Devil’s Wake

by Steven Barnes

  Kendra had to look away from the shapeless mass at the side of the road as the bus crept along. Would anyone be left to find them when they were gone?

  “We didn’t know it was just a bunch of kids,” the soldier said to her reflection in her window, asking herself for forgiveness. “We were safe, and now Mickey’s dead.”

  She paused, batting away a stray tear. “Please, God, let Mickey be dead.”

  When memories threatened to overrun Terry, he focused on the lanes, the obstacles, the dashboard radio, the Twins on their solemnly lined-up motorcycles, rolling along as if leading a funeral procession. The road silenced the day’s ringing in his head.

  There were fewer cars on the I-5 south of Portland. Maybe a long-gone sign had diverted traffic elsewhere. Maybe someone had dragged cars off the road, salvaging them for parts or gas. No way to know.

  The clear lanes were both good and bad: progress was faster, but when it was time to get gas, they would have to open twenty different cars to get enough to fill their tanks. Near the cities, fewer cars were likely to have gas. So Terry and his merry band weren’t the only ones playing gas ’n’ go. And where there were people, there would be predators.

  “What’s your name?” Sonia asked the soldier.

  “Cortez,” she said quietly. “Corporal Ursalina Cortez, National Guard Hundred and Fourth.”

  Her voice was so flat, she might have been ready to follow with her serial number.

  Terry didn’t know Kendra’s surname, he realized, but it felt silly to ask such a basic question after what they’d been through. Piranha came up behind Terry. It was almost dark now, and they had just reached a sign that said EUGENE, OREGON.

  “Whatchu think, man?” Piranha said.

  Terry was glad Piranha hadn’t come with any touchy-feely How they hangin’, dog? He didn’t want to be reminded of how he’d lost his cool at the armory. He’d almost gotten them killed. Amazing that Piranha still trusted him.

  “I think we got no radio. Nothing local. Just the guy down in the Bay.” He’d been searching the radio for three hours, and only “Reverend Wales” kept coming up. “You know this guy?”

  The radio crackled. “—and even if the world is falling apart at the seams. Even if there is nothing left, know that the powers that really created the world, peopled the world, the truth that I was barely able to tell in my movies, can still watch over us, help us. Guide us. If you are willing to trust, there is safety. If you can reach Domino Falls in Mill Valley, California, there is safety—”

  “Oh yeah. The movie guy,” Piranha said. “That’s the best we’ve got?”

  “Best we’ve got,” Terry said.

  According to Sonia, Wales had made a name for himself back in the seventies with a movie called Space Threads that Terry only knew about because it had become a cult hit like Rocky Horror Picture Show, with a hugely hyped remake in the 1990s. There had also been a short-lived TV and comic book series. Terry had known super geeks at school who went to Threadie conventions and watched the movies like a religion. He’d cozied up to a Threadie girl a couple of years back, and sat through the original and remake back-to-back in the hopes of getting laid. No luck. All he’d gotten for his sacrifice was a little clumsy tongue and a play-by-play on a 2009 science fiction convention in the Seattle-Tacoma area called SeaTac ThreadieCon. No thanks.

  According to Sonia (who apparently had a minor reputation as a Con Goddess back in the days such things existed), Wales had made a buttload of money and had bought a big spread north of San Francisco, town called Domino Falls. Apparently, he had survived Freak Day as well.

  It figured a Hollywood hack had jumped on the radio. Anyone with a generator and an antenna could be a bandit radio king. Too bad most of them were crackpots, from what Terry had heard: end-of-the-world rants or alleged “government” bulletins, although nobody could prove there was any real government at all.

  Safety seemed to rest in small, dispersed, defensible communities. But every time they heard of one functioning, it wasn’t long before a frantic radio reported that one asshole had concealed a bitten brother or daughter, leading to the inevitable frightened, garbled reports, gunfire, screams… and then silence.

  “I’ve been hearing the guy since Vern’s,” Terry told Piranha. “Their little nut-town has survived for months. Threadville, whatever he calls it. People are rebroadcasting his stuff. Hell, I think they’re growing.”

