by Eli Constant
“How bad is it?” Juan tossed over his shoulder, deftly shifting the wheel around some barrier I could not see in the road.
I placed my hand on Marty’s cheek. “He does feel pretty warm.”
“Could it be…I mean, he can’t be sick. He can’t have what those things have.” Sherry knelt next to the bed, her hands fluttering over the sheets, her face looked lost and scared.
“I don’t think it is, Sherry. I know he didn’t get hurt. We’ve kept him safe.” Still, I found myself lifting the legs of his shorts and checking for bites, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up and looking at each and every inch of his skin that could be easily seen.
“If you’re so sure, why are you checking him like that?” Sherry’s question was low, frantic. She was mindful enough not to want to wake Marty in her panic.
“Sherry, kids get sick. Healthy, happy kids get sick. Just because it’s the end of days doesn’t mean the common cold and the flu stop finding victims. I’m sure that’s what this is. We were around a lot of people in Del Rio. Any one of them could have been carrying something viral.” I moved over to a kitchen cabinet where some of the medical supplies gifted to us by Del Rio were. I felt tension in my back ease as I found a nondescript white bottle. Generic aspirin. “Wake him up gently. Let’s get some medicine and water in his system.”
“Is it starve a fever or feed a fever?” Sherry murmured, shaking Marty’s shoulder gently. “Marty, wake up, honey.”
“Is it what?” I questioned, coming back with a single aspirin in my hand. I wasn’t sure how much to give him, how much he weighed. I wished we had some children’s stuff, the liquid kind that had exact measurements for dosing and a little blunt syringe.
“Starve a fever, feed a cold. Starve a cold, feed a fever. I can’t remember what my grandmother used to say.” Sherry was fighting back tears.
It was then that I realized how very broken she still was. She’d improved on handling a gun; she’d pulled away from Juan and acted like she was becoming tougher. She wasn’t, not beneath the surface where it really mattered, where a person’s real grit resides. When Marty finally responded to her urgings for him to wake up, she stood and went to the sink, soaking a tattered wash cloth from the bathroom. I listened to the plink, plink of the water as she rung out the excess. Marty swallowed the pill with little prompting and drank quite a bit of the water. That was good.
“I don’t feel well,” Marty’s voice was weak, but clear.
“We think it’s just a cold, buddy. Don’t worry.” Sherry was there again, kneeling and placing the folded, damp cloth on his forehead. Marty closed his eyes and his face screwed up in a silent wince. “That’s cold.”
“You have a fever. We just need to let it run its course.” I stood up, cup in hand, to get him more water. “And you need to keep hydrated. Drink as much as you can stomach.”
“Do we need to find somewhere to stop or do we have what he needs?” Juan had slowed a little.
“I really think it’s something viral, Juan. There’s little we can do other than keep the fever in check and wait for his body to fight it off.” I could tell that Sherry didn’t like my response. She was his surrogate mother, and mothers were hardwired to want to do everything possible to keep their babies from any level of suffering. Whether it’s a hangnail, a fever, or something infinitely more harmful.
“Good, because it’ll be dark before we reach the next town. It won’t be safe to stop and try to scavenge for things. If he’s still looking bad in the morning, we can hunt down something with electrolytes. Find some sport’s drinks, maybe some vitamins to boost his immunity.” Juan hesitated for a moment, and then spoke again. “But you’re sure it’s not something else, AJ?”
I understood why he directed the question at me and not at Sherry. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
He nodded. “Good.”
We parked the RV well on the outskirts of Carlsbad, letting the engine idle for a moment, waiting to see if anything was going to come crawling out of the shadows. Nothing did, but we still took turns staying awake and watching for trouble. I managed a fitful hour whilst Sherry was on watch. I didn’t trust to stay awake or to keep her attention off of Marty enough to be an effective lookout.
