by Tim Morgan
“Traci?” Chris said.
There was a pause. “Chris?”
“Yeah.”
“Whose phone are you on?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“That’s nice. I don’t want to talk to you.”
Crap, this isn’t how it’s supposed to work. “Traci, wait. I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” Chris said. His voice wavered and he had tears in his eyes. He turned so Meghan couldn’t see. “I’m sorry, Traci. What I did was stupid. What I did was wrong.”
“We’ve been through this,” Traci said.
“Traci, there’s more. I really need to talk to you—in person. All I want is five minutes. Can’t you give me that? Just five minutes.”
Another pause. For a second Chris thought she hung up. “Five minutes and that’s it,” she said. “Our old place.” The ice in her voice was gone.
“I’ll be right over,” Chris said. He clapped the phone shut and handed it to Meghan. She was stunned.
“She’s going to talk to you?”
“I’ve got five minutes.”
“Is that going to be enough?”
“It has to be.”
Chris met Traci at the coffee shop in the center of town. When they were dating it was the place they would go hang out during vacations. They sat down across from each other. Traci’s eyes were narrow and she didn’t smile as she sat down.
“So what’s up?” Traci asked.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Chris said. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m sorry I screwed up so bad.”
“Can the ‘I’m sorry’ shit,” Traci said. “You need to stop calling me. It’s over.”
“Traci, please . . . ”
“Don’t ‘Traci please’ me.” She stabbed at Chris with her finger. “I told you to stop calling me.” As she got up Chris grabbed her wrist. Traci yanked her hand away.
“Traci, wait, please don’t go. I need to talk to you. You promised me five minutes.”
She slowly sat back down. “What?”
Chris took a deep breath. “When I cheated on you something bad happened to me.”
Traci sighed deeply and folded her arms. “She’s pregnant?”
“I may be HIV positive.”
Her eyes probed Chris’ for a minute. She leaned forward. “You’re lying.”
“I wish I was.”
“When did you find out?”
“I’m still waiting for the tests to come back. It’ll be about a month, but it may not show up for six months or more.”
“What about me? Should I get checked? How many times were you with her?”
“Just that one time.”
Traci’s eyes filled with tears. “Chris,” she said. Her hand touched his cheek. “How could you do this to me?”
“I’m sorry,” Chris said. His eyes found the table.
Traci took his hand in hers. “It’s okay,” she said. “You’re going to be okay.”
“I’m scared,” Chris said.
“Me too.”
“It’s been longer than five minutes,” Chris said.
Traci smiled ever so slightly. “That doesn’t matter,” she said.
“So you’re talking to me again?”
Traci nodded. “Yeah, I’m talking to you again.”
Mission accomplished, Chris thought.
“So Traci’s talking to you again?” Dave asked again. He couldn’t believe his ears the first time.
“Yup,” Chris said. He threw a pile of trash into the compactor and jammed it down with a metal pole.
“How did you do that?”
“I told her the truth.”
“Which was?”
“Everything. I’m sorry I did what I did, and I’m paying for it now.”
“You told her you’ve got AIDS?”
“I told her I’m HIV positive. I don’t have AIDS yet.” Chris tossed another trash bag into the compactor and rammed it down as far as he could. Then he hit the start button.
They walked out of the compactor area and headed back to the stockroom. “I don’t believe it,” Dave said.
“Believe what?” Chris asked.
“You played the AIDS card.”
“She needs to know.”
“Dude, she’s talking to you because she thinks you’re going to die.”
“We’re all going to die sometime. What’s it matter as long as she goes to the prom with me?”
“Is that what this is about? A prom date?”
“No, it’s not.”
“Then what is it about?”
Chris turned to Dave, anger in his eyes. “Tell you what—when something like this happens to you, we can talk. Until then, either stand with me or shut your pie hole.”
Dave held his hands up. “Fine.” Chris cheated on his girlfriend, may have AIDS, and then used the fact he had AIDS to get back together with her. How does he look himself in the mirror?
