Off Track

by Neil Bullock

  “All right,” I say. “Thank you.”

  We check Google Maps before we head out and I make sure I have an app that doesn’t require an internet connection, plus downloaded maps. The roads are gridlocked which initially gets Alice’s hopes up, but I tell her that Google figures out the traffic by how many phones are on a particular piece of road and how quickly they’re moving, and it probably just means people died on the road with their phones. When we leave, Alice doesn’t look back.

  Alice doesn’t live in Portland itself, but in an area called Bull Mountain, which is southwest of the city. It’s an offensively bright and sunny morning when we leave her house and start walking straight west. As the name of the place suggests, it’s hilly out here, which slows our pace. We walk mostly in silence, occasionally stopping to catch our breath after walking up a steep incline. We brought no supplies and we’re hoping we’ll find places to sleep on the way. It’s going to take two or three days, at least. A few hours in, I realize I’m walking alone. I turn and find Alice sat on the ground behind me.

  “Alice?”

  She looks up, waves me over, and I go.

  “You okay?”

  She smiles a sardonic smile. “Ish. Just needed a rest. I just realized that I’m never going back to that house. It hit me kinda hard.”

  I sit down beside her, smile sympathetically, then cock my head. “Do you hear something?”

  She listens, shakes her head. “What’s our plan, Eden? What happens when we get to your mom’s place?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about what comes next,” she says. “Can this really be the end?”

  I shrug rather than repeat myself. “Maybe not. Maybe it’s just the US. Or maybe just this continent.”

  “Even if that’s true, nobody’s going to let us into their country if they think we might be carrying something with the capacity to wipe out humanity.”

  That silences me. I watch Alice plucking blades of grass from the soil, rolling them between her fingers, then discarding them. “Then we survive here, on our own. Maybe we look for others. If we’re alive, there must be other survivors, right?”

  “I guess.”

  I listen again to the wind, but whatever I thought I heard is gone.

  We stop a couple of hours later and this time we both hear the noise. It sounds like someone shouting. We both turn back and spot movement in the trees we just passed through. “What do we do?” Alice asks.

  “Wait, I guess.”

  “What if he’s coming to kill us?”

  “Then he won’t be the first thing that’s tried to kill us in the last couple of days.”

  It starts to seem cruel, both of us standing there, watching him run up a hill to reach us, listening to him panting and gasping and wheezing, yet still trying to shout, “Wait! Please, wait for me!”

  When he does finally catch up to us, he bends over double, hands on knees, and breathes heavily for several minutes.

  “Hi?” I say when he’s calmed down a little.

  He looks at me incredulously. “Why… Why didn’t you wait? It looked like you heard me the last time you stopped. I thought you’d seen me. I thought you stopped to wait for me. Then you just got up and started walking again.”

  I glance at Alice, who shrugs. “Sorry. We didn’t see you. Who are you?”

  “My name is Greg. I followed you from Portland.” He pulls out a compact pair of binoculars to demonstrate how he kept track of us from afar.

  He’s dressed in jeans and a plain white t-shirt with pit stains, presumably from all the running. He carries a light jacket. He has short sandy colored hair and kind hazel eyes. He doesn’t seem to be a threat, and he’s clearly a survivor. “Eden. Alice,” I say, introducing us.

  “So, you survived,” Alice says.

  “You, too,” he says.

  “Did you see anyone else?” I ask him.

  He moves his head around and I’m not sure if it’s a nod or a shake or something else. “I think so, but I couldn’t find them. Then I see you two walking off into the distance. Where are you headed, anyway? Do you know something? A safe place to go?”

  Alice says, “No. We don’t know anything, just that the world seems to have ended.”

  He winces.

  “We’re headed to my mom’s,” I say. I can’t decide if Greg’s appearance gives me more or less hope that Mom and Nana might still be alive, so I don’t elaborate on the plan.

  “Where’s that?”

  “About as far west as you can go. Oceanside. Come with us if you want. If you have nowhere else to be.”

  He appears surprised at the offer, maybe even more than I am at having made it. I hadn’t intended to, it just kind of came out. I guess we survivors should stick together until we know what’s going on.

  “You’re okay with that?” he asks.

  I nod, then look to Alice for her thoughts. “Whatever. Just try not to turn into a psycho killer. There’s been enough death.” She turns and starts walking again. Greg and I share a glance, then we start after her, giving her some space.

  I try for a minute to come up with a way to explain Alice’s abruptness, but I figure it doesn’t really need explaining. “Where are you from?” I ask, opting for mundanity instead.

  “New York. Syracuse. You?”

  “Here. Well, I was born in California. Fresno. I don’t remember it though. We moved when I was young. Why so far from home?”

  He doesn’t respond for several seconds. “Visiting friends. They’re… well, you know.”

  I nod. They’re dead now, like everyone else. “Any theories on what caused this?”

  He shakes his head and raises his eyebrows. “It doesn’t feel real. It’s like a nightmare. I keep thinking I’ll wake up any minute and everything will be back to normal.”

