A Thousand Miles To Nowhere: An Apocalypse Thriller

by Curfiss, David

  “Chris, you out here, little buddy?” Matt called out. His voice was hoarse and his throat was dry. Speaking felt like swallowing buckets full of sand.

  I need water. Goddamn, I really need water. He walked over to the suitcases full of water and SPAM. Goddamn SPAM.

  He grabbed a bottle of water and chugged. It did little to relieve the headache, but his throat felt better. He tossed the empty bottle to the side, not caring for the moment that the bottle needed to be saved, letting it roll into overgrown planters full of small palm trees and tall weeds with yellow flowers that danced in the wind. Pollen floated through the air.

  After taking several steps, he realized he’d drunk the water too fast. It hit his stomach with a violent wave of intensity that forced up whatever contents remained from last night’s processed-meat dinner. SPAM paste and bile, smelling like pepperoni pizza, spewed out his nostrils and mouth.

  “Chris,” he called out again, this time with less pain and the ever-prevalent smell of leftovers.

  He should be answering me. Something’s wrong.

  Matt decided to look around before going to Greg and Jody’s room. He wasn’t even sure which room was theirs and didn’t want to raise any false alarms. He was worried, but hadn’t confirmed Chris was actually missing. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. His gear and the guns still sat out in the open. He had forgotten to secure them in one of the rooms, which pissed him off. If someone had actually come into their camp, he’d assume they’d take the weapons and kit, not to mention the two bags of food and water. At least, he would have, anyway.

  Matt called out again and again and again with no response. Fuck it. I’ll wake them up.

  He made his way over to the rooms and opened the first door he came into contact with. Room 101. The door had a breaching mark just above the handle, so it was safe to assume someone was using the room.

  He stepped inside. “Hey, have you seen—”

  “Matt, get the hell out!” Tara screamed.

  It took Matt a second to recognize her. He had never seen her completely naked before and couldn’t help but stare at her breasts momentarily before looking at her face. He chalked it up to being a male, then brushed it off.

  Her face turned red and bunched up as his gaze found Steve naked and facedown on the bed. He laughed. Steve had a birthmark on his left butt cheek.

  “Sorry, was looking for Chris. Thought this was Greg’s room,” Matt said.

  “He should be with you, brother,” Steve grumbled, his face still smashed down in the pillow.

  “He’s not. I woke up alone in the pool. Thought maybe he came into one of the rooms last night while I was sleeping.”

  Tara lobbed a wadded-up towel at Matt. “Get out.”

  Matt stepped out, shut the door, then opened the next door over to room 203. That room was empty, so he tried across the hall and opened room 102. He found Greg sitting on a plush fabric chair with fancy wood armrests lacing up his boots. Finally.

  “Can I help you, son?” Greg asked

  “Looking for Chris. You seen him?”

  “No, he was with you in the pool when I hit the sack last night.”

  “Yeah, thought maybe he came up here. He wasn’t in the pool when I woke up.”

  “Did you try calling for him?” Greg’s tone was sharp and stung with the suggestion that Matt hadn’t already checked the obvious.

  “Goddammit, Greg, yes. I wouldn’t have come in here if I hadn’t already looked around. Calling out for him was the first thing I did.”

  Matt had been so focused on Greg when he walked in, he hadn’t seen Jody standing by the sink.

  “Any chance he would have wandered off somewhere, maybe try to scavenge? You know, make up for his behavior yesterday,” Jody asked.

  “Don’t know. He hadn’t spoken since I left him. I don’t have the slightest idea what he was thinking.”

  “Listen, son, whatever happened ain’t your fault,” Greg said. “Let’s hope he just got a wild hair up his ass and went looking for supplies or something. I reckon you ought to go get Steve and Tara and see if we can track him down. If he went venturing off, he wouldn’t have gone too far on his own. That boy is scared of his own damn shadow when we aren’t around.”

