Roadtrip Z (Season 3): Pocalypse Road

by Lilith Saintcrow

  “I’m not his—” Ginny began, at the same time Lee started with, “Well, they shot up a diner…”

  Steph laughed, elbowing Mandy, who joined in merrily. Mark looked baffled for a moment, but then a grin spread over his beaky face, and he bent over his chow as if to hide it.

  Juju snorted, almost choking on his coffee. “Lord, you two.”

  The cop—Jorge—stared down at his plate. “My wife took my daughter to the hospital.” He shook his head, slowly. “Went there to try an find ’em, and that’s how I met Kasie.”

  “I was glad to see someone who wasn’t growlin and chewin air.” Miz Frank stretched her legs under the table and rounded her shoulders to stretch, catlike, carefully in case the dog was in the way. Cords stood out in her slim neck, warm and carved. “We came across Chantal and Holly a couple days later, they’d teamed up to get out of Hadsburg.”

  “My husband came after me,” Holly said, softly. “For the last time,” she added.

  “My boyfriend just vanished.” Chantal sighed. “Don’t know if he got sick or what.”

  “My partner got bit,” Juju said. “I had to beat his head in with a lamp.”

  Good God, was everyone gonna talk about it? Lee fought the urge to hunch his shoulders. Let them jabber, if it helped. He was content with holding his peace, and watching Ginny push her food around.

  “Yeah.” Mike rubbed at his cheek, fingertips rasping on thin stubble. “Mine came home sick from work. I made him chicken soup. That night he got the shakes, then tried to bite me.”

  Juju opened his mouth, closed it with a snap. Lee’s eyebrows wanted to rise, but he busied himself with his plate. No business of his, especially when nobody else seemed to blink an eye. And sometimes, he’d wondered about Juju’s…feelings, maybe, for Tip. Still, Juju had gone on rec with the rest of them, right?

  Who cared? Not Lee Quartine, he decided. There were too many other fish needing to go in the pan.

  “It was my daughter.” Colleen smoothed her hair back with her fingertips, touched one earring. “Everyone was sick at the restaurant, they had to close down. I went home, and Erica was in the hallway. Just standing there, chewing.” She shuddered, and reached for her bottle of grape soda like she wished it was something stronger.

  “My mama tried to kill me.” Steph sank back in her chair, her gaze fixed over Chantal’s head across from her. “Mark had to hit her with a fryin pan.”

  “It weren’t no big deal,” Kasprak mumbled, dropping his chin.

  “It was,” she insisted. “I’d’ve died.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell, but Ginny roused herself. “Immunity,” she said. “We should compare notes, and figure out if we have commonalities. To see why we didn’t end up catching it.”

  “Handwashing, probably.” Mike applied himself to Steph’s fried chicken. “Hey, this is good.”

  Kasie pushed her chair back, half-rising to reach for one of the unopened Evian bottles in the center of the table. “That’s why we’re going to Atlanta.”

  “You too?” Mandy’s braids swung, the blue beads clicking. “You heard about the CDC there?”

  “Yeah. If anyone can find an immunity factor, it’s them.” The nurse sounded very certain, and Lee sensed Ginny’s stiffening next to him. “Y’all are goin there too?”

  “We’re heading New York way,” Lee said, steadily. Traveller pushed his head between Lee’s knees and peered up at him past the edge of the tablecloth. “Leastways, I am, with Ginny. Juju too, far as I know.”

  “Amen to that.” Juju lifted his coffee cup. “I ain’t goin south unless I have to.”

  “Don’t blame you.” Kasie’s mouth drew down at the corners as she settled, but whether it was distaste for going south or a pucker from her almost-finished lemonade was unclear. “What’s in New York?”

  “Excuse me.” Ginny rose, carefully. Traveller tensed, his tail thwomping under the table.

  “Ginny—” Lee began. Oh, darlin. Don’t.

  “I need the restroom,” she said, in a low, unsteady voice. “And no, Lee, nobody needs to go with me. It’s fine.” She pushed her chair all the way back, turned so quickly her single French braid bounced, and set off for the front of the Hyatt’s in-house restaurant where the ladies’ room—probably full of taupe and powder—was. Probably even had dishes of mints on the counters. The entire place was class.