  Up ahead, Alice stops, turns and shouts, “It’s not though! Nothing will be fine! Everyone’s dead. Better get used to it!” Then her legs buckle and she falls to the ground, sobbing. I run for her and bend down, wrapping my arms around her as she bats ineffectually at me. “Get off me! Leave me alone!”

  “Not going to happen,” I whisper as she cries disconsolately on my shoulder.

  She spends the next hour studying the horizon to the east, back the way we came. I let her go when she stopped crying and retreated to give her some time. Greg and I are standing by, not talking, eager to get moving. We’re going to lose the light soon, and I’d rather not spend the night outdoors without camping gear.

  “Have you guys heard any birds?” Alice asks without turning to face us. Her voice is flat.

  I cast my gaze to the sky briefly. I’d noticed the lack of birdsong, but I didn’t want to worry anyone unduly. “That’s pretty high on the list of things I’m trying not to think about.”

  “Shit. You think it got the birds too?” Greg asks. At this, Alice does turn with an expression that suggests she forgot he was even here.

  “Maybe it got all the animals,” she says.

  “Dogs? Cats?” Greg looks upset at this.

  “Pets?” I ask.

  He nods. “One of each. I hope they didn’t suffer.”

  “Oh, they did,” Alice says. “Everyone did.”

  “Alice,” I say, because it’s not in her nature to say callous things like that. I get that she’s upset, but cruelty is uncalled for. She glares at me.

  Greg bends down and looks at the ground. “What about insects?”

  A bead of dread rolls down my spine and I crouch and begin parting the grass with my hands, looking for signs of insect life.

  “So what if it got the insects?” Alice asks, and I look up at her.

  “No pollinators, nothing to condition the soil.”

  She looks at me serenely as if I haven’t even spoken. The corners of her mouth twitch, then she gets up. “Come on, we should keep moving.”

  Respite

  April 26
th

  Just as dusk threatens to swallow us, we encounter a huge house surrounded on two sides by enormous swaying trees, on the other two by a tall fence. Through the fence I see a regrettably empty swimming pool and beyond that, tennis courts.

  “Up for some breaking and entering?” I ask with mock cheer.

  “Always,” Greg replies. Alice remains silent, standing dejectedly off to one side, shuffling her feet and staring at the ground. Greg searches for a while and comes back with a hefty rock which he throws through the window of the front door, then clears out the remaining glass with a thick tree branch. He unlocks the door, then when the alarm begins to blare, takes his tree branch and bludgeons the source of the high-pitched siren to death. There are no cars in the long driveway and no evidence of habitation. Hopefully this was a summer home and there was nobody here when the world ended. I can’t deal with more of that black slime right now.

  Greg goes off to explore while Alice and I make ourselves comfortable in the large living room. “I know it’s a stupid question, but how’re you doing?”

  She shakes her head. “It keeps hitting me. Over and over. Bang! I’m never going to see Mark again. Bang! We’re not going to get married. Bang! I’ll never have children. Bang! I’ll never be an attending physician. I can’t stop it, Eden. How do I stop it?”

  She looks hollowed out. I know I should feel the same way, but I’m still clinging to the infinitesimal possibility that there’s a genetic component to whatever immunity I have, and that Mom and Nana have survived. It’s all I have, and it’s the only way I can keep it together. If I thought about it too hard, I might just lie down and never get back up. “I don’t know, Alice, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  She smiles sadly. “There’s got to be some booze here. That’ll help.”

  Alice is the happiest drunk I know, and on the spur of the moment, alcohol seems like a wonderful idea. We start the hunt, and by the time Greg returns, we’ve uncovered a large bottle of gin. I hold it up as he appears in the doorway. “Shot of gin? Ease your pain?”

  He laughs, shakes his head, then finally nods.

  We slip into something like normal conversation, like we’re just three friends drinking and passing the time of day. Greg disappears briefly and returns with three piping hot bowls of canned soup on a tray. It doesn’t go with the gin at all, but since I started to feel tipsy, I’ve stopped drinking it. The last thing I want is a hangover in the morning.

  “When do you think we’ll leave tomorrow?” Greg asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Early. It’s another fifty miles or so. We did ten miles today, but we only started at lunch time.”

  “And my feet are killing me,” Greg says.

  I am forced to admit that mine are too. “All right. So maybe we aim for fifteen miles a day? We can be there on the morning of the twenty-ninth.”

  I hate that it’s taking so long, but I also don’t. The longer it takes to get there, the longer I can stay in my fantasy where everything is fine. It’s the same reason I haven’t tried calling Mom or Nana since Alice and I were outside the mall. Not knowing is easier.

  “That sounds doable,” Alice says. “Does it flatten out any?”

  “Eventually, yeah. Once we reach the woods.”

  She nods. Greg cuts in, “Are there bears in those woods we need to be concerned—oh.”

  We’re silent as we consider this faux pas. No, of course we don’t need to be concerned. All the bears are probably dead. “I guess not,” I say eventually.

  Alice stands and paces the room. “I don’t understand any of this. How can everything be dead? How can I have everything one minute and nothing the next?”

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “It’s just… it’s so unfair! I was nearly finished. I did what my dad wanted. I became a doctor. I found Mark. We were getting married. We were going to have kids. Now none of that means a damn thing.”

