I'll have to say my goodbyes before I put everything in motion.
Chad rummaged through the rest of the darkened garage until he found Jess' bike in the far corner. He brushed away cobwebs and dusted off the seat and handlebars before dragging it around the sporting equipment and soccer ball bins. He positioned the bike in between the Jeep and an Audi, lined up so he could open the garage door and roll straight out.
Now, how am I going to carry anything with this?
The bike didn't have a basket attached, so Chad spent the next hour and a half fiddling with coat hangers and bits of wood and wire he found in the garage. At length, he fashioned a makeshift attachment over the rear wheel, held together by three different ropes, two bungee cords, and half a roll of duct tape. His luggage rack was crude, but it held together.
Chad stepped back and brushed his hands off on his jeans. "Well, I don't think it'll fall apart on me. Now I need to find a few bags."
After a light lunch of frozen waffles with butter—two things that seemed to fare well in the weeks it had been since the virus struck—Chad was ready to pack up some food. Jess explained where her school backpack was and he found her brother's as well.
He used more bungee cords and the rest of the duct tape to strap the bags to his improvised rack. It took about 20 minutes, walking back and forth between the kitchen and the garage to load up as much canned food, bottled water, soda, crackers, and any other prepackaged dried foods he could find. When he finished, the backpacks bulged to overflowing, but he figured he had enough food to get him through a couple days on the run.
It was mid-afternoon when Chad was finally ready to say his goodbyes. Jess wasn't. Tears ran down her pale, freckled face. It turned out she was a year older than him—a senior—but he felt like an old man next to her, used up and tired. He wanted nothing more in the world than to lie down next to her and sleep for days.
"If you need any more bags, you can have my purse. It's up in my room—I think it should be on my desk."
Chad laughed and raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I'm that desperate yet."
She laughed through the tears. "It's not really a purse, it's more like a satchel. I've had it forever. It's got a big purple strap, but the rest of it is black and covered in patches. You can…you can take it with you. If you want."
She seemed so insistent, so Chad gave in. "All right. I'll go get it." When he came back, he sat down heavily on the cushions and handed her the empty canvas satchel. "You're right, I wouldn't mind dragging this around too much."
She smiled at his comment. "It's not very girly."
Chad shook his head. "Nope. I think Indiana Jones had one just like it, only leather."
She laughed, then handed him a composition notebook closed with a rubber band. "Here, I want you to have this."
He took the worn notebook and flipped it over, looking at the ink and doodles plastered across the cover. "What's this?"
"I wrote down what was going on after the first people got sick." Her cheeks flushed. "Like a diary, you know? So I wrote about all kinds of stuff. But once everyone got sick and things got bad…I don't know."
Chad needed to say something, but he wasn't sure what. It was clearly a significant gift she was giving him.
"It's…" she tucked the strand of hair over her ear again. "I don’t want to remember all this, but I’d like you to remember me somehow…” She rolled her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall in the media room. "God, it sounds stupid now that I said it out loud."
Chad held the book in both hands. "No, it doesn't. It'll be nice to have you with me when I'm out there by myself."
She stared at him for a moment. "Yeah…and you know, if you run into any doctors or anything and they need information on what happened around here…well, there you go.” She shrugged, looking even smaller in her enormous sweatshirt. “I put newspaper articles and everything I could find in there. I—"
Chad held up his hand and stopped her mid-sentence. "Wait. Sssh," he held a finger to his lips.
Like the distant peal of a thunderstorm on the horizon, they both heard a tremulous sound in the distance.
"Is that…?" she breathed.
Chad jumped up. "I think so. Stay here—I'll be right back."
"Don't leave yet!" she cried as he sprinted down the hall. “Please!”
"I'll be right back!"
Chad moved across the living room and went to the closest window, peering out around the blinds into the back yard. The helicopter was definitely getting closer—he could hear it in the distance, but couldn't tell its direction.
He cursed and ran to the other side of the house. Looking out the window to the right of the front door, Chad saw more clear blue skies just as empty as the street.
They’re getting close—I need to leave. Now.
Chad looked down at the notebook in his hand. Suddenly he didn't feel so foolish taking it with him. It was an oasis in a vast desert of death and destruction. He ran back to the media room to say goodbye.
Jess was waiting for him, sitting up while she sobbed. He dropped to the cushions and enveloped her in a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck and cried on his shoulder.
"I'm scared!"
Chad hugged her tight. "I am too, Jess. But the soldiers will take care of you—they've been rescuing everybody who survived—I don't know of more than a handful of people who got sick and didn't... They'll want to help you—you're special."
She pushed away from him but didn’t let go. "Not as special as you," she said. Staring into his eyes, she put her bony hands on either side of his face. Her skin felt soft despite her still being half-starved and dehydrated.
Chad smiled but before he could speak she pulled his head in and planted a warm, tender kiss on his lips. Surprised at first, he fell into the embrace and kissed back. He had to admit, this wasn't exactly how he'd planned it, but his first kiss was nice despite the circumstances.
"I won’t ever forget you, Chad Huntley," Jess said when she pulled away. "You saved my life." She grabbed the notebook and quickly wrote something inside.
