by Lee Beard
“Oh!” He sat up quickly. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” she said, sitting up and shaking her hand. “I mean, I do, but it’s not a bad thing.” She wiggled her fingers and looked at him. “I mean, I don’t-” she stopped, trying to figure out what she was trying to say. Zach raised an eyebrow. “…never mind. Let’s just get out of here.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Verda, LA
A trail of flyers reading “Courage Country Carnival!” snaked their way up the road to the abandoned fairgrounds. The hike had been silent aside from the squeaking of Gina’s oxygen tank wheels. Eric glanced at Gina, who didn’t seem to notice. The wind blew her hair into her face and caught on her oxygen mask, but she made no move to fix it. Eric looked away quickly, the silence making him uneasy. To his right, a row of canvas tents fluttered slightly in the breeze. To his left sat a vast number of rusting metal structures he could only assume were game booths. He stopped walking as one of them caught his eye. Penny's Impossible Pins! A few years ago, Eric spent hours on end practicing how to knock down the dusty old bottles stacked atop one another after Trinity begged him to win her a stuffed animal. He smiled as he remembered how ecstatic she was when he gave her that nauseatingly pink rabbit. Suddenly, an idea crept into his head.
"Hey," he blurted awkwardly, side-eyeing Gina. "I bet I could win you that stuffed bear."
Gina stopped walking and glanced at him. "Think so?"
"Oh, I know so. Come on, I'll show you!"
A small smile crept onto her face. "We really should keep moving if we’re going to get to the generator before dark."
"Come on, Gina,” Eric grinned. “It'll be fun!” He added in a low, sing-song voice.
Gina’s smile vanished, and she looked away from him.
“I mean,” Eric faltered, confused. “I figure we could use a rest from that hike."
Gina glanced at him once more, his puppy-dog eyes blinking up at her. "…okay."
"Vamos!"
Eric sped walked over to Penny’s Impossible Pins, slowing down so Gina could keep up. When they reached the booth, Eric picked up one of the dirt-encrusted tennis balls and wiped it on the bottom of his pants leg.
"Alright, are you ready for this mad skill?" Eric wiggled his eyebrows, trying to make Gina smile again.
"Yeah, okay.”
Eric wound up his arm like a major-league baseball pitcher, and hiked his front leg up. With a mighty "YEEE!" he threw the ball, knocking down the middle tower of pins, and struck a pose. He glanced over at Gina and squinted at her while puckering his lips and sucking in his cheeks. Despite her best efforts, Gina cracked a smile.
Eric wound up faster this time, hiked his leg even higher, and let another ball fly, hitting the left tower in the dead center. The pins fell, sliding off of the platform unimpressively. He spun around with his hands forming two finger-guns, pretending to fire them both at Gina with a “pew, pew.” Her smile grew as he prepped for the final throw. With a great heave, he lobbed the last ball as hard as he could. The ball smashed through the right tower, ricocheted off the wall, and came flying back toward him.
"Agh!" Eric shrieked as the ball smacked his forehead. He grabbed the stand of plushies as he fell backwards, pulling them on top of him as he landed directly on his back.
"Are you okay?"
"Ow, yeah…I'm fine. Just a small injury. Nothing too bad." Eric’s hand stayed firmly attached to his forehead as he pushed the stand off of himself.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I just need a second, also," He said holding up a tan bear. "Here.
Gina gave a small smile, running her thumb over the bear’s red bow tie and bright, shiny glass eyes. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
"Don't mention it. Anything for a – dog!"
"Excuse me?"
Eric scrambled to his feet and jumped behind Gina, who turned to see what he was looking at. A blue-and-black heeler barreled toward them, tongue lolling.
"Hank?" Gina gasped, pulling the mask from her face. She fell to her knees and threw her arms around the dog as he jumped on her. She squeezed her eyes tight as he licked at her chin and barked happily. “Where on earth-?”
"Haaaank? Haaaaank!” A voice called from nearby, followed by a loud whistle.
Gina’s eyes grew wide and her arms dropped to her side. “No way.”
