A Thousand Miles to Nowhere

by David Curfiss

“Greg, I need to go handle this. I’ll meet you all back in the house with him,” Steve said as he dismounted his horse to unlock the gate.

  Steve’s feet hit the snow with a wet crunch, then he ran over and opened the gate. It released with an ear-piercing squeal that caused them all to grimace and wince in pain. Bill griped about the need to oil the hinges.

  Steve ran back, leaving the gate open, mounted his horse, then galloped over to where Matt knelt in the snow. A few hours earlier, Steve could barely hold onto his horse’s reins without falling off during a basic trot. Now, when his best friend was in desperate need, he found it in himself to hold on for a full gallop. Stopping was an entirely different action, however. He found himself lying on his back in the snow a few feet away from Matt. His horse reared on his hind legs.

  All Steve could see from the ground was Matt’s back. He had stopped screaming and was crying into the palms of his hands.

  “Brother, what’s wrong?” Steve asked as he picked himself up.

  Matt turned to face Steve. For the first time Steve could ever remember, Matt looked completely defeated. His eyes were puffy and red from crying, swollen with desperation and sadness. His skin was splotched red from the freezing winds. Even his shoulders were slumped.

  Matt didn’t say a word. Instead, he stared past Steve with empty eyes and a quivering chin. He dropped his head and looked down at the snow-covered ground he knelt on. He had nothing to say.

  Steve stood up, dusting off little bits of snow that clung to his jacket and pants. “Brother, we’ve got to get you inside. You’re getting hypothermic, man. Your lips are blue. We can talk in there.”

  Matt didn’t respond.

  “Bro, you stay out here any longer, your balls are going to get frostbite,” Steve said, hoping to snap his friend back to reality with a bit of humor. It didn’t work.

  “Why won’t they kill me?” Matt begged. “Why? I just want to die. I’m so fucking done, man, so fucking done.”

  Steve paused. Who are they? A thousand more questions rushed through his mind. But first, he needed to get Matt out of the elements.

  Matt started to stand, but then dropped back down into the snow, this time sitting on his rear. If the snow caused him any pain, Matt either didn’t seem to notice or simply didn’t care.

  “Brother, our deaths will come soon enough. I’m sure of it. But for now, you need to get inside with me.”

  Steve waited for Matt to respond. If he didn’t, then he would have to take more direct measures, because the cold leeched through his clothes and bit at his own skin. He loved Matt. They were brothers, but under no circumstances was he going to get frostbite and lose a toe or foot because Matt was having a moment.

  “Listen, brother, you’re coming inside with me, like it or not. The girls are scared—I could see them in the window on my way over here. You’ve got us all worried—”

  Matt yelled, “Leave me, goddammit. Just fucking leave—”

  Steve didn’t have time for it any longer. He slammed his body into Matt’s, knocking him over onto his back, then wrestled him into quick submission. He picked Matt up and slumped his body over his shoulders. Matt’s head dangled over Steve’s right arm, his penis limp and shriveled over his left as he carried his friend inside.

  Cate ran out of the house, passed Steve and Matt without so much as a glance, and retrieved the horse to return him to the stables. Once inside, Steve dropped Matt with a heavy thud onto the living room couch.

  For the first time, Matt seemed to be aware of his condition. As his body turned various shades of blue and purple, he shivered uncontrollably, jackhammering in place. His gaze locked onto Steve’s and his eyes welled up with tears. His lips, cracked and blue, frowned deeply and pulled the flesh of his face down as though it was melting.

  He moved his lips as if to speak, but no words ever escaped. He lay there, lost in his mind.

  “What’s wrong with our friend there?” Bill griped.

  “Not sure,” Steve said. He searched everyone’s faces until he spotted Tara. He locked gazes with her. “What happened?”

  She looked unsure, as if Matt’s sudden deterioration was her fault and she didn’t know how to respond. “I don’t know. He was outside by the fire, then he was in the field naked and screaming. You showed up just a minute or so—”

  Before she could finish, the front door slammed opened.

