The words “horde” and “disappeared” caused both Steve and Tara to jolt up from eating. Tara almost choked on egg and toast.
“What do you mean, a horde that disappeared?” she asked.
“Don’t worry, now,” Greg said. “Jody and I already talked this over with Bill. We know what we’re getting into.”
His words did little to calm their nerves, but they trusted Greg. He wasn’t going to put them in a situation he didn’t think they could get themselves out of.
“Yeah, so, just before that storm hit, I was tracking a horde up the 82. Same horde, I think, that forced you all to take refuge in the old Perkins cabin out there.”
Matt limped out of the kitchen and propped himself up against the wall. “You don’t think that horde passed through, do you?” he asked in a slow, forced voice. Each word pained him. The hole in his mouth. The hole in his neck. The pain meds diluting his blood with toxins. He was a walking mummy, no better than the hordes outside.
“No way of knowing unless we check. There are several feet of snow packed over the ground right now, and more to come. If that mass of dead got stuck on the 82 in the snowfall…well, when that snow melts, there’s no telling what they’ll do.”
“How is that different from any other day?” Matt asked.
“It’s not, really, when you think about it. But this is the closest any horde has ever come to my land and it’s big, very big, well over a thousand. I’d like us to be prepared if they get turned around and start up this way. If that horde gets off track and wanders up here, I need to have my livestock secured somewhere out of reach and the rest of us will bunker down in the bomb shelter I’ve got below us.”
“What’s your plan, then?” Jody asked.
“See, I’ve been collecting goodies the military left behind over the years. I’ve got enough explosives and other firepower to fight my way to a very respectable death if need be.” Bill flashed a wide grin as he spoke. It was clear the man was impressed by his arsenal. “My thought is this. When the snow melts enough for us to start tracking that horde again, we’ll be left with two possibilities. First, the horde moved past us and through Aspen, which is the most ideal. Second, and less desirable, those dead fuckers got themselves buried in a few feet of snow and will emerge like newborn babies, confused and crying out for food. If we’re left with option two, we’ll put out some IEDs I built, some claymores and whatnot, and try to redirect them through Aspen to move on.”
Matt laughed. “How many zombie books did you read? Do you really think that’ll work?”
Bill looked back at Matt, his lips pressed together. “I realize it sounds—”
“Stupid. It sounds stupid. Let the horde be. They aren’t bothering you and they won’t.” Matt’s anger took over, and rational thought escaped him. He needed to vent his pent-up stress and frustrations, and he was about to do so on Bill. “Let me ask you something.”
Bill looked at Greg with a bitter smile. Greg passed that same bitter look to Matt as he continued.
“What’s in Denver? That’s what we came out here for—to go to Denver.” Matt waited momentarily for a response then turned his attention to Greg. “I heard y’all talking last night and from the sounds of it, nothing is in Denver. How long were you planning on keeping this from me?”
Greg set his empty plate down on the coffee table and stood. “Son, you need to understand we haven’t been out there to see for ourselves that—”
“See what? See what Bill has already told us—told you? That Denver is a ghost town?”
“Now, hold on, son.”
“No, I will not,” Matt yelled. “It pisses me off we just walked halfway across the damn country and lost three kids only to hear there has never been a settlement in Denver.” He winced in pain and grabbed his stomach with his good arm. “Who knows where that letter came from or who…” He paused. “Or who…” Matt wasn’t able to finish his sentence. His anger made him retch and vomit a thick, rancid paste of undigested eggs and coffee mixed with bile. He teetered, dizzy, before he swayed, staggered backward, and began to fall to the floor.
Bill sprang up and caught him before he collapsed. “He needs rest. That walk over here and the stress has got his guts in a rut and his mind twisted. He isn’t taking in nutrition. Hon,” he bellowed. “Get the room ready for Matt.”
Cate stood up straight from leaning against the wall behind where Bill had been sitting. “I’m right here. No need to yell. The room is already fixed up.”
