“You don’t think the cure will work?”
He lowers his head a little, shaking it slightly. “It might work, but it won’t change anything.”
Seems I have company in the paranoid department.
“Not an optimist, are you?”
“Nope. Not at all.”
For some reason, Lancaster reminds me of Danny. Maybe it’s the straightforwardness and lack of faith in humanity. Whatever it is, he’s starting to become interesting.
“What do you do back on the base, exactly?”
He chuckles. “Besides fixing stuff and rebooting computers? I watch the cameras.”
“Just you?”
“Pretty much. I have the night shift, but it always extends to the day shift.”
So you were the one that saw my knife and told Irons about it. “That means you keep an eye on everything, twenty-four seven? That seems... extreme. And not very practical.”
“The base is pretty empty now. So I watch the cameras pointed at living people. I know everyone’s routine and everything that happens in there.”
His pride at invading other people’s privacy rubs me the wrong way, and when I finally say something, I don’t hide my disgust. “Very Orwellian of you.”
“I won’t apologize.” He clears his throat before continuing, “For what I did. I was the one who told the Captain about the knife you tried sneaking in. I had a job to do, you know.”
“Well, now I have a gun instead.”
He frowns and becomes silent at my comment. And that’s fine by me. I’m too focused on driving on an ice road to bother with small talk.
We reach the shore by midday, not that our scenery changes much. I don’t stop for a snack, but Lancaster manages just fine. He searches for food inside our bags in the back and finds a pack of saltine crackers. He munches loudly on them, much to my annoyance. After too many minutes of finger licking and open-mouth crunching, I glare at him. When he finally catches my expression, Lancaster smiles, exposing teeth full of crumbs.
“Want one?”
I narrow my eyes at him but my empty stomach betrays me with an ill-timed growl. “Like you didn’t eat everything already.”
He grins wide and shows the insides of the ripped package: three crackers. I take two and shove them in my mouth so my right hand can go back to holding the wheel before we slip on the ice and die. And that’s the end of our conversation, but he doesn’t stay quiet for long.
Acting as a hyperactive five-year-old would, Lancaster mumbles a song and drums with his hands on his thighs between yawns and blowing his runny nose with his sleeves. It goes on and on. This car ride couldn’t be more different from what I’m used to. Right now, I miss the comfortable silence Father and I shared. The quiet humming of our old truck, wind blowing against the vehicle, the sound of our game bumping and sliding in the back as Father’s hands grip the wheel, turning it slowly, methodically.
How many times did I doze off, happy to trust him to guide us safely through the pitch-black roads? For all his talk of doom, of the dangers of the world, I honestly never felt true danger while I was with him. Ironically enough, I was never afraid, not the way I am now. Doubt, that’s the real mind-killer, I guess.
Lancaster casually picks his nose. “I bet if I tried to pee outside, it would freeze midair.”
Before I can help myself, I let out a short laugh. Here I am, wallowing again while the guy sitting next to me is wondering about pee. I should be annoyed at him but after months of death and destruction, the fact that someone can still make pee jokes is humbling.
“How old are you again?”
“Nineteen.”
I glance at him for a second or two before gluing my eyes to the front again. “Really? How the hell did you end up in that place?”
He shrugs. “I’m still alive.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He stops his drumming and sighs. “I was an intern for an outsourced maintenance crew before all this happened. The rest of the team died. Irons—well, I told her I’m a hard worker, so she picked me for the job.”
I swallow hard as a strange, creeping feeling crawls from the pit of my stomach to my throat. “People seem to be dropping like flies in there. Doesn’t look like there’s a lot of the staff left.”
Lancaster stays silent for a while, then says, “Things are bad everywhere, even here. People die.”
“So, Irons sent your team on these missions?”
“Yep.”
I raise my eyebrows. “And they died.”
“Yep.”
“And after all that, you still agreed to come. Why?”