  Piranha hung his head, sighing. “Threadies?” Piranha said. “I don’t know, man. But I’ll tell you what: I’m tired. We can drive around in Blue Beauty and keep siphoning gas off dead folks, but we’re going to run out of luck, you know?”

  Terry nodded. They had almost run out of luck a few hours ago.

  “You wanna’ do a Council?” Terry said. His voice was hoarse with the realization of how badly he’d let his friends down.

  If not for Kendra… where would they be now?

  “Yeah,” Piranha said. “But first let’s camp and break out those MREs.”

  The bus crept on in fits and starts, hugging the edge of the road for nearly a mile and pushing yet another car out of the way, but within an hour, and before the sun touched the western horizon, the Twins puttered back with news of a defensible camping spot up ahead.

  Their chosen shelter was the blackened hulk of a burned-out gas station. The sign on the pole promised fresh coffee and gas for $3.30 a gallon, but the storage tanks had exploded, leaving twisted metal husks instead of pumps. The main minimart was shattered and looted, but a small white outlying building was still intact.

  The outlier must have been a combination home and office connected to the gas station, a small cottage. Deserted now. No bodies. No stench. Terry wondered where the owners had gone, grateful they hadn’t left evidence of their nightmare behind. The main area was like a studio apartment: a two-burner kitchenette, dinette set for four, a sofa, recliner, and dead TV. The fridge and shelves were empty, but who cared? The fireplace worked and a pile of wood waited. Heat and light. Home sweet home.

  Kendra was more alert now, seemed to be tracking better, carried her pistol at the ready. Good. Terry liked that. She wasn’t as frail and vulnerable as he had feared. And strangely, because she seemed stronger, he was more careful to keep her in his peripheral vision the way Piranha watched out for Sonia.

  If Kendra was going to be around for a while, well, that changed things.

  Ursalina, on the other hand, worried him. With such a challenging drive, he’d hardly had a moment to wonder about her until they camped. She came inside with them but moved to the farthest corner, taking the recliner, her legs under her, still clinging to her gun like she expected them all to go Cujo on her. She was dressed like a soldier, but the girl was unraveling. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but she wasn’t what he had hoped for in a soldier, jumping at loud noises. If she collapsed into herself the way he had at the Barracks, they might all pay the price.

  He’d nearly died back there. Kendra had pulled him out of a hole he hadn’t even realized he’d fallen into. Somehow, most of Terry’s thoughts came back to Kendra.

  He found himself watching Kendra’s fingers, her mouth. Her lips. Enjoying the sound of her voice. For the first time, he noticed the little line on the corner of her mouth, angling up into her cheek, a faint scar of some kind. Had she gotten it on her bike? Climbing a tree?

  How old was the girl? Maybe sixteen? She might have been nine when she got the scar, and he found himself wondering what kind of kid she had been.

  Damn! He didn’t want to wonder about her like that. He loved Piranha like a brother, but he had a real half brother in Phoenix who was probably shuffling and moaning by now, and he couldn’t afford to care about Donovan either. Or his waste of a mother. He cared more about Lisa, but he knew she was lost to him, at least for now. If he could live with that, he could keep his mind off Kendra.

  Except that he couldn’t. And he couldn’t help noticing that the Twins were noticing her too, even if Kendra seemed
oblivious to all of them. Sonia had volunteered for first watch, so Kendra had been designated cook on their first night with the MREs. All she needed was a quick lesson from Piranha on how to use the self-heating pouches—pour water inside a chemical packet, slip the entrée inside the heated bag, and the food was hot right away. Soldiers always groused about chow, but it smelled pretty damned good, and at least there was variety.

  They opened their packets, announcing their bounty like Christmas gifts: Scalloped potatoes with ham. Chicken with black beans and rice. Beef stew. Cheese tortellini. They argued over packets of military-grade M&M’s and oatmeal cookies.

  Terry took a bite of a cracker, but it tasted like a wood chip. He wasn’t hungry. Ursalina wasn’t eating either.

  Piranha sat beside Terry on the sofa and spoke in a low voice, almost whispering. “Ursalina’s a hottie, huh? What a waste.”