  Cate stormed back inside carrying Matt’s clothes with her, which she took to a back room. When she reappeared, she carried a heavy white blanket that she draped over his body. He pulled it up to his chin and bound himself inside like a straitjacket.

  “Leave him alone,” she scolded. “He’s not some wild animal to gawk at.”

  Everybody in the group looked at her, even Bill.

  “I said, get out of here. The man will come to. He needs rest. I’ll stay and keep an eye on him.”

  Nobody protested. They all quietly walked away.

  Cate put her hand to his forehead, soothing him with a motherly act of kindness and warmth Matt had never felt as a child. He moaned at her touch, a sad sigh of relief.

  “Tara,” Cate said before she stepped out of view. “Make him some warm tea and bring it to me.”

  “It’s okay. You just need some TLC,” Cate said as she rubbed his head and face. Her soft hands brushed over his beard as she comforted him in the way only a mother could comfort a child.

  It hurt him, dredged up painful memories of his past, but it felt good to feel loved, even if it was circumstantial. He needed it, though he would never admit it out loud. Her touch saved his life. He knew it. Cate knew it. And he appreciated it in ways he would never get to explain.

  Cate spoke again, a whisper, a monologue for his ears only—her secret for him. “You know, Bill and I had a son once. He would be close to your age now, but he took his own life after the war. He was a good man. A strong man. A dedicated soldier.” She laughed, a weak and suppressed chuckle at her memories, then a single tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and slid down the side of her face. “Yeah, he loved being a soldier. He hated it when I would call him that. He had this big, beautifully bright smile that lit up the world. He was so proud of himself. But that war changed him. Someone once said to me war never changes, but it does. It changes the man. You boys will never admit it, never, and it makes me so damn mad. But war changes you. A mother can tell. And the way that war changed him, this war has changed you. I see it. It’s in your eyes. I know you hurt. My son hurt. So, I’m going to tell you what I should’ve told him—don’t let the darkness win. People love you, and without you, their world will be just as dark as yours. You can lean on those around you for support. You don’t have to suffer silently. I know you can beat this, Matt. You’re a strong man. You just have to fight it the way you fight the world around you.”

  Cate pulled her hand back. Matt reached out from under the blanket and grabbed it. It startled her, but she allowed him to hold on for a moment.

  “What was your son’s name?” Matt choked out in a tearful voice.

  Cate smiled sadly. “Elijah.”

  “Thank you.” He released her hand, pulled up the blanket, and fell asleep.

  Cate walked to the kitchen, where everyone stood talking. “He’ll be fine. He just needed someone to fill a void. He carries a lot of pain in his memories and doesn’t know how to ask for help.”

  She passed through the center of the group, reached past her husband, and grabbed a glass to fill with water from the sink. The sound of the generator kicking on to pump water from the well into their pipes to fill her cup split the silence.

  “What do we do with him now?” Tara asked.

  “We let him rest. When he wakes up, he’s going to feel weak and vulnerable. He’ll probably apologize for his actions.” Cate took a sip of her water. “We’ll listen to him and be sympathetic. He’ll be fragile for a long time and probably won’t ever be the same man you all once knew.”

  Tara sucked in her botto
m lip and bit down it. Steve’s face was flushed with unease. Greg’s face sagged with sorrow. They all worried if Matt would be able to carry on and fight. Would he be able to pull himself together to finish what they’d come for? Would he be able to accept the outcome if it meant defeat? They all sat quietly, worried.

  After all, they loved him. He was family.

  22

  Holding Death in My Arms

  Snow had fallen twice more since Matt found himself in a subdued catatonic state of despair. They continued to live at Bill and Cate’s, helping out where they were needed. They were able to make a scavenger run into a nearby community and pick up supplies to help them get through the extended winter. Matt had offered assistance and deployed outside the ranch gates for the first time since arriving. They all felt as if the warmth of spring lingered in the darkness of the days to come. The cold, sullen atmosphere of the worst winter in ages had overstayed its welcome.