Steve took one half of Matt’s body while Bill grasped the other. They carried him to a small room that smelled of lavender and some other earthy aroma. The walls were painted white with a subtle grey undertone. A picture hung over the bed that said, Home is where the heart is. They laid Matt down as he groaned and held onto his gut. At the foot of the bed, a white flannel blanket lay neatly folded in a long rectangle. Steve unfolded it.
“He’ll be fine. He just needs rest. I recommend we take him off the pain meds for now.”
“I thought that was just Motrin?” Steve asked.
Steve covered Matt up to his shoulders in the blanket then gave him a light squeeze before leaving the room with Bill.
Cate had already begun to clean up Matt’s vomit. Tara looked pale and about to vomit herself.
“So, is it true? Denver’s a bust?” Steve asked.
Greg opened his mouth, but Bill got out the words first. “Listen, I go out to Denver on occasion to see what’s changing. It’s a few days’ travel on horseback. I bring back necessities for the homestead. It’s my opinion, and only my opinion, that no settlements have made their way through Denver in recent years.”
“What about Tiffany’s convoy?” Tara asked. “She said they went through Denver.”
“A few months back in the summer, a group came through the area, but on the outskirts, Aurora, then went south. They didn’t go into Denver. Not sure if that is your friend Tiffany or not. Never met a Tiffany. Hell, I ain’t met anyone in years but you all.”
“And you saw this?” Steve asked.
“Yes.”
“No others?”
“No others.”
The group stood in silence for a few minutes, processing the news they might have come all that way for nothing. What was the purpose of everything they were doing?
Steve had a single arm wrapped around Tara’s shoulders as they both stared off through the panoramic windows of Bill and Cate’s living room. Then, something clicked.
“Tiff’s convoy!” he exclaimed.
“What about it?” Greg asked
“The letter came from Tiff’s convoy. Think about it. The timing of the letter, the timing of when Tiff’s group got to Denver—or Aurora, whatever. And when they got down to the county line. It makes sense. Matt’s mom was in Tiff’s convoy.”
“Makes sense, but why didn’t Tiffany tell us? Or better yet, why didn’t we see his mom?” Jody asked.
“Don’t know. Maybe she left the convoy and stayed back. Maybe she tried to make a place for herself in the area. Hate to say it, but it’s also possible she died. Why send the letter if she wasn’t dying? I mean, fuck, man. How many years since she’d seen him? Why now? Why all of a sudden? It seems desperate. Also, we have to consider the letter. What were the odds of finding us in the mountains the way that dude did?”
Everyone stared at Steve, who stared back at Greg, waiting for an answer. The man was good for grunt work, but for him to piece together this theory was pretty impressive.
Greg sat down and took a deep breath. What Steve said was true, all of it. His mind drifted back to standing outside his cabin, thinking about whether or not his decision to chase the letter was a good one. He wished he’d had a better reason for traveling north, but he didn’t. It all came down to a damn note.
“You know, when all this mess first started, I hesitated. It didn’t feel right. It felt…strange to me. I don’t know how else to say it. I wasn’t sure what we were about to do was worth the
risk. And so far, I reckon…it hasn’t been. And I’m sorry for that.” Greg wiped at some beads of sweat on his forehead. “Do I think Matt’s mom is in Denver? No, I don’t. Not anymore, anyhow. Maybe at one time she was there. Other than that, well, it’s just a guess. See, back when y’all were nothing more than an idea in your mommas’ heads, Matt had moved out to live with his pops. His mom sent him away. That’s a whole ’nother story. But she did, and he went. He left behind a little brother, Michael. I miss that boy something serious. I can’t say he’s still alive, probably not. But Matt was holding onto hope that if he found his momma, he’d find Michael. I reckon the whole point of this was to maybe reunite the two. It would make Matt a happier man if he found Michael or got some closure. Anyhow, Matt’s momma knew about my cabin and as much of a long shot as it may have been, I do believe she sent that man with that note hoping, really, truly hoping, to reach her son.”
