A Thousand Miles to Nowhere

by David Curfiss

  Worlds Collide

  They’d murdered their friends—at least, that was how Steve felt as he dragged himself through the open field. They might have turned into ravaged, blood-hungry zombies, but Steve still felt as if they had murdered them. It felt wrong. He couldn’t think of a word to place on the emotional distress of the events that had passed. How could anyone put a word or single emotion on killing their friends and families? These were the people they had grown up with, loved, and worked with.

  You don’t. It is wrong.

  No wonder so many people had killed themselves after the first outbreak. The guilt of having survived was far too much for many to burden their already strained minds.

  Thank you, modern world, for killing us slowly. We are Earth’s cancer, and the plague was the vaccine designed to eradicate us.

  And now, for the first time, Steve understood what it meant to survive at all costs. Or, at least, he thought he did. There wasn’t much to base his current state of emotion on other than campfire stories, some of Greg’s lessons, and the few memories of his childhood.

  Steve looked left and right. Matt and Tara walked at his sides. Matt the oldest, Tara the youngest. He was like the middle child of a broken household. He couldn’t tell if they were feeling the strain of the Julian slaughter. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, either.

  They crept through the early morning fog layer that rested gently over the tall field of tan and green grasses. It was a ghostly sight as the breeze wisped through, cutting through their layers of clothing and parting the fog to create a path for them to follow. A gaping mouth was more like it—not a path, but a mouth that opened to claim their bodies.

  What are we walking into?

  The summer sun was still tucked behind thick clouds that hovered high and low. It was already hot and humid. The mountain did not welcome their presence. If anything, it warned them to leave while they still had a heartbeat of a chance.

  Steve turned to look at Matt. He noticed his friend had grown thinner in just a few days. His clothes hung limply off his body, and a small, mangy-looking beard had grown over his chiseled face. Matt had always looked like one of those Special Forces guys he’d seen in books and magazines. And despite the fatigue and stress of the last week, Matt still did, only less bulky now. He wanted to say something to his friend, but decided against it. Instead, he shifted his attention to the mouth of the mountain. They only had a few more yards, maybe twenty or so, before they had to climb through the split-rail fence that separated the field from the road and the road to the tree line. It was in the tree line they had left the survivors. It was in the tree line they hoped to find Greg and Jody and the others they hadn’t just killed—murdered—to save themselves.

  Any hope of finding someone alive was crushed the moment Steve felt something squish under the weight of his boot.

  When he looked down, he found himself standing inside the carcass of a human body. There was no head, just an open torso with the insides strewn about. Most of the organs were missing. The arms and legs were still attached, but showed visible signs of having been chewed on, with bits of tendon and bone exposed in the bite marks. The valley was littered with rotting corpses so far gone and mutilated; they were past the point of turning. Steve was thankful they had died and not turned. To turn would have been worse than death.

  “Found one,” Steve called out loudly enough for his teammates to hear.

  His stomach grew sick and his head throbbed with a nerve-splitting headache. How many more?

  “Same here.” Tara’s voice cracked.

  “Copy, I’ve got two more here,” Matt said.

  They hadn’t even reached the campsite yet, and just like that, all hope was gone

  “On me,” Matt called out.

  Steve looked up from the body, unsure whose it was, and let his rifle hang while he walked over. The clang of his AR’s receiver as it bounced off his remaining magazines rang like church bells. He tightened up the sling to make the noise stop. It was too much to listen to.

  Matt’s face was pale and sickly. His eyes were sunken deeply into their sockets. Matt’s complexion made Steve question his own. He wondered if he looked as bad as Matt, or worse. He looked over at Tara as she approached. She wasn’t much better off. Her eyes were unfocused, and she kept blinking. Matt’s voice sounded a mile away as Steve stared at Tara.

  “We need to consider the fact that we may be on our own now,” Matt said. “There are still a few people we haven’t found dead or didn’t have to kill ourselves, but I’m not feeling too optimistic anyone made it out alive. So, we need to really consider this is it. It’s just us from here on out.”

