Road of Stars

by Ariel Bonin

  "This is it," Andrew announced as they turned onto Vanderbilt Beach Road.

  Everyone was awake now and held a collective breath as they rounded a loop at the end of the road and parked. The ocean became visible, just a short walk down a nearby boardwalk.

  "Grab what you can and bring it down to the beach. We'll go check it out," Andrew said to the group, designating Charlie and Nicholas to come with him. They crossed the road, which was slowly becoming another sand dune, and walked down the boardwalk. Their heavy boots echoed on the wooden surface. An object at the end caught their attention and Andrew picked up the pace. He lifted the clear plastic bag encasing an orange flare gun and grinned. The words "November Charlie" were etched into the railing, confusing him for a second until he remembered what they stood for.

  New Canaan.

  "Would you like to do the honors?" he asked Nicholas.

  "It's all you."

  Andrew opened the bag, grasped the flare gun in his hand and pointed it upward. Squeezing the trigger, a shot burst upward and arched across the morning sky.

  "And now we wait," he began to say to the two men, but when he looked over Charlie's shoulder, a familiar sight shook him to his core. "Shit."

  "What?" Nicholas asked nervously.

  "A horde."

  _____

  Lindsey and Zoey were unloading Jacob's bag, which had also been spared by the group of bikers, when the three men came sprinting back.

  "You've got to get down to the beach right now," Andrew said, arming himself with his Beretta.

  "Why?" Lindsey asked with wide eyes.

  "There's a horde about a half mile down the boulevard and it will probably pass through here in just a few minutes."

  "I'll take Caren and Jacob down to the meeting point," Robert said, "keep 'em safe."

  "I know you will," Andrew replied.

  Lindsey eyed him, her perceptive gaze uneasy. "What are you going to do?"

  "We're going to create a distraction, hold them off from the beach."

  "Dammit, Andrew, no!" Why do you always do this?

  "I'll be fine! Just get my kids on that boat. We'll be right along. I promise."

  Heaving out a frustrated breath, she kissed him anyway. Andrew wrapped her in his arms and returned the ardent kiss. A moment later, he slipped out of her embrace and followed after Charlie and Nicholas.

  _____

  On the beach, a few stragglers strayed from the horde and found their way down. Lindsey stuck her knife into the rotting skull of a painfully skinny male turner dressed in only a pair of swim trunks.

  "The boat's here!" Robert announced.

  Only a minute later and much to their relief, Andrew, Charlie and Nicholas came into view partway down the beach, jogging through the sand. Andrew was wearing his jacket, which confused Lindsey since he hadn't been wearing it before and already it was almost seventy-five degrees outside. She didn't have time to give it another thought though as a thirty-foot Coast Guard boat materialized in the distance and drew closer with every passing second. The smooth hull pulled up to a dock jutting out from the beach and a man appeared on the bow. He pointed an assault rifle at the group as he asked, "Any of you Lima Charlie Foxtrot?"

  Bill hauled ass to stand before him and said, "Lt. Colonel French. We spoke two days ago?"

  The man lowered his rifle and smiled. He hurried to throw two ropes over the side. Charlie and Nicholas quickly tied them to the dock's posts. "November Charlie—though most people know me as Brian Tasker. It's nice to finally meet you." He offered a hand and helped lift Bill into the boat. "Let's get these people on board. How many ya got?"

  "Eleven adults and two children."

  "We've got the room. Has anyone been infected?" Brian asked.

  Bill hardly looked around at his fellow group members. "No, we're good. There's a large group of the dead right up the road, so we need to hurry."

  The man sighed and nodded. Everyone let out a breath of relief and started to board the boat. Lindsey noticed Andrew hanging back and reached for his hand, but he wouldn't budge.

  "Andrew?"

  His eyes, same as the color of the ocean behind her, swam in tears. "I can't go with you," he said quietly.

  Lindsey faltered, not understanding what he was talking about. Even as he moved to take off his jacket she shook her head, not wanting to believe it—refusing to believe it. Despite being ginger with the removal, Andrew grimaced as he exposed a nasty bite wound on his shoulder. There was no possible way they could remove it. Lindsey felt like she was going to be sick.

