by J. M. Snyder
“I just woke up,” Court countered.
With a grunt, Ronnie said, “Then watch out for the glass.”
Carefully, Court skirted the shattered glass to sink down beside Ronnie. He sat so close, almost sitting on Ronnie’s hip as he lowered himself to the floor. Ronnie raised an arm and draped it around Court’s shoulders, hugging him close. Now Court was warm, and drowsy again, too. Who needed Sumter? Ronnie made him feel safe.
“You should try to get a little more sleep,” Ronnie told him.
Court sighed against Ronnie’s shoulder. “Only if you sleep with me.”
Ronnie let out a low chuckle. Court felt it vibrate through him and grinned. Wrapping his arms around Ronnie’s waist, Court sat up enough to kiss his friend’s chin. “When we get to Sumter, we’ll have a room all to ourselves,” he murmured. “Hopefully with a view of the water, and a window that opens to the morning sun, and—”
“Don’t get your hopes up.” Ronnie’s curt reply cut through Court’s whisper, silencing him.
Court glanced at him sharply. “What do you mean?”
In reply, Ronnie handed over a rumpled brochure he must’ve picked up off the floor in the reception area. On the front was a sepia-toned sketch of—just as Court had imagined it—a large walled fortress, two stories high, the lower level ringed with cannon. “This is perfect,” he said, awed, as he took the brochure.
Inside was an artist’s rendering of the fort as it must have appeared in 1861. It had five sides, all armed and ready to hold off any attack. Inside the fort, barracks reached up three stories, over the back walls to afford the officers rooming on the top an expansive view of Charleston harbor. Windows looked out into a large parade ground, and a quick count put the number of rooms into the hundreds. The fort was on an island, reachable only by a forty-five minute boat ride.
It was perfect.
But Ronnie apparently didn’t think so. “That’s what it used to look like,” he said, taking the brochure, folding it to a small photograph, and handing it back. “This is all that’s there today.”
The footprint of the five-sided walls was still in evidence, but the walls themselves had crumbled down to a single level. A large, black building stood at the heart of the structure, but when Court found the map, he realized the building wasn’t barracks at all but rather a gift shop and administrative offices. There were no officer rooms any more, nowhere to live or sleep, nothing but a grassy, rubble-strewn parade ground open to the elements and stony nooks that once housed cannon. He leaned in close, angling the brochure so he could see it in the pale morning light, but no matter which way he held it, the photograph stayed the same.
“Damn,” he murmured. “Maybe—”
“Maybe nothing,” Ronnie snapped. “It’s an island, which means there’s probably a small generator somewhere in that admin building large enough to power the computers and phones and shit, but what good are those to us now?”
“They might have a fridge,” Court offered.
Ronnie shook his head. “What they have is long-range radio that can be heard up and down the east coast now that there’s no other signals in the air. They have the remains of what used to be a huge fort and isn’t any longer. They have an island, yes, but think about it. That means whoever’s in charge down there is calling the shots. Someone’s telling people who can get on the boat to go over to Sumter and who has to stay behind.”
Court frowned at the brochure as Ronnie’s words sank in. Yes, it would make sense to limit the number of people who descended upon the place. Too many and it’d be overrun in no time. Even a small group like the one that left them behind weeks ago would’ve seemed a crowd in such a small area what remained of the Sumter parade field.
And that had only been a handful of survivors from the Richmond/TriCities area. How many people were left in Virginia who heard the radio broadcast? In North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, or Florida? How much farther north did the transmission go—D.C., Maryland, New Jersey? How many people were still alive after the virus?
Strung out the way they were, it seemed at times as if Court and his little quartet were alone in the world, but he knew that wasn’t true. There were the others they’d traveled with, for instance, and the prisoners who had guarded the interstate, and the women dead in the woods. How many were heading to Sumter, same as he?
“How many people do you think are still alive?” he asked softly, fingering the brochure.
Ronnie shrugged. “A while back I read an article in the newspaper that said there were over three hundred million people in the United States.”
“Three hundred million?” Court sat up with a start. “Is that even a number? You’re shitting me.”
