“What kinds of awful things?”
Hayden shakes his head. “Are you planning on listening to my advice and continuing west?” He asks. I simply shake my head. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Another head shake. “And you’re making this journey with or without me by your side?” This time I nod my head. “Well, it looks like we’re about to get ourselves killed,” Hayden says. I raise my eyebrows.
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,” I comment.
“I wish that was a sarcastic remark, but I am completely serious.” But part of me already knew that he wasn’t kidding.
*****
Chapter 18
“I think we need a vehicle,” Hayden says, looking at the state of my feet. My shoes are long gone and not worth the trouble of retrieving.
I don’t typically admit to weakness, but I don’t know how much longer I can walk on my raw and bloody feet. Ironically enough, I used to have cute feet. I’d keep my toenails painted and filed to a constant length. My toes were thin and shaped well. Feet aren’t meant to be pretty, but mine were as close to pretty as a foot could be. Now, due to an absurd amount of walking and my disgraceful boots, my feet are swollen and covered in a mixture of blood and dirt. My toenails are broken and bent. My right pinky nail is long gone due to constant rubbing on the side of my boot. I wonder if it will ever regrow.
“I don’t know how much longer I can walk without proper footwear—or even with proper footwear at this point,” I admit timidly. There are cars everywhere in this city, but we need keys and a way to drive it around the numerous road blocks, which is far harder than it may sound considering cars are blocking every roadway, and the sidewalks aren’t an option. They are too narrow.
“We need a car on the outskirts of town, but we need to hurry. We can’t stay here much longer.” I nod and follow him as he walks in the direction that we came. We found a map and numerous water bottle to fill our bags. Now we need a vehicle.
I can tell he is walking much slower than he’d usually walk due to my inability to move my feet quickly. Their numbness is a temporary relief, but as they scrape along the ground and I don’t feel so much as a pinch, I realize that it is likely an issue.
But when we stop beside a car that doesn’t seem to be surrounded by others and I sigh in relief. The dirt beneath my feet calls for me to collapse upon it and relieve my throbbing toes for just a moment. “Is there a key inside?” I ask as Hayden peels the door open and searches the inside of the car. He moves objects around the inside and eases out of the car carefully. “There’s a key,” he says holding up a key ring. There are a few keys and decorative objects that he sorts before holding the car key between his forefinger and thumb. I wonder what these keys open. Is one of them for the girl’s house? Is one of them to her church or her work? Does one of the keys belong to her office or her boyfriend’s home?
Did she play with the large, pink and fuzzy ball when she didn’t have anything else to do? Did she use to use her gas card every week when she filled her tank? Did she wear her keys around her neck or did she just carry them? There are so many questions I have about a person that is surely dead. If I really wanted to know more about her, I’m sure that she is nearby.
“Let’s go,” I insist, shaking myself from my end-of-the-world mentality.
I rush to the passenger’s seat of the car and jump inside. Before I sit in the seat, I take one last look around this city. It’s more maintained than many of the others through which I have traveled. Far fewer bodies lie in the street, but that’s not uncommon. Some towns have more people who decided to die behind closed doors. A lot of places were like that. Even in death, people insisted on hiding their problems behind their front doors.
Then sometimes we find an entire town bowed in mass prayer. The mass prayers turned into mass graves and those were the hardest to witness. We never wandered to the center of cities and rarely even skimmed the outskirts, but when searching for supplies, we have encountered all the different types of cities and towns.
When I finally finish observing the city, I slide into the car and put my feet on the dash, trying to remove pressure from the calloused bottoms. Hayden doesn’t enter the car immediately, but instead meanders around the corner of the nearest building. The structure is burned and black with smoke absorption. It looks like it is ready to collapse and I wince as Hayden’s backside disappears.
I wait a minute and he doesn’t come back. Worry begins eating at my heart and I sit a little straighter, attempting to see him come back around the corner, but he doesn’t. I wait two more minutes—I count them in my head, maybe a little faster than standard, but it’s about two minutes.
And Hayden doesn’t return.
He didn’t tell me that he was exploring or leaving me alone and I become nervous. I slide my feet to the floorboard and reach for the handle of my door. Thirty seconds. I will give him thirty seconds.
I know that I counted to thirty in about fifteen actual seconds, but I can’t leave Hayden alone for an entire thirty seconds. I push my door open and stop when he comes back around the corner. The timing of his return is convenient and I am thankful. From a distance—or a further perspective than usual, I realize that he doesn’t look unbathed or dirty like everyone else I’ve been around.
His hair is greasy, but that is unavoidable. His shirt doesn’t have sweat stains lining the fabric and his jeans only have minor stains. In fact, his clothes look almost new. The light blue shirt suits him, but it should have stains all over it. I allow my eyes to train down his chest and across the rest of his body. He’s broad, but not a body builder. In fact, his arms aren’t defined with muscle and his chest isn’t rippling with barely contained solidness. He looks average with just enough definition to prove that he isn’t weak. His shoulders are broad, but he isn’t bulky like Moe.
And he’s carrying a pair of hiking boots.