  "Noo," she moaned. "No, no, nooo…"

  The pain in her voice and on her face shattered Andrew's heart. A warm tear cut through the dirt on his grubby cheek as he held her upright.

  "You can't…you can't leave us! I can't live in this world without you!" Lindsey whimpered.

  Andrew tried with all of his willpower to swallow his grief, but it was useless. His face twisted in agony as he said thickly, "You can. I know you can, Linds." Her head continued to shake in disagreement. "You're the strongest woman I've ever met, and that's why I need you to do something for me…"

  Lindsey sobbed because she knew what was coming.

  "Please—" His voice cracked and she watched him struggle to say the words. "Please, take care of my children." The blonde burst into tears and Andrew cried right along with her, mourning for the fact that he'd never see his daughter fall in love or his son walk for the first time. "I know you'll take good care of them." He paused and glanced at the ground. "I'm sorry I never gave you a child of our own…"

  Lindsey held his damp cheek in her trembling hand. "I don't need that, Andrew. I need you!"

  "What's the hold up?" Brian yelled from the boat.

  "Dad?" Zoey called out, just now noticing that something was wrong behind her. She jumped down and approached the broken man and woman.

  Andrew attempted to take a breath to prepare himself for this and found that he could barely breathe. "Zoey…"

  "Dad? What's going on?"

  The girl's wide eyes, so much like his own, were consumed with fear, making it even harder for Andrew to speak. He decided to just skip the talking and turned so that his daughter could see the bite. Zoey inhaled sharply and then released a pitiful noise, similar to Lindsey's initial reaction. Andrew leaned forward and rested a hand on Zoey's shoulder as the girl began to cry.

  "I need you to go with Lindsey…"

  Not surprisingly, Zoey reverted to her usual stubborn ways, but Andrew couldn't blame her this time. "No! I'm not leaving you! We- we can fix this!"

  "Not this time, honey," Andrew whispered, feeling his heart swell with sadness and pride as he looked at his daughter. "Take care of your brother, all right? And…be there for Lindsey? Can you do that for me?"

  Although she was crumbling, Zoey managed to nod.

  "Please, please," Andrew begged through clenched teeth, "you need to go."

  Zoey didn't move.

  "I love you so much. You are a woman now, Zoey. Make me proud, all right? You already have…" He wrapped his arms around her, trying to ignore the throbbing in his shoulder—and his heart. When he lifted his gaze to Lindsey, she slid him a sidelong look of denial.

  This is goodbye. He wasn't ready. She wasn't ready.

  Andrew skimmed his hands up her arms and touched their foreheads together. He swept his lips over hers, their salty tears mixing with the kiss. Lindsey sucked in a breath as she stifled another sob. He never wanted to stop kissing her but knew it was time. Pulling back, he was startled to see Brian standing beside them.

  "Were you bitten?" the man asked.

  Andrew reluctantly nodded.

  "How long ago?"

  "Five, ten minutes. Does it matter?"

  "Yeah, it does," Brian said over his shoulder as he turned back to the boat. "We need to hurry."

  "Just give me a second," Andrew retorted.

  Brian stopped and glared at Andrew. "I don't think you understand."

>   Andrew lost his patience, shouting, "Understand what?"

  The stranger looked him dead in the eye and said, "We have the cure."

  Chapter 21

  They pulled away from the beach as it became overrun with the undead. Lindsey pressed a folded cloth to Andrew's wound and allowed him to lean against her. The boat's double motors roared to life as they sped into the open ocean. The vessel had a lot of power and that was exactly what they needed right now. Andrew seemed to be doing okay, but the cloth was becoming more crimson than white, sparking a twinge of fear deep in Lindsey's gut. She wanted to keep him talking, keep him lucid. She'd watched people turn before and it could happen a lot faster than one expected.

  "Sometime you're going to have to tell me what the hell you were doing," Lindsey said to him, trying to joke, but felt like she wanted to cry all over again.