  “I guess that’s a sore subject,” Colleen said softly. “Is she okay?”

  Lee held Traveller’s collar, keeping the dog from trotting after her. “Ain’t been sleepin well, I guess.” A chill ran down his back, cold fingers tracing little signs on his skin. It wasn’t just that, though. She was sitting on something, and he had to get her to spill it so that awful weight would slide off her shoulders and onto his. “She’s got people in New York. Worried about ’em.”

  “Lord, I’m glad I haven’t heard from my in-laws,” Jorge muttered, and a laugh ran around the table on heavy, unsteady feet.

  Prosaic Comfort

  It was the first time Ginny was truly alone in ages, and she wasn’t enjoying it much. She even missed the dog’s constant neediness. She caught herself looking down, quick glances to check on the adorable little furry roadblock; each time, she shook her head and told herself it was a good thing he hadn’t followed her upstairs. She turned the deadbolt and leaned against the door for a moment, resting her forehead against its wonderful coolness. Carting her luggage and a few bottles of water in while everyone else was at dinner might be impolite, but good God, she was done. Her bra was chafing, her headache was monumental, and now that she had access to a hot shower, all other considerations became secondary.

  Not that it would matter, soon, if what she suspected was true. Ginny laid out her supplies neatly—alcohol wipes, a digital thermometer and an analog one, the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff filched from the pharmacy of the Bargain Zone where they’d met Carline and Mandy. Soap, shampoo, razor. There weren’t going to be any more Gillettes made, not if this thing was worldwide.

  The more she tried to think through the implications, the harder her brain resisted. The headache probably bore some responsibility for that, but the rest of it was…well, it was just so big. You couldn’t stare something huge in the face for long before it took a toll.

  It was fine for the abyss to look back into you. What she couldn’t take was seeing the implications at the bottom of the void anymore. Instead, Ginny took her vitals, including her temperature twice with each thermometer, logged the numbers in her notebook. Laid her pen down and struggled out of her sweater, unbuttoning the flannel shirt underneath.

  Her skin crawled while she stripped down, and the first blast of warm water felt so good she exhaled sharply, almost moaning. Finally washing her hair again was an almost religious experience. Sponge baths just didn’t do it, and hair-washing with cold water might be great for the cuticles, but it meant the rest of her froze.

  Another thing that would soon be academic, she suspected. The only thing disturbing her enjoyment was the headache, and her nose filling up again. She’d been sniffing all day, the back of her throat raw with postnasal drip. Nobody noticed because the cold made everyone’s nose stuffy. It wasn’t really bad until the warmth of the hotel freed up all the mucus. Still, she took her time enjoying the shower. Her favorite almond-drop bodywash was just as creamy and fragrant as ever, and shaving again was pure heaven. Good grooming was a way to help yourself feel better, it was an article of faith for a Mills girl.

  She could have stayed under the warm stream forever, if she hadn’t started coughing. Deep, chesty coughs, full and productive.

  Ew. It helped to regard the symptoms clinically, but still, gross. There was no shortage of towels. At least she’d be…comfortable? Was that the word?

  It could just be a cold, Ginny told herself. Stress taking its toll on the immune system.

  She took her vitals again afterward. Her temp had risen by less than a half-degree, hovering at 101.7F. Pulse sligh
tly elevated, blood pressure a little high, too. At lunch, her temperature had been 99F. She noted it all again, and doubled over as another wave of coughing struck. Finally, gasping for breath and hanging onto the counter, she peered at her indistinct ghost in the condensation-clouded mirror.

  What would she look like after the…

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. “It could be a cold. It could.”

  Could she take the chance? Of course not. Ridiculous, and downright cowardly, to even think about it.

  Her most comfortable boxers, covered in penguins and with the waistband of popped and snarled elastic, were like freedom itself. Her old Moss Bridges T-shirt, soft and wide-necked, stuck to the dampness on her lower back. Ginny turned the fan timer on, carried the med supplies into the bedroom, and laid them out on the nightstand.