"If I can, I'll come back. One day… I don't know…" Chad stammered.
Jess shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I put my email in the book for you," she said handing the notebook to him again. She hugged the sweatshirt tighter around herself. "If you can, write me or something. I don't know if it'll ever be possible again…like before…but try, okay?"
Chad nodded, feeling his eyes water. He hadn't realized how attached he had become to the girl he'd nursed back from the edge of death. He swallowed and nodded.
"I promise."
They stared at each other for a moment in silence as the helicopter grew louder.
"I should go."
"Thank you," she whispered as he stood. She gestured at the food and water stacked up nearby. “For everything.”
Not knowing what else to do, Chad smiled. "You won't be so grateful when you see how much I've taken from the pantry…"
She laughed. "Go on, go set that fire. I'm ready to be rescued." She tucked the hair over her ear. "Again."
"Remember—be sure to tell them that you survived and you’re better. Make sure they take your temperature to prove it now that you don't have a fever. I’ve seen these guys…what they do when they find sick people…” He swallowed, trying to block memories from the bus ride.
“You have to make sure they understand you’re fine now, okay?”
“Okay,” she said in a quiet, flat voice.
“I mean it, Jess—if they know you survived it already, they’ll take care of you. If they think for a second that you’re still sick…”
“I'll be fine,” she said, lifting her chin. “Because of you.”
Chad watched her for a moment, at a loss for words, then nodded. “Good luck,” he said before he turned away.
"You too,” she called after him.
Chad stepped into the garage and shut the door, leaning against it. He took a long, d
eep breath and slowly exhaled. He knew what he was doing was right—if he didn't light the signal fire when he left, he couldn’t be absolutely sure they’d find Jess.
He walked over to the garage window and peered outside. It's now or never.
Chad flipped the lid off the garbage and squirted most of the lighter fluid onto the disgusting pile. He coughed at the mingled fumes then dropped the empty jug on top. He walked over to the workbench, snatched the box of matches he’d liberated earlier from the kitchen, and stepped back to the garage door opener.
He hit the button and watched the garage door clatter to life and flood the garage with sunlight for the first time in weeks. He held up a hand and blinked into the glare until his eyes adjusted. Grunting with effort, he hauled the trash can out to the middle of the driveway.
Chad looked around one last time, lit a handful of matches, and tossed the whole flaming bundle into the trash. With a soft whoosh the lighter fluid ignited, spewing flames two feet over the rim. Chad stepped back from the sudden heat, then tossed the rest of the matches into the fire as the rags and sheets caught. He looked up gratefully at the smoke rising straight up into the sky.
That should get someone's attention.
He ran back into the garage, wheeled the heavily-loaded bike over the threshold, and slipped Jess' satchel over his shoulder. He took one last look at the house he'd called home for the past few days and relaxed—Jess wasn’t watching him from a window. Chad pedaled off down the street, heading north.
He pulled over behind another abandoned house a few blocks away and peered around the corner. A thick column of black smoke climbed into the sky over Jess' house. With hardly any wind at the surface, it looked like a giant black finger reaching straight up into the sky.
He waited another ten minutes until he saw movement at the far end of the street. A large black truck rumbled around the corner. Chad heard its tires squeal as it parked. He watched small figures jump out and head into Jess’ house with weapons up.
Chad briefly closed his eyes. Please let them take her safely to the airport.
Two more soldiers got out of the truck and raced into the house carrying a white stretcher. A few moments later, they all reemerged with the loaded stretcher.
He hated telling Jess he was headed for Arlington, but it was the only way he could be sure they wouldn't come north looking for him.
He swallowed back the tears that filled his eyes, climbed aboard her bicycle, and pedaled as fast as he could.
CHAPTER 14
Roadblock
IT TOOK CHAD ALMOST two more blocks to get used to Jess' bike. She'd been right—it was a little small for him, but he didn't mind so much because his knees only hit the handlebar when he turned too sharply.
He continued north through her neighborhood until he hit Hall-Johnson Road. He paused to take a glance over his shoulder at clear, blue skies to the south—the soldiers had extinguished his signal. If his luck held, they’d be headed for Arlington, but Chad wasn’t sticking around to find out.
He quickly looked left and right down the divided four-lane road in front of him. The death plume of Fort Worth marred the western sky like an enormous black eye. The smoke was like a morbid North Star—constant, an ever-present reminder of the death and destruction that plagued the metroplex.
Chad sighed. Ultimately, he had little choice. The army was somewhere south and east of him and he knew they occupied the airport to the east. He'd told Jess he meant to head south—which hopefully meant the army would too. That left west and north.
Chad turned north on Pool Road and pedaled for another mile or so. Twenty minutes of monotonous travel later, he found himself nearing a small bridge. The sign by the side of the road announced he'd arrived at the West Fork of the Trinity River. He coasted to a stop and glanced over the side at the cold water and noticed a thin crust of snow clinging to the shadowy southern bank.
He checked his watch. It was just after 3 pm and his stomach voiced its opinion of what he should do next. Across the river, beyond a wall of trees, another neighborhood of empty houses occupied the crest of a slight hill like a line of sentinels.
