by A. R. Wise
“Yeah.” I was embarrassed and scrunched my nose as I complained, “Sorry, I don’t know what that was all about. She’s not usually like that.”
“She’s just being a mom,” said Harrison.
I watched in the side view mirror as Zack backed his sedan up and then turned around to head to the rehab center. Ben started the Jeep and we headed off in the opposite direction, towards the ruins of Denver.
“I guess,” I muttered as I clicked my safety belt on.
“Maybe it has something to do with her illness,” said Harrison with a casual tone, as if merely contemplating a well-known fact.
“What illness?” I asked, unaware of what he was referring to.
“I don’t know,” said Harrison. “Whatever it is that’s been making her so sick all time. I figured you already knew what it was.”
“I don’t know about anything,” I said as I turned to look back at Harry.
“Sorry, sorry,” said Harrison as if he’d said something offensive. “I shouldn’t go spreading rumors. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”
“What rumors?” I asked. His obfuscation annoyed me.
“You really hadn’t heard this?” he asked.
My patience ran out and I spoke tersely, “No. Tell me.”
“I didn’t figure a rumor had a chance in hell of staying a secret in that damn place.” Harrison could sense my anger and hurried to continue. “The guards noticed that she was running to the outhouse all the time, and they started wondering what was up. That’s what got everyone talking.”
“And what was everyone saying?” I asked.
“That she was sick with something. Lots of people have their theories, but I don’t think anyone knows for sure.”
I considered it, but then shook my head. “No, she would’ve told me if something was wrong.”
“You sure about that?” Harrison’s tone intimated his disagreement.
“Yes,” I said, although I quickly began to question myself. “Maybe.” It was only the night before that I’d learned of her plan to ask Zack to marry her, and she hadn’t chosen to confide in me on that matter either.
“She looks like she’s sick,” said Ben.
It felt like they were ganging up on me, although I knew that wasn’t the case. “It’s from the stress.” Now I was just trying to convince myself, which was evident in the way I rambled on. “Stress can do that to a person. She’s got the whole damn town breathing down her neck, and half of them want to go to war, but the rest want to hide. I mean, it’s no wonder she looks like hell. No, she’s not sick. She would’ve told me.”
“You’d know better than us,” said Harrison. “We’re just looking in from the outside.”
I suddenly felt like I was too. I watched the image of Zack’s car fading in the side view mirror until we went over a hill, and then they were gone. Unbelievably, I wished we were headed back the other way, back to the rehab center where my family was.
“How far do you think we can drive on the highway?” asked Harrison.
I didn’t realize he was asking me until Ben looked over at me and said, “Annie?”
I’d forgotten that Ben wasn’t as familiar with this area as I was. Back when Hero and I worked with one another, I rarely got the chance to map our trips. “Well, there’s a few ways we can go.”
“Which do you think will be the best way?” asked Ben, and I suddenly felt woefully underprepared.
I shook off my momentary malaise, and retrieved Billy’s map that I’d spent the previous night marking up. It was a travel map that folded out in several odd ways, almost as if it were meant as a puzzle to get back together again once opened. Billy had helped me transfer the notes he kept on which roads were still traversable and other bits of information we knew about the area. Over the past several years, the Rollers had gathered a wealth of information about the area that stretched along the eastern edge of the Rocky Mountains between what had once been Wyoming and Colorado. We knew which areas were controlled by raiders, and what the normal trader routes were. Of course, all of that had been washed away after Jerald’s attack. Billy surmised that the loss of Vineyard, Hanger, and Juniper would have ripples across the landscape, affecting where the raiders took refuge. Not to mention that the traders would’ve either left the area completely or had been brought into Jerald’s fold. Their role in his plans, by delivering tainted food to the settlements, wouldn’t go unpunished. They’d made their way onto the Rollers’ shit list.
“We can…” I caught myself speaking in a subordinate tone, offering instead of commanding. I thought of my mother, and how she always spoke with such conviction while also allowing herself to be open to other people’s opinions. I consciously adjusted the way I spoke in an attempt to be more like her. “We’ll take this down to 470, and then we’ll need to get off the main roads. We don’t want to head into any areas where we can be seen easily. Denver’s roads aren’t bad, but we’ll want to stay away from there. It’s infested, and we heard from traders that military vehicles would take that route from time to time. That’s the last place we want to end up. We’ll have to head west, through some of the suburbs. It might get a little tight in there, but if we can make it out to the foothills the area opens up a little.”
“You’re the boss,” said Ben.
The phrase caused me pain, as if my heart cringed at the suggestion. I looked back into the fading highway disappearing in my side view mirror, more aware than ever of what I’d left behind.
* * *
“That ride would’ve taken us an hour at most in the old days,” said Harrison. He’d been talking about the ways the world had changed after the apocalypse. Ben and I let him prattle on, mostly because we didn’t have anything to add. My mind was focused on thoughts of my mother, and Ben was just naturally quiet. Harrison happily filled the air with his stream of consciousness. “Maybe even less. If the government was good for one thing, it was keeping the old rat race running smoothly.”
