by Tim Morgan
“You’re still in, right Dave?” Chris asked.
Dave took a deep breath. Most of the time he was content to go along for the ride, which usually meant a trip to the arcade up in Nashua. This time the ride was actually something cool, and it was unfolding like an episode of Survivor. At the beginning of junior year they were a group of twelve. By mid term they were eight. The end of the school year narrowed the group down to five, and this September they were the last three. Dave was kind of jazzed that not only was he still in the running, but he’d held on long enough that Chris and Meghan were taking him seriously.
“Of course I’m in. Unless I die before graduation, or there’s something like a nuclear war,” Dave said. Chris held out a fist; Dave lightly punched it.
THREE
Secure Location, Midwest United States (API) The President declared a state of emergency and initiated quarantines on both coasts as the Mumbai virus continues to spread across North America with little sign of slowing down. FEMA estimates between 20 and 30 percent of the population has fallen to the infection, which was first detected in North America in late June. Most confounding is the fact that people who succumb to the virus continue some bodily processes after brain death. Medical experts are at a loss to explain this phenomenon and are frantically working on a vaccine.
The virus appears to be primarily transferred through the passage of bodily fluids such as blood or saliva, though the speed at which the virus is spreading does not rule out the possibility of an airborne virus.
If someone in your care suffers flu-like symptoms with a full body, purplish rash, isolate the infected person and contact local authorities immediately.
I don’t know how, but we made it. You should have seen it — there must have been a thousand zombies. During the night we only counted fifteen or sixteen—there were more of them out in the fields where we couldn’t see. It’s a good thing we were inside that night — every time I think about what could have happened if we were sleeping in the tent . . .Chris had us make a run right through the center of the—what would you call it, a flock? Pack? I don’t know. It was awful—thousands of these dead hands, the smell—oh, God, the smell is just something I can’t even begin to try and describe—and their eyes. I tried not to as we were zipping through, dodging zombies and trying to keep my balance, but I looked into their eyes a couple times . . . they’re this weird color, kind of foggy grey. If the light hits them right they look red and shiny, like pictures with devil’s eyes.
I’ve never been so scared in my life. I didn’t think we were going to make it. I was praying the whole time, begging God to forgive me for the way I treated Karen and to take care of her, and you, and Dad, and Rocket . . . how is Rocket? I know there’s a quarantine on the coast. Has it hit Billerica yet? Is there food?
We rode and rode and rode until we were well out of that town. We found a gas station with power, and some tools. It was getting dark, and there was this stuff on one of the islands, dark and sticky. I think it’s blood; Chris says it’s oil. Dave says it’s not oil but it doesn’t look like blood, he doesn’t know what it is. I say if it’s not blood, why would there be hair in it?
I’ve got to get some sleep—we’ve got a long ride ahead of us tomorrow, and there’s a lot of glass out front. My watch is almost up. Write me back and let me know you guys are OK!
Meghan had her laptop’s display turned down to the lowest setting so the light would be as dim as possible. The screen looked kind of muddy, and the strain was starting to hurt her eyes. She turned the screen down and set the laptop aside. Chris and Dave were sprawled out on the floor with their sleeping bags while Meghan sat in an old leather chair that was held together with duct tape. The chair was far from comfortable, the office stunk like a mixture of auto shop and armpits, and on top of that someone was snoring. Meghan couldn’t tell whether it was Chris or Dave, but it was driving her nuts.
The chair creaked a little as Meghan stood up, stretching the cramp out of her back. Chris rolled over. Dave stirred, scratched the side of his head, then farted as he shifted. Meghan looked at the clock: 1:40 A.M. Twenty minutes and she could wake Chris up and get some sleep herself, but she couldn’t wait any longer. She crept into the bathroom to pee but not flush without turning on the light. They figured the noise would draw any zombies that may have been outside and they couldn’t see. During the day turning the lights on was OK, but don’t do it at night. If they saw the light in the window . . . they may as well hang out a menu.
