by Angie Morel
After a fruitless search of the furniture store, I came to the conclusion that Savannah must’ve taken my backpack (and the gun) when they left. I was disappointed but not surprised. There was no time to dwell on the loss—so I worked on a plan of action instead. Having a few necessities in mind, I led Mickey to the sporting goods store at the end of the mall. The huge, square store took up the first and second levels and should have most of the items required. At least I hoped.
The first thing snagged was a wagon, the kind that was meant to be filled with sports gear and whatnot. That would do in place of a cart. Where to start? Baseball bats—a couple of them. As I walked towards the sports section of the store where the baseball gear would be, there was a pull on the wagon. Looking back, I saw Mickey quickly sitting down inside, smiling. The smile couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes. And then it hit me. He probably thought I was getting ready to leave him. Dropping the handle of the wagon, I crouched beside him.
“You and me.” I pointed back and forth between us. “We’re going somewhere else.” A walking gesture with my fingers came next. And then I hooked my arm through his, again pointing between the two of us, and then pointing to the outside. “You and me, okay?”
He nodded, understanding. Or at least getting the gist of what I was saying. However, there was still a flicker of fear in the depths of his baby blues. Maybe what I needed to do first was find backpacks for both of us. That might get the message across better than unfamiliar words. Standing, I picked up the handle and proceeded to pull the wagon towards the backpack display up ahead, rather than the section where the bats were located. I’d hit that after. This was more important.
Good thing the reset happened when it did, I thought, scanning the variety of backpacks displayed before me. August was back to school month, so there were still a lot to choose from. Selecting a larger one, I shrugged it on to see how it felt. Of course it would feel much different when it was loaded. It would do. Next I investigated the smaller packs meant for grade-schoolers. Glancing at Mickey, I pointed to a couple of them with a question in my eyes. My meaning dawned on him and he smiled big before turning his attention to the backpacks.
A serious expression came over his face as he surveyed the three rows. Putting fingers to chin, he tilted his head, clearly placing high importance on this task. At last a decision was made, and he pointed to a black Adidas pack. I hid my grin as I nodded, giving him a thumbs-up. It was the same one as mine, which would be a bit big for him, but good enough. Snagging it off the hook, I put it in the wagon beside its twin.
We grabbed things here and there throughout the store. When we were done, the wagon was humped with stuff, to the point where I wasn’t sure how we’d fit all of it into two packs. As I began the daunting task of cramming it in, Mickey wandered off, bored. It took a while, but by way of creative packing, I’d managed to include all the essentials, only leaving out a couple items that we probably wouldn’t need anyway. Not his slingshot though. Mickey placed that item in his backpack himself, along with plenty of metal ammo.
Everyone’s got their weapon of choice, I thought, eyeballing the two aluminum baseball bats poking out of my pack like a peace sign. There were a couple of wicked hunting knives tucked away in there as well. Even with those, I found that I missed my machete.
My only worry was that Mickey’s pack might be too heavy for him. Even though I loaded mine up with the heavier items, his still had some heftiness to it, to be sure. We’d just have to deal with it, because we needed the gear. I’d also included a couple of small sports mesh bags, in case we needed to downsize for some reason. It never hurt to be prepared. In fact, I was thinking it might be a good idea to bring the wagon along to hold everything while we walked. On top of making it easier to travel by allowing us freedom from our heavy packs, we could haul more stuff, like food that would last us a week instead of a day or two at the most. And if we got into a predicament, we could always grab our packs and run. We’d have to ditch the wagon at that point, but the idea still had merit.
Looking down, I put my hands in the pockets of the black cargo pants that I’d found. The material was heavy duty and the multiple pockets would come in handy, including the side ones that buttoned. Harvey’s knife found a home in the one on my right. There was an entire rack of these pants on the upper level of the store. The first pair I’d selected fit perfect, so I grabbed two more of the same size.
