Radio Nowhere

by Lee Beard

  “What’d you find?” Millie sat on the motionless conveyor belt of checkout stand 9, munching on a granola bar. Zach set the box on the counter next to her.

  “Everything that nobody else wanted,” he held a can of spinach aloft, “And some mystery munchies.” Millie picked up one of the unlabeled cans and shook it. “Best guess?”

  “Soup,” she stated. “Or beans of some sort.”

  “Good enough for me.” Zach opened his backpack and shoved the cans in.

  The pair squinted into the lowering sun as they exited the store.

  “We need to find somewhere to sleep,” Millie said, grabbing her bike from the wall she’d leaned it on. She swung a leg over it and sat, pushing off of the ground as Zach climbed onto his bike.

  “There’s gotta be a neighborhood down one of these roads,” Zach replied, standing up slightly on the pedals to get the bike moving faster. “We could find a house and break a window, we’re pretty good at that.”

  “Eh…” Millie wrinkled her nose at the thought of sleeping in a dead person’s bed. She glanced to her right across the parking lot and stopped. “What about that mattress store over there?”

  Zach put a foot on the ground and followed her gaze. Sure enough, there was a giant sign outside of one of the doors in the strip mall that proclaimed “Select mattresses half off this Labor Day!”

  “They’re a bit off season, but I can’t argue with a conveniently-placed sale.” He shrugged.

  Millie rolled her eyes and pushed off from the ground again. “C’mon, let’s go see what we can find.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Louisiana

  The only things left in Gina’s duffel were a jar of peanut butter, ten protein bars, powdered Gatorade, a map, and the two envelopes. Hank walked just ahead of her as they meandered down the road, stepping over fallen branches as a car alarm sounded weakly in the distance. The map said to stay on this road for another ten miles until she hit the interstate, where she would hang a right. From there, it was almost a straight shot to Greenville.

  She couldn’t have stayed in the B&B after the nightmare even if she’d wanted to; the windstorm sent half a tree through the roof the previous night, taking out a wall and destroying the structural integrity of the old house. Besides, she reasoned, what could it hurt to find out if any of her relatives were alive?

  The Louisiana sun beat down harshly, as if its sole purpose was to burn any redheads who happened to be passing through. Gina shifted the LSU umbrella she’d lifted from the B&B and wiped her forehead on her arm; the tradeoff of wearing a short-sleeved shirt instead of a longer one that would keep her skin from blistering was that she had to find a more creative way to outsmart the sun. She smiled to herself, remembering the old movies she used to watch on late-night TV. She was no Audrey Hepburn, and the purple-and-gold umbrella with snarling tigers on it was no white parasol, but she held her head a little higher as she walked just the same.

  Suddenly, Hank stopped moving, giving Gina pause. She followed the dog’s eyeline and looked down the road to try and figure out what had caught his attention. There, fifty or so yards away, was a figure bending down next to a red pickup truck on the side of the road. Gina’s pulse quickened and she stepped slowly off the road, dropping the umbrella and duffel and crouching behind an abandoned car. The figure had its back to her, and had a messenger bag slung across its back. Gina looked to Hank, who wasn’t where she left him; the mutt bounded quickly toward the unsuspecting person, giving Gina no time to call him back. The person – a boy – suddenly turned around and shrieked, jumping up.

  “Hank!” Gina called, running toward the truck as the boy scrambled into the bed of the pickup truck to get away from him, losing a shoe and falling into the back in the process. Hank leapt against the side of the truck, barking. Gina could tell by the pitch of his bark that Hank just wanted to play, but obviously the boy couldn’t. “Hank, c’mere, boy!” Gina called again as she approached the dog. He turned and loped back to her, tongue out and tail wagging furiously.

  The boy – looking to be a little younger than Gina – slowly raised his head up, eyes wide. Gina grabbed Hank’s collar and held him at her side awkwardly.

  “…sorry,” she offered, adjusting her grip on the collar.

