by J. M. Snyder
“You think we’re dead if we stay here,” Ronnie said. Not asking this time.
With a little half-shrug, Dizzy admitted, “Don’t know. But I’d rather be on the move, all the same. Now that we’ve got somewhere to go, I’d like to get there as soon as I can. If Sumter’s what they say—”
“What do they say?” Bree spoke up. She looked from Dizzy to Court, searching. “The transmission is so broken up, you can’t really hear what they’re saying.”
“I can hear enough,” Dizzy told her. “Enough to know I want to get out there, if I can. They have food—”
“So do we,” she pointed out.
“Electricity,” Dizzy said, with a look that dared her to respond to that. “Running water, medical supplies, you name it. To me, it sounds like they’re starting fresh and beginning to rebuild. We need that. We all need it.”
Court looked at Ronnie, who was still concentrating on his weapon. He didn’t think he had to mention the fact that he couldn’t walk, and that, for him, Sumter seemed a world away right now.
When Ronnie set the gun aside and began to put away his cleaning tools, Dizzy leaned further into the tent. “Come with us. We can be there in a week.”
For the first time since Dizzy had appeared, Ronnie looked at him. The steel in his eyes was hard enough to make the former military man flinch back. “I’m not leaving Court.”
Dizzy rocked back on his heels. “Okay. So what are you saying?”
“Leave us some food,” Ronnie said. “A day or two worth, nothing much. I’m sure we’ll be able to find more soon enough. Whoever wants to go with you can go. Anyone who wants to stay here can. You can maybe leave today, if you can get your things together before two or so. After that, I’d suggest waiting until morning.”
“I’m not waiting,” Dizzy said. Behind him came murmurs from others who agreed. “Whatever attacked those guys is still in the area. I can feel it. I’m not hanging around here any longer than I have to.”
Mutterings beyond the tent bolstered his announcement. Court heard rattling pans and shifting fabric, sounds of people beginning to pack up.
Ronnie nodded as if he’d expected as much. “Just leave us a few cans of soup. Say, two apiece. Maybe a box of oatmeal—”
“Some rice,” Court spoke up. Ronnie gave him an exasperated grin. “What? I like rice. I know we have plenty.”
Beside him, Bree stood. To Dizzy, she said, “I’ll get the food together. When’s everyone leaving?”
“An hour?” he asked over his shoulder. Court saw heads nod and heard a few people call out in affirmation. Dizzy turned back and leaned in, hand outstretched. “You guys take care.”
Court shook his hand. He had a firm, solid grip that almost made Court wince. Then Ronnie took Dizzy’s hand and pumped it once. “We’ll be fine,” he assured anyone within earshot. “When he heals up, we’ll follow right behind you. Stay on 95, if you can—”
“It goes all the way down,” Dizzy said.
“Then we’ll catch up.” Ronnie stood and slipped his gun into its holster on his belt. “If you get there first, save us a spot. Keep them safe. I know you will. Should I say something, do you think?”
Dizzy grinned as he turned to address those outside the tent. “I think we all heard you. Whoever wants to come with me, get your shit together. We leave in an hour. If you want to stay…”
He shrugged, as if to say whoever wanted to stay was taking their lives into their own hands. Then he ducked out of the tent and headed for his own, to pack up and get ready to move out.
Ronnie clapped Court’s shoulder as he passed. “Let me check with Bree on the food. Be right back.”
“Don’t forget my rice,” Court yelled after his friend. A thrill of excitement ran through him. In an hour, it’d be just the two of them again. Even in this ravaged, decimated world, having Ronnie all to himself would be paradise.
Within an hour, the majority of the campsite was packed up and cleared out. From his spot just inside the open flap of his tent, Court watched as people he’d been traveling with for days tore down their own shelters, rolled up their sleeping bags, and shoved all they owned into overstuffed backpacks and rolling luggage. A few stopped by to say farewell, and Court found himself searching for names he must’ve heard earlier but no longer knew. They had grown too large a crowd, he thought. Another day or two traveling with so many people would’ve caught the attention of whatever it was that had attacked the inmates.