  With that done, she eyed all the furniture in the room again, and set to work. A half-hour of tugging, swearing, and coughing, and her room door was well-blocked. Finally, nursing a bruised knee from the dresser—it was admirably heavy, real quality or maybe just weighted down—she stood for a moment contemplating the drapes. Sick people always wanted them closed, but she wanted light in the morning. Besides, who would be peeping now? The “balcony” was six inches of space with welded iron grill masquerading as a balustrade, probably full of cigarette butts, and the only thing below was the parking lot. Five stories below, to be precise.

  Ginny turned the bed down. Who cared what was on the sheets at this point? She crawled gratefully into linens that appeared clean, settling on pillows that had cradled many a head before hers. Her phone, plugged in and charging on the nightstand, had no service, but it was a prosaic comfort nonetheless.

  She longed to call home. Even a half-hour of Mom’s vapors would be welcome. Maybe Flo was rethinking blaming Ginny, that would be nice too. So nice.

  It could simply be a cold. Or even, laughably, the flu. If it wasn’t the zombie sickness, hydration and rest would help. Also, if everyone left and she pulled through, she could easily find a car and be on her way. Dad would be so happy to see her.

  If the fever, headache, chills, and coughing were what she suspected, she wouldn’t be able to get out and hurt anyone else. She’d blocked the door as well as she was able, and if she made it out to the balcony five stories up had a comfortably non-survivable percentage, at least from what she could recall.

  Ginny turned the terrible attempt at blown-glass lamp off. The faint edge of reflected glow from the snowbound lot under sodium lights was comforting. If she kept her eyes mostly closed, she could pretend everything was fine, that she was on a road trip to see her parents, that the hideous growling, chewing things were simply a nightmare from an unfamiliar bed and bad food.

  Lying to herself was a bad habit to start, but Ginny, damp all over with fever-sweat and the remains of her shower, didn’t care, and fell into a restless doze.

  Democracy in Action

  They didn’t set a watch, and though it bothered both Lee and Juju, a solid night’s sleep made a world of difference. Lee was out as soon as his head touched the pillow, Traveller making himself at home on the damn bed as well, and not a single bad dream troubled either of them. Later, he’d kick himself up and down for it, but at the time he assumed Ginny was already asleep when he knocked on her door. Missing the usual nightly chat bothered him, and so did finding the Do Not Disturb tag still hung neatly on her door the next morning, and her nowhere in sight.

  Well, maybe she was sleeping in. God knew she needed it, he hadn’t missed the circles under her eyes. If she was getting some rest, he shouldn’t disturb it.

  “If you want to,” he repeated, “go ahead.”

  “Well, I dunno.” Mandy rubbed at the back of her neck with one slim hand, her beaded hair clicking gently. Her wide dark eyes were troubled. “We don’t know ’em, though that lady in charge looks like good people. And they’re goin Atlanta way.”

  Cool air filtered into this service hall from the propped-open door to the concrete well of underground parking. “Maybe they should take all the kids,” Juju commented. He’d buzzed his hair back down, and looked far more comfortable now that he was back in order.

  “I ain’t no kid.” Mark Kasprak balanced on both feet, his hat shoved back and his dark hair—clean now—finally behaving, falling over his eyes in a dark swoop. A beaky little rooster, spurs ready. “Neither is Steph.”

  Juju’s wry grin made him look like a teenager himself. “Y’all are what, sixteen?”

  “Eighteen,” Mark fired back, and he looked every inch. “And we ain’t kids after all this, Mr Thurgood.”

  Lee could have taken issue with that, but it would push the conversation off-track. Miz Frank’s group was almost ready to leave, and offered to take anyone who wanted along to Atlanta. It was the best choice, really, and his conscience—such as it was—had taken to pinching him hard whenever he heard the city’s name.

  God damn Grandon. If the syringes were what Lee thought they were…

  Lee surfaced from that particular unpleasant thought, aware of several gazes on him. Juju’s eyebrows were up, Mark’s cheeks were freshly shaved even though he had very little to clearcut on those hills, and Steph’s sharp kittenish face was bright as a new penny. She stood close to Mark again, maybe because the boy made a point to defer to Juju. Traveller trotted between their group and the other one, nosing at everything, tail held high and excited, ears perked.

  Carline was slightly behind Mandy, pale under her brightly colored cap and glancing at the staging area for the Frank group every once in a while like she thought they were gonna leave without her. It was obvious what she wanted.

