The train starts to move.
I look away and look back. The wolf bounds swiftly toward the black woods.
I launch forward, terror my driver as I imagine being left behind. My lungs pump in rhythm with the engine. Each of us picks up speed.
Kamal’s frame appears in the open doorway of our car.
“You can make it!” he calls, kneeling down and extending his arm. My body burns with effort. I am running side by side with the train. There is no room for fear. I’m just digging for whatever it is that lets me swim faster than I have before. For that thing that will let me run fast enough to grab Kamal’s hand and jump.
I reach toward him and my screaming legs rocket my body into the car. I land in a heap on the floor. I can practically feel the bruises forming. But I’m in. I’m okay. Kamal exhales a whistle and leans back on his hands. Phoebe is up and kneeling. I try and catch my breath.
“I’m sorry,” I say, still panting.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Phoebe snaps. “What if you’d been left out there?”
“I know. I’m sorry. I had to tell Nam about Lazarus, but there was no service and then—” I stop. I picture the face of the wolf. It sets off a longing in me. The train sounds its whistle. I look out at the land and grab for the flattened coin around my neck. My view darkens with shades of brown. I want to go home. I want to see my dad.
CHAPTER 12
“It’s all right,” whispers Kamal as my eyes fill with tears. “Can you tell us what happened, slowly, from the start?”
“What do you mean ‘tell Nam about Lazarus’?” Phoebe asks.
I calm the swell of brown haze by sitting with my back straight against the hard wall of the car.
“I had a dream about that woman from the chapel,” I begin. “She had a baby named Lazarus. That made me remember Lazarus in the Bible and I realized that’s what Nam’s second poem is about. Which means both poems are about stopping death. But I had no service, so I had to get off the train to try and send him a message. I told him I think he knows how to stop ARNS.”
Phoebe’s eyes shimmer like calm surf under a heavy moon. “Did he respond?”
I nod.
“And?” She repositions her legs underneath her.
“He said that I do. That I know.”
“Wait, that you know or that he knows?”
“Me. That I know how to stop it.” The train’s wheels screech as we come around a wide bend. “That’s all he would say.”
“Sorry, who is Nam and what are his poems?” Kamal interrupts.
“Lu’s been getting messages from the same guy who sent the Hugo video.” Phoebe turns back to me. “Do you know what he means? That you know?”
“No. But I want to believe him.”
“So do I,” she says.
“No shit,” Kamal adds. “Can I see the poems?”
I hand him my phone.
He looks up after a minute. “These make absolutely no sense to me.”
“They’re both references to ancient stories. Lazarus in the Bible and a Hindu creation myth.”
He laughs. “I should’ve paid more attention in school. But you don’t know what he meant about stopping ARNS?”
“I wish I did.”
He looks back at my phone. “You have a signal here. We should look at some news while we can.”
Four hundred thousand dead, we learn. People are afraid to go to work. Food supplies are dwindling further. Government and municipal services are being scaled back as resources and manpower are stretched thin. They’re calling it “early-stage deterioration.”
“That’s like what happens to someone’s grandmother with Alzheimer’s,” I say. I sound like Ben. “Let me see my phone,” I say. I write Ben a message asking how he is. He writes back: Hungry. That means he’s okay.
“So how long before late-stage deterioration?” Kamal looks to Phoebe.
“No way to know,” she replies.
“What about Bell?” I’m thinking about him standing on that boat at night, making promises. “He found the virus. Shouldn’t he have something else to offer by now?”
“That was only two days ago,” Kamal says.
“Jesus. Right,” I mumble. “It feels like weeks.”
I stare out at the flat, open prairies of what the map tells me is northern Kansas. The clouds hang so low it seems they could fall out of the sky. There are no buildings, no telephone poles, no trace of human presence. Like the sun, like the oceans, this land does not need us. It will soak in the rain. It will freeze over in winter, then thaw again in spring. Like an orphaned child, it will manage to survive on its own. But unlike me, it won’t know the difference.
