The Trip
Page 24
Meghan had just finished packing when there was a knock at her door. It was Dave. “Come in,” she said with a smile.
Dave stepped inside. “Wow,” he said, “you’re all packed up.”
“Yeah,” Meghan said. “I need to leave the key on the table.”
“You need help with your bags?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
Dave slung her duffle bag over his shoulder. Meghan took her smaller bag and they walked outside. As she closed the door, Meghan checked to make sure the door was locked. Then they walked away.
Meghan reached out and held Dave’s hand. “We’re going to keep in touch,” she said.
Dave managed a little smile and a nod.
“Really,” Meghan said. They walked in silence a few minutes. “Every day they secure another town, and every day more people are coming home. Your family’s going to come home . . . ”
Dave shook his head. “No, they’re not,” he said quietly. “They’re gone, Meghan. They’re gone, and they’re not coming back. Ever.” Dave pulled his hand away.
“You need to hope . . . ”
Dave held up a hand. “Please.”
“You could come live with us for a while,” Meghan said, “we’re going to rebuild our house, and . . . ”
“Thanks.”
“Someday you’ll need to leave the base.”
“Someday I will. Right now I can’t. I just can’t.” Dave bowed his head. Meghan ran her hand over his back.
“It’s okay,” she said.
“I don’t know what it is,” Dave said. “I feel—safe inside this fence. But even here, inside the wire with the soldiers and the dogs, I jump out of bed when something goes bump in the night. I’ll be a basket case out there.”
“It’s okay,” Meghan said. “You’ll get through it. It’s going to take some time.”
They arrived at the gate to the civil terminal. Dave put Meghan’s bag down.
“We made it, Dave,” Meghan said, “we made it.”
Dave nodded. “Yeah, we did.”
She pulled him into an embrace. They stood and stared at one another for a long time, wiping away one another’s tears. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you. Or Chris.”
“Chris, yes, we couldn’t have done it without Chris.” Meghan held tighter.
They parted. Meghan held onto his hand, not wanting to let go. “You sure you don’t want to come in with me?”
“I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
Meghan nodded. Dave let her hand go. Slowly she picked up her bags. “Keep in touch.”
“I will.”
Meghan turned and walked into the terminal. Inside the door she turned and saw Dave, still standing there. He waved. Meghan waved back. She turned her eyes inside the terminal, scanning the crowd for familiar faces.
After a couple minutes she caught a glimpse of her parents on the far side of the terminal. “Dad!” she shouted. Meghan jumped, waving, “Dad! Mom!”
Her parents waved back. Meghan pushed her way through the crowd, a woman possessed, until she got within arm’s reach. Her mother and father gathered Meghan into a group hug. Meghan’s heart pounded in her chest. It reminded Meghan of the days spent running from the zombies.
“Meghan,” Dad said softly, tears in his eyes.
“Baby!” Mom said. “We were so worried.”
“I know…so was I,” Meghan said.
After a long time Dad let go. Mom followed suit.
“After we lost Karen,” Mom said, “I was sure we were going to lose you, too.”
“You didn’t,” Meghan said. “I made it home.”
Mom nodded. “We knew you could take care of yourself,” she said.
Dad blinked away tears as he put an arm around Meghan. “We’re so proud of you. Come on,” Dad said, “we can walk and talk. We have a lot to catch up on.”
A typical shift in the coffee shop was pretty boring. Dave would make a pot of coffee every couple hours then he would clean the tables that he just cleaned the hour before. On a busy day he would have a total of three customers. The work was monotonous, but it gave him credit with the base store and time to write. He also got to talk to the soldiers.
When he would ask how things were going outside, some of them would answer “Good.” A few would answer “Bad.” One said he didn’t want to talk about it. Dave would nod, thank them, and give them coffee.
He was sitting behind the counter, thinking about the tribute to Chris he wanted to write and enjoying the smell of fresh coffee when he heard the front door open. He was in mid sentence, thinking about how Chris, bastard that he was, kept them going when he and Meghan probably would have given up. “Be with you in one second.”
The light footsteps got closer. Dave put his pen down and looked up to see familiar blue eyes and blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. It was Traci. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Traci!” Dave said “What are you doing here?’
