The Two That Remained

by Mauldin, J Fitzpatrick

  Chapter 48

  About an hour before sunset it began to rain, droplets noisily pelting the blue tarp Ryan had erected over the wagon. The place they’d ended up, several miles further down the interstate, was not within eyeshot of any residences or storefronts. He’d expected this to a degree, though perhaps not this severely. It would make gathering extra water or foraging for food a challenge. Anytime they needed something, they would be forced to deviate from the path for a day in search of it. Their journey was already taking longer than he’d originally laid out on his roadmap. Each delay made it all the more dangerous. If they ran out of supplies on the road, he wasn’t sure what to do.

  His uneasy mood dictated that today was a five: Things were okay, but not trending well.

  Ryan was terrified of leaving the interstate. His compass had stopped working and when the skies were overcast it was hard to keep track of direction. He feared that if he wandered too far from the path he might just never find it again. There was a whole lot of nothing the farther west they traveled. For the first time, he considered this might have been a bad idea, but then focused on the lights in the west seen from atop the Southwestern Bell building. He had to know for sure.

  Beneath the blue tarp, they ate dinner, camp space illuminated by the multi-colored rope lights attached to the wagon’s cage. He cleaned Emily and himself as best he could with wet wipes and found several bruises on her legs beneath dirt. When they’d fallen off the game trail he must have tensed and left a mark. Where the animal’s leg had caught him, it was thankfully only sore, a large, black bruise but nothing more. His pulling arm, however, was stiff as dried wood. He took a couple muscle relaxers and tried not to use it—a challenge, being his dominant side. The dull pain began to subside about the time the rest of his body felt as limp as cooked pasta.

  As the rain came down, Emily slept in the cage, Ryan on a raised cot. Even with the soothing patter of water, it was difficult to drift off.

  Something was out there in the dark, Ryan knew it.

  Gusts of wind manipulated by dreams became a beast’s hot breath, waking him in a panic, searching for yellow eyes reflecting back at him from the tree line. He clutched the spear to his chest like a doll. His imagination was running away from him, fixing his subconscious on paranoid images.

  There was nothing out there. Right? Or maybe there was. Maybe something large and furry was just waiting, walking off its last meal before it started on them.

  Ryan did not dream that night.

  After the rain had passed the following morning, they broke camp and headed on their way. Emily insisted on walking that day, backpack on, tether attached to the wagon. Ever vigilant, he kept a close eye on their rear, worried that any number of creatures from the African sampler they’d stumbled upon could be tracking them. Several hours went by without incident and the uneasy feeling abated. Paranoia, though rightful and healthy in a place like this, wasn’t helping him.

  He pulled the wagon up a steady grade, around a set of trucks and a demolished black Audi, and started to sing, “I like to eat, eat, eat, apples and bananas. I like to eat, eat, eat, apples and—”

  “—Nannies!” Emily added, echoing the melody’s note, only slightly flat. Her singing voice was getting better by the day.

  “Bananas!” He added extra emphasis on proper pronunciation. “I like to ate, ate, ate, ay-ples and ba-nay-nays! I like to ate, ate, ate, ay-ples and—”

  “—nay nays!”

  “Ba-nay-nays!” His eyes rolled back. “I like to eat, eat, eat ee-ples and bee-nee-nees. I like to eat, eat, eat ee-ples and bee—”

  “—eee, nees!”

  Their voices swelled, words echoing up and down the empty highway. A cool breeze pushed its way through the grass and trees. The sun hid itself behind great, puffy clouds, the kind that could only be seen in fullness from flatlands like this. A sweet scent of wildflowers filled the air, garish blossoms running down the right shoulder of the interstate in winding, random patterns. Something was unfamiliar about them.

  “I like to ite, ite, ite i-ples and bi-ni-nis! I like to ite, ite, ite i-ples and—”

  “—mymys!”

  “Bi-ni-nis! I like to ote, ote, ote oh-ples and bo-no-nos! I like to ote, ote, ote oh-ples and—”

  “—no-no-no-nos!”

  “Super.” Ryan ruffled her hair, reaching into the cage, and smiled. “You’re getting really good. Let’s see, what’s another good one?”

  He pursed his lips for a moment and then raised one finger. “Ah-ha! We’re going on a lion hunt. Going on a lion hunt. Gonna catch a big one. Gonna catch a big one. I’m not scared. I’m not scared. What a beautiful day! What a beautiful day!”

  “Day!” Emily repeated.

  “Oh no! Oh no! Tall grass! Tall grass! Can’t go over it. Can’t go over it. Can’t go under it. Can’t go under it. Can’t go around it. Can’t go around it. Have to go through it. Have to go through it. Swish swish swish swish.” He made the gesture of pushing aside grass with a free hand.