No way.
He opens his door and throws the boots onto my lap. I stare at them with my hands in the air, unsure of how to react to this situation. “Did you just get these?” I ask absentmindedly.
“Will they fit? I know you have small feet, but I wasn’t sure how small I needed to find,” he explains. “These said that they were size eight in the women section?” He seems so confused and I can hardly process his kindness.
“Where did you get these?” I ask. They look brand new.
“I noticed a shoe store and needed to check for boots,” he explains as if it’s no big deal. I would have never expected a shoe store to have any more boots. By now, I expected each shoe store to be ransacked, so I never checked.
I swing the left boot in his direction and it hits him in the middle of the chest. He grabs the area that it hit, but doesn’t outwardly complain. “Why would you do this? You could have been attacked going into town alone,” I shout.
He sits in the driver’s seat, completely unfazed. “There weren’t any problems and you needed shoes. You are welcome.”
I shake my head with a smile on my face. “Thank you so much,” I say sincerely. It is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, even though the gesture seems minuscule. Without boots, I won’t be able to make it much further.
Hayden pulls our travel map from his back pocket and I search the glove compartments of the car, hoping to find a pen. If we can mark the route, it will be much easier to find. I get lucky and pull an old red pen from underneath piles of paperwork in the glove compartment. We’ll be lucky if there is any ink that has not dried, but I can hope.
I hand the pen to Hayden, and he draws small circles on top of the page until ink flows from the tip of the ballpoint. He carefully traces a roundabout route to Indiana and I don’t argue. My sense of direction has always been lacking, so I trust that he will be able to get us home. As soon as he traces the route, he follows the line with the pen and adds six small dots. Three are clustered on the beginning of the route and the last three are spread throughout the end of it.
“What are the do
ts?” I ask. I’m sure they indicate something, but Hayden simply shakes his head, refusing to divulge. “Hayden, what are they?”
“They are places where we will not stop and you will not ask questions,” he says firmly. Hayden has never been the type of person who jokes around, but the firmness in his voice is absolute and unarguable. The points are not something good.
We begin our journey and find very few road obstacles on the highways and interstates outside of cities. As the population grew thinner, so does our complications and vice versa. There isn’t much gas in the tank, so we know we’ll need to stop soon and siphon from another vehicle, but we soon reach the first point on the map and Hayden refuses to stop. Despite being nearly on empty, he is adamant to push through the area before stopping and I trust his judgment.
I look around as we drive alongside a town and see nothing that is any different from the other cities we’ve encountered. Hayden’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel and the only audible sound is the wind beating on our car as we continue.
It isn’t until we’re nearly past the city that I notice something unusual. I look in the rearview mirror habitually and find that on the road behind us, directly where we had just driven, stands a figure. As distance draws between us, I am unable to tell the size or gender, but it is evidently a human. Other than that, the only other thing I notice is that the person doesn’t look healthy. I can’t tell for sure, but the way it’s standing, hunchbacked and head tilted too far to one side, it looks almost deformed.
And I’m thankful that Hayden insisted on getting gas in a town further east. I may be curious why we’re running, but I know that the figure in my rearview mirror, who stands almost inhumanly still as it stares at our car, is not someone I want to meet.
*****
Chapter 19
For some crazy reason, Hayden puts me in charge of navigation. He claimed that he wanted to get further from the last city before getting gas, so we continue to drive, tank running dangerously low. The gas light isn’t yet on, which makes me question if it works. It feels like it should have come on as soon as we got in the car, but it’s still not. It turns out Hondas really do have good gas mileage.
“So how long do you think this trip will take us?” I ask. It feels like we are on a road trip before the Red Death, but every time I see a corpse on the median or a car broke down, my fantasies go down the drain along with the hope that things will ever be the same again. They won’t. They never can. Not after so many people died such horrible deaths.
“I’d estimate about eleven hours including all the possible stops and road blocks. If we have to find another car, it may be longer,” Hayden says. I notice that his posture is looser than before. The further we get from the first dot, the more relaxed he becomes. Whatever he is avoiding, it must be bad.
“What is the absolute quickest we can get there?” I ask.
Hayden thinks for a moment. “Maybe nine and a half hours if we have minimal road problems, but as we reach the larger cities, we will have a difficult time making it without having to stop.”
I shrug and look at the map again, trying to figure out where we are. I never learned to read maps. Instead, I would always use a GPS or my phone. Either option was easier than deciphering a huge piece of paper with hundreds of scribbles and notes. I look around outside the car, trying to find a sign or any indication of our location. The remaining signs are faded and covered in a black film from the acidic rain, so it becomes increasingly difficult to find something.
“Do you know how much further until the next checkpoint. We need gas,” Hayden explains, driving casually down the interstate. We should have some distance before the next checkpoint, but I am terrible at judging distances.
“I’m trying to find a sign.” It takes a few additional minutes, but I finally locate a mile marker partially concealed by overgrown grass. I am fortunately able to read the numbers with squinted eyes.