  “What do you care?” Terry said. “You’re with Sonia. Besides, she’s torn up over losing that guy Mickey.”

  Piranha squinted. “You’re shittin’ me, right?” He snorted and slapped Terry’s shoulder. “You didn’t get a good look?”

  “What are you talking about, man?”

  “ ‘Mickey’ was probably short for Michelle. They were two chicks holed up in there.”

  Terry felt spun. He could only clearly remember corpses and a tangle of freak limbs from the armory, but he was sure he’d seen a man waving his rifle. “No way.”

  “Ask the Twins. They saw it too. And they’re praying she goes both ways.”

  Terry glanced back at the Twins at the table, who were staring in Ursalina’s direction with laser eyes. Full of longing.

  Terry could only shake his head. “Never crossed my mind,” he said. “All I see is a chick really trashed over what happened today. Man, woman, whatever—Mickey was the glue holding Corporal Cortez together.”

  “True, true,” Piranha said. They fell silent.

  This time, Terry felt eyes on him, so he looked over his shoulder. Kendra’s kitchenette was close enough to eavesdrop. She gazed at him for three seconds before dropping her eyes, her pretty lips curled in a smile.

  After Piranha went outside to join Sonia on watch and Ursalina returned to the bus, Kendra sat next to Terry on the couch, staring at the useless TV screen across the room. No one bothered turning the knob. No electricity, no point. But a stash of candles she’d discovered beneath the kitchen sink gave the little room decent light. She definitely wouldn’t sleep on the bus tonight, she decided.

  Kendra realized she felt awkward with Terry. In some ways, they had nothing to talk about; in other ways, everything.

  “I wonder…” Kendra said. “If we had power, would we find a channel?”

  “Don’t think television signals go as far,” Terry said. “Is anybody out there broadcasting?” He sighed, shrugging. “Who the hell knows.”

  “We’re gonna try this Threadville place?” Kendra said. She’d overheard Terry and Piranha talking on the bus.

  “We’ll take a vote in the morning, I guess.”

  At least Northern California was closer to Devil’s Wake. Kendra knew she was only one vote, and hers probably counted less than anyone’s except maybe Ursalina’s, but she wanted to go where Grandpa Joe had suggested. An island was safest. Could she make Terry an ally? She’d seen something on his face when she mentioned Devil’s Wake.

  “If you could make a wish, go anywhere,” she began, “where would you go? I mean… Is there anyone you want to find?” Kendra said.

  Terry sighed sharply. She was sure he would stand up to cut off their conversation, but he finally said, “In a perfect world? L.A. My sister Lisa’s there.”

  Kendra wanted to go to Southern California too! But after what they’d seen in Vancouver, the idea of L.A. iced her bones.

  But she tried to sound hopeful. “Well, if you know where she was…”

  “I don’t,” Terry said. “She was with an aunt who turned out to be as big a druggie as our mom, so she ended up in foster care. Because of me.”

  “Because of you?” Kendra said. Terry had peeled up the edges of something hard, something terrible, and for some reason he wanted to tell her.

  Terry took a bite of his beef stew, swallowed it like a rock. “My dad died in a car crash when I was ten. He was awesome, the only good decision my mom ever made. My stepdad, well, he did some stuff to my little sister I made him regret. She told me about it, and I redecorated his ass with a nail gun. Just wish I’d killed him. At least he got arrested too, and he died in a prison fight, so that part worked out. Any more questions?”

  Six months ago, it might have been the worst story Kendra had ever heard about another kid. Grandpa Joe had always complained that her parents had protected her too much, hiding life’s sharp corners. Kendra realized, for the millionth time, how absurdly lucky she’d been. She’d glided through her comfortable days with no idea.

  “They arrested you?” she said.

  “ ‘We can’t take the law in our own hands,’ ” Terry said, mimicking a female judge. “But that worked out too. She sent me to a wilderness camp to work off my anger, and we were all there on Freak Day. That’s how we survived.”

  “So you’re all… ?”

  Terry grinned for the first time in hours. “Badasses. You bet. Assault, confidence games, and cybercrime.” He pointed at Piranha. “Shoplifting”—Sonia. “Grand theft auto”— Darius. “All except Dean—he’s just hanging out with his cousin.”