  The way Mandy examined Lee was almost uncomfortable. She looked like she expected him to start yelling, maybe, and he didn’t miss the way she was carefully out of arm’s reach with her new snowboots poised to carry her back if necessary.

  “Ain’t gonna force any of you,” he said, finally. Didn’t they know that by now? “If y’all wanna to to Atlanta, they’s a good group to go with. Miz Frank knows what she’s doin, she’ll keep you safe.”

  “You sure?” Mandy glanced at Steph, not waiting for Lee’s answer. “You wanna come?”

  It was democracy in action, Lee mused. Everyone gettin a vote, if they could just make up their damn minds. He kept his thumbs in his pockets, enjoying the luxury of not having to stand to attention—and making himself smaller, as much as he could.

  “We’re all from the same town,” Steph said, slowly. She leaned toward Mark and he replicated the motion, two plants each thinking the other was the sun. “And Miz Ginny doesn’t have anyone else to go with her, you know?”

  “Well, we’ll save you some room down there.” Apparently that was that, Mandy swung around and headed for their gear, stacked neatly at the edge of the Frank group’s. The nurse waved, and Chantal dropped a cheeky wink; Mike Mock lifted a case of bottled water with a grunt and Jorge, his broad back alive with muscle, shouldered the door wide on his way out carrying another two cases. The underground garage looked clear, but Holly and Colleen were on shuttle duty with shotguns.

  It paid to be careful. Lee whistled for Traveller, who tore himself away from examining a pile of waterproof-bagged sleeping bags and trotted for him, reluctant but obeying. Carline picked up their backpacks, Mandy their two sleeping bags and rolled foam, and the girls joined the other group. Miz Frank nodded, and set them to work right away.

  “Is Miz Ginny up?” Steph stuck her hands in her pockets, pulling her gloves out and folding them neatly.

  “Ain’t seen her.” Juju shook his head. Even buzzed, his hair was springing up right cheerful, and there was a gleam in his gaze Lee hadn’t seen for a while.

  A shadow crossed the girl’s sharp face. She put her folded gloves away and rubbed at her hair, probably wishing Ginny was up to help her braid it. “Ain’t like her to sleep in.”

  “We all need the rest.” Lee sighed, bending to smooth Traveller’s head and scratch behind the hou
nd’s ears. “Steph, you wanta go up and see if she answers her door?”

  “Yessir.” The girl grabbed Mark’s hand and tugged him away, both of them breaking into a run before they reached the staff elevator. If the power went out while they were in there it was going to be a pickle, but Lee didn’t have the heart to yell. He snagged the hound’s collar before he could take off after them, though. Getting a canine out of a dangling tin box sounded like even more of a pickle.

  “Shoulda told them they had to go,” Juju muttered. He waved his hat once, twice, the pompom bobbing punctuation. “Damn kids.”

  “Think they’d listen?” Lee clipped the leash on, and Traveller, betrayed, stared at him mournfully despite Lee’s skritch behind the hound’s ear before straightening.

  “If you said it? Maybe.” The younger man patted at his breast pocket, a holdover from Army life. “Makes me wish I still smoked.”

  “Me too.” Cigarettes would probably become currency after a while, just like in any war zone. Lee had a couple other suspicions about what would be tradable after a while, too. “You sure you don’t wanna go to Atlanta, Juju?”

  “I’m stickin with you, Loot.”

  It should have made him feel better, but Lee’s conscience pinched again. Hard. Each day they spent moving was a spin of a wheel Juju hadn’t signed up for.

  There was no help for it if the man was determined. “Maybe after Ginny looks in on her folks we’ll go thataway.” Lee had a healthy respect for Thurgood’s stubbornness, having a good share of that particular quality himself.

  “Might be better to head Canada way.” Juju rolled up his hat, the pompom waving its tentacles. ”I hear they’re more civilized up there.”

  “Maybe so.” Lee suppressed another sigh, and handed Juju the leash. “Keep this fool inside, willya?” It was no use, he might as well go up and see if Ginny would open her door. It was selfish, she needed the rest…but something bothered him. And if she was gonna change her mind bout New York, now would be the best time to find out.