Doom Days

by Beaman, Sara

  The town names, even the small ones, began to look familiar. Isaac had strong childhood memories of riding down these roads with his parents and sister on their way to the beach. They always went around this time of year. A little cheaper in September, but the water still warm and pleasant. Sometimes they’d even get to skip a few days of school. He had family down here too, near Charleston. Had had family, that is.

  The sign announcing their entry into North Carolina was barely standing; Isaac would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching the side of the road, as instructed, like a hawk. He felt a thrill as they passed it, exchanged a silent look with Josephine. It was unreal to him that they’d made it this far.

  Now he started looking for a good time to put the final step in Josephine’s plan into place. He didn’t want to wait too long; what if Marcus refused to stop? Best to do it while on the fringes of Garner, perhaps. Give them enough time to come up with an alternative course of action. Just in case.

  They crossed through the remains of Benson. Marcus turned onto highway 70. Isaac’s heart was beating so forcefully he worried Marcus would be able to hear it over the sound of the engine and would know something was amiss. He didn’t know what to expect from the man. He hadn’t gotten much of a chance to size up his personality. That unknown variable made him unbearably nervous.

  When he saw the first exit sign for Garner Isaac caught Josephine’s eye and gave her a tiny nod.

  “Marcus,” Josephine said. “Sorry, but I really have to pee. Could we pull over?”

  He grunted and pulled to the side of the road.

  “Thanks,” said Josephine, grabbing the backpack from the floor of the van and opening her door.

  Isaac’s hand went for the door handle.

  “You’re getting out too?” Marcus asked.

  “Just want to stretch my legs,” Isaac muttered.

  Josephine slipped behind the tree line. As Isaac stepped out into the grassy shoulder he caught Marcus reaching for the glove compartment out of the corner of his eye. Fuck. Was he going for a gun?

  “I might as well go while we’re here,” Isaac said, hoping to preclude any further conversation, and started walking behind the van and towards the trees.

  “Hold it,” Marcus said. “You’ll go one at a time.”

  Isaac turned around. Marcus was pointing a pistol squarely at Isaac’s head, walking slowly around the hood of the car.

  “Look, man,” Isaac said. “I don’t know what you know about the University, but—”

  “I get them people and they get me paid, and that’s all I need to know. Get back in the car.”

  “We’ve got money if that’s what you want. Or I can help you fix up the van. I’m a good mechanic—”

  “Get back in the car.”

  Marcus’ hand was steady, his gaze disinterested. Isaac was positive he’d shoot to kill.

  “Am I any good to you dead?”

  “My guess is they don’t care about you. They care about your wife.”

  Isaac didn’t say anything.

  “And if you do too,” Marcus said, “you’ll get back in the goddamn car.”

  Isaac nodded. “All right. I’m getting back in. Put the gun down.”

  Marcus didn’t comply.

  Isaac stepped back to the side of the van, pulled the handle, and opened the door. He sat down on the bench seat, leaving the door open. Marcus walked over and slammed it shut, lowering his pistol for just a moment.

  A shot went off, and then another. A cloud of red splattered against the window pane. Marcus' slack face pressed briefly against the window, and smeared blood as he slumped to the ground.

  Isaac froze, his heart hammering in his chest, the shot still ringing in his ears. It was only when Josephine emerged through the red haze, Alex’s gun in hand, that Isaac realized what had happened.

  She stooped down over Marcus’ body and collected the keys to the van from his back pocket. Looking through the blood-stained window at Isaac, her gaze was steady. But as she got in the driver’s seat and put the keys in the ignition, her hands were shaking.

  The tires spun loose dirt, then gained traction.

  They headed westbound on 70, for Raleigh.

  15 years later...

  Finding Joy by Arlene Blakely

  Four miles before they reached the gates, Abigail sputtered and died with a single, rattling cough that trailed off into silence.

  “No, no, no!” Rina groaned. She slumped over the dusty handlebars, feeling the weight of her pack shift against her thin shoulders.

