by M. D. Massey
Out of habit, he patted his pocket to ensure his phone was there. Each time he left the house he repeated the ritual, even under such pressure. Content he had it, he hung on to Grandma's arm as they both moved slowly forward. She used her cane, so moved fine for her age, but he had to resist the urge to physically pull her.
He opened the front door and held it wide while he helped her out onto her front stoop. He reached down to grab his backpack and slung it over one of his shoulders.
He took an opportunity to look around but saw no one in the immediate vicinity.
They both inched down Grandma's ramp and then along the walkway to the street curb. He reached over to open the door to gain access to the back seat. He was careful not to push her in, though his brain was begging him to do just that.
Once she was inside, he threw his backpack in the space next to her, slammed her door, and jumped into the driver's seat.
He dropped it into gear, stomped the gas pedal, and they were accelerating up the street, away from Grandma's house. He realized why every car that went through here seemed to be speeding. He eased up to allow himself to catch his breath.
I did pretty good.
“Liam, I left my cane on the curb.”
Oh sh—
He slammed on the brakes and looked over his shoulder.
“Do we need to go back for it?”
He wasn't about to admit it, but he was scared to return. He wasn't sure why given that her home was the one place in the entire world he knew was safe at that moment.
“I think I'll be in a lot of trouble if I don't have something to help me walk. I don't think either of us wants me to have to hold onto you for the rest of my life.”
He couldn't argue with that. A better driver could probably have turned around in the narrow street, but he decided to proceed forward until he came to an intersection where he'd have plenty of room to reverse course. When he found the right spot, he needed every bit of that wide space.
After turning around, he kept the speed low enough to be safe. They arrived in front of her house without incident. Both could see the four-legged cane out the right side, sitting on the grass next to the curb, right where she had left it. He pulled up next to it, got out, ran around the car, grabbed the cane, then ran around the car again and hopped back inside. He tossed it into the front passenger seat and saw it promptly tilt off, so its base sat on top of the bloody foot.
He had no time to consider that horrible image. He pulled away from the curb heading in the wrong direction. Up ahead, he saw a lone figure standing in the street and knew who it was.
He slammed on the brakes.
“Grandma, Angie's up ahead. What should I do?”
He secretly hoped she would let him plow her over and just be done with it, but he knew that wasn't Grandma's style.
“I'm so sorry, Angie.” She hesitated for a few moments, though he never doubted for a second what her recommendation would be.
“Let's carefully go around her, and we can leave her forever.”
He drove the car slowly toward Angie, who gravitated to the side of the car to try to gain access to the people she could see inside. Once she moved away from the front of the car, he hit the gas. She bounced lightly on the side mirror.
Blood had poured from the wound on her forehead to cover her eyes and cheeks, and totally drench the front side of her already blood-stained nightgown. Where she was getting so much blood was beyond his reckoning, but he and Grandma both gasped when they saw her up close.
Grandma said a short prayer for her friend.
He couldn't even muster the requisite “Amen” when she was done. He couldn't help but feel their problems were only getting started.
His free-associating brain summoned a line from an old Rolling Stones song named, appropriately enough, Angie.
In his rearview mirror, the nurse shrank as he sped away.
Goodbye, Angie.
6
Coagulation
After avoiding Angie in the road and leaving her behind them, Liam and Marty were dismayed to see several other sick people wandering the formerly peaceful neighborhoods of south St. Louis. He still wasn't ready to run anyone over, as long as he had a choice. He would use other means if he had to dispatch one of them.
“Oh crap!” he blurted, remembering something critical.
He looked in the mirror at Grandma, afraid she would chastise his language, but she said nothing.
“I need to pull over and load my gun. I pulled it out when Angie attacked me—did I mention that?—on my way to her car, but, of all the stupid things, I forgot to put rounds in the magazine before I walked out the door. I'm such an idiot.”
He pulled over into a parking lot for a large supermarket. He let the car run while he grabbed his backpack, pulled out the box of ammo, loaded nine small rounds into the thin metal magazine, then slid the assembly into the bottom of the pistol grip. He chambered a round, and after some consideration put the safety on so he couldn't accidentally fire the gun while sticking it in his holster. That was one accident he was determined not to suffer.
He reloaded the other pistol as well. If he ended up needing it, he was fairly sure he wouldn't have time to load it at that point. Then, to be complete, he loaded the two spare magazines. Be prepared! That's what years of Boy Scouts taught him. He returned the backpack to the rear seat next to Grandma, so she could grab water or snacks.
He knew there was only one highway that ran directly from downtown to the south, Interstate 55; that made things easy for someone new to driving.
As they approached the on-ramp for the highway, he discovered the direct route also made things simple for everyone else. A massive traffic entanglement greeted them at the bridge interchange where the surface road went under the highway. Cars up-top and cars going up the access ramp were all stopped, and people everywhere were out of their cars, standing around. A few seemingly sick citizens lingered in the grass next to the highway or stood behind chain link fences.
