by Connor Mccoy
“Okay then. Let me know when you come up with a name,” he said, all the time wondering if they’d all be together in ten years. Hell, they might not be alive in ten years.
He picked up Mia’s pack and pointed to a saucepan dangling from a strap. “What do you think you are going to be doing with this?” he asked.
“Boiling water, heating soup, bashing people over the head,” Mia said. “What would you do with it?”
“Leave it behind. I’ve got travel bread in the oven.” He set the pack down, opened it up and pulled out three novels. “And these?” he asked.
“My favorite books,” Mia said sadly. “You don’t want me to leave my favorite books?”
“They’ll be safe here, and there are probably still books in the city. The thing most likely to happen to books on the road is that they’ll get used to start fires. Let someone else bring the fire starters.” He set the pack down.
“I want the three of you to go through your packs. Pretend you’ll only be gone three days. Then take out anything you wouldn’t take on a three-day trip. Also take out any cooking utensils, unusable tech items you think might work in the city, and entertainment items. Remove and leave anything that is purely sentimental.”
He opened Christian’s pack and removed two heavy knives. “Are you an expert knife fighter, Christian?” Glen asked.
The boy shook his head.
“Then these stay behind. Someone will kill you for these, and probably with them. Unless you are intimately acquainted with your weapon of choice, leave it behind. You’ll be a lot safer if people think you are harmless.” He handed the pack to Christian. “Deconstruct.”
Glen went for Sally’s pack, but she grabbed it and pulled it into the great room. “I can manage on my own,” she said over her shoulder, sitting on the couch and sorting her stuff into two piles, and then putting the much smaller, lighter pile back into her pack. “What if we need cold weather gear?” she asked.
“They have coats in the city,” Glen said. “If you don’t need it right now, don’t bring it. You’re only asking for it to be stolen from you.”
Half an hour later the three packs were sitting by the front door, significantly lighter. Glen had pulled the bread from the oven and left it on the counter to cool, putting out the fire heating the oven by closing the damper and cutting off the air supply. He’d check it in the morning to make sure there were no embers left to start an unattended fire.
“I’m heading for bed,” Glen said. “It could be a while before we get a good night’s sleep, so I suggest you do the same.”
Sally’s head popped up from the armchair where she’d been sleeping since they arrived. She’d made herself a nest there with the ottoman and curled up like a dog. “I’m already in bed,” she said, cheerful for the first time that day. “Goodnight!”
Mia and Christian were out on the deck, watching the stars. “We’ll be in soon,” Mia said when Glen poked his head out the door. “We know we are getting up at dawn.”
“Goodnight, then,” Glen said, and he heard their replies as he slid the door closed. He went out the front door to spend a few minutes looking at his stars without disturbing the lovebirds. He’d have to climb to the roof of a building to see the stars in the city, he thought. He pushed away the sadness. This was his decision, after all. No one was making him move to the city.
He stood a few minutes, meditating on the beauty of the stars before going back inside. He followed his familiar bedtime routine and laid in his familiar, comfortable bed. He was a doctor, and he owed it to himself to practice his craft, but the leaving wasn’t easy.
Chapter Three
Instead of taking their usual path down into the valley and toward New Town, Glen went to the old pickup in the driveway, reattached the distributor cap, and cranked it over. It had just enough fuel to get them to where they were going. If they had the pick-up point wrong, they’d either have to beg for gas or walk. But Glen thought they might as well use it. It was unlikely they’d be back, and even if he did make it back again, the battery would be dead, the tires flat and the oil congealed. This was one last trip for the old truck.
The back roads close to the cabin were free of vehicles, for the most part, but the closer they got to the freeways the more vehicles had been abandoned on the road, their electronics fried by the EMP. Many of the cars had been shoved to the side of the road, and while they had to weave around the occasional Olds Cutlass that had run out of gas, the majority of the vehicles were late model electrics or hybrids.
After a while, Glen realized he could spot the differences between the cars that had been here since the initial blast, and those that had been abandoned more recently. There were newer vehicles than he’d imagined there would be. How many people were parking vehicles underground or in Faraday cages? He began to wonder if cars parked in lots under apartment or office buildings had been protected from the effects of the EMP.
He had so many questions that he began wishing he had brought the crank-operated ham radio with him. He’d put money on the radio operators knowing the answers to most of his questions, and the location of the shuttle stop. He hit his forehead with the palm of his hand, and all three of the trio turned their heads to look at him, eyebrows raised.
“I just realized we could have used the ham radio to pinpoint the location of the shuttle,” he said. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before now.”
“You mean this ham radio?” Sally said, lifting a canvas bag that was hidden beneath the trio’s feet. “I thought it might come in handy.”
Glen laughed. “How did you even know what that was?” he asked.
“I was snooping around, looking for things that might be useful,” she said. “I didn’t tell you about it because I was afraid you’d think its bulk would outweigh its usefulness.” She elbowed Mia in the ribs. “Did you see what I did there?”
“We all saw,” Mia said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.
“When we stop for the night we can check on the location,” Sally said.