  "You know me," he said weakly, "the adrenaline junkie—can't help myself."

  Lindsey smirked. "Yeah, well, I wish you would stop that."

  Brian glanced over at them from the wheel. "You won't get many opportunities on the island—we're quiet folk."

  "Works for me," Andrew mumbled. "I think I'm ready to hang up my gun and settle down. It'd be nice to go a day without having to use it."

  Lindsey noticed him looking at her when he said he was ready to settle down. The fear in her stomach was momentarily replaced with butterflies as she relished the thought.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked a minute later, brushing a hand over his forehead, which felt like it was on fire.

  "A little cold, but not too bad," he answered, his voice tired.

  She pressed her lips together, not wanting to express her concerns out loud. Brian retrieved a ratty blanket from under the helm and passed it to her. She spread it over Andrew and once again brought his head down to her shoulder.

  "Bonnie?" he whispered suddenly.

  "Huh?" Surely he wasn't talking to her.

  "Bonnie, could you do me a huge favor?" he continued on, staring into Lindsey's wide eyes but not seeing. "I told Kelly I'd be home for dinner, but I'm going to be late. She hates when I don't let her know. Could you call her for me?"

  "Andrew? It's Lindsey…" She glanced at Zoey. "Do you know what he's talking about?"

  The girl was frowning deeply. "I think he worked with her. Lindsey, what's happening?"

  She met Brian's worried gaze and asked, "Can this thing go any faster?"

  _____

  As Andrew skirted on the edge of consciousness, Lindsey watched the island crack the horizon. Thick tropical leaves met the water's edge, except for a small white-sand beach near the middle section. A sturdy, wooden dock jutted out to meet them, along with a middle-aged man and woman who were waving to Brian.

  Brian waved back and then cupped his hands around his mouth. "Wendy, get the doc! And bring back a stretcher!"

  The woman spun around, her red hair tossing in the ocean breeze as she hurried to carry out her task. The man, a blond with handsome features, caught the heavy rope that Brian tossed to him and looped it around the nearest dock cleat. After tying up the other end of the boat, Brian jumped down next to him.

  "What's going on? Pretty big group you got this time," the man said.

  "They're the ones who contacted us a couple of days ago. One's infected—just happened—but he's declining fast. We need to get him to Doc Anderson."

  Lindsey listened to the exchange of information and brushed a trembling hand over Andrew's hair. She could barely touch his forehead now—it was too hot. His eyelashes fluttered open, but immediately closed again. Her panicked gaze collided with Caren's and the younger woman sought to give her a comforting smile.

  "Try not to worry. Andrew's a fighter. Trust that these people can help him—I haven't seen a reason not to. They've gotten us this far. I've got Jake—you need to go with Andrew," Caren instructed. "And take Zoey. She needs to be with her father right now."

  "Okay," Lindsey breathed. Her brain felt like slush. She appreciated Caren's assertiveness—she could barely think on her own. Anxiety was eating her from the inside out.

  Doctor Anderson appeared then, a tall woman with thick black hair and full lips. Wendy stopped behind her, the long-board stretcher clutched under arm as the doctor surveyed the group. She spotted Andrew and climbed aboard. After touching a hand to the infected man's forehead and feeling for a pulse, she signaled to the men around her. "Help me get him on the stretcher. Be careful of the wound—try not to touch or contaminate it any further. And who might you be?" she asked the frazzled blonde.

  "Lindsey."

  "His wife?" Doctor Anderson inquired.

  "N-No… I'm, uh, his girlfriend." How juvenile does that sound?

  "Well, Lindsey, you've done a great job applying pressure to the wound. You wouldn't happen to know his blood type, would you?"

  "No, sorry." That topic had never come up in conversation. Never really had a reason for it to.

  "That's okay, we'll figure it out. What's his name?"

  "Andrew."

  "Andrew's hanging in there. We'll do everything we can for him. Just have faith that it will all work out. I know that's a lot to ask, but it's important."

  Lindsey nodded. Somehow she reminded her of Nadie and that hopeful aspect was all she needed to put Andrew's life in his hands.

