by Tim Morgan
“Chris!” Dave shouted. “Come on!”
Chris looked at his friends. “I’ll try to slow them down. You guys ride—”
“Chris, NO!” Meghan shouted.
Chris looked back at the horde. They were thirty feet away and closing fast.
“Just go!” Chris shouted, “DO IT! Or we’re all going to die!”
. . . please God, please let this make it all right . . .
Chris stood, gritting his teeth as the zombies closed. Twenty feet. Meghan screamed.
Ten feet. Chris looked into their glazed-over eyes, watched the mottled skin and the broken teeth and the reaching hands. Yeah, that’s it, come on, closer. I hope this doesn’t hurt.
Dave shouted something in protest. Chris heard it but didn’t care.
Five feet. Closer. Chris shifted his foot next to the mine. The zombies were charging in slow motion; he could see individual faces in the mob. Young people; old people. That one would be hot if she was alive—
The first hands grabbed at his clothes. Dead mouths opened seeking a bite of hot, living flesh.
Chris kicked the mine.
In an instant the zombies and the world disappeared in a flash of white fire.
“CHRIS!” Dave shouted as he watched his friend fly apart. He was standing on the pedals ready to go when Meghan’s hand grabbed his shoulder.
“No!” she shouted, tears in her eyes. “There’s nothing we can do! We have to go!”
Dave looked back at the billowing smoke, the dying embers of the explosion. “Chris,” he said softly as they rode. “Chris!”
Meghan guided them through the debris at breakneck speed. She kept half an eye out for mines, the other for zombies and barely looked at the GPS. They crossed the river at dusk and kept riding—through the debris, around moaning hordes of zombies.
“We ought to stop,” Meghan said.
“Why?” Dave asked.
“It’s getting dark and it’ll be harder to see the mines.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Dave said. “We need to keep going.”
“Dave! Listen to me!” Meghan said. “It’s stupid for us to keep going. If we blow ourselves up on a mine, then Chris died for nothing!”
Dave thought about it a second. Then he nodded. “You’re right,” he said, “We need to stop.”
They found a mostly intact house on the other side of the river. Dave brought the bikes inside Meghan filled their water bottles. They looked at one another for a moment before they embraced. They cried together a long time.
“Why? Why did he do it?” Dave asked.
“So we could live,” Meghan said.
“He shouldn’t have done that! We could all be alive right now!”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.” Dave wailed. Meghan held him tighter. “We should all be alive right now.”
Dave listened to Meghan pray between his own sobs. The sound of her voice eased the heaviness in his soul.
“Chris was a good man who died so we could live. God, take Chris into your hand and show him the peace he never knew in life,” Meghan said. She paused every so often to swallow her tears.
“Amen,” Dave said.
They held one another as the daylight faded away.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Atlanta, GA (API). The Mumbai virus secured its footing as government officials have confirmed the presence of the virus in every country on the planet. Stock markets plummeted as the global economy ground to a halt.
“We have been saying all along this is not the end of the world,” says the President. “This is a crisis of epic proportions, but it is a something we have expected for quite some time. We are working on a vaccine, and progress is being made.
“Until the situation stabilizes, I am closing the borders of the United States. Travel into or out of the United States by air, sea, or land is on hold until further notice. I understand this holds serious consequences for stranded travelers, investors, and businesses across the world. We do not take these measures lightly, but I want to assure everyone that we will reopen our borders and resume normal commerce as soon as possible.”
We crossed into Ohio last night. We’re behind schedule. The weather has been so darn hot we keep stopping to refill our water packs. It’s been about a week, and we’ve only gone about five hundred miles. Chris thinks we should try to speed through this part of the ride, so we have extra time to make it through the Rocky Mountains. We’re getting stronger, but it’s a lot different riding on the road than on an exercise bike.
It’s getting tougher and tougher to find things like bottled water or ramen noodles out here. The weather has been beautiful, but a little hot, and we can’t figure out what the deal is. I didn’t think the summers were that bad out here. I’ve seen a few people who look like they’re going on vacation—the cars are packed, I mean jammed like they have everything they own in there. Some of them are people my age who should be going off to college, some are older and alone. Most are families, and the kids look scared.
We lost time crossing through the Catskills—man, that was tough, Chris thought. I didn’t think it would be that tough, but we made it. We made it over the mountains. I can’t imagine how we’re going to make it over the Rockies . . . we have to push ourselves now, while we’re all fresh and feeling good.
“Things keep up like this and we can make up for some lost time,” Chris said. “Let’s try to break two hundred today. If we do that we can be in Minnesota inside a week.”
“I think I’m up to it,” Meghan said.
“Let’s do it!” Dave agreed.
They pedaled on for a while without speaking.
“Can we rest a couple days when we get to Stillwater?” Dave asked.
“We’ll see,” Chris said. “We dig deep and pull some double centuries we’ll definitely have time.” I need to push myself when I feel good so we don’t lose time when I feel sick. I don’t know how long this will last.
Dave nodded. The thought of riding two hundred miles a day was daunting. He didn’t think he was going to make it through Pennsylvania, but the day of rest they took before crossing into Ohio helped. Dave actually felt stronger, and for the most part he thought he was doing a good job keeping up with Meghan and Chris.