Greg had everyone’s attention, even Jody, and he’d known the story of Matt’s childhood.
“I know Bill don’t believe anyone’s out in Denver, but it’s worth our time and effort to get out there and see for ourselves. And in the end, if she ain’t there, well, I reckon we figure out what’s next when that time comes. Let’s focus on now. We help Bill. We deliver Tara’s little surprise safely here with Bill and Cate’s help. And we find that horde. Then, we’ll figure out what’s next.”
Cate walked over and handed Greg a glass of water. He sipped it with a sigh of relief.
“Got-damn, I’ve had that on my mind for a while now. Reckon it was taking a bit off me every day.”
Then Greg took a seat and another sip of his water, and waited.
Matt woke up in a dark, unfamiliar room. He was surrounded by comfortable luxuries: soft, fluffy comforters, pillows with cases, old world electric lamps, and could smell lavender and some other herb-y odor. It relaxed him and put his mind at ease. The pillow under his head was soaked. His hair was drenched in sweat, his cheek in drool. He sat up and whipped off the crust on his lips and tasted the foul remains of vomit and copper—probably blood from his wound. On a small wooden table next to the bed sat a glass of water. Two ice cubes floated near the top, and the table had a ring of water from the condensation around the bottom. He took a sip, then a gulp, but stopped himself short of hurling it all up. When he was satisfied, he placed the glass back down on the table and stared at the floating ice cubes. They have ice, he thought.
“How you holdin’ up, son?” a voice asked from the foot of the bed.
He jumped, startled, and looked over at Greg sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to him, his head turned to look over his shoulder.
“How long you been sitting there, old man?” Matt asked.
“Long enough.”
“It’s creepy and unbecoming. You shouldn’t do it.”
Greg didn’t laugh. His face was slack with sorrow and regret.
“Son, listen to me. I’m sorry about the letter and all…all this nonsense. But you know as well as me there was no way to know for certain if your mom was going to be up here. It was a chance, and we took it, son. We took it not knowing for sure.”
“And we still don’t know. It’s fine. I knew what we were getting ourselves into. I just wish we hadn’t dragged them all along with us.”
“You can’t beat yourself up over that. Besides, what choice did we have? Leave ’em all down at my cabin to fend for themselves?”
Matt repositioned himself on the bed to sit upright, using a pillow as support for his back. He stretched, then poked at the hole in his mouth.
“Shit hurts, you know. Getting bit by wolves.”
“I can imagine it does.”
“Listen, old man, I don’t care if she is there. I don’t. I’m pissed we got Sean, Tim, and Chris killed. That we dragged Steve and Tara and Jody all the way out here for me.”
Greg took a deep breath, then exhaled loudly.
“I never expected to find her. Don’t want to. I wanted to see Michael. I hate myself for leaving him. I should never have let her push me away, or at least not without him with me,” Matt said.
“Don’t go beating yourself up on the past. You can’t change it. You were young and angry. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done it any different.” Greg reached out and put a hand on Matt’s leg. “You can’t keep killing yourself, son. You just can’t.”
Matt gently slid out from under the blanket and stood as best as he could. “Arm hurts, neck hurts, face hurts, my body is broken. My head is broken,” he mumbled. “Let’s do what we can for Bill.” He smiled painfully at Greg.
Matt left Greg sitting on the bed and walked over to the living room window. He sat and stared out of it, wondering what had become of his little brother. He stewed on the deaths he caused chasing his mother’s letter. He wished that damn letter had never been sent. It seemed unfathomable a decision made by her so many years ago would have had such a catastrophic effect today.
He closed his eyes and let his mind go into the deepest, darkest hole possible, wondering if it was possible to die while he sat there.
If not, was he capable of ending it himself?
