by J. M. Snyder
A chill crept down Court’s spine despite the late summer heat. “You see it?”
“I feel it.” Right, ahead, left, ahead, at Court, Ronnie’s pale eyes in constant motion.
Court fell a step behind, as if Ronnie could protect him from whatever it was out there. “Shit.”
“Just don’t think about it,” Ronnie advised.
Yeah, right. What else was there to think about?
As the day wore on, the unrelenting sun and his own paranoid anxiety dragged Court down. Soon his eyes began to slip shut, and more than once, he stumbled over his own feet and woke with a start. The second time he did that, Ronnie stopped and placed a hand on Court’s arm. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Court said, shaking his head in an effort to wake up a little. It felt like it’d been days since their last break, and how much longer until the sun set so they could stop for the night? Court wasn’t sure he would make it that far.
Apparently, Ronnie read something of this in Court’s face. He frowned and glanced back at the others trudging along behind them. “We can stop here if you want—”
“No.” Court slapped his cheeks, first one, then the other, then opened his eyes as wide as they’d go. “See? I’m good. I’m good.”
Ronnie didn’t look too convinced, but at least he nodded and started to walk again. Court dragged along behind him, stumbling to keep up. After a few yards, he reached out and hooked the first two fingers of his left hand into the right back pocket of Ronnie’s jeans. Now when he fell behind, Ronnie tugged him along. With each step Ronnie took, Court felt the muscles in Ronnie’s buttock clench and relax, clench and relax, a soothing rhythm that matched Court’s own shuffling footfalls.
Before they made a mile, Court found himself dozing again, his body moving forward with a robotic detachment as his eyes shut and his mind drifted to the past.
Up until his last year of high school, Court hadn’t planned on going to college. He couldn’t afford it, really—his grades weren’t the best, he didn’t excel in any sports, and he had no real ambition in life beyond moving out of his mother’s place and renting an apartment with Ronnie. Maybe they’d take Vo-Tech classes, get some hands-on experience in auto repair, find a job at a dealership in the service department somewhere. At seventeen, he didn’t really want all that much out of life. A cold beer, video games, maybe a party on the weekend. And Ronnie. What else did Court need?
So it came as a bit of a shock the day when Ronnie came into the cafeteria during Court’s lunch hour and tossed down a college application onto the table beside his tray. “Fill this out,” Ronnie said.
Court glanced at it, then looked up at his friend. “What for?”
Ronnie shrugged his book bag onto his shoulder. They didn’t share a lunch period, and if he didn’t leave now, he’d probably be late for class. “I’m going. So are you. Fill it out.”
“I don’t…” Court flipped through the application, daunted. “You’re going? When did this happen?”
Ronnie wasn’t any smarter than Court was—in fact, many of Court’s teachers complained he didn’t apply himself, and more than one had asked if he was just playing dumb to bring himself down to his friend’s level. The few times this came up, Court grew pissed. Ronnie wasn’t stupid, Court would tell the teacher, rushing to his friend’s defense. He had more street smarts than anyone Court knew. So what if he couldn’t write a five paragraph essay, or if he struggled with long division, or if he never remembered how to conjugate verbs in French? None of that mattered in the real world.
Part of him probably rejected the thought of going to college because he’d always suspected Ronnie wouldn’t go, and Court didn’t want anything to come between them. So far, nothing had.
Now, this.
“Just fill it out,” Ronnie told him. “I put down Communications but Mr. Horne said I could change it later if I wanted, once I get there.”
Mr. Horne—Ronnie’s guidance counselor. He would’ve seen Ronnie’s grades. He’d know how Ronnie struggled in school. Cautiously, Court asked, “How do you know you’re going?”
But Ronnie really was running late. As he backed into the crowd, he called out, “I just am, okay? So are you. See you in Algebra.”
And he was gone.
When Court had thought of college, it’d been in the abstract—it was an idea, something others did, not him. He had never seemed able to fit himself into the image. But the moment his mother dropped him and Ronnie off at the dorm room that would be their home freshman year, he felt complete. This was the life he wanted, and it didn’t matter if he had to keep going to school to get it. With Ronnie at his side, he felt invincible.