  “Does he bite?” The boy asked, sitting up fully and scooting to where his back rested against the truck’s cab. His gaze fixed warily on Hank as he reached behind him to pull his bag into his lap.

  Gina hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Only if I tell him to.”

  The boy’s lifted his brown eyes to hers. “Please don’t tell him to bite me.”

  “Okay.” Gina shifted on her feet, wiping her forehead again. She didn't realize how useful the umbrella really was until it was gone.

  The boy’s watch started beeping, and he switched it off. “Just a minute.” Looking back at Hank, the boy started to open his bag, and Gina tensed. Hank closed his mouth and looked up at her as the boy pulled a smaller bag out of the bigger bag. He pulled a small pen-like device out of the bag along with something that resembled a small calculator, and plugged a tiny plastic strip into the calculator. Gina suddenly noticed that his right pinky was gone entirely, and the ring and middle finger on that hand were only stubs. She watched, fascinated, as he pressed the pen to his left ring finger and there was a small pop; he put the pen in his lap and squeezed the finger until a drop of blood appeared. He wiped the blood onto the plastic strip and pressed a button on the calculator-thing, and after a moment it beeped loudly. He reached into the bag again, pulling out a package of slightly-melted gummy bears. He opened them and popped one into his mouth, holding the package out toward Gina. “Want one?” She shook her head. He pulled out a couple more and ate them slowly one after another, eyes fixed once more on Hank. “Type one diabetes, diagnosed when I was eleven because God hates me.”

  “Is that what happened to your fingers?” Gina heard herself say. Mrs. Winston, a lady back in Sparta that she had cleaned the house of a few times, lost her entire hand to diabetes.

  “Nah,” he replied, eyes not leaving Hank as he put everything neatly back into his bag, “That was my uncle’s dog.”

  Gina glanced first at Hank then to the boy’s shoe on the ground. A series of straps stuck out of the tennis shoe, and she squinted at it, confused.

  The boy leaned over the side of the truck and followed her gaze. “Ah. Yeah, that was diabetes.” He lifted his leg, showing off a socked nub that ended right above where his toes should have been. “If I get sick, I don’t always heal as well as I should. I got a bad infection and the piggies had to go. Sometimes my prosthetics don’t fit right.” Gina looked back at the shoe, then to the gas can and hose beside it. "I'm siphoning gasoline for my generator back home," the boy said, as if reading Gina's mind.

  Gina was suddenly pulled toward the ground as Hank decided to lie down. She let go of his collar and stood up, registering the sudden panic on the boy's face. "It's okay, Hank's not mean." Regardless, the boy's brown eyes were wide with fear. Gina crouched back down and grabbed ahold of Hank’s collar, attempting to coax the dog into a sitting position so she could maintain her grip on him. He didn’t budge, so she took off her belt and looped it around his collar as a makeshift leash.

  The boy sat up straighter, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “Can you hand me my shoe?”

  When the boy had strapped his shoe back on, he stood up in the bed of the truck. “I’m Eric. Eric Perez.”

  “Gina.”

  “You’re sure he doesn’t bite?” Eric ran his fingers over the brown canvas bag at his side absentmindedly.

  “Yeah.”

  Eric hopped down from the bed of the truck. Even standing a good ten feet away, Gina could tell that he was a lot smaller than she was – quite an accomplishment. Eric wheeled a previously unseen wagon of gas cans out from in front of the truck.

  "I still have a few more cans to try and fill up before I head home. If you want, you can co
me with me." Gina hesitated. She couldn't help but feel a little guilty for feeling more secure in the fact that Eric was afraid of Hank. But at least if something went wrong, she would have protection.

  "Okay."

  Two hours and two stops to check blood sugar later, the sun was fading in the distance. Eric walked ahead of Gina and Hank, pulling the wagon.