"Dog... Dog..." Eric stuttered, backing away as Hank trotted toward him.
"It can't be," Gina stood up, her hair falling in front of her face.
"Haaaaaank!"A tall, skinny boy emerged from behind a tent. He looked at Gina, and his owl-like eyes shot open.
“Louis?” Gina took a step forward, then another.
"Gina, no! Dog!" Eric shouted, pointing at Hank whose tail wagged as he continued toward the boy.
"Gina!” Louis ran over, stopping five feet in front of her. “What are you doing here?"
“Me? What about you? You were dead.” Gina wheezed slightly.
“I thought so, too!” Louis exclaimed. “But I woke up in a hospital – which The Ambling Dead didn’t prepare me for because they stuck me in a basement, a basement, Gina, it was so dark – and then I found Hank with all his burns that I fixed, don’t worry, which made me think that maybe you died too, but I’m really glad that you didn’t,” he sucked in a breath, “Because Hank was really pretty depressed for a while there and now he’ll be back to his old self!”
“Thank you so much for taking care of him,” Gina said sincerely, tucking her hair behind her ear.
Louis’s face fell as he noticed her burns for the first time. “What happened…?”
“Hey!” Eric cried, "Can someone please get this dog away from me?”
"Hank-"
“-come here, Hank!”
The dog turned away from Eric and trotted back to Gina, who knelt once more to hug him.
Louis, noticing Eric for the first time, waved at him. “I’m Louis.”
Eric squared his shoulders. “Eric.”
“Hank’s Gina’s dog,” Louis explained, “I was just holding onto him for a while.”
“I know.”
“He’s really quite friendly-”
“-I know.”
“…he wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Louis finished slowly. He glanced back at Gina, still petting Hank, and then looked back at Eric. “So…where are you two headed?”
Eric folded his arms. "What’s it to you?"
"Just curious.” Louis looked at Gina once more. “I didn't know if you guys were going to Nowhere, like me."
"Nowhere?" Gina looked up at Louis.
"In Oklahoma. An old man named Ira lives there, and he’s been broadcasting on a radio to any survivors out there. Well, out here, that is. I heard him the other night on a radio I found and he gives survival tips and encourages people to keep going and says that anyone who needs somewhere to be is welcome to go there, so that’s where I’m going. He reminds me of my grandpa, he’s got this soothing voice that just makes you feel safe and at home. So I figured why not? I’ve got nothing else going on and it can get…lonely out here.” Louis shrugged, chewing on his lower lip. “Don’t get me wrong, Hank is a great companion and I love the open road, but I’d like to find a home, you know? Even just for a little while.”
“Yeah,” Gina replied, looking back at Hank.
"I don't know, seems kinda sketchy to me." Eric folded his arms.
"Well, I'm going,” Louis shrugged, glancing at Eric, “And if you’re willing to risk it, I'd love to have the company."
Gina’s brows furrowed a moment. Hank butted her chin with his head, and a small smile worked its way across her face. “That actually sounds-”
"I think we should think about this for a minute." Eric lifted his chin and took a step forward, looking to Gina.
"Why don’t you let her finish what she was going to say?" Louis raised an eyebrow at Eric and looked back to Gina. Eric shot the side of Louis’s head a dirty look.
�
�I want to hear him. Ira.” Gina said, not looking up from Hank.
“I’ve got a radio,” Louis offered.
Gina stood, pausing to breathe a moment. “Let’s go find the generator.”
***
Mobile, AL
There were far too many family members in the house; that the small boy knew for certain. He fidgeted next to his father, who’d set him on the ground to talk to a distant cousin in a hushed tone. They’d been standing in his grandparents’ living room for ages now; he wanted to go play, not be picked up and kissed or pinched on the cheek by anyone who came by on their way to the box. The couch had been moved out of the way to make room for the long wooden box that seemed enormous to the small boy, though he still couldn’t figure out what was so interesting about it.
The black dress pants once belonging to his older cousin itched something fierce, and the tie around his neck was too hot. He didn’t understand why he had to even wear a tie, it wasn’t even Sunday. He huffed loudly and let out a small whine, pulling at the loop around his neck as though it threatened to strangle him.
