by J. M. Snyder
The memories were cloying. Court felt as if the walls of the tent were pulling in towards him with every breath he took—soon they’d press against his skin, cover his nose and mouth, blind his eyes, suffocate him…he had to get out. Scrambling to his feet, he unzipped the tent flap and was just about to step through it when he saw Adam standing on the other side.
“Hey.” Court stepped back to let Adam enter.
But Adam shook his head. “Ronnie wants everyone by the fire. May’s gone.”
Court felt an icy hand grip his heart. “She died, too?”
“We don’t know. She’s just…gone.”
Though the late afternoon sun slanting through the treetops still provided plenty of light, everyone in their little group was gathered around the remains of the morning fire. Or rather, most of them gathered around one end of the fire; only one person stood opposite them on the other side. Ronnie.
Court felt like the last piece of a puzzle sliding into place as he took his familiar stand beside his friend. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
The question was directed at Ronnie, but Court’s gaze never left the people staring them down. He propped his hands on his waist, and if he’d carried a gun like Ronnie did, he would’ve had one hand resting on the weapon, just in case. As it was, he felt woefully unarmed as he met the hot stares of the others, men and women they had picked up on their way down the interstate, a few kids here and there, none of whom he could name off the top of his head. Bree and Adam stood on Ronnie’s other side, obviously throwing their lot in with Court’s.
When no one rushed to answer his question, Court raised his voice. “What the hell is this all about?”
“May left,” someone called from the back of the group.
So? Court wanted to say. Good riddance.
Before he could set the words free, Ronnie’s soft voice stilled him. “Tomorrow we move out. We’ve stayed here too long—”
“We have to find her!” someone else interrupted. Court didn’t know who, but he saw a couple of people nod in agreement and grasped the problem. By we, they meant Ronnie.
And the Ronnie Court knew wasn’t going to waste time or energy retrieving someone who didn’t want to stay.
Half-turning away from the others, he asked, “What happened exactly?”
It was Bree who answered. “Some of the women decided the baby needed a funeral. So a few guys dug a grave, and someone dragged out their Bible to read over it, but when they went to get May, she was gone. She took the baby with her. Just ran off into the woods or something, I don’t know.”
“She’ll die out there by herself,” someone argued. “We can’t just leave her.”
“Why not? Who is she to you? To me? To him?” Court hooked a thumb at Ronnie and studied each earnest face in turn, but no one could answer his question. “You want to find her, great, go on, knock yourself out. But in the morning, Ronnie’s hitting the road, and I don’t know about you, but I’m hot on his heels. Come along or not, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Come along where?” This came from an older woman near the front of the group. She had a grandmotherly air about her, and a pile of yarn in her lap, which her hands knitted seemingly without thought. “This is a good spot. We’re fine here.”
Ronnie shook his head. “We’ve already raided the cars on this stretch of road. There aren’t any houses or stores within walking distance—nothing that way but a creek and more trees.” He pointed into the woods, where Court suspected May went. “Nothing on the other side of the highway, either. It’s pick up stakes and move a bit farther down 95, or stay here and starve eventually.”
Someone scoffed at that, but Bree spoke up, agreeing with Ronnie. “We have maybe a month’s worth of canned goods, but that’s it. Most of it’s junk food, too. We need to get closer to an exit off the interstate where we can find something better to eat, something more, or we’re going to be hard up when it starts getting cold.”
A young man in the back of the group leaned forward, eyes blazing. “We can’t just leave May behind. That ain’t right.”
“Then you look for her,” Court spat out. Ronnie touched his arm to still him, but Court continued. “If she wants to go, let her go. We can’t force her to come with us. We won’t.”
“That’s cold, man,” the guy argued. “Her kid just died. She ain’t thinking straight. She’ll die out there.”
Court bit back an angry retort. She wasn’t the first, and sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. But Ronnie pinched his arm, silencing him. “We’ll send out two groups,” Ronnie offered. To the young man, he said, “You’ll head one, and another volunteer will take the other. The rest of you—those who want to come with us in the morning—will pack up your things and be ready to go. In her condition, I’m sure she didn’t get far. If she wants to return, fine. But we can’t force her. We can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to do. That work for you?”
From the sullen look on the guy’s face, Court thought not, but at least he wasn’t stupid enough to push it. Instead, a woman May’s age shot her arm up into the air. “I’ll lead the second group. I thought I saw her heading out towards the creek.”
Another woman nodded. “Maybe she wanted to bury the baby herself.”
“Maybe she’s sick,” someone else piped in. “Maybe she caught the virus from the kid, and she ran off before she could infect the rest of us.”
Fearful murmurs rumbled through the group. Adam shook his head. “She was immune, just like we are. The baby’s father wasn’t—”
“It could’ve mutated,” someone cried. “It could’ve changed into something we can’t fight against, something that might kill off the rest of us!”
Ronnie held up a hand to quiet them before things went too far. “If that happens, there’s nothing we can do to stop it, so there’s no use worrying about it now. We’re fine. She was fine, last I saw her. The baby was born sick. We couldn’t have saved it if we tried.”