  “I told you to fill the tank at the crossroads,” Trey said.

  Rina flipped up the face shield of her helmet and glared at him.

  “Shut up,” she snarled. “This wouldn’t have happened if we’d taken the highway like I wanted.”

  “The highway is full of bandits,” Trey said. “Admit it. You miscalculated and now you’re trying to blame me for your own screw-up.”

  “I didn’t miscalculate,” Rina argued.

  “And yet,” Trey said, “here we are.” He swept out his arms dramatically and Glue whickered in agreement.

  “Careful,” Rina said, “Don’t jostle the package.”

  “The package is fine,” Trey said, bouncing a little in the saddle, just to be irritating. “Don’t change the subject.”

  Rina ignored him, feeling under her seat for the spare bottle of ethanol mixed with gasoline she kept strapped there for emergencies. Her fingers located the smooth plastic and she grinned triumphantly. Her grin disappeared as she pulled the bottle out and saw it was empty.

  “Fuck!” Rina swore.

  “Problem?” Trey asked.

  “I may have miscalculated,” Rina admitted.

  Trey patted Glue’s neck. “And that’s why you’re better than a rusty pile of scrap metal,” he told the horse. “You would never run out of gas.”

  Rina rolled her eyes. “Yeah, thank goodness your horse is gassy.”

  “Throw some brush over the bike and let’s go,” Trey said. “I want to get home before dark.”

  “Do you seriously expect me to leave Abigail out here?” Rina asked, horrified.

  “What else are you gonna do? Push it all the way home?”

  “Her name is Abigail,” Rina said.

  “It’s a piece of crap.”

  “Would you abandon Glue?” Rina asked.

  “Fine,” Trey said. “But if the package wakes up before we get home, you have to deal with it.”

  Twenty minutes later, Rina was ready to give up on pushing Abigail back to town. The little green scooter was small compared to most motorcycles, but she was still heavy, and after several days of travel, Rina was tired. The muscles in her arms and legs were on fire, sweat was pooling in the small of her back, and her shoulders were aching from the weight of her backpack, heavy and chafing. Only her pride kept her moving. Pride and the smirk on Trey’s face.

  “The least you could do is carry the backpack,” Rina puffed.

  “It isn’t Glue’s fault you screwed up,” Trey said. “Why should she carry the extra weight? Besides, she’s already doing double duty.”

  Rina was too weary to argue. After another five minutes of struggling over the uneven ground she groaned, “You win. I can’t push her any farther.”

  “Finally!” Trey crowed. He pumped his fist in the air.

  The package stirred, blinked her eyes, and said, “My arms hurt.”

  “Great,” Rina said. “You woke her up.”

  “I’m thirsty,” the package said. “Can I have a drink? Where’s my momma?” Her voice rose with every question, and she began to cry, a snuffly wet sound.

  “Cool it, kid,” Trey said. “Rina, get over here and deal with this.”

  Rina propped Abigail on her kickstand, reached up and patted the child’s back. “Don’t cry,” she said in what she hoped was a gentle voice. “Your momma – uh – sent you on a trip with us. You’re gonna live with new friends.”

  �
��I don’t want new friends,” the package said. Her voice was pitifully small. “I want my momma.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” Trey said.

  Rina glared at him as the girl began crying again. “Well, they sure do want to meet you,” Rina said.

  “They do?” the girl sucked a wad of snot up her nose.

  Rina winced at the sound, but managed to keep a smile on her face. She smoothed the girl’s lank brown hair out of her eyes and did her best to look sincere and caring.

  “Oh, yeah!” she said. “They can’t wait to meet you.”

  “My arm hurts,” the girl whimpered.

  “That’s cause you’ve been sleeping on it,” Rina said.

  “No,” the girl frowned. “It’s cause there’s rope tied around it. Too tight. It hurts.” She sounded like she was gearing up for another crying session, so Rina hastily patted her back again.

  “The ropes have to be tight to keep you attached to the horse,” Rina said. “If they were loose, you’d fall right off and bump your head.”