For some reason, a memory tickled the back of my mind. It had something to do with my pants. The style, maybe? But why would I care about pants? I dismissed it. Probably residual flickers from my memory loss.
Completing my new outfit was a tight stretchy green shirt, a camouflage baseball cap, sunglasses, and black combat-style boots. Shit-kickers. I was ready.
“Mickey, let’s go!”
Walking down the center aisle, I was going through my mental checklist when I came to an abrupt halt. My feet took two exaggerated steps back before I turned to observe what was in front of me. There, sitting in the middle of a display platform that I must’ve walked by a dozen times, was an ATV. It was parked on an incline meant to look like a rock, and had a mannequin dressed in bright hunter orange awkwardly straddling the seat. By the look of it they detached the legs and then left them inside the pants so the stiff figure could sit.
Excitement fluttered in my stomach.
I’d spent the past hour ignoring the fact that even though I had a vague idea where the house was located, Mickey and I had no way to get there but to walk, and walking would take precious time and would leave us vulnerable to danger—danger being bangers as well as other survivors. And the danger of the latter had been made abundantly clear to me.
Plus, I still had to find out in which city this mall was located, and I was begging fate not to make it too far from the house. Since I was passed out for most of the trip here, I had no idea how far away it was. The ugly truth of the situation wasn’t lost on me—it could literally take days or even weeks to make it back on foot.
But not if we had some type of transportation.
There was no way to find a useable vehicle to drive in the hundreds that were abandoned in the vast mall parking lot. They, like their owners, would be dead. Even if I could find some of the keys, it would be a huge waste of time trying to start vehicle after vehicle. And I wasn’t car savvy enough to know how to change a battery. The ATV in front of me though? It opened up a whole new avenue in terms of transportation, one I hadn’t thought of before. The versatile machine would be perfect for maneuvering around wreckages and moving over rough terrain. It also made getting back to the house within hours, maybe even yet today, a definite possibility.
If the thing would start.
Noticing how the dummy’s hands were strapped to the handlebars, I retrieved Harvey’s knife from my side pocked and slipped the blade under the ties, severing them. After knocking the dummy off, I stepped up on the platform. Next, I slung my leg over the seat, straddling the Suzuki KingQuad 500AXi Camo.
Okay. Now what?
When Mickey found me, I was still looking at the controls. Glaring at them, actually. Inner city Boston kids didn’t exactly have access to outdoor adventure vehicles, so this was completely foreign to me. Tossing him a distracted smile, I got back to searching for some sort of clue on how to start the thing. Probably silly of me to hope for arrows pointing to things as well as directions saying do this first and then do this and then do this.
I did have one thing going for me. Amazingly the key was on a dangle that had been tucked into a foam thing wrapped around the handlebars. Not that finding the hidden key had helped much. When I plugged it into the ignition and turned it, nothing happened. Well, it made a click sound, but that was it. There had to be a step I was missing. Or—and I didn’t want to even consider this possibility—it wasn’t going to start because it was dead, just like everything else around here.
As I leaned back in the seat and sighed in frustration, Mickey caught my attention by boun
cing around, clearly excited about something. Turning towards him, I saw that he was pointing to the ATV and saying something in his language. Did he know what this was, or perhaps how to operate it? Maybe where he was from it was common for children to drive these things. His excitement transferred to me.
“Do you know how to drive this?” I asked, making the universal driving motion with my hands at ten and two, going up and down opposite of each other. I’d decided days ago to continue to talk to him even though he couldn’t understand. He was bound to pick up some words through repetition. Of course the fabulous charades and gestures that went along with my words were sure to help as well. If nothing else, they were amusing.
He nodded enthusiastically with his entire body. Hope blossomed. This was just the break we needed, I thought, dismounting the quad. Several grunts, rib protests, and curse words later, the quad was off the platform. Mickey immediately hopped on the seat and turned the key and twisted something on the handlebar and pushed a button while doing something else.
I held my breath.
It coughed a couple of times.
