by Tim Morgan
“We’ll go another mile to be sure,” Meghan said. “And then we’ll make camp.”
By the time they settled in for the night their muscles were begging for mercy. Meghan had no idea how far they’d gone; she could plug the GPS into her laptop and figure it out, but she really didn’t care. Even if the zombies ran all night, and they probably couldn’t, it would take them at least a full day to catch up. She thought. The hunger was giving her a splitting headache, and she was having a tough time remembering her own name, let alone trying to do math.
This was the first night they would spend in the tent since they went “outside the wire.” That’s what the soldiers called it. Meghan thought. She really didn’t care. She wanted to sleep, eat and sleep some more. She massaged her calves. They set up the tent in a field with a commanding view of rolling fields as far as the eye could see.
Chris got off his bike and walked around, looking for a rock or big stick.
“Should we build a fire?” Dave asked.
“Are you nuts?” Chris said. “That’ll attract every zombie for a hundred miles. Just look for a rock or a stick.” Dave muttered a reply; Meghan didn’t hear it and really didn’t care.
Supper: MREs in darkness under the stars. Dave didn’t think they were that bad. The “entrée” consisted of something akin to canned food. Tonight Dave had tortellini. He actually thought this would okay if he had a way to heat it up. Cold it didn’t taste great, but it was better than nothing. The packet also included a bland cracker; peanut butter and jelly; matches for the fires they couldn’t build; and a candy that was usually a Tootsie roll.
There was also some instant cocoa powder, coffee, and creamer. The soldiers back at the camp talked about mixing water with the powders and making pudding. Dave tried it and wound up making watery slop that was the consistency of mud but tasted pretty good. With a little more time and tinkering he might actually get something like pudding.
“I’ll take first watch,” Chris said. “Try to rest. Davenport looks pretty big; there’s a pretty good chance we’ll run into more zombies.”
“Fantastic,” Dave said. He unzipped the tent fly and climbed in. Meghan followed him. Dave watched her get settled. She’s really pretty, Dave thought. She’s a good girl. We get out of this I should ask her out.
“Dave,” Meghan said.
“Yeah?”
“Nevermind.”
“No, what is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Meghan. You can’t do that.” There was a long pause where all they could hear were the crickets.
“I don’t want to die.”
“None of us do.”
“Do you think we’ll make it home?”
“It’ll suck if we don’t.”
Dave saw Meghan smile. “I couldn’t make it through this without you guys.”
“Sure you could. You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
Meghan reached out and ran her hand along Dave’s cheek. She leaned over and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. Dave felt his heart race as she did. We’re going to get out of this, Dave thought. We’re going to get out of this and I’m going to ask you out. The zombies will get you over my dead body.
EIGHT
Beijing, China (AP). Chinese officials met speculation about a half dozen cases of Mumbai flu within its borders as nonsense. “China is carefully monitoring the situation, and as of this time we have detected no cases of the Mumbai flu inside of China. Such statements are being made by anti-government elements to incite panic within our population,” said one official speaking on condition of anonymity.
Officials at the US Centers for Disease Control (CDC) say it’s possible that the Mumbai flu is a local problem while cautioning flu viruses have been known to spontaneously spread across the world. “We saw it in 1918; we could surely see it again,” says Dr. Christopher Pasko, senior spokesperson for the CDC. “Flu viruses have surprised us before.”
It’s been about a month since Chris found out he could be HIV positive. The next test isn’t due back for another couple weeks, but the doctor says he’s got to wait at least six months before they can confirm the results.
I still can’t believe Chris—good looking, athletic, straight Chris—could have AIDS. I think it’s some kind of punishment for running around behind Traci’s back. While I don’t think God would do that to someone, it makes me wonder.
When I found out what happened and how he got infected, I was ready to back out of the ride . . . But the trip the only thing that’s keeping him going right now. No matter how much of a dick he’s been, I can’t take that from him.
The first day of Christmas break arrived with a light snow and cold wind. For the most part, Dave enjoyed the holiday. There would be the requisite trips to church and relatives, the week off from school, and the gifts under the tree.
Dave decided to leave the comfort of his bed about nine in the morning. His younger brother Joey was already up and jamming away on Guitar Hero as Dave shuffled into the kitchen. He was met by a box of Cocoa Crispies sitting on the counter, mocking him. He picked the box up and looked inside, holding out hope that Joey had left enough for a bowlful. Empty. Dave sighed and looked in the cabinet. The only cereal left was a box of shredded wheat. It wasn’t even the frosted stuff. I may as well eat the box, Dave thought.
He turned to the freezer, maybe there was a breakfast burrito or at least a box of waffles in there. Dave moved packages of meat and a carton of ice cream around. The freezer was so jammed with food it was hard to figure out what was in there. He managed to find half a box of waffles hidden under three bags of Birds-Eye corn. Dave took out the waffles, popped three into the toaster, and sat down with the paper.
Today’s headlines were highlighting the tough job the next President was going to face in January, and how his first 100 days were going to set the course of his presidency. Yeah, right, Dave thought. As if anyone can accomplish anything major in 100 days.