Meghan finished and quickly washed her hands in the dark. A few pumps on the soap dispenser were fruitless. She tried a few more times. Nothing. She was pissed that whoever ran this stinking dump couldn’t fill the soap dispenser. I need to write down the address so I can write to the idiot in charge and find out what he’s thinking, not putting soap in the restroom dispenser. Did you ever stop to think if people would put soap or hand sanitizer in these maybe none of this would be happening? Maybe we could stop this awful disease that’s turning people into those—those things out there. She dried her hands on her pants, figuring there wouldn’t be any paper towels either. I need sleep, Meghan thought.
She slinked to the door of the office, catlike, softly stepping on the balls of her feet. Meghan got to the wall alongside the door and slowly slid down into a crouch. She crawled along the floor to the waiting room at the front of the shop.
The waiting room wasn’t very big at all. Meghan figured a prison cell would be bigger and probably more comfortable. There were eight chairs nestled too close together; a coffee maker that had probably seen more presidents than Meghan, and a bunch of outdated automotive and hunting magazines nobody read. Two walls of the waiting area were glass, offering a pretty good view of the road, at least for about a 180-degree arc.
Meghan crawled to the seats and slowly raised her head over the tops of them. The lights at the gas station were off, but there was a street light about a quarter mile away that was lit. She saw it as soon as her eyes crested the top of the seat— a single human form, shuffling toward her in the street light.
Meghan ducked down below the seat. Oh God, oh God, oh God, she thought. Meghan clapped her hand over her mouth, suddenly aware of her own breathing and the pounding of her own pulse in her temples. She slowly went up for another look.
The figure was still out there, ambling along in the night. Alone. What kind of retard goes out in the middle of the night by himself, Meghan thought. What’s he looking for? Food? Medicine? Help? What if he’s got a family? Should we help him?
Meghan watched the figure for a minute. He wasn’t moving very fast at all. He would take a step, which looked more like he was staggering, then pause, and then take another jerky step. The figure’s right leg would drag along every other step. Meghan thought his arms didn’t seem quite right, either. It was tough to tell in the dark. Meghan cursed herself for playing with the laptop so long.
She crawled back into the office and shook Chris. “Chris.” She whispered. Chris groaned.
“My watch already? I just got to sleep.” Chris picked the crust from his eyes.
“There’s someone outside.” Meghan tried to whisper, but her pulse was still pounding and it came out a little louder than she meant to.
Chris sat up with a start. His hand went out and shook Dave’s shoulder. “How close?”
“By the streetlight.”
Dave opened his eyes. “Can I take a dump before we ride?”
“There’s someone outside,” Chris said. He fumbled around in his sleeping bag and pulled out a wrench.
Once Dave’s brain warmed up, he realized what Chris and Meghan were talking about. He sat up, suddenly wide awake. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, there’s someone out by the light,” Meghan said. “It’s coming this way.”
Meghan led the way back out to the waiting room, with the two guys nestled up a little too close. She could feel Dave’s face occasionally brushing up against the side of her hip, which cree
ped her out. But the other option—her following Dave or Chris out and being aft of the poopdeck herself—would have been even less appealing. Once they were in the waiting room they could spread out a bit.
“There,” Meghan said, pointing. The figure hadn’t moved very far at all—maybe seven or eight steps at most. It continued shuffling along, making no effort to either speed up or move from shadow to shadow.
“What’s he doing?” Dave said. “Why isn’t he at least trying to hide?”
“He’s probably infected,” Chris said. “We can take him out.”
“You want to do what?” Dave said. “Are you nuts?”
“Take him out?” Meghan said incredulously.
“There are three of us and one of him. We can go out there and take him out.” Chris said, making a motion with the wrench.
“You are nuts!” Dave said. “We can see one over there. He could be alone, or there could be a thousand of them out there.”
