by G. B. Hope
For herself, Danielle was pleased with the arrival of Allison. Anyone who took the eye of Ivanovic instead of her was welcome. She was puzzled why the woman had tagged along all that way - Liam joked that it was because he was such an Alpha male.
***
Kacie surprised Michael, chatting away to Taylor and Sienna, as if she had not just been rescued from a fate worse than death - even laughing hysterically at one point, as they all tramped along. Michael allowed the girls their high spirits, as they were on a country road in the middle of nowhere. Jerry, who seemed to know where he was, was out on point, and that was fine with Michael. He noticed the early morning sun glint off the blade of Jerry’s knife, tucked into the back of his belt. Jerry had proved remarkably reliable, watching over the girls during the night, and listening to Michael talk about what to expect, out there travelling after the event. Stabbing Ferguson to death had been the making of the boy.
They saw people at isolated houses, faces at windows and subdued children on porches, but there was no interaction.
‘I think we’re about to reach a town,’ called back Jerry.
There seemed to be an ornate bridge crossing their route into the town. Looking through the heat haze on the road, the bridge puzzled Michael for some reason. He glanced at young Jerry, slightly ahead and to the side, but the youth just plodded along. The girls, slightly behind him, began to talk again. He would ask them to be more attentive soon more eyes to look for potential threats, or find supplies. But then he didn’t have to bother because silence fell like night in the jungle, as it became clear that six figures were hanging from the bridge dark, slim shapes moving slightly in the breeze. Michael’s group grimly advanced towards the sight. The figures became female forms. Young teenage girls. Jerry looked to him for reassurance. Taylor walked with a hand covering her mouth, horrified. Sienna threw up at the side of the road, with Kacie pausing to comfort her.
They stopped in a line. Two of the hanging girls were spun away, and the other four had long hair covering their faces, so at least they were spared that horror. Michael assessed the girls’ clothing: all trendy and clean. What a tragic sight. A message was spray-painted on the side of the concrete bridge above them : We Can't Live Without You Justin.
Taylor, Kacie and Sienna began to talk amongst themselves, perhaps trying to understand the message, but Michael was beyond caring. He glanced up again, noticing that one of the girls had on a Justin Bieber tee-shirt, underneath her denim jacket.
‘Let’s move on,’ he said.
Then the wind picked up, turning one of the girls with short hair. Her face was almost indescribably horrid, purple, pathetic in its bloated, sad grimness. Sienna cried out in shock. Michael forced everyone forward, and they walked, but he had to take Taylor by the arm to stop her looking back.
‘Keep your eyes open!’ Michael shouted to Jerry, who had gone out on point again. ‘What’s this town we're coming into?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied the young man, ‘but if we pass through it I think we eventually hit Bridgeport.’
They passed a ghostly quiet Elementary school, with a chain-mail fence all around it, and then some seriously looted stores, which showed bare shelves, like white ribs, even from the middle of the road. They entered the town proper as it curved to the right, wide open as usual, with wooden buildings, cars abandoned. There were no “normal” corpses, which was a good thing, at least. But no living people either.
Jerry pointed out a partly-burned delivery truck. Apart from the 50% black scorching from the rear of the vehicle to the centre, it looked untouched. Michael knew he was suggesting it might still contain whatever it had been delivering. They circled round it. It seemed just possible to force entry via the burnt side panels. Jerry hopped up and started to pull back the metal. Michael and Taylor lent a hand, and then Jerry had squeezed inside. Michael scanned the surroundings, wanting to keep alert while they were preoccupied.
A tinny exclamation of success preceded packets of dried fruit being thrown out onto the highway. The girls scrambled for them, ripping them open like the starving refugees they were. Jerry appeared, offering more of the same.
‘Banana chips,’ read Taylor from the side of a packet, screwing up her face.
‘I hate bananas,’ said Kacie, but it didn’t stop her reaching in and devouring some.
Sienna declined to eat.
Jerry passed some more packets down to Michael. They couldn’t carry many, but they ate well as they continued ahead.