They were better off on their own, he and Ronnie. The way they had started out. It only seemed right.
As the last of the group trailed up the hill to the road, Dizzy came to say goodbye. Dizzy shook Court’s hand again, another firm grip that threatened to crush his fingers, then asked Ronnie, “Will you come up and see us off? It’ll mean a lot to them.”
From where he sat beside Court’s sleeping bag, Ronnie rolled his eyes and groaned. “I hardly think—”
“He’s right,” Court told his friend. Ronnie glared at him, but Court didn’t back down. “Just go. It’ll take two minutes. I’m sure I can manage to survive on my own for that long.”
Ronnie leaned heavily on Court’s good leg as he stood, pressing down hard as if in protest. “I should leave with them.”
With a grin, Court joked, “Yeah, right. Like they’d have you now after you pissed them all off.”
But his heart clenched at the feeble threat, because despite the fact that Ronnie had said what he did, Court knew no one would protest his coming along with the group if he changed his mind. In fact, many would welcome him. He was aloof and distant, yes, but he had a raw magnetism that drew people to follow him. At least, it drew Court to Ronnie, and everyone else had fallen into place behind him so easily, he had little doubt they wouldn’t bother lining up again. They craved stability, security, community. Ronnie gave them direction. They wanted to blindly follow him, as much as Court did. Let Ronnie do the thinking. Let Ronnie worry about what might happen next, plan for it, prepare against it, and save them from it, whatever it might be.
It was a heady thought, giving up a measure of oneself in exchange for coming out alive at the end. And a mighty burden, too. No wonder Ronnie didn’t want the weight of a makeshift civilization on his shoulders.
After Ronnie and Dizzy left, the woods around Court’s tent fell silent. Distant birds called to one another, and the wind rustled through the trees, but they were lonesome sounds, inhuman, lonely. Court remembered the way he had felt when Jeanine breathed her last—the world around him had seemed to stop for a moment, frozen in time, and he was the only thing still living, still moving, an anachronism among the dead. In that instant, he fully understood how pervasive the virus had been. He sensed nothing living around him, nothing at all. The programs on television, the voices on the radio, the stars on the movie screen, the people online…all gone, leaving him behind, one man all alone. The crushing sense of stillness pressed in against him, threatening to crush the life from him, as well, and he probably would’ve curled up beside his wife’s dead body and laid there, waiting for death to claim him, too, if Ronnie hadn’t walked into the room at that moment.
Not only alive but larger than life. Ronnie. Was that the instant in which Court began to love his friend? No…if he was going to admit it, he might as well be honest with himself, if no one else. He’d loved Ronnie from the very start, and the moments in their friendship that stood out in Court’s memory were only affirmations of that feeling, riveting it into place.
Slowly, he began to distinguish the sound of feet walking over fallen leaves, a crunching sound that started quietly at first but soon grew to drown out the wind and the birds. A shadow passed by the tent, and Court leaned forward a little, anxious. It was Ronnie, right? It had to be. Tentatively, he called out, “How’d it go?”
“Well,” a woman replied, then Bree ducked into the tent flap and sank to the canvas floor beside Court’s injured leg. She gave him a sunny grin. “Some of them tried to get Ronnie t
o change his mind. Like he’d ever leave you.”
Her words made Court’s breath catch in his throat. “Why aren’t you with them?”
Bree shrugged, her ponytail flopping off her shoulder. “I’m not going.”
“What?” Court clutched the empty Thermos and twisted the cap reflexively. “I thought everyone was.”
“Everyone but you and Ronnie,” Bree pointed out. “And me, and Adam. We decided to stay.”
Great, Court thought. “Wait, no. I thought—”
“Too late,” Bree said. “Adam said he needs to keep an eye on your leg, so he isn’t going, and neither am I. Ronnie said we could stay.”
Court groaned. “Ronnie said…”
Bree gave him a sympathetic pat on the leg. “I know, you thought you’d have him all to yourself. But I like you guys too much to call it quits now. Plus, Adam’s staying, so…”
“You said that.” Court flopped onto his back and stared at the tent’s ceiling. “My leg is fine. Adam isn’t even a doctor.”
