Dead Weight

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Dead Weight Page 9

by Casamassina, Matt


  But it was. And it was cold. As the day wore on, he began wondering if it might be closer to lunch or dinnertime. Jordan’s hair danced in the wind as she wiped her nose with her jacket.

  “Look!” she said, pointing. “See?”

  They’d come around a curve in the hillsides and finally had a fuller view of the terrain ahead. He squinted. In the distance, the gully seemed to take on shape. He thought he saw the murky white of cement and almost smiled. Several hundred feet above the ravine, a road clung to the lip of the mountain, a metal railing running in parallel to its surface. It had to be the highway.

  “I see it,” he said, maybe a little louder than he’d intended. He couldn’t help it. “That, my girl, is a freeway, which means we just found ourselves a light at the end of the tunnel.”

  She stared up at him.

  “What I mean is, macaroni and ice cream, Jordan. Once we get up there, we can try to get some food and then take a break for a little while.” He extended his hand, flat, and she slapped it hard, smiling.

  “Who saw it first?” she asked.

  “You totally did. Great work, kid.”

  Her smile widened. For the briefest of moments, he saw her as she was before the event had kidnapped her childhood. “Are we gonna climb up there?”

  “Yeah. Hopefully won’t be too bad, either. The angle looks pretty manageable,” he said.

  He was half right. An hour and a half later, the two of them stood at the base of the road, sweating and panting. The climb had been manageable, but it was by no means easy. He hadn’t made a positive identification, but he thought he knew where he was. It was a two-lane system: one coming and one going. The road was grayer than it was black. Cracked. Used. Patches of weeds and shrubs loitered by the sidelines, afraid to venture any closer. The vegetation bystanders of the long-haul commuter, Zephyr thought. The street cornered to the left and behind the slope again a few hundred feet ahead. There were no cars to be found. Still, there was at least predictable, flat street, which beat trudging through old gullies every day of the week, and if his bearings were right there’d be an old gas station and the very real possibility of some vehicles soon.

  “Now what do we do?” Jordan asked.

  “We walk.”

  Thirty minutes later, and just as Zephyr started to question whether Ross had outright lied about mass pile-ups on the highway, they rounded another curve in the road and there, sprawled at a diagonal stop across both lanes, was a diesel truck. It was an 18-wheeler. Huge. Yellow with orange trim. A cartoony illustration stamped alongside the cargo unit depicted a Greek god reaching out for nothing. Zeus Moving, declared big, bold type. And just underneath that in smaller text, Lightning Fast Transport For Mere Mortal Prices.

  Jordan tugged on his sweater again.

  “I see it, I see it,” he said.

  It was an alarming scene, at least by normal circumstances. It wasn’t every day, after all, that gargantuan haulers lay dormant in the middle of the street. It was therefore a testament to their rebooted state of minds and their collective submission to the world as it now behaved that neither one of them seemed concerned. They were excited. The boy pulled himself onto the driver’s step and swung the door ajar with a heavy, dry squeak. He could smell stale cigar inside. Green leather seats, torn in several spots. A beaded golden crucifix dangled from the oversized rearview mirror. And, of course, he realized with dull acceptance, a thick red flannel and a pair of blue jeans lay crumpled on the driver’s seat and floor respectively. Same old, same old.

  He turned back to Jordan. “Nobody here. I’m gonna try and start it.”

  The keys remained in the ignition, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t get it to start, which was just as well because he was positive he couldn’t drive it, anyway.

  “Yeah, not happening,” he said, “but we can at least open up the back to see if there’s anything useful inside.”

  He imagined a treasure trove of boxed kitchen goods. Cereal. Chips. Cookies. Anything that might keep in transport. No such luck. The truck held several beds, two couches, and a dining room table overrun with boxes, but no food. He scoured the compartments and came away wanting. Still, there were some valuable finds that made the examination well worth his time. He tugged a thick, navy-blue pea coat from one overstuffed box and it fit him perfectly. He offered a pair of hand mittens to Jordan, who happily donned them. With nightfall fast approaching, they’d do well to dress warm and he was thankful for the extra resources. They were what his dad called good-to-haves. Yet the clothes paled in comparison to the items wedged between the table and one of the couches.