Then Ronnie met Melissa.
Though the guys took the same biology lecture course on Tuesday nights, the lab Court signed up for was full when Ronnie tried to register. Because of that, bio lab was the only class they didn’t share. Court had his on Wednesday morning—he figured the sooner after the lecture, the better; keep things fresh in his mind—and Ronnie’s was on Thursday evening. Melissa Davis sat beside Ronnie at the lab station. Court heard all about her when Ronnie came back to the dorm after his first lab. As Ronnie talked about her, a dull pain began to throb in Court’s chest like a heart attack, threatening to choke out the very breath in his lungs.
Melissa. A petite, pretty, strawberry blonde. A good seven inches shorter than Ronnie, who stood just a hair over six feet. She came up to his collarbone, a fact he related to Court with a depreciating laugh. Wild, curly hair added an extra couple inches to her height. Freckled, Ronnie said, but he didn’t explain just how freckled and, when Court finally met her, he was unprepared for the extent of skin the freckles covered. The moment he saw her in the distance, Court thought she was simply tanned, but no—as he came closer, he noticed every exposed inch of her flesh was dotted with pale spots the color of watered-down coffee. Face, neck, arms, legs. Freckles covered more of Melissa than most costumes worn by Olympic figure skaters.
“Maybe she has vitiligo,” he suggested once he and Ronnie were alone again. “You know, she’s really dark and the spots of pale skin are the anomaly. No one has that many freckles. Seriously.”
Ronnie shook his head. “She does.”
“Everywhere?” Court pressed. “Have you looked?”
The leer Ronnie gave him made Court’s chest hurt all over again. “Not yet.”
It was a few weeks into the fall semester before Ronnie pointed Melissa out to Court in the cafeteria. Court knew Ronnie well enough to recognize the sudden quietness that descended over him in her presence. He was smitten, plain and simple. He grew sullen, brooding, given to lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for no reason whatsoever. He didn’t answer when Court asked if he wanted to watch something on TV, or head down to the dining hall for a late night snack, or catch a ride into town for a party. He drew farther into himself, and Court knew it was all Melissa’s fault.
And it was up to Court to do something about it.
Struggling against the jealousy that threatened to suffocate him, Court sat on the edge of Ronnie’s bed one evening and ran his hand along his friend’s leg. Ronnie’s gaze shifted from the ceiling to Court, then back again. “What.”
Without preamble, Court said, “Ask her out.”
Now Ronnie looked at him again, really looked at him. “What? Who?”
“You know who.” Court strummed his finger up along the seam in Ronnie’s jeans, tracing it from knee to hip and back again. “This moping about is getting on my last nerve. Either you ask her or I will.”
Ronnie’s eyes widened. “You’d ask her for me?”
“No, I’d ask her out for me.” Court gave Ronnie a sardonic grin. “What’s the worst she can say? No.”
Ronnie nodded. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Though Court couldn’t see what the big deal was, he hated seeing Ronnie like this. “If she says no, then she’s a fucking idiot. Who wouldn’t want to go out with you?”
The next time
Ronnie had lab, Court told him, “You ask her out or don’t bother coming back tonight. I’m not going to sit here listening to you moan and shit. Got that?”
“If she says no,” Ronnie cautioned, “I’m coming back here and taking it out on you.”
“Promises, promises. She won’t say no,” Court said with a grin, though, secretly…?
Well, she didn’t say no, not exactly. She said she’d go out, but only if Ronnie knew someone who’d agree to take her roommate Jeanine out, too. A double date, wouldn’t that be great? If Ronnie knew anyone…
“Fuck me,” Court muttered when Ronnie told him. When he’d met Melissa in the cafeteria, there had been a handful of other girls sitting at the same table. One of them must’ve been her roomie, but which one? He couldn’t remember. “Does it have to be me?”