He was talking about the current condition of the roads, and how we frequently had to stop to clear the way on our trip north. The Jeep was formidable, and Ben was able to go around most of the variety of things blocking our way, but we were trapped behind downed trees or wrecked cars every five to ten minutes. The Rollers hadn’t been patrolling the area for several months now, and hadn’t been clearing the roads like they usually did. This also wasn’t one of the former trade routes, which meant it was cared for even less.
The pavement had long ago cracked, causing some stretches to have shifted in varying directions, like a sheet of ice over a lake that was slowly breaking apart. Nature was quick to reclaim as much area as possible, and plants sprang from the gaps, utilizing dirt that had blown across the roads and got caught in the cracks. Only buds of growth had managed to bloom so quickly after the wane of winter, but the stalks of last year’s plants, wilted and brown, dotted the roads.
“To and fro,” said Harrison. “To and fro, with nowhere worthwhile to go. That’s the way it was. None of us knew what we had. I guess none of us ever really do, at least not till it’s gone.”
“I can’t tell if you miss the Red days or if you hated them,” said Ben.
“I can’t tell neither,” said Harrison with a chuckle. “Don’t get me wrong, shit was better then. But you know, in a way, it wasn’t. Because you’ll never know how good you’ve got it until it’s gone. That’s the truth. How the fuck would Adam ever know how good it was in Eden unless he got his ass booted out?”
“So you think we needed the apocalypse?” asked Ben, half-heartedly participating in Harrison’s rambling.
“No, of course not,” said Harrison. “Just looking for a silver lining. Now that we got our asses booted out of Eden, we can finally appreciate how good it was.”
“I don’t remember it ever being good,” I said as I stared out the window. “I don’t remember the Red days.”
“You’re practically a Green,” said Harrison. “Does it make you mad to hear a
bout the Red days? Like you got the short end of the stick or something?”
“No,” I said, but I pondered the question. “Not mad. Maybe jealous. I’d like to live in a world where my biggest concerns were boyfriend problems, or what sort of restaurant I wanted to go to, or if I was saving enough for retirement. Those are the kind of problems I’d like to have, instead of…” I motioned outside, at the ruined world around us. “This.”
“Amen,” said Harrison.
We were still south of Denver by the time the sun slid behind the mountains. There would still be a couple hours of daylight, but we knew it was time to start searching for a place to stay. We hadn’t made it nearly as far as I’d hoped, but it wasn’t worth risking traveling at night. The noise from our Jeep attracted enough attention as it was, but driving around with headlights on at night would guarantee that our presence was announced to any raider, soldier, or undead that wandered this region.
Finding a suitable place to rest wasn’t hard, although there were certain steps that needed to be followed. I had a mental checklist of requirements: Minimum of two exits, preferably three. A second floor or attic was preferable, as long as they had easy access to the roof. Homes were better than businesses, although a separation of thirty to fifty feet between houses was necessary, a surprisingly rare thing in many parts of this area – how people managed to live so packed together in the Red days was a mystery to me. Basements weren’t an option, but most had flooded long ago, leaving them rotted and unsuitable. Large homes were never a good choice, because having more walls around you meant you’d be burdened with endless eerie bumps and creaks in the night that would startle you awake – it’s not hard for your imagination to conjure up monsters in the halls when those monsters might actually be there.
The suburbs were the worst place to get stuck, and we were right in the middle of them when we started searching for a place to stop. I wanted to travel to a rural area, where we could find a ranch that would suit our needs (those idyllic, quaint homes set out on a plain, hidden away from the danger of the city were my favorite places to stay), but it would’ve been too far from the job we had to do. While Harrison’s destination wasn’t far from where we ultimately wanted to go, it had diverted our path to the west side of Denver, where the former suburbs of the city had flourished all the way up to the mountains, leaving little open space that wasn’t flooded with decaying buildings and houses that were packed together with barely a yard to spare between them.
“Maybe we should head south,” I said as we drove slowly through these cluttered neighborhoods. “There are some houses that would be better than these.” I gazed in dismay at the rows of duplicate homes, each baring such a striking resemblance to the next that the minor difference in color or regalia did little to add personality.
“Go back?” asked Harrison. “It already took us too long to get out here. Do you really want to backtrack?”
“He’s right,” said Ben. “If we’re going to stay off the highways, then it’ll be slow-going the whole way.” He turned onto another street and said, “This is a dead end. A house down here might be nice and quiet.”
It was a cul-de-sac, and the road led right into a driveway that once had a decorative grassy patch in the center, but was now home to a sizeable tree whose roots had torn up the concrete. It was a two-story home, with a large garage and plenty of windows that had yet to be broken. That was always a good sign, meaning that the home’s structure hadn’t shifted and shattered the glass or succumbed to weather that might’ve degraded the inside.
Ben parked on the street, since the driveway had been ruined by the pine tree that lived there now. Stubs was excited, and started to bark, which he rarely did.
“Better get him outside,” said Ben. “Sounds like he needs to poop.”
Harrison was about to open the door when I stopped him.