“He is, too,” Bree protested. “Just not a people doctor, but he knows the basics. He stopped your bleeding, didn’t he? And I have the pain pills, so stop complaining. It isn’t like we’re going to be sleeping in here with you two, or anything.”
Court bit the inside of his cheek to keep quiet. Bree was right, really, but Court had wanted Ronnie all to himself so badly, and for what? He wasn’t about to confess his feelings for his friend. But part of him remembered an easier time, a more carefree life, before marriage, before college even, when it’d been just the two of them against the world. He had hoped to get that back. But given the way things had changed around them, would anything ever be the same again?
Quietly, Bree stretched out beside him on her side. Her head came to his shoulders, and she had to look up to see his face. “Hey,” she murmured. “You mad?”
After a moment, Court shook his head.
“We’ll go if you want,” Bree suggested, though something in the tone of her voice made Court suspect she was only saying that to appease him.
“No,” he said, shaking his head again. He forced a smile, and it almost felt genuine. “I like you. Adam, too, but you…you remind me of Jeanie.”
“Your wife?” Bree propped her head up with her hand and looked down at Court. “What was she like?”
Court grinned. “Feisty, like you. A pain in the ass sometimes, and always right, even when I didn’t want her to be.”
Bree laughed. “Sounds like a match made in heaven. I’m surprised, though. If you like Ronnie—”
“He doesn’t know.” Court turned to her and stared into her eyes, willing her to listen. “You can’t say anything, Bree. You can’t tell him—”
“I won’t, don’t worry,” she hurried to assure him. “He won’t find out from me.”
A subtle way of saying she thought he should be the one to say something, but he couldn’t. He had too much to lose.
Ronnie must’ve noticed Bree lying beside Court when he ducked his head into the tent flap, but he didn’t say anything. He glanced at her, then at Court, and asked simply, “Where’s your gun?”
“My…what?” Court raised himself up on his elbows and frowned at his friend. “What do you want it for? You already have one.”
“Just give it,” Ronnie said.
There were two guns, twins, one worn at Ronnie’s hip and the other tucked safely into the bottom of Court’s backpack. When the first reports of the virus had started filling the airwaves, it was Ronnie who suggested they buy protection. Court was against the idea from the start. “I don’t like guns,” he’d said. “I have terrible aim. Ask Jeanie. Most days I even miss the toilet.”
Ronnie hadn’t laughed at the lame joke. “Things are only going to get worse. We need something. What if something happens to one of us? To Jeanine?”
Court had had no response to that. The truth was, Jeanine had already begun showing the first symptoms, and he worried she might have whatever it was going around. A gun couldn’t guard against a germ. But Ronnie was adamant, and Court hadn’t yet said no to anything Ronnie wanted. So, guns it was. A pair of revolvers, a matched set, which they bought together though Ronnie picked them out. Like the wedding rings.
Court didn’t like the gun. It felt heavy and awkward in his grip, deadly even when unloaded. He didn’t want anything to do with it. Let Ronnie unload it and wipe it down. Let Ronnie tuck it into a holster. It was Ronnie’s toy, not Court’s.
For a long time, the weapon stayed hidden on the top shelf of the living room coat closet, way in the back out of reach. It didn’t cross his mind again until after Jeanie was gone and Ronnie had retrieved it, still wrapped in oiled cloth, as heavy and as deadly as it had been when they bought it.
“Carry this,” Ronnie had said.
Court remembered protesting. “I don’t want to.”
Ronnie only stared at him until he tucked it into his bag. By then, Ronnie’s gun was on his hip. Court almost suggested he wear both of them, but the image of his friend as a lawless gunslinger made him hold his tongue. One gun made sense in the mess that had become of the world around them, but two might invite trouble. Better to keep the second gun hidden away, out of sight.
But every step Court took, he swore he felt the gun strike against his back, and the weight bore him down.
Now Ronnie wanted the gun. “What for?” Court asked again, even as he reached for his bag.
