The minivan turned out to be a good find. They’d been able to push the Rabbit into the lot and transfer everything into the minivan as well as load up the items Manson and Margie had collected from the store.
The van had a full tank of gas, but no keys. Manson hadn’t been ruffled as he’d offered to go find them. They all figured the owner of the van was probably an employee of the store or one of the surrounding buildings. If not, then whoever had left the van hadn’t gotten far – one way or the other.
Manson didn’t say what happened, but he’d come back almost an hour later with bloody keys in hand. He’d glanced at Margie as he’d handed them over, half-shrugging. “Don’t ask.”
She’d nodded tightly, grateful he’d given them to her without incident. He could have just as easily kept them for himself and demanded he drive. There was something off about the guy, but Margie was too determined to get home to drill down into what it could be. Plus, she didn’t want to question much – she’d picked up Kelsey and that woman was definitely lying about something.
Kelsey hadn’t wanted to leave her car, but while Manson was gone, she’d adjusted to the idea and climbed into the rear seat of the van, taking up the padded bench seat by herself. Folding her arms across her chest, she’d glowered at everyone through untinted windows.
After turning over the keys to Margie, Manson claimed the middle bench seats and Ryker had climbed into the front passenger seat beside Margie.
The arrangement worked well and getting back on the road finally felt like she was getting somewhere. But even as they had traveled in silence with Manson and Kelsey and even Ryker asleep, Margie couldn’t help feeling like her nerves were stretched taut. What did she expect to happen? Real life wasn’t like in the movies or books. She couldn’t honestly expect that she would get to Cady’s house and everything would be happy-ever-after. In most of the apocalyptic books she read at Cady’s urgings, Margie had never seen all of the characters make it to the end. That was fiction… this was real and Margie didn’t see anyone’s luck holding out for anything.
Rubbing her eyes, Margie gripped the steering wheel. Out of habit she glanced in the rearview mirror, but there were no headlights behind her. What was she doing? She caught a glimpse of the unmoving passengers and she narrowed her eyes. She didn’t know Manson, and yet she had brought him into the group without discussing it with anyone or even looking at it from a different angle.
Looking back, she wanted to smack herself for trusting too easily. Her decision might cost the whole group.
All the way through Spokane, the freeway was empty. There was no sign of life except the flash of the van’s headlights as it sped over the worn lanes. She drove past industrial areas that cut into the night sky with their sharp angles and hulking masses. Flashing light caught her eye from the periphery and she watched for it like one watched for lightning in a stormy sky. It wasn’t raining or even cloudy. She couldn’t figure out why there would be flashes of light anywhere.
She left the flashes behind as they crossed the Washington-Idaho border. Margie’s chest tightened the closer they got to Coeur d’Alene and when she pulled off onto the US-95 exit, she almost cried. They were close. So close. Holding it together, she drove north, zipping through the black lights at each intersection.
There was no sign of life that she could see.
Manson shifted in the back, leaning forward and keeping his voice down. “Hey, would it be too much trouble to find somewhere to stop? I need to relieve myself.” The closeness of his arms on the back of the chair sent an unnerving chill up the back of Margie’s neck.
She glanced in the rearview mirror. Kelsey hadn’t moved. Maybe she didn’t care one way or the other. Margie wouldn’t mind stopping and stretching her legs. She peeked toward Ryker to see if he was awake. She didn’t want to make the decision on her own and she didn’t want to give that much power to Manson.
Ryker shifted in the seat beside her, lifting his head and rubbing his eyes. “I could go, too, if that’s good with you.” His agreement worked and she didn’t feel as on-edge.
Slowly, Margie nodded. “Okay, yeah, I wouldn’t mind stretching.” She studied the area around them for a good spot to pull over. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. She didn’t know what was safe and what wasn’t.
“Did you want me to drive next? You don’t have to do it all by yourself. I bet you’re tired.” Manson’s voice was filled with concern but why? He didn’t know Margie. There was no reason why he should care. That just set Margie more on edge and she clenched her jaw.