‘Have a banana!’ Michael suddenly shouted.
His companions stared at him, aghast, but he just laughed crazily. It was an English joke, and that made it all the funnier to him.
‘Have a banana!’
Three minutes later, they entered the town square; Municipal buildings, a coffee shop, restaurants, a bank, a hair salon. All quiet. Dead traffic lights swayed slightly in mid-air above the crossroads. Michael realised that was what had puzzled him about the bridge - he had thought there were traffic lights hanging in front of it. He shook the horrible vision from his mind. To their left was a gas station, with a roaring flame going up into the air. They avoided that by turning right. Almost subconsciously they entered one of the restaurants, a Tex/Mex place, with green booths. Only when they were into the cool interior did Michael remember to switch his concentration back on and raise the gun out in front of him. With everyone shuffling behind him, they quickly established that the place was empty. The kitchens had been stripped of everything edible, but they found a stack of lemonade bottles, which did the trick for them all, despite being lukewarm. Kacie found a better pair of trousers for herself in a staff rest area. They then sat on the cool floor, just inside the restaurant Front of House – it had clearly seemed ridiculous to them all that sitting in a comfortable booth would be just too weird. Michael placed his gun on the floor. Taylor took off her shoes to rub her feet, so the other two girls did the same. Michael pretended to do the same and the girls laughed, despite the recent horror witnessed on the road in. He watched Jerry, drinking his lemonade.
‘Where are you from, Jerry?’
‘Hiawatha, Minneapolis.’
‘Hiawatha!?’ Michael burst out laughing. All the stress exploded from him and he rolled about in hysterics on the floor.
They all watched him, amused, even Jerry. Finally, getting his breath back, Michael sat up, apologising.
‘Sorry, Jerry. Sorry, mate. Hiawatha? Is that a real place?’
‘Sure is.’
‘What are you doing down here?’
‘I was the assistant green keeper.’
Michael finished his lemonade, then rolled the bottle away from him.
‘Where do you want to go to, Jerry?’
‘I stay with you, man. All the way.’
Michael nodded. He looked at the girls. Kacie drank her lemonade in silence, contemplating her toenails. Sienna looked a little upset, with Taylor comforting her. Perhaps, thought Michael, Sienna had started thinking about her cousin, left behind the previous night.
‘Anyone feel like sleeping?’ he asked. ‘This could be a good time.’
Nobody took him up on the offer. Michael knew that Taylor heralded from Scranton, but not where the other girls came from, so he asked.
Taylor answered. ‘We all want to go to Kacie’s parents’ home. In Paterson, New Jersey.’
Even an Englishman knew that New Jersey was attached to New York, so at least they were all heading towards his girlfriend. Not that he had any hope of finding her after so long a time. Suddenly he felt enormously sad.
‘What?’ Michael asked, realising Jerry had spoken to him, and was offering him some kind of pamphlet.
‘That’s a take-out menu for here,’ said Jerry. ‘There’s a local map on the back. See? We follow that onto the Turnpike, takes us all the way to New York.’
‘Okay.’
‘We need bicycles.’
‘True, Jerry, my friend. I’d prefer to travel in an Aston Martin
DB9, but the bike seems to be the current mode of transport. Let’s go find some.’
He picked up the gun and stood. The girls took the hint and put their shoes back on.
‘I arrived in these parts on a tandem,’ joked Michael as they stepped out of the restaurant. ‘I’d quite like to leave on something a bit cooler.’
As Michael finished speaking, they all realised they had stumbled into a stand-off, with two people who appeared to be passing by. Michael managed to extend his gun, if not completely point it, faced down with two lethal arrowheads, fully extended into their bows.