“Yes, we can,” Glen agreed, pleased that Sally had taken the initiative. That radio would be a valuable tool.
As the day wound down, Christian started looking concerned. “Seems to me like we are headed in the wrong direction,” he said. “Isn’t Detroit that direction?” He pointed over Glen’s shoulder in the direction of the rear driver side fender.
“There are two reasons we aren’t headed that way,” Glen said. “One, there aren’t any shuttle stops in that direction. Two, we don’t have enough fuel to get to Detroit. On top of that, Eric tells me that driving into the city as a single vehicle is dangerous. One of the reasons the shuttle was started was the idea of safety in numbers. So, we’re going past our destination for the right reasons.”
“Oh. Okay,” Christian said. “It just seemed odd to pass the turnoff. Are you sure we don’t have enough gas?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Glen said. “Eric was certain, and I trust his instincts. If he says it’s not safe for us to drive into the city, then it’s not safe. I’m not risking your lives for expediency.”
“And I, for one, appreciate that,” Mia piped up. “Eric and Anthony know a lot about how things work now. I feel safer knowing that we’re doing what they suggest.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust them,” Christian said, sounding irritated, “it’s just that I wanted to know why we weren’t heading directly for the city, that’s all.”
The old truck started clunking and stuttering not too long after that and Glen pulled off the road, parking behind a school bus that had been abandoned. Sally pulled down the tailgate and set up the ham radio, cranking the handle to give it a charge.
“You know how these things work, Glen,” she said. “Why don’t you teach me?”
Glen showed her how to use the radio, and then sent out a CQ, saying CQ three times and then, “This is Glen Carter.”
“This is ARC One,” came over the radio. “What can I do you for?
”
“We are looking for the shuttle going into Detroit. We’re about a day out to the southwest.” Glen put the mic down, waiting. “This could take a while,” he said.
But it wasn’t that long until ARC One was back online. The shuttle stop was to the south, a three-hour walk, and was expected tomorrow. Glen thanked ARC One and signed off.
“That’s how you use the radio,” he said to Sally. “And I’m grateful you brought it.”
Sally made short work of packing the radio back up and slinging it on her back over her backpack. Glen offered to carry it, but Sally felt she should carry it as she was the one who brought it. Glen thought he’d give her an hour and then offer again. He knew from experience that the radio could get heavy after a while. It wasn’t one of the new lightweight models, but a hand-me-down, an old army model with some bulk. Glen was sure the first soldier who got to switch from this model to a newer lighter model had done some celebrating.
They walked down the center of the southbound interstate, the trio in front with Glen following a few paces behind.
“You know what we are missing?” Sally asked. “Zombies. Every post-apocalyptic movie I’ve ever seen has had zombies in it. I keep expecting to see them come streaming out of the distance.”
“Oh, no,” Mia said. “You will not be giving me nightmares. No more talk of zombies.”
“Not even that zombie movie where they start getting better at the end?” Christian asked. “You never could resist a movie with a happy ending.”
“Oh yeah, recovering zombies. Such a happy ending, how could I resist?” Mia said.
“We should dress up as zombies when we get to Detroit.” Sally took on the stumbling gait of the undead. “Scare those city people half to death.”
“Get ourselves killed, more likely,” Christian said, doing his own version of the zombie shuffle. “Get our heads knocked off with baseball bats.”
“Can’t we just talk about how beautiful a day it is?” Mia asked. “Or where we’re going to stay in the city? We probably should get that sorted out.”
“We had an apartment in the city,” Mia said. “We could go there, I still have the key.” She fished around in the little messenger bag that she kept on her person almost all the time and dug out a key on a feathered key ring. The feathers were looking tattered and the worse for wear. “See? Here it is.”
“It’s a place to start,” Glen said. He knew it was very possible someone else was living there by now. Or it could have been looted and left uninhabitable. But it wouldn’t hurt to check it out.
He thought about the home he had left behind in Philadelphia. Who lived in it now? A bunch of squatters, or a family sticking together for safety? He thought of his cabin with more regret even than his house. The cabin had been his home for a long time. It had housed him during one of the worst periods of his life. It was a safe space, and he hated to leave it behind. But this was the right thing to do, he thought. It felt right. If you weren’t part of the solution, then you were part of the problem.
“Hey, what’s that?” Christian asked. He pointed to what looked like a gathering of people on a hill up ahead.
They were unnaturally still, a tableau on the hilltop, and very strange.
“I thought you said there were no such things as zombies,” Sally said, her voice quavering.
Glen stopped and dug out his binoculars from his pack. He looked through them and laughed. “They are scarecrows,” he said. “Someone has a sense of humor. The whole top of the hill is covered with them.” He handed the binoculars to Sally. “Here, take a look.”
“Oh, gross,” Sally said, handing the binoculars back. “Fake blood and everything.”
Christian took a look through the binoculars and laughed. “That’s pretty good,” he said. “Pretty realistic, considering they are stuffed with straw.”
“I especially like how they’ve used mannequin heads and painted them,” Glen said. “Someone has excellent artistic skills.”
