by Perrin Briar
“I understand what you're going through,” George said. “Really, I do. But there's no use in throwing your life away on something that isn't guaranteed.”
“I have to try.”
“But you'll die trying.”
Chris shrugged.
“I have to try,” he said. “I’m going to get her to that cure before she turns.”
Chris exited the barn. He stopped by the camp.
“Maisie,” Chris said, “come with me.”
“But Angie is going to show me the ingredient of her secret sauce.”
“You can learn that later. We’re going away for a little while.”
“What? Where?”
“We’re going to London.”
Maisie stopped in her tracks.
“London?” she said. “Why London?”
“There are some people there we need to see.”
“You’re planning on running away again,” Maisie said, folding her arms. “I’m not going.”
“It’s only for a little while. We’ll be back by tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“You have to go.”
“No.”
“Maisie…”
“You can’t make me!”
“You were bitten by a zombie!” Chris said.
Maisie quietened, processing the information. She looked Chris up and down, searching his face for a hint of a lie, but there was none.
“You said I wasn’t bitten,” she said. “You lied to me.”
Chris kneeled in front of her.
“Yes, I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I thought it was the best thing for you, but I was wrong. So wrong. I know what to do now.”
“Why London?” she said, her voice low.
“There are some people there who can help you.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Chris said, placing his hands on her shoulders. “They can make a magic potion to fix you. But we have to go to them. Are you with me?”
A cocktail of emotions sparred across her face. Her brow pulled down into a jutting ridge. Her mouth opened and closed with undisclosed comments. She shook her head out of confusion.
She ran.
Z-MINUS: 6 HOURS 49 MINUTES
Chris ran into the barn just in time to see the ladder disappear up onto the ledge. He jumped to reach it, but it was gone before he could grab it.
“Maisie?” Chris said.
“Leave me alone!”
“Maisie, we don’t have time for this. We need to get going.
“I don’t want you to die for me.”
“I’ll die without you anyway. Once you’re gone what is there for me to live for?”
“You have to live to look after Danny and the others.”
“The Joneses can take care of themselves. I’m only concerned with taking care of you. Are you really going to make me stand down here? Come on, put the ladder down.”
“Go away!”
“Maisie, you’re going to die without this medicine. You’re going to turn into a zombie. And then, one day, you’ll bite me and I’ll turn into one too. Is that what you want?”
There was a pause.
“No,” Maisie said.
“Then let me come up there, or you come down here. Either way, we have to do this together.”
There was another pause, and then a scraping sound as Maisie pushed the ladder over the edge.
“I’m going to climb up now,” Chris said. “Don’t try to push it over.”
There was no response.
Chris began to climb the ladder, keeping a close eye on the top. Maisie didn’t appear. He found her curled up into a ball in the corner with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her bandages had been torn off and tossed aside. She looked straight ahead and wouldn’t make eye contact with Chris as he got off the ladder. He sighed and walked toward her.
“Can I sit here?” he said, gesturing to the piece of floor before her.
Maisie looked away.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Chris said, taking a seat.
Maisie looked down, left, right, but never at Chris.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said. “I should have told you. I thought that if you didn’t know…”
Chris shook his head.
“That’s no excuse,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“I thought you were a good man now,” Maisie said. “I thought you weren’t like the man you used to be. This is the kind of thing he would have done.”
“You’re right, and I’m sorry. But I can only say sorry so many times. There’s a way we might be able to get a cure for you – a magic potion – which will make you all better again. If there’s even a remote chance, don’t you think we should take it?”
“How long will it take to get there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where exactly do we need to go?”
“Central London.”
“Can we get there in time?”
“If we hurry, yes.”
“How will we get there?”
“Any way we can.”
“Do you think we can really make it?”
“We won’t if we don’t try.”
Maisie thought for a moment.
“What would you do if you were me?” she said.
“If I were you, I would try.”
Z-MINUS: 6 HOURS 40 MINUTES
Chris and George exited the barn in full fighting garb and full backpacks on their shoulders.
“Are you leaving?” Shane said to Maisie as they passed.
“Afraid so. But I’ll be back soon.”
“What should I do with all these mud pies?”
Maisie turned to see dozens of mud pies lined up in rows, half-baked dry by the sun. She leaned in close.
“Keep them,” she said. “We’ll convince Danny to eat a few later.”
Shane smiled. George sidled up to Chris.
“You’re actually going through with this?” he said.
“Yes.”
George cocked his head to the side.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll give you a car, but on one condition.”
“What?”
“That I go with you.”
The Joneses all blinked as one.
“Pa?” Nathan said. “What are you doing? You’re leaving us?”
“Yes,” George said. “It’s up to you to lead them now.”
“Pa… No…”
“You’re a man now, and you’re the man of the family. Keep them here. Make this place safe. I know you can do it.”