It was time to decide whether to keep moving north on the deserted roads or try and find a place to hide for the night. He leaned the bike against a slim tree in the median, pulled a water bottle from his bag, and stretched his legs. He had finished half the bottle before he heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter in the distance. His decision had now made for him—he needed shelter and he needed it now.
There. Far to the south, a black speck moved over the treetops, drifting east.
His eyes focused on a second helicopter further east from its partner. He frowned. This one wasn’t moving much—he couldn't tell if it was coming or going or hovering.
Either way, they're getting closer. Trying to flush me out. I need to get inside one of those houses.
Movement up the road caught his eye. Someone staggered away from him, headed north along the empty road. They hadn't seen him—everyone else he'd encountered immediately ran at him, yelling for food or water or help—and he wanted to keep it that way. He ran the bike across the road and followed the river east, the thup-thup-thup-thup in the distance driving him forward.
Chad found a footpath that wound its way down to the trees along the river. He couldn't tell where it went, but it offered more cover than riding along the road. The path went east though, exactly where he didn’t want to go.
"Crap!" he exclaimed as he slowed the pink bike to a skidding, wobbly stop. Ahead of him, the trees on either side of the path thinned out, leaving an exposed stretch about the length of a football field. He squinted in the failing light and realized there was a foot bridge up ahead.
He squeezed the bike handles tight to keep from shaking as he pumped his legs and shot forward. Please don’t see me, please don’t see me…
It only took a few seconds to cross the open ground, but Chad felt a huge target on his back every second he’d been exposed. The helicopters continued to buzz to the south, slightly louder now.
Chad raced over the little foot bridge, desperate to find shelter in the neighborhood beyond the trees. He had to get inside a house and wait out the night—he could almost feel night vision from the helicopters reaching out like a green laser, unblinking and merciless.
He skidded to a stop at the first bend in the path past the river. He looked up the rocky, tree-studded hill in front of him—the houses were right on the other side of it but he didn’t see an easy way to reach the neighborhood.
There has to be some kind of way in there, but I don’t have time to look. Chad hopped off the bike and dragged it off the path.
Cursing and grunting, he slipped and stumbled several times as he hauled Jess' bike up the treacherous hill. Every time he caught his breath, clutching a nearby tree, he heard the incessant thup-thup-thup-thup, always just a little louder. Chad had no choice but to keep going—the sound pushed him forward like an invisible hand.
By the time he struggled through the underbrush and crested the hill, he found salvation at last: a row of backyards stretched before him to the left and right, all blocked off by a six-foot high wrought iron fence.
Chad’s eyes lit on the house just to his left, which sported a massive oak tree in the middle of the yard. The branches spread out over the neighboring lots on either side, bare and skeletal in the dim light. Every house he could see had lights on. From his vantage point, it looked like the typical end to a winter’s day, except he didn’t see a single person or hear anything at all other than the damn helicopters.
He pushed the bike through the knee-high weeds and brush until he could lean it against the fence and examine the latest obstacle to his freedom. Made of wrought iron, the bars were maybe a hand's width apart, topped by little decorative spikes on top. He knew he could get over it, but didn't see how it was possible to bring the bike.
He unstrapped the bags from his homemade luggage rack and tossed them over first. H
e still didn’t see any movement, even though he'd just made enough noise to wake the dead. Grimacing as he reached up the fence, he hoped that meant there weren’t any dogs waiting for him on the other side. Slipping Jess' satchel over his shoulder, he started to climb.
It wasn't all that hard to get over as long as he paid attention to where his feet went—the gap between the bars was just right for his shoes. His landing on the other side was far from graceful, but he'd made it over.
Thup-thup-thup-thup…
Chad brushed his legs off and gathered his bags, then sprinted for the house—it sounded as if the helicopters were right over his shoulder. He tripped in the dim light over a half-buried rock protruding from crusty snow that likely hadn't seen sunlight in days. Chad cursed as he raised himself from the frozen ground and stumbled the last twenty feet to his chosen McMansion.
He tried the door on the side of the garage but it was locked. He quickly ruled out the patio door—the expansive deck was covered in snow and his footprints would be all too visible. He looked up. The sky had turned orange from the Fort Worth fires.
Sun’s almost set! Got to get to the front door.
He opened the gate at the side of the yard and ran along the house, Jess’ unwieldy bags jostling his legs with every step. He rounded the corner and took a quick look at the silent neighborhood. The lights were on in every house, but he didn’t see any cars or people.
Heart thudding in his chest, he raced for the front porch. The tall door, made more of glass than wood, was marred by a big black X but unlocked. Thank God.
Chad slipped inside and shut the door, then locked it. He stood there in the impressive foyer and tried not to stare at the chandelier hanging overhead. He stared at the all-too-familiar landscape, so different in each house he’d broken into, yet always the same: trash and blankets littered the floors along with dirty clothes, tissue boxes, and empty cartons of food.
He blinked in the light. He’d noticed a universal pattern: the infected turned on every light in their house as they grew sicker, as if flooding the world with light might help stave off the flu.
The Source: A Wildfire Prequel Page 9