He flipped through the pages of the paper. The economy was good; the economy was bad, depending on who you talked to. Ads for lower back pain. Five, maybe six pages in something caught his eye.
Beijing, China (Reuters) Health officials have confirmed outbreaks of the Mumbai flu in several villages along the Indian border. The disease, which has sickened thousands and killed hundreds in India, threatens to spark a regional crisis as isolated cases have been detected in Nepal and Pakistan.
In an effort to prevent the spread of the disease the Chinese government has sealed the Indian border, and the entire frontier is under quarantine.
It’s spreadng, Dave thought. I wonder how bad it is? The toaster popped and he prepared his waffles in silence. Maybe there’s something on the news. He walked out into the TV room where Joey was rocking out. “Hey, Joey, can I watch TV for a while?”
“I was up first!” Joey protested.
“Come on, you can save the game.”
“No. I’m in the middle of the tour. You can wait. I was up first, so I get the TV.”
Dave sighed. “Fine.” He headed downstairs with his waffles.
“You’re not supposed to eat downstairs!”
Dave stuck his middle finger up at Joey.
“I’m telling mom!”
Go ahead, Dave thought as he walked into his room. He touched the power button on his computer with his toe and sat down at his desk. He woofed down about half his waffles before the computer finished loading Windows.
He Googled the Mumbai virus and came up with a bunch of news stories. Most of it was from medical journals. The last item on the first page was a post on YouTube. Wonder what that is? He clicked on the link.
The video was really bad—probably off a cell phone or a really cheap camera. It was tough to tell what was going on, since the narrator was running and the camera was moving every which way. The voice-over was in a language Dave didn’t understand. Chinese, maybe? Whatever was going on this guy was sure talking fast. There was
a noise in the background—something that sounded kind of like moaning. Dave thought he saw a mob of people and heard a scream as the video ended. It had only been online a week, and Dave wondered why it had over a million views . . .
Time passed slowly for Chris. His first test came back negative, but Dr. Montgomery warned him that it had only been a few weeks since his exposure. He could be infected and not test positive for at least six months. And even if he did test HIV positive, the disease could lay dormant for years before developing into full-blown AIDS. In the meantime he would need to be careful if he had something like a nosebleed and use a condom when he had sex. Dr. Montgomery also suggested Chris see a counselor.
At first Chris added a full five seconds on his mile. He had Coach Martin screaming at him wanting to know where the hell his star runner had gone and reminding Chris this was no way for him to win a scholarship. Chris managed to gain three of those seconds back, but since the HIV scare he just couldn’t get back to his pre-diagnosis time.
He could count the people who knew on one hand. Dr. Montgomery. Father John. Meghan. And Dave. He didn’t tell anyone else. Not Coach Martin. Nobody else in the school. Not even his mother or father. He could just imagine his father’s reaction, “What are you, some kind of faggot? Is that how I raised you?” Mom wouldn’t be much help either. “How could you do this to us? You’re my baby! I don’t want to bury my baby!” The last thing I need is the guilt trip. I’ll wait until I know for sure whether I’m HIV positive. If not, no harm, no foul. If I am . . . I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
He was really glad he had friends like Meghan and Dave, particularly Dave. The last month Chris found out he could be a real dick. He’d fly off the handle at little things that normally didn’t bother him—like having four pepperoni slices on his pizza instead of five, or someone standing just a little too close while he was getting off the bus. Dave was often on the receiving end, but most of the time he’d let it roll off him. Good ol’ Dave.
More than ever before, Chris was looking forward to the trip. There was a lot of buzz around the school, and to the underclassmen they were rock stars. Chris loved the admiring looks and the smiles, the encouragement from people he barely knew. There was talk about the Lowell Sun running an article on them in a Sunday spread, full page with color pictures. Dave said how big a deal it would be to have a color picture in the paper.
If I’m a rock star now, Chris thought, if it turns out I’m HIV positive I’ll be a superhero. If I’m going to die young, I want to do things few people have done . . . maybe I’ll look into SCUBA diving, or learning to fly when we get back.
Meghan spent Christmas playing with her new GPS unit. It was a nice one, weatherproof with a touch screen and encased in an olive drab waterproof shell. She didn’t care much for the color. She sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, Rocket by her side, tapping her way through the menus and occasionally pausing to scratch behind Rocket’s ears.
“The nice colors aren’t weatherproof,” Dad said, “and the weatherproof ones are ugly. This is ugly as it gets, but it’ll still work if you get caught in the rain.”
“Thanks, Dad!” Meghan thought it was ugly, and as much as she wanted to be independent, she appreciated her father’s advice. He helped Meghan pick out a roll-up solar panel so she could charge her laptop and cell phone batteries while they rode. They were planning on slumming it at least three quarters of the time, camping on the side of the road or in someone’s yard.
Mom had the idea of giving her a cellular modem. That way Meghan could drop a message on Facebook every couple days and send some email. “Text your sister; email us,” Mom said.
