military folk around. Gotta be careful,” he said. “I’m Eugene. Eugene Forrester. You can call me Mr. Forrester.” He sat down and watched the TV, which of course, wasn’t showing a damn thing.
Ashley continued the puppy dog eyes. “Um, do you have any food? We’ve been on the road for a week, and…”
“Huh?” He looked at Ashley. “Oh! Food. Yuh, right there in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
She rushed up to get the food, the rest of us following her. In the kitchen stacks of canned soup, canned peas, canned everything lined the walls from the floor up like wallpaper. Each had its label precisely facing forward. I searched the kitchen and found a garbage bag under the sink. I opened it carefully to keep the noise down, and then I took as much food as I could, placing the cans in the bag.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Tommy whispered to me.
I never paused. "You really think this old dude is gonna last much longer?" Soon the bag grew just heavy enough for me to carry without too much strain. I carefully opened the side door and lowered the bag onto the porch outside. Then I turned and grabbed some bread and a couple water bottles.
I went into the other room and saw the other three staring at the TV, each other, anything. The silence was thick, like the scent of the medicine oils that drifted around the room. I handed out the food and the water bottles. Finally Ashley spoke up: “Where’s your wife?” She asked, pointing to a picture of Forrester and a woman.
“Huh?” He nearly shouted again, looking at Ashley with his nose scrunched up like he smelled a fart or something. “Oh. Yuh, she’s upstairs. Restin’.”
“Mr. Forrester,” Tommy asked slowly. He seemed to know how to talk to guys like this. “Do you have any extra ammo for the shotgun? We’re almost out.”
“Yuh, upstairs. Master bedroom. Gun cabinet’s up there. Gotta watch for military folk.”
Tommy went upstairs. Mr. Forrester went on. “Used ta complain about the crap on the tube. Not anymore.” He reached around the side of his beat-up, flea-market reject lounge chair and pulled out a long, thin green hose with two points on it. He stuck the points up his nose, spun something and started breathing in the air. “Much better,” he whispered.
He cradled the gun in his arms like a baby, never taking his eyes off the TV. “Mr. Forrester,” I said, trying to imitate Tommy’s speaking manner. It seemed to work. “May we stay here until tonight? It’s too hot outside to keep walking.”
“Yuh, I suppose so. Couch. Extra bedroom upstairs. Heat’s a killer; you can take that one to the bank.” He looked over at us for the first time, his eyes deep, wide circles that hardly disappeared as his brow furrowed. “All this’ll kill ya. You know that don’tcha. You’re all gonna die, just like me.” He turned and stared out the window to our right. “Doesn’t matter. War’s coming. If this doesn’t kill ya, they will.”
Tommy came down the stairs behind us. I turned and saw him staring, pale, carrying a box of shotgun shells.
“Just like Eleanor,” Mr. Forrester went on. Tommy looked at me and nodded; she was dead upstairs. He closed his eyes and I knew the smell must’ve been nasty. The medicine oils down here covered it up.
Ashley knelt down next to Mr. Forrester. “You’re not gonna kill us, are you?” She asked.
He looked at her. “No, child. I’m in no mood to rush things along. For you.”
The sun drifting towards the horizon, probably going on three, four o’clock. “Well,” Forrester went on, “I’m off to bed. Need to rest myself. G’night.” He rotated the oxygen knob behind him, took the green hose out and laid it down. He creaked as he stood up, shuffled to the stairs, and out of sight.
Ashley, Tommy and I looked at each other, wondering if we should go up there, maybe try to help. Louie read an old copy of LIFE magazine.
A shotgun blast from upstairs jolted us out of our stupor.
We waited. For what, I don’t know. Maybe another blast. But there was no sound upstairs. No movement.
“Someone should go up and check,” Ashley said. Everyone looked at me.
“Fuck 'im,” I said. “Let’s just get the stuff and go.” I didn’t need to see the mess.