Ronnie nodded. “She said Jeanine thought you were cute. So if you’ll go out with us…”
“She better not be the ugly one,” Court threatened, though to be honest, he didn’t recall what any of the girls had looked like—he’d been studying Melissa, trying to see what Ronnie saw in her, and he still didn’t get it. Then Ronnie’s words sank in. “Wait, she said I was cute? So she likes me?”
“What’s not to like?” Ronnie asked. “You are cute.”
“You think so?” Court felt a silly smile stretch across his face. “When’s this date?”
Court stumbled into Ronnie and opened his eyes, surprised to find himself older than he’d been moments before and walking in the hot, late afternoon sun down the middle of an empty interstate. Well, not empty, exactly—a few wrecked cars lay tangled on one side of the road, as if the head-on collision that totaled their chassis had been strong enough to fling them clear off the highway. A dozen yards away, a metallic road sign glittered in sunlight. Now Entering Greensville County.
All Court knew of Greensville County was that it was due south of Petersburg, and Interstate 95 ran through it on the way down to North Carolina. Which was above South Carolina, which was where Fort Sumter was located. So they were still heading in the right direction. Good.
The memories of Melissa and Jeanine faded as the sun beat down on Court with a relentless urgency. His college days seemed like a lifetime ago; the time spent with Jeanie up until she passed from the virus, just as ephemeral. Nothing mattered anymore but putting one foot in front of the other, moving on down the line, heading for the source of a distant signal promising relief.
Promising civilization, Court hoped, or some semblance thereof. Something better than this.
His fingers curled into Ronnie’s pocket and he shook his head to clear the last of the daydreams from it. Ronnie had stopped walking, which in turn caused Court to stop, as well. Now he yawned to wake himself up a little and looked around again. Some members of their group were already crowding around the wrecked cars, looking for supplies. “Where are we?” he asked.
“Sleep well?” Ronnie countered. He reached behind him and plucked Court’s hand from his pocket, but instead of dropping it, he threaded his fingers through Court’s. “Come with me.”
Court obeyed, falling into step beside Ronnie. His hand felt hot in Ronnie’s grip, but he didn’t dare pull it back. “What’s up?”
Together they moved a little ways away from the others. Bree and Adam watched as the cars were ransacked—Court caught Bree looking at them but ignored her. Two or three yards down the road, Ronnie stopped and pulled Court up beside him. He turned toward Court, but instead of looking at his friend, he gazed off into the trees lining the side of the road.
Ronnie’s gaze was so steady, so sure, that Court glanced behind him to make sure whatever Dizzy thought might be following them wasn’t sitting on the side of the road, waiting to make its move.
The shoulder was clear, and if anything moved within the woods, Court couldn’t see it. Still, he kept his voice low as he asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Look down the road a bit,” Ronnie said. “What do you see?”
Court looked back the way they’d come, to the wrecked cars and the people now crawling over them like flies. “I don’t—”
“The way we’re headed,” Ronnie explained. “In front of you, up ahead.”
Court turned and did as instructed. The highway stretched out to the horizon, tarmac meeting sky as far as the eye could see. The heat rising off the road shimmered in the distance, playing with perspective, and from here, Court thought he saw something silvery flash at the edge of the world. Was that what Ronnie wanted him to see? “Ronnie, I don’t…”
His friend leaned closer, until his lips almost touched Court’s ear. “Your eyes have always been sharper than mine,” Ronnie breathed. The manly scent of sweat rising from him made Court’s balls clench with desire. “I can see the sun winking off something up there but I can’t really tell what it is. I thought you might be able to make it out a little better.”
At his encouragement, Court squinted his eyes and tried to focus. Past the heat waves, across the miles, he peered down the road and noticed it rose slightly, a faint hill he’d probably never notice if he were driving but which his legs would feel as they trudged along. Whatever was catching the sun and tossing it back at them out there was just over the rise and stretched from one side of the road to the other. He couldn’t be sure, but if he had to put a name to it, he’d say it must be…
“Cars,” he sighed. He felt Ronnie tense beside him and nodded, more sure now. “A line of them strung out across the highway, just on the other side of this rise.”
