by Lee Beard
Cleo looked to Caprie. “Go now.”
Caprie nodded, and took off at a run to the middle of the warehouse where they kept the water jug for everyone to use. Zach grabbed a newspaper off of the stack by the front door that was normally used for kindling. He fanned Millie gently as everyone stood around, watching.
“I'll be good,” Millie said, panting, “I just…sit a minute.”
Cleo folded her arms and shook her head at Drake. “It's too hot to be working in here today. Organization can wait, we don’t need people dying here.”
Drake met Cleo’s gaze as something like anger flickered over his face for a moment. Cleo raised her chin, averting her eyes. “Cleo’s right,” he said finally. “We need to alter our current course of action.”
Millie heard herself mumble as ringing exploded in her ears. “Breaks.” She stated as the black dots turned into white dots. “Then it…or it…bad when the heat is too hot.” Her brain was fuzzy and she couldn’t find the right words; the black dots turned into static that gave her tunnel vision.
“Okay,” Zach said, jaw clenching as he shook his head, “We can figure this out later, right now she’s our priority.” Zach knelt beside Millie, who watched the static dance around. “Hey, can you move? I need you to stand up.”
“You stand up.” Millie said defiantly, eyes unfocused.
Zach’s eyebrows knitted and he swallowed hard. “Okay, we’re going somewhere cooler.” He slipped one arm around her back and the other under her knees as Caprie returned with water.
“You’re somewhere cooler,” Millie muttered, continuing to watch the static. Her head lolled backwards and her limbs hung uselessly at her side as Zach carried her out of the warehouse. The prevalent breeze gave him an idea he could only hope would work.
“Somebody get me that chair,” he called behind him, adjusting his grip. “And bring water from the insulated closet, a lot of it.” Caprie handed her water jug to Cleo. Caprie, Xavier, and Wyatt all ran back for water jugs as the rest of the warehouse crew followed closely behind Zach. Roseline slid the chair outside and followed as he moved into the shadow of the warehouse. Drake watched the scene with interest as Zach lay Millie in the chair and removed her shoes.
“Hey Mil,” Zach said, pulling her socks off, “Talk to me, what’s going on?”
“My head hurts,” she muttered feebly. “And you took my shoes.”
Caprie, Kathryn, and Wyatt returned, each carrying two gallons of water.
“Go back and tear open some of those cardboard boxes,” he instructed, and Xavier took off. Zach put a hand to Millie’s forehead. “Okay, Mil, you still with me?” She nodded, her vision clearing but her mind still foggy. “You’re going to hate this, but it’s for your own good.” He grabbed a water jug and opened it, pouring it onto Millie’s head. She sputtered and cried out, but was too weak to move away. “I’m sorry, we’ve got to get your temperature down and this is the only way I know how.” He picked up the next one and proceeded to pour it over her abdomen, soaking her dark purple shirt. She whimpered, face contorting. Xavier came back with a box, torn into pieces. “Here,” he took the pieces from Xavier and handed them to Kathryn, Cleo, Caprie, Roseline, and Wyatt. “I need you to fan her and keep a solid breeze going.” He put a hand to Millie’s forehead, and picked up another jug of lukewarm water. “This would be so much easier if we had ice,” he said through gritted teeth. He poured the jug onto Millie’s legs and feet and grabbed another, opening and upending it onto her head again.
“She’s already soaked, don’t waste water,” Wyatt said. Zach ignored him, focusing on Millie. He put a hand to her head, and it seemed to be working.
“Okay guys,” he said, “Keep going.”
Ten minutes later, Millie's temperature was down enough that she began to shiver. Her mind cleared and she looked up at everyone, embarrassed.
“…Thank you,” she managed, sitting up straighter.
“Alright, everyone,” Drake said, turning the pseudo-crowd’s attention to himself. “Let’s all get back to work.” He looked to Zach. “I trust you’ve got this under control?”
“Uh, yeah,” Zach replied, giving Millie her damp socks back. “I’ll make sure she gets back to her room safe, then come back.”
Drake led the Fly residents back into the warehouse as Millie squeezed her feet back into the socks. She wrinkled her nose and shivered.