It was my turn to take watch again around five, sending Sherry to sleep. The sky outside was still dark and I seated myself in the passenger’s seat with my feet propped up to the left and atop the dash relaxing my muscles and staring into the black open scrublands. If it hadn’t been almost pitch black because the lack of a moon I may not have noticed the dim reflection in the RV’s driver side mirror. My gut told me it wasn’t dangerous just some distant light behind us and way up in the hills.
I moved over to the driver’s side and looked back through the side glass. There it was further and higher than I had guessed. A dim light radiating out like a dusty haze, A building or a fire? I couldn’t tell, but it was there, but it wasn’t a danger to us.
Juan woke up about 5:30 and joined me, pushing the thought of the strange light out of my mind, two eclairs in his hand looking so good that my stomach growled immediately at the sight. I smiled when he handed it to me.
“You get any sleep?”
I shook my head ‘no’ before taking a first scrumptious bite of Martha’s cooking. It had gone a little stale already and I knew I’d really miss this sort of thing once it was gone. Sometimes, it felt like it would be better to just stuff our faces while things were fresh, versus trying to ration it out and having to eat it when it was dry and gritty days later.
“Marty is still hot, but his face doesn’t look nearly so red,” Juan said around a mouthful.
“That’s really good.” I took another bite, chewed, swallowed, spoke again. “It’s a funny thing to be sick like that in the middle of all this. Doesn’t seem fair that we should have to battle monsters and colds.”
“Yeah, not fair at all. Then again, nothing’s ever been perfectly fair.” Him being still a little sleep-addled made Juan’s accent come out stronger. I liked that. It reminded me of working near the border, even though geographically Juan originated in Puerto Rico, which was nearly 8 hours by plane and God knows how long by car and boat. Still, the accent, it made me feel at home. I loved being across the border, especially in Juarez at the bustling marketplace where you better keep all of your important documents on your bodily person. Although, I don’t go there often now, not since my ex-boyfriend’s accident…the one that had led me down this path in life.
I’d been with a college group across the border when I was younger and they’d told us it was okay to leave our packs in the van whilst we shopped at a sort of flea market-type thing with homemade goods and crafts made by the women’s shelter. When we’d come back, everything we’d left was gone. I sometimes wonder if the driver was in cahoots with the thieves. I was the only person who’d had their money and IDs in a fanny pack and not inside their left-behind bags.
“Want to press on since we’re both awake?” Juan finished his pastry, wiping his hands roughly on his pants.
“No reason not to,” I said, also finishing my food and wiping my hands together briskly to brush away any crumbs.
“Want me to drive?”
“No, I’m okay right now.” I settled into the seat more firmly, sliding the key fully into the ignition and turning the RV on. “I always liked driving at night, even when I was first learning how. It seems peaceful to me.”
“I can see that, although I’m a daytime man myself. I get pretty damn tired at night.”
“I’m the opposite. Like…a cat sitting in a windowsill during the brightest part of the day. It makes me doze off way more than darkness.”
“Are we going through or around? It doesn’t seem like Marty needs any extra supplies. He drank water fine yesterday.”
Sherry didn’t stir until we were in the middle of the small city, buildings rising around us like too-short giants. Like they were the brothers and sisters of actual skyscrapers, but had gotten the p
oor end of the height gene pool.
“Couldn’t we have gone around?” she spoke, stepping between the front seats and rubbing her eyes gently.
“We could have,” I agreed, “but it would have added on a lot of time and the bypass still goes through the outskirts of town. At least this way, we get through Carlsbad faster.”
“The sun’s not even fully up. I’d think that made this more dangerous.” Sherry was wide-eyed now, staring out into the dim early morning, looking for the wraiths that likely lay low in the shadows looking for prey. Maybe that was an exaggeration, maybe it wasn’t. And maybe I should have followed that little line on the map that arced around this town. The choice had been made, Juan agreeing whilst she was sleeping. I remembered what Juan had said; the world was never fair and not everyone gets a vote. I glanced at Sherry; she was biting her bottom lip, as if deciding whether or not to say something. “If we’re already so near buildings and things like grocery stores and such, could we not stop and try to find Marty some things? Maybe ice pops or Gatorade. Soup maybe? I know they gave us some back at Del Rio and we have some of that ramen stuff from the truck stop, but kids don’t really care for things like split pea soup and bean and ham. And ramen is so salty, I’m afraid it would do him more bad than good.”