I look at my map and try to find the specific mile marker. When my eyes are drawn to the second red dot on the page, I notice a mile marker number right beside the dot. It is precisely one mile more than the one we just passed. “Uh, Hayden,” I say hesitantly. “We need to stop and get gas now.”
“Why, where are we?” He asks. His tone is tense with worry, and I can imagine that mine is the same.
“About half a mile from your second dot,” I admit. Through the window, I notice a few buildings alongside the interstate and realize that we are close to another town. It’s not as large as the last, but it’s big enough to be threatening. “Can we make it?” I ask nervously. But we both know the answer to that question. I notice the approaching town and find that it is directly connected to the interstate. “Maybe if we stop right now?” I ask.
I notice Hayden’s grip tightening once again and look around for a car, but there isn’t another vehicle for another quarter mile. “We can make it,” he says, hitting the gas harder than before. If we speed, even if the car runs out of gas, we should be able to coast for a while. I’m confident that we’ll make it past the town.
We pass the exit to the small town, but I can’t read the name on the sign. Not only is black goo covering it, but it looks as if it has been scratched to an unreadable state. As we pass the exit, I exhale a deep breath and sit back in my seat, relieved. The car jerks forward and putters for a moment before slowing. I look at Hayden to ease my worry, but his expression only makes it worse. My temporary relief is replaced with pure fear.
The car finally stops and I look to the side of the interstate, realizing that we are directly in the middle of the town and the noise of our car would have caught the attention of any living inhabitants. “Hayden,” I mumble. He doesn’t respond and instead leans back in his seat, staring forward. “You need to tell me why we didn’t want to stop here.”
He shakes his head and looks at me. Anguish is evident in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have brought you through here. It wasn’t worth the risk.”
“Hayden, what is it?” I ask. Tears are prickling my eyes and fear is clawing its way up my throat.
“I’m going to find another car and come get you. I’ll lock the doors of the car and you need to lie down on the floorboards of the backseat. Don’t speak or move until I get back. I swear I will be back,” he says, looking at me. He shakes his head and throws his forehead into the steering wheel, gripping the ends of his hair tightly.
“Stop,” I yell, grabbing his chin and forcing him to keep eye contact with me. “We will be okay. Whatever it is, we can make it out of here. Please be careful.” I grab the Glock from my waistband and press the handle into his hand and wrap his fingers around it.
“Keep your gun. I won’t need it,” Hayden says.
I shake my head and push the gun away from me. “I won’t need it in a locked car. Take it and be careful.”
Hayden helps me in the backseat and I lay face down on the floorboards. He covers me with the white sheet that was previously covering the seats. “I swear I’ll be back for you. Just please don’t leave the car.”
“I won’t.” I am covered by the sheet and staring at the floor of the car, but I hear Hayden rustling around and his door opens. “And Hayden?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for everything,” I whisper. I know Hayden hears me, but he doesn’t know how much I appreciate everything he’s done. He saved my life so many times and has done everything in his power to keep me safe, even if I temporarily hated him for it. I don’t know how to adequately thank him for everything he’s done, but I’ll find a way.
He closes the door and I take a deep breath and attempt to calm my heart rate. For some reason, as I lie on the ground as still as can be, I think about some of Moe’s last words to me. Go with Hayden and trust him. All he wants is your safety and he will explain when you’re ready. Something about the words makes sense to me now. I may have questioned Hayden’s motives, but all he’s ever done is make sure I’m safe. I don’t know why I find it so difficult to
place my trust in people these days, but Hayden has done more than earn it.
I sit still and take shallow breaths in an attempt to keep the sheet from moving on my back. With the sun beating down on my back and the sheet trapping my body heat, I am sweating and overheating, but I know better than to complain. The sheet is keeping me hidden and the car is keeping me protected.
In the silence, I am attuned to the sounds outside the car, but until now, there has been nothing. I notice heavy footsteps as they approach and I hold my breath and will my heart to slow down. I could swear that my heartbeat is shaking the sheet, and I could also swear that someone is standing outside the car and looking inside. I think about Hayden and conclude that his steps are nimble and cautious. The footsteps approaching the car are cumbersome and uncaring. They are not Hayden’s.
My breath becomes increasingly difficult to contain and my lungs burn. The footsteps haven’t yet left the car and I can’t bring myself to move even a muscle. Knowing that I need oxygen in my lungs, I take a slow breath, willing myself to stay completely still and not move the sheet. With my breath, the footsteps return and seem to walk away from the car. Relief floods through my veins and I nearly sigh, still careful about moving.
But as I wait for the footsteps to completely disappear, another set of feet begin stomping around outside the car. As I track their movements, it seems almost as if they are circling the car, passing my locked door and the continuing the loop multiple times. How many people are there?
Something crashes through the passenger’s window and I flinch, unable to move. Do they know I’m here? A crackling laugh echoes through the car and I spring up and reach for the back-door handle and yank it. I groan when I realize that It’s locked. Before I can turn around, a sharp pain splits through the back of my skull, and everything goes dark.
Eternal Rains: A Dystopian Trilogy (BOUND Book 1) Page 9