“Ugh, wet socks.”
“You feeling okay?”
“Yeah,” Millie said, putting her shoes on. “I’m really tired and my head is still a little wonky, but I’ll be okay.” She swung her feet over the edge of the chair and looked up at Zach. “Thank you. Really.”
“Just returning the favor,” the corner of his mouth twitched upward as he held up his injured palm. Blood had seeped through the bandage and dried, and Millie looked alarmed.
“Did I do that?”
“What?” Zach looked at his hand and started to peel back the bandage. One edge of the partially-healed wound had broken open again, hence the blood. “Nah, pretty sure that was me getting too overzealous with the boxes in there.”
Millie stood shakily, and Zach instinctively wrapped an arm around her back to make sure she wouldn’t fall.
“Thanks.” She grabbed his shoulder to steady herself. “Borderline heatstroke can do some weird things.” She let go and stood straighter. “You can go back to the warehouse, now. I’ll be okay.”
“You sure ‘bout that?” Zach said, pulling back and watching Millie’s slow blinking. “You just said you’re still feeling weird.”
“Yeah, but I’m okay.” Millie smiled blearily.
“Humor me, please. Let me make sure you get back okay.”
“If you must.”
Zach walked behind and to the side of Millie with his arms at the ready in case she fell, eliciting an amused smile from her.
“I’m okay, really,” she told him for the thousandth time, “I just need rest.”
“Okay – watch your step – I believe you. I just want to make sure you get there safely is all.”
Millie stopped suddenly, staring down the road. Zach looked where she was and…nothing.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
Millie continued to stare, before shaking her head hard and covering her eyes with one hand. “Now I’m the one who’s hallucinating,” she muttered.
“What?”
“I coulda swore I saw my Nana standing at the end of the road.”
Zach squinted. “…where?”
“That’s what I’m saying. The heat just got to me.” She sighed and frowned, keeping her eyes closed as she dropped her hand. She opened one eye slightly, then the other. She sighed and started forward again.
When they reached her door, Millie pulled the key from her pocket and turned back to face Zach.
“I’ve got it from here, thanks.” She gave him a sleepy smile and unlocked the door. She dropped her key back into her pocket, and realized something was missing from her belt. “Dang, I left my walky-talky back at the warehouse.”
“Here,” Zach took his walky-talky off his belt and handed it to her. “Take my radio. I’ll just pick up yours and we can swap later or something.”
“Thanks. Again,” she added, opening the door and stepping inside. “I’m going to sleep now.”
“If you need anything, just buzz me.”
“Okay.”
Dinner that evening was rice and beans, a dish that – according to Kathryn – was seen quite a bit around Fly. Millie came in late, her cheeks still pink from that afternoon. As everyone ate, Drake stood at the head of the table as usual.
“Great work today everyone. Cleo and I talked about it earlier, and we want to propose the idea that because of the heat wave, and the incident this afternoon, we need to make a few adjustments to the schedules. Everyone needs to put their safety above work, and to take care of yourselves. If you're not healthy, the town isn't healthy. I'm very impress
ed with the way that our town has been working like a well-oiled machine, but as we all know, if one cog gets rusty, the whole machine falls apart. We need to make sure that that does not happen here. So, take care of yourselves, take breaks as you need them, and be sure and keep lots and lots of water nearby, and drink it. Does that sound good?” Everyone at the table nodded in agreement with a few mm hmms thrown in for good measure. “Good, good,” Drake said with a smile.
Millie glanced around the room, suddenly unnerved.
“Now,” Drake continued, “Tomorrow is Thursday, Maintenance Day, so breakfast will be at 10 AM. I want to thank you all again for your cooperation and switching up the schedule this week; I know that we have some who prefer things to be routine, so I especially thank those who don't like change. Take it easy this evening,” he looked at Millie, making her uncomfortable, “And we’ll reconvene here at 10 AM.” Drake stood, taking his bowl into the kitchen. He returned and passed to the table, going out the front door.
“Are you sure you're okay?” Zach asked Millie as they cleaned up after dinner.
