by Lee Beard
“Hello?” Millie asked, gripping the wasp spray tightly. Another bout of shuffling in the store sent her heart racing. “Is someone there?” Her voice was weak and scratchy, far from intimidating. Zombies. She fought the urge to run as the sound of crunching boots got louder. “I’m armed!” She cried, holding the can out in front of her.
“I’m not.” A pair of hands eased out from the shadows, followed by half of a face. Millie tensed as a boy with messy light hair stepped into the light of the window, hands raised level with his head. He scanned the area and looked Millie over quickly.
“You’re a live person,” Millie relaxed slightly.
“Last time I checked,” he said, green eyes settling on the wasp spray. “You gonna bug spray me to death?”
“It’s wasp killer and has a spray range of ten yards. It can blind and poison a grown man. It’s super deadly,” Millie snipped. The boy raised his eyebrows. “…and it was the only long-range weapon I could find on short notice.”
“Ah, I see.” They stood in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “I’m not going to hurt you, just so you know.”
Millie shifted her feet and searched his face for insincerity. “Are you a drug addict?”
“No? Not too fond of drugs, myself. Nyquil’s about the biggest buzz I can tolerate,” the boy shrugged.
“Then why are you raiding a pharmacy?”
“I was looking for a first-aid kit, but they're all out.”
“Are you hurt?” Millie glanced him over. No visible wounds, though the sleeve of his black t-shirt was ripped at the shoulder seam.
“Nah. Just thought it might come in handy during the end of the world.”
“It’s not the end of the world… is it?”
“Dunno,” he shrugged again. “Though, there’s a distinct end-of-the-world vibe going on here.” He dropped his hands. “I’m Zach Carter.” He seemed harmless enough. Millie lowered her arms to her side and introduced herself. “So,” Zach asked, “Where you headed?”
“I wasn’t really headed anywhere,” Millie replied, “I just wanted to see if there was anyone left.”
“You’re the first person I’ve run into in days.”
“Days?” Millie’s mouth fell open. How long had she been asleep?
Zach nodded. “I left Watertown like a week ago, and the only other people I saw after that were a kid ransacking a jewelry store who tried to shoot me and this really old lady who thought I was her son back from the war.”
“How long has it been since the President made that speech about the virus?”
“Let’s see.” He looked skyward and silently counted on his fingers. “Two weeks yesterday.”
“That’s not possible,” Millie shook her head, stunned. The human body can only live without water for an average of four days; three weeks without food. She should be dead by now.
“Are you okay? Do you need to sit down or something?”
“No- I mean, the President made that speech and I fell asleep, and when I woke up my dad was… a-and I found this note he left me, so I decided to try and come look for people, but… two weeks?”
Zach studied her curiously as she sputtered. “Woke up?”
“Yeah?”
“So, you slept through the apocalypse.” Zach cocked an eyebrow. “I thought that was just a cliché used by lazy authors.” Millie blinked, still processing the day’s revelations. “Sorry, no time for bad jokes.”
The long uncomfortable silence returned just in time to be interrupted by Millie’s stomach growling loudly. For the first time all day, hunger pangs shot through her abdomen.
“Hungry?” He asked.
She grimaced as the growling continued. “Haven’t really had a chance to eat yet.”
“One sec.” Zach disappeared into the shadows for a moment, returning with a black backpack. He moved toward the window, fishing through the bag. “Here,” he held a large protein bar out to her. “It’s not poisoned, I swear.” He fished another bar out for himself.
“Thank you,” Millie said, glancing over the bar for signs of tampering before unwrapping it. As she took a bite, she accidentally made eye contact with a corpse in a car. “…let’s head back this way.”
As they aimlessly made their way around and over the blocked roads, Zach filled Millie in on the events in the days following the President’s speech. The day after, the Center for Disease Control issued a statement that the vaccine would be available to the general public in four to six days.
“Everybody was tired and angry and dying when day six rolled around and there was still no cure. So when the CDC said that it would be another four to five days, it was chaos,” Zach explained. “Then we found out that France had already released a vaccine, which pretty much sent everyone into orbit.”
“Why didn’t they just ship some of the French vaccine over here?”
“Turns out that it was just a strong antibiotic. The French government knew that there would be no way to find a cure in time to save everyone, so they were trying to calm everyone down so they wouldn’t riot. Last I heard, they were dying off as quickly over there as over here.”
“How did they die?” Millie stopped walking for a second.
Zach turned back to her. “They just sorta went to sleep. They weren’t in pain or anything, from what I could tell.” Millie nodded slowly, eyes on the ground. “Your dad, huh?”
Millie nodded again, fighting the rising lump in her throat. “He’s… his body is still at the house. I just couldn’t do it yet.”
“Yeah…” Zach’s expression softened and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well…if you want, I could help. I’ve dug my fair share of graves lately.”
Millie smiled. “Thank you.”
“Yeah. No problem.”
