Back on the highway and sick inside, I think about what Michael has done. Another unnecessary reaction that leads to death. It’s different when someone is coming after us, but he went after them. They were running away.
“You alright, Sis?”
“Yeah,” I reply, watching him casually situate the alien gun on his backpack.
“What about you, Erika? You good?”
“My lip is busted again, and I skinned my knee.”
“But you’ll live, right?”
“Yes,” she mumbles. “I guess.”
Feeling uneasy and wanting to be on our way, I get on the bicycle and peddle off. Michael and Erika are slow to follow, but they do catch up with me.
C H A P T E R
47
Everett, Pennsylvania
We finish the last long stretch of Interstate 70 with no other incidents, and we’re on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. A stream of abandoned vehicles is ahead. Windows are broken. Glass is on the asphalt. I wish we took another route, but it’s too late. The next exit ramp beyond that point is Bedford, Pennsylvania. Ten miles, perhaps more, back the way we came is the last exit. We used it to get onto the turnpike from Interstate 70. I don’t think I’ll be able to talk Michael and Erika into going back.
Michael looks to us, pretty much saying that we better get ready to see something terrible. I shake my head. Erika picks at her busted lip. I wish I were as unbothered as she is, not with a bloody lip of course.
“No,” I speak up.
“It’s a long way back to the nearest offramp,” Michael says.
“There’s flat ground that goes right up to the highway back that way. We don’t have to go very far. From there, we can find an access road and follow it up ahead to the turnpike. We’ll avoid those cars like we avoided the fire back in Hagerstown.”
“There’s a mountain in the way, and there isn’t a road that cuts through anywhere near here.”
“That’s not even a real mountain.”
“Kris, we’re staying on the turnpike. What you think, Erika?”
“Which way is quicker?”
“The turnpike,” Michael says. “Kris, looks like you’ve been outvoted. We’re going through the gauntlet.”
I want to pull out my hair.
“I’ll go first,” Michael replies, peddling away.
We approach a semi and a compact car first. The car is empty, much to my relief. No clothes, no dust, only fast food wrappers and stale coffee in a cup in the center console. We pass a silver SUV. An alien Cicada suns itself on the steering wheel, glowing red and singing. I keep right on going, refusing to look into any more cars.
Using the shoulder, I pick up speed. I’ve left Michael behind. Erika rides beside him. I bathe in the warm wind, zoning out to its song in my ears. The world no longer exists. The aliens have vanished, and I’m in a whirlwind of bliss, where dreams are strange and wonderful and fantastic.
Suddenly, I hit someone. I’m knocked off my bike. I look over at the ground, where the person fell. I’m surprised to see a teenage boy. He hops back on his feet.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him in a panic. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“You okay, lady?”
“I’m fine. Are you?”
“HEY!” Michael yells as he approaches.
The teenage boy raises his hands, undoubtedly seeing the raised pistol that Michael has aimed at him.
Stepping in front of the boy, I yell at my brother to put the gun away. I’ve had enough of killing for no reason. Michael lowers his weapon. Erika rolls up beside him, checks out the kid with a curious tilt of her head.
I turn around to him and say, “Sorry about my brother.”
The boy side-eyes Michael and Erika.
“My name is Kristine. My friends call me Kris.”
“I’m Jason.” He knocks the dirt off his pants and shirt, seemingly at ease. I don’t understand why he’s not afraid of us. We’re strangers.
“This is my brother, Michael, and that’s Erika.”
Jason waves at them.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No broken bones.”
“Good.” Then I realize he’s out here by himself. “Where’s your family?”
“They’re…uh…dead. The aliens…” He trails off, not wanting to say anymore.
“You’re out here on your own?”
“Uh, no…I mean, yeah, I’m alone.”
He’s lying, but I won’t challenge him. It’s not my place, not my kid.
Moving on, I ask, “Where are you headed?”
“Anywhere and everywhere.”
“You’re free,” Michael says, narrowing his eyes. “No longer living by the rules.”
Jason nods, aloofness in his demeanor, a telling sign that my brother has figured him out.
“Where are you coming from?” Michael asks.
“Doesn’t matter anymore. As you said, I’m free. Free from the past, free to the future.”
Jason is a miracle, a fantastic kid to survive this long on his own. Yet he’s way over his head. I want him to come with us to the bunker, but the exhilaration of no boundaries, no rules, and no one to tell him when to come home or eat his dinner, is everything to him. That’s why he fights for it now. The peril is real, but it doesn’t scare him. He is the freewill all of us wish to become.
“It’s dangerous out here. How did you make it?” I ask.
“Hard to believe, right? They have better weapons. They’re stronger. The difference is I’m smarter. I fight the battles I know I can win.”
“You’re a cocky kid,” Michael assumes. “You’re going to get yourself killed if you’re not careful.”
“I’ve made it this far without a problem.” Jason is slipping back, cleverly extricating himself from our presence. “Later, fellow humans. Oh yeah, Kris, open your eyes when riding your bicycle. You want to know what’s coming before it gets to you.”
There’s a hidden message in there somewhere. I’m lost to it though.