“Ira,” the boy’s father said sharply, turning away as the cousin moved on, “Stop that right now.”
“It’s too hot,” Ira whined, pulling again at the tie’s steadfast knot.
“If you don’t stop that whining,” his father warned, “I’ll take you out behind the shed and give you something to whine about.”
Ira stopped fidgeting, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. He folded his arms across his small chest and stared at the ground. Suddenly, the room went silent. He looked up to see his mother guiding his grandmother, who wore a black veil over her face, over to the box. Ira’s father clamped a hand onto the boy’s shoulder as Mamaw Honey reached out with a shaking hand to touch the top of the box. Ira’s mother looked to his father with tears on her cheeks, and Ira felt strange. He looked around the room again, and noticed that a lot of people were crying. Why?
Mamaw looked slowly toward them, and smiled gently at Ira. She and Ira’s mother crossed to them, and she reached down to pick the boy up off the ground. She swept the veil to one side to plant a kiss on his cheek before hugging him tightly to her.
“Mamaw loves you,” she whispered, caressing his short hair.
“Where’s Papaw?” Ira asked, suddenly aware that he wasn’t amongst the people in their church clothes. Mamaw froze, her trembling hand resting gently on Ira’s head. She pulled back slowly, looking him in the eye.
“Ira!” Ira’s father snapped. He and Ira’s mother exchanged a “Didn’t you talk to him?” look.
“It’s okay, Benjamin,” Mamaw said, her kind eyes still resting on Ira. “Papaw…he went to Heaven, baby.”
“Why?” Ira didn’t understand, Papaw had just taken him fishing.
“Because Jesus called him there.”
“When’s he coming back?”
One of Ira’s aunts let out a sob at his question, turning into her husband’s shoulder. Ira’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“He’s not,” Mamaw’s voice cracked slightly. “Once someone goes to Heaven, they can’t come back.”
“I want him back,” Ira said, mouth screwing into a pout.
“We all do, baby,” Mamaw began to cry and Ira felt himself being taken from her arms. Benjamin turned his son around to hold him better, but Ira wasn’t having it.
“I want him back!” Ira yelled, kicking his feet. He looked around the room at the sad people, then fixed his eyes on the cross that hung above the radio on the far wall. He’d learned in Sunday School that the cross was where Jesus was. “Give Papaw back, Jesus!” He yelled, kicking his feet in an attempt to wriggle from his father’s arms. “Give him back!”
“Ira you stop that right now,” Benjamin said loudly over his son’s screams.
“No!” Ira kicked his feet harder, and Benjamin flipped the boy over his shoulder, holding his legs still. “Give Papaw back!” Ira screamed one last time as his father hauled him out of the room.
*
Nowhere, OK
Ira opened his eyes to the dim light of his battery-operated lamp. He lifted his head slowly, groaning at the crick that had formed while he was asleep. The large tan chair in the university library was very good for reading, but rather bad for sleeping. He scooted back in the chair to sit up and the book he’d been reading fell from his lap. He glanced at his watch, and grimaced. 7:54. He had six minutes to get across campus. Ira grabbed his cane and stood, groaning slightly as something somewhere popped. He picked up his lamp and hobbled toward the door.
The clock on the wall read 8:07 when he finally slid into the green wheeled chair at the radio desk. Ira took a deep breath and keyed the mic.
“Good evening, friends, this is Ira once again coming to you from Radio Nowhere in Nowhere, Oklahoma. I broadcast every evening from eight o’clock pm, Central standard time, to ten o’clock Central standard time, barring me being late like today or running out of things to say.” He picked up his notes, full of the topics from his previous broadcasts. “Today I’m going to be rehashing some of the things I’ve already talked about in the past, just in case some of you are just now catching this channel, or maybe you just need to hear it again. Whatever the reason, I feel like I should start by talking about wounds – how to clean them, keep them clean, and what the signs of infection are. As I’ve said before, there are no more doctors in this world, and if you leave a rampant infection unchecked, it can kill faster than you’d ever expect. Now, suppose you’ve just gotten cut by a sharp piece of metal…”
***
Verda, LA
By eight o’clock, Eric had located the generator and Louis hooked it up to the string lights around and inside the tent of Madame Marley’s Clairvoyant Casuistries. Inside, Eric and Louis sat far opposite one another on worn-out beanbags; Hank lay across Gina’s lap in the corner as they sat in silence at the end of Ira’s broadcast.