  Steve watched Matt’s body language as he spoke. On the outside, Matt appeared to be calm and collected, but he knew there was something more brewing internally. Then, Matt locked eyes with Steve.

  “When Greg and I came up with this team, we had always planned on one day doing something bigger than us, bigger than camp. It was just a matter of time. I hate to say it, but Greg knew something like this was going to happen. So, he had a contingency plan.”

  “What do you mean, something bigger?” Steve asked.

  Matt opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by Tara.

  “A contingency?” she questioned.

  “Yeah, a backup plan.”

  “I know what a contingency is, Matt. But why now? Why not tell us about this contingency before? We are a team, you know, or do you not trust us enough to be able to handle it?” she snapped.

  “Listen, I chose not to tell you, and it had nothing to do with lack of trust.” Matt paused, then fired back, “You know what? This is not the fucking time to argue with me. Just listen.”

  Matt’s calm demeanor gave way to aggravation. His jaw clenched so tight his lips pressed into a white slash.

  Steve glanced at Tara. She crossed her arms over her chest and rifle. Her brow furrowed, and she frowned at Matt’s tone. It was unlike him to be so demanding. Team leader or not, he never snapped back so impatiently. But what they were dealing with was unusual, and Matt was always good at adapting. Steve was at least happy there was a plan in place. Tara would eventually cool down, and Matt, well…who knew.

  “Listen, this sucks, but Greg foresaw this. Or at least he knew something was going to give at some point, so he planned.” Matt hesitated. “He has a cabin.”

  Tara’s eyes widened to the size of small grenades, and it scared the hell out of Steve. She looked like she might actually explode.

  “It’s another day’s hike from here, and we’ll have to cut back through Julian to get there, but it’s west off the 78 in Pine Hills. We could try to hike out to it through the woods, but it’ll be quickest if we just backtrack.”

  “Have you been there?” Steve asked.

  Matt sighed heavily. “Yeah, back when I was a kid. My dad and Greg used to use it as a hunting cabin during deer season. I spent a lot of time there with them. But not since the outbreak, so if you’re wondering if I’ve made any late-night rendezvous to the cabin, I have not.”

  “Sounds good to me, brother. Let’s go,” Steve said.

  “Once we get there, we can rest and resupply. Figure out what to do next. The cabin should have enough food and supplies for us to spend a few weeks there if needed.”

  “Fine,” Tara said slowly as she uncrossed her arms and waved one hand through the air dismissively.

  The morning fog lifted as the team hit the main road back toward Julian. They followed the yellow dandelions and thorny weeds that had grown in place of the double yellow line that once marked the two-lane bi-way into town. They carried their bodies through what felt like eternal defeat and hoped once again maybe, just maybe, Greg and a few others would still be alive and waiting.

  But with each step and each dead, familiar face they stumbled across on the trek back, that hope was all but gone.

  Greg’s cabin sat on top of a small hill, tucked away neatly as it always had been. The brown and gree
n paint of the exterior cement Hardie boards blended well with the summer oaks that surrounded the property. A colonial brick chimney stack complemented the mountain hideaway and gave it a warm and welcoming feel.

  Matt observed fresh tracks the fire road leading up to the house. For the first time since leaving behind Camp Oliver, Matt felt hopeful. It made his stomach flutter with nervous excitement. He noted there were several sets, different sizes, and they all looked as if they were in a hurry.

  Matt watched the house from a hidden vantage point just in case the tracks belonged to another group. He considered the scavenger who started the outbreak at Camp Oliver might have been with others. His gaze darted from window to door and back to the window. He saw shadows of movement inside but couldn’t make out any faces or features. No one looked familiar. Maybe it was lack of sleep combined with stress that played tricks on him. But whatever the cause, he didn’t like not knowing who was inside the house.

  “Steve, Tara,” Matt called out in a hushed voice. “You see anything?”