Another shrug, and Court settled down against Ronnie’s shoulder again. “That’s a lot,” Court said.
“Say the virus killed almost all of them,” Ronnie said.
Court tried to remember what he’d read about the virus, back in the early days when people started dying and panic was setting in. “I think I heard somewhere that one percent survived, or something.”
“They were immune,” Ronnie corrected. “And one percent of three hundred million is…well…”
He trailed off, lips moving silently as he tried to work it out in his head. Court watched him a moment, then tried to do the math himself, but how many zeroes were there in three hundred million? He had no clue.
“One percent of three hundred is one,” Court said.
Ronnie gave him a sideways look. “No, it’s three.”
“So three times a million is…” Court waited for Ronnie to jump in, hopeful he might know the answer, even though neither had been very good at math back in school. They were caught cheating once on an algebra test in the ninth grade only because they both had the same wrong answers.
When Ronnie didn’t answer, Court hazarded a guess. “Maybe three billion? Is a billion more or less than a million? Three hundred billion?”
Ronnie shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The thing is, there are a lot of us left, and if only a fraction makes it to Sumter, it’ll still be way more than can possibly fit inside. Right now we have the world to ourselves, you know? If we go there, we’ll just get lost in the crowd.”
Court carefully folded the brochure as he tried to corral his thoughts. What was Ronnie trying to tell him? He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to guess, so he asked outright, “So what are you saying?”
Silence stretched out between them. Court felt an apprehension curl through his stomach, a fear as palpable as nausea, and he held his breath, waiting for Ronnie to break the tension, to say something to reassure him. But of what? He didn’t know, but a small voice inside him spoke up, pleading. Please, it said, over and over again. Please, Ronnie. Please.
Finally Ronnie sighed and admitted, “I don’t think I want to go to Sumter anymore.”
Sudden panic clawed at Court’s throat. “But we were…I mean, where…what else is there?”
With a shrug, Ronnie admitted, “I don’t know. It’s just—the more I think about it, the more I don’t want to deal with all that hassle. We’re doing fine on our own out here, don’t you think?”
The word we calmed Court down. Before he could say anything, though, the door beside them opened and Bree stepped out, stretching and blinking in the light. “Hey, you two,” she said sleepily, smoothing down her wild hair. “What I wouldn’t give for a few more of those eggs, you know?”
Court waited for Ronnie to tell her he’d changed his mind about going to Sumter, but he kept quiet. Following his lead, Court bit the inside of his lower lip and did the same.
Chapter 13
Court kept waiting for Ronnie to say something about his change of plans to the others, but he didn’t. If he seemed quieter than usual during breakfast, neither Bree nor Adam mentioned it. Court didn’t know if Ronnie wanted the others to know or not, and he couldn’t figure out a way to bring up Sumter that wouldn’t make Ronnie think he was trying to
start something. As Court stared into his bowl of dry cereal, he wondered if maybe he was overthinking things again. Ronnie didn’t say he wasn’t going to go to Sumter, did he? What had his exact words been?
I don’t think I want to go.
That wasn’t exactly stop the ride, I want to get off. Sumter was still a ways away, according to the map. They wouldn’t reach it in a day, maybe not in two days. A lot could change before then, couldn’t it?
Still, Court wished Ronnie would say something about it to Bree and Adam, if only to open it up for discussion. They were all in this together, weren’t they? Maybe neither of them wanted to go to Sumter, either. Or maybe the three of them combined could bring Ronnie back around again. Court didn’t want to do it alone, because if Sumter really did turn out to be a pipe dream, he didn’t want Ronnie to blame him.
But he wanted to see for himself what Sumter might hold. He missed the creature comforts of society—internet porn and Monday night sports, backyard cookouts and cold beers. Clean laundry, showers, toilets that flushed, running water. Lights that came on with a wall switch and illuminated the entire room. Pizza, tacos, take-out. Sure, Sumter wouldn’t have all those things, at least not at first, but if people started to gather together, then they’d eventually start rebuilding the world around them, and replace the things they lost.