He casts his gaze downward and rubs his hands together for warmth. “Orders are orders. Fixing a lamp or sacrificing your life; it’s all the same if the Captain tells you to do it.”
“You sound like one of her soldiers.”
Lancaster sniffs and covers his mouth with both hands to blow air on them. “Yeah, well. The Captain has a way of inspiring loyalty. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be here. We trust her to know what’s best.”
It’s hard to buy his explanation from what I’ve seen of Irons. Sure, everyone’s at her beck and call, but after so many people died during missions she forced them to go on, why would anyone trust her leadership? I wouldn’t.
Yet, here am I, doing her bidding.
Unaware of my thoughts, Lancaster keeps talking, “Besides, what’s the difference between dying inside the base or outside?”
I frown deeply. “Why would anyone die inside the base?”
Maybe I was too quick to accept this mission. Did I miss something that would endanger Roger and Danny while I’m gone?
Lancaster shakes his head quickly, turning to face me. “What I meant was that...” He coughs. “Supplies aren’t going to last forever. We could all starve to death in a few months. If I die out here, at least I’ll go out fast thanks to the cold.” He smiles and points at his chest. “Again, not an optimist.”
Starving to death is only one possibility, but telling him the many ways he could slowly die here might scare him, and scared, untrained people aren’t the best travel companions on a dangerous mission. If you don’t know how screwed you really are, you still hold on to hope and fight with all you’ve got.
“But I’m not that worried. The Captain told me you’re pretty capable, so I’m safe, right?”
After facing the front window for a second, I answer him. “Sorry. Out here, there are no guarantees.”
For all his casual tone while talking about dying, Lancaster goes quiet, fixing his eyes on the boring scenery outside as if it’s all very interesting.
The weather improves during the afternoon, the white mist fading and the howling winds growing weak. I’m less tense now that I can see more than a few feet in front of me. Irons’s route proves to be safe, and we make good time. Sadly, as much as I want to get to the mines fast, I have no choice but to stop when the headlights pierce the darkness ahead.
“You can sleep in the back. I’ll stay here,” I tell Lancaster as I turn the engine off after parking on higher ground, where we hopefully won’t wake up buried in snow. “Be ready to help me shovel us out tomorrow.”
He grimaces, but nods, using the back window to slip into the rear. Adjusting the seats, I finally find a position that won’t destroy my back completely, resting my feet up on the panel and using a few blankets to support my head. Not that sleep comes easily. My mind keeps wandering to Roger and Danny, to Father, and even Mrs. Terrence. What would she say about our decision to infect Danny? What would she think of us? At the time, I was so sure, so certain that keeping Danny alive was the right choice. No. To be honest, there was no choice involved. There was no alternative to consider.
But I shouldn’t have taken the lead. I ignored Roger. I gave him no chance to think about it. I just did it. Took the decision from his hands, from the person Danny trusted and considered his family. Why did I do that?
I shake my hea
d, trying to clear my thoughts. I did it because Roger only stood there, shell-shocked. Incapable of taking action. Too emotional to see Danny’s best chance of survival. Roger resents me for it, but I did what I had to do, and it wasn’t a mistake.
I twist my body, not in search of a more comfortable position, but to distract myself. Doesn’t work, of course. What works, for better or worse, is listening to the faint, but constant, snores coming from the back.
A hissing wind and a metallic slam jerk me awake. Pain in my neck and knees flares as I sit up and search for a flashlight in the glove compartment. My cheeks and nose feel numb as if the chilly air made its way inside while I slept, but the doors on both sides are closed. I twist my body and open the window separating the front from the back. The back door is half-open, and Lancaster is nowhere to be seen. Why would he leave, and where would he go in the middle of the night? Is he stupid enough to pee outside without telling me about it?
I scan my surroundings, only to find a dark nothing. With a sigh, I zip up my jacket again and put on my snowshoes and goggles. Going outside is definitely the stupid thing to do, but I did agree to protect this idiot, and I’m sure that going back without him or the equipment Irons wants means I’ll lose my weapon again.