  The duo hid a few yards away from Matt to either side. Despite how well-hidden they all were, Matt still felt like they were being watched. The windows were wide open, yet they couldn’t see much of anything. Where were the boards, the blinds, the barricades? No way would Greg not barricade.

  His concerns were answered when Greg walked out onto the porch. His long, dirty-blond hair streaked with grey hanging over his wide, slumped shoulders and his Adam’s apple sitting pronounced in the center of his long neck were unmistakable. He had a few days’ worth of beard growth sprinkled over his chin. He cupped his mouth with both hands and called out in his Tennessee accent, “Y’all can come on in, you know.”

  All three of them smiled with great relief. Tara didn’t wait for the others. She sprang off the ground, sprinted over to Greg, catapulted herself onto his chest the way a daughter would to her father, and clung there. Steve and Matt waited for Tara to disentangle herself before they both leaned in with one hand to shake and the other to hug him.

  Matt wasn’t sure he wanted to let go. The thought of not seeing Greg again hurt almost as much as the day he’d found out his father had died. But, eventually, he released his grip. When he looked up at Greg, who stood a good half a foot taller, Matt noticed his eyes glowed.

  “Damn, it’s good to see y’all. Go inside. Some folks are waitin’ to see you,” Greg said.

  Tara didn’t hang around to ask questions. She fled inside as Matt and Steve lingered with Greg.

  “Who made it?” Matt asked. “Because I’ll be honest, I didn’t think anybody was left after what we saw.”

  “Yeah, I know, son,” Greg said. “We got hit pretty hard after y’all left. I tried to keep everyone together, but…” He searched for his next words. “Them ragers came at us in the night. Right down the middle of our camp and split everyone up. Some folks ran one way, some ran another. In the end, it was just me, Jody, them twins Sean and Tim, and Mary’s youngster Chris. I couldn’t do anything about the rest. We cut through them woods, avoided the roads, and eventually, we made it here.”

  “It’s a good thing you did,” Steve said. “When we were in Julian, we got attacked. Dave and Natalie, Spencer, and a few others, all dead. And as we backtracked, found a few more dead on the roads. Looks like everyone who didn’t go with you died. A few of them turned. Most died.”

  They sat in silence briefly, unable to look directly at one another. As good as it felt to find Greg and a few others alive, those who hadn’t made their reunion bittersweet.

  Greg broke the tension. “Get inside, boys. Y’ all look like you need some rest.”

  The cabin was a time capsule. When it opened, it shared with them Matt’s past life. And Matt didn’t like sharing it with them. He didn’t like them seeing that world. It was a world he’d worked hard to forget. It was a world he wanted nothing more to do with. It was dead to him, like the people in it. And now, as he walked over the threshold of Greg’s front door, that dead world came back and exposed him.

  Old memories flooded his thoughts, long nights playing video games in front of the television set that still sat on the same wooden stand and in the same spot. Only now, a thick layer of dust had settled over it. The same dark-brown fleece couches and that same ugly ottoman Matt stored all of his video games in were still there. For a mere fraction of a second, Matt wondered if those games were still in there and if so, if any of them worked. Something about the thought of playing video games forced him to smile. He couldn’t help himself. As much as he tried to suppress his God-awful memories, something about those long nights, being alone in the dark, sucked into a world outside the realm of reality, appealed to him, like being out on the roads, scavenging, away from the bulk of society.

  He snapped back from his thoughts and found himself the center of attention.

  “What’s got you all chipper, brother?” Steve asked.

  Matt smirked. “Old memories.”

  “Care to share?” Tara asked.

  “No, not really.”

  Matt wandered off into a dark corner of the cabin where he was absorbed by the shadows of high walls and forgotten moments of the past. The click of his old bedroom door as the lock disengaged sounded no different than when he pulled back the charging handle of his AR. The door crept open and caught on the area rug that rested at the foot of his old bed.

  “Holy hell,” Matt said to no one. “It looks exactly the same.” He stepped inside and closed the door.

