by James Cook
The transmission stopped abruptly as Mike turned it off. “Long story short,” he said, “shoot ‘em in the fuckin’ head.”
I tried unsuccessfully to repress a shudder. “This can’t be real, Mike,” I said. “Dead people don’t come back to life.”
“Listen, son,” he said. “We don’t know what the hell is going on with these people. Even the government hasn’t figured it out yet. Maybe they’re dead people, maybe they’re not. Who knows? Bottom line is this: they’re dangerous, and if you see one, don’t hesitate to put a bullet in its head. Got it?”
I nodded quietly. Mike gave my shoulder a squeeze before standing up and stretching. “You been here before, right?”
“Yeah, ‘bout every year. Why?”
“Dale keep any hooch around this place?”
I pointed to the cupboard above the stove. “Couple bottles up there. Bourbon, I think.”
Mike walked over, opened the cabinet, and after a moment’s consideration, took down a bottle of Buffalo Trace. “Sorry, Dale,” he muttered. “Pay you back if I live.”
“Glasses are over there,” I said, pointing. Mike selected two tumblers, sat down next to me, and poured a couple of fingers in each glass. He pushed one in front of me.
“Drink it,” he said.
I hesitated, frowning.
“What’s the matter? Never had a drink before?”
“Couple times. Didn’t care for it.”
“What’d you have?”
“Vodka, once. Beer another time.”
Mike made a disgusted noise. “Vodka is for sorority girls and beer is for pussies. Whiskey is a man’s drink. Give it a try.”
I picked up the glass and sniffed at it. “God, this shit smells like turpentine.”
Mike laughed, his deep voice rattling in his chest. “Just don’t gulp it. Little sips.” He held out his glass.
I clinked mine against it, then allowed a little of the amber liquid past my lips. The flavor was surprisingly sweet, at least until I swallowed it. Then a golden burn started in the back of my throat and tore its way up through my nose and eyes. Mike chuckled as I snorted and coughed.
“Fuck,” I sputtered. “It burns.”
“That’s how you know it’s working.” Mike tossed his drink back in a single gulp, then breathed deeply through his nose. Even though the room was dark, I could see his eyes water. A waft of alcohol-scented air blew toward me as he breathed out.
“Mmm. That’s good stuff.” He poured another drink.
We sat there for a while, the two of us, him putting his booze away in heavy gulps and me nursing my tumbler until it was empty. By the time I had finished, the burn didn’t bother me so bad anymore and I found I actually liked the flavor. A slow, steady buzz relaxed the tension in my shoulders and back, making my eyelids droopy with weariness.
“Have another?” Mike asked, holding up the half-empty bottle.
“No, I’m good. Think I’ll go lay down now.”
“Okay. Get some sleep, kid. Gonna be a long day tomorrow.”
I nodded as I trudged toward the stairs.
One of the guest bedrooms had a set of bunk beds on one side of the room and a single bed on the other. I doubted any of the others would want the top bunk, so I headed that way. Just beyond the doorway, I heard the sound of gentle snoring and stopped. Looking down to my right, I saw Sophia curled under the blanket in the single bed, eyes closed, mouth partially open. The sneering expression of contempt from earlier was gone, replace by the smooth, guileless innocence of sleep. It was an effort of will not to step closer and run a finger along the soft line of her cheek. I resisted, though, and took off my boots before climbing into the top bunk. It occurred to me Sophia might be angry I chose to sleep in the same room as her, but right then, I was too exhausted to care.
I managed to lever myself into the middle of the bed before the waves took me under.
*****
One of the perks of Dale’s cabin was both the water heater and the stove ran off a rather large propane tank. According to an invoice on the table in the foyer, the propane supplier had been out less than two weeks ago to fill it up. As Tyrel and I made breakfast for the group, I thought longingly of the hot shower I planned to take that afternoon.
Another interesting development was Sophia’s markedly increased appetite. The few other times I had broken bread with her she had eaten like a very small rabbit with severe food allergies. The next morning, however, she filled her bowl with two heaping scoops of rice and beans, grabbed a handful of tortillas, and carried her food into the living room where she plopped down on the sofa and ate alone, sullen gaze directed at the television’s blank screen.
The rest of us were equally ravenous, each one sitting at either the island or the dining room table and scarfing our breakfast wordlessly. We had discovered earlier, to our pleasant surprise, the cabin still had running water. When I asked how that was possible without electricity, Blake solved the mystery. “Gravity fed,” he remarked. “Gotta be a water tower nearby. Better enjoy it while we can; that tower runs empty, we’re drinking lake water.”
I decided to move up my timetable on the shower.
Lauren and I washed and dried the dishes after breakfast, both of us preoccupied with our own thoughts. Everyone else looked equally worried, eyes distant and puffy around the edges, hands clasped on tabletops or fidgeting absently. I got the feeling we were all waiting for someone to speak up, but no one was quite willing to be the first to do it. Finally, Dad stood up, leaned against the kitchen counter where everyone could see him, and cleared his throat.
“First thing we need to do is gather supplies,” he said. I watched Blake and Tyrel nod silently while Mike merely grunted.