“Adam,” Tommy said. “There’s more stuff upstairs. More guns, MRE’s, survival shit.”
“MRE’s?” Ashley asked.
“Meals Ready to Eat,” Tommy said. “My dad used to bring them with us on hunting trips. They’re not bad once you get used to them.”
Ashley held her stomach. “Oh that’s a relief.”
“Awesome,” Louie chimed in. “Just like Covert Ops 2010. I want an automatic.”
Tommy looked at him. “Seriously? Dude, you’ll be lucky to get a squirt gun.”
I shouldered my machine gun. “Ok, we all go up together. Fair?” They nodded.
The stairs were creaky, pictures of Forrester and his wife lined the walls. None with any children in them. They were probably just farmers, survivors, out here in the middle of nowhere where they thought they were safe. Now, thanks to us, a small army moved through and a fire blazed not a half mile away. If the wind picks up and turns west, this house is gone.
We reached the top of the stairs. The smell came from the left, and it hit us hard: road kill with a hint of gunpowder. We moved straight down the hall, past the master bedroom. We could see the legs of Forrester at the end of the bed, but the door hid the rest of the mess, thank God. There was one more room on the opposite side of the hallway, to our right. I pushed open the door gently, letting out a truly creepy and almost cliché creak.
The door creaked because it couldn't have been opened in years. Inside was a child’s room, laid out like a model room from the 1950’s. A twin bed, a bookshelf with some dusty books on it, a fifty’s baseball glove with a ball in it. It was surreal, like a dusty, worn out painting.
A folded piece of paper lay on the bed, yellow and warped as the years of sunlight hit it from the window next to the bed.
I went in, followed by the others. We could all barely fit in the room. Louie picked up a picture frame on the book shelf. “This kid looks my age,” he said.
“Which is how old exactly?” Tommy asked.
“Fourteen. I’m fourteen.”
I looked at Ashley with a wry smile. “You sure?”
She looked at me and then away, not returning the smile. “What happened to him?” she asked.
“Died, obviously. Isn’t that why parents keep a room in pristine condition like this?” Tommy replied.
“I wouldn’t call this ‘pristine’. Hasn’t been entered in years,” I said. I blew dust off the shelves and looked at the books – Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies, and a book called On the Road. Classics that kids in school hated reading. But in this room, in this time, they fit right in. Probably were tops on this kid’s list. I pulled the last one out – by Jack Kerouac. I had heard my dad mention him, but never really knew much about him. I flipped it open to a random page and read this:
"I was standing on the hot road underneath an arc-lamp with the summer moths smashing into it when I heard the sound of footsteps from the darkness beyond, and lo, a tall old man with flowing white hair came clomping by with a pack on
his back, and when he saw me as he passed, he said, "Go moan for man," and clomped on back to his dark. Did this mean that I should at last go on my pilgrimage on foot on the dark roads around America?"
A pilgrimage. Is that what this was? Wasn’t that what whacked out religious folks went on to some holy land? Was that where we were going? It made sense to me. We were trying to be saved.
I kept the book.
“This is creeping me out,” Louie said.
I picked up the note on the bed. “What’s it say,” Ashley asked.
I read it out loud. “December 27, 1959. Dear Mom and Dad, hope you’re happy now. David.”
I put it down, covering the dust-free spot where it had sat all for all those years. “Jesus, this kid killed himself,” I whispered.
“Oh my God,” Ashley said, raising her hand to her mouth.
We stood in silence, staring at the room through different eyes. Did it seem too perfect? Was everything in too neat an order? What did this kid go through?
I felt Ashley’s hand on mine, but before she could get too comfortable I left the room.
Louie went downstairs. Tommy stood behind me. “Let’s get supplies,” I told him. “You said there were other things in the master bedroom? More guns?”
Tommy just nodded. He looked back at the room, watched Ashley sit down on the bed and bury her face in her hands, crying. I wanted to think it was because of me, but I’d find out later it wasn’t. Not even close.
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