“Yes,” she replied, “I'm a little boggled, but I'll be okay.”
“Okay,” he replied, “If you insist.”
“I think I'm going to turn in early again,” she said. “Try to sleep some of this off.”
“Okay,” Zach replied. “Do what you need to do. Oh,” he stopped her, “Here’s your radio back.” They switched walky-talkies and Millie left.
On her way back to the motel, Millie passed by an alleyway and movement caught her eye. She glanced down the alley and did a double take, quickly speeding past. She wrinkled her nose at the sight, and tried to shake the image of Drake and Cleo kissing out of her head.
That night, Millie awoke to the sound of her door hitting the chain lock. She lay on her side facing away from the door, but saw a light fall over her bed. She glanced at the mirror in the corner of the room to see what had happened. She froze. It was too dark to make out the face, but it was a clearly masculine figure holding a lamp. Her heart pounded wildly as she quickly tried to think of an escape plan. Before she could make a move, the door shut again.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Can you hear me?” Louis came to, eyes and brain full of static. Gina’s face suddenly appeared above him. He stared at her through half-open eyes, confused. The bus must have flipped, because her face was framed by seats overhead. Yeah, he tried to say, I can hear you. His voice didn’t sound, lips unmoving. He tried to sit up, but his muscles didn’t respond. Oh God, he thought, I’m paralyzed! He reeled inside his head, desperately trying to do something, anything.
Suddenly, Gina moved closer, placing a hand on his face. It was soft, gentle as she tapped his cheek. “Come on…please don’t do this.” Fear etched itself into her face – her round, freckled, beautiful, face. The world momentarily flickered out of focus. Sirens. Gina shifted, brows knitting together. She looked up suddenly, face stoic again. She stood quickly and disappeared from his field of vision. No, Louis thought, please don’t go. Don’t leave me!
*
Hank sneezed.
Louis opened his eyes and looked at the dog panting placidly beside him. They lay in the shade of an abandoned armored truck labeled “Gruff Security Inc.,” complete with large cartoon goat head painted above it. It crashed into a tree just past a sign bidding them farewell from Kisatchie National Park. Louis sat up and leaned against the truck, using his backpack as a sort of cushion. Beside him sat a thermal water bottle and a bowl. The dog began to lick and nibble at one of his bandaged front paws, prompting Louis to tap him on the nose.
“No,” he said, “Don’t do that. You’ll pull it loose again.” Hank yawned, blowing hot dog breath into Louis’ face. “Ugh.” The boy waved the stench away. “Don’t be gross. Here,” he scooted the bowl closer to the dog and upended the water bottle into it. “Drink the last of this and we’ll be on the road again.” Hank quickly lapped up the water, licking the bowl clean of any leftover droplets. Louis stashed the bowl and the bottle in one of his backpack’s many zippers. “On the road again…going places that I’ve never been…” Louis sang to the dog as they stood. Louis leaned down to pick his bike helmet with the solar panel duct-taped on top up off the ground. “Seeing things that I may never see again…” He swung his backpack onto his shoulders, grabbed the cord leading to his laptop inside, and plugged it into his helmet. Once the helmet was securely fastened on his head, he picked his bike up off the ground, mounted it, and pushed off on the pedals. “And I can’t wait to get on the road again!”