THIRTY TWO
Liam McAlister, nursing an ankle that he now thought might be broken after all, thought back over the times he could have dumped Allison Davies. From the beach at Salem, through Boston, taking her all the way to Atlantic City, then New York. Letting her tag along out of some misguided sense of loyalty and obligation. Now he watched her using her model girl looks to wrap Ivanovic around her little finger. She was in new (someone else’s) clothes and was exceedingly well groomed, even wearing a touch of make-up. She was beginning to take over the group, giving orders (couched as suggestions, with Ivanovic behind her), telling the cook exactly how she liked her meals, for example. Or asking Mrs Miller to stop singing old songs. “Bit annoying, Mrs Miller”, Ivanovic had said, smiling. The latest thing, and the final straw as far as Liam was concerned, had been the idea that Sabrina take up some kind of domestic role, solely for the use of Allison. The thinking being that Sabrina had nothing better to do, and that she was a “servant”, anyway. Ivanovic had laughed off the notion, for the time being. Liam was livid. If he could have stood on his own two feet he would have knocked Allison out and then tackled Ivanovic. Instead, he met with Mr Manning and told him to make a start on the trolley, so he could be hauled back to the Maria. Then he kept Danielle and Sabrina with him at all times.
Allison continued to be fascinated with Danielle. Talking to her, when she got the chance, about England, about fashion, about One Direction (when Danielle mentioned the group). Perhaps, back in normal times, Danielle would have been friends with Allison. She could see her selfish, nasty side, and she listened to her brother, but she did already have friends like Allison. To be truthful, she was pleased at the woman’s arrival and Ivanovic’s infatuation for her - it let herself off the hook.
***
It was like something out of the The Hunger Games, thought Michael – not that he had ever read the book or watched the film. He just had a wild-eyed Amazon, dressed in brown leather, with her hair braided up on top of her head, about to send a razor-sharp arrow into his face. At that distance, there was no doubt that it would go clean through. So he lowered his handgun, whispered to Jerry to behave himself, and waited for developments. In his peripheral vision there was a male, too, with an equally taut bowstring, about to kill any one of them.
‘Jesus,’ said Taylor. ‘Take it easy, guys, why don’t you.’
‘Taylor,’ said Michael. ‘Shush.’
The girl who was about to kill him seemed about nineteen years old, and now that Michael looked closer, he could see that she was terrified. The bow was quivering, and the bow itself was definitely not from The Hunger Games, as it carried the three balancing rods needed for competitive archery.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Michael. ‘We startled you. We mean you no harm.’ Michael feared that she was so nervous that she might put a hole in him by accident. ‘My name’s Michael.’
The man nearby released the tension in his string.
‘Lana. Stand easy, honey.’
Michael looked to his left. The man seemed to be this Lana girl’s father. Bearded, scruffy, but he came across as friendly and intelligent. When he looked back, Lana had lowered her bow.
‘Put your gun away, mister,’ said the man.
Michael slowly put it in the back of his jeans, then showed his hands.
‘I’m Michael,’ he repeated. ‘We’re not looking for any trouble, fella.’
‘You’re English?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I don’t have a problem with the English.’
‘Not often we hear that.’
‘My name’s Chuck Sedaka. That’s my daughter, Lana. We’re out scavenging. You people passing through?’
‘Going to New York,’ answered Jerry.
Sedaka raised his eyebrows at that news.
‘Sorry about what just happened,’ said Sedaka. ‘I guess we’re all on edge at the moment.’
‘Forget it,’ said Michael, trying to offer a smile.
‘Would you people like coffee?’
Michael had been planning to get away from the people with the bows and arrows.
‘Yes, please,’ piped up Kacie, pouring away the last of her warm lemonade.
Sedaka nodded in a certain direction.
‘My sons should have the pot on now. Come, it’s not far.’
So, they all walked a few streets. Michael watched the rear view of Lana, with her long leather coat flapping at her heels. She held the awkward bow on her left hip, as if she were walking down to see where her arrows had landed. On her back was a bulging rucksack, no doubt containing things they had scavenged, and, underneath that, a quiver full of arrows.
‘Do you compete in competitions?’ he asked. ‘Archery competitions?’
Lana turned and looked at him. ‘We used to. All over the country. Before the world ended.’
They soon came to a small park, with black railings, where three young men stood up from a camp fire to watch them approach. Naturally, they checked out the new females, then their manners returned and they helped everyone settle down and served coffee.