A man their own age took a step or two from the group, distancing himself from the others. “So where is it you’re taking us, then? Just one exit down to find more food, or do you guys have something else in mind?”
“We’re not taking you anywhere,” Court muttered, half to himself. Who had made them the ones to look up to? Who had determined Ronnie was the leader of their little group?
But he knew the answer to that—he himself was the one to follow Ronnie first, and everyone afterward simply followed suit. They might not realize why, but they needed someone to follow and Ronnie was as likely a candidate as anyone else. Court stood with him unquestionably. Adam fell in behind Court, as did Bree, and for the others, that was reason enough to let Ronnie lead them onward.
The real question was, as the guy asked so succinctly, was where?
“We’ve been monitoring the radio,” Ronnie explained. “Most of the time, it’s nothing but static, but the other night, we heard something on the AM band that makes us think maybe there are other survivors. Court heard the message again last night. It’s a long shot, but—”
“Sumter,” someone called out.
Court frowned, waiting for the owner of the voice to come forward. He didn’t, but the people around him moved back a step or two, isolating him in their midst. He had a good fifteen years on Ronnie—from the salt in his hair and beard, Court put him in his late fifties, at least. He was a large man—muscle, not fat, but his girth made Court think of Grizzly Adams. With his camouflage shirt and khaki pants, heavy-duty hiking boots, and a utility belt worthy of Batman, there was an air of wilderness about him, as if living in a tent in the woods came naturally to him. Even if none of the others came with them to South Carolina, Court hoped this man would. He looked like he knew a thing or two about survival.
Ronnie’s eyes narrowed as he studied the man, and after a long moment, he nodded. “Sumter, yes. How’d you know?”
The man held up a solar-power radio similar to Court’s. “Heard it myself two nights ago
and wondered if I was going crazy or not. Couldn’t get the signal in again. But if you heard it, too—”
“I did.” Court stepped forward and nodded. Ronnie touched his back, which he took as encouragement. “I heard enough to think maybe there’s a group of people like us holed up in the old fort down there. They have medicine, and food, and power.”
A murmur rose from the others. “Power? Like in electricity?” someone asked. A thin voice cried out, “Thank God! What the hell are we waiting for?”
Yeah, a moment ago you wanted to stay, Court thought sourly. Now you’re raring to go. Make up your damn mind.
Before Court could say anything to make things worse, Ronnie held up a hand to quiet everyone. “We can’t promise you anything, but we’re leaving in the morning. Those who want to come, be ready at dawn. Be prepared—it’s a long hike down there, and with the roads the way they are, we can’t even pretend we might find a vehicle and drive at any point.”
“What about May?” This came from the young man who had said earlier they couldn’t leave the mother behind.
“There’s still plenty of light to look for her,” Ronnie told him. “If we find her by the time we leave, we’ll ask her if she wants to come. If we don’t find her—”
“We what?” the guy wanted to know. “Just leave her? That’s heartless.”
This time, Court didn’t bite his tongue. “You stay behind and look for her, if you want. Catch up with us later, if you can. They have power down there, man. Unless you want to stay here and continue to live like savages, I say saddle up.”
At the small of his back, Ronnie’s hand bunched in his shirt as if ready to hold him back. But the promise of electricity silenced any further protest. Even if the woman wasn’t found by morning, Court suspected none of the others would want to be left behind when he and Ronnie rolled out at first light.
The last thing Court wanted to do was trek into the darkening woods in search of someone he didn’t even know. So while the others broke into two groups to look for May, Court followed Bree to her tent to help her pack up their food supply.
Inside her tent, the food Court and Adam had gathered was stacked against one wall. Boxes lay flat on the ground, one atop another, and the cans sat neatly on top of them. There really was a lot of junk food, Court noticed, and he didn’t think one shopping cart would be enough to carry everything. “Can we take all this?” he asked, hands on his hips as he frowned at the supply.
Over her shoulder, Bree laughed. “Typical man. If we just throw it all in the cart any which way, then no. But if we pack it, we shouldn’t have a problem. Besides, I won’t lose any sleep if we have to leave a few of these bags of potato chips behind.”
He noticed a pile of paper shopping bags folded and tucked away behind the supplies. “You want me to start filling those, or what?”
“You can get them out for me,” Bree said. “But let me take a look at everything and think about how we’re going to do this first.”
Court recognized her tone of voice—Jeanie used to say something similar when what she really meant was, “Shut up and let me think.” He busied himself with the paper bags, surprised to find a few plastic ones hidden inside each. If nothing else, Bree had mad packing skills.
For a long moment, she studied the supplies, but Court felt her gaze flicker to him a time or two. Finally she reached for a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli and, palming it, asked, “How well do you know Ronnie?”
Court grinned. “Well enough to follow him to the end of the world and back, if he asked. He knows what he’s doing, trust me. He’ll get us to Sumter in one piece or die trying.”
“Have you two been friends long?” Bree pressed.
Hunkered on the floor by the stack of food, Court straightened his back to see over the cans and meet her troubled gaze. “All my life, and I mean that literally. I’ve never known the world without him in it. Why?”