“You should get a bicycle,” Michael quickly suggests.
“I got one.”
“How are you on food and water?” I ask Jason.
“I’m better off than you think.”
“Be careful,” I tell him.
“Always. Just in case you’re going to the 412, it’s not there anymore. It’s ash and dust. A lot of places are like that now.” He takes off running around the car, never to be seen again.
The reality of our environment comes back into focus. Michael cycles by me. Erika follows him. I watch for Jason through the loose puzzle of cars, hoping to catch one more glimpse. I find myself jealous of him. In all the craziness and the newness of uncertainties, he has shaken it off while facing it full on. If he can survive, even with the loss he has undeniably suffered, so can I.
C H A P T E R
48
Bedford, Pennsylvania
The turnpike is in our past, possibly for the rest of our lives. Michael and I sit at the edge of the woods a few yards behind a restaurant on US Business Road 220. Erika has gone into the restaurant, obviously raiding the place for food.
My mind remains on Jason, the free willing teenager with no structure. He has to be fifteen years old, a baby. If he doesn’t die, or the aliens don’t capture him, he’ll learn survival techniques. He won’t become a doctor or a lawyer. He won’t become a famed football player or an internet influencer. Jason might be one of those kids who live to survive, who’ll probably see the world transformed, and all the while, I’ll be in a bunker, hiding and keeping up a past that has a countdown clock. Nothing lasts forever; even Jason knows that.
Michael leans back on the ground with his legs crossed, chewing on the last prepackaged cheese and crackers he found somewhere along the way, more than likely in Virginia. I haven’t forgotten what he’s done. The very act chews at me, and it bothers me more that he doesn’t care. Those guys ran away with no other i
ntention of harming us. Michael shouldn’t have gone after them, but that’s not my brother. His anger is dangerous. His ego will always be higher than his compassion. He cannot and will not take any humiliation.
Michael sits up and says, “You’re mad at me. Why?”
“Those guys back at the bridge.”
“Okay. What about them?”
“You handled it...the wrong way.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“They ran away. They were no longer a threat.”
“We wouldn’t be having this discussion if I was dead. Now, would we?”
The obvious answer doesn’t require to be spoken.
“There was no way I was about to let them take off after what they did. They got what they deserve, and I don’t feel bad about it.”
My brother has no idea how to forgive or just walk away.
“Just because humanity is about to be wiped out, it’s not an excuse to act like an animal.”
“Why should I play fair when they won’t? They tried to kill us, Kris. Don’t you see that?”
“But they didn’t! Don’t you see! You’re better than this craziness. We don’t have to stoop to their level.”
“Those guys, that you’re upset over, they were going to rob us. That’s why they shot at us, Kris, and the only reason they missed a second time, it’s because I tagged the one dude before he could get another shot off.”
“And that should have been it.”
“I’m not messing around out here. Anybody comes at me; I’m going twice as hard at them. I won’t apologize for keeping us alive.” He walks away.
I’ll let him think it’s over, but it’s not.
C H A P T E R
49
Erika found frozen hamburger meat in a walk-in freezer in the restaurant, and she fried them up on the gas stove. The food smells so good, and to make my taste buds water even more, she’s added cheese and bacon. There’s nothing like a good bacon cheeseburger. An American way of life sadly turning to dust. I could cry as I eat what could be my last.
“I used to go out with my friends.” Erika holds the burger with both hands. She worships the taste, mesmerized by the melted cheese and bacon. “I would order a Caesar salad, light on the dressing, glass of water. What was I thinking? This is so good.”
I know exactly how she feels.
“You’re a better cook than I am,” Michael says.
“Burgers aren’t that hard. Do you know what’s hard to make? Cheesecake…from scratch. Michael…” Erika wipes her mouth before continuing, “What kind of food will we be able to eat in the bunker?”
“All kinds. You’ll be surprised by what they have.”
I begin to wonder if Erika will be allowed into the caves, and how she’ll react if denied entry. She’s a woman, alone without family, far away from home, it wouldn’t be right. They wouldn’t do that to her.
After the meal is over, we prepare to leave. Michael takes out his wallet and drops thirty dollars on the table. I appreciate the attempt at normalcy.
“My compliments to the lovely chef,” he adds.
“Thank you, kind sir,” Erika replies with a curtsy.
Michael chuckles, heading for the front door. He looks up at the sky and takes in the warm rays of the sun. He wipes his face and neck, stuffs the handkerchief in his back pocket. Erika and I suit up our backpacks and join him outside.
“How much more we have to go?” Erika asks.
“If we were driving, we would be there in a couple of hours. On bikes, I think we’ll be there tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait to get there. I’m going to catch up on all the real good sleep I missed out on. We won’t have to worry about the bugs or the aliens or their spaceships. It’s going to be so nice. Michael, do you have a girlfriend waiting for you in the bunker?”
“No.”
“A guy like you? Why don’t you have anyone?”
“Haven’t found the right girl,” he says.
“You’re running out of time.”
“Let’s hope not.”
If they’re flirting, it’s strange. Not willing to take more of this awkward cringy moment, I cycle away.