I open a text to my dad. Don’t give up, I write. Send.
“So Lu, what is it that you know but don’t know you know?” Phoebe asks.
I glance at Kamal, then look away. “I don’t know.”
“Yes you do,” he says in that certain way. The way Janine would’ve. With a smile I can hear behind his mask. With a gentle tone that dares me to be myself because he knows who I am and believes in me.
I feel my cheeks flush. I look down at my hands in their latex sheaths. They could belong to anyone, so nondescript. No jewelry, no polish. It’s my senses that tell me they belong to me. That I can feel them is what makes them mine.
“If you begin with a belief that the world is flat,” I say, “you’ll never be able to conceive of it as a sphere. Your brain will just stop there, deciding that it knows. It will never allow you to consider an alternate perception.”
“There’s a term for that,” Kamal offers. “I forget what it is. But my dad does crossword puzzles. He’s like the crossword puzzle champion of the world. I remember him saying that when you answer a crossword puzzle clue incorrectly, it becomes exponentially harder to find the right answer. Your brain is like, ‘I’ve already figured this out, I solved it, let’s move on.’ Doesn’t matter that it was wrong.”
“It’s called cognitive dissonance,” I say a little more softly than I mean to.
Silence as I worry I’ve embarrassed him by knowing the term he couldn’t remember.
“God,” he says, staring at me.
“What?” I reply with an edge that surprises me. Maybe I’m not actually willing to feel shame for knowing things.
“I love that you’re so smart,” he says.
A crazy burst of orange as a grin explodes behind my mask. I tap my foot.
“I feel like this riddle or whatever it is, this question, it’s like that,” I say. “It’s like we’re looking at something in two dimensions that actually exists in three.”
Kamal picks up the Bible from beside my pack and thumbs through it.
“He said I wouldn’t believe him if he told me. So we somehow need to go back to a point where the world is neither flat nor round, where there are no limitations. Where the unbelievable is what’s true.”
“So, like a miracle,” Kamal says.
“Maybe. Yes.”
“It must have something to do with the poems,” Phoebe says. “Why else would he send you the poems if they didn’t hold a key?”
I look down at my phone again. I Google Thomas Bell. The page starts to load and my battery dies.
“I need to think about it,” I say.
We sit for hours and hours, not talking, rocked to the edge of sleep by the rhythm of wheels against track. The sun rides past its peak and the land becomes mountainous and rugged. The grass blurs into pebbled earth and the train slows to another stop. I feel safe in our little car, like if we could just stay here like this forever, we’d be fine.
“Colorado?” I ask.
“Think so,” replies Kamal.
I get up and move to the door. I breathe in.
“Careful. We could start up any minute,” he warns.
I grab the edge of the open frame. I take another breath.
There’s a noise in the distance. It’s like the muffled sound of barking dogs. “Did you he
ar that?” I ask.
“What?” Kamal asks.
It’s like a growl.
“You don’t hear that?” I demand.
“I hear it,” Phoebe says.
Kamal focuses. The growl shifts into a shrill hollering. “Sounds like coyotes,” he says.
“I think it’s a woman yelling,” I reply. It’s getting louder.
“That’s what coyotes sound like.”
“That’s a human voice,” I insist and within seconds, they appear.
There are three of them, two women and a man. Next to them, two stocky Rottweilers tug against metal collars.
Kamal leaps up. My stomach twists in a flash of red light. I move away from the door. One of the women is sick.
“Howdy,” says the man. His voice is somber and rich. His bald head is completely covered in one of those insane tribal tattoos. All three of them are pierced and tatted and clad from head to toe in silver-studded leather. They’re like refugees from a future that took place in the past.
“Mind if we join you?” says the plumper of the women as she hoists her buxom frame into the car. Without waiting for an answer, she pulls two large rucksacks in behind her.
“Doesn’t seem like you’re giving us much of a choice,” replies Phoebe as she rises to her feet alongside Kamal.