  Greg forced a smile, but Matt could see through it. He could sense the worry in the old man. This was bad, and they both knew it. Chris was gone, possibly dead, and no matter what Greg or anyone said to him, it was his fault. They had been asleep only feet apart. And to not notice, to not hear or have any idea Chris had gone missing made him sick inside. It was reminiscent of his childhood. His own mother could have been standing next to him, but her mind off in another world. Losing Chris made him feel as if he had become the very thing he despised most—his mother.

  Matt didn’t stop back by Tara and Steve’s room. He didn’t need to repeat himself and further his own frustrations. He needed to get out and find Chris, not wait on everyone else to pull themselves together and stop lollygagging. Why wasn’t anyone else taking this as seriously as he was? Why did he seem to be the only one who cared Chris was missing?

  Matt checked a few of the open rooms, all of which came up empty. He checked the exterior of the building, and doubled-checked inside the pool. Still no sign of the boy. He considered the possibility that maybe, Chris had run off to the credit union to prove he wasn’t afraid to be alone.

  Matt headed that way, calling out for the boy as went. Where in the fuck are you, little buddy?

  Nothing.

  Tara slipped her clothes back on while Steve sat up out of bed. It didn’t take him long to pull on the dingy clothes and sweat-stained gear he had been wearing for the past two months.

  “Where do you think Chris ran off to?” he asked as he released the charging lever of his AR. A single round loaded from inside the magazine.

  “Not sure. It’s not like him to take off. But I can’t imagine him getting taken in the night. It doesn’t make sense. Matt would have woken up,” Tara said.

  “A lot about this place doesn’t make sense.”

  Steve dropped the magazine in his rifle and condensed two of them into one, then ditched the empty. He was left with a single, full magazine with twenty-eight rounds. As he placed it back inside the magazine well of his rifle, a loud, reverberating boom startled him.

  “What was that?” Tara asked, her voice a bit strained.

  “Shit, Matt’s pissed,” he said. “I’m going to help him.” He slipped under the worn-out sling of his AR before heading over to the door.

  “Your shoes, dummy,” Tara called out.

  “Dammit.”

  By the time Steve got his boots laced up, Matt was well out of sight. Tara came up from behind and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck as he stood in the main doorway of the hotel lobby.

  “Let’s check the perimeter and see what we can find,” Tara offered.

  She checked around the pool area while Steve thoroughly checked the perimeter. He took his time looking around the planter boxes for signs of trespass. He looked inside the few cars that remained parked in the lot. He checked the dumpsters just in case.

  He started to walk back toward the pool when he caught himself and took a closer look at the dumpster enclosure. There were two dumpsters inside, one green, one blue. They were positioned so that the lids opened away from the other and that whoever was coming to dump the trash could walk between the pair and choose their canister. The enclosure was made of cinderblock with a chain-link fence and had a green plastic roof with just enough space for the lids to be flipped open. It was a small space, but it offered perfect concealment if someone wanted to hide. The chain-link gate faced the pool area.

  Steve sniffed the air. Ammonia. He inspected the ground and kicked away old newspapers and empty plastic coffee cups. One of the cups hit the cinderblock wall and busted open. Dark, amber liquid spilled out.

  “What the hell,” Steve muttered.

  He bent down and grabbed the cup. The stro
ng, rank odor of hot urine burned his sinuses, causing him to flinch backward. He dropped the cup and looked around. A pile of fresh human feces was covered with a few scraps of paper.

  Had one of them come over to relieve themselves? He considered the possibility, but wasn’t sure. He hadn’t and Tara hadn’t, which he knew for sure because he had been with her, but any of the others could have. What was he missing? He wanted to believe it was someone in his own group who had used the dumpsters as a toilet, but a feeling deep down inside warned him otherwise.

  As he turned to leave, Steve saw what he was looking for, that piece he knew he was missing.

  A small bone, about the size of an adult finger, was discarded halfway underneath the dumpster.

  He knelt down to get a better view, quickly realizing it was an adult finger.

  “Oh, fuck me,” he muttered.