*
Darkness. Louis opened his eyes. More darkness. He blinked and raised his hands to rub his eyes. I can move, he thought. “I’m not para-!” A dry cough cut off his jubilant cry. He hacked and retched to one side, throat feeling like sandpaper. He swallowed hard multiple times to try and generate saliva in his mouth, to little success. He struggled to sit up, joints popping with every movement. As he reached up to stretch his aching arms, something tugged painfully at the back of his hand. He touched the spot on his hand and felt a tube sticking out of it. “Am I in a hospital?” He wondered out loud. He reached out to one side and felt a metal rail running along the bed – no, the gurney. “H-hello? Nurse? Or, er, somebody?” No response. Wherever he was, it was completely silent, standing his hair on end. Louis carefully un-taped the tube from his skin and slid the needle gently out of his hand, gagging at the sensation. He swung his socked feet off of the gurney and shakily stood, grabbing at the rail as his knees buckled. The socks had rubber grips on the bottom, making is a little easier to keep from falling to the tile. The paper gown he wore crinkled as he slowly moved one leg in front of the other, leaning on the gurney for support. When he reached the end, he ran into a curtain. Brushing the curtain back revealed yet more darkness, setting off an alarm in his head. “Am I blind?” He rubbed his eyes hard and tiny lights danced across his closed eyelids. He followed the edge of the curtain on tiptoe, searching for a wall with a light switch. Suddenly, something cold and metal hit his hip. He ran his hands over it, touching cloth and the edge of a pillow. Another gurney. He reached to push it away, and touched something cold and leathery. He ran he hand over it lightly, and grasped a nose. He gagged and recoiled, stumbling backwards into the curtain. He tripped over something on the ground and landed square on his backside. “Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god,” he gasped to himself, shaking the hand that touched the corpse. Was that a corpse, his brain asked, or was that a sleeping axe murderer? Louis froze, heart pounding loudly in his ears. Was that some sort of living dead that you just woke up? Did you touch the face of a cannibal mutant zombie? The thoughts came rapidly as terror began to seep into every corner of his body. Are they watching you with their night vision goggles? Are they waiting for you to run so they can chase you? Are they slowly closing in right now, ready to tear into your flesh with their razor-sharp claws? Louis curled into a ball and protected the back of his neck with his hands. He tried not to whimper as images of things that might be lurking in the dark flooded his head. “I gotta get out of here,” he whimpered to the ground, “I gotta get out of here.”
*
Suddenly, two gunshots in rapid succession sounded nearby. Louis immediately threw on the brakes and looked toward the woods up ahead. He could just make out movement in the distance. Hank stared, ears twitching. Another shot rang out through the trees, closer than before, followed by two more. Louis quickly wheeled his bike off the road into the tall grass lining the ditch on the other side and crouched low in the grass. Hank stood stoically on the road, still staring toward the source of the gunshot. Louis clicked his tongue and whisper-called for the dog. He didn’t budge.
“Hank! Get over here!” Louis hissed, taking off his helmet and backpack and laying out flat on his stomach. The dog glanced back at him, then to the woods. Louis ducked his head down and watched the trees. A boy and girl looking to be a few years younger than Louis emerged from the woods. The boy was toting a rif
le almost as big as himself, and the girl swung a dead rabbit in either hand.
“We got ‘em, we got ‘em,” the boy giggled, doing a small victory dance. He had what appeared to be blood smeared on his camouflage pants, as well as his tan ballcap.
“Tolja I was a good shot,” the girl smirked, stepping carefully over a branch blocking her path. Her brown hair was in two messy braids, and a large knife hung from her belt. A strap across her chest held something tied to her back, but Louis couldn’t tell what it was from his angle. He glanced at Hank, who seemed to be assessing if they were friend or foe.
“Yeah, right,” the boy snorted. He kicked something out of his way as he stepped up onto the asphalt. “You barely even wounded that one.”
“Only because I wanted to finish it off proper,” the girl retorted, waving one of the rabbits in his face. The boy smacked it out of his face, knocking it from her hand. “Hey!” She exclaimed as the rabbit bounced onto the road. Hank suddenly took a couple steps toward the rabbit and snorted, catching the pair’s eye.
“Ey!” The boy raised the rifle to his shoulder, pointing it at Hank.
“Don’t shoot!” Louis yelled. He stood, hands flying up when the boy turned his gun on him.
“You a zombie?!” The boy took a step forward, gun still pointing at Louis.
“Where?” Louis shrieked, spinning to look behind him.
“Put it down, Gunner!” The girl screamed, pushing the barrel away and toward the ground as Louis spun back to face them. “Zombies. Can’t. Talk,” she said, over-emphasizing each word.
He glared at her. “I knew that! I was just making sure.” The girl quickly leaned down and grabbed the rabbit off the ground, shoving its hind leg into her belt. The boy, Gunner, turned his glare to Louis. “That your dog?”