He clapped his hands on Nathan’s shoulders, and Nathan grew a couple of inches.
“I’m counting on you to be responsible,” he said. “We all are.”
Nathan nodded.
“I’ll do my best, Pa,” he said.
“Good lad. You’re the man of the family now. They’ll be looking to you to lead them.”
George came to his grandchildren. He knelt down and Lily ran to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. George gestured to Danny and Shane.
“Come here,” he said.
They did, slowly. George stood up, lifting Lily up off her feet, and wrapped his arms around them all.
“You’re all the best of me,” he said, and he parted from them.
Then he came to his wife.
“Angie,” he said. “You have been my guiding star for fifty years. I need you to understand that I need to go now. I need you to accept that I’m going to see Tommy one last time and do him the honour of dying with dignity. I was there to see him into the old world, I’ll be there to usher him out of this one.”
Maisie nodded, fighting to hold back the tears. She kissed him on the back of the hands. They hugged.
“I’ll love you forever,” George said in a rare display of public affection. “You know it has to be this way.”
He cupped her face in his hand and then turned to leave. Chris held up his hand.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Hol
d on. I never said you could come with me.”
“It’s a long journey,” George said. “You’re going to need some help.”
“From a seventy-year-old man? I think I’ll be all right.”
“If nothing else at least I’ll be a tasty distraction for any zombies we meet.”
“I’m not so sure about the ‘tasty’ part.”
George grinned.
“A tasteless meal, then,” he said. “At least they won’t know what they’ve got till it’s too late. I might end up infecting them!”
“I suppose it doesn’t make any difference that I don’t want you to come?” Chris said.
“No. And as it’s my car we’ll be taking, I don’t suppose you’ve got much choice, do you?” George said with a grin.
“Fine,” Chris said. “But if you slow me down I'm not stopping for you.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
As they walked away, George didn’t look back. He kept his eyes ahead, but Chris could tell by the hitching breaths and bright red face out the corner of his eye that George was upset, but he gave him the respect of not drawing attention to him. Maisie had no such reservations and kept looking up at him. Chris shut his eyes and prayed she wouldn’t say anything. But she surprised him. She reached up and took one of George’s giant hands. He sniffed, his nose blocked with tears, and looked down at her with his bloodshot eyes. She smiled, and he smiled back. He stood taller and walked with more confident strides.
“We can take the little car,” George said. “It’s the most fuel efficient and will get us to where we need to go. I’ll drive.”
“We’re in a rush,” Chris said. “This isn’t any time for Sunday driving.”
“I’ve never driven on a Sunday.”
George got into the driving seat. Maisie got in the back.
“I used to be a pretty hot driver in my day,” George said. “That’s something you might not know about me.”
“I don’t know anything about you, only that I shouldn’t talk to you.”
They drove down the country road that snaked through the trees.
“And I thought I was making a mistake?” Chris said.
“You are. But it might be less of one if I make it with you.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I’ve never made a mistake in my life. You often make them. Sort of balances itself out, don’t you think?”
The old car pulled out onto the main road.
Z-MINUS: 6 HOURS 29 MINUTES
“There’s an old A-Z in the back,” George said. “Maybe you could play navigator?”
Chris peered at the back seat. Maisie looked out the window at the world as they moved through it. She had a look of deep contemplation on her face that reminded Chris of his wife, Sharon. Maisie’s eyes were heavy and half-closed, the seat belt the only thing keeping her upright. She opened her eyes, stretching them as wide as she could, and blinked half a dozen times in rapid succession.
Chris picked the atlas up off the floor and flicked through the pages. He trailed a finger along the roads they would take.
“We’ll take the A14, head around Newmarket,” he said, “then onto the A11 to Cambridge, onto the M11 down to London and the A406 inner ring road to Barking and then into the centre of the City. London’s about eighty miles away. We need to cover about fourteen miles an hour if we're going to make it in time.”
“Piece of cake,” George said. “We’ve done a couple of miles already.”
George looked in the rear view mirror, angling his head to peer at Maisie on the back seat. Her eyes were drifting closed, as if she were doing it in slow motion.
“Maisie?” George said. “Are you all right, love?”
“I feel sleepy,” Maisie said with a wide yawn.
“I know you are. But try not to sleep, love.”
“But I’m so tired.”
“I know you are, but you can’t sleep yet.”
“Why not?”
“You just can’t. Come on, sit up. That’s it. Good girl.”
Maisie pushed herself up with her elbows, as if every movement was a great effort.
“Why can’t she sleep?” Chris said in a low voice.
“Because it somehow speeds up the turning. When my youngest, Rose, was bitten, she slept the whole time and turned into a zombie twice as fast as the others who didn’t sleep. Maybe it’s something that happens in the brain, I don’t know. The virus affects everyone differently, but the result is always the same. Some people forget everything about themselves, others grow physically weak first. Others don’t seem to suffer many effects until the end, when they feel incredible amounts of pain.”