  “I won’t fall,” the girl said.

  Trey dug a canteen out of the saddlebags and offered it to the girl. “You want something to drink?” he asked, a big fake smile on his face.

  Rina rolled her eyes, but the girl didn’t seem to notice that Trey was full of crap.

  “Yes,” said the girl. She looked hopefully at her bound hands, but neither Trey nor Rina offered to untie her. Instead, Trey tipped the canteen to let the girl drink from it. She choked as the liquid ran into her mouth too quickly, and most of it dribbled down her chin.

  “Give that to me!” Rina took the canteen from Trey and allowed the girl to drink without choking.

  “Your water doesn’t taste good,” the girl said.

  “It’s tea, not water,” Rina told her.

  “Oh,” said the girl. “Your tea doesn’t taste good.”

  “It’s been in the canteen awhile,” Rina said. “Drink a little more, okay?”

  The girl shook her head no, but when Rina tipped the canteen toward her lips she obediently swallowed another mouthful.

  “When we get home we’ll get you something that tastes better,” Rina promised.

  “Thank you,” the girl said. Someone had taught her manners. Rina wondered if it was a sign of good parenting or just a savvy business decision, making sure the product was as marketable as possible. Thank goodness Calliope was rescuing her from that life.

  “The sun’s setting,” Trey said pointedly.

  “Just give me a minute,” Rina said, and began dragging brush over Abigail. She kept an eye out for strangle runner. The vine used to be confined to wooded areas, but it was spreading. This far from town no one bothered to uproot it. The last thing she needed was a painful burn and an ugly scar.

  Sure enough, as Rina pushed aside the underbrush she caught sight of the distinctive red and green speckled leaves.

  “Trey!” Rina called. “Toss me the gloves.”

  Trey rummaged in his saddlebags for a pair of heavy leather gloves. “Be careful,” he said, then spoiled it by adding, “I don’t want to listen to you complain the whole way back.”

  Rina rolled her eyes, but saved her breath for gathering brush to conceal Abigail. It took her nearly fifteen minutes to haul enough weeds and twigs around the bike to form a satisfying mound of camouflage. It wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny, but at least the bike’s green paint blended into the greens and browns of the brush. Besides, Trey was right; the sun was setting. Even the safest roads became dangerous at night.

  Rina piled stones to mark the spot and cast a final mournful glance at Abigail as she hitched her pack on her back.

  “Let’s go,” she said, and they began walking toward Thorn Creek. Glue put her head down and blew through her nose to protest the slow pace. She knew there was grain waiting for her at home, and was anxious to get to it.

  Five minutes after they started walking, the girl’s eyelids drifted shut and her head flopped forward.

  “Good thing the Sisters gave us an extra dose of the poppy tea,” Rina said. As much as she hated drugging the kid, she had to admit it was easier to travel with a sleeping child than one who was wide awake, asking questions and complaining.

  “Good job getting her to drink it,” Trey answered.

  Rina grunted in acknowledgment of the compliment.

  “Are we gonna talk about what’s got your panties in a twist?” Trey asked.

  Rina stared at him. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  “I was hoping you’d tell me during this ride,” Trey said. “But you didn’t, and we’re almost home, so now I’m asking. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Rina said.

  Trey sighed. “I told Gretchen you’d deny it.”

  “You talked to Gretchen about me?” Rina asked.

  “No,” Trey said. “She talked to me about you. She thinks you’re repressed.”

  Rina blinked. “She said that?”

  “She’s worried about you,” Trey said.

  Rina pictured Gretchen in her faded denim overalls: haggling over the price of jerky with a customer; telling a dishonest trader to take his overpriced crap somewhere else; pretending not to listen to folks gossiping as she swept the front porch of the trading post. Gretchen was mercenary, tough, and honest. She was a rock.

  “Gretchen doesn’t worry,” Rina said.

  “Well, she’s worried about you,” Trey said. “She thinks you’re messed up.”