“Wait a minute,” I said as I rolled down my window. “Let’s listen first.” I wanted to make sure our trip through the area hadn’t earned us a parade of greys. All we could hear was the happy chatter of birds that were enjoying the current hint of a coming spring. “All right, I think we’re clear.”
“Good,” said Harrison. “Let’s get this dog outside before he starts farting it up in here.” He opened his door and let Stubs jump down. The little dog was quick to relieve himself on the pavement.
Ben and I decided to inspect the house, and left Harrison outside with Stubs. The front door was decorative, although the white paint had begun to crack and flake away and the knocker was missing, leaving three bored holes staring back at us. An odd contraption clung to the handle, appearing similar to a padlock except in place of a dial there were a series of buttons that each bore a number.
“What’s this?” I asked as I fingered the boxy contraption.
“Lockbox,” said Ben. “This house must’ve been up for sale. There’ll be a key inside that.”
“How do we open it?”
“You have to know the code,” said Ben as he took a silver key out of his pocket that was affixed with a rubber stopper near the base. “Luckily, we’ve got a key already.”
“You do?” I was confused and skeptical.
“Bump key,” he said as he fit the standard key into the deadbolt and then took out a metal bar that he tapped on the base of the key. “Locksmiths used to have them. They’ll get you into just about any house. And it’ll keep you from destroying the lock, as long as you’re not using it over and over again.” He used his left hand to turn the key while hitting the base with the metal rod. Within a few seconds, he’d unlocked the door, and then opened it for me. “After you,” he said as he offered the home to me with a sweeping gesture.
“Impressive,” I said as I admired his skeleton key. “I’ll have to get one of those. I usually just break in and board up the door or window from the inside.”
I clicked on my flashlight and shined it inside, piercing the dark that hid the corners from the daylight that snuck through the windows. It was clean within, or as clean as a home that hasn’t been entered in twenty years can be. I sniffed, expecting to smell the familiar odor of feces and urine that dominated most homes, or the musky stench of an animal’s den, but this house was free of it.
“Looks clean,” I said as I stepped inside. The front door opened into the living room. There was a couch with its back to my right, and a large screen television mounted to the stone fireplace that jutted forth from the far wall. Tall, plastic plants stood in the corners, creating a symmetry that disquieted me, a stale precision that the Red world seemed to favor, but that I found claustrophobic and stifling. The coffee table featured several magazines, fanned out as if on display. “Too clean,” I said as I stepped across the white carpet, leaving my muddy footprints behind.
“It wasn’t being lived in,” said Ben as he walked past me and over to the fireplace.
“What do you mean?” I asked as I watched him approach the obscenely large flat screen television.
He pinched the edge of the television and pulled it down. My heart leapt in fear that it was about to collapse and shatter, creating enough noise to alert anyone nearby of our invasion. Instead, the television wavered in his hand, as if it were as light as a feather.
“It’s cardboard. This was a model home, or the realtor had set it up with fake furniture to help it sell.”
I was confounded, and unaware that such a thing had occurred in that lost age. “Realtor?”
“Yeah, the person that was in charge of selling the place. They were called realtors.”
“How do you know about that?” I asked. “I thought you were a kid back when the world went to hell.”
“I was.” He said as he went across the living room and into the adjoined kitchen. He walked back behind the granite-topped island, running his hand across its dusty length. “On my way out to Colorado I slept in a realtor’s office one night. I read one of their handbooks. I normally try to stay at libraries or book stores, so I’ve got something good to
read, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“Libraries?” I asked, surprised. “Aren’t those too big to try and stay in? I was always taught to try and stay in smaller places that could be easily fortified.”
“Yeah, but I loved the feeling of stepping into a place that was filled with all that knowledge. All those books, on any subject I could think of, all at my fingertips.” He smiled and shook his head in appreciation. “That’s paradise for me.”
I chuckled, and it came out more derisively than I’d intended. “I guess so. I don’t like big, dark buildings. Too many places for things to hide.”
Ben was opening the doors in the kitchen, revealing a pantry, the entrance to the garage, and the stairs that led to the basement. We still had to check upstairs, but decided to go down first, since that was usually where you would find any zombies that happened to make their way into a home. The front and back doors were still locked, and the windows hadn’t been broken, giving us both the sense that the house was clear, but you can never be too careful. I’ve been in hundreds of places that seemed safe at first, only to discover zombies writhing about in the basement. For some reason, when they’re not chasing people, Greys seem to be drawn down to the lowest level possible of wherever they’re trapped, almost as if they’re intrinsically drawn to a grave. More likely, they simply followed the path of least resistance when not incensed, which meant they were likely to wander about at the bottom of a set of stairs rather than go up them.
I was reminded of our conversation in the car, when Harrison was equating our new world to Adam’s journey out of Eden. No one in the Red days had to study the patterns of movement in the average zombie’s routine, or give a wide berth when turning a corner to avoid the grasping hands of a hidden attacker, or learn the difference between the sweet stench of rotting flesh and the muted odor of a Grey. These weren’t the trials Adam and Eve dealt with in either of the paradises they lived in. This was the new world; the new hell.
“There’s no water down here,” said Ben as he sniffed. “It’s a bit musty, but looks clear.”