Giving away that she was awake, Kelsey called out, “He’s not driving, Margie. I still don’t trust him.”
Well, that helped the tension in the car. Margie nodded tightly, scanning the road more intently for a place to stop. “I’m okay, thanks. Where do you guys think we should stop?” She ignored Kelsey’s outburst which only served to push Margie toward trusting Manson more. She didn’t need any help in deciding what to do. She just needed a chance to do it.
“I don’t know this area. We need a building with a big lot, not a lot of places around for people to hide.” Manson craned his neck to see the dash. “Looks like we need gas soon, too. It might be good to be by a neighborhood to go out and siphon? I’m not sure.” He scrunched back from looking at the gauges, giving Margie breathing space.
“There’s a roller-skating rink just up ahead. That’s the only place I can think of that is kind of like what you’re describing.” Margie turned on her blinker as she slowed at the intersection. She wouldn’t yawn, but she wanted to and then she did, forcing her lips to stay shut and fighting the pull of the yawn on her nose and face.
Ryker laughed. “Did you just turn on your blinker?” He pointed toward the light flashing above the steering wheel. The lights reflected off his teeth as he smiled.
Margie chuckled, the relief in tension a lift to her burden of the stress and responsibility of all the people going with her. “Yeah, I guess I did. Old habits die hard.”
“My mom used to turn the blinker on to change lanes and she’d forget to turn it off. People would drive weird around her for miles, some honking or motioning for her to fix her blinker. She never could figure out why they did that.” His lopsided grin faded as if he realized who he was talking about. He twisted his lips to the side, his face an eerie shade of whitish blue in the lights from the dash. “I guess, now she’ll never know.” He sat back, folding his arms across his chest and stared straight ahead.
Margie turned into the parking lot of Skate Plaza, pulled into a spot – another habit she couldn’t shake just yet – and shifted the van into park. Half-turning, she faced Ryker with one hand still on the wheel. Studying the young man, Margie tried to put herself into his shoes. She didn’t have to work hard to find sympathy or a need to be helpful. She twisted her lips to the side to contain her tears. After a minute, she swallowed. “I understand. Think of it this way, though. She’s not hurting anymore. She, and the rest of your family, aren’t in pain. They’re the lucky ones. We’re… we’re still down here trying to deal with the loss and the heartache and surviving, right?”
He glanced at her, studying her face before slowly nodding. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Of course, he wasn’t comforted by the things she said. Margie knew all he needed was for someone to try to understand. That’s all grief demanded – that people don’t feel alone when they’re feeling their most lonely.
Looking back at the other two in the van, Margie raised her voice, but not by much. “Let’s all stay close. I don’t know if this is a safe area or not. Behind that building is a small neighborhood. I’ll look for gas. If you can, do what you need to do and then come help me. Maybe we can find more gas cans.” They only had the two Margie and Kelsey had brought from the gas station in Easton.
All they had to do was get to Cady’s. Once they made it there, they were home free. It was a safe place and they wouldn’t need cars anymore or the limitations of no transportation.
The promise of an oasis at her daughter’s place was the only thing keeping Margie going at that point.
She really didn’t know if it was smart taking Kelsey and Manson to Cady’s. In fact, something in her gut told her it was the wrong move. How did she get out of it at that point with only a thirty-minute drive ahead of them? It wasn’t like she could boot them both out of the van. No, she had made her decision. She would stick with it.
Unlocking the automatic locks with the button by her armrest on the door, Margie opened the driver’s door and blinked at the sudden brightness from the dome light. Reflexively, she reached up and flicked the small switch to turn it off. Climbing out, Margie gripped the car keys in her hand. No way was she leaving them in the vehicle. She’d already seen what had happened to vehicles when keys were left in them – she’d stolen the cars herself. Plus, who was to say Kelsey or Manson wouldn’t abandon them all there at Skate Plaza?