That was a good sign, right? He tried again with the same result. My shoulders sagged with disappointment. Nothing was easy. Nothing was ever fucking—
And then an epiphany hit me like a punch in the gut.
Gas!
Of course, it needed gas. They wouldn’t put much gas into something that was going to be sitting inside a store, would they? It would be like a fire hazard, or something. Hell, they probably pushed it into the store with the tank bone dry!
In speed mode, I located the gas tank and twisted off the cap, peering inside. A whiff of the substance hit my nose, but that could be nothing more than a residual smell from past fills. Not able to ascertain the presence of gas in that small dark hole using my vision, I stuck my finger inside as far as it would go.
Nothing.
Mind whirring, I ticked off what needed to be done to get this to work. A hose and a bucket. I’d need those items first. Then shove the hose into the gas tank of a car outside, with the bucket at my feet, ready to catch the load. And then I’d need to suck on the other end of the hose. That’s how I’d seen it done before, at least. My mouth began watering in defense, knowing there was a good chance foul gas would be filling it, at least at the start of the siphoning. My feet followed my thoughts, ready to hunt for the items needed—and then I stopped abruptly, almost falling over.
The most beautiful sound filled the store.
It was the quad’s engine, roaring to life.
“Mickey! Mick, Mick, Mick!” Hustling back to him, I grabbed him by the ears and planted a hard kiss on his forehead. He giggled, continuing the rev the four-wheeler.
“You are the smartest boy ever!”
Chapter 34
I was lost. Not in the true sense of the word, because we were in the general area of the house…well, I was pretty sure we were anyway. Nothing looked solidly familiar yet. Glaring at the compass we’d found at the sporting goods store and secured to the handlebars, I reached my hand to the back of me for Mickey to hand over the Pennsylvania state map for the third time in an hour. The map was folded into a square, which displayed the area from the mall to the approximate area where I thought the house was located. It wasn’t a large area.
Early afternoon had morphed into late afternoon while we’d been searching. All I could focus on was the fact that we were wasting time and should’ve been there by now. Hell, I’d even looked in a phone book at a convenience store we’d passed a couple of hours ago, hoping to find a Malone with an address that would click in my head. Nothing clicked. Next I’d scanned the physician’s section in the yellow pages, but Cory and Claire’s mom wasn’t some local quack; she was big time, so that yielded nothing. Same thing applied for their dad.
Now we were stalled, so to speak. But shit, I knew we were close, it was a feeling in my gut. Makes me pissed that I never bothered going on the drives to keep the cars in working condition back at the homestead. Snick and Cory were the ones who performed that task, mostly sticking to the country roads surrounding the large property. If I had gone, even once or twice, then maybe this area would look a little more familiar. What makes it worse is the fact that I’d been so lost in my own headspace when Savannah and I took off on our little journey together that I scarcely paid attention to the roads and what direction we were travelling. Stupid of me.
A grumble that sounded like indigestion vibrated softly in the distance. I was trying to ignore the fact that the sky was beginning looking bipolar. Above and to the east, soft billowing clouds intermixed with cheerful blue. Approaching from the west was a dark, solid, menacing wall. We needed to get a move on and find the house, or at least some sort of shelter, before the storm hit. Bending my arm, which brought the map about five inches from my nose (like a closer proximity would make a difference), I put my index finger on the intersection we’d just passed. I was fairly certain the house was a little way off of—
Wait. I heard something. Could it be?
Yes, it was a faint but distinct sound. My breath caught. No way. A mad rush of relief surged through my body. The familiar sound came through with the same quality as before, even with the quad running. Like external sound didn’t matter. Something inside of me was tuned to it. I immediately looked up and scanned the field where the sound came from, looking for the large black furry mass.
There he was, hard to miss—at least for me.
Ghost.
