by Tim Morgan
“It better be soon. Every day you wait gives someone else a chance to ask her.”
“I know.”
“Why don’t you just ask her?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Start with hello.”
Dave blinked. This was strange—Chris was not only giving him advice, but it sounded like it was coming out of his own mouth. If Dave ignored what Chris was saying, it would be like they switched bodies. But for once Chris was making sense, and Dave figured Hey, what have I got to lose?
NINE
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Dave had the last watch of the night. Meghan and Chris were in the tent, cuddled up and warm, while he huddled outside. Most of the night Dave heard only the wind, which didn’t stop blowing all night. That meant another day riding into a headwind. Wonderful, Dave thought, another day into the wind. We’re never going to get home.
Once in a while he would hear an owl, or a dog, in the distance and it would scare the crap out of him. More than once he thought he heard rustling in the darkness and his hand would clench around the stick as he tried to stay absolutely still. His eyes would strain in an effort to make something out in the dark. What he expected to see was a good question. Black inside black? Maybe grey inside black? A flash of white clothing?
Dawn couldn’t come soon enough, and Dave was relieved to see first light. They had made it through another night. In a couple hours they would have their breakfast, saddle up, and ride. It didn’t matter that he heard distant groaning. Groaning?
Dave stood and walked out to the road in a half-crouch. He knelt down and squinted toward the horizon to the west. Sure enough, maybe five or six miles out he could see a horde of zombies. This was like nothing he’d seen before. There had to be seven, eight, ten thousand of them moaning in unison. He ran back to the tent, not bothering to crouch.
“Guys, guys! We have to go!” Dave shouted. He threw the tent flap open; Meghan and Chris sat up, confused and groggy. “Let’s go! We have to roll! Now!”
“What’s going on?” Meghan asked.
“Zombies! A lot of them!” Dave shouted. He rolled his sleeping bag up in record time and strapped it to the pannier on the back of his bike.
“What?” Chris said. He ran out of the tent and up to the road. Meghan followed close behind.
“Oh my God,” Meghan said. “Look at them all!”
Chris ran back to the tent. “We gotta go!” Meghan followed.
Dave was breaking the tent down. The three of them jumped on the task; within five minutes the tent was broken down, packed up, and strapped to Chris’ bike. Dave went to the road to check where the zombies were. The horde was still bearing down on them, but had barely made any progress. They made one last check of the campsite and rode.
“They caught up to us pretty fast,” Chris said.
“Amazing what you can do when you don’t need to sleep,” Dave said.
Meghan looked back. The zombies had broken into a run. They were closing faster, but there was no chance they’d catch the group as long as they kept riding. She figured the fast zombies at a full run were moving at about five or six miles per hour. A leisurely ride for the group averaged about twelve miles per hour. Every minute they rode would put more distance between them and the zombies. Unless the military had taken out the Davenport bridge—and she hoped they hadn’t—they should be able to lose the zombies.
She wanted to say something. Anything. On the way out this part of the ride was exciting, almost two hundred miles along the Mississippi river. The history. The people. Now there were no people. Did that mean there was no history? Is there history without people? She wanted to ask Dave and Chris what they thought. But she didn’t. There was only the road ahead of them, only zombies behind them. There was only the trip. The drive. There was only the desire, no, the need to keep moving and stay one step ahead of death. That’s what it was. They needed to keep focused so they could stay one step ahead of the death behind them. What were they riding into? Why doesn’t anyone write back to me? Is there anyone for us to go back to?
“Guys, you smell that?” Chris asked.
“Smell what?” Dave snapped, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“Fire,” Chris said. “I smell a fire.”
“Fire?” Meghan said. Fire could mean a couple things. They could be heading into a disaster . . . or they could be heading toward a camp. People! Three weeks since the soldiers let them through and they hadn’t seen any living people.
“Smells kind of like a campfire.”
Meghan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She smelled it. The smoky sweetness of a campfire. S’mores. Hot dogs. Scary stories—maybe not scary stories. Her heart raced as the thought of seeing other people lifted her spirits.
They pedaled with renewed vigor, drawn forward by the smell of the fire. As they rode the smell got stronger—it reminded them of bacon. Ten minutes later they saw traces of smoke in the sky. About a half hour later they crested a hill and came upon a house, surrounded by barbed wire. A man sat on the roof, binoculars in hand and a rifle by his side. Smoke from a fire pit rose into the sky.
They rolled up to the wire. The man set his binoculars down and stood as they approached, his rifle at the ready.
“Hey!” Chris shouted. “Hey! Hello!”
“Hello!” Dave shouted. Meghan smiled and waved.
“Go away!” The man commanded. His accent was out of place—not Midwesterner. Dave thought. It sounded more New York.
“Dude, come on. We come in peace,” Chris said. “You’re cooking something—smells like bacon?”
“I said go away!” the man shouted. He picked up the rifle and jacked a round into the chamber.
Meghan looked at Dave. Dave tried to keep his game face on as he leaned over to Chris. “I think we’d better go,” Dave whispered.