Chapter Eleven
Louisiana
Hank gnawed on one of the clothing store mannequin’s discarded feet, the rubber making a strange squeaking sound. His tail wagged absentmindedly as Gina perused the shoe aisles. She spotted a pair of brown hiking boots in her size, but hesitated. Was it really stealing if the owner was more than likely dead? She looked down at her tennis shoes; the left’s laces were frayed to almost nothing, and the right’s sole was reattached with black thread in three places. She grabbed the boots and went to sit in a chair at the end of the aisle, kicking off her shoes as she walked.
The boots were well-made, much sturdier than any shoes she’d had before yet incredibly lightweight and breathable. They fit her almost perfectly, with only a small gap at the end that allowed her toes some movement as she walked carefully around the room in them. Yes, these would do nicely. She clicked her heels together and picked up her duffel, heading toward the clothing section.
The rows and rows of round hanging racks slightly intimidated her at first, but as she browsed, the possibilities began to form in her head. These tan shorts would look good with that green shirt or the purple tee. That long-sleeved, thin white shirt could be worn over a white tank top to keep the sun off, yet not overheat her, and any number of those hats could be great for shielding her from the sun. There were stands of sunglasses next to a round display of jewelry that could be spun to see all sides; as she passed it something caught her eye. She walked closer, reaching out to touch the necklace gingerly. It was simple – a small, silver, diamond-shaped locket with a latch enclosure – but something about it intrigued her, so she slipped it into her pocket.
Gina tried on some tops, slipping them over her t-shirt, and found some that she liked. She folded them carefully and put them in a pile. She held up some shorts and pants, guessing about what her size was, and folded them as well. After gathering all the various items she needed, she realized that it wasn’t all going to fit in her small duffel. On the opposite side of the boutique was a wall covered in backpacks and luggage bags. There was a purple rolling backpack hanging on a hook by itself, and Gina looked it over. It was plenty big and the straps looked comfortable enough, so she took it down and lo
aded it with her new wardrobe.
Sure enough, the wheels worked just fine as she pulled the backpack behind her down the road. Hank trotted happily beside her, mirroring Gina’s distinctly springier step. The asphalt bridge they walked across was free of cars, and Gina stopped a moment to look out over the murky lake. Her new sunglasses kept the glare from the water out of her eyes as she stared at a buoy that bobbed in the distance. She leaned against the guardrail, the heat coming off of it warm against her stomach. She glanced over at Hank, who made his way through the grass down to the lake’s edge to drink. Judging by the sun, she figured they had about thirty minutes until it was completely dark; that was plenty of time to get back to the deserted bed-and-breakfast where they had been staying. A sudden breeze coming off of the water played with her hair, and she brushed her bangs out of her eyes yet again.
I could cut them, she thought, watching Hank lap at the water. If I knew how. Her eyes drifted from where Hank stood lapping at the water, and she noticed a large shape bobbing in the current nearby. The end of it twitched, and her blood ran cold. Alligator.
“Hank!” She screamed, voice cracking from disuse as she bolted toward the embankment. The dog looked up at her, ears perked, as the massive alligator floated closer. Its beady eyes were hidden below the surface of the water as Hank cocked his head to one side. “Here, boy! Here, here!” Gina grabbed the butcher knife out of her back pocket, accidentally cutting the seam that held the pocket to her jeans. The dog turned and trotted toward her just as the menacing shape reached the edge of the water. Gina jumped in front of Hank, knife held out. The alligator caught on something underwater, and floated sideways. Gina’ shoulders sagged, and she sighed. It wasn’t an alligator at all, it was just a very large gator-shaped log. Gina slowly, shakily put her knife back into her pocket.
***
Nowhere
The college campus was deserted. After the President’s announcement, the dean suspended all classes and sent the students home, leaving only the staff that lived on or near the campus and their families.
Now, only one remained.
In the administration building’s rock garden, the old man laid the last stone on top of the small pyramid. It had taken him two full days to dig the grave, and another to bring himself to bury the small bundle resting on his kitchen table. He reached into his coat and retrieved the small wooden doll that he’d carved for her, running a thumb over its features. The miniature face smiled up at him, tiny wooden hands grasping a lily. He laid the doll gently at the base of the pyramid, blinked tears away, and whispered an amen. Grimacing, he picked up his cane. The hip surgery had been scheduled for last Monday, but by then the surgeon was dead. The old man limped toward the main building.
Inside the small room that functioned as the college radio station, the lights flickered, then stabilized. The generator was working fine, the old man thought. Tomorrow he’d have to go around and turn off all the unnecessary electrical devices, but for now there were other things to attend to. He keyed the microphone and spoke slowly.
“This is Radio Nowhere, in Nowhere, Oklahoma, calling to anyone who has survived this catastrophe. I’ll be transmitting every night from 8 pm Central time to 10 pm Central time. This has been a tough time for all of us, but remember…you’re not alone.” He tightened his fists and said louder and more forcefully, “You are NOT ALONE.”
Chapter Twelve
Isherwood, PA
The sun hung low in the sky by the time Millie and Zach finished the burial. The uncompleted pool in the back yard saved them from having to dig a plot, but moving the vast amount of dirt took a lot more time and effort than they’d expected.