“Guess that’s true,” says the woman. Her smile is both warm and menacing. “Francesca, but call me Freddie.” She sticks out her hand to shake. We don’t move. “This is Cami and Darleen,” she adds, pointing at the dogs. They jump up and settle at her feet. The man climbs aboard behind them.
“I’m her brother, Ron. My girl here’s Jordana,” he says, lifting the visibly ill woman onto the train. “We heading west,” Ron says. He unrolls a sleeping bag and helps Jordana sit down. None of them is wearing masks or gloves.
“That’s great, but she’s obviously sick and we’re not and we’d like to keep it that way. So how about you find another car?” Phoebe snaps.
Ron looks up at her with a confused face. “Other doors’re locked,” he replies plainly.
I think of my camping knife.
Freddie speaks up. “Look, we don’t want no trouble neither, ’kay? This is a big car. You take this half and we take that one.” She heads to the far end of the car. She whistles to the dogs and they follow.
Kamal whispers in my ear, “Should we be scared?”
I gaze at these strangers through clear eyes. No waves. I shake my head.
“Okay, that’ll work,” Kamal says.
“Are you insane?” Phoebe hisses.
“It’s okay,” I say.
Ron gently pulls the sleeping bag out from under Jordana and carries it over to Freddie. Jordana climbs to her feet. She takes a step, then collapses to the floor.
“Shit,” I gasp.
Ron moves to help her. “Whoa there, baby. What happened?” he asks calmly, bringing her eyes to his.
“I can’t feel my feet,” Jordana replies. Janine’s exact words. I shudder. My mind spins red.
Kamal steps up and reaches for Jordana’s ankles. Ron wraps his arms under her shoulders. They carry her over to the sleeping bag and lay her down.
“Thank you,” Ron says.
Kamal glances at his gloved hands. He steps over to the door, strips off the gloves, and throws them off the train.
“I’m sorry, but this is crazy,” Phoebe barks. “You can’t just come in here like this. This is our car. You’re not even wearing any protection.” One of the dogs jumps up, growling. Freddie grabs her collar and settles her down with a sharp whistle.
“Oh, it’s yours?” Ron says. His face twitches like this might be the fight he’s been waiting a while to get into. But still, my senses are calm. He’s not going to hurt us, I don’t think. “Maybe it’s our car,” he continues. “Maybe I made a reservation.”
“Okay, whatever,” Phoebe replies. I look quickly at Jordana. Her shallow breath has become a wheeze. Her eyes are hollow like all the others I’ve seen. My stomach starts to churn, but I keep my focus on her.
“How long have you been sick?” I ask. Ron eyes me carefully.
“Five days,” Jordana rasps.
Ron picks up her hand with his. “We’re going to California for a treatment,” he says.
“You’re not worried about becoming infected?” Kamal asks.
“We’re immune,” replies Freddie. “We been with her this whole time and we’ve got no problems.”
“They don’t know if anyone is immune,” Phoebe says snidely. Ron stares at her like he doesn’t speak the same language.
“Well, we’re not getting sick,” he says.
“What kind of treatment?” I ask.
“The Paqos in the desert got a cure,” answers Freddie. “It’s not on the news ’cause the drug makers want their own shot at all that money when they make a pill, but the Paqos know how to take it out.”
“What’s a Paqo?” Kamal asks.
“Mystic. Medicine man. They go all the way back to the Inca Indians.” Ron’s voice is so full. It’s like being inside a piano when someone strikes a low note.
“Have you heard of a woman named Evans Birkner?” I ask.
“Sounds familiar,” Ron says.
“I told you, she’s not for real,” Phoebe interrupts.
I ignore her. “She’s from someplace called Redlands. Says she cured herself. I’m going to find her when we get to California.”
“Sounds familiar,” Ron says. I lean against the wall, staring at him, wishing he’d say more.
The train starts moving.
“Here we go!” Freddie hollers with a smile. She pours a dish of water for the dogs. Kamal, Phoebe, and I stare with longing. She drags a heavy-looking paper bag from her rucksack. “Good news is,” she says, “I got beer.”