“He’s bluffing,” Chris whispered. “You’ll see. Hey, we’re on our way back to Massachusetts. We left Minnesota three weeks ago. You’re the first live person we’ve seen . . . ”
The man shouldered his rifle. Meghan caught a glimpse of a girl, maybe three or four years old, inside the house.
“Whoa, whoa! Dude! Chill. We’re just passing through—we were wondering if we could use your bathroom, maybe make a phone call, grab a bite to eat.” Chris said.
“I barely got enough for my family. Hit the road. Now!”
Chris raised his foot to get off his bike when the shot rang out. The bullet struck the dirt off to the left about five feet from Chris. He put his foot back on his pedal and waved. “Sorry, sir, we’ll go now.”
The man on the roof jacked another round into the rifle, watching them ride away in silence.
They got back on the road and pedaled, the smoky aroma of bacon still stuck in their clothes. After an hour Dave broke the silence. “He must have killed a pig or something,” Dave said.
“It sure smelled good,” Meghan said.
“You think it smelled good to us,” Chris said, “Imagine how it smells to the zombies.”
“I bet they weren’t after us,” Dave said, “maybe they smelled the fire.”
“My God!” Meghan said as she skidded to a stop. Dave and Chris almost slammed into her.
“Hey!” Dave shouted.
“What the hell?” Chris barked.
“We’ve got to go back—we’ve got to warn them!”
“No friggin’ way!” Dave said. “That guy took a shot at us! There’s no doctor to help us out here if we get shot.”
“That guy’s got kids! We can’t leave them to the zombies without warning them. Chris!”
Chris shrugged. “I’m with Dave. That guy took a shot at me. Next time he won’t miss.”
“I’m calling a vote!” Meghan said. She tossed her reflector in and held out her helmet. “Come on.”
“Meghan . . . ” Dave began.
<
br /> “Come on, rules are rules. Let’s vote.” Meghan held the helmet out. Dave and Chris tossed their reflectors in. Meghan tossed them around and reached in. The blue square came out. “Chris, it’s your call.” Chris stared at Meghan for a long time.
“You’re a pain in my ass.”
Meghan hugged Chris. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou! You’re a good man, Chris!”
“What?” Dave protested. “Are you two nuts?”
“You can stay here and wait for us if you want,” Chris said. “We’re not back in two hours go on without us.”
“Screw that,” Dave said. “I’m not staying here alone!”
Dave was bitter about the whole thing. This was another hour they could have, no, should have been riding away from the zombies. Now they were going back into harm’s way for what—to warn some jerk who took a shot at them? This is worse than stupid. Those two were going to get them all killed.
They were about a mile away when they heard the first gunshot. Followed by another. And another. Meghan charged ahead and stopped at the top of the last hill. “No, no, no!” Dave and Chris stopped alongside her. The zombies had broken through the wire. They were piled up on top of one another ambling into the house like a human blob. There was one last gunshot, then only the sound of the moaning.
“Come on,” Chris said. “We need to go. There’s nothing we can do.”
Meghan let out a sound between a gasp and a wail. Her skin was a pasty white, her eyes wide.
Dave put his hand on her shoulder. He was sick to his stomach but did his best not to show it.“Come on, Meghan. We’ve got to go,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do. We’ve got to get to Davenport.”
TEN
Moscow, Russia (UPI). Tensions across Asia are at an all-time high as the Mumbai virus shows no signs of slowing down with confirmed reports of infection on the Korean peninsula, rural areas of China, Bangadesh, Myanmar, Thailand, Burma, and Vietnam. Rumors of cases in Iran, Saudi Arabia, and the former Soviet republics of Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan could not be independently verified.
Russia called for a regional conference to discuss efforts to control the spread of the Mumbai virus. World Health Organization (WHO) officials renewed their calls for calm and repeatedly downplayed the danger the virus imposed on world health. “Right now we have a number of cases, with several more confirmed each day” said one official who spoke on condition of anonymity. “But the public needs to remember the total number of active infections are barely statistically relevant. This is not the end of the world.”
Officials say simple precautions such as staying home when sick and vigorous hand washing with hot, soapy water will be sufficient to protect most people from the flu while officials work on a new vaccine.
I can’t believe it’s already January! Christmas was awesome—I love the GPS mom and dad gave me! It’s a nice one, waterproof and it can actually download map updates without being connected to a computer.
They also gave me a nice carrier for my laptop so I can take it on the trip. It’s waterproof, hard-sided (hard-shelled?), and padded. If I get hit by a car my laptop will still work.
Oh, and they decided to spring for the 4G card for the laptop, too! :)) I’ll be able to update Facebook while I’m on the road—when I get a chance. There’s a LOT we want to see, but there’ll also be free time here and there when I can drop everyone a note to let you guys know I’m OK.
Going back to school after nearly two weeks for Christmas break was tough. For Dave it was bittersweet—ten days of goofing around with the guys, snowball fights during the day, work in the afternoon followed by Rock Band until the wee hours of the morning couldn’t last. He wasn’t quite motivated, but at least going back got him a little closer to the end of the year.