  Steve ran toward the pool, calling out for Tara. No answer. Was she ignoring him, or unable to hear him? Either way, his heart raced at the new knowledge. The realization that Chris hadn’t wandered off struck him like lightning. His body was charged with a nervous energy that not only clouded his mind but caused him to fumble with his words and lose the ability to do simple tasks, like get his rifle unslung.

  “Tara,” he called out. “Goddammit, where are you?”

  “Down here,” she yelled. “In the pool.”

  Steve took a few hurried steps toward the pool’s edge, looked down, and found her. “Hey, someone was here last night.”

  “Okay, what do you mean by ‘here’?”

  The words were in his head, but they weren’t coming out. “The dumpster,” was all he could manage.

  Tara looked up at him, completely confused by what he was saying.

  “The dumpster, someone was at the dumpster.” He closed his eyes, took in a breath, and tried again. “I found piss and shit and a finger by the dumpster. Someone was in there watching us. They may have taken Chris. I also think he knew, which is why he wouldn’t speak. It scared him.”

  It seemed to take Tara a minute to process what Steve was saying. She stared up at him blankly, completely confused by the words coming out of his mouth.

  Chris was missing not because he had run off, but because he’d been abducted in his sleep. It also meant whoever had taken him wanted him specifically. They’d left the food, the water, and hadn’t bothered Matt. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense anymore.

  Matt stood outside the busted remains of the Mesquite credit union. He paced around the entrance, studied it. Studied the ground around it and the path that led inside. It looked exactly the same as it had the day before. He paced and listened, waited, and hoped Chris would come running out. But he didn’t.

  Think, dammit. Where would Chris go?

  Matt tried to process the thousand questions he had, none of which were going to get answered standing there.

  Action, take action, stop standing, and figure this out. What is the obvious?

  Matt thought through the events, considered the possibilities, and chose to skim over the obvious. He didn’t want to accept it. He didn’t want to say it.

  Chris was gone.

  He turned to head back to the hotel, but something crashed from inside. It sounded like broken glass—like someone had bumped a table and knocked over a coffee mug. The noise was sharp and sudden and sent a surge of adrenaline through Matt’s veins. His body trembled with both fear and anticipation. The world around him bloomed into focus as he reached for his rifle. Only then did he realize he hadn’t brought it. He’d been in such a panic he’d forgotten to grab it. His hand slipped down to his waist and found his knife. At least he had that.

  Matt focused on his breathing to calm his nerves. He took in a slow four-count, held it, exhaled for another four-count, held it, and repeated. With each focused breath, his heart rate slowed and took the heavy thump, thump, thump out of his ears. Still alert, but calm now.

  The mid-morning sunlight only seemed to darken the interior of the bank. Anybody inside would have a full view of him as he walked straight into the lion’s den. He felt like prey.

  “Chris, you in there?” Matt called out quietly, the knife blade gripped securely in his hand.

  He looked for shadows that jerked or shifted the way people moved. He listened for whispers and steps.

  “Chris, little buddy. Is that you?”

  Glass crunched and grinded as a small figure took off from behind a desk that sat inside the shattered glass doors leading into the building. The tiny figure was quick and blended with the shadows before Matt could react. Another child!

  Matt’s first instinct was to chase the little one down and get answers. He started after the kid, then stopped short. Don’t scare him more than you already have. He sheathed his knife.

  “Hello, I’m looking for my friend, Chris. Have you seen him?”

  Matt waited. He hoped his voice didn’t sound threatening.

  “I won’t hurt you. I just need to find my friend. His name is Chris—”

  “Go away,” a shrill, unfamiliar voice called out from the darkness, cutting Matt off mid-sentence. “Go away, and they won’t hurt you, too.”

  Too, Matt thought. Too. He unsheathed his knife again and looked around. “Fuck,” he whispered.

  From behind, he heard the rapid drumming of footsteps moving toward him. He pivoted and dropped his body to prepare himself for a low attack. He was relieved to see Steve and Tara.

  “There’s a child inside. Sounds young. Couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl,” Matt said.