“What if he’s not infected?” Meghan said.
“We’ll put him out of his misery,” Chris said.
Meghan and Dave looked at one another, speechless. Dave shook his head. “No, no, no, no, no!” he said. “Come on—we’re going to settle this.” The three of them crawled back into the office.
Dave took his helmet and tossed his reflector—a red triangle—into it. Meghan put hers, a green circle, in next. Chris put his blue square in last. Dave put his hand in and mixed the reflectors up. Then he pulled out the green circle.
“Thank God,” Meghan said.
“Your call, Meghan.” Dave said.
“I don’t want to press our luck. We stay right here until morning and hope that guy is long gone before we ride.”
“Works for me,” Dave said.
“Fair enough,” Chris said. “I’ll take watch. You guys get some sleep.”
Meghan crawled into her sleeping bag as Chris settled into the chair, the wrench in hand. As the drifted off to sleep, the last thing she saw were Chris’ eyes focused intently on the outside.
Dave woke up as the first rays of the sun were poking over the horizon. The sound of the front door opening shocked him into alertness. Meghan jumped up too. Dave scanned the room—no sign of Chris.
“Chris!” Dave said just above a whisper. “Chris! Shit!” Dave looked around the room. He picked up a fire extinguisher and raised it over his head as footsteps shuffled through the waiting room.
Meghan crouched behind the desk and fumbled through the drawers. Her hands found a letter opener and a large pair of scissors. She held her weapons in a vise grip as the door opened and Chris stepped inside, the wrench in his hand.
“God damn it, Chris!” Dave shouted. “You were supposed to be on watch! Where the hell’d you go?”
Meghan noticed specks of blood on Chris’ shirt. The wrench clanged to the floor. Meghan’s eyes followed it. There was blood all over it and bits of white stuff on it. Chris sank to the floor and looked pale.
“Chris?” Meghan said. “Chris!”
“He stopped right out front,” Chris said. “I had to take him out or we couldn’t leave. He’d see us; and he’d start moaning; and next thing you know there’d be a million of them out there.”
Meghan ripped one of her extra T-shirts into a rag, racing to the bathroom to wet it. Dave walked out to the front window. He could make out a body in the middle of the street in front of the gas station. He walked back into the office as Meghan wiped Chris’ face.
“He just stopped there,” Chris said, “I had to take him out…”
“It’s OK” Meghan said, “it’s OK. Of course you did.”
Dave put a hand against the wall to steady himself. He took a few deep breaths. Okay, if that guy was infected, he was already dead. He wasn’t human anymore. Chris didn’t kill a person. He killed a zombie. If he was already dead it wasn’t murder. Killing someone who’s already dead isn’t murder. Is it?
“It’s okay, Chris. You did good,” Dave said. What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?
FOUR
Mumbai, India (AP) The Indian government has ordered the city of Mumbai into a full quarantine and has yet to approach the World Health Organization (WHO) for assistance in combating the Mumbai flu. The move by Indian officials came as a surprise, effectively bringing the Indian economy to a halt and sending shockwaves through global stock markets.
Indian officials speaking on condition of anonymity insist the Mumbai flu is a local problem that can be contained. As of this morning, all Mumbai television and radio stations were still off the air, replaced by government programming offering instructions for dealing with the disease. Telephone and internet service was also interrupted, effectively shuttering numerous technical support and customer service hotlines worldwide. Indian officials insist the phone and internet problems are not related to the flu outbreak. Text messages and the final few emails to come out of the city tell a different story; there are unconfirmed reports of a horrible disease and all-out riots.
“We understand the Mumbai outbreak is a humanitarian crisis and we understand the desire of the Indian government to deal with what they believe is an Indian problem,” says the President. “The United States and our allies are monitoring the situation. We are ready to provide any and all support when requested by the Indian government.”