Chris looked into the backseat again. Maisie’s head lolled to one side.
“Maisie,” Chris said. “How do you feel?”
Maisie opened her eyes again and turned to look at him, her movements sluggish and drawn.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“Maisie,” George said. “Can you do me a favour? Tell me a few things about yourself. Begin with your name and where you live. Then go onto your favourite colour, TV program, and toy.”
“Why?”
“Humour me.”
Maisie sighed and sat up.
“Okay,” she said. “My name’s Maisie Smith, I live on Usher’s farm with my dad and the Joneses. What was the next question?”
“Your favourite colour, TV show, and toy.”
“Sherbet lemon yellow, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and… I don’t know.”
“Think of one.”
“Mario Kart.”
“Do you like music? Let’s try the radio, shall we?”
George turned the radio on. The radio hissed like it was trying to tell them a secret. George turned the tuning knob. More static. Then a sound like half a dozen mixed syllables scrambled together, as George passed a broadcast. He turned the radio dial back, slowing to tune it in.
“…Get to the Highlands,” a scratchy voice on the radio said. “We can protect you here. We have food, water, power, and safety. Get to the Highlands. We can…”
“That’s good,” George said. “No address or directions.”
He turned the dial. There was an ocean of hissing, and then another bleep of life. This voice was foreign-sounding, a lilting European accent.
“…the Tomorrow. We are a science research vessel. Any and all survivors must report to us. We are humanity’s last true hope. Get to Brighton Pier and call us. We are the Tomorrow…”
George turned the radio off.
“Never mind,” he said. “I brought some of my own tunes.”
He reached into the deep pocket on the driver’s side door and took out an unlabelled cassette. He slid it into the cassette player. A soft tune came from the old speakers.
“Who’s this?” Maisie said.
“This,” George said with great reverence, “is Burt Bacharach.”
“Burt who?”
“Bacharach.”
George cast a sideways look at Chris.
“Don’t tell me your father hasn’t educated you in the ways of the old master crooners?” he said.
“I’ve never heard of him before,” Maisie said.
“Then this trip ought to be an educational experience for you,” George said. “You see, without Bacharach there would be no Gene Pitney or Dionne Warwick. He really wrote the book on love songs. You see…”
Chris tuned George’s voice out and focused on the long road ahead. It unfurled before them like a snake relaxing before the strike. It was too much to hope the whole journey would continue this way. Eventually the bite would come. Then something caught his eye, a shadow on the horizon. It grew as they approached it, finally forming into the burnt out shell of a car. Then there were two cars, smashed together like illicit lovers. Then there were bunches of four and five vehicles, and George had to guide the car off the road around them. George had grown quiet in his lecture of classic crooners and concentrated on the road.
The atmosphere in the little car grew thick. Even Maisie seemed to pick up on it, arching her neck to look out the front window, all thoughts of sleep gone.
As the cars grew denser, George turned sharply right and crossed through a destroyed partition barrier that divided the two motorways, and drove against traffic. There were fewer cars on this side of the road, and he swerved around them with ease. But up ahead the road grew congested, until it was a mirror reflection of the jam on the other side. Undeterred, George slowed down and wound his way through it.
Bleep!
The sound snapped Chris from his reverie. It was four o’clock.
“You know what, maybe we shouldn’t take the motorway,” Chris said.
“You think?” George said with a shake of his head. “What’s not to like about a cramped place with no way of getting away?”
“I have a bad experience with them.”
“We’ve started now, we might as well see how far we get. If we take the back roads we may never get to London. And there’s no saying there will be fewer cars on those roads either.”
“I’m betting there will be fewer,” Chris said.
They came to an impasse. A car had become wedged against another car, jamming the road closed.
“We’d best shift it,” George said.
He left the car running. Chris and George got out and moved toward the offending vehicle: a Ford Focus with dented back bumper. They peered around at the other cars, got to their knees, and checked under them. Nothing but broken plastic and glass. They shared an apprehensive look and approached the Ford Focus. Chris nodded to George as if to say, “Go on, then.”
“What?” George said.
“Release the handbrake.”
George peered in through the car window. There were empty bottles, crisp packets, and children’s toys strewn about the front and back seats.
“Me?” George said. “Why don’t you do it?”
“You’re closer.”
“The handbrake’s in the middle.”
Chris rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Epitome of the bravery shown by the Joneses,” he said.
Chris reached for the door handle, but George beat him to it, wrenching the door open. He glared at Chris as he reached inside and disengaged the handbrake. Chris got behind the car and pushed. George worked the steering wheel as they moved the car aside, revealing a continuation of the path through the jam. They got back in their car and continued on, winding through the endless metal river.