by M. D. Massey
Could they walk out of the city? He'd seen many people walking along the highway, but how far could Grandma go on foot? She could walk pretty well for her age, and he'd seen her walk for short distances without any cane at all. But those were rare instances when she was at 100% health and rest. Now, she could barely stay awake while sitting in his back seat.
He thought again about the gun in his face but pushed it back with a few calming breaths.
“How far could we both get on foot?” he whispered.
Not far.
As he sat there, he found himself unable to further ignore the incident with the thief. Of having the business end of a gun touch his nose. Of being punched. Of being yanked out of the car and tossed to the ground. His hands started shaking, so he gripped the wheel.
How close to death did I come?
He imagined himself being shot dead. Oddly, he thought of his parents, and how they'd never know how he died. He imagined Grandma getting pulled out next. He imagined ...
NO! I will not let that happen!
He silently wept. He couldn't help himself. He was slightly embarrassed Grandma might hear him, but once it started, he was unable to check it. His head collapsed on the steering wheel as he let the emotions of the past day consume him.
In the back, Grandma slept on.
For the first time in his life, he envied her.
7
Maple Syrup
Liam sat, exhausted, in the front seat of the car. His tears had dried, and he found himself staring out the front window. It hadn't been long since he'd pulled over. Glancing back, Grandma was still asleep.
He attempted to move beyond the botched robbery. He needed to look forward. Time for the “big guy pants,” as his dad would say.
He turned on the radio again.
Did they say all the bridges to Illinois were closed? Surely not.
All stations were now playing the emergency announcement loops, including the one previously broadcasting freely. They advised listeners to evacuate the city but were stingy with clues about how to do it or where to go. A week ago, he wouldn't have listened to a government broadcast to save his life. Now his life did depend on a government announcement, and he was dismayed to discover they had no answers.
Going south didn't seem possible, given the traffic situation. Going west might work in a pinch, but that would take him into the bulk of the population of the city—enough reason to avoid that way. North would take him directly away from his goal, so that made no sense at all. Finally, he figured his best bet was to drive east into Illinois, where it was less crowded, then turn south and try to return over a bridge into Missouri somewhere. It would require going through downtown, which made him anxious just thinking about it, but it was the only place to cross.
With no help from the radio, he had to make a choice soon. He gently woke up Grandma.
She opened her eyes, looked out her window, then into his backpack.
“He's gone, Grandma. He didn't get our stuff either, but I'm not sure what happened. I was lying on the ground, and when I woke up, the crook was already dead. He got shot. I jumped in the car and sped us out of there.”
“I must have passed out from all the excitement. I'm so glad you're OK. I'm not doing a very good job taking care of you, am I?”
“We're both alive. That's all that matters now. Someone shot the yoga woman for me, too. I think I have a guardian angel. I've learned an important lesson; the rules are changing. I'm going to be smarter from now on, so I can protect you and me both.”
Grandma leaned forward just enough to touch his shoulder with reassurance.
“We make a good team,” she said.
“Well, teammate, we need a new plan now. Traffic on the highway to the south is completely stopped. All the main roads next to the interstate going that way are also filled with people trying to escape. It didn't look like any of those vehicles were going to be moving anytime soon, so I pulled into this parking lot to think. The radio has nothing useful on where to go. I figured we'd try to get across a bridge downtown and then drive south on the Illinois side of the river.”
“Sounds like a good plan, Liam.”
“Will you help me navigate? I'm afraid I don't know where to go.” The extent of his driver's education with Dad ended at Grandma's house. The rest of the city was a blank space as far as roads went.
“I'll do what I can,” she said from behind.
He pulled back onto the road, in the direction of downtown. Unlike the lanes going south, the northbound side of the road was virtually devoid of traffic. He wasn't willing to use the term “good luck” just yet. He knew how fast luck could go down the toilet.
He felt a trace of a smile on his face as he sped through the dying city heading for freedom.
Looking in the rearview, Grandma's face was far more stoic.
* * *
2
The street was a major thoroughfare in this part of the city. It had two lanes of traffic in each direction, with a breakdown lane in the middle. Very few cars were going either way. The massive backup of south-bound traffic hadn't reached this far north yet.
Several cars burned on the roadway in front of a row of apartments. Strangely, other cars were moving among the burned-out hulks, seemingly unconcerned with the danger.
He was gaining his sea legs on this terrible ocean. He immediately stopped the car and looked for alternate routes where he could turn down a side street and avoid even being close to such destruction. Grandma was in the back seat, watching ahead as well.
“Grandma, I'm turning. I don't think we should go anywhere near those burning cars.”
“Watch those cars on fire,” she yelled a little too loud at almost the same time, as she sometimes did when her hearing aids acted up.
He smiled as he made a left, then a quick right turn onto a narrow avenue running parallel to the main road. They entered a more residential area. A few cars lined both sides of the street, but there were also a lot of trash and debris blowing around, as if many of the houses had simply thrown their contents right out their doors.