No one. That’s why Maggie kept her distance as they all seemed to congregate by the back of the van. She had to get the gas tanks, but she also didn’t want to chance someone taking her keys.
Kelsey harrumphed as she dug through the food and supplies. “All of that and we didn’t get any toilet paper?” Her complaint grated on Margie’s final nerve. If Kelsey wasn’t careful, Margie would reconsider kicking her out of the van.
Tucking the keys deep into her front pant pocket, Margie narrowed her eyes. “Air dry.” Margie shoved to the back of the van and reached past Kelsey. She grabbed the hard-plastic handles of the two five-gallon gas cans. They were empty which made them light and easy to lift, but once they were full, Margie would have to dedicate a lot of energy to moving them. She could feel her exhaustion crowding in on her senses. How long would her adrenaline hold her fatigue at bay?
She was bound to make a stupid move the more tired she became. But for now, she’d have to count on adrenaline and blood sugar boosts to keep her upright.
“Did everyone get something to eat? Grab something and then let’s meet back here in a little bit, okay?” Margie set a can down and reached into the stash for a snack bar. All she needed was a slight pick me up. They’d get to Cady’s and Margie would beg her daughter to make spaghetti or soup or something that would leave them feeling full.
Kelsey headed one way while Manson started off the opposite way.
Margie glanced at Ryker and when the other two were out of earshot, she murmured, softly, “Don’t trust them, do you hear me? Something isn’t right. Do what you need to do. I’m going to be over in those houses trying to get gas. Don’t go off with either of them.” Margie studied Ryker’s face in the minimal light from the night sky. She’d accepted responsibility for him fast, like she needed someone to take care of to keep her going. He’d fit the bill, but he was a good kid and Margie was grateful for the justification of saving him.
She reached down and grabbed the tank again, staring at him while she waited for his answer – like that would cement it or something. Finally, he nodded, following her slightly as she headed toward the neighborhood she’d told them all she’d be in. At the back of the brick building, Ryker veered off from following behind her and disappeared behind the landscaping bushes.
Suddenly alone, Margie’s breathing and scuff of her shoes filled the encroaching silence. She hadn’t been by herself in a few days and the sensation was unsettling, but also a little freeing. It gave her a minute to think about each of her companions without having to watch her back.
Kelsey seemed to be losing it. There was something off-kilter about the woman that Margie hadn’t noticed at the gas store – or hadn’t given a name to. There was a paranoia and a tendency to jump to conclusions that made it hard to trust her. Margie couldn’t place what was wrong with Kelsey. Acknowledging something gave it power, but ignoring it gave it room to grow.
Margie should have ditched Kelsey the first chance she had, but instead, she’d picked up another straggler she wasn’t sure she could trust. She’d been lulled by the immediate way he’d reacted to her presence and offer to help her in the grocery store, like things were normal.
Taking a few seconds to actually think it over, she had to admit that in fact, she did not trust him. He was too calm, too easy going. Not that that was a problem, but in their current situation, how had a mild-mannered man survived the conditions he did… with a crowbar? He helped her without suspicion which just increased hers.
No, Margie didn’t feel right with him either. Had she been too blinded by the help in the store? By his offer to help to siphon gas and get the keys? He was too helpful and didn’t bat an eyelash and that was a red flag as well.
Pushing through a cluster of perimeter shrubbery, Margie stepped onto an overgrown lawn. While the evening was dark, it wasn’t too hard to see the lay of the neighborhood in the diffused light of the moon.
Small cracker-box houses lined the street with one or more cars in each driveway or parked on the street. It had the feel of being abandoned, but Margie was familiar enough with the circumstances of the illness to know the houses weren’t empty. They were most likely tombs. If anyone was alive, they’d be like Ryker and only go out to scavenge or sick and dying.
Moving toward a small Festiva that looked like it might be red, Margie looked around for anyone who might be out to protect the small car.