  "My house is up this way," Eric called over his shoulder, glancing at Hank for the thousandth time. "The driveway is no good, so be sure and watch your step." Eric’s house sat back about 20 yards from the road; it was a small, one-story paneled house, with what appeared to be a detached garage and breezeway. Its paved, half-circle driveway didn't quite reach the road, so there was a small gap between the asphalt and concrete. Eric jerked the wagon over the gap, and marched ahead toward the breezeway, leaving Gina unsure as to if she should follow. As if reading her mind, Eric looked over his shoulder again and said, “If you want, you can go into the house. The key is under the mat."

  The front door opened up into Eric's living room, a modestly furnished home that obviously had been decorated by an older woman. Hank tried to climb onto the pastel plaid couch, but Gina held him fast by the makeshift leash. The dog whined, and Gina crouched to his level. He licked Gina's face mercilessly and she pushed him away, laughing.

  "Calm down," she said, putting her duffel on the floor. She unzipped it and pulled out Hank’s leash, clipping it to his leather collar. "You can't go loose because he's afraid of you." Which may actually be to my advantage. Gina slipped her belt back on and looked out the front window, checking for any sign of Eric. Seeing none, she took Hank and went to find the kitchen. She was greeted with walls lined with shelves; on those shelves sat hundreds of jars of canned food. She marveled at the sheer volume of food being stored in such a small space, and wondered to what degree Eric's family had prepared. She went to the fridge and opened the cabinet above it. More cans. She shut that cabinet and quickly look through all the remaining cabinets in the kitchen, finding more and more non-perishable food items.

  "What are you looking for?" Gina spun around and saw Eric standing in the doorway, eyebrow raised.

  "I was checking to make sure that you aren't an alcoholic," Gina stated bluntly.

  "Oh," Eric said quietly. "Well, my grandfather was a Baptist who believed alcohol’s sinful, so you won't find any here." Eric glanced at Hank. "Is there a specific kind of dog food that he has to eat?"

  Gina shook her head. "He eats what I eat mostly." Eric crossed to the refrigerator and pulled it open. It was full to the brim with vacuum-sealed meats.

  “Do you eat meat or are you a vegetarian?"

  "Not a vegetarian."

  "Cool. I’m glad I started up the grill, then." Eric grabbed a package of sausage links and skirted around Hank to grab a jug of water and two plastic cups. He opened one of the lower cabinets and pulled out four plates, balancing it all clumsily. "Could you help me carry some things outside?" Gina nodded, following Eric to the hallway. Eric opened the hall closet, revealing that it was full almost to the brim with fireworks. "My family really liked fireworks," Eric said with a small smile. Gina had a sudden flashback to Sparta. Sparta, the house. Dirk.

  "Do you like fireworks?" Eric asked. Gina squeezed her eyes shut a moment before looking back at him.

  "I don't know," She shrugged. "I've never really seen them. Not up close, I mean."

  "What?" Eric's jaw dropped. "How on earth have you not seen them up close?"

  Gina shrugged again. "I just… never got around to it, I guess." Eric gathered up an armful of fireworks and handed them to Gina, stepping back and away from Hank immediately.

  "Where are you from, anyway?"

  Gina cradled the fireworks in her free arm like a baby. "West Texas."

  "What are you doing all the way out here, if you don't mind me asking?" Eric loaded up his arms with fireworks as well and nodded for Gina to go back down the hall.

  "I think I've got family out here." She opened the back door and stepped out.

  "You think?" Eric gestured with his head toward a picnic table under a small tree. “Over there.”

  "What are the fireworks for?" Gina asked, dodging the question. She dropped the fireworks onto the picnic table and surveyed the huge yard.

  "…well," Eric replied, placing his load of fireworks next to hers. "In my family, we always believed that every day is a day for celebration; that every day is worth throwing a party for. When you've got two kids with health problems that may or may not make it to adulthood, you learn to appreciate the little things.” He opened the package of sausages and started putting some on the grill. “Besides," he added, "Fireworks are really fun, and it gave us an excuse to annoy our neighbors."

  "Aren't you worried that the fireworks might draw attention to you and your house and all the things that you've got here?"