  Then he turned his attention back inside the bank.

  “Brother, someone was in our camp last night. They waited by the dumpsters. They pissed all over the place in there, must have been waiting for a while,” Steve said calmly and quietly enough so only Matt and Tara could hear.

  “This kid, whoever he is, said ‘go away and they won’t hurt you, too.’ I’m not a fan of the ‘too’ part. He could be talking about Chris. Or, he could be talking about others who have come through. My bet is on Chris.”

  “Yeah, I hate to agree with you on this, but I think you’re right. We need to get Greg and Jody and get going,” Steve said.

  “We need to find Chris,” Matt said. “I can’t leave without him. I can’t leave my brother behind. We have to find him.”

  The word slipped out, and it was too late to take it back.

  Brother. I can’t leave my brother behind.

  He had let his two worlds collide yet again. It was an unappreciated distraction that would end up killing them all if he let his mind continue to trick him. Now is not the time. Two separate worlds. He couldn’t let this happen.

  Focus, he thought. He had to focus.

  As Matt took a deep breath to clear his thoughts, the tiny figure stepped out from the shadows.

  “You have to go now,” the little boy said.

  The child was dressed in rags, worse than what any of Matt’s team had been wearing. A tarp was tied at his waist and pulled over his head as a hood. Long, mangy hair hung down over the shoulders and covered his face in filthy strains. What skin was visible was stained with dirt. It was quite possible this child had never taken a bath.

  The child approached slowly but kept his distance. Far enough away he had the ability to flee if necessary.

  “You must go. They know you’re here. They’re watching.”

  “Hey, brother, I think we should listen to this kid. He may be onto something here,” Steve said.

  Matt sheathed his knife again. “Have you seen my friend Chris? He’s about your age—”

  The child stepped into the sunlight and interrupted him. “He’s with my father. It’s too late. He’s gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?” Matt asked.

  “We must eat, my father said. I asked to play with him, but Father said we must eat. I peed on him yesterday to mark him as mine, but Father said no, he is food, not fun.”

  Matt’s blood boiled, cooking his inside
s as he let his anger consume him. He wanted to kill this child as retribution. Then he wanted to take the boy’s head to wherever this father was and throw it at him. Matt closed his eyes for a second to process what the boy had said, and when he opened them, the boy was gone.

  “Where the fuck did he go?” Matt snapped.

  Steve and Tara both turned to look.

  “The fucking boy. I blinked and he disappeared.”

  They scanned the area, but there was no sign of him.

  “Back to the motel, now,” Matt commanded.

  Greg and Jody were poolside when they returned.

  Matt quickly geared up. “Chris is gone. We found a kid, a little boy, at the bank. He disappeared before we could really talk to him, but he told us to get out, he’s gone, and they are watching.”

  Greg stared back at Matt, jaw slack. Then he turned to look at Jody, who looked equally, if not more, confused.

  “So, just like that, we leave the boy?” Greg said.

  “I didn’t say that. I said he’s gone, and we were told we were being watched. But I never said we should leave. I still want to find him.”

  “Okay, then, son. Let’s go find him.”

  Like most young boys, the mysterious boy from the bank had created a place to hide and escape reality. He had turned the bank into a fort. Inside the glass doors of a banker’s office were stacks of weathered comics, little plastic army men, toy cars, sheets draped over chairs and nailed to the wall, toy guns, and an array of other miscellaneous items he latched onto for one reason or another. He also used the bank as a bathroom. It smelled rancid, like a century-old outhouse that had never been cleaned.

  They explored, hoping to find something other than just his stuff. Something that would lead them to where he and his family stayed. But the bank was nothing more than a young boy’s hideaway. It reminded Matt of a time when he’d been a young boy who played guns, hidden in the woods, and built forts out of couch cushions and sheets. It was an escape. His mother would read books on the couch as he would creep and crawl around on the floor, navigating hidden barriers and hiding from imaginary enemies. Two different worlds, so far apart, yet with so much in common, Matt thought as he picked up a little green army man.