  There’s nothing to say, because she’s right. I glance at Greg while Alice’s back is to us. We share a pained expression.

  “What the hell are we going to do? What the hell is the point anymore?”

  I take a deep breath. “We do the only thing we can do. We live. We redefine what that means. We find out how far this extends, and we deal with whatever that entails.”

  “That’s not the only thing we can do, Eden.”

  I stare at her, shocked. “You’re talking about suicide?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Why not? How about because I’d be devastated? You’re basically my sister, I love you! You’re not leaving me to deal with this without you!”

  She looks ashamed as I’m yelling at her. “But… what’s the point, Eden? Why go on if—”

  “If what?”

  Her expression is one of confusion as she shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do,” I say, standing up.

  She stares. “What—”

  “You want to know what the point is if there’s nobody around to see, right? To see you hit life’s big milestones?”

  Alice screws her eyes shut as if I’ve slapped her, then dips her head. She breathes heavily and a small whimper escapes her.

  I sigh. I didn’t want to do this, but I might as well see it through now. “Alice, the only person that’s ever mattered to is you. I love you and I’ve always been proud of you. Mom and Nana loved and were proud of—” I exhale sharply and tears sting my eyes as I realize what I’ve said. Mom and Nana were proud of you. Past tense. Alice turns abruptly, reacting to the same thing. Her face collapses and she rushes to me. We cling to each other fiercely, sobbing.

  A minute later, when we’re mostly done, Greg says, “Well, don’t I feel like the third wheel?” and our pain is replaced by fits of manic giggles for which we’re both extremely grateful.

  We eat more soup that Greg prepares, and I apologize to Alice. She waves it away, and everything is okay. I manage to mostly crawl back into my bubble of denial about Mom and Nana by telling myself it’s pointless to assume anything until we get there, and I can see what happened with my own eyes. We decide to channel our dwindling energy reserves into coming up with a decent plan before bed.

  “Okay, no birds and maybe no other land animals,” I say. “We didn’t really check for insects.”

  “What about bacteria?” Greg asks.

  I blink. “Shit. If the bacteria are gone, our lives become a lot harder.”

  Alice looks confused. “Why?”

  “No pollinators is bad enough, but no bacteria means no crops at all.”

  “Oh.”

  Greg says, “One thing it might mean, though, is that the food we do have won’t spoil. Maybe canned food lasts forever now.”

  I smile. “Ah, silver linings. A lifetime of canned food to look forward to.”

  Alice says, “All right. So, what about the oceans? Could there still be fish and the like?” She shudders. “I hate fish.”

  Greg says, “It’s good for you.”

  Alice rolls her eyes. I say, “Maybe. That’s something to check, and we’re going to the right place to do that. So that’s two things to figure out.”

  Alice nods decisively. “If there’s no bacteria, do things that are already growing die? Trees and stuff?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure. Maybe not, which might mean we can find an orchard or something and have fresh fruit. That’s a third thing, then. Figure out if existing plants will die now.”

  Alice seems to be getting into the swing of things now, while Greg appears to be ruminating on something. Alice says, “What about survivors? We should look for other people.”

  I nod. “Agreed. I should be writing this down.”

  Greg clears his throat. “What about repopulation?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “What about it?”

  He looks uncomfortable. “Well, you two are… ladies. You can… you know.”

  Alice
laughs bitterly. “Good luck with that. Eden’s gay.”

  He glances at her, blinks, then back at me. “Really?”

  I nod. “Gayer than bubble baths.”

  He smiles uncertainly. “But still, you can— like, make a kid, right?”

  “Oh, boy! I’ve never heard anything so romantic! I think you’ve turned me straight! Take off your pants.” I start to remove my belt to make a point.

  Alice snorts. Greg frowns. “I’m not talking about romance, Eden. I’m talking about the survival of humanity.”

  “All right. Let’s talk. How’s that going to work?”

  He glares at me while he turns red. “Well, I could—you know, into a cup or something.”

  “Okay, then what? Because a cup of your baby batter isn’t going anywhere near me.”

  “Or me,” Alice announces.

  He makes a sound like all the words have got tangled together coming out of his mouth, stops, then takes a breath. “You don’t think repopulation is important?” He looks genuinely confused and more than a little flustered.

  “I don’t think you get to use us as incubators for the rest of our lives.”

  Exasperated, he turns to Alice. “What if, a few years down the line, we met another survivor and you fell in love?”

  She’s shaking her head before he’s even finished talking. “Nuh-uh. No children for me. Not without Mark, and certainly not in this new world.”

  “So that’s it? You two just get to decide that’s the end of humanity?”

  I shake my head sadly. “We all have choices to make. Yours is going to be how far you’re willing to take this. You seem like a good guy, Greg. Or am I mistaken about that?”

  He glares some more and eventually sighs. “No, I guess not. I can’t make you do anything. Well, I guess maybe I could, but I don’t want to.”

  “Good to know.”

  Alice says, “It probably wouldn’t work anyway. We don’t have the genetic diversity between the three of us. We’d need a couple of hundred other survivors.”