THIRTEEN
They crossed the river mid-afternoon and entered Rock Island. The city was a war zone: most of the buildings were smashed to piles of wood and brick. Many were charred skeletons. The burned-out hulk of a helicopter lay on its side just short of the far shore.
Meghan tapped the screen on her GPS. “There’s an airport on the other side of the river,” she said. “Maybe the military is flying in there.” She hoped someone was flying in there, but she honestly didn’t believe they’d find anyone.
“How far?” Chris asked.
“A little over five miles,” she said.
“That’s not too far. Let’s ride through,” Dave said. “We can rest when we get there.”
“That works for me,” Chris said.
“You think there are any zombies around here?” Meghan asked.
“I hope not,” Dave said.
That was easier said than done. Everything had been reduced to smashed piles of rubble dotted with the occasional intact wall or splinters of support beams poking up through the debris. The road was filled with junk: chairs, computers, refrigerators, toilets, mattresses, anything and everything that was inside a building had been torn apart and regurgitated in the street. The crap filled the streets knee deep in places; they needed to pick their way through the detritus, zigging and zagging through the gutted carcass that was once the city. The sun pressed on their backs as sweat stung their eyes.
Dave made a point of pausing every few minutes and listening for zombies. He was met with just the sound of the wind and a distant bird call. “I don’t hear any zombies,” he said.
“Maybe they’re gone,” Meghan said. “The military may have taken them all out.”
“If they did, they’d still be here,” Chris said.
“Maybe they wiped them out and left,” Dave said. “Maybe it was part of their plan.” He didn’t really believe that, but made an honest effort to hide the despair in his voice.
“I doubt it,” Chris said. “There was grass growing through the ashes where the napalm hit. That means this city was hit a while ago.”
“Then where are the zombies?” Meghan asked.
“How should I know?” Chris said, “Do I look like a tour guide? Maybe they all went over to Davenport.”
They rode on in silence for a while. They were halfway through the city late in the afternoon and the air was finally cooling off. They stopped for water and a bathroom break. Each walked far enough away to have an illusion of privacy but within eyesight of the rest of the group.
Meghan spoke as they rode. “What do you think they want?”
“Who?” Chris asked.
“The zombies,” Meghan answered.
Chris’ reply was curt. “I don’t know.”
Meghan turned to Dave. “How about you?”
Dave shrugged. “Maybe you feel hungry or something when you’re dead.”
“I never thought of that,” Meghan said.
“Don’t be stupid,” Chris snapp
ed. “You don’t feel anything when you’re dead. You’re dead when you’re dead! They don’t want anything. They’re zombies.”
“Then why are they doing this?” Meghan asked.
“I don’t know,” Chris said, “Maybe they’re like puppets or something.”
Meghan thought for a minute. “You think the devil could be controlling them?”
Chris regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. “No,” Chris said, “the devil is not controlling them.”
“If they’re puppets someone’s got to be running the strings,” Dave said. “Who’d do that? Evil genius? Terrorists?”
“There’s no such thing as an evil genius,” Chris said, “Those things aren’t terrorists. And the devil isn’t controlling them because the devil does not exist!”
Chris and Dave looked back at Meghan. She looked back with narrowed eyes.
“Meghan, I . . . p-” Chris said.
“I think you’ve said enough,” Dave said.
“What about God?” Meghan asked.
“I didn’t say anything about God,” Chris said. “But he’s not going to get us out of this, we are.”
“You said the devil doesn’t exist. How about God?” Meghan asked. She had a determined look in her eyes.
“I don’t think the devil exists,” Chris said. “People do enough awful things to each other without help.”
“I asked about God.”
“Right now I’m really not sure what I believe, to be completely honest,” Chris said. “Have you been with me the last couple months? I mean have you been paying attention? All I know is that my life sucked before the world went to shit, and right now I’m not exactly feeling the love.”
Meghan turned to Dave. “How about you?”