Outside, I use a hiking pole to test my way to the back of the truck, flashlight hanging from a cord around my neck. I do find his rucksack safely stored below the bench. He intends to come back. The question is: can he?
Whatever footprints he might’ve left are long buried by the wind. Going after him without knowing which direction he went is far too dangerous with visibility this low. What I can do is help him find his way back using flares. I go back to the front of the truck and reach for the emergency kit stored below the passenger seat, only to find the two flare gun cases empty.
Great. Now what?
A bright red light tints the whole truck, casting long shadows over the seat. I spin around to find the source: a flare in the sky. So he had the foresight to take the gun in case he got lost? Why not just wake me up? My gloved fingers fumble inside my jacket pockets for the keys. I jump to the driver’s side and turn the key in the ignition. The engine roars, then whimpers as the flare begins to fade, its light flickering more and more.
“Dammit.”
No choice, I need to go on foot. Quickly, I grab my backpack with supplies and another flashlight from the emergency kit. I turn the flashlight on, then place it on the front panel in case I need help coming back.
I follow the bright red spot in the sky while using a pole to find a safe spot to bury my feet. The effort drains my lungs, blood leaving my extremities from the freezing weather. Cleaning my goggles makes no difference so I look behind to check if the truck is still in the same spot that I’m not walking in circles. My own personal guiding beacon, at least until the batteries die.
The terrain changes from snow and rocks to plain, thick ice. I stash the hiking pole and use my arms for balance. Slowly, the red light dies out and disappears from the sky. I keep moving forward until I spot what’s left of the flare on the icy ground. The dying fire flickers once, then twice, before going out for good and leaving me alone in complete darkness. The flashlight on my chest reveals nothing past my heavy breathing. There’s no sign of Lancaster.
Ice cracks around me once, then twice. I reach for the gun inside my jacket as all my muscles tense. “Lancaster? Are you there?”
Another flare is shot, the blast so close, my ears ring and the ground shakes. I widen my eyes as an explosion breaks the ice right in front of me, turning the water below red.
“Shit!”
I dart away as the ground splits open, but it’s too late. I fall into the water, my gun slowly disappearing amidst the darkness.
THE GIRL IN THE CAR X
January 14th, Thursday, 6 pm
Not much happens after the zombie horde. I still can’t understand why I was so mad at Jacob. Now, instead of angry I’m just frustrated. Not by Jacob, but with myself. Progress with the gun is slow, and while I can shoot with both eyes open now, I’m a long way from being comfortable with the weapon.
A day later Jacob disappears again to hunt and I stay in the car, alone for the entire morning. There’s nothing to do but think. Memories of Peter, of Mrs. Patterson and my parents, won’t leave me alone. I sit straight, then roll the window down. Turn left, then right. Turn to the side, roll back. Feet go on the panel, then down again.
Sometimes I blame myself for what happened to all of them. Even my parents. Maybe I should’ve waited for them back at home like Mom asked me to. Maybe they went back for me. I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it. It was easier back when I was alone. There wasn’t any time to think about this stuff, just to plan the next step. The first days were scary, but at least the adrenaline hid everything else.
If Mrs. Patterson hadn’t decided to help me, would she still be alive? What would have happened if I had never met Peter? I would still be in the shopping mall, sleeping in the movie theater or distracting myself by pretending to buy things in the shops. I had easy access to a bathroom and books. Shelter from the rain and snow. What more could I want? No, instead I followed him around and he ended up getting killed right next to me. Going to Redwood was the worst mistake ever.
At least when we were together, I was too busy being annoyed by him or worried about how to keep surviving, instead of thinking about this stuff. Instead of wondering what would’ve happened if I did this or that. Being safe isn’t really that great.
I guess if I think I’m safe, that means I really trust Jacob now. I bite my lip and start knocking on the window to distract myself. Three knocks, two, one, and repeat. Whistling with tongue clicking. Humming a song that doesn’t exist. Nothing works.