  Matt dropped his pack on the floor next to his old dresser, then leaned his AR against the pack. He kicked his boots off and discarded them on the floor. His heels ached furiously. They also smelled putrid. He peeled his shirt off, and his muscles tightened in protest as he tried to stretch them out. With no thoughts and no control, his eyes forced themselves shut, causing his body to collapse onto the bed. He was asleep before his body stilled.

  Dreamless, restful sleep.

  Matt woke a few hours later to the same sound of distant banter he’d fallen asleep to. Or rather, passed out to. A stale, rank odor permeated off his body. A sour, bitter metallic taste filled his mouth, and his tongue was sticky. It didn’t disgust him, but he knew it should have. It was the feeling of uncleanliness he had grown accustomed to over the past few years being away from camp for extended periods. A feeling he associated with the freedom of the hills. Granted, Camp Oliver was nothing more than the old Green Valley Falls Campground turned into a survivor’s safe zone. But even something so primitive located in the middle of the mountains had still managed to develop into a mini-suburbia over the years.

  He kicked his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed at his temples and eyelids. The world was nothing but groggy, unfocused pain. His head throbbed from temple to temple, forehead to the back. He didn’t want or need more sleep. He needed water, and to be away from the noise. He pulled his boots on over his stiffened socks and joined the others in the living room.

  He was greeted with an aggressive barrage of hugs. Chris Baird was the first to cling to him. He was the youngest of the survivors, barely twelve years old and always the first at the camp gates to meet Matt after missions. Back then, the attention had bordered on becoming annoying, but Matt respected the kid’s interest in the world outside of camp. Chris had also never hugged Matt. He always asked a thousand questions, but never offered a hug or a handshake. Maybe the boy was just happy to see another familiar face, one he associated with protection.

  Matt patted the top of Chris’s head, pressing down his thick, black hair slick with body oils. It was the most affectionate response he could think of. Before Chris let go, he looked up at Matt with dark green eyes and smiled widely. After Chris, the twins, Sean and Tim Roberts, came over and hugged Matt, one on each side. They were tall, muscular teens with surfer-blond hair and bright blue eyes. The only difference between the two was Sean had freckles all over his face.

  As the twins held on, Matt saw Greg smirking from the other side of the livin
g room. Greg knew how much Matt didn’t like being touched, and yet, there he was consumed by hugs. Matt imagined it amused Greg a great deal to watch as he panicked inside, quietly hoping to be released while doing his best to accept their acts of kindness. It was overwhelming, and as much as he knew everyone was happy to see him, he needed to be set free of their grasping hands.

  “Okay, y’all,” Greg said. “Let the man breathe for a minute.”

  Matt smiled and cleared his throat, then walked over to the kitchen counter and sat down on a stool without saying a word to anyone else in the room. Meanwhile, everyone else seemed to be waiting for Matt to speak. He looked around and realized maybe he should have stayed in his room a while longer.

  “You sleep well, son?” Greg asked.

  “Well enough,” Matt said.

  The room remained silent. Matt had hoped everyone would go back to what they were doing, but it became clear to him they weren’t going to.

  “Felt good to get some rest, though,” he added. “We pushed pretty hard on the trip back. Not sure if Steve or Tara told you, but we got hit by a large horde of withered out in the desert.”

  “Yeah, they told me. Ain’t never seen a group that big before. Wonder what’s got them all bunched up like that?”

  “Could be limited food supplies,” Jody chimed in. “If their resources are scarce, they could be massing together with a sort of pack mentality.”

  Matt shrugged. “Definitely possible.”

  “Did the horde follow you all out?” Jody asked.

  “Not that we noticed. When we left, they were still bunched up around the caves. They looked confused.”

  “That’s good. Last thing we needed was to have a grouping that big catch your scent and follow you back here. It’s bad enough we have ragers to worry about now.”

  “Didn’t see any more on the way here, just the few we fought in Julian. If any others turned, they wandered off into the mountains somewhere.”

  The mention of the newly turned ragers made everyone’s faces go slack with sadness. They weren’t just ragers—those were their friends. And to mention it was like rubbing salt on a fresh wound.