Come Whatever Storms

by J. M. Snyder

  By the second day, the muscles in Court’s legs seized up, but he pushed the shopping cart ahead and concentrated on the next step, and the next, and the one after that. The next morning he barely felt his legs, and they seemed to move on their own accord. Ever forward, ever onward, easily matching Ronnie’s long strides. Trying to outrun the past—the virus, and what had happened to May.

  Court hadn’t seen the body. Rumors swirled among the group, growing the farther away from the campsite they traveled, and he didn’t want to believe them. But when the body had been found, Ronnie went to check it out for himself, and whatever he said, Court took as gospel. So while he didn’t want to believe May’s throat had been ripped out, her hands gnawed, her still slightly swollen belly torn open, her internal organs removed—or, worse, left strewn around her body, most half-eaten—he didn’t want to buy any of that, but Ronnie said it and Court knew it was true. May had been attacked by some…some creature, something that snuck up on her by the creek without alerting anyone at the campsite, something that killed her where she knelt in the reeds to wash her baby’s body. Something that tore her apart, ate what it wanted, and took the baby back to its den as a snack.

  The discovery of what remained of May had been enough to spark an exodus. By morning’s first light, every single straggler was packed and ready to go, waiting on Court and Ronnie to pack up their tent and get moving already. Suddenly the quiet woods seemed daunting, the shadows spooky, and no one lingered long after the campfire was kicked out. Once the group reached the asphalt highway, held breaths were released in sighs of relief and the people spread out. Some walked faster than others and forged ahead, some trailed behind at a slower pace. As the days wore on, more and more hung back, the urgency spurring them on fading with the memory of the corpse by the creek.

  Ronnie walked with a steady stride that could last him all day. He kept to the shoulder of the road, frequently glancing into the woods flanking him for a good resting place or the next campsite where they would spend the night. Court walked beside him, and Bree pushed the shopping cart full of food on Court’s other side. On the far side of the cart, Adam plodded along. Throughout the day, Court and Adam would take turns pushing the cart and give Bree a bit of a break.

  At some point, Court pictured the four of them stretched out across the road like an oddly contemporary retelling of the Wizard of Oz, complete except for Toto. Bree was Dorothy, obviously. With Adam’s brawn, Court pegged him as the Cowardly Lion. During a particularly dull afternoon, he explained the idea to Ronnie. “Who would you be?” he wanted to know. “Tinman or the Scarecrow?”

  Ronnie’s eyes were hidden by a pair of sunglasses he’d snagged from a wrecked vehicle they passed a few miles back, but Court wouldn’t have been surprised if Ronnie rolled his eyes at the question. “Stop being silly.”

  Being silly was a way to pass the time, in Court’s opinion. It was also a crutch in times of trouble, or a way to alleviate stress or let off steam. Being silly had been Court’s M.O. all throughout high school, and even in college, he was still the life of the party. The main reason Jeanine always claimed she fell in love with him was because he had a great sense of humor, a pronouncement she always followed with, “It sure wasn’t for his looks.” Jeanie could get a few yucks in herself, when she wanted.

  “Scarecrow, then,” Court announced. “He was the smart one, really. The leader, so to speak. Which makes me the Tinman.”

  Beside him, Bree walked with an easy stride, Adam taking a turn pushing the cart for a while. “Sumter must be Oz,” she said. “Are you going there to ask for a heart?”

  “I have a heart. It’s pounding like a jackhammer right here.” Court touched a fist to his right temple, where a headache brought on by the late day sun had begun to throb. He spoke breezily, but the organ in question began to beat faster in his chest, making his head hurt worse. He didn’t want to talk about his heart with her—it might lead her to question him again, his relationship with Jeanie, his friendship with Ronnie. Things he didn’t want to talk about with her, and sure as hell not with Ronnie standing right there beside them.

  Ronnie glanced over, a frown etched on his face. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Court assured him. “Give me a handful of aspirin and I’ll call you in the morning.”

  Grabbing the shopping cart, Bree pulled it to a stop and rooted around in the brown paper bags until she found a bottle. “How many, two?”