He didn’t expect an answer, and Ronnie didn’t give one. Court retrieved the gun from the bottom of his pack, the metal still wrapped in oily cloth to keep it clean. Even hidden in the cloth, it felt dangerous. Ronnie took it from Court’s numbed fingers and quickly unraveled the wrappings, tossing them aside. The gun gleamed a dull gray, a painful color, like a headache brought on by the sun.
Behind Ronnie, Adam peered into the tent. “What’s that?”
Quickly, Ronnie checked the chambers—empty. Court refused to load the weapon. “Hand me the bullets.”
“Ronnie,” Court warned, but he did as he was told, rolling over to reach the open box of ammunition amid Ronnie’s things. His fingers ran over the cold, metal casings and a shiver went through him. “I’m not carrying that. You know I can’t shoot.”
“It isn’t for you.” Nimbly Ronnie loaded the gun, then sat back on his heels to hand it to Adam. “I need you to be on the lookout for a while.”
Adam frowned at the gun but didn’t take it. “I can’t…me? No. I don’t want it.”
Ronnie sighed. “Just until we get back—”
“We who?” Court asked, his voice suddenly unnaturally high. “Ronnie, where are you going?”
“They didn’t leave us much food.” Ronnie looked at Adam, then turned to Bree before finally settling on Court. “Just a couple of cans, enough for tonight, nothing more. There’s daylight left. Bree and I will go out and scavenge around, see what we can find—”
“And leave us here?” Court asked. “My leg…”
“You’ll have a gun,” Ronnie pointed out. He turned to Adam, the weapon extended butt-first. “Go on, take it. If anything happens—”
“No,” Adam said again, this time with a shake of the head to punctuate his refusal. “I’ve never shot anything in my life and I’m not about to start now.”
Ronnie explained, “If something attacks—”
“An animal, you mean? I can’t.” Adam shook his head again. “I always hated euthanasia but that was peaceful, even necessary. This…this is savage.”
“It’s life or death,” Ronnie said. “Your life. Court’s. You have to do it.”
Adam wasn’t swayed. “No. I won’t.”
With an exasperated sigh, Bree pushed herself up from the floor of the tent. “Give me the damn thing. I’ll do it.”
All eyes turned her way. Court almost laughed. “You?”
“What?” Bree asked, defensive. “I can shoot. Just because I’m a cute little girl doesn’t mean I don’t have wicked aim. I grew up i
n southwest Virginia. School was closed the first day of hunting season. My dad taught me how to shoot ducks and skin deer before I even got my first period.”
Court felt a thin blush heat his cheeks, and Adam looked away, embarrassed. Ronnie stared at Bree a moment longer, then handed her the gun. “Show me.”
She took the offered weapon and quickly looked it over the same way Ronnie always did when he checked his own gun. Satisfied, she crawled out of the tent, past Ronnie and Adam, to stand a short distance away. “Give me a target,” she said.
Court scooted closer to the opening, eager to watch. Ronnie leaned back on one hand, his arm pressing against Court’s good leg. Adam moved to Court’s other side, wiping his glasses on his shirt before pushing them up on his nose.
“That broken limb hanging off the tree over there,” Ronnie said, pointing. The limb in question hung well above the ground, balanced precariously among other branches. It was maybe two hundred yards away, clear on the other side of what had been their campground. “Or is that too far?”
“That’s nothing.” Bree raised the gun with both hands and sighted. Then she dropped one hand to her side, thumbed off the safety, and squeezed the trigger.
Sound exploded around them, scaring birds into flight and deafening Court. Even though he’d been expecting it, the sudden noise still made him jump. In the distance, the limb splintered and dropped from the branches to the ground, a direct hit.
Bree reset the safety and turned, one hand on her hip. “Well?”
With fluid grace, Ronnie rose to his feet. “Stay here with Court. Adam, you come with me.”
Court was glad Bree had the gun. Every noise spooked him now that Ronnie was gone. The wind through the trees and rustling leaves masked the sound of approaching feet sneaking up on them. The tent protected him and hid anything that might be creeping up from behind. He jumped when a twig snapped, when the small stream nearby gurgled, when a bird called on the wing. “What was that?”