The family get-together involved lots of pictures, even more food, and Meghan answering the same questions over and over about the ride. “When we get back I’m going to Berkeley. In California. Chemistry. We’re riding from Billerica to Seattle. The trip will take about eight weeks. We’re flying back in early August. Yes, I’ve been training. No, we’re not sleeping in hotels every night—we’re planning on tenting most of the time unless it rains. There won’t be anyone following us. About three thousand miles. Two guys. No, I’m not nuts. No, grandma, I’m not engaged to one of them. Yes, Mom and Dad know and they’re cool with it.”
The probing behind why she was taking a trip across country with two guys got to Meghan. She stopped trying to explain things—Dave was cute but he was like a brother to her, and Chris, well, Meghan didn’t want to go there.
As Meghan tapped her GPS, figuring out how the screens worked, she couldn’t wait to get on the road. At least when she got back the questions would change to “What was it like” rather than “Are you guys crazy?”
Chris shouldered the cross of his diagnosis mostly alone. Some mornings he would wake up with a stuffy nose and crusty eyes, and he’d be terrified that it was the beginning of the end. Christmas lifted his spirits, and the extra time during break to talk about the ride with Meghan and Dave took his mind off it.
Since the talk with Dr. Montgomery, the trip took on new significance for Chris. He gave serious thought to skipping the airfare and riding back home alone. Maybe he wouldn’t even come back. He could just bike across the country, doing odd jobs here or there, working his way through all 48 states. If things went well he may be able to spend some time in Canada. He’d stop being a person and become a wandering spirit, the enigmatic guy on the bike who rolls into town and helps people before disappearing into the sunset. The thought of spawning an urban legend appealed to Chris—the stories of his exploits would live on long after AIDS took his life.
He spent half his time thinking about the ride and the other half thinking about how he would break the news to his parents if he did turn out to be infected. On the flip side, once he got through the shock, which took a couple weeks, Chris started to feel like himself again. Sometimes he would smile inwardly; what am I worried about? If I were the girl it would be a different story. I’d have an easier time infecting her than the other way around.
Chris found working in the stockroom with Dave cathartic. The monotony of hanging shirts up or stocking the underwear wall was meditative. Most of the time they listened to Cold Play, and imitated people in their class. Chris turned the conversation to the future.
“So who are you taking to the prom?” He asked.
“I don’t know yet.” Dave answered. He opened another box and checked the packing slip. “Who are you taking?”
Chris opened a box of underwear and started filling the stockroom shelves. “I was thinking of asking Traci.”
Dave shot him a look. “That’ll go over well.”
“I really want to get back together with her. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Dave hung the shirts up and looked Chris in the eye. “Dude. Listen to me. You cheated on her. That’s going to be tough enough for her to get over. What do you think she’ll say when you tell her you may have AIDS?”
“We don’t know that yet. We won’t know that—”
“Until after the prom. Right. You go to the prom, you have fun and all, maybe you get some.”
“Oh, no way man. I’m so done with sex. I’m thinking of becoming a priest.”
Dave raised an eyebrow.
Chris threw a package of underwear and hit Dave square in the forehead. Dave picked it up and threw them back.
“I’m serious, Dave. If I get out of this I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“So do you think she’ll forgive me?”
“Don’t ask for my advice if you’re not going to listen to it.”
“I’m listening!”
“You’re a pain in my ass.” Dave kept hanging shirts up. “Could you please stock the underwear so we can go home?”
“Okay. Who are you taking to the prom?”
Dave sighed. “Nobody. I don’t want to go to the prom.”
“Dude!” Chris half shouted, “What’s wrong
with you? This is your only senior prom! You have to go!”
“Bullshit. I don’t have to do anything.”
“What is it; you nervous about asking someone?”
“Drop it.”
“Dave, I want to help you.”
“If you want to help me, you’ll stock the friggin’ underwear.” Dave hung the last of the shirts and kicked the box away.
“Fine. Remember this next time you bitch to me about not listening to you.”
“Okay, you really want to know why I don’t want to go? I don’t want to blow what, a hundred bucks renting a tux, two or three hundred for a limo, and oh, let’s not forget flowers, pictures, and shit. Come September, what’s in my bank account is what comes with me to Salem State. I’m on my own. I won’t have a car, and right now it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting work-study.”
Chris tucked a few T-shirts into the rack. He picked a few more out of the box and looked for a spot to put them. “It would be nice to have you at my table.”
Dave looked up from the packing slip. Chris was diligently going about his business. It was probably the most efficient use of his time Dave had ever seen. “Really?”
Chris turned. “Dude—it won’t be the same without you.”
Dave sighed. “Okay, maybe I’ll go.”
“So who do you want to take?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“No I won’t.”
“Yes you will.”
“Dude, grow a pair.” Chris leaned over to pick up more underwear.
Dave hesitated before he spit it out. “Meghan.”
Chris looked up. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
Chris slapped Dave on the arm. “Dude, I could totally see that. You guys would make a cute couple! When are you going to ask her?”
“When I’m ready.”
“Which will be?”
“Soon.”