  Court wanted four—he’d suffered from headaches all his life, and literally could down a handful of pills in one swallow. But he didn’t want a rebound headache to hit during the night. “Three.”

  By now, the others were closing the gap between Ronnie’s little quartet and the rest of the group. They saw the stopped cart and assumed this was a rest break. Some crowded around Bree, looking for a quick snack, something to boost their energy. Others sank to their knees or sat on the edge of the road to rest. Water bottles were dug out of backpacks and utility belts.

  Ronnie looked around, his mouth twisted in resignation. “Guess this is where we take five.”

  “Or ten,” Adam offered, slouching over the shopping cart’s front basket. “I feel like Sisyphus pushing this thing.”

  Court threw the aspirin into his mouth and swallowed the bitter pills down with a swig of water from the bottle he carried on his backpack. “Watch it, your education’s showing.”

  Playfully, Adam kicked Court in the shin. Court backed up into Ronnie, and felt his friend’s hands press his hot T-shirt against his sweaty skin. The fleeting touch seared through him, but when he caught the amused expression on Bree’s face, he moved out of reach.

  “You could always be Toto,” she offered.

  He glared at her. “You could be the dog.”

  Her grin widened. “So then you’d be Dorothy. I wonder how you’d look in ruby heels.”

  Before he could respond, Ronnie interrupted. “Stop it, will you? Now you’re giving me a headache.”

  Court grabbed a package of almonds from one of Bree’s shopping bags and tore into it, trying hard to ignore everyone else. That Dorothy crack hurt. He frowned into the handful of almonds inside the package and tried to think of something to add—he always wanted to have the last word—but he didn’t want to piss off Ronnie. He’d learned early on that his friend had a low tolerance for what Ronnie considered to be baseless humor. Court once accused him of being unimaginative. He’d ducked when he said it, expecting Ronnie to lash out in anger, but after a moment of thinking it over, Ronnie had nodded instead. “Yeah,” he’d said. “You’re probably right.”

  But he wanted to say something in the hope of redirecting Ronnie’s attention away from Bree’s comment about Dorothy. Or rather, about what such a reference implied. Court used to love The Wizard of Oz as a child—he and Ronnie would watch it for hours on the VCR, scaring each other during the scary parts. It wasn’t until he reached high school that Court heard the movie linked with gay men, for some strange reason. He still couldn’t quite puzzle it out. But when his mother bought him an anniversary edition of the movie on DVD for his sixteenth birthday, he’d been mortified. If Ronnie clued in to what Bree was inferring…

  A nudge in the side made him look up. Ronnie stood beside him, but his gaze wasn’t on Court or even the shopping cart full of food in front of them. He stared back down the road the way they’d come, watching the final few stragglers approach. One of them was the survivalist who had also heard the word “Sumter” on the radio. In one hand he carried a heavy walking stick—more like a staff, really—and with the other, he waved as if trying to flag down a cab. “Hold up a minute, hoss,” he called.

  Court looked from the man to Ronnie. “What’s this?”

  “Don’t know,” Ronnie admitted. “What’s his name again?”

  Court couldn’t remember. By now the man was close enough to hear them, though, and he stopped waving to extend a hand in greeting. “Joseph Dziedzic. Most folks call me Dizzy. I’v
e been bringing up the rear all day. You have any idea how far we’re strung out?”

  Ronnie took the offered hand in a firm shake. As soon as he released it, Court caught the hand in his own. Despite the man’s camouflage clothing and hardcore camping gear, the name Dizzy didn’t exactly instill Court with confidence. “This is the last of them, isn’t it?”

  Dizzy looked over his shoulder, and Court noticed the way his gaze seemed to dwell on the woods for a long moment before he turned towards them again. “Guess it is, now. You know we’re being followed?”

  His voice was casual, almost cool, as if he were remarking on the weather or asking how many hours of daylight they had left before the sun set. But his words startled Court, causing a chill to run down his sweaty back. Court glanced at Ronnie, whose closed face betrayed no emotion.