Me, Chris and Dave have settled on our route. We’re going to head west through Massachusetts, skirting along the New York/Pennsylvania border until we can hook up with the Northern Tier around Lake Erie. I’m so excited about the trip!!! :)
My parents thought it was nuts at first, me spending the summer on a bike with two guys. Then they met my friends. My dad was the one who stood up for me—he said I’m going to be out on my own, and I need to learn how to be independent. Mom didn’t like it, but eventually she came around. The fact that *I’ve* been the one saving my money, *I’m* the one who bought all the gear, *I’m* the one who gave up my Christmas presents so the family could contribute to the trip fund. God knows I’ve made enough sacrifices, what else do I have to do to prove I can do this? It’s not like I like either of them enough to have sex with them. I mean, come on! They’re nice guys and all, but I couldn’t see myself even kissing one of them. I haven’t been comfortable feeling that way about anyone since Craig French kissed me behind the bowling alley in seventh grade — then dumped me. Men! Good thing Dave was there for me.
I can’t believe we’ve been talking about this, planning since our junior year (well, *I’ve* been thinking about this since sophomore year), and now here we are going into mid-term and it looks like we’re actually going to do it!!! YEA! Thirty three hundred miles from Billerica, MA to Seattle. On mountain bikes.
I’ve been training five or six days a week, biking ten or twelve miles before school. It’s tough to fit this in, getting up so early in the morning I’m beating the guy who delivers the paper . . . but it’s a lot of fun. I actually like being out that early. The air’s clean, and it’s so quiet. The only problem is the occasional jerk who can’t drive—but that could happen anywhere.
To tell you the truth, I never thought I’d have made it this far. When John and Kyle dropped out I was worried. When Jen bailed on me I thought we were through. But Dave and Chris are just as committed as I am. I’m really glad they’re the ones who are left. Chris doesn’t take any crap from anyone, and I know he’ll protect us . . . and Dave’s like a big brother to me. He was there for me when Mike dumped me for Sebrina James. Sebrina James! WTF?!?!?!
Dave made his way up into the stockroom. He understood the need to dress up and wear a tie when he was out on the sales floor, but it didn’t make any sense when he spent the bulk of his shift hanging up shirts and compacting trash. He opened a box and hung the shirts, two at a time, up on a rack. The monotony gave him a chance to think about the title for his next column—he would probably beg the question of what happened to the Billerica Mall.
This was the third year he worked in the K-Mart apparel de
partment, the last big store in the mall. Back in its heyday Dave heard the mall boasted an arcade, a few restaurants, a movie theater, and even a pet store. Today it mostly sat empty and served little purpose other than giving the town a place in its vast empty parking lots to plow all the snow every winter. That’s what everybody said. In his heart Dave didn’t really think that was true. It was a good meeting place when you wanted to go somewhere. Around Christmas the mall turned into a giant indoor flea market, with all the crap dealers trying to peddle their junk.
Dave was through the first box of shirts before he knew it. He checked his watch, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and started on the next box when the sound of footsteps on the stairs caught his attention. Chris poked his head in.
“Hey,” Chris said.
“Hey.” Dave checked the packing slip and counted the shirts. Yup, right number. “What’re you doing up here? Aren’t you supposed to be in electronics tonight?”
“Yeah, but I switched to come help you out.” Chris set to work hanging up another box of shirts.
Dave stared at Chris for a minute. Chris was a nice guy and all, but there was no way he’d volunteer to leave electronics and the view of the girls coming into the store to come up into the stockroom so he could sweat with Dave. “What’s bugging you?” Dave asked.
“Traci,” Chris said.
“What about her?”
“She dumped me last night.”
“Dude! Why? You guys have been together since sophomore year!”
“She said she couldn’t afford it and dropped out of the trip. She wanted me to drop out, too, or scale it back to maybe just go to Bar Harbor. I’m like, no. I’ve been planning this too long; I’ve told everyone I’m going. I can’t back out now.”
“And what happened?”