Some cars made it off the highway and they drove into the network of side streets. Everyone pointed south. Without the use of the highway he needed an alternative, so he pulled over to consider his options.
The radio. He turned it on while mentally slapping himself for not doing it sooner.
Only one station on the AM dial was live as far as he could tell. Every other station, AM or FM, was repeating the same emergency response warning along with the president's radio message. Apparently, the stations were ordered to play that nonsense rather than something that could actually help people on the ground. Or maybe the radio people were on the run too?
They'd be some of the first to see the big picture.
The one station still live was headquartered in downtown St. Louis and apparently had a reporter on a high-rise roof somewhere because they were describing traffic in the downtown area:
“And we're looking at southbound 55 and can tell you it's snarled as badly as all the other highways we can see from our vantage point. Southbound is completely stopped. Northbound is also a mess coming into St. Louis, but everyone should be aware once you reach downtown, there is nowhere to go. The bridges to Illinois are all blocked now by the state police and what appears to be National Guard units. They are turning people back to the Missouri side of the bridges. As we've said before, you should try to get out of St. Louis while you still can. Just don't try to escape through downtown.”
The reporter began talking about the north side of the city, and he said, as much to himself as to Grandma, “I bet the entire interstate is a parking lot from here all the way out to Mom and Dad's.”
Grandma didn't respond. She was alert but casually looking out the window.
The radio continued, “We have reports from some people talking to our roving reporter that there is a Red Cross station down by the Arch. From here we can't confirm that, but there could be medical help. If you can't make it out of the city, that might be a good place to rest. And we've heard a r
umor there is a big FEMA camp at the Gateway Speedway just over the river in Illinois. If you are in the Illinois listening area, you might find help there.”
The two announcers then began some banter between themselves about troubles in their respective neighborhoods, which he found annoying. He needed something that would help him right now.
He was beginning to understand the sickness was a regional problem.
The chaos had spread everywhere in the bi-state area. He had hoped—with the same sense of futility he felt upon reaching Grandma's—that once he reached home-home, he'd find safety.
What if it's everywhere in the world?
* * *
2
He drew a mental map of the city. The most famous edge of the metropolis was the Mississippi River as it passed downtown St. Louis and its crown jewel, the Gateway Arch. That was roughly the eastern border. To the north, he was less clear of the geography but was pretty sure the Missouri River was up that way. The south was his neighborhood. He knew that to get out of the urban and suburban sprawl, they'd have to cross the Meramec River—a relatively small waterway compared to the giant Mississippi below it. Rivers bracketed three sides of St. Louis. He aimed for the southern one.
Grandma's home was a couple of miles south of downtown St. Louis; even so, they’d found the highway south was already choked to death going outbound from the city's center. Was every car in the city already out and parked on this stretch of road? Or was it the same going north or west? If so, it meant almost no one had actually escaped from the city. Everyone was on the road, but still within the gravity well of the collapsing star.
What's keeping everyone bottled up?
The radio had no answers. He decided to push through some of the comparatively empty side streets and see if Interstate 55 was more accessible farther south. He knew it was a long shot, and the farther south he went, the more cars he found on the roads with him. He’d sat in enough traffic jams as a passenger to know that when traffic stopped, drivers would try just about anything to find alternate routes. At every exit and entrance for I-55 that he approached he saw many more cars use the exit ramps and drive into side streets. Always south.
Without working electricity and streetlights, gridlock increased with every block. There were just too many cars. He had to keep rolling over to smaller and smaller streets. He was considering using one-lane alleys if he had to.
While driving on a side street through one of the old neighborhoods, he noticed the flashing lights of a police car behind him. He panicked; this was not the time to get in trouble with the law.
“Oh, no! Grandma, I got pulled over by a cop.”
“Were you speeding?”
“I don't think so. I was just kind of driving around looking for clear streets.”
“Mmm huh.” She seemed to understand, but she said nothing further. She rolled down her window, directly behind his seat. Liam assumed it was so she could talk to the officer herself.
Let her deal with it.
Always respectful of law and order, he pulled over as quickly as he could. He had his seatbelt on, so he felt confident he had covered all his bases. He looked in the back seat to see if anything was out of the ordinary. The guns might cause trouble. He took his out of his waistband and stuffed it next to the seat by the middle console. The other was safely hidden in his backpack next to Grandma.
A doubt nagged at him—a lesson from his books—but he admitted that feeling always seemed to be in his head now. He'd never been pulled over, so he had no frame of reference of how it should go.
He didn't expect the gun in his face, followed by a calm voice asking for his money.
“I'll take your wallet, thank you very much.”
The dark man wasn't a police officer—the gold chains and multiple watches were big clues, if the gun in the face wasn't hint enough.
Liam held his hands up to signify compliance. He said his wallet was in his right front pocket.