Christian handed the binoculars to Mia.
“I’m with Sally,” she said. “Gross. Too realistic for me. Although, also funny in a way. You’re right, Glen, someone has a sense of humor. It’s heartening to see that someone had time to create such a display.”
As they drew closer and could see the scarecrows in more detail, it became apparent they had been arranged to look like a mob about to stream over the hill and disrupt, or end, a traveler’s life. The individuals were lifelike enough to give Glen the willies.
Could there be a person hidden in the crowd? He shook his head. There were no real scarecrows, but these were lifelike enough to give him the willies. He wondered who put them there, who had wanted to warn people off? Or were they an invitation rather than a warning? Look at us, we have it so much together that we can make jokes, Glen thought to himself He shook his head. Who knew what was going through the minds of the creators when they made this, but he admired them for it.
They passed by the hill, feeling the eyes of the zombie scarecrows on their backs as they walked away. It was kind of creepy, knowing they were back there, poised to come after them and eat their brains.
Glen knew this was fanciful, but he turned and took another look as they walked away and around a curve that would take them out of sight. An interesting psychological phenomenon, Glen thought, a group of statues that put you in fear of your life. A lot of bad had come with the EMP, but at least zombies weren’t part of it. He kept thinking of them, even after they were long past the zombie-covered hill.
They passed a woman and a young boy in a field and it made him think of his wife and son. Would Clarence be that age now, his head just under Sarah’s chin? No, not that tall yet. He was dreaming of them less now, and he thought it was because he had Christian, Sally, and Mia to occupy his time. He didn’t want to forget Clarence. He would remember him always. He almost resented the lessening of the pain he felt when he thought of his boy and his wife, but at the same time, there still were people to live for and things to be done.
He hoped he’d be able to perform some good in the world. Something that would make his family proud of him.
Sally had started to limp. So, when Glen spotted a large rock they could sit on, he called a halt. He had her pull off her hiking boot and examined the blister developing on her heel.
“These boots are all broken in,” Glen said, “they shouldn’t be giving you blisters.”
“I’m not the one who broke them in,” Sally said. “One of the girls in town, Eliza, gave them to me. They were her sister’s, and they’re the right size, but obviously, they’re rubbing. I didn’t bring any other shoes. So, I’ll just have to deal with it until we get to the city.”
“You didn’t bring any other shoes?” Christian couldn’t keep the exasperation out of his voice. “You’re wearing a pair of boots you’ve never worn before, and you didn’t think to bring other shoes?” he repeated.
“Glen told us to lighten our bags, and two pairs of shoes isn’t strictly a necessity,” Sally said. “And I have worn these boots before, just not for this long.”
“I’d give you mine, but they’d be too small,” Mia said. “But maybe there will be someone else on the shuttle who’d be willing to trade.”
“It won’t matter on the shuttle,” Sally said, “because I won’t be walking. Just slap a Band-Aid on there, and I’ll be fine. It can’t be more than another hour.”
Glen pulled out the first aid box and put a dressing on the blister and some moleskin around that. With luck, it wouldn’t get infected. He watched her pull her boot back on, wincing. He’d have to keep an eye on her. She had a tendency to underplay her injuries, and it would be unfortunate to come up lame so early in their journey.
It was an hour and a half later when they arrived at the pick-up point. Sally was limping badly, and her mouth was set in a thin line. Glen wondered if she’d developed other blisters and thought the answer was probably yes. But he’d wait to look at her feet until they had som
e semblance of privacy. No point in embarrassing her further.
A small tent city had sprung up at the shuttle stop, an old rest stop parking lot. Many of the people were waiting for the shuttle, but many more were permanent residents. There was a building where you could barter goods. A woman was renting out tents like a roadside motel. She called out to them, “Want to rent a tent, love? It could be days before the shuttle comes.”
Glen told her they had nothing to pay with and moved on. It was like a frontier town, only with tents. You could buy a bath, a meal, a drink, and probably sex. He’d just thought it surprising he hadn’t seen any prostitutes when a young man and woman sidled up to Christian and asked him what his pleasure was.
“I don’t have anything to barter,” Christian said curtly, and put his arm around Mia. They drifted away. It seemed no one was going to pester you if you couldn’t pay.
Not long afterward he spotted children approaching strangers, asking for food. This was something he hadn’t seen in a long time. Not since he’d spent time in Mexico lecturing at a seminar. The children there had been ubiquitous. It got to the point where you didn’t even notice them trying to put their hands in your pockets. He had kept his pockets empty ever since, so he plowed on through the crowd.
“Keep an eye on your belongings,” he said, “Children will clean your pockets if you aren’t careful. Don’t let them near you if you can help it.” No point in telling them not to carry things in their pockets, it was too late for that now. They chased off the children with stern faces and gruff voices and went to sit in a grassy patch near the trading post.
The trading post itself was the old rest stop building. Not a vast highway complex with fast food and a gas station, but one of the smaller buildings that would have held vending machines and free coffee, along with restrooms. The sound of a flushing toilet came from inside, and the girls looked at one another and grinned.