Somehow he managed to get in a little early. He found Mr. Stiles already in the computer lab, looking through the morning’s paper. They greeted one another and talked briefly about the break.
“That flu outbreak in Mumbai has spread to other parts of India,” Mr. Stiles said.
“I saw that. CNN said it’s been detected in parts of Pakistan and rural China. What do you think it’ll take to get it above the fold?” Dave asked.
“I don’t know,” Mr. Stiles said. “I think it could be below the fold for two reasons. First, and most likely, it’s not as bad as everyone thought at first. It could be starting to fade out and just be a regional outbreak.”
“What’s the other reason?” Dave asked.
“It could be worse than they’re saying,” Mr. Stiles said, “Much, much worse. Someone could be keeping a lid on it to prevent a panic that could cause a recession, or worse yet, start a world war.”
“Do you think that’s possible?” Dave asked.
“Highly unlikely,” Mr. Stiles said. “Every time a government screws up, people scream conspiracy. They forget people in the government are just like you and me. They’re human beings and they’re far from perfect.”
Dave nodded.
“Enough about current events. One of my friends is an editor over at the Billerica Minuteman. I was talking to him about the trip you’re planning this summer. I put in a good word for you. He’s really interested in meeting you and talking about doing a series about your trip. He can pay—it’s not much, but it’s something. And it’ll give you some clips when you get out to Salem State and start writing for The Log.”
“Really?” Dave smiled. Someone—an editor, no less—was actually thinking of paying him to write articles? This was a dream come true! Dave took his information as the other students started filing in. He sat at his desk and tucked the paper in the back of his notebook.
After gym class, Meghan twirled the combination on her lock right, then left, then right again. The lock popped open with a gentle tug. She took out her clothes and her deodorant and started changing. Next up was psychology class—not her favorite subject but it came easily to her; so easily that Meghan thought you’d have to be dead to get a bad grade in that class.
Her friend Michelle showed up a minute later, her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and opened her locker. They said their hellos and kept getting dressed.
“Meghan,” Michelle said, “is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” Meghan said, “why?” Could she know about Chris?
“You’ve lost a ton of weight since September,” Michelle said.
Meghan cocked her head. “You think I’m anorexic or something?” They had covered the topic in health class a couple weeks back, and during the lectures she had the feeling that all eyes were on her. She dismissed it as her own paranoia at the time, but now realized all eyes really had been on her. “I’m training for a three-thousand mile bike ride this summer. And I haven’t lost any weight—I’m down a pant size, but I’ve only lost a couple pounds. Muscle is more dense than fat . . . ”
Michelle held up her hands. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m just worried about you, that’s all. You’ve lost a lot of weight and you haven’t exactly been yourself.” The two of them hurried up—they only had six minutes to get dressed and to their class in the old wing clear across the high school.
“Sorry,” Meghan said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’ve got a lot on my mind.” Like planning the trip. And wondering what’s happening with Chris.
“It’s okay,” Michelle said.
Meghan finished dressing and put her gym clothes in her backpack. She put her hand on Michelle’s shoulder as she walked out. “Thanks for asking, though.” She pushed her way through the students and out into the hall.
From the locker room, Meghan had to fight her way past the boys’ locker room and through a swarm of freshmen that crammed the halls from the beginning of the old wing, all the way to the staircase, up the stairs, and pretty much to her class. Most would get out of her way as she was coming through; the odd straggler could either be dispatched with a dirty look or a well-placed elbow or swing of her backpack.
She pi
cked her way through the underclassmen with purpose, made her way to the stairs, and climbed them three at a time. A couple of freshmen boys were right behind her when she hit the first stair, but before she knew it they faded off into the crowd. Meghan was impressed with the way she climbed the stairs, and wasn’t even winded when she hit the top. She was sitting in class with her notes out and ready to go when the two freshmen walked by, panting like dogs on a summer day.
Dave was waiting for Meghan as she came out of psychology class. They smiled and greeted one another as they headed off to lunch.
“What are you doing here?” Meghan asked.
“Mr. Stiles was talking to me during study hall,” Dave said. “He said the editor over at the Minute-Man wants me to write a column about our trip!”
“That’s great!” Meghan said. “You must be so excited.”
“I am. I think it’ll be fun.”
They picked their way through the freshmen and finally hit a clear spot on the second floor. Now or never . . .
“Meghan?”
“Dave.”
“You, uh, you got a date for the prom yet?”
“Not yet,” Meghan said. “Why? You know someone who wants to go with me?”
“Uh, yeah, I do.” Dave put his hands in his pockets and brought his shoulders up a bit.
Meghan smiled. “Really? Who?”
Dave took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Me. You know—as friends.”
They slowed down. Meghan turned to Dave, smiling, looking in his eyes. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure.”
“That’s okay, I understand.” Dave tried to smile. “I’ll be okay—wait a minute, what did you say?”
“I said yes.”
Dave was stunned. Wow, that was easy. “Seriously?” he asked, wondering when he was going to wake up.
“Seriously. I saw a really cool green dress. You have a problem wearing a green tie and cummerbund?”