In that type of neighborhood, people wouldn’t lock their doors or do anything to protect their items. There’d be backdoors left open and people sitting on their front stoops and waving to each other, if things were normal.
An old Ford Fairlane caught the light of the moon and Margie tilted her head to the side. She stood to the side of the Festiva and considered the Fairlane as a secondary option. The older cars were easier to siphon because their gas tanks weren’t protected by secondary filtration traps. At least, she didn’t think so. She wasn’t even sure that’s what they were called.
Reaching for the gas cap, Margie knelt beside the tire as she pulled the lid from the hole. A tube wrapped around the handle of the first can unlooped easily and Margie worked the end through the hole and past the valve. Breathing in and out steadily and trying to listen for the end to hit the liquid in the tank, Margie moved the tube further into the hole.
The whisper of something moved over the grass behind her and before she could turn her head to check, a hard object slammed into the back of her head.
Everything went black.
Chapter 4
Buck Stranton
He was the Buck Stranton, didn’t those people know who he was? Righteous pride faded as he realized those breaking into his home probably knew exactly who he was.
Buck rushed down the plush carpet of his hallway and quietly closed his bedroom door. He locked the door, but it was a half-measure when faced with invaders willing to break windows to get inside someone’s home.
Running a hand through his unkempt hair, he glanced wildly around his room. What was he doing? He had nothing in his bedroom but his bedding and clothes. All of his things were in the garage or basement. He didn’t even keep his shoes in there.
Gasping, he shed his lounge clothes and pulled on a t-shirt and jeans. He had nothing to put on his feet but socks and slippers. Slippers. He was going to escape his house in slippers.
Thuds and harsh laughter carried down the hall and through the door. Buck had no doubt they cared who he was. Now? He was nobody, just another survivor in the aftermath of a virus that had wiped out the world. He was no one and he had a feeling they knew it.
Buck paused in his search for a jacket. That would make a great premise to pitch to a production company. If things hadn’t gone to hell, he could’ve sold the plot and gotten back into the game.
He shook his head and stared at the door. The voices were louder and Buck’s panic was all-consuming. He didn’t have time to find a coat in his walk-in closet. He cast one more anxious glance around his room and rushed to the balcony.
Pushing open the double-doors, Buck inhaled the salty ocean air
. It would probably be the last time he smelled his favorite scent from his home. There was no going back to normal after the attack going on inside.
His balcony was there purely for the view. There was no way to climb down to the pool area. To the right, his pool and lots of concrete stretched beneath him. To his left a grassy hill sloped gently down toward the pool area from the back of the garage. Past the recreational patio, a copse of trees blocked out the dumpsters and the sharp drop-off to the road. No one went down.
That’s where Buck had to go.
The cement obviously wasn’t an option. Buck swallowed, closing his eyes for a hard moment. Did he dare pray? Did he even remember how to mutter worthless words from his strict Presbyterian upbringing?
He softly muttered the lines from one of his scenes in a movie from long ago under his breath and climbed onto the top of the balcony rail to the left of the doors.
If he could only get away, he’d be able to hide. That was all he had to do for the immediate future. He’d worry about surviving more after that, if he survived.
He couldn’t think. Taking a deep breath, Buck pushed off from the rail. The air rushed by him and in his anxiety, he jumped too hard. Landing on his shins and knees, he fell forward. His forehead slammed into the grass as he absorbed the impact.
“Oomph.” Buck rolled to the side, holding his hand to his knee. What had he done? What had he broken? If things were as bad as he suspected they were, he wouldn’t get help at a hospital or a clinic. He couldn’t afford to get hurt, not without a way to treat anything.
Everything hurt. He couldn’t help thinking he was making all the wrong decisions. How was that possible? He wasn’t supposed to deal with these types of things. He was rich. Well, kind of. He should be safe in his home.
Lying on his side in dew dampened grass in slippers after just jumping from his balcony, Buck didn’t feel rich. Did he need more of a clue that he was losing it?
Move On_a post apocalyptic survival thriller Page 2