“From where?” Sophia asked. It was the first thing she had said all morning.
“The other houses around here,” Dad replied. “The empty ones, anyway. We also need to see who our neighbors are, figure out if they’re friendly or not.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Tyrel asked. “I mean, not to sound too callous, but we got enough mouths to feed as it is. Not to mention the natives might not take too kindly to us pilfering from their neighbors. Especially as they might be having the same notion.”
Dad’s eyes drifted to me and hardened. “Then we go armed and make it clear we’re not to be fucked with.”
“Joe,” Lauren said.
“What?”
“We can’t just go around stealing from people.”
“Like hell we can’t.”
“Are you listening to yourself?” Lauren said. “You’re talking about robbing people. That’s insane. What the hell has gotten into you?”
Dad heaved a long sigh and shook his head. “Lauren, I don’t think you’ve quite grasped the gravity of the situation.”
Lauren stiffened with anger. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dad pointed a finger at the dark orange glow pressing through a curtained window in the living room. “You see that out there? You know why it still looks like that? Because those fires we escaped yesterday are still burning, that’s why. And they’re not going to stop any time soon.”
“The government will get everything under control, it’s just a matter of-”
“No, Lauren,” Dad said sadly. “They won’t. We’re already past the point of no return.”
My stepmother’s lips began to tremble. “Don’t say that, Joe. You don’t know that.”
“Lauren,” Blake cut in, “open your eyes. The eastern seaboard is gone. Do you understand that? Everything east of the Mississippi—New York, DC, Boston, all of it. Gone. No one knows where the President is. More than half of Congress and the Senate are presumed dead. Martial law has been declared nationwide, not that it’s gonna do a damn bit of good. State and local governments are collapsing everywhere. What’s left of the military is in full retreat, headed for Colorado Springs. We’re on our own, Lauren. No one is coming to help us.”
The room went still a
s Lauren stared at Blake, her face slowly crumbling. She had heard the same newscasts and radio announcements we had, but evidently had not absorbed the full consequence of their meaning. Like many people in the early days of the Outbreak, she simply could not wrap her head around the fact that the rule of law had broken down and it was not coming back. After a harsh stretch of silence, Lauren’s shoulders began to shake and she let out a dry, choking sob.
“Honey …” Dad moved toward her, hands outstretched. Lauren slapped them away.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” she screamed, and fled up the stairs.
I stared in shock. I had seen Lauren upset before, but never anything like that. It rattled me. I began to follow her up the stairs, but as my foot touched the first step, my dad’s voice cut the air like a whip.
“Don’t, Caleb.”
“But Dad-”
“Trust me, son. Let her be for now. She needs some time alone.”
A door slammed upstairs. “Are you sure?” I said. “I think I should try to talk to her.”
Dad approached and gently led me back to my chair. “Like I said, just leave her be for a while. I’ll go talk to her in a little bit.”
“Okay,” I muttered, not convinced.
“Mike, you stay here with the girls,” Dad said. “Blake, you’re with me; we’ll take my truck. Tyrel, you and Caleb take Mike’s Tundra. First things first, let’s try to make contact with the other people in the area. I don’t think there will be many of them, but we need to know their disposition regardless. ROE is best judgment, but try not to start a fight if you can avoid it. Questions?”
We all shook our heads.
“Tyrel, you and Blake know what to do. Caleb, follow Tyrel’s lead and do exactly as he says. Clear?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Let’s get moving.”
SEVENTEEN
Hollow Rock, Tennessee
At almost two o’clock in the morning, Miranda finally spoke up.
“Why Tyrel?” she asked.
“Huh?” Caleb replied.
“Why did your father pair you up with Tyrel? Seems to me he should have asked Mike along and left you to look after Sophia and your stepmother.”
Caleb shrugged. “Objectivity.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dad knew nobody would fight harder to protect Sophia—and by default, Lauren—than Mike. And if we paired up, he would spend more time worrying about me than focusing on what he was doing. That’s the kind of thing that could get both of us killed. Besides, he knew I could handle myself, and I was in good hands with Tyrel.”
Miranda traced her fingernails down the ridges of Caleb’s abdomen, raising goosebumps on his skin. “Seems awfully … impersonal.”
“Dad was a pragmatist,” Caleb said defensively. “He knew how to take his emotions out of the equation and think clearly. It was the right call.”
“I don’t know if I could have done that.”
“You don’t have the training my father had.”
“What about you?” Miranda asked, raising up on one elbow and looking Caleb in the eye. For once, despite the fact she wasn’t wearing any clothes, he wasn’t distracted by the view. “Would you have made the same decision in his place?”
It struck Caleb he had never asked himself that question. “I don’t know, honestly.”
Miranda leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I want to hear the rest, but I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open.”
“I’m pretty tired too. I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow. What I have time for, anyway.”
Miranda snuggled her head in the hollow of his shoulder and breathed deeply. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Minutes later, Miranda’s breathing slowed and she became heavy against his side. For Caleb, sleep was much longer in coming.
*****
After breakfast, seated at the little table between the kitchenette and living room amidst the trailer’s 1970s era decor, Caleb asked Miranda what she wanted to do with their day together.