No one can replace Jeanie, Court thought suddenly. That life we had before is gone, and nothing anyone does will bring it back any time soon.
Maybe Ronnie was right. Maybe Court was putting too much hope into one broken-down old Civil War fort. Maybe he should be happy with what he had and move on as best he could.
And what did he have? Ronnie, in a way Court never imagined he’d want the guy he grew up with, his best friend, the only man he’d ever love more than anyone else. More than his mother, more than his wife. As far as Court was concerned, the rest of the world could burn to the ground, its ashes blow away on the shifting winds, but as long as Ronnie was beside him, he would go on. Losing Jeanie had been tough, but if he’d lost Ronnie, too? Court knew that would be it, game over, end of story.
So if Ronnie no longer wanted to go to Sumter, neither did Court. And nothing Adam or Bree could say would change his mind.
They were back on the road before the sun had fully risen out of the trees. Court clutched Ronnie’s waist tightly, head tucked between Ronnie’s shoulder blades, eyes shut against the wind. On the bike alongside theirs, Adam wasn’t as lucky—he couldn’t duck down behind Bree, and spent most of the time with his head turned to one side, gulping for air. His hair was disheveled, his glasses grimy with dirt and sweat. The one time Adam glanced over at him, Court hollered, “Beats walking though, right?”
Adam shrugged and shook his head, as if he couldn’t hear anything over the whine of the motors and the wind rushing past.
Shortly after noon, Court peeked over Ronnie’s shoulder and saw a huge, weather-beaten sombrero rising above the road. It swelled in size as they neared, until Court could see a face beneath it, then a large sign. South of the Border. “Hey!” he shouted into Ronnie’s ear. “I always wanted to see this place!”
Ronnie veered off the exit, Bree right behind. South of the Border was a sprawling complex—RV park, hotel rooms, restaurants, stores, arcade, games…a one-stop shop for fun right off the interstate. Growing up, Court knew a lot of kids whose families vacationed in Myrtle Beach and stopped for the night at the Border, though he himself had never been further south than Nags Head, in North Carolina. Even as an adult, he noticed a lot of bumper stickers for the place, all around Richmond. When he proposed to Jeanie, he joked that maybe they could honeymoon there, but she nixed that immediately. “Ronnie’s taking Melissa to the Poconos,” she’d said. “Don’t you want to go there, too?”
It seemed only fitting that he’d finally get to see the place now that it was shut down, the neon dark, the signs unlit. A few RVs sat silent at the hook-ups in the nearby campground, and a handful of cars studded the parking lot. As Ronnie slowed the ATV to a halt, Court threw a smile over at Adam, who towered queasily behind Bree. “Lunch is on me,” he joked. “Margaritas all around!”
Ignoring him, Bree turned off her ATV and told Ronnie, “I hate to say it, but we’re going to need to fuel up if we’re going to ride these things much farther. I’m almost on fumes.”
“There’s a station around to the right,” Adam offered. “I saw it as we were coming in.”
Court laughed. “Yeah, right. Like the pumps work, dumb ass.”
“We can siphon out the gas,” Ronnie said, in a tone that offered no room for argument. “Let’s grab a bite to eat first, then we’ll worry about the ATVs.”
As Bree started to unpack their supplies, Ronnie asked, “Anyone up for a look around?”
With a shake of his head, Court said, “Not after what we found last time. Take Adam.”
But Adam backed away. “Oh, hell no. What do we need to look around for, anyway? We have enough supplies, don’t we? The sooner we’re back on the road, the happier I’ll be.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you look so thrilled riding on that bike,” Court joked.
Adam jutted out his chin, defiant. “It’s better than walking, isn’t that what you said?”
Court was impressed. “I didn’t think you heard me.”
“I heard you fine,” Adam said. “But if I’d have said anything then, I would’ve gotten a mouth full of bugs.”