  Then, incredibly, Ronnie nodded. “I feared we might be.”

  Court swung his arm wide, knocking into Ronnie’s side. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I didn’t know for sure,” Ronnie said, flinching away. “No use getting all riled up for nothing. But—”

  “Whatever killed that girl didn’t like being left behind,” Dizzy interjected. When Court stared at him, he nodded. “It keeps to the woods so I ain’t seen it, but I feel it, all right. Watching me, us. Waiting to strike again.”

  Bree’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”

  “As a heart attack.” Dizzy took off his safari hat and wiped the sweat from his thinning hair. “Some sort of animal, I reckon.”

  Beside him, Adam shook his head. “There isn’t anything in these parts that would attack a human. This isn’t the mountains, you know. About the wildest animal you’ll find here is deer, and they don’t eat meat.”

  Dizzy wasn’t convinced. “The people are gone now. The animals are coming back, reclaiming their land. The food chain’s being restructured and, I’m sad to say, we’re at the bottom now.”

  “Nonsense.” Adam pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose like a professor trying to make a point. “I’m a vet, I know—”

  Dizzy argued, “I’m a vet, too. Fought in Desert Storm, still have shrapnel in my leg that used to fuck up metal detectors. Pardon my French, ma’am,” he said, directing this last to Bree.

  “I’m a veterinarian,” Adam explained. “Whatever attacked May did so because she was alone and obviously vulnerable. But look around you, man. We’re twenty strong, most of us armed with something—sticks, guns, knives, bats, some sort of weapon. Even a hungry animal would pass us by.”

  “Like this, sure.” Dizzy swept his arm to indicate the people resting on the side of the road. “But what about when we’re walking? When we’re stretched out for a mile and a half, with no one around to see if we get picked off one by one?”

  “I don’t—” Adam started.

  Dizzy shook his head. “What about rabies? Without people taking their pets to guys like you, dogs and cats are going to wander around and get infected. What about the lions and tigers in zoos? The virus didn’t kill them—what happens when they escape?”

  A random line flickered through Court’s head—lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my! He opened his mouth to say it, then shut it without a word when he remembered where the phrase came from. Damn that bitch Dorothy, and her little dog, too.

  Bree laughed, a little uneasy. “I hardly think there’s a lion in these woods.”

  “I’m just saying.” Dizzy shrugged and turned back to Ronnie. “Something’s on our trail, I know it. I feel it.”

  Court looked at Ronnie. If there was something out there, what exactly did this guy expect them to do about it?

  “We’ll close up ranks,” Ronnie said. Court nodded—that made sense. Ronnie raised his voice to include everyone present, and the others turned to listen. “No one walks alone, and no one lets the person in front of them get more than half a mile away. If you need to stop, someone stops with you. And we’ll post a guard at night, take shifts watching over each other while we sleep. You see something, you let everyone else know. Got that?”

  Court nodded immediately, then glanced around to make sure his acceptance was picked up by the others. “If we stick to the road, we should be okay,” he said to no one in particular. “Animals don’t like the highway, right? Ronnie?”

  “We’ll be fine,” he said, and Court believed him, if for no other reason than because Ronnie wouldn’t lie to him.

  By the time they were ready to set out again, the few people who had been leading their entourage had noticed they were no longer being followed and doubled back. Two of the guys were college age, and Court remembered a time not too long ago when he’d been as quick to hurry along as they were now. But married life had a way of settling him into routine—eating dinner with Ronnie and Melissa every Sunday, meeting Ronnie for lunch during the week, spending Friday evenings at the movies on a double date. Jeanine and Melissa in the middle, Court and Ronnie flanking them, each with an arm around the back of their wife’s seat. During the show, the two men would thumb-wrestle or finger-fight to pass the time, particularly if it were a chick flick neither wanted to see.

  Sometimes they went to the movies alone, just Ronnie and himself, catching a new action/adventure thriller the women weren’t interested in watching. In the dark they sat side by side—no need for an empty seat between them like so many younger guys did; they were married, after all—and when the film got too intense, Court would grasp Ronnie’s knee and clutch it tight. Ronnie always covered that hand with one of his own, working his fingers into Court’s palm, until he held Court’s hand in his. They’d sit like that until the movie ended.