“I just flew in from Texas,” she said. “My family’s here, too.”
“Had to get a cup of coffee?”
Traci smiled through her tears. “When they heard my age and where I was from, they said there were two people who biked cross country through the zombies. I said two, don’t you mean three, and they said no, there are two . . . they said the guy works in the coffee shop.” Traci hugged Dave, leaning on him. She cried. “I had to come see which of you made it. Meghan?”
“She’s fine,” Dave said. “Her parents made it. Her sister didn’t.”
“Karen!” Traci whispered. Dave nodded. “How about your family?” she said.
“I don’t know,” Dave said. “They found their car but no bodies. They’re listed as missing but I’m not holding my breath.”
Traci put her hand on his cheek, her eyes full of sympathy. “Oh, Dave …”
“It sucks. Big time. But I keep myself busy here, and I do some writing for the base newspaper. What else can I do?” I really need to change the subject before I start crying. “Going to be here long?” Dave asked.
“A week, at least. Once we get our health papers we can go home.”
“That’s great.” Dave smiled. Maybe life is getting back to normal. Maybe I will be able to leave here in the summer . . .
“Can you tell me what happened to Chris?”
Dave took a deep breath. “You got some time?”
Traci nodded.
Dave walked behind the counter and poured two cups of coffee. He pumped cream into them, spooned some sugar in, and handed one to Traci. “This is on the house,” he said. He motioned to a table. They sat down together.
“We were in Minnesota when all hell broke loose. Somehow we made our way to a refugee camp... ”
THE END
About the Author
By day Tim Morgan is a mild-mannered software developer. At night and on weekends, he morphs into his alter-ego, a writer/filmmaker who tells original and compelling stories.
You can check out other books by Tim Morgan at his web site, www.timmorgan.us, where Tim blogs about writing and filmmaking. Tim also regularly tweets writing advice, filmmaking tips, and independent film stuff on Twitter. His handle is @tmorgan_2100.
You Read The Book – Hear It Come Alive!
Listen to the Audiobook
Three amazing narrators, each with a distinctive voice, lend their talent to the audiobook version of THE TRIP! In this 8.5 hour experience every newscast; every blog post; every moment in the narrative comes alive. Find out more about the cast of the audiobook at the official web site:
http://www.timmorgan.us/thetrip/audiobook.aspx
Coming Soon – The Animated Motion Picture
Work has begun on an animated feature based on THE TRIP. We’re hard at work bringing the story to life. Updates and information will be posted on the official web site:
http://www.timmorgan.us/thetrip
Sneak Peek
> IC9: A Cyberpunk Detective Story
The following excerpt is from Tim’s cyberpunk novella,IC9: A Cyberpunk Detective Story, available as a Kindle ebook on Amazon.com.
The story follows Randy Christiansen, a hacker turned cop racing to stop another master hacker that can kill with a video stream.
****
Trevor stepped into his den, carrying a beer in his hand and the month on his shoulders. Work was hell, with the double whammy of a month end and quarter close this week. That meant all the books needed to balance before Trevor’s weekend could begin. Trevor squared everything up, just like he always did. And like always, he’d pulled another 65-hour week.
“Great work, Trevor,” Mr. Jones told him, “Once things slow down, you can have some comp time.” The new quarter should give Trevor a little time to catch his breath, maybe catch up with a few friends he’d been trying to get a hold of. Maybe he could get lucky. The last time he got laid was…the end of the last quarter.
Trevor plunked down at his desk. His chair was one of those cushy leather jobs, like the ones the guys with doors on their offices had. Trevor opened his beer and took a swig, launching his web browser.
A few seconds later Trevor was online. He ran through his usual routine; a quick email check while his messaging software loaded. Only a hundred new emails today. Not bad, Trevor thought, this spam blocker is finally working. There should be at least two, maybe three messages for me in there. Trevor scanned the first twenty-five messages. Junk – all of it was junk. He was in the process of deleting them when a soft voice spoke from his speakers.
The voice was cold, artificial and supposed to be female. “A friend is online.”
Trevor rolled his mouse down to the corner and double-clicked. He took another sip of his beer and smiled. SxyGrrl was online again.