“Try driving, then,” Bree groused. “I got bugs in my hair, in my ears, up my nose…”
Lunch was leftover rice from the night before, warm enough to eat from the exhaust the ATV gave off during the ride. Bree opened a can of beans for protein and spooned a helping into each bowl. When she got to Court, he joked, “If you’re eating bugs, I guess you don’t really need these, do you?”
Her thunderous look quashed anything else he might’ve wanted to add.
As they ate, Court waited for Ronnie to say something about Sumter. Hey, you know, I’ve been thinking… But he kept quiet, and Court wondered if maybe he’d changed his mind again. Maybe it’d be nice to take a look, no? Just go on down and see exactly what was happening at the old fort, see how many people had shown up, see if they maybe might want to stay?
Court looked over at Ronnie, who was staring into his bowl and chewing methodically, lost in his own thoughts. He was close enough that Court could nudge him with an elbow. When he did, Ronnie glanced up, blinking, as if disturbed from something ponderous. “Hmm?”
“You okay?” Court asked.
He tried to keep his voice low, but Adam shared a concerned look with Bree, then frowned at Ronnie. “What’s wrong?” Adam wanted to know.
Ronnie shrugged. “Nothing.”
“We’re almost there, aren’t we?” Bree reached into her bag and pulled out a folded map she’d picked up from the welcome center. Spreading it out on the ground between them, she pointed at a spot and said, “This is where we are right now. Another couple hours and we should get here…” Her finger trailed down the thin blue line of the interstate. “We turn off somewhere around here. I’m sure we’ll see the signs.”
“Wait, what?” Court leaned over the map to study it, but he couldn’t make much sense of the lines from his vantage point upside down. “It isn’t straight off 95?”
“It’s in Charleston,” Bree said. “In the harbor. Ninety-five stays further inland until you hit Florida, and then it runs along the coast. You can take it all the way down to the Everglades, if you wanted. Or hop a ferry at the tip and head out to Key West. Though I guess that’s not running anymore.”
“But the ferry out to Sumter is?” Ronnie asked softly.
Bree gave him a sharp look. “They said there’s electricity,” she pointed out. “I’m sure they have gas for the engine, same as us.”
Cautiously, Court ventured, “But how many people can the fort hold, do you think?” He looked at Ronnie, silently willing his friend to back him up, but Ronnie didn’t answer. He w
as staring into his bowl again, once more lost in thought. To Adam and Bree, Court asked, “How many people do you think heard the same broadcast we did? How many are there crowding around the harbor right this minute, trying to reach Sumter?”
A look of fear crossed Adam’s face, but Bree shrugged. “I don’t know. But they’re still broadcasting, aren’t they? So I think they have more than enough room for all of us.”
“You don’t know that,” Adam murmured. “What if—”
“Well, we’ll go and see, okay?” Bree snapped. She glanced around—to Adam, Court, then Ronnie, who didn’t meet her gaze, and back to Court again. “We won’t know until we get there. If we’re lucky, we’ll be there this evening. Then we’ll see what’s going on. Right?”
Court nodded, and Adam did, too, but Ronnie just twisted his lips together and stayed quiet on the matter. Court wanted to ask him point-blank for his opinion, but what if it hadn’t changed since the morning? What if what he had to say wasn’t what any of them wanted to hear?
After lunch, they went to take a look at the gas pumps. Without electricity, the pumps wouldn’t work, but that didn’t stop Court from trying, anyway. He took the nozzle off the first pump he came to and squeezed hard on the trigger. Nothing happened. Not that he was surprised. Still, he raised the nozzle to his ear like a phone receiver and called out, “Hello?”
Bree slapped his arm as she passed. “Stop that.”
Court lowered the nozzle, but instead of hanging it back up, he peered into the small hole and squinted, trying to look down inside. “How’s this siphoning thing work again?”
“We’ll get it straight from the tanks,” Ronnie said, stamping one foot on a manhole cover. He knelt and laced his fingers through a hole in the cover, the muscles in his arms straining like taut rubber bands as he tried to lift the heavy lid. “If we can get to them.”
“Try this.” Bree had found a long, thin, metal rod tossed against the side of the gas station, and she held it in both hands in front of her like a baton.