I listened to what she was saying, knowing it was more a mother’s desire to ease her child’s pain, but I couldn’t help but sympathize and want to give her what she asked for. So far, we hadn’t seen a single Z kid or zombie adult. So far, things seemed safe.
Yes, that could change at any moment, but if it was safe, then why couldn’t I give her and Marty this small relief? Why couldn’t I defy the shit world we were existing in and give a kid some chicken and stars soup?
“I think we can manage something,” I started, seeing from my peripheral vision that Juan had leaned forward in the passenger’s seat and turned towards me. I continued quickly, “but we have to be as sure as we possibly can that wherever we stop is deserted. Juan’s doing better, not that I’ve actually asked him how he’s feeling since leaving the truck stop, but I don’t think any of us are ready to take another beating.”
“I’m certainly not risking getting ambushed by humans or the monsters just to get the kid some soup and crackers.” Juan sounded colder than I expected.
“Juan, that kid is counting on us to protect him. We took him under our care. Maybe not by choice, but by circumstances. We’re all he has. Would you let your own kid subsist off water and pain medicine if you could give them something more?”
“Sherry, you were the one just fussing that we hadn’t gone the longer and safer route. You’re the one who was just talking about it being still too dark and not safe. Now you want us to find a store and risk our lives for what? Soup and crackers?”
“No, but—”
“Sherry, don’t’ be stupid.” Juan’s voice was toeing the line between anger and dismissiveness. I think Sherry would have taken better to full-out anger versus being dismissed and called ‘stupid’, because as soon as that one exited Juan’s mouth, Sherry’s entire disposition shifted. She went from that beaten, limp thing with that threatening storm inside of her chest, to a hurricane of Katrina proportions.
“No, you listen,” Sherry stamped her foot. I almost laughed at that, because it made her look so childish, but I didn’t. Let her direct that storm at Juan and not me. Besides, I was sure she’d like being laughed at by the woman who’d all but usurped her position in the group even less than she’d liked being called dumb. “We’ve gone through hell, Juan. You’ve been beaten black and blue. I’ve nearly been raped. Marty is sick. This is something we can do, something we can control in this stupid fucking world that’s lost its damn mind. He needs chicken fucking soup. It’s not like I’m asking for steak and merlot here. There’s a sick little boy back there and we can give him some comfort.”
Juan’s face was unreadable, at least it was for a passing moment, and then he melted, his eyes going soft and looking at Sherry the way I’d first seen him look at her back at the truck stop when their relationship started to change for the worse. “Okay, Sherry. If we find somewhere that looks safe enough.” He smiled then, and it was the sort of fragile thing that makes me think of fawns learning to walk in spring time. “You know, you sound like a damn Disney character when you curse, Sherry.”
Sherry nodded, her face gone pale, but she didn’t smile back. “I’ve been told that before.” It was like that storm I’d been seeing playing at the surface of her body had finally crested, pushing against the surface and stealing the color from her skin. It had finally come out to play, play and be fully seen, if only for a moment. I’d known her a brief time and knew I did not know enough to judge her, her actions, the way she dealt with things. But I knew that there was a rage in her, one that warred with fear and anxiety for dominance. “So we’ll find Marty something to help him?” She held herself in a firm hug, waiting for assurance.
“Yeah, Sherry, we will,” Juan replied, that fragile smile gone now, a hunter’s bullet gone astray on its path towards a buck.
Good.” Sherry turned away, going to sit on the sofa and hold the book she’d been reading yesterday. “Good,” she said once more, so low that it was almost inaudible.