“Well get it, I don't have all day.” The man gave a little giggle at his statement; then he seemed to notice the blood on the passenger seat and the foot sitting prominently on the floorboard.
Why did I leave that there?
“Looks like you had a passenger. What happened to him?”
“I don't know, sir. It was there before we jumped in the car.”
“We?” The man noticed the small woman sitting quietly in the back seat. He moved a step closer to the back, so he could see directly into the interior.
“Well, well. I'll take that fancy necklace, Miss Daisy. And that backpack looks quite juicy.” It was lying open at that moment, the snacks and drinks clearly visible. Liam silently cursed himself again for being so dumb.
“No, Grandma needs her meds. Please don't take it.”
“When I need your opinion I'll ask for it, boy.” He slapped Liam's head by reaching inside the back window.
Liam knew it was stupid to think it, but he didn't want to be taken advantage of like this. Instead of being scared, it made him angry.
Grandma, meanwhile, was gathering the pack by forcing in all the contents that had spilled out.
“Sir, please leave her medications. You can have the rest.” He thought he was being smart. She didn't take any irreplaceable prescription meds, but maybe the guy would feel sympathy.
The man moved back to the front, directly outside Liam's window.
“You don't get it. I'm taking it all! If you say another word … ” He jiggled the pistol menacingly.
Grandma piped up, “I'm getting it all together for you.”
Liam sat stewing in his impotence. Can I start the car and speed off without getting shot? Probably not. But maybe if I push him back first … I've been lucky so far.
He shoved the door open to push the guy backward. It didn't surprise the thief at all. The man was so agile that he helped pull the door open, side-stepped, knocked Liam dizzy with a stiff punch, then dragged him out of the car onto the street.
Liam heard the soft murmur of Grandma's voice saying, “I have your backpack ready, sir.” Then he blacked out.
* * *
3
Liam woke up lying face down on warm asphalt. One side of his face was in excruciating pain, but he could move his jaw and didn't feel anything crunchy in his mouth.
Still dazed, he staggered to his feet and saw Grandma sitting in the back seat, her head lolling to one side. She'd put on a flowery head scarf, but it had come undone and sat flatly over her head.
Oh, God, don’t let her be dead!
He ran to her window and heard a soft, nasal sound coming from her. She was asleep.
Relieved, he leaned against her door. His head was throbbing, and the flashing blue lights from the police car parked behind them made it worse.
Then everything came rushing back. He looked around for the man with the gun, sending another wave of pain through his aching head, but he steadied himself against the car and noticed the backpack was still resting beside Grandma on the car seat.
Then, he saw feet sticking out from behind the car.
Carefully, he moved back toward the rear. The thief was lying on his back between both vehicles; his eye was a bloody mess, but otherwise his face and the rest of his body looked normal. He wasn't infected or anything. But he was very dead.
How did I miss seeing him before? Too scared about Grandma, I guess.
He looked around for a Good Samaritan in a high window but didn’t see anyone who might have saved them by killing their assailant. Cars moved on distant streets, but no one seemed interested in him. He thought about saying a prayer of thanks for his good fortune, but like so many false starts in his recent past, he didn't know if he believed his prayer would be heard by anyone. He secretly hoped there was someone listening. Perhaps even the same God Grandma believed in.
For now, he said a quick “thank you” to anyone who would listen and jumped back into Angie's car to start it up.
He thought about going back to check ou
t the cop car but didn't like the idea of stealing from anyone. Plus, if he was caught ransacking a police car ...
Instead, he put his ride in gear and drove quickly away from the scene. It had all happened so fast he hadn’t had time to be afraid. He saw himself in the rearview mirror as he drove and realized … he was looking at a survivor. He just survived an encounter with a hardened criminal. He survived multiple encounters with Angie, the plague victim. He even survived falling down a flight of stairs.
But it all seemed so random. He knew any of those incidents could have ended his life, making this whole survival schtick the mockery he knew it to be. He saw the survivors of this thing as big, hulking men carrying large guns, sharp swords, and wearing full police riot gear. How else could anyone truly survive such crazy times?
He wore jeans and a lime-green Mountain Dew t-shirt, and his 104-year-old partner in survival was dressed in a light blue pantsuit, complemented by a plain metal cane. Hardly the stuff of legend.
Whoop de do. We've survived the twenty-four hours since the sirens.
He tried to get back into the important task of driving. He found the highway again and was disappointed to see the traffic remained stopped. The memory of the gun barrel between his eyes buzzed as he observed cars continuing to pour off the exit ramp, into the streets of this part of the city. Streets that were nearly clogged. It wouldn't be long before everything was in total gridlock. Before he was trapped.
He turned the car around to give himself some open space because he needed a chance to think through his next move. They weren't going to make it driving south on the highway or any of the side roads. He pulled over into an empty parking lot, far from anyone or anything that could harm them. He again remembered the gun in his face but ignored it. He aggressively scanned for threats as he tried to concentrate.