  “Hey kiddo. I think we’re in business,” he said, smiling.

  He was still grinning ten minutes later as the two of them raced down the mountain on the bikes. It had been the perfect plunder. Warmth for the road and a faster means of travel. Zephyr coasted atop a lightweight mountain bike and Jordan zoomed alongside him on its twin, her hair flapping in the wind. If she noticed that it was a little too big for her, she didn’t show it. The descent was gradual, but as the street curved and cornered the slope became more pronounced and it wasn’t long before they moved so fast that Zephyr’s bike wobbled off balance, and he squeezed the handbrakes. Jordan sped past him, completely oblivious.

  “Hey daredevil! Be careful!” he shouted against the wind with no real hope that she heard him and no faith that she’d listen even if she did.

  The freeway eventually bled into a lonely intersection overseen by a maltreated gas station. A few scattered houses that looked more like glorified shacks sat forgotten down one side of the perpendicular road before it disintegrated into shabby bush and then hillsides. It wasn’t a town. It wasn’t even a community. It was just a necessary pit stop on the way to somewhere better.

  The station was old, dirty, and dilapidated, but it was also an oasis. The treasures encapsulated within those faded windows seemed boundless. Food and drinks. His mouth watered and his stomach grumbled in anticipation of tortilla chips, candy bars and soda. A big-rig and a Honda Civic had become permanent fixtures outside the pumps, and they ignored a crumpling of clothes near one of them as they dismounted and made for the entrance.

  “OK,” he said. “Let’s grab some chow, kid.”

  The place was small, but well stocked. Florescent lights buzzed inside, illuminating a register surrounded by rows of gum and candy. Three sizable aisles held more junk food, and the refrigerator housed all manners of cold cola and beer. He tore open a big bag of nacho cheese Doritos and sat on the floor devouring them, breaking only to chug down mouthfuls of icy Mexican Orange Crush. In a glass bottle, too, he thought. This stuff is so much better in a bottle. Jordan alternated between bites of a Rocky Road bar and some pork rinds, of all things. A rather disgusting combination.

  She stood and dusted her pants. “Is it OK if I get some Fun Dip?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Yummy candy.” She took it from the aisle and showed it to him. “Here.”

  “Oh, totally. Go for it. Eat whatever you want. You don’t need to ask.”

  She sat on the floor beside him and ripped open the dip. Some of the powdery sugar spilled on her pants and floor, yet she hardly noticed. After some time, she asked, “Why do you think everybody is gone?”

  He shrugged. “I really wish I had an answer for that one. I really, really do.”

  “That’s OK,” she said. “But where do you think everybody went then?”

  How could he answer that? Heaven? Or maybe, what, flying saucers? Both seemed unbelievable possibilities. But then, the entire predicament defied normality. Whatever had happened to them all— his girlfriend, his parents, and for that matter the entire town, maybe the world— they’d all left in a hurry. And naked, he thought. Don’t forget that little detail. They all left their clothes, too.

  “I dunno, Jordan. Wish I did,” he admitted. “But we’re gonna try to find out, all right?”

  “OK.”

  An idea struck
him, and he rose to investigate the area behind the register. Ignoring another pile of clothes and shoes, not to mention a prosthetic leg, he rummaged through some unseen shelves and finally found it. A gun. A shotgun, to be more precise. And really, that was the extent of precision that his expertise on the subject allowed.

  “Look what I found,” he said and held up the weapon. It was heavy. Significant.

  Jordan raised an eyebrow. “What do you need that for?”

  “Just in case we run into any more bad men. It’ll be good to have one of these.” He turned the weapon over, treating the barrel with the same level of caution that one might pay the raised head of a cobra, found the safety, and flipped it on.

  The sun was off for the night by the time they left the station. In the boy’s left hand dangled some keys he’d discovered behind the counter and in the other hung an oversized plastic bag stretched to the tearing point with snacks and soda. Jordan carried bags of her own.