  But there were no more movies now, not even The Wizard of Oz. No power to run the projectors, no one who knew how to set it up. Hell, maybe not even anyone left who could run the projectors, but how hard could it be? Did they still thread the filmstrip through the reels? Or had that been replaced by computers? Court didn’t know, and it saddened him to realize he’d never find out, either.

  When the break was over, Court pushed the shopping cart for the next mile or so, his gaze on the road ahead to keep from looking at the trees surrounding them. Was there something out there? Something watching them, hunting them? As much as Court didn’t want to believe it, something had killed the girl back at the old campsite, and what had happened to the baby’s body? It hadn’t been anywhere near the mother, and though the ground around her had appeared to be turned up, as if from a scuffle, it didn’t look turned over, as if she’d managed to bury the baby before being attacked. An animal could’ve easily snuck up on her—to hear the others tell it, she’d been a mess ever since the baby died, inconsolable, destitute. But what was it that killed her?

  An animal, Court told himself. He had to believe that. The only other possibility was a person, and he didn’t want to start casting suspicious looks around him at their little party. He wouldn’t believe any of them might have killed her. Why would they have?

  Against his better judgment, his gaze kept flickering to the woods. Sunlight would glint off something on the edge of the road—a broken bottle, an empty can, something deeper in the trees, winking, beckoning—and he’d turn from the white line to look after it. Then he’d see something else—a branch, a leaf, something moving in there—and he’d slow a little. Were they being watched?

  Then someone nudged him from behind to keep him moving. Adam mostly, though Bree gave him the sharp end of her elbow once or twice, too. Ronnie was ahead of the cart, his back straight, his pace steady, one hand on the gun at his hip in anticipation. When goaded to keep up, Court set his gaze on Ronnie’s back, or the wave of his dark hair, or the faint swing of his hips, and pushed the cart with renewed speed. But his gaze would wander again, drifting to one side or the other, and soon enough he’d feel another push to hurry.

  Finally Adam placed a hand on the side of the cart to stop it. “Let me push for a while.”

  Court gave him a thin grin. “Sorry.” As he relinquishe
d control, he asked, “Do you think that guy’s right? Something’s following us?”

  “I think he’s just being overly cautious,” Adam said, gripping the cart’s handle in both hands and pushing it onward. “It’s a good thing he decided to tell Ronnie quiet-like, though, or we’d have massive panic on our hands. Look at you. Running scared.”

  “I am not.” Court ran a hand through his hair to push it back from his face and found himself glancing at the forest again. Resolutely, he turned his gaze toward the road. Toward Ronnie. “I’m just being alert.”

  “You’re being paranoid,” Adam told him. “If there is some sort of wild creature out there, there’s safety in numbers. Just don’t wander off alone and you’ll be all right.”

  Court rolled his eyes. Like he planned on making any unscheduled side trips. Sumter was far enough away as it was. Unencumbered by the shopping cart, he hurried up to where Ronnie was and fell into step beside his friend. “Hey.”

  Ronnie nodded in greeting but kept quiet.

  Leaning forward a little, Court looked at Ronnie’s face and was pleased to see that, though his friend appeared to be walking purposefully ahead, his eyes constantly flickered from side to side as if watching the trees flanking them. Right, ahead, left, ahead, back again, in an unceasing—and most likely unconscious—rhythm. When Court entered the line of vision, Ronnie glanced at him, then past him to the trees, then back to him again before returning to the road ahead. Before Court could say anything, Ronnie told him, “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” Court asked.

  Ronnie glanced left into the woods, then up ahead. “Don’t keep thinking about what that guy said.”

  Even though that was exactly what Court was thinking, he tried to cover it with idle chatter. “What kind of name is Dizzy, anyway? I mean, just how reliable is a guy who calls himself that?”

  “There’s something out there,” Ronnie assured him.