  Now, Matt stared out the living room window at the ridge, waiting to see them again, but it had not come. He was beginning to question whether or not he had hallucinated the figures on the ridge. No one asked him why he spent most mornings looking out into the distance. No one asked why he had stripped naked and screamed at the illusions in his mind. They all accepted it as part of emotional trauma. But were they illusions? He questioned it daily. He hated himself for allowing his mind to quit. Everyone treated him like a broken doll now, another lost relic of the past discarded in the waste with no further use. He felt like a burden, but did what he could to fight the urge to die.

  When the time comes. It will come, he told himself daily. It will always be a fight.

  Cate was right. He would have to struggle to overcome those dark urges.

  He took a sip of his coffee before walking away from the window. It was time to help Bill feed the animals. He set the mug down with a few splashes of bean juice left at the bottom and slipped on his worn boots. His pants hung loosely off his dwindling frame. His shirt draped over his bony shoulders and protruding ribs like a malnourished child wearing his big brother’s clothing. He’d fought a war in his head, and his body paid the toll.

  He cracked the front door open and was hit with a refreshing, aromatic breeze: earth and floral smells, scents reminiscent of a dying winter. It appeared spring was coming, after all. The distant meadows and hills moaned like dying men giving birth to a new generation as the winds blew through the valley. He closed his eyes, smiled, and took it in. For the first time, he felt…happy.

  Bill was in the stables feeding the horses. A few chickens roamed freely, plucking at random snacks in the hay. When Matt opened the barn door, Bill glanced over his shoulder and waved him in.

  “Come on in, friend, the animals await.”

  Matt smiled, closing the barn door behind him. The air inside was muggy and less pleasant as the fresh scents of the wild. He walked over to Bill and rubbed the head of the horse he was feeding.

  “You want me to handle this or get started on the pigs?” Matt asked. His voice gruff, that of a tired man older than his age.

  “Up to you. What sounds more appealing—shoveling pig shit, or forking over mounds of hay?”

  “Honestly, I’m fine shoveling shit. Seems fitting.”

  Bill chuckled. “Well then, my friend, shit it is.”

  Matt pressed his head to the top of the horse’s and let the thick, tan-and-white mane tickle his face and neck before he wandered off to feed the pigs. He imagined Tiffany’s face pressed against his own, her blonde hair as it draped down her cheeks and rested on his shoulders and chest. He was surprised by the thought. It was the first time since leaving her he had thought about her. Maybe it was a sign he was healing.

  Steve walked by with a few ammo cans tucked under his arms and gripped in his hands. He smiled as he passed. Tara was inside with Cate, preparing meals and getting supplies ready for the baby. Her stomach had grown significantly, and she looked as if she would pop any minute. She was probably due within the next month.

  A child would take some getting used to. Would he be able to handle the stress of a newborn? Was he a liability?

  Cate had sewn together a baby carrier for Tara so she could travel with the newborn on horseback. She had also sewn up several small outfits that would last through the next winter. Diapers would be cloth, and blankets made of yarn. Through their baby bonding, the two had become chatty friends, almost inseparable at times. And according to Bill, a much-needed release for his Cate.

  Matt watched this world turn around him as he found his way to the pigs for feeding time. It all seemed superficial and false. How long could they sustain this? Living in an amusement park like blind pigeons. The world wasn’t happy-cozy. They were in a bubble protected by false pretenses. Thinking this lifestyle would last would only get them all killed, himself included. Matt shook his head in attempt to clear his mind of the negative thoughts.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. “Get out of your head, man.” He opened his eyes and found his pigs. His stomach churned painfully as he dumped buckets of feed over the fence.

  By dinner, they were all exhausted, fatigued from a hard day’s living on a farm. But it was worth it. Each of them knew what they had gained by putting forth their efforts. And they were thankful for their hosts’ hospitality. They hadn’t seen a withered in months. No people, which meant no kid-stealing cannibals or thieves. Bill’s ranch house was perfectly positioned to survive the apocalypse. And with each day that passed, it proved itself stable again. But if they’d learned anything. It was that nothing could withstand the will of the world. Humans were like cancer. In this world, what the dead didn’t consume, the living would feed from their scraps.