“Hi,” Trevor typed and hit the send button. Then he waited, taking a sip of his beer.
The tone indicating a response filled his ears. Trevor’s heart skipped a beat. One word in a little yellow box made Trevor’s troubles melt away. “Hello.” She really was online. “Long time no type.” And a smiley icon. Something about that smiley icon made Trevor feel good.
“Month close. :( “
“N/P. Sooner or l8r you’d be back.”
“The boss says I can take some comp time when it slows down.” Trevor rubbed the inside of his wrist a moment, then continued. “Could we hook up? Maybe in a couple weeks?”
Trevor waited an eternity for the response. “Love 2.” Trevor pumped his fist.
“Gr8! :)” Trevor typed back. “I finally get to see what you look like.”
“Y w8?”
Trevor leaned in close to the monitor, studying the text, not believing what he was reading in the little yellow box. “Really?” He said as he typed it.
“Really. Open your video channel…I’ve got a surprise for you. :)”
Trevor’s smile lit up the room as he clicked his way through the menus to allow his friend to send him a video stream. “All set,” Trevor typed, rubbing his hands together.
“Video Loading…” popped up on Trevor’s screen. Trevor’s heart was pounding in his chest as he leaned in close to the screen. All his attention was focused on that little box, a few hundred pixels that would reveal the woman of his dreams. The video console finished loading. Trevor’s eyes widened. Wow, he thought, she’s smokin’ hot! Trevor absent-mindedly reached for his beer, unable to take his eyes off the monitor. He didn’t even want to blink.
Trevor’s breathing became labored and erratic. It felt like someone had a steel band around his chest and was wrenching it tighter, tighter. His hand clenched the beer can until his fingers touched the palm of his hand.
Trevor convulsed in his chair as a seizure wracked his body. Then Trevor was still. A command prompt opened on Trevor’s monitor, followed by a string of commands. Then screen went blank.
*****
Randy Christiansen used one hand to flash his ID to the officer in the hallway while he kept track of his bag with the other. The uniform nodded and motioned for Randy to go ahead in. Randy ducked under the tape on the door and stepped into Trevor’s apartment. The stench of death hung heavily in the air.
It was a comfortable spread, about little bigger than Randy’s place. A futon with a blanket and couple of pillows sat in front of a plasma TV; a card table in the kitchen stood sentry with a lone fold-up chair. Movie posters lined the walls.
Randy saw the flash of a camera in the other room. Every step brought the stench of death closer. Randy paused, gagging. He knew he would never get used to that smell. He went for the Tiger Balm he kept in the outer pocket of his laptop bag and ran a little under his nostrils.
As he stepped into the doorway, Randy could see a leather chair with its back to him. On the desk was a serious computer – four speakers plus a subwoofer, and a flat-panel display that was twice the size of Randy’s TV. Randy’s eyes went to the monitor power light – it had a pale yellow glow. Standby mode.
To his right stood Aubrey O’Neill, her red hair pulled into a ponytail and her Glock in plain view. Aubrey had pale skin, an athletic body and a face full of freckles with a short Irish temper. They’d worked a number of cases together, and Randy was really glad he was on her good side. She worked department politics in ways Randy never thought possible. “Come on in,” she said, stepping to the side to take another picture.
Randy entered the room and took a spot next to Aubrey. Trevor’s decaying body slowly came into view as Randy walked around the chair. “What have we got?”
“Twenty-five year old black male – Trevor Hunt. Neighbors complained about the smell. Uniforms found the doors locked and got no answer. They had the property manager open it up.” Aubrey stepped a little closer and took another picture. “Windows are intact and locked from the inside.”
“Smells like he’s been here a while.”
“At least a week.”
“Nobody missed him?” Randy asked.
“This guy was an accountant for a brokerage downtown. The place is a meat grinder. Last month three people in his department burned out and took off without notice. They thought he was number four.”
“Life in the private sector,” Randy said as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He thought about the long, thankless hours his father spent trying to fix the mess an identity thief left behind, driving himself to an early grave in the process. If work’s going to kill me, at least it should mean something. Randy looked over the computer. The power lights were on, but nothing was on the monitor.
Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
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