The Trip

by Tim Morgan

  “What do you mean?” Meghan asked. “What’s going on?”

  Charlie took a deep breath. “The further east you go, the worse it’s going to get.”

  “How do you know that?” Dave asked.

  “We had radio contact with some guys in Rochester, New York, and Boston. They’re both off the air now. You must know—the news sites haven’t been updated in how long? A month?”

  “I can’t remember the last time we saw news,” Meghan said. “It’s been a while. Most of the sites are down when I can get a signal. My blog is up, and if we’re lucky I can get to Facebook, but nobody’s updating their status.”

  “They’ve probably got more on their minds than updating Facebook, Meghan,” Dave said.

  “Maybe,” Charlie said, “But what we heard from Boston and Rochester was awful. Mobs of those things, thousands strong. Tearing everything in their path limb from limb.” He scratched the side of his head. “It’s exactly what Jerry said happened in Mumbai. Rochester was broadcasting when they were overrun. The screams only lasted a couple minutes, but I could hear those things for hours. The mic must have been stuck open. I think they finally went down when their generator ran out of gas. I don’t know what happened to Boston—they just went off the air.”

  Dave looked at the others in the group. Now more than anything he was hoping Chris and Meghan would change their minds. He was worried before, maybe even scared, but this was something worse. This was paralyzing. Dave’s brain wanted to shut down right there, right then, and just curl up into a ball and whine for his mother. He didn’t want to leave Charlie, or his cabins, or his guns, or the food. He wanted more than anything to stay safe.

  The weird thing was there was something else, a burning feeling in Dave’s gut that he agreed with Meghan and just wanted to get home. He wanted to get home, to get through the shit, and the zombies, and show everyone he was strong, stronger than those morons that made middle school hell for him, stronger than the asshole jocks, stronger than the annoying kid in journalism class who talked down to everyone, even Mr. Stiles. He wanted to get home and show Mom and Dad how strong he was, and then maybe Joey would look up to him instead of walking all over him, and if he kept her safe maybe he could go out with Meghan when it was all over. Because if he held on, if he could just hold on a little longer, if they could just get home this would have to end at some point, wouldn’t it?

  “We can handle it,” Chris said.

  Sure, Dave thought. We can handle it. We can handle it right up until one of your stupid-ass decisions gets all of us killed. Or it gets Meghan killed. Then I’ll take that pistol and kill you, then I’ll kill me, and nobody will ever figure out what the hell happened to us.

  “If we’re careful we should be able to do it,” Meghan said. “Dave, you coming?”

  “Yeah, I’m coming.” Dave couldn’t believe the words were coming out of his own mouth. It was like he was watching this on TV; he was a mere spectator in his own life. “Who’s going to carry the pistol?”

  Meghan and Chris stood there in silence a moment as Charlie stepped back, folding his arms. “Me,” Chris said.

  “No, I should carry it,” Dave insisted.

  “We’ll draw for it,” Meghan said. She held her helmet out and they threw their reflectors in. Chris reached in and pulled out Dave’s reflector. Dave gently pumped his fist as Chris looked on.

  They set about packing their gear in silence after that. Dave took the pistol and carefully put it on the top of his pannier, pointing toward the ground so if it did happen to go off it wouldn’t kill him. One bullet wouldn’t do a damn thing for them if they came across a horde, but if it was a straggler like they saw back at the gas station it may come in handy.

  The day was sunny with wispy clouds high in the sky. Everyone gathered at the gate to wish them well. There were hugs, and tears, and one of the mothers begged them not to go, to stay with them where they could be safe. None of the group wanted to stay; it’s nice and all, thank you, and we really do appreciate it, but this isn’t our home. We need to go home, we’re just a couple weeks away. We’ll never forget you or all that you’ve done for us.

  Charlie put a strong hand on Meghan’s shoulder. “Don’t forget,” he said. “Set a waypoint on your GPS before you leave. If you find anyone out there—if anyone’s still alive, tell them we’re here. Have them come get us when it’s all over.”

  “I will,” Meghan said as she tapped the buttons on the screen to set the waypoint. “There, done. If we find anyone we’ll let them know.”

  Charlie blinked away tears. “Live!”

  With that the gate opened and the three of them rode out into the woods. Meghan didn’t look back; she didn’t want to see them closing the gate behind them. They picked their way through the woods, going easier than they did on the way in. The only sound they heard was a gentle wind in the trees. Before they knew it, they were back on the road.

  Meghan took the lead. She pointed down the road. Dave and Chris nodded, and they pedaled into the next hundred miles with renewed energy and cautious hope.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  London, England (API). The Mumbai virus continued its march across Europe, with infections reported in every country on the continent. The European Union has sealed its borders in an effort to stem the virus’ onslaught while reports are arriving that the virus has reached both Americas, with infections reported in Canada, the United States, Mexico, Brazil and Argentina.

  India and Pakistan threatened one another with nuclear force, bringing unanimous condemnation from the U.N. Security Council and promises that China and Russia would not stand for nuclear actions in their back yards.