More ominously, he saw odd characters walking aimlessly. Sick? Infected? Lost? Stealing?
He wasn't stopping to find out. He hit the gas, quickly pushing fifty miles per hour down the narrow street. Not bad for a fifteen-year-old with a learner's permit.
The passenger window shattered as several gunshots exploded from the houses lining the right side of the street. He instinctively jerked his head as low as he could even as his heartrate started to outpace his car.
“Grandma! Get down!”
The rear passenger-side window blew out next, followed by the one on his side. The shots were either coming from both sides or going completely through the interior.
The rear window blew out a second later, and the headrest on his seat crumpled.
That was close!
He glanced in the mirror. Grandma had fallen over sideways in the back, covered with tiny pieces of safety glass.
“Oh, my lands,” she exclaimed.
He risked a sideways peek, but the shooters were well hidden. He was going much too fast. Shots continued behind them, and he could see in the side mirror a couple of men had run into the street to shoot, even as he drove away.
Only a few seconds more ...
He took a right turn too fast, scraped against a car on his side, but was just able to maintain control on the new street. The sedan lost some paint, but they escaped the flying bullets.
Rather than being scared, he was mad as hell again. People were using this disaster as an excuse to—do what exactly? Were these bad people showing their true colors or good people gone wrong due to the chaos? It had scarcely been one lousy day since law and order was put on hold. Things were going downhill fast if this was how it was going to be.
He slowed enough to take a left turn back onto the main street safely and was pleased to see they had traveled beyond the burned-out wrecks. Were the men on the previous str
eet the same ones who burned the cars on this one? Why would anyone randomly destroy cars and shoot at people they didn't know? Were they trying to kill him? He had no explanation that fit the circumstances, and he sure wasn't going back to interview them.
Pardon me. Would you refrain from killing me while I ask you a few questions?
They quickly overtook another vehicle—a cramped, blue coupe—with a family inside who looked over at him as he matched their speed for a second before accelerating past them.
The open road was just as dangerous as everywhere else. Even a friendly-looking family couldn't be trusted. He could trust no one but himself and Grandma.
In the distance, he got his first glimpse of the Gateway Arch as it twinkled in the mid-day sun. He had many memories seeing it as a kid—how many times had his parents excitedly pointed it out as they were driving? It was a source of fascination and pride for locals like him. A snarl of traffic came into view on the street ahead, interrupting his pleasant memories.
Will anything be easy ever again?
* * *
3
The traffic wasn't as bad as it appeared at first glance. A major intersection in this part of the city was catching traffic from the nearby highway, as well as the growing procession heading downtown. Several other drivers must have gotten the same idea to head that way once they realized the highway out of town was toast.
After several minutes snaking through the busy intersection, they found open roads before once again coming upon a jammed cross street. It was much worse than the previous delay.
They were only a couple of miles from downtown. They could now see the big Anheuser-Busch brewery that was a cultural icon in this city. As they came through the big intersection, they could see the traffic ahead had stopped completely. As cars came up on the tail of the northbound traffic jam, they shut off engines, and passengers got out and joined the people ahead of them on foot. He could already see a few cars coming in behind him, which would make sure he never got out of this entanglement.
He turned the wheel hard to his right. Angie's severely damaged car jumped the curb and came to a stop in a tiny parking lot for a fast-food joint. He heard a loud pop. He backed his car sloppily into a spot up against the building, allowing himself a clear shot to drive in any direction he chose—except into the traffic jam itself—should he change his mind about joining the sea of walkers going downtown.
Several other cars took his lead. Soon the little parking lot was full, as were several other open spaces on this side of the road. He was silently impressed with himself for thinking of something that was so useful to his fellow travelers. It felt nice to lead, even if it was just a bit of luck on his part for thinking of it.
His pleasure faded once he exited the vehicle and saw its condition. Angie had some pride in her vehicle and took care to keep it washed and waxed at a local hands-on car wash. If she saw her car now, she would fall over dead.
Not funny, Liam!
Four windows were blown out. Several bullet holes peppered the passenger side, including a couple up near the engine. It was a miracle nothing got permanently damaged under the hood. He walked around and inspected as much as he dared. One bullet had mangled the locking assembly of the passenger-side rear door, making it impossible to open. He reached in through the broken glass and grabbed his backpack. As he pulled away, he noticed the front tire had gone all the way flat and it made the car look sad.
“So much for getting to Illinois.” He said it out loud, but mostly to himself. They were now committed to the only place anywhere that seemed to offer some help—the area down by the Gateway Arch.
Grandma exited on the driver's side and shook herself free of the bits of glass. She reached back in to grab her cane and then casually leaned against the exterior to wait for Liam to gather his stuff.