“If it’s all the same to you,” she said, “I’d just as soon stay home.”
“Fine by me,” Caleb replied.
One of the many things Caleb acquired during his travels with the Army was a portable solar charger, weighing less than two pounds, which could be rolled up for easy storage. It didn’t generate a tremendous amount of electricity—12 volts was its max—but it was enough to charge the batteries on small devices, laptops, and tablets.
Things like iPads and smartphones, once more or less considered minor luxury items, were now one of the cheapest things a person could buy. During the Outbreak, after the grid went down, most people left their electronic devices behind. Consequently, a quick search of any abandoned home or residential neighborhood yielded a plentitude of the once-treasured items. Caleb had a sizable collection in his storage unit on the other side of town.
After he and Miranda finished eating and all the dishes were cleaned and put away, they sat together on the couch, perched an iPad on the coffee table, and watched a few episodes of The Sopranos. Caleb had never cared much for television, but found he didn’t mind it with the warmth of Miranda next to him.
Four episodes in, Caleb declared he was hungry and went outside to start a cookfire. Miranda connected the iPad to the charger and followed him to the backyard where there was a small patio table situated beneath the shade of several tall trees. Miranda sat in a chair next to the table, feet outstretched, watching Caleb as he mixed flour with water, eggs, and dried meat while heating a non-stick skillet over a small fire.
“Be nice when Jutaro finishes repairing the grid on this side of town,” Miranda said. “I’d dearly love to cook indoors again.”
“It’s not so bad, cooking outside,” Caleb said. “Least not when the weather’s nice.”
They spoke no more until Caleb brought a stack of soft flatbread and beans to the table. Miranda made small talk about a few goings on around town, but Caleb only half listened. He found his thoughts wandering as he ate, long-repressed memories scuttling across his mind on needle-sharp legs. It wasn’t until he finished eating that he realized Miranda had stopped talking and had been watching him thoughtfully the last few minutes.
“Sorry,” Caleb said.
Miranda’s mouth turned up at one corner. “Where you been, soldier?”
“Outbreak. Stayed away a long time, but it looks like I’m back for a visit.”
Soft fingers settled over his knuckles. “Tell me.”
“You don’t mind? I mean, it’s a nice day and all, and I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Caleb, there’s nowhere else I would rather be, and no one else I would rather be with. Now come on, out with it.”
A single nod. “All right, then.”
*****
Canyon Lake, Texas
The plan had been to begin searching right away, but after walking outside and seeing the opposite side of the lake, we all stopped and stared in mute shock. Being the first one to recover, I offered to grab the big eyes from one of the Humvees and survey the area before we headed out. Dad nodded absently and waved a hand toward the vehicles, his eyes never leaving the smoke in the distance.
Canyon Lake was, at one time, a popular destination for people from San Antonio, Austin, Houston, and just about every town in between. It had everything you could want: resorts, boating, fishing, watersports, swimming, sandy beaches, golf, small family amusement parks, even helicopter tours. Any other summer, the place would have been crawling with tourists. The roadways would have been clogged with vehicles, parking on the lakefront would have been a nightmare, and boats and jet-skis would have crisscrossed the water in teeming, booze-fueled multitudes.
But by the next morning, Canyon Lake was abandoned.
The massive fires that chased us all the way from Houston reached the eastern side of the lake and spared almost nothing. The Texas hill country for thousands of acres in every direction had become a blasted hellscape. Where once had grown
lush, verdant greenery, trees now stood naked and blackened over scorched sand and incinerated brush. The once-blue lake was now a sullen, metallic gray from the tons of ash fallen into it. Thousands of fish of too weak a constitution to survive the water’s increased acidity floated belly up, staining the air with the pungent odor of rot. The cabin cruiser Dad and the others had anchored out last night had gone from white to the color of a cloudy winter sky.
Standing on the roof of Dale’s cabin and scanning the shore with a pair of sixty-power binoculars, I saw only a dozen or so structures still standing to the east. The long rows of buildings past the shoreline—houses, condominiums, vacation rentals, resorts, country clubs, mini-golf, parks, all of it—had been reduced to piles of smoldering ash. The entire peninsula of Canyon Park was a burned-out ruin, only a few soot-covered brick and cinder-block walls remaining as mute testimony to the lake’s former prosperity. The scene reminded me of old videos of Hiroshima after the bomb.
The north side of the lake didn’t fare much better; the fire leapt the Guadalupe River and kept right on trucking. Somehow, though, it missed the tips of a few peninsulas on the northwestern side of the lake. I studied them, but saw no signs of life.
The western shore was mostly gone except for a thin strip of shoreline north of us just below Comal Park Road. Only two houses had cars in their driveways, less than a quarter-mile apart.
I shifted focus westward, trying to find Canyon Lake Golf Club and Biscuit Hill Bed and Breakfast, both places I had visited before with my father. The golf club and accompanying fairways may as well have never existed, and the bed and breakfast was nowhere to be found. As near as I could tell, the fire had crept as close as Bridget Drive on the southern part of the peninsula, but then, by some miracle, stalled out. The fact the fire had gotten so close and we had all slept right through it gave me a case of the shivers.