  Aaaah! We’re leaving today!!!!! I can’t wait! Don’t have long to write—I’m leaving after breakfast. Next time I post it’ll be from the road.

  It was quiet with an unseasonably cold fog for a June morning. Chris double-checked the arms holding his panniers to the rear of his bicycle frame. They were on tight. For the next six weeks, he would be living out of these four packs. Everything he needed—clothing, underwear, spare socks and shoes, money, and water bottles were stored in these bags. Chris wanted to make sure everything was zipped up tight, lest he wind up with a wet pair of socks or underwear if they got caught in the rain. A few feet away Dave was finishing his final checks on his own panniers; Meghan was tapping through screens on the GPS mounted on her handlebars.

  They had two tents—Chris was carrying one, Dave was carrying the other. They figured since Meghan was carrying the GPS system and the laptop she would be spared from carrying the tent.

  Chris left his own cell phone home. The trip was a release, a time for him to let go of everything he was holding onto and start over. On the trip he would figure out where things stood. Maybe he’d call Sebrina when he got home, just to find out what her test results were. Maybe he wouldn’t.

  It wasn’t even eight o’clock, but a bunch of the guys from the track team showed up to send him off. There were slaps on the back. Handshakes. Well wishes from friends, parents, relatives.

  “Be safe,” Chris’ father said.

  “I will,” Chris said. He had a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach and his arms felt weak.

  They were lined up on the town common, an oval of manicured grass in the center of town with a gazebo and a cannon that was surrounded by shops, the old town hall, and the old library. This was it—the beginning of the ride. At long last. They lined up alongside one another, strapped on their helmets, and pulled on their riding gloves. This was the point of no return.

  Chris locked his right foot on his pedal and took one last look around. He saw Traci across the street, cup of coffee in hand, watching them. Chris raised a hand and waved. Traci returned the gesture. She nodded. Chris nodded back. Traci either wiped a tear away or cleared a strand of hair away from her cheek.

  “Let’s roll,” Chris said. His legs pumped and he rolled out in front. Meghan was next. Dave headed off the starting line last.<
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  Meghan alternated between watching the road and glancing at her GPS. Their route took them down Boston Road toward Chelmsford. The center of town was at the top of a hill; the four roads off the rotary eventually led downhill. They passed by the high school—Meghan thought it was weird that she’d never set foot in it again. They were making 22 miles per hour, fully loaded and barely pedaling. The GPS said they should make Springfield about lunchtime if they kept their speed up.

  The road flattened out, taking them over the Concord River and past the McDonald’s then past an abandoned car dealer. Meghan thought it was sad, the way the grass grew up through the pavement and how the windows had been shattered by vandals. It stood out, an abandoned building sandwiched between occupied storefronts.

  Their speed settled down to about 15 miles per hour on the level stretch with them just barely breaking a sweat. It was a Saturday morning and traffic was really light. Meghan figured they should have no problem reaching Springfield today. She found the pedaling was a lot of work, even with all the training she’d done. It must be all the extra weight I’m carrying. Though it was a lot of work, she wasn’t having any trouble keeping pace.

  Dave had a little trouble keeping up. He thought he could have trained a little more. It would have been tough since he didn’t have either a gym membership like Chris or an exercise bike in his basement like Meghan. His training was limited to running through the neighborhood or riding his bike when he could, which between work and school wasn’t very often.

  When they reached Chelmsford the fog burned off and the sun was shining. By the time they reached Westford the temperature hit the eighties. In Acton Dave was soaked with sweat; it ran down his forehead and stung his eyes and tasted salty on his lips. This is more work than I thought—what was I thinking when I agreed to do this? Chris and Meghan are sweating pretty good, too. If we stick together we can do this. We can totally do this.

  It was about three o’clock when they finally reached Springfield. They were covered with sweat and decided the first night they were going to sleep in a motel instead of the tent. Chris went in to book the room. Meghan’s legs were burning and it felt good to get off the bike. She bent backward and felt her lower back crack.

  “My God,” Dave said, “that was brutal.” Dave got off the bike and rubbed the back of his calves.

  “That was day one,” Meghan said as she took out her water bottle. “We’ve got 41 more before we reach Seattle.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Dave said.

  Chris came out from the office, key in his hand. “Let’s put the bikes in our room and eat,” he said. “I’m starving.”

  Across the street from the hotel was a mom-and-pop sub shop. There was an older woman behind the counter who looked like she may have been Italian. “You staying at that hotel?”

  “Yeah,” Dave replied. He turned his attention to a TV tuned to a newscast. There was a map of India and Pakistanwith a red blast icon along the border.

  “Is that your sister?” the woman said, pointing to Meghan.

  “Huh? Oh, no. She’s just a friend.”

  The woman pointed to Chris. “Oh, you with him?”

  “What? No! Of course not. We’re going on a trip together.” Get a life, lady.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Seattle.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Washington state.”

  The woman nodded. “You driving?”

  “Biking.”

  “Motorcycles?”

  “Bicycles.”

  The woman’s face dropped. “You’re riding bicycles from here to the other side of the country?”