  Kendra was surprised. If she had had to guess which of the two cousins had taken the rougher road, she would have picked Dean. Darius had an annoying sense of humor, but at least he had a spark of life. Dean seemed… emptied.

  Maybe Dean had been more like her, completely unprepared.

  “Now it’s my turn,” Terry said. Unexpectedly, he took Kendra’s hand. His calluses startled her, like a rough glove. He spread out her fingers to pretend to study her palm, and she felt a jittery spark. “Let’s see… Only child.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  Terry only smiled, ignoring her question. He had a dimple that suddenly looked alarmingly attractive. Her hand seemed to squirm beneath his fingers. “Mom and Dad were always there for you… Never beat you… No drugs or alcohol for them, except wine at dinner… You pretty much got straight A’s… Private school…”

  “Not after sixth grade,” she corrected him, eager to move past her parents. His vivid portrait of her family nostalgia stabbed her heart.

  “The worst thing that had ever happened to you before the freaks? Maybe your grandmother died. Or your pet kitty.”

  Kendra’s heart was pounding in a whole new way. She slipped her hand away from Terry’s, suddenly nervous that her tingling palm would get sweaty. “I never had a pet. I lost two grandmothers when I was twelve, six months apart. That sucked.”

  But not like it had hurt to lose Grandpa Joe. The stabbing came again.

  “Let’s not talk about that stuff anymore,” Kendra said in a soft voice.

  “Fine by me.” Had there been a note of triumph in Terry’s voice? You mess with mine, I’ll mess with yours? Then Terry sighed, playfulness gone. “You mentioned a place before… an island you heard about?”

  The room seemed to brighten. “Devil’s Wake. My grandfather always monitored his shortwave, and he’d heard it was safe. They’re selective, but he said my aunt could get us in.” She blurted it out, eager. In truth, Grandpa Joe hadn’t promised her that Aunt What’s-Her-Face could get anyone else in. But why not?

  Terry chuckled grimly. “Devil’s Wake? Where’d it get that name?”

  “No idea.”

  After a pause, Terry went on, his voice solemn. “But to be honest, Threadville sounds like a bunch of weirdos to me. We’re headed south anyway. If we hear any good news on the radio about Devil’s Wake… if the island’s for real… who knows?”

  Kendra smiled. Maybe sounded a hell of a lot better than no.

  “Really?” she said in
a small voice. “You think the others would agree?”

  “In case you didn’t notice,” Terry said, sighing, “it’s not like we have a whole lot of places left to go.”

  Then he got up and walked outside. Kendra was immediately sorry for prying so much. Had she pushed him away?

  For the first time since her rescue, Kendra was alone. The solitude in the little cabin sat on her chest like a dead horse. Images of infected children running toward her flashed across her mind’s eye. The red-crusted eyes at the bus window, staring at her somehow. She was almost sure she could hear gunshots.

  Kendra’s breathing accelerated, racing with her pulse. Why couldn’t she catch a good breath and hold it? The back of her neck seemed to burn with ice.

  Dad wasn’t here to tell her to exhale slowly from her diaphragm, and Mom wasn’t here to be Mom.

  Yes, alone. It wasn’t natural, being alone. That was what Ursalina and Mickey couldn’t live with, why they’d given up everything to chase a bus full of strangers. That was why Kendra had trusted Terry and the blue bus instead of running away. That was why Lucy had never let go of her little one’s hand so many aeons ago even though it had meant slowing down and being buried in the ash.

  The tears were starting. Every orifice felt plugged, burning her. Suffocating her.

  Kendra tried to swallow back the sob in her throat, afraid it would be a scream.

  She froze when she heard Terry shout from outside. Hipshot barked wildly. Kendra closed her eyes to brace herself, her finger ready on her pistol’s trigger, ready for the end of the world.

  “Snow!” Terry yelled. “Hey, it’s snowing!”

  When Kendra shuffled to the front door, she stared up with a child’s wonder at the fresh, delicate white flakes floating from the sky, dancing in the strobelike flashlight beams. The snow fell fast, in glittery clumps, as if making up for lost time.