19
Suffering Bastard
With each passing day, Matt, more often than not, sat in front of the panoramic window overlooking the ridgeline that surrounded Bill’s property. He woke before dawn, limped over from his barn accommodations, and helped himself to an already prepared pot of fresh coffee. It was the same brand they had brewed the day he arrived. They had bags upon bags of it—Refined Savage Old Man Strength Viking Coffee. Matt wondered where they had found such a cache.
Cate and Bill were early risers. Usually when Matt shambled from his barn house bedroom to the main house, he passed Bill tending to the animals and Cate doing some sort of project inside the house. After about ten minutes or so, Bill would come inside, kick off his boots, fill his thermos up for the second time, then join Matt for a while before heading back out to meet up with Greg, Jody, and Steve to start the day’s work. Tara, whose belly grew with healthy enthusiasm almost daily, assisted Cate inside.
As Matt sat in front of the window, he grew impatient and bored and slowly became a passenger in his own life. Everyone around him fulfilled some necessity and provided in some way. He simply rotted away at the mind. His wounds needed more time to heal. His stomach wasn’t right. He had migraines. His neck was tight. The room still spun when he stood. Life became miserable, and misery became the norm.
His mind was trapped in an endless cycle of regret and blame. The stress morphed from internal dialogues of self-doubt and criticism to brain fog that corrupted his entire outlook on drive and discipline. Once his brain locked up, his body seized up soon after. To sit and dwell on irrational fears and unnecessary self-hatred was what his life was all about from sunrise to sunset.
Winter pressed on. The team pressed on. Matt did not.
Early one morning, when the day was the coldest and calmest, Matt sat down inside, looking out. It was a few days past the new year, although he had stopped keeping tabs on time. Matt made no promises to himself, no artificial resolutions or false hopes of “new year, new me.” He simply sat, sipped coffee, and pondered. Dawn’s cataclysm of colors shifted to the purest blue sky he had ever seen. Not a single white cloud.
He stood from his seat, coffee in hand, and touched the window. It was cold, but not too cold. The walk over had been fairly nice, as well. Over the past few weeks, the trek had been so cold the still air froze his flesh and hurt down to the hollow of his bones. He was confident the frigid winter temps were cold enough to freeze his marrow in place. But not this morning.
He decided to take his coffee outside and sit in the red Adirondack chairs by the firepit. He passed Cate in the kitchen as she washed the breakfast dishes and headed outside. It was only a few yards from the door to the pit, and would be worth every step once he got there. Matt even considered getting a fire going. It was something he’d loved about camping with his fat
her as a child, waking up in the tent and finding his old man outside boiling a pot of water to make coffee over a nice morning campfire. It was better than the night fire. There was something special about those morning wake-ups in the wilderness. He still appreciated the feeling to that day.
Matt set his coffee down on the chopping block Bill used to split logs, then proceeded to build a fire. He used pine cones and dried needles for kindling and set up a few twigs as burners before putting the four bigger logs on top to maintain the fire. He lit it, sat down, and enjoyed his morning campfire. The logs burned and the smoke drifted over him. It burned his sinuses and eyes, but he didn’t care because he didn’t hurt.
In the distance, Greg and the rest of the team descended upon him. He watched them slowly encroach upon his moment, killing his peace and letting the pain creep back to the surface of his flesh.
Greg sat down first, then Steve, then Jody. Tara bit her lip as she half-smiled and continued on into the house. Matt smiled back with his lips pressed together. Everything began to ache and pulse all at once.
“Son,” Greg asked. “You doing okay?”
At first Matt didn’t answer. The pain in his mind throbbed in places he had never felt before. He grimaced and fought to control it, but it did little to help because he was still thinking about it.
“Son?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. My head hurts. The headaches are getting bad.”
“Your head doesn’t hurt, Matt. You’re just thinking too much about the stuff you can’t change,” Jody said.
Matt sat with his eyes closed, taking deep breaths. When he opened his eyes, they were all staring at him. “What?”
“Brother, you are not okay,” Steve said. “You say you’re okay, but you’re definitely not.”
A Thousand Miles To Nowhere: An Apocalypse Thriller Page 19