  Eric rolled the sausages on the grill, jumping back as one popped and shot juice at him. "I hate being by myself…I've never liked being completely alone. So, if my fireworks bring people to me, then I'm okay with that."

  "Has it brought you people before?"

  "Not exactly," Eric poked one of the sausages and jerked his hand back. He grabbed one of the plates and transferred the meat to it. "A couple of kids came through, but they were in a hurry and didn't much care to stay. They wouldn't say where they were going, they just said something about preparing for the zombies and took off. They seemed a little… off their rockers, if I'm being completely honest." Gina sat down at the picnic table as Eric set the plate down in the middle. She slid some onto her plate, and some onto the third plate for Hank. She walked him over to the tree with the rope around it and tied his collar to the end.

  By the time they finished eating, the sun had set and dusk began to creep in.

  “Now, for your firework education,” Eric said with a smile. He grabbed a handful of what looked like very long and colorfully wrapped cigarettes on sticks from the pile of fireworks. “Uh,” he looked at Hank, you probably don’t want to get him too close to these.”

  Gina tied Hank’s leash to the picnic table and stepped back.

  Eric pulled a lighter out of his pocket and flipped it on, lighting all six of the sticks’ ends. They sparked suddenly, and Eric put the lighter back into his pocket.

  "Here," Eric held out one of the sticks to Gina as it began to sparkle and pop. She stood and crossed to him, eyes never leaving the sparklers. Eric separated his handful of sparklers into two bunches, handing three to Gina and keeping three for himself.

  "What do I do now?" Gina held the sparklers at arm’s length.

  "Wave them around!"

  She moved slowly at first, before waving them around faster, mesmerized by the smoke trail and sparks that hung in the air.

  Eric watched her curiously. "You really haven't ever played with any fireworks, have you?"

  "No. I like them," Gina said, eyes never leaving the sparklers. Suddenly, they sputtered and went out. "Aw.”

  “Want more?”

  Gina looked back at the picnic table and pointed to a package of colorful tubes. "What do those do?"

  "Those are Roman candles," Eric went back to the table and opened the package, removing two of them. "You're technically supposed to put them in the ground, but…"

  "What?"

  "Well, I'll just show you." Eric handed a candle to Gina and told her to hold it away from her body. "Don't freak out, it's going to shoot things."

  “Shoot… things?" Gina raised an eyebrow. Eric moved closer, putting his hand on the Roman candle above Gina's.

  "There will be eight of them, so be sure and count," Eric pulled out the lighter and flicked it on. Gina resisted her natural instinct to move away from him as he held the lighter to the candle. It sparked, and Eric stepped away. "Point it out!" Gina did, and was amazed when a blue ball of light shot from the end. A second ball of light, a red one, followed the blue one, and arced higher than the first.

  "Two," Gina murmure
d, watching as the ball of light faded into nothingness. Another soon followed, only this time it crackled loudly as it streaked across the sky. As soon as that one began to fade, two more shot out in rapid succession; one sizzler and one green ball. She tilted the Roman candle up more, still pointing it forward but at a much sharper angle. The next stream of light went higher than any of the others, disappearing a lot sooner. The final two were both sizzlers that shot out one right after another.

  "Ta-dah!" Eric proclaimed, smiling. "And that, my friend, is a Roman candle." Gina returned the smile, and glanced back at the Roman candle that she still held away from her body pointed skyward. "Here," Eric held his hand out, "I'll take that." He took it to a patch of dirt and rubbed the tube into the ground.

  They quickly exhausted the supply of Roman candles and sparklers they'd brought out. Gina was just as mesmerized when Eric fired off a few bottle rockets.

  "These are technically illegal," he told her, wedging one into the ground. "But I don't know if laws really apply here anymore." He lit the fuse and ran back toward Gina.

  "I wonder what's going to happen now."

  "What do you mean?" Gina squinted toward Eric in the ever-dimming light. It was at a point where she could only make out the big shape of his head.