“What? About God watching us?” Dave said.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. Maybe he is. Maybe he isn’t. Maybe we’re just lucky.” Dave paused to listen for zombies, then continued. “I don’t know about anything anymore.”
Meghan nodded. “I’ll pray for you two.” She started to ride. Chris and Dave followed.
They rode through the debris in silence, Meghan leading while Chris and Dave followed. The sun was low in the sky as they approached the bridge off Rock Island. Meghan thought the right thing to do would be to talk, but she wasn’t in the mood. It would be easier to forgive if the world hadn’t come apart. Maybe if she wasn’t so damn tired, hungry, and fighting the constant cramps in her legs she’d feel like talking. Screw that, Meghan thought, these two have been blowing sunshine up my ass the whole time. When the chips are down, they’re the first ones to turn to God, but when things go right He’s the last thing on their minds. People like them are why the world is in this mess.
“Meghan,” Dave said softly.
She looked back over her shoulder at him.
“I’m sorry,” Dave said, his voice sincere. “Today hasn’t been one of my better days.”
“It’s okay,” Meghan said. Aggravated though she was, Dave had a lot in common with Rocket; she couldn’t stay mad at either of them long.
“I’m . . . sorry, too,” Chris sounded as sincere as he was going to get. Meghan thought he was being sincere. Or he could have been trying to shine her on; she couldn’t tell and didn’t care at that point. I can put up with him being a jerk just so I can hear another human voice.
“It’s okay,” Meghan said.
There were two bridges across the river, one in each direction. The shore ends of the other bridge were blown apart, abandoned cars and trucks and moaning zombies trapped in the middle. On their bridge a Humvee stood sentry to the left, its windows smashed out and doors bent backwards. Dried blood was smeared on the inside, and the buzzing of flies filled the air as they passed. Jersey barriers with concertina wire were staggered along the bridge; they needed to weave their way through. Some of the barriers still had bodies tangled in the razor wire.
Things seemed to get better as they closed in on the airport. Meghan could see a big, green airplane on the tarmac—it had to be military. “Look! There’s a plane!”
“They may still be down there!” Dave said.
“Race you!” Chris shouted, “Last one there’s a rotten egg!”
The three of them rode faster, trying to get ahead of one another. They passed by hotels with smashed windows and doors, whizzed by abandoned cars and looted storefronts. Meghan led them through a hole in the perimeter fence. They didn’t notice the pieces of bloody fabric that hung on the jagged edges of the chain link, waving in the breeze.
Chris knew something was wrong as they rode up to the plane. The wind changed direction and they slammed into the stench of death like an invisible wall. A black boot with a white-gray bone poking out of it lay at the foot of the ramp on the back of the airplane.
“Should we go up there?” Meghan asked.
“No,” Dave said. “Let’s get out of here. It’ll be dark soon and we need to find somewhere to sleep. The zombies from Davenport could be on our tail.”
“There may be something we can use in there,” Chris said. “I want to check it out.” Chris set down his kickstand and dismounted his bike.
“Chris, no!” Dave said. Chris walked up the ram. “Dammit!” Dave said. The last thing he wanted to do was go where who-knows-what could be waiting. “Wait here and keep watch,” Dave told Meghan, “you see anything, scream.”
“Okay,” Meghan said.
Dave dismounted and followed Chris up the ramp. He coughed at the foul smell that burned his eyes and made him retch. He pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose. They shuffled up the ramp taking baby steps. Blood was smeared all the way down the ramp; there were drops of blood in other places and what looked like sprays of blood in still other places. Dave would have been surprised to find a clean surface.
“Bah!” Chris shouted, grabbing Dave’s arm.
Dave jumped, his heart pounding and his hands trembling. “You’re an asshole!”
Chris laughed. “Sorry, man, couldn’t resist.” He knelt beside the dead airman and tried to take the pistol from the dead man’s hand. Death’s grip was stronger than Chris, and the airman would not relinquish his grip on the pistol.