She stared at him, quiet, and he began to think she wouldn’t answer his question. Then her lips pressed flat—not a smile, not really, but something similar. It reminded Court of the look Jeanine would give him when she thought he didn’t notice. “What?” he wanted to know.
“Does he know you’re in love with him?” Bree asked softly.
Court recoiled. “What? That’s ridiculous. I’m not…” He let the sentence trail off. Who the hell was she to call him gay? “That’s fucking absurd. I never…I mean, we’re not…”
“One, you’re overly defensive.” Bree held up her hand, ticking off her points. “Two, you can’t say you aren’t. I mean, you physically cannot say the words. You keep trailing off. Three, I have really good gaydar, and you send it off the scale.”
Glaring at her, Court shook his head. “That’s why you keep flirting with me? The moment you joined our little group, you all but threw yourself at my feet. Because you think I’m—that’s just stupid.”
“Stupid is traveling alone,” Bree shot back. “Before the virus, there were policemen and jails and laws. A woman could walk around without worrying about getting attacked or raped or killed. Now? More than half the world is dead and we’re living in the Middle Ages all over again. I wasn’t coming onto you, Court. I was being friendly. I thought you were safe.”
“I am safe,” he assured her. “But that doesn’t make me gay. I was married.”
Bree’s laugh hurt his ears. “A lot of gay men are.”
“I’m not gay!” Then, realizing someone outside the tent might overhear, he lowered his voice. “Ronnie and I are just friends. That’s it. End of story. He was married, I was married, we loved our wives—”
“So?” Bree shrugged as she cut him off. “You can love more than one person. You can love them in different ways. I’m not saying you didn’t love her,” she hurried to add, before he could interrupt. “I’m saying you love him, too. It’s obvious in everything you say and do around him. If he can’t see it, then he’s just as deep in the closet as you are. The way you’re arguing with me, you’re practically in Narnia.”
He didn’t bother to ask what she meant. His heart hammered in his chest, his palms were slick with sweat, his head throbbed. Headache or heat, he didn’t know, but he wanted to get out of this tent and back to his own. Back to Ronnie, a voice inside his mind whispered, but he pushed it away. “Look, is this some kind of fucked up way to get me to sleep with you? If so, it’s cold. I lost my wife not that long ago. I’m not going to jump into the sack with the first pretty face that comes along.”
“You sleep with Ronnie,” Bree pointed out.
Court’s face burned from his cheeks to the roots of his hair. “We don’t—”
“Save it for someone who’ll buy it,” Bree said. “I know what I see. And when you look at him, what I see is—”
“Court? You in there?”
It was Ronnie’s voice just outside the flap of Bree’s tent. Relief washed over Court like cool water. Anything to get away from this woman and her crazy accusations. Him in love with Ronnie? Was she serious?
He ignored the bemused look she gave him as he scrambled to his feet. “I’m here,” he called. With a final glare in her direction, he hurried out of the tent.
Behind him, she sighed. “Oh, Ronnie,” she said in a soft, mocking tone.
Damn her.
Court stumbled from the tent to find Ronnie waiting for him a few steps away. Had he been able to hear what they talked about inside? Court didn’t know, and Ronnie’s face gave nothing away. He wanted to ask, but how could he without sounding as if she were right?
Was she right?
I’m a married man, he reminded himself. Or I was. Jeanie and I had fifteen good years together. I’ll never forget that.
Fifteen years living next door to Ronnie. Spending all their free time with Ronnie and Melissa, the two couples doing everything together, from cookouts to day trips to Sunday night dinners. After Melissa passed, Ronnie was over Court’s house more often than not, staying up late watching the game or some movie o
n cable while Jeanie cleaned up in the kitchen. The only memories of his marriage in which Ronnie didn’t appear were the nights Court and Jeanine slept side by side in their dark bedroom. Each to their own half of the bed, empty space like a line of demarcation between them.
He’d loved her, yes. But had he ever been in love with her? He couldn’t say, and now that she was gone, he wouldn’t.
Shaking those thoughts aside, he approached Ronnie and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Hey. What’s up?”
Ronnie stared off into the distance, past the trees. Had he heard Bree? Did he want to say something about it to Court? The thought made Court shudder. If Ronnie said something, their friendship would change. It’d have to. But would that be good or bad?
Does he love me, too? Court wondered.
If he did, Ronnie wasn’t telling. Instead, he sighed, and Court realized whatever had prompted this little chat had nothing to do with their relationship. “They found the mother.”
May, right. When Ronnie didn’t elaborate, Court asked, “So what, she doesn’t want to come?”
“She’s dead.”
Chapter 4
Days fell into a routine. At first, Court’s legs ached. The spot right outside Petersburg where they’d camped until the baby was born had been a mere stone’s throw from the subdivision on the outskirts of Richmond where Ronnie and Court both used to live. Thirty miles, tops, and they’d broken it up over several weeks’ worth of traveling, never moving much in one day, always stopping to stock up on supplies when they could. Now they moved at a grueling pace, from sunup to sundown, stopping occasionally to rest or eat but otherwise, always walking.