  The door to the Honda Civic was unlocked. Zephyr acquainted himself with the driver’s seat, set the bag on the passenger side, and tried the first key on the ring. Didn’t fit. Neither did the second. The third, however, slid snugly into the ignition and when he turned it, the car sputtered to life, the radio blasting static. He recoiled, fumbled for the volume and turned it off.

  “All right!” he shouted and honked the horn twice. Jordan set her bags on the ground and clapped.

  The car’s tank was half full. He pulled in beside a pump and killed the engine. Then the two of them returned to the station and packed three more bags full of junk food and soda. He lugged the gun to the car, unlocked the trunk and stored it. Then he made one last trip inside, where he pilfered the exorcised pants behind the register, snatched a credit card, and spent thirty minutes trying to trigger the pump. It was, he learned, ludicrous how something as trivial as accessing gas had transformed into a behemoth undertaking since the event. Eventually, though, he got it, pillaged two portable tanks and filled those with unleaded, too.

  “Done and done,” he said with satisfaction as he hurried back into the car seat. He was proud of them. They’d spent all day on foot, hungry and tired. Now, they were fed and full, stocked with food and drinks, armed, and with car. It was progress. He edged the vehicle back onto the highway and into the night.

  18

  “Now where?” Jordan asked.

  They’d been on the road for ten minutes and she’d scrubbed the airwaves. The results were not encouraging, Zephyr thought, but he didn’t say anything. Most of the stations sang static, which was probably to be expected. More than one, however, played a steady, toneless beep— the kind of noise he associated with the emergency broadcast system, the only difference being that no messages were being broadcast.

  “South,” he said. His high beams cut through the darkness and spotlighted the road ahead as he maintained a lethal grip on the steering wheel. “I have an aunt in New Mexico. I thought maybe…”

  Except, he wasn’t sure what to say. Thought maybe what, Zeph? An eight-hour drive to Las Cruces on the off-chance that your aunt— the same aunt who hasn’t answered any of your calls — is just chilling? Maybe drinking some of her lemonade poolside? Yeah, this’ll end well. OK, so it wasn’t the best plan he’d ever hatched. Nevertheless, it was forward momentum, he assured himself. If nothing else, it took them farther away from Ross, and that was more than enough reason for him.

  “She’s probably not…” He hesitated. “But, you know, it’s worth a shot. And if it doesn’t work out, we’ll keep on going.”

  “OK,” Jordan said, dug through one of the plastic bags she’d taken along and surfaced a lollipop. If she had any concerns about his plan or lack thereof, she sure didn’t show them. She was asleep fifteen minutes later, the lolly still lodged in her mouth.

  The Civic didn’t offer much pep. It chugged up the hills with great effort and every so often Zephyr gassed it and the car hiccuped as it struggled to change gears. It wasn’t exactly a beater, but neither was it going to win any races. An hour into the drive, the boy made up his mind to find a newer, better vehicle at his earliest convenience. Eventually, though, he topped one final climb, his ears popping, and then there were no more ferocious slopes to contend with, only the steady application of brakes during what seemed an endless stretch of descending highway.

  The traffic jams Ross said surrounded Firefly Valley had not yet been duplicated and he was glad for it. Still, there was enough congestion to worry him and, he thought, all it’s gonna take is one big wreck, dude, and then what? He didn’t have an answer. He supposed he could try to start any diesel that blocked their path. Of course, that hadn’t gone so well before.

  His heart beat faster every time a stalled vehicle forced their deceleration. He imagined terrible things in the darkness beyond the safe glow of their headlights. Zombies, their faces blood and bone, their eyes cataracts, waiting for them to slow enough so that they might shamble after and catch them.

  The fuel gauge read a quarter of a tank when Jordan first rubbed her eyes and then opened them. Zephyr had chewed most of his nails into oblivion and was grinding down odds and ends.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “Welcome back,” he said between bites and then forced himself to stop. “Don’t really know. At least a couple hundred miles from the gas station. How ya feel?”