  _____

  Andrew's shoulder burned like a motherfucker.

  At first the pain had been bearable; a steady throbbing sensation. It steadily grew from there, reaching a point where he thought he was going to black out. He felt himself being lifted and the blanket must have fallen off, because it was as if someone had submerged his entire body in a bucket of ice—everything except for his shoulder, of course.

  After an indistinguishable amount of time passed—it could have been five minutes or five hours—he sensed a soft surface beneath him. He let himself melt into it, only to be met with a stabbing pain in his forearm. A fluid began coursing through his veins, something he could only describe as liquid fire. A whimper of pain lingered in his throat and remained there until a warm hand stroked his forehead and he heard Lindsey's sweet voice at his ear.

  "You're okay, Andrew. Everything's going to be okay."

  _____

  Lindsey watched the doctor place an IV into Andrew's arm and then inject a vial of dark red liquid into it. Sweat poured off Andrew as his body continued its battle to beat the virus.

  "What's in there?" she asked the doctor.

  "Something to help bring his fever down, another to help with the pain, and, lastly, the cure."

  "Did you come up with it?"

  She shook her head. "Not really. All viruses and plagues have one thing in common: they can't kill everyone. There's always going to be someone who is immune. A little girl from our group got scratched by one of the infected, but it simply healed as if her own cat had done it. We took samples of her blood, found a way to study it on the island and, after mixing it into the right cocktail of heavy prescription drugs, came up with the cure." She observed the rapid rise and fall of Andrew's chest and said, "It's going to be uncomfortable for him over the next few days and there are some side effects, but for now he should be in the clear. Next thing we need to do is treat the wound itself. He's lost a considerable amount of blood…"

  As they'd exited the boat earlier, Lindsey had overheard Zoey say that she shared the same blood type as her father. It was an important piece of information that would help save precious time. Currently, Zoey sat in the bamboo chair next to Lindsey, where one of the doctor's assistants was drawing blood to give to Andrew.

  Doctor Anderson continued on to ask, "Lindsey, what's your blood type?"

  The woman answered her and she sighed with relief.

  "Thank God. You're a universal donor. Would you mind doing that after Zoey?"

  Lindsey nodded with enthusiasm. "Anything I can do to help."

  A little while later, after the doctor and her nurses had taken care of the bite wound and
given Andrew at least two blood transfusions, Lindsey and Zoey remained in their seats at his bedside. To their delight, a woman had presented each of them with a glass of orange juice—something they hadn't tasted in a long time.

  "Where'd you get this?" Zoey had asked, smacking her lips together at the sweet and sour taste.

  The woman had replied with a laugh, "This is Florida, honey. Ain't no shortage of oranges around here."

  The juice was gone now, as were the scrambled eggs and ham they'd had for lunch. After weeks of protein bars and stale chips, Lindsey knew this had to be heaven. Why couldn't it be? Andrew should have been dead right now, but was alive and breathing in the clinic bed before them. His temperature had dropped considerably and now he was just sleeping it off. The stress on his body had taken its toll, but she could not wait for him to get out of that bed so they could explore the island together. She hadn't taken any time to see it yet herself—she wanted him to be there with her when she did.

  Zoey shifted in her chair and slouched over the side as she attempted to find a satisfactory position.

  "Why don't you go out onto the couch in the hallway? I'll get you if he wakes up," Lindsey suggested in a soft voice.

  Zoey agreed and shuffled out of the room. A moment later, she heard approaching footsteps and thought maybe the girl had forgotten something, but instead, discovered it was Charlie. He hovered in the doorway, then stepped into the room, coming to stand in front of Zoey's empty chair.

  "How's he doin'?"

  "Good, just resting now."

  Charlie nodded and remained quiet. Finally he said in his low, gravelly voice, "I had no idea. He was right there next to me, but I lost sight of him in the horde. Spotted him a minute later…showed no signs of gettin' hurt—nothin'. Saw blood on his back and thought it was from the turners. He's a tough son of a bitch."

  Lindsey smiled. "That, he is."