C H A P T E R
50
Scenic Business Route 220 is a quick ride. Plenty of fields and local buildings dot the way, and there are people. Not a lot, but enough to see the potential of our survival. At a church, we hear the congregation singing inside. Maybe, their prayers will save them. Perhaps, they will save all of us.
At the end of Business Route 220 is Route 56. We go west towards Altoona. Low hills covered with thick tufts of trees surround us, but right off the road, the land is a bit more level. Houses and barns are right near the street. A kid is in a bay window of a colonial style home. She sees right through us. Perhaps, she’s looking at the hills, waiting for the inevitable invasion she’s heard through rumors.
Soon the road changes names to sr4009. I have no idea what ‘SR’ means, but we’re on it, and we’re rolling. It’s all very peaceful, something different to look at, but we should be on Highway 99. Fewer chances of us running into people and aliens, but for some odd reason, Michael chose this route. I’m not going to argue with him about it.
We’re doing okay actually. No Tracker Bots following us. I haven’t seen any alien Cicadas, but that doesn’t mean they’re not around. Every building we’ve rolled by is intact, including the windows. The town people are lucky, but it’s only a matter of time before the invaders come with their Seeds, the Rods, the Swarms, and the alien Cicadas. I truly hope these residents never experience anything close to what I have.
We reach hills that are hard to peddle up, but I’ve become used to the strain and the work. Going downhill is a breeze. I take in the fresh air, sometimes letting my arms out. There are tunnels made of low hanging trees in some spots. Bridges cross over dry creeks. And of course, there are abandoned cars. No big rigs, but there are plenty of trucks and old sedans along the way. I don’t look inside any of them. I’ve had enough shock in my lifetime.
We get to a double bridge overpass. Both are wide.
“Highway 99,” I announce. “Not too late to avoid the small towns.”
Michael waves his hand, indicating we’re staying on the local road.
A hill approaches, and we get right to the deed at hand. We push through it, come out on top, and coast down to a flat plain. Businesses and old houses. Same old abandoned same.
We reach an area, where there are hills layered one behind the other, forever in the horizon. They are beautiful against the expanse of the sky. Puffy white clouds are lazy, hanging around with no place to go. I smile at the splendor. There is still wonder. The best part of our journey. It’s a peace I need and deserve.
We roll on for what seems like hours, and when the sun is almost behind the hills, that’s when Michael call it quits. Not worried about alarms and cops, we break into a repair shop, shooting off the knob to the back door. All of us check out the place to ensure it’s empty. Of course, it is. No one wants to live out the rest of their days in a grease hole. We set up camp in a customer waiting area. Chairs and raggedy sofas are back to back, a TV on each wall. The whole place is a dump, but it’s dry, out of the elements, and we’ll be able to get some rest.
I take the first watch. Michael will take over a little later. Staying awake will be hard. I’m tired from cycling most of the day. My legs hurt. My mind wants to shut down badly. But my brother needs the rest as much as I do. Looking out for the last two people I know on this planet is not so bad. Rest will come in due time.
DAY SEVEN
C H A P T E R
51
Duncansville, Pennsylvania
Michael is a total failure on his assignment, and if he was still in the Army, he would be slapped with a dereliction of duty. His buddies would be disappointed. No big deal. I won’t tell. His secret’s safe with me.
I move on, hearing the call of nature. I take the time while I’m in the ba
throom to clean up as well. The running water and being alone slowly creeps in on me, bringing in a flood of memories from the past few days. Natalie, my boss, I wonder where she is right now. What if Michael and I were wrong, and life is normal in Richmond? I’d be so fired. And Reggie, or Goodie. Such a silly name for a man, but that’s what he called himself. Way better than AWOL, my brother’s nickname for him. Reggie was a good man. Any person, willing to risk life and limb for family, has to be. Mr. Resnik, Gabe’s father, full of wisdom. I would have liked to talk to him more, find out his past, learn more about Gabe. They’re dead now, and I’m angry I won’t have the chance to make a life with the man I love.
Outside, in the early dawn, the air is fresh. A light mist tickles my exposed skin. In the distant sky, over the layers of hills, a ship I haven’t seen before floats by. It’s hard to gauge the size since I’m so far away, but I can tell it’s not as massive as the Octeres in Richmond or as small as Indigo Mohawk’s ship. But I wonder what hell that new god of the sky will bring. The aliens must be more advanced, ten times more equipped for war. I bet their kind profit from conflict and destruction. If the aliens were not conquering planets and all that it encompasses, then they are not doing what they were born to do.
I wonder what they call themselves. Do the aliens label each other by race or nationality? Are there pecking orders? Do they segregate based on abilities? Based on the color of their skin? Based on the value of their currency? Are they in any way like humankind? They probably are. Maybe, the aliens are remarkably like us, or we’re like them.
“How did you sleep?” Erika asks. She stops beside me, arms across her chest. Her face is healing nicely. Her nose isn’t as swollen, and the bruising around her ear is gone. I realize, looking at her, I didn’t see any bruising on Michael this morning or my neck when I was in the bathroom.
Dust to Dust: An Apocalyptic Thriller Page 19