Michael sat with Sedaka, politely asking where he was from. He was told they had a farm, about ten miles outside of town.
‘Where are all the people?’ Michael asked.
‘Well, the suburbs are pretty full. But a lot of people left. I guess they wanted to find out if the problem was confined to here.’
They went on to discuss Michael’s mission to find his girlfriend. Michael explained where he had joined up with the others, but not the circumstances.
‘How are you coping?’ asked Michael.
Sedaka sipped his coffee from a tin cup. ‘My kids miss their tablets, or whatever they’re called. But we’re farmers. Sixth generation. If our kind can’t survive, who can?’
‘I watched the archery during the London Olympics. Must be… interesting to carry them about with you for real.’
‘Would you like to have a go?’
‘Firing arrows? Sure!’
‘Lana!’ called Sedaka. ‘Michael here wants to give it a go.’
Lana Sedaka rose to her feet, keen to share her passion for the sport. Michael still thought the ungainly bow, with the stabilising poles, looked ridiculous, but he allowed Lana to lead him away from the group. She was already fixing an arrow in place, showing him where it went, while looking around for a target.
‘What about that upside-down hotdog cart over there?’ suggested Michael.
Lana gave him a quick lesson in how to draw back the string until it reached the correct point. Apparently he was to listen for some kind of click to tell him it was ready. She let the first arrow fly, and it went straight through the hotdog cart at fifty or sixty yards. Michael imagined that being his nasal cavity. She showed him again. He suddenly thought of his father, back in England, who had taught him how to play cricket, without giving up the cricket bat very often. He smiled at those long hours of bowling to his father in the park. It was his turn to shoot an arrow. He took it seriously, pulled back as shown, aimed, let loose, and promptly lost the arrow into the concrete jungle beyond the park. Lana was not upset. She must have hundreds, Michael thought, grinning again. She let him try once more.
‘Look at what you are trying to hit,’ she advised.
‘I thought I was doing that.’
He fired again, missed the hotdog cart, but landed in the grass nearby, which was at least
acceptable.
‘This is great fun, Lana.’
‘Try again.’
He did so. Again he hit grass. He laughed.
‘Sorry, I’m not very good at this, am I?’
‘No, you’re not.’
Lana smiled. Michael suspected it was the first smile in weeks. He took another arrow from her.
‘Here we go. This is the one. I can do this all day, Lana. Have you anywhere you need to be?’
THIRTY THREE
Michael watched the scenery go by and wondered if his American adventure could possibly get any weirder. It was the following day. They had stayed the night as guests on the Sedaka farm. Now they were riding west towards New York, on four horses given to them by Mr Sedaka. Admittedly, they were old and slow creatures, but it still beat walking.
Michael wasn’t exactly riding, though, given that he had never been on a horse before in his life. His mount was being pulled along by Taylor, who certainly was proficient in the saddle. Jerry could ride, with Sienna tucked up behind him, as he tugged Kacie along by the reins.
‘This is embarrassing,’ he joked to Jerry. ‘Bicycles would have been better.’
Taylor looked back and smiled.
‘Stop moaning,’ she said.
‘I arrived on a cool, tandem bicycle, and I leave like a piece of baggage.’ He laughed. ‘Hey, Jerry. Four horses. The Four Horses of the Apocalypse.’
Jerry laughed, but Michael felt he didn’t understand what he meant. He asked the young man if he had any idea where they were. The Sedakas had tried their best to set them on the right road, without possessing a map.
Jerry nodded. ‘It’s thataway,’ he said.
They had passed a few fellow travellers that morning, on foot. There had been no communication. At one stage, some bicycles did appear, going the same way as them but on the opposite carriageway, weaving between abandoned cars; three youths on mountain bikes, keeping pace with them, watching them. Michael had been ready to defend his group, had they come across the central barrier. He told Jerry to turn sideways, so the air rifle on his back, given to him by Lana Sedaka, could be seen by the men – at a distance it looked like a regular rifle. But in the end the men cycled on.