  Cate poured the men whiskeys over rocks with a hint of bitters. She used dried orange peels to enhance the flavor. No one complained. They sipped their drams with a dim fire at their backs and filled the silence of the night with quiet banter. Matt joined them in conversation, skipping the drink to keep his mind clear. Alcohol only seemed to further his anxiety. He faced the window while Greg, Jody, and Bill had their backs to the glass. Tara and Steve sat on the couch with Matt, allowing the night sky to distract them. Cate jumped between rooms, hosting graciously.

  As they discussed the weather and routes toward Denver, Matt kept his eye on the ridge. Something warned him deep inside, screaming at his mind and gut. He tried to ignore the feeling, but it persisted. He couldn’t tell if what he was feeling was anxiety or experience. Every flicker of light, every shadow-like movement cultivated a wretched feeling of discontent and worry. He pinched his eyes shut and rubbed at his eyelids. The group’s voices became a hollow filler in the space his subconscious worry didn’t fill.

  Guns rested against the chairs and couch.

  Matt opened his eyes and caught Greg staring at him. He wasn’t smiling at first, but then his flat expression came to life with a satisfied smile that raised his cheekbones. Matt returned the smile, then closed his eyes once more. It steadied his mind and eased the throbbing pain.

  It’s okay. We’re inside. My stomach’s hurt all day. This isn’t a new pain. It’s old. I’m just anxious.

  When Matt opened his eyes for the second time, he saw a distant flash of light. He never heard the muffled report of gunfire, only the popping sound of a single bullet piercing the glass window and penetrating the back of Greg’s head.

  The round ejected from Greg’s forehead above his right eye and embedded itself in the couch cushion less than an inch away from Matt’s arm. His face was frozen with a permanent smile of sincere happiness. Then, his head draped over, chin to chest, and blood seeped out in a thin ooze, dripping small bits of grey matter.

  Greg was dead.

  Matt wasn’t sure what he saw was real. No one moved. He didn’t feel anything inside. His body was numb. He had no sensation to cry—nothing. Was this shock? How could it be real? Greg couldn’t be dead. He had just been sipping a whiskey, smiling. If he was dead, Matt would feel some pain and everyone
would be in an uproar, screaming and crying.

  A second round shattered the same window and split the flesh of Greg’s neck, the force sending him out of the chair. Both he and his glass of whiskey hit the floor, spilling its contents.

  The house erupted in chaos. Tara screamed and clutched her stomach. Steve pulled her to safety. Jody threw himself to floor, making himself as small as possible.

  The world around Matt moved in slow motion with muffled noises.

  He stared at Greg’s body lying on the floor. He tried to cry but couldn’t. He knew he should have, but no tears would escape him. His own body froze in place.

  Bill stood behind a wall, waving Matt over. His lips moved, but Matt couldn’t hear the words. Cate was gone. He hadn’t seen where she disappeared to.

  Jody crawled over to his friend and tried to pull Greg’s body away from the window, out of sight of the shooter, but was forced back by gunfire. Each bullet popped as it smacked into the floor around Jody’s arm and Greg, sending bits of carpet and wood into the air. The giant window Matt had spent so many days staring out of finally gave way and shattered to the floor with a thunderous roar. The shattering window snapped Matt out of his trance. He heard the panic and dismay clearly now.

  Jody cried out for Greg. “No, no, no.”

  Bill yelled at Matt to take cover. “Move, goddammit, move.”

  He jolted from his position, grabbed Greg’s AR-15 from where it leaned against the side of the chair, then made his way to a covered position.

  Greg’s body was sprawled on the ground surrounded by a small pool of his own blood. Jody stared at the death, mortified and yearning for answers, waiting for someone to answer the call and end the mayhem. Steve took fire as he sheltered Tara with his own body. No rounds made contact with either of their bodies. Bill was gone now, and Matt saw Cate hiding in the kitchen.

  The chaos around Matt was the first real thing he had felt in months. His brain came to life while the world exploded. Time slowed, and his perception of things all came into focus. Greg was dead. Whoever killed him was going to die.