“What are you doing?” Dave asked.
“This guy’s got a gun. We could use one.” Chris grunted, trying to pry the fingers apart. “This must be what they mean by the grip of death.”
They walked up into the cargo compartment. A body in a green jumpsuit sat crumpled on the floor, a pistol in its hand. The corpse had several wounds that looked like bites, his innards torn out through a gaping hole in his flight suit. Dave looked to the other wall—there were a bunch of holes punched in the skin of the airplane, bullet holes he guessed.
A cloud of flies buzzed inside the cargo hold. Dave and Chris walked to the cockpit. The pilot was still strapped into his seat, a small bullet hole in the side of his helmet. Bloody bits of plastic and bone were stuck to the windscreen. There was no body in the right seat. The stench in the cockpit was much, much worse.
“Ugh,” Dave said, “It smells like those things in here.”
Chris looked at the pilot’s hands. They held no gun. “This guy’s got no gun.”
“Really?” Dave asked, “Look on the floor.”
Chris knelt and looked along the floor. It was getting dark and there were a lot of shadows, so he felt around for it. Nothing. “Nope,” Chris said, “no gun.”
“So how’d he shoot himself?”
“He didn’t,” Chris said, “I think he did,” pointing to the corpse in the cargo hold. Chris tried to imagine what happened—was the pilot bitten and they were ordered to stay? Or did the guy with the gun flip out? There must have been more people in here, Chris thought, with all that blood. He pushed the thought out of his mind and checked the rest of the airplane.
Everything they could salvage was piled at the bottom of the ramp. There were some flares, a nice first aid kit, and an inflatable life raft. Dave tu
rned the life raft over with his foot. “Planning on paddling home?” he asked.
“I figured we could use it as an inflatable tent,” Chris said, “but it’s too heavy.”
“Let’s take the flares and the first aid kit,” Meghan said. “I have some space in my laptop case.”
Dave stood and looked around. The sun was starting to fall below the tree line and he could faintly hear the moans over the wind. “I hear them,” Dave said as he scanned the airport. “We better get—hey, I think I know where we can sleep tonight.”
“Where?” Chris asked.
Dave pointed to the control tower.
“Brilliant!” Chris said.
The tower looked tantalizingly close to where the plane was parked, but the actual ride took a lot longer. The glass in the entryway was smashed and the door unlocked. They pulled their bikes inside the foyer.
The floor was scattered with paper and broken glass. A door in the corner stood slightly ajar. Chris ignored the sign about authorized personnel and opened the door. The stairway was dark and cool. They stepped inside, closed the door behind them, and made their way up the stairs. Dave had a hand on Chris’ shoulder, and Meghan had a hand on Dave’s shoulder.
“I can’t see my hand in front of my face,” Dave said.
“Shut up,” Chris said.
A sliver of light appeared in the void: no doubt the door to the tower level. Chris opened the door. It was a small break room with a table, coffeemaker, and small refrigerator. A smaller staircase led to the actual tower level.
Chris set his backpack down and walked up to the top level. Giant windows lined the room, offering a commanding view not only of the airport but the surrounding countryside. Meghan and Dave followed.
“Wow, what a view,” Meghan said.
Dave looked at the equipment lining the room. Radios, computers, screens and scopes, thermometers and wind gauges. Hanging from the ceiling were huge hand-held spotlights. He reached over and clicked a switch on a desk lamp. Nothing.
Chris found a pair of binoculars on one of the workstations. He picked them up and looked out at the countryside. To the north was a river and the smashed and burned cities they rode through earlier that day. To the east and west were other towns. The buildings Chris could see in the town to the west were also smashed to pieces. Off to the east looked more like a cluster of buildings—Chris guessed they were houses—than something he’d call a town. There was some damage out there, but not anywhere near as bad as to the north and west. The airport was bordered on the south by a road. Chris could see some abandoned cars, shuffling zombies on the road and not much else.