She quipped, “I guess we don't have to worry about locking the doors,” and let out a little giggle. He had to laugh too.
One of the people nearby gave a little whistle when he took in Liam's damaged ride.
“Whoa! You a stunt driver, kid?”
Liam wasn't really in the mood to deal with strangers but couldn't resist bragging about it.
“Not really. A couple of dip-wads a few miles back were shooting up cars. They got the drop on us, but I just put the hammer down and blew through their trap.” He said it with the same emotion he would if he were talking about the weather.
He looked at Grandma to see if she would scold him, but she was looking the other way.
The man seemed unimpressed. “Yeah, we had to drive through someone's lawn to get around some fellas holding up cars about three miles to the south. I guess we're all lucky to make it here. Good luck wherever you end up,” he said as he walked away.
So much for basking in the glory.
With his pack slung over his shoulders, he walked around to Grandma. She was looking at the crush of abandoned cars and beyond, toward the shining landmark.
“Do you think you can walk to the Arch from here?”
She was silent for many moments before responding.
“I don't see any other option at this point. I'm going to need your help, but I think I can do it.”
She held up her cane, so she could bring it closer to her face.
“I'm going to need your help, too, Mr. Cane. Don't let me fall!”
She chuckled a little, then slammed the cane back to the ground and started walking—slowly—away from Angie's wrecked car.
An obscure quote from one of his dad's old movies hit him as he left the sad-looking car that had gotten them this far.
I'm not parking it; I'm abandoning it.
He had a feeling they'd never be back. The car would probably rust in that spot until it blew away on the wind.
Wow. I'm a real downer.
Or, everything would be back to normal tomorrow and he’d have to pay for all the damage. Even if it sapped all his savings, he much preferred that ending than the other one.
Finally, it fell too far behind to see, and he resolved to only look to the future. At that moment, the Arch towered into view miles down the street. The safety of the port was so close, yet so far away.
* * *
4
After the excitement at Grandma's house, the struggle to escape Angie, getting beaten up by a criminal, and the stress of driving the car in the chaos, the walk toward the Arch was anticlimactic.
A small girl behind them blurted out to no one in particular, “When we get downtown, I hope they're serving hot dogs and soda, like at a baseball game!”
He was holding Grandma's arm as he walked but turned partway around to look at the child's parents. They wore tight-lipped grins as they shared the good things she would find ahead. Anything to keep the children happy and unafraid.
Would there be any help at all downtown? After what he saw on the roads of the city, he was pretty sure of the answer to that, but still, he had hope and tried hard to listen to the conversations of his fellow travelers to see if they knew more than he did about what was ahead.
The friendly crowd of walkers continued to grow. It was a lot like heading to a baseball game. He and his father didn't make a habit of it, but whenever his dad got free tickets to a game, they would go for a father-son adventure at the ballpark. The only differences between that crowd and this one was the colors—not as much Cardinal red today—and what people carried. He saw lots of coolers and bags of food, as well as firearms. Open carrying of guns was something you would never see on any typical day within the city limits of St. Louis.
He looked carefully now and saw that more than a few men and women were carrying things slung over their shoulders, covered with fabric or trash bags. Some had their rifles right out in the open, which made it even more obvious that others were hiding theirs. He didn't understand what they were trying to prove, but he wasn't going to call attention to them.
A man standing off to the side of the crowd held a cardboard sign for the walkers to
see, “God did this to you. Repent!” Liam wondered what Grandma would think about such an insensitive statement, but if she saw it, she said nothing. He wasn't willing to blame God for the plague; he saw God in context with boring Sunday sermons or with high praise from family members. Never did either suggest a benevolent being could inflict something like this on the human race.
The man's sign was getting other people talking about the root cause of the catastrophe. Liam tried to overhear conversations as they walked. The first person he could hear clearly was talking about some clues he received on his shortwave radio.
“... a frequency I don't get. The guy lived in Minnesota or Wisconsin; he wasn't very forthcoming about that. He sounded like he had watched too many movies. He called the sick people zombies as if they were something real. He then said you can only kill them by destroying the head. Ha! This isn't Night of the Living Dead or whatever that movie was called. So, we ignored him and went on to look for more operators, but the only other one we heard with new information was farther north in Canada, and all we got out of him was that people were chewing on his livestock. He said he had no weapons to get them to stop. Nothing we could do to help him, of course.”
The guy was moving much faster than he and Grandma so he couldn't hear much more of his conversation, but he noted the man carried a big revolver in a holster on his left side.
As more people passed, he heard several of their theories. It was now on everyone's mind, it seemed.
“I heard it was a medical experiment gone wrong.”
“A friend of a friend said she knew someone in the police department. This was a terrorist attack.” And then, speaking so quiet Liam almost didn't catch it, the person said, “It was the same guys who did nine-eleven.”
“It was our own government.” A half-dozen people had different iterations of government conspiracies.