  “Good.” She shifted in her seat. “Are we driving all night?”

  The answer was no, of course. It wouldn’t be possible even if he thought he could, and he didn’t. His eyelids were already heavier than he wanted them and it was still early, at least by the previous night’s events. He thought they should find a place to hole up and then sleep.

  “The short answer is th—”

  The car convulsed, then lurched out of his hands and careened across the lane before Zephyr slammed on the brakes and they skidded to a halt.

  “What the—” he shouted, suddenly wide awake, his heart pounding. “What the hell just happened?” He turned to her. “Are you all right?”

  Jordan nodded, her eyes equally wide. The smell of burning rubber permeated the car and her candy blanketed the floor.

  Zephyr’s eyes darted everywhere for signs of anything on the outside that might explain the situation. Nothing presented itself. A street light illuminated a pocket of the highway, empty but for them. Beyond the light, darkness, and presumably miles of hills and mountains. Conspiracies raced through the boy’s mind. Had they hit something? Did they blow a tire? Was someone actually shooting at them?

  “Hey, I need you to get down and be quiet,” Zephyr said as he unbuckled his safety belt and slumped out of view. He twisted so that his knees touched the mat, his stomach lay against the seat and his forearms held his weight. He fixed on the driver and passenger side windows and searched for motion. His weapon was in the trunk, unattainable again. How had he not learned yet?

  “Zephyr,” Jordan pleaded.

  “Quiet,” he whispered. “It’s fine. Just— don’t move.”

  They stayed there and listened to the wind cry all around them. When at last Zephyr felt confident that there was no threat outside, he edged ever higher and peeked through each window for explanations that remained unseen and unknown. If they’d run over a coyote, he couldn’t spot it anywhere. And, he finally conceded, if somebody was actually out there in the brush beyond the road, he’d never find them.

  Soon, they were moving again, but just that. The car limped forward and the steering wheel dragged hard to the left. He only centered it after a fight. It was definitely a flat, and he didn’t care. It was a stolen car anyway, he figured, so if they totaled it on their way, well, so be it. He was going to drive the cursed thing as far as it would take them. If that meant they’d go until the wheel fell off, then that’s what it meant. None of this frightened him. On the contrary, on some level he was actually glad it had happened because it made the decision to take the next exit bearing signs of civilization that much easier. />
  “Don’t be scared. It’s just a flat tire. We’re gonna ride it out until we spot a new car we can take or we hit an off ramp. Whichever comes first.” He glanced at her. “Don’t worry. I promise it’s not a big deal.”

  As they drove, the drag became more pronounced and the dull thud of hard rubber on pavement louder. The car shook whenever they slowed so Zephyr wrestled to stay the speed above thirty-five miles per hour. Fifteen minutes later, something loud popped up front, the car jerked off course before he corrected it, and then they drove in bumpy succession over large chunks and strips of rubber that used to be tire. It was a rough, but quick transition, followed by a light show. Zephyr rolled down the window and surveyed the damage. The rim was not just exposed, but naked, and sparks engulfed it before dancing away and blinking out into nothingness. The smell of incinerated rubber and cooked metal followed them.

  They drove on like this, their windows down, the air frigid, until the dashboard gas light turned on. He finally swallowed a heavy drink of air and then slowed the vehicle.

  “We’re getting pretty low on gas so I’m gonna grab the tank from the trunk and fill up,” he told Jordan, who nodded without reply.

  It was even colder outside than Zephyr anticipated. He expected to see stars uninhibited by the glow of the city, but there were none. It was, except for their headlights and the short radiance of road ahead, black. He fumbled for the trunk, opened it and removed the fuel, suddenly very conscious of the mountains, the brush, and whatever might be skulking unseen.

  “Just get it done, Zeph,” he whispered and tilted the container into the gas tank. He had to pee something fierce and shifted his weight between legs as he waited for the fuel to pass. Here was another thing he didn’t know: pouring gas from a carrier took forever.

 

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