It was already 10 o’clock in the morning and he figured they were making about 15 miles an hour pedaling into the wind. To break 200 miles today they’d have to go 13 hours, nonstop. Dave didn’t think they could make 200 miles, maybe if the wind was at their backs and maybe if they’d started at six or seven in the morning, not nine because Meghan couldn’t get out of her own way.
Their route would take them through Cleveland. It wasn’t somewhere Dave was particularly looking forward to riding through, but hey . . . it’s not like we’re going out of our way. Maybe I can pull out ahead, show up Chris . . . no, that’s not a good idea. I do that and he’ll ride me for it every chance he gets.
“How are we doing speed wise?” Dave called to Meghan.
“About 18 miles an hour,” she called back. “Give or take.”
“Really? That thing accurate?”
“So far it’s been close.”
We’re making 18 miles an hour. That’s better than I thought. We can do this. We can totally do this.
“How far to Cleveland?”
“About 75 miles.”
Meghan felt badly about taking so long to get ready that morning. I’m glad we got out here to level ground before it started. I think I need to go for a physical at the end of the summer—I’ll talk to doctor Wallace about getting on that pill that’s supposed to make my period stop. Enough of this.
She reached down and took a sip from her water, swishing the water around her mouth and between her teeth so she could try to kill the taste of morning. Chris had them on the road so fast that breakfast was two granola bars and water, with barely enough time to go to the bathroom and no time to brush her teeth. Next time we stop at a convenient store I need
to pick up some gum or Altoids.
She tapped the GPS screen. If they kept their speed up they would reach Cleveland in about four hours. Another five or six hours after that should put them just outside Bowling Green.
“I don’t know if we can make 200 miles today, Chris,” she called.
“Why?” Chris called back.
“It’s after 10, we won’t get to Cleveland until about two. By the time we eat lunch, refill the water bottles, and look around it’ll be too late.”
“Don’t be a wuss,” Chris said. “We can do it.”
“She’s not being a wuss,” Dave interjected. “It’s kinda late . . . ”
Chris pointed to the side of the road. “Pull over.” He moved to the side of the road.
“What?” Meghan said. She blindly followed Chris. Dave followed, too.
Chris took off his helmet and tossed his reflector in. “Let’s vote,” he said.
Dave and Meghan pulled their reflectors off and tossed them into his helmet. Chris shook the helmet and handed it to Dave. “You pick,” Chris said.
Dave reached in and pulled out Chris’ reflector. “Your call,” Dave said. “Let me guess . . . ”
“We’re doing two hundred miles today,” Chris said. “We’ll stop between five and seven tonight.” Dave and Meghan sighed. “We can get a room in a hotel tonight,” Chris said. “Comfortable beds, private showers.”
“I wanted to stop in Cleveland. I want to see the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame,” Meghan said.
“We’re behind schedule,” Chris said.
They made it to Cleveland at about two thirty, stopping at a little pizza place for lunch. It reminded Meghan of Boston, but newer. In some ways, nicer. Just inside the door was a stand with brochures of nearby tourist attractions, one was the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame. Meghan picked up the flyer and looked at it.
“Why can’t we stop?” Meghan asked.
“We’re behind schedule,” Chris said.
Dave looked at Meghan, back to Chris. “Come on, we’re flying home. We won’t pass through here again. Let’s spend the night here and get up wicked early tomorrow.”
“We need to stay on track,” Chris said.
“This trip is supposed to be about all of us, Chris,” Meghan said. Yeah, he won the vote, Meghan thought, but I’m on this trip because there’s stuff I want to see.
Dave and Meghan stared at Chris. He sighed.
“Oh, all right, we’ll stay the night here and see the museum. But we need to get up really early tomorrow and probably break 300 miles to make up for it.”
“Deal,” Dave said.
“Deal,” Meghan said.
TWENTY-NINE
Meghan’s sleeping so I get to use her laptop. Cleveland was hell. I don’t know what—if anything—they’ve been telling you out there, but you’ve got to know the truth. Cleveland is a war zone. Entire neighborhoods have been leveled. The city is littered with mines. I know because we rode through the city, dodging zombies and mines.
And my friend Chris died. He set off a mine. Not accidentally. He did it on purpose. He was sick. He was HIV positive. He’d been sick on and off the whole trip. Most of the time he’d suck it up and ride on.
Yesterday was different. We were surrounded by zombies, lost in a maze of wrecked buildings. Chris was sick, he knew it, we knew it, and we were slowing down so he could keep up . . . but the zombies were closing in on us . . . Chris was a hero. He died so Meghan and I could live.
Mr. and Mrs. Allen, I’m sorry Chris is gone. I’m so sorry. If there was anything I could do to bring him back I would, but I had to let you know what happened.
Dave shut the computer down and folded it closed. He gently put it back into Meghan’s pannier. Then he crawled to the window and peeked outside. What I wouldn’t do to just be able to look out the goddamned window.
The sky was gray and fog rolled in off Lake Erie. There was a light chill in the house; Dave thought he could see his own breath. Maybe not. He really didn’t care.