She pulls two six packs of Bud Light cans from the bag and rolls one over to each of us. I wrap my gloved hands around mine. The sound of cans popping open one after the other and the first sip. So blissfully normal.
We pull up our masks and drink. The alcohol spreads out through my body like spilled marbles on a wood floor. I relax, cell by cell, molecule by molecule. Bone, muscle, organ, blood—every inch of me releasing.
We sit drinking beers. The sun’s dappled rays flutter in on the breeze and an easy buzz settles over us. We go from two sets of three to a group of six.
I reach into my pack. “I’ve got these,” I offer, tossing the six meal bars to the center of the car. Everyone grabs one and Freddie rolls each of us a second beer. I hesitate, holding it.
From the moment I discovered it in ninth grade, alcohol has helped me dull my feelings. It’s taken the edge off those overwhelming sensations that have kept me on the outside of everyone else’s experience. But now I realize, I don’t want that anymore. I want to feel things. I want to feel everything.
“No thanks,” I say and roll the can back. Freddie shrugs and puts the beer back in her bag.
Ron wipes Jordana’s brow with a cloth.
“My father is sick too,” I blurt out.
“Sorry to hear that, girl,” he says.
“I wish he had someone like you by his side.”
“Where’s your mama?” Freddie asks.
A flash of purple rises up like a weed. “She took him to a camp,” I say flatly.
“You from back east?”
“New York,” replies Kamal.
“I’ve never been there,” Ron says. “Just seen it on TV.”
“Where are you from?” Phoebe asks. Her buzz softens her smugness only slightly.
“Atlanta,” Freddie says. “We hitched a ride in a van with some folks, but when ’Dana got sick, they booted us. We’ve been on foot since.”
“Only doing ’bout five miles a day ’cause she’s been weak. Yesterday when her leg started acting up, I knew we had to catch out.”
“ ‘Catch out’?” Kamal asks.
“Hop a train,” Freddie whispers.
Ron gets lost in th
e view for a moment.
“But she’s a tough trooper and she gonna make it. Believe that,” he says. Looking deep into Ron’s face, I do believe it. And I want it to be true.
More hours pass, dusk rolls in. I’m hungry. I watch the moon rise against the sky. A pack of wild horses runs across the jagged, rocky hills in the distance. I remember one morning in Maine walking with my father at dawn, stumbling on a moose grazing. Gnarled barbs crowned his head. His sleek, high haunches and grunting breath—he was magnificent and my father began to cry.
At five years old, I needed him to explain to me that sometimes people cry when they see something beautiful. He said it reminds us we are part of something bigger. I pretended to understand. Now I watch those horses run and I feel that beauty, that connection. It’s hard to breathe.
“That your Bible there?” Freddie asks, eyeing the book where Kamal left it.
“Yes,” I tell her. “But someone gave it to me. I’m not a Christian.”
“Ahh,” she says like she doesn’t quite believe me.
“Are you?” I ask. “Christian?”
She shakes her head, mouth full of beer.
“Do you believe in God?” I ask.
“I believe in a kind of God, but it ain’t no bearded white guy in the sky.” She laughs.
“That story is old,” Ron says. “Christ and those tales, that’s not how this world is gonna grow forward. Right?” He looks dead at me.
“I have no idea,” I reply.
Ron stares through me, head cocked, smiling. “Your father a man of God?”
“He believes in something. He calls it a higher power. But it’s not a bearded white guy in the sky either.” I smile at Freddie.
Ron studies me. “Where y’all headed?” he asks after a moment.
“LA,” replies Kamal.
“I’m with Front Line,” Phoebe says like she’s speaking to a child.
“Oh right on,” Freddie exclaims, raising her near-empty can. “Saved my dogs during Hurricane Sarah. Good people.” Phoebe softens a little more.
Ron turns back to me. “What about you, wolf girl? What do you believe in?”
A chill runs up my spine. “What did you call me?”
“Wolf girl. You got that wolf vibe. Nobody ever told you that?”
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