Afterwards, Zach went inside to give Millie some time alone at the grave. He set up the windup lamp he’d found in Oleson’s trailer on the coffee table in the living room. As he sat on the couch and turned the lamp’s crank, his mind began to wander.
*
“Yeah I know it’s not much to go off of, but she didn’t exactly have time to grab her purse and ID when she passed out.” Zach paced in his kitchen, drumming his fingers against the countertop. “Her coworker just told me that an ambulance picked her up and took her to a hospital after he found her, but for some idiotic reason he didn’t think to ask which hospital.”
“Ok, sir,” the nurse on the line said with a yawn, “What did you say she looks like?”
“She’s got longish brown hair and has a tattoo of a bird on her wrist.”
“Age?”
“…thirty-six, I think?”
“Just a moment…I’m sorry, sir, but no one recently admitted matches that description.”
“Ok. Thanks.” Zach hung up the phone and took a deep breath before dialing the next hospital in the phonebook.
“Watertown General, how may I direct your call?”
“Yeah, my name is Zach Carter, I’m looking for my mom, Karen…”
*
“I don’t know where my Nana is.” Millie appeared in the doorway, startling Zach from his thoughts. The setting sun beamed through the large windows beside her as she crossed the room. “My great-aunt. I don’t even know if she’s alive.” She took the wasp spray out of her back pocket and sunk into a chair by the couch. “But at this point, I’m not sure I want to know…”
“There’s a research center in Tennessee,” Zach said after a moment.
“What?”
“This lady I talked to on the radio before all communication broke down said that she’d heard rumors that the research center had found a vaccine,” he continued, turning on the windup light, “That’s where I’m ultimately headed. I doubt they had time to make a vaccine, but I figure the possibility of one would lure people toward the center. I’m thinking that’s where any survivors will be. If you want, you could come, too.”
Millie nodded slowly, contemplating. She loved her house and everything it stood for, but without her family it was just an empty shell. “Ok, I’ll go.”
“Cool. I figure we can leave in the morning.” The room went silent, and he cleared his throat. “Could I-?”
“You can stay in the guest room. It’s through there,” she pointed to a door on the other side of the living room.
“Ok,” Zach said with a smile, “Thanks.”
“Let’s go through the house for supplies tomorrow before we leave- it’s getting too dark to really dig, now.”
“Agreed.”
“I know we have a lot of canned food; Nana always bought wholesale.” Millie stood up, the wasp spray dangling by her side. “How do you feel about cold soup for supper?”
As the pair ate on opposite sides of the kitchen island, an uncomfortable silence hung in the room. Millie glanced around the kitchen, illuminated by the windup light’s blinding bulb.
“So,” she began slowly, shifting in her chair, “How have you been getting on?”
“Hmm?” Zach looked up from his bowl, cheeks chipmunked with soup.
“I mean, have you been just walking toward Tennessee?” Millie poked at the remaining alphabet noodles in her bowl.
Zach shook his head and swallowed. “Well, the big roads were too crammed with cars to drive and I wasn’t too thrilled at the idea of what might happen if I crashed a motorcycle. So, I borrowed a bike originally, but the front tire busted a couple days ago and I haven’t found a good replacement, yet.” He raised the bowl to his lips and upended it, gulping the last of the soup down quickly.
“I have a bike in the garage, and I know the family…the house next door has a couple of them. Maybe one of them would work for you.” Millie slid out of her chair and held out a hand for Zach’s empty bowl.
He relinquished the bowl and sat fidgeting as she took it to the sink. “Thanks, I’ll check it out tomorrow.”
Millie rinsed the bowls and spoons, set them to the side, and turned around to face Zach across the island.
Millie opened a drawer behind her and rummaged around in it. She shut the drawer and turned back, flashligh
t in hand.
The silence returned.
“Well,” Millie said, picking the wasp spray off the island, “It’s late, so I’m going to turn in. The guest room is already made up, so you should be set.” She clicked on the flashlight. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight,” Zach said as she disappeared through the doorway.
Thump! “Gah!”
“Are you okay?” Zach jumped to his feet.
“Yeah,” came the faltering reply, “Goodnight.”
***
Louisiana
Gina carefully slid the pan out of the oven, wrinkling her nose at the foul smoke. Baking attempt number 4: failure. She dropped the pan on the stovetop and turned the oven off, discarding the oven mitts on the counter. She’d been squatting at the old-timey bed-and-breakfast since the owner died a couple of days after she got there. The owner’s room was in the finished basement, so after the woman didn’t come back upstairs a day after going to take a “quick nap,” Gina wedged a chair under the door handle.
The gas stove was the only appliance that still worked, and Gina had been trying to make use of it. She grabbed a knife and sawed into the blackened casserole, smiling triumphantly at the un-scorched middle. She shaved the top off of the casserole and set it burnt-side-down on the counter, doubtful if even Hank would eat it. She spooned most of the middle in a bowl, put the top back into the pan, grabbed a fork, and took both containers into the dining room. Hank was lounging in the sun’s last rays streaming in through one of the shuttered windows. As soon as he smelled the food he was on his feet, bounding toward Gina.