  “She knew I was messed up when she hired me,” Rina said. “Actually, I think that’s why she gave me the job. She felt sorry for me. And I’m grateful, because riding the circuit helps. So, you know, problem solved. I’m all better now.”

  “Yeah,” Trey said. “You were getting better for a while. But then you got … worse. What happened?”

  The only person in the world who ever cared about me died. And then I betrayed her.

  “Nothing happened,” Rina said. “This is just my personality. If you don’t like it I’ll ride with Caleb or Javier from now on, and you and Gretchen can stop gossiping about me behind my back.”

  “We weren’t gossiping about you,” Trey protested. “We were just trying to figure out if you’re repressed.”

  Life would be a lot easier if I actually were repressed, Rina thought and remembered Zeke’s mouth, hot against hers. This is what you get for doing indecent things with Maddie’s boyfriend, she told herself.

  “How is my sex life any of your business?” she asked.

  “Sex life?” Trey sounded horrified. “Who said anything about your sex life? Do you even have a sex life? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

  Rina frowned. “Trey, did Gretchen say I’m repressed or depressed?”

  Trey shrugged. “Maybe she said depressed. What’s the difference?”

  “Depressed means sad. Repressed means … uptight.”

  “You don’t have to be snotty about it,” Trey said. “Not all of us were raised at the University.” He thought for a second and added, “She must’ve said depressed.”

  “I’m not depressed,” Rina said.

  “You’d tell me if you were, right?” Trey said. “You wouldn’t … do anything.”

  Rina stopped walking. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Trey said, reining in Glue to avoid leaving Rina behind in the gathering dusk. “Sometimes when people get sad and depressed they do things. Like Jacob Farrington last winter. Come on. We’ve got to get home.”

  Rina didn’t move. Glue tossed her head and stamped her foreleg to convey her annoyance with stupid two-footed creatures who insisted on stopping when they were so close to home.

  “Trey, are you worried I’ll end up like Jacob Farrington?” Rina asked. She shuddered, remembering Jacob, cold and damp in the morning dew, suspended from a tree limb by his own belt. “I wouldn’t do anything like that,” she said.

  “Okay,” Trey said.

&nb
sp; “Seriously,” Rina said. “I’m okay. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  I’m slutty. Not suicidal.

  “Gretchen’s the one who was worried,” Trey said. He nudged Glue to walk again and she broke into an eager trot, making up for lost time. Trey reined her back into a walk, but Rina still had to hurry to catch up with them. For the rest of the walk home, the only sounds were the clip clop of Glue’s hooves and the girl’s soft breathing.

  It was well after dark by the time they reached the town gates. In spite of her exhaustion, Rina felt her heart lift at the sight of Thorn Creek, just as it always did. She still remembered the joy she’d felt the first time she and Maddie had walked into town. Escaping from the University hadn’t felt real until they stood on the other side of the town wall. Thorn Creek was a haven. It was where she and Maddie had built a new life, where they had been happy.

  It was where Maddie had died.

  Now Rina’s love for the town was shadowed by grief. Everywhere she looked, she saw Maddie’s bright copper hair and crooked grin. When Isaac offered to help her repair Abigail, she’d been so grateful for the distraction she hadn’t questioned his generosity. Four months later, when the bike was running, Gretchen had offered her a job as a circuit rider.

  Rina knew she’d been manipulated into taking the job, but she still jumped at the chance to get out of town. Risking bandits, slavers, wild animals, and strangle runner was a small price to pay for sanity and freedom. Rina soon came to love carrying mail to and from the little homesteads that dotted the landscape. Now she couldn’t imagine any other life.

  “I’ll take the bags to Gretchen’s place if you bring the package home to Calliope,” Trey offered, derailing Rina’s train of thought.

  “Okay,” Rina agreed. She shrugged off her backpack and handed it to Trey, rolling her shoulders gratefully as they were released from the binding straps.

  She untied the girl and unwound the rope from her waist and arms. The girl awoke groggily and moaned, “Momma,” as Rina lifted her down from the horse.