He barked a couple more times before slowly moving off to the left, his head still turned my direction, wanting me to follow. Smiling, I handed the map back to Mickey. “Well Mick, lucky you,” I said, watching as he tucked the map in the mesh pocket of my backpack. “Not only are you in the presence of someone you don’t understand, someone who didn’t remember jack shit ‘til today, but you’re also in the presence of someone who sees a dog that nobody else can see. A dog that’s gotta be a ghost. Which,” I said wryly, “by a huge coincidence, happens to be the dog’s name, Ghost.” I huffed out a laugh, relief making me giddy. There was no doubt in my mind that the dog would lead us safely to the house.
Mickey cocked his head, smiling. Still wearing a goofy grin, I waved off my words and shook my head before turning around, prepared to follow Ghost. Poor kid, he was probably confused as hell. Maybe it was good that he couldn’t understand me. He’d think I was crazy—which, okay, I probably was.
Giving the quad some juice, we bumped down into the ditch and then up into the field, following the dog’s lead. Thankfully, the quad was easy to operate. It had some pretty impressive horse power as well, but I didn’t feel comfortable taking it over what I assumed to be twenty-five, thirty miles an hour when we were on the roadway. Off-road, my cautious side took it down to grandma-slow. The last thing I needed was to flip the quad because I was going too fast to avoid an obstacle or dip in the land.
Case in point—Mickey’s fingers found my belt loops when we transitioned from a relatively smooth but overgrown field full of dead soybean plants and monstrous weeds, to a series of deep ruts assumingly made by old farm machinery. Had I been traveling at a higher rate of speed, the first semi-hidden track would’ve sent us flying over the handlebars. After bumping over the ruts, we came to a gravel lane that led to the road. Finally, we were back on pavement again.
A quick glance down verified the presence of several prickly burrs that had snuck aboard my pants while traversing the field. Mickey’s as well. He picked one off his thigh only to find that the barbs had transferred their bite to the skin of his finger. Making a disgusted sound, he shook his hand a few times, trying to dislodge the offending burr. He finally managed to flick it off with his thumbnail, and then put the injured digit in his mouth, sucking on the dot of blood. He left them alone after that.
It took a little more than ten minutes to get there, so I hadn’t been far off. According to the compass, we were traveling due north when the driveway came into view. Ghost stopped near the
mailbox at the entrance, and then woofed before continuing down the driveway at a run, disappearing into the first dip.
Even though a sick, hopeful, fearful mix of excitement was coursing through me, I made myself stop. Not rushing forward went against every fiber of my being. Parts of my soul were permanently woven into the people that—with any luck—still inhabited the house. My family.
But I couldn’t forget the circumstances. And I would not be stupid again. Todd and Savannah and the others may very well have taken over the house. A carefully thought out strategy was required at this point.
Small binoculars (courtesy of the hunting section of the sporting goods store) were propped on the bridge of my nose. Flat on my stomach, I hid in the wooded area to the east of the house, watching for movement. I’d observed no motion of any kind since the start of my surveillance, about fifteen minutes ago. In fact, the house looked deserted. And some of the windows were broken out, which didn’t bode well.
The only movement came from above. Dark shaggy clouds were jabbing fingers of lightning downward in warning, letting the fluffy part of the afternoon know that it wasn’t messing around. The white and blue mix must’ve got the message because it was retreating fast. The rain hadn’t hit yet, but I could smell the moisture and ozone in the heavy, still air. We were in for a hell of a storm, no doubt about it.
Deciding it was now or never, I pushed up and stood, happy the action only brought about a minor twinge in the area of my ribcage. Being close to a hundred percent after a handful of weeks was nothing to complain about—particularly after what I’d been through.
Mickey sat on the quad near a grouping of bushes fifteen behind me. He wouldn’t be seen from the house that deep into the tree line. I’d gotten through to him, with a serious of gestures, the importance of staying hidden while I investigated the house. He understood the need to stay back until it was determined safe or not. To reinforce the message, I pointed to him again and then flattened my hand, telling him to stay put, and then pointed to myself and then the house. I put a finger to my lips, indicating the need for silence. He nodded with his serious-eyebrow-crunched look that I’d become familiar with.