"Well? What did you think?" Louis watched Gina intently, his lower lip sucked into his mouth.
"I want to go to there." Gina said finally, her voice hoarse from coughing.
“Excellent!” Louis grinned, slapping his hands onto his crossed-legged knees. “We can head that way tomorrow if you guys want.”
Gina petted the sleeping Hank softly and glanced at Eric, who glared at the ground. “Eric?”
Eric looked up at her, his face immediately softening. “…yeah. I guess me too.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wynne, AR
"This has got to be the single weirdest year of my life," Zach stated, staring out across the park. The can of soup in his good hand was still half full, even though he and Millie had been sitting at the picnic table for well over 20 minutes. “A tiger? A murderous cult leader? I feel like I’m in one of those crappy young adult novels.”
"Agreed," Millie replied, eying the soup can. "You should really finish that. We've got a lot of ground to cover today, and you'll need the energy." She cleaned her spoon off with a napkin before putting it in a pocket in her backpack. Taking out a marker, she wrote “Don’t give up” and Radio Nowhere’s channel number in big letters on the can's exterior. "Just in case," Millie said, standing and placing the can in the middle of the picnic table. She looked at the ground and picked up a rock, dropping it into the can. “You never know what lost people might wander by.”
Zach nodded, taking the pen from her. “I sure hope this Ira guy is who he says he is.” He wrote on the can’s bumpy surface with some difficulty. He handed back the pen, dropped the spoon in his bag, and stood. “I’d hate to get there and him turn out to be a serial killer or something.” He swung the bag over his shoulder and gestured toward the other side of the huge park. "Shall we?"
“Just wait until you hear tonight’s broadcast before you form an opinion.”
“Why, does he say ‘I’m not a criminal here to skin you and wear your skin as a suit’ or something?”
“Ew.” Millie made a face, stepping around a tipped-
over trash can. “No, I just mean that his voice is very…trustworthy, for lack of better wording. I wish you could have heard the full broadcast last night or the night before. Or the night before that.”
“Me too, but we were a little busy putting as much distance between us and that psycho as possible, remember?” Zach got a bit of a running start and leapt over a ditch.
“Your bike blowing out on us did put a damper on things.” She yawned broadly, the exhaustion evident in her face.
“I told you, you didn’t have to ditch yours, too,” Zach replied, jumping from a small drop-off to the ground. He held out a hand for her to steady herself with as she followed him down.
“Yeah, well. It didn’t make sense for me to be riding in circles around you forever, did it?” They reached the middle of the park where a slightly wooded area lay; a stone bridge curved over a gully at the bottom of a hill, and they made their way toward it.
“If we pass a sporting goods store or bike shop ever again, we can get new rigs. We can trick ‘em out; you can get one with a basket and streamers on the handlebars,” he added with a smirk.
Millie stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide. Her mouth fell open and she gasped dramatically. “Streamers? A basket? Oh, be still my beating heart!” She tilted her head and clasped her hands together under it. “Oh joy of joys, streamers of my very own!” She twirled around and skipped on ahead, stopping at the top of the bridge. “A tisket, a tasket, a green-and-yellow basket!”
Zach threw his head back and burst out laughing, stumbling back under the weight of his backpack. He lost his breath at one point, he was laughing so hard. After a minute, he had to lean on his knees to compose himself. “Good lord, Mil,” he finally managed, “You gotta go without sleep more often.”
She gave him a smirk and curtsied. “Glad I could be so entertaining!” Millie laughed as Zach made his way to the top of the bridge. She stopped suddenly, face falling as she held up a hand. "Did you hear that?"