  “We left Billerica this morning.”

  “You’re riding from Billerica?” The woman turned and shouted something to the cook in a language Dave didn’t understand. They talked back and forth for a moment, which Dave used to go sit down with his friends.

  “People are weird,” Dave whispered. “She was giving me the third degree.”

  “She likes you,” Meghan said.

  “She’s nuts,” Dave muttered.

  A few minutes later the woman came by with their subs. The tray had a heaping basket of cheese sticks on it as well. Dave was confused. “We didn’t order those.”

  “I know,” the woman said, “they’re on us. Eat! You have a long ride ahead of you and you need your strength.”

  “Thank you,” Dave said sheepishly.

  The woman walked back to the counter. Chris smiled. “Can you believe that? She doesn’t even know us and she’s giving us free shit!”

  “Dave’s got that kind of face,” Meghan said. She grabbed Dave’s cheeks with her hands and shook his face gently.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  In the morning we’re going to ride on to Cleveland. It’s the biggest city we’ve had to ride through so far, but according to the GPS going around would add at least two days to our trip. Chris says we have to start taking some shortcuts if we want to have any chance of making it home before the snow flies.

  None of the houses we’ve passed in the last day or so had power or water. We snagged a few small pots and brought them with us so we can boil river water. Chris has us digging a hole in the ground a few feet away from the river—he says that filters the water for us so we get the best quality we can. It’s muddy and tastes awful, but we’re so thirsty we don’t care.

  Does anyone care about what I’m writing but me?

  Meghan spent all morning thinking about the way she signed off her blog. She thought it was kind of rude—she usually wasn’t so abrupt. She had no idea why, and that bothered her. Before the trip people would pay attention to her blog: her friends, cousins, aunts, and uncles. Now there was nothing. Sure, she was abrupt, but if nobody was reading it, why should she care? With my luck that’ll be the one post Mom and Dad see.

  Right. Mom and Dad will see it. Who am I kidding? If Mom, Dad and Karen are alive, they’re focused on trying to stay alive. They don’t have time to look at my blog, or Facebook, or check email. So why do I keep posting? Because someday, somebody is going to reply. And I’ll know there are other people alive out there. And if there are other people alive out there, maybe everything will be okay.

  She wiped the sweat from her forehead and glanced down at the GPS. They were about an hour from the outskirts of Cleveland, with a tailwind pushing them along. On the way out it took them the bulk of a day to get from one side of Cleveland to the other. This pass would probably take at least a day, possibly longer. That didn’t sit well with her—Cleveland was a city of over two million people before the virus hit. How many of them survived? How many died outright? How many thousands of those things would be waiting for them? She pushed the thoughts out of her mind. I can’t worry about the future—I need to focus on the now.

  Dave took a sip from his Camelbak. He was soaked in sweat but wanted to try to conserve his water since there was no telling when they’d have a chance to refill. They were riding on a main road, lined with trees and knee-high grass, and scattered with papers and trash and the occasional abandoned car. The houses were gradually getting closer together. The wind would carry the smell of zombies and death, and in the distance he could hear moaning.

  “I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Dave said.

  “We’re too far along to pull out,” Chris said. “We need to go through.”

  “Maybe we could hot wire a car or truck,” Dave said. “We could get though here faster.”

  “Don’t talk stupid,” Chris said. “None of us knows how to hot wire a car, and even if we did, where would we get gas? All the gas stations have been sucked dry.”

  If Dave wasn’t so tired he would have argued. But with the hunger and the thirst and the headache he didn’t feel like it. What would the point be? They’d just be pissed off at one another, and that’s the last thing they needed right now.

  His eyes scanned the neighborhood. The street was lined with trees and was almost perfectly straight as far
as he could see. That’s one thing they got right out here, Dave thought, the streets are set up like a grid. It makes it easy to get around, and see any nasty surprises. It cut both ways though; any zombies out there would see them from a long way off as well.

  As they got closer to the city they saw burned out hulks of buildings. The ground was pockmarked with craters. Huge chunks of asphalt and pieces of buildings mixed in with rotting body parts were scattered in places. Dave caught a glimpse of a small hand—he guessed it belonged to a woman—under a huge slab of concrete. He turned his eyes away to loosen nausea’s grip. It only took a couple seconds to push the image out of his mind.

  “Looks like the military hit here, too,” Meghan said.

  “I thought Milan looked bad,” Chris said

  The road was blocked by piles of debris, two or three stories high in some places. Broken support beams poked out of smashed buildings, like the ribs of a fallen dinosaur. They stopped their bikes and stared at the carnage around them.

  Meghan tapped her GPS screen. “I’ll find an alternate route,” she said.

  Chris nodded. Dave noticed the wind shift, coming from the left. The breeze was nice and cool and felt really good. It must be because that’s where the lake is. Chris dropped his kickstand and got off his bike.

  “I gotta take a leak,” Chris said. Dave nodded. “I’m not back in five minutes, go on without me.” He thought about asking Dave for the pistol, just in case a zombie ran out from around a corner. His bladder couldn’t wait.