***
JUAN
It was still dimmer than I would have liked, the shadows cast by the buildings adjacent to the oddly placed convenience store, buried beneath the great form of a parking garage, making the interior even darker. I carried a large flashlight, almost too thick for my hands to hold it easily, and I approached that building. I was carrying the hand gun, fully-loaded thanks to Hunter’s generosity. My trusty ASP was in my pocket. I felt safer with its weight there.
I knew it was stupid to be taking this chance, but Sherry’s words had supplanted my good sense. ‘Juan, that kid is counting on us to protect him. We took him under our care. Maybe not by choice, but by circumstances. We’re all he has.’ It was guilt that was making me go into this dark building looking for soup and Gatorade and shit kids would like. Ice pops, if they had them- the kind that could be stored unfrozen, liquid sloshing inside plastic sleeves.
Guilt because I’d failed her once. I’d failed Marty once. I was having nightmares since the truck stop of what would have happened had AJ not shown up.
AJ had wanted to go instead of me, of course she had, but I was done being the damsel in distress hiding with civilians in the back of a club house while she put her neck on the line. That wasn’t the sort of guy I was. And I was just as capable as she was, maybe not with a gun, but I had the training. My body was a weapon, far more so than hers with her petite frame and small, defined musculature.
When I left, I’d told the women to turn off all the lights inside and out. The motor home became a still shadow on the street. Not hidden, but not calling attention to itself either. As the sun rose, it would come into relief. But I hoped no one was nearby to notice the new addition to the landscape; I hoped no one would drive this way while we were still parked, because they might see the RV and think it was a better ride just like I had back…back forever ago it felt like.
We’d creeped through town looking for some place, any place, that looked secure enough to go inside. Most of the buildings had sported busted windows, rotting bodies…no sign of the kid-sized monsters.
The convenience store was almost camouflaged by its narrow, tinted-glass entrance and two un-tinted windows that were nearly covered in advertisements for local bands, art fairs, and the like. Had I not been looking closely, I would have missed the small stickers on the door that displayed what sort of payments they accepted and, above that, an advertisement for chewing tobacco and smokes. I didn’t recognize the name of the store, so it wasn’t a chain, more mom and pop.
Pushing the door open, I froze as the tinkle of bells met my ears. It sounded so loud, like someone playing an organ at full blast. I waited, looked behind me and around and finally down through the gray-scaled glass, where I found a set
of four bells hung from maroon and gold string hanging from the interior handle of the entrance. Taking a deep breath, I pushed so slowly that it felt I was making little progress, but the bells did not sound again.
I moved slowly into the building, keeping a hand on the door so I could close it as slowly as I’d pushed it open. I waited for an interminable amount of time and then, hearing no sound, I ventured down the center aisle. The interior of the store seemed frozen in time, untouched by scavenging and monsters. We didn’t need the food, the chips and the crackers and the candy and the warm sodas, but I was going to take them anyways. I wasn’t going to leave anything for the next person, not if I could carry and store it all.
That was selfish maybe. I should leave some for the next person who might discover this little hidden store. But no. Fucking no. I was going to take care of me and mine. What was I becoming…
Martial Arts is about vastly more than self-defense. It was about more than inflicting pain. It was about control, a respect for life, a respect for the world around us.
So…God, I’d leave some for the next sorry sap who came along, the next survivor who was on their last crumb of bread and shred of fucking hope.
I searched the entire store before I let my guard down. I checked the back room with it’s black-screened surveillance TV, and the store room, which was surprisingly bare considering the well-stocked status of the main store.
Making a beeline for the register once I was sure I was well and truly alone, I found what I was looking for: stacks of handled brown paper bags. I set about filling them, not just with soup and sports drinks, but with single-dose packets of meds, candies as a treat, canned spaghetti and meatballs. I took everything I could load into six paper bags. Plastic would have been better; I could have shoved my arms through the handles of all six and walked out of the store. I’d been through the whole place there wasn’t a cart or a dolly anywhere.