If only I’d called Chris on that vote. I should have called him on it. If I did he’d still be alive. We should have stopped. Dammit, Chris, why did you have to push so hard?
Meghan stirred. Dave crawled back to her side as she woke. If anything happens to her I’m never going to make it home.
“Hi,” Meghan said.
“Morning,” Dave said.
Meghan sat up, scratched her head. “How are you doing?”
“I’m here.”
“Yeah.”
They looked at one another. Meghan’s eyes were tired and she looked drained. Dave was sure he looked the same.
“We have to inventory what’s left,” Meghan said. “We lost a bunch of stuff yesterday.”
“Yeah,” Dave said. Tears flowed uncontrollably from his eyes. Dammit, I want to stop crying, why can’t I stop?
Meghan held him. She cried, too.
“I’m sorry,” Dave said.
“For what?”
“Crying so much.”
“You shouldn’t be sorry about it.”
“I know.”
“Come on, let’s check what we’ve got,” Meghan said. “If we keep busy we won’t think about it.”
They unzipped their panniers and laid out all of their gear. It was the first time they’d done it in a while. Matter of fact it may have been the only time they did it the entire trip. The equipment they had was spartan to say the least. Two sleeping bags. Four water bottles. Three packages of ramen noodles, two cans of ravioli, and a tin of mixed nuts, all courtesy of the Johnsons. A pocket knife, the pistol, the laptop, GPS, and roll-away solar panel. Two spare shirts, two spare pairs of riding shorts, and two stinky pairs of underwear apiece; all caked with grime.
“Is that everything?” Meghan asked.
“Yeah,” Dave said.
“Where’s the tent?”
“Chris had it.”
“What about the little one?”
“We left that in Minnesota.”
“That sucks,” Meghan said.
“You can say that again,” Dave said. He started laughing.
Meghan laughed too as she touched Dave’s cheek with her hand. “I don’t believe this.”
“Fucking guy blew himself up and took our tent with him,” Dave said. Tears rolled down his face. “Why did he have to do that?”
Meghan held Dave’s face in her hands. “Dave, look at me,” she said gently. “We’ve got to keep going. Chris died so we could live. We have to make it home.”
“You’re right,” Dave said, snorting and wiping away tears. “We have to make it home. For Chris.”
“We can do it if we stick together,” Meghan said in a quavering voice. “Chris would want it this way.”
THIRTY
Washington, DC (Reuters). Hospitals on both coasts were jammed with scores of people sickened with the Mumbai virus as armed security contractors replaced regular hospital guards across the country. The unprecedented spread of the Mumbai virus and the violent uprisings of its victims are chief concerns with top government officials.
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, this is not the end of the world,” said the President as he prepared for a working vacation in an undisclosed location. “If people take simple precautions the spread of this disease can be slowed. If you’re going to be sick, be sick at home and wash your hands often. There isn’t much more I can say.”
Questions about the communications blackout across Asia were directed to Press Secretary Lauren Bergin. “The scope of this emergency is unprecedented,” says Bergin. “We estimate between 60 and 90 percent of the population of Asia has been impacted by this disease. That figure includes caretakers as well as the infected. The communications difficulties are workforce and infrastructure related and while inconvenient to the population at large, we are in close contact with our friends and neighbors. We have been since the beginning of the crisis, and we will be until the emergency is over.” Bergin refused to answe
r questions relating to the scope of the emergency or why U.S. armed forces worldwide have been recalled at levels not seen since the end of World War II.
We blew through Indiana and we’re making good time through Iowa. We were lucky—we caught a break in the weather with almost no wind. It’s flat, and so…open! It’s a nice change from all the farmland we’ve been riding through since we left New York.
Chris pushed us hard a couple days but he’s been backing off. He keeps having these times when he seems sick, but he won’t tell us what’s wrong. I can hear it in his voice, he’s covered with sweat and his face looks pale. I’m worried about him—I know how much making it to Seattle means to him, but he really should back off before he hurts himself.
Dave’s doing a lot better. For a while I thought he was going to bail out on us, maybe catch a bus home or something, but he’s a trooper. He’s sticking with it, and he’s giving both of us a run for our money. I’m so proud of him!
The cell phone reception out here has been spotty; Dave’s phone is cheap and doesn’t work. If he’s having this kind of trouble out here—where it’s basically flat, what’s it going to be like when we hit the mountains?
Meghan folded the laptop shut. They were sleeping in a rolling field just west of Muscatine, Iowa. Yesterday they stopped and knocked at the door to the house—it was huge by Meghan’s standards, beautiful and looked like it was easily a hundred years old. The people who lived there were cordial, not overly friendly and the husband didn’t take his eyes off the news the whole time. Sure, the wife said, go ahead and pitch your tents out there. Just don’t smoke any pot, okay?
The grass was green and the sky was blue and the weather was warm but not hot as Dave and Chris broke the tents down. Meghan took out the Adventure Cycling maps and thumbed through them. She set the full route map out and checked their progress.
“This is about the halfway point!” she said.
“Really?” Chris said.
“No way,” Dave said.