“Another wreck?” Ronnie asked.
Court thought of the two cars twisted together behind them on the side of the highway and shook his head. “I think…this is going to sound strange, I know, and I’m probably completely wrong, but—”
Ronnie’s grip tightened around Court’s fingers. “But what?”
“But I think someone put them there,” he replied. “I don’t know why. Maybe like a barricade? Or a boundary line? That sounds silly, doesn’t it? Out here in the middle of nowhere.”
Ronnie shook his head. “No. It sounds about right to me.”
Chapter 5
The farther down the road they moved, the clearer they could see what lay ahead. Cars lined the road, just as Court had said—wrecks, from the look of it, some with the dead bodies of their former owners still inside. Smashed windshields reflected the last of the afternoon sun, which flickered off chrome fenders, aluminum hubcaps, metallic roofs and hoods. Court let his gaze travel from one side of the road to the other, counting the cars strung out across its width. Seven in all, four on the left side stretched from shoulder to median, and three on the right, in their path, from median to shoulder.
Or rather, from shoulder to shoulder—here the highway had a small space a car’s width on the left side of the innermost lane. Most likely, the space had been used by emergency vehicles when needed, ambulances or police cars, a small fire engine maybe, if traffic veered to the right a little to make room. For some reason, the lined-up cars didn’t cross into this space. To Court it almost looked like a gate or doorway, as if someone had placed the wreckage to block off the road and left this one little opening to control who came and went past that point.
Why bother? If it had been done to prevent infected people from coming farther south, it failed miserably. The virus had been airborne and, from what Court had seen on the news back when there had been news, it decimated populations across the globe simultaneously. If it’d been a terrorist attack, it had failed miserably because whoever set it loose must have also succumbed to it, too, in the end. All but a handful were dead, and Court suspected his little band of merry travelers probably made up a large portion of the remaining population.
Unless Sumter turned out to be all he hoped for and more.
Ronnie slowed as they neared the barricade, and Court matched his step to his friend’s. These cars hadn’t crashed here, that much was obvious. Someone had gone to the trouble of moving them here, for some reason
. Court suspected they probably didn’t want to know why. “Maybe we could go around?” he suggested.
The slight shake of Ronnie’s head made Court’s spirits sink. “There are guys with guns in the trees. Watching us. Just keep walking, keep your hands where they can be seen, and don’t make any sudden moves. Got that?”
Court splayed his fingers out at his sides, keeping his arms clear of his body. “You’re shitting me.”
In that same, low voice, Ronnie said, “I wish I was.”
As they neared the cars, Bree started forward, eager to raid them for any supplies left behind, but Court caught her arm and held her back. “What…?”
He shook his head in eerie imitation of Ronnie. “I don’t think that’s such a good—”
“Well, well, well,” a deep male voice drawled from up ahead. “Just where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Court’s feet stopped of their own accord, suddenly too heavy to keep moving forward. Bree froze beside him; only Ronnie managed another step or two before coming to a halt. He reached back and Court took his hand. Ronnie squeezed Court’s fingers once, then let go.
From the gap beside the median wall stepped a thin, reedy man in what used to be an orange prison jumpsuit. The sleeves had been torn off and the front zipper ripped out, exposing a pale chest covered in fading blue jailhouse tattoos. The man’s head was shorn and his earlobes ragged, as if the earrings he once wore had been ripped from their holes. When he smiled, his mouth was full of black spots—from this distance, Court couldn’t tell if they were missing or decaying teeth, and to be honest, he didn’t much care. His gaze kept returning to the sawed-off shotgun in the man’s hand.
Ronnie took another step closer to the barricade and Court had to fight the urge to keep from pulling his friend back. “We’re headed south,” Ronnie said, his voice easily carrying in the late afternoon silence. “We don’t want any trouble—”
“Then turn back,” the guy said. To emphasize his point, he cocked the shotgun, and Court heard a dozen other clicks from behind the vehicles as other weapons were readied to be fired.