  Emily got carried away. “Swish swish swish swish swish swish.”

  “Whew. Good job!” He exhaled. “Going on a lion hunt. Going on a lion hunt. Gonna catch a big one…”

  They stopped to take a break beside a short tree with sprawling limbs. Without the backpack tether, Emily climbed the low branches, navigating them as easy as a kid twice her age. She was becoming adept at climbing, and that both excited and terrified him. He was afraid if he turned his back for just a moment she might take off up a tree he couldn’t get her out of. Or, get halfway up and fall, cracking her skull open like a ripe melon. The worries of a parent never ceased. It’s true what his mother had always said: Having a kid is like wearing your heart on the outside of your body.

  “Just remember, dude, you used to do this when you were her age. She’ll be fine, just don’t let her get too high. Wait… Is that too high?”

  “I climb!” Emily shouted from a limb no higher than two feet off the ground. And soft ground at that. “I climb!”

  “Great job! Come on, let’s get moving.” He gestured towards the wagon.

  “I no want get moving. Climb. Climb!”

  “We’ll climb more later.”

  While changing her diaper he realized they had a serious problem. He’d been so well-stocked at home he hadn’t even thought about it. They had a stock of diapers that would last for months. Out here, however, he packed only as many as they could carry. Which turned out to be around forty. At six to seven diapers per day, without huge messes, they’d be out in no time.

  Ryan began searching cars for dry diaper bags that might still contain usable diapers. He checked several SUVs, a score of minivans, and even a sports car, a Scion FRS, with a small, plastic swimming pool in the back seat. No luck other than a few bags of hard candy and a bottle of Jim Beam. The Jim Beam tasted great, even in the heat. Soon after, they happened upon an eighteen wheeler with a Wal-Mart logo in blue down the side of its dingy trailer. He dug through the trailer, finding cases upon cases of diapers in Emily’s size near the doors, but they had gotten wet and disintegrated. None of them could be used.

  He almost let himself become disheartened, then a thought occurred to him.

  “Stay here, I’ll be right back!”

  “Right back?”

  He put Emily in the cage, took up his flashlight and went farther into the trailer. Over squishy boxes and busted pallets he climbed, delving deeper into the recesses of toppled, mass produced consumer goods. He slipped, cut his hand on a splinter, pulled it out while spouting obscenities and repositioned his feet, pushing himself up between two shrink wrapped pallets. The flashlight reached out in search of treasure.

  At the farthest end of the trailer, he found a series of pink boxes knocked over on their side. He hopped down into a hole made by their fall, found the best looking box, and chucked it over the ruined merch to the opening of the trailer. He climbed back over the tangle and took a seat beside the pink box, cutting it open
with a knife. +

  Emily could see him again. “Dada! Right back! Wow, what’s that?”

  The tape peeled off with ease and a small chair emerged. “It’s a big girl potty.”

  “Potty?”

  “Yeah. Like Dada uses.”

  She leaned against the bars of the cage, face squished. Her hands shook. “I like! I like! Let me out.”

  In spite of her enthusiasm, getting her to use the pink, Disney princess potty wasn’t happening yet. They tried, several times that day, but all she did was take a seat without her diaper and smile up at him.

  “I tinkle,” she would say.

  And he would check to see, index finger scraping across the bottom of the potty. “I don’t think so. It’s bone dry.”

  “No. I tinkle. I poot.”

  “We gonna need some big girl panties to get this party started? Maybe a copy of Everybody Poops?”

  “Pannies?”

  He was finally able to get her back in the cage and settle in for a movie. The day had been overcast, but the battery had collected enough solar energy to play for several hours. She dozed off about half-way through Frozen, mumbling the words to ”Let it Go”. Once he was good and sure she was out, he clicked off the tablet, took another muscle relaxer and rested.

  Their water supply was already getting low. Not dangerously low yet—but soon. They were using more water on the road than he’d initially expected. He was just so thirsty from all the pulling.

  The water was warm and refreshing, as was the sensation from rubbing his sore shoulder with capsaicin. After a couple minutes he realized where they were. It was hard to tell at first due to the endless rows of thick pin oak and ash trees, but mile markers sure did help. Lawrence and he had gotten off here several times to stock up before heading west—last time, most prevalently, the trip to Yosemite where a bear had chased them for nearly two days.

  Just off the exit ahead was a Target, the last one he’d see for a long time. Hopefully, they could stock up on water and a few other items. Like muscle relaxers. He pushed the wagon towards the exit instead of pulling, rolling the tarp up to make a cushion for his chest to lean against. It was harder for him to steer the wagon this way, but it gave his screaming right arm a modicum of repose.