Annoyed and skittish, I get out of the car and walk around it while hugging myself against the cold. After a few laps, I stop in front of the car’s trunk and stare at Jacob’s bags. He took his rifle with him but left everything else.
It doesn’t take much time to decide to snoop. I’m bored and looking for any excuse to distract myself. I open the trunk and search his bags.
One of them is open. Between smelly socks and junk, I find a wallet. No money, just documents and small four-by-four photos. Lots of them. Of his family. Of his daughter, mostly.
She’s pretty and confident, and she only smiles in a photo of her as a child. In the rest, she stares with a blank face while holding a gun, dressed in hunting gear.
She’s... familiar. I know her from somewhere. I look again at Jacob’s driver’s license to check his address. Redwood.
I freeze, muscles tensing, and mind blank, I close the wallet with trembling fingers and toss it back inside the bag. I shut the trunk, staring at the ground. I shouldn’t be so shocked—he found me near the town, after all—but I can’t move. My body won’t move.
“Bored?”
I twirl around, hands behind my back and neck stiff. Jacob comes out from the trees carrying two rabbits over one shoulder and the rifle over the other. He doesn’t sound mad at me for obviously messing with his baggage. After taking a deep breath, I force myself to nod at this question and he pushes one of the dead rabbits against my face.
“This will distract you for a while. Do you know how to skin a rabbit?”
With eyes wide and a wrinkled nose, I take a step back and shake my head, still feeling a little shaken. “No. Gross.”
Jacob smiles a little and tosses the body at me anyway. “Eat it with the fur, then. See if you like the taste of hair between your teeth.”
“Ew. That isn’t fair. Why can’t you skin it for me?”
He takes out a huge knife from one of his boots and flips it, glimmering against the sunlight. “Because the one who doesn’t hunt, cooks. I did my part, you need to do yours now.”
“Then teach me how to hunt. I want to do that instead.”
“One step at a time. You can’t hunt with your handgun, and you’re too small and skinny to handle the weight
and knock-back of my rifle, so you get to cook. Wait a year or two, and I’ll teach you.”
Not if I leave in a few days. Which now I really need to do. I don’t say any of that out loud. I don’t want him to know that I plan to leave. So, left without any other argument, I take the knife and breathe deeply.
Skinning a rabbit is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. Jacob forces me to cut off its legs, head and tail first, then I pierce the belly too deep because my hands are shaking. Blood spills onto my glove-free hands. Already smeared in blood, I peel off the fur and leave the poor rabbit naked and looking like a mutated rat. Opening it up to take out the entrails and organs almost has me gagging. It still has poop inside its intestines, which Jacob told me can contaminate the rest of the meat. But the liver is tasty, apparently. Overall, it’s a slow and unpleasant process and all the while I promise myself never to eat rabbit ever again.
A few hours later, the smell of the stew reaches my nose and my stomach betrays me. I end up eating the poor thing and enjoying it.
Of course Jacob is amused by my dilemma with the rabbit. He acts like he knows exactly what I’m going to do, no matter how much I protest at first. I don’t like being predictable; it makes me feel dumb and childish.
“We should arrive at the main road later today,” Jacob tells me. He blows on the soup before continuing, “We’ll have to do a supply run. There’s a small town just ahead. It’s going to be dangerous, so you need to stay close.”
“I’m not the one who disappeared alone the other day,” I say, not really trying to hide my annoyance.
“Different tactics.”
I cross my arms and face the ground. “Well, that tactic sucked.”
“Just stay close and do what I tell you. Can you manage that much?”
He’s grumpy again. I shrug. “Yeah.”
“After this town, we’ll go deep into the woods, so we’ll need to get as much as food and water as possible. Clothing and ammo too. Towns are risky; if they’re abandoned, that means there’s infected. If they aren’t, that means people are still there—survivors, probably scared and cautious. Nobody is going to be friendly, not even to you.”
Those Who Remain (Book 3) Page 13