  The Target Superstore was a wreck. The front doors were shattered, shelves knocked over, sections of the roof missing, allowing weather to invade. Signs of animals were easy to spot: feces, tracts of mud, fossilized cookies and breakfast cereal scattered across the tile flooring, ripped open by tiny hands with claws or sharp teeth. Displays of soda and beer stood tall, undisturbed, beside skeletal patrons dressed in moth-eaten rags. Ryan was having a tough time determining if this had happened naturally over time, or if this place had been visited by humans following the Event. None of the visible tracks were shoe prints, but much of the chaos didn’t appear random. There was a method to the madness. Were animals learning?

  Emily stirred about the time they reached the drink aisle. Before she could start whining, Ryan took her up in his arms and held her close. She rubbed her eyes and laid against his shoulder, breathing deep and slow. She was getting heavy, but it was the best weight in the world, a comfort only a parent could understand. He ignored his aching shoulder.

  A ticking noise echoed through the empty store, coming from among the freezer / cooler aisles. Ryan spun and reached for the spear, holding Emily with his good arm. The noise moved, meandering around in the dark beside coolers filled with boxes of decomposed artisan pizzas and dinner bread. The spear tip leveled, Ryan stalked towards the sound, keeping Emily tight against his chest and shoulder. She looked around, a long yawn being inhaled.

  “What is that?” he mumbled. It wasn’t a foreign sound, but an aural trigger left among his childhood memories. Of nails tapping against kitchen tiles, flat tongue slopping water, the ringing of a metal bowl.

  They edged around an endcap of ice cream syrups, hardening chocolate and strawberry, and were face to face with a stocky canine and its lolling tongue. The spear didn’t move, tip poised to strike out against the drooling mutt if it advanced.

  The dog barked, eyes wide, tail wagging. Emily tensed against her Daddy. Ryan tightened his grip on the spear haft and backed off, feeling sweat burst from his eye brows and upper back. He didn’t want to go through fighting off dogs again. His ankle ached. His heart pounded.

  The dog, a mid-size, domestic breed of some description with a long, wet snout, spots, and one floppy ear, grinned up at them. They went back to the cage, Ryan put Emily inside, and then collected water for purifying, never taking his eyes off the animal.

  After a few moments the dog laid down beside the endcap, putting chin on front paws, heavy lidded eyes fixed on them. It whimpered occasionally, scooting itself a little closer.

  “It needs company,” Ryan said to himself in mild shock. He left the spear on the wagon, and the door to Emily’s safety cage open.

  Lunch was served while their water absorbed iodine. Emily said nothing, but kept glancing at the dog. After her experience with Cerberus, love for these furry creatures had all but vanished. Ryan popped open a can of Spam, dug a spoonful from the fatty clump, and tossed it at the dog. The spotted furball lapped it up and gave one bark, requesting more. Ryan obliged.

  “So, you’re not here to eat our faces off after all,” he commented before taking a bite of warm, salty rice and sautéed mushrooms. “What’s your name, girl? Do you have one?”

  The dog looked excited, tail wagging. It scooted a few feet closer and rolled on its back.

  “I don’t think we have to worry about this one, Emme. This doggy seems nice.”

  “Nice doggy?”

  “I think so.” He paused. “Still, let’s be careful.”

  Emily nodded and whispered to herself, “Carepul.”

  Restocked on water, meds, and a couple changes of clothes, including a rainbow princess dress, silver crown, five necklaces and high boots Emily had picked for herself, they headed back for the interstate. The dog followed every step of the way, keeping its distance of five or six strides.

  “Do you have an owner, girl?”

  The dog cocked its head, floppy ear draping over one half of its face.

  They headed south and west once more, gear rattling as the wagon was pulled over bumps in the road. Emily was watching Open Season on her tablet, yet kept her attention on the dog and what it was up to.

  Out of nowhere she asked, “Where’s Fork? I want Fork.”

  Ryan let out a long breath. “At home, Emme.” He wasn’t sure how long he could keep up the lie. Just thinking about their lost goat, and the short period of time it had been with them, made him feel empty.

  “Home?” Her face scrunched up like a used potato chip sack. “I want home. Go home?”

  “Not yet. We’re not done.”

  A noise rattled around in her throat as if she were about to start crying.

  At a lonely, dispirit bend in the interstate the dog wandered away, back into tall grass, and began to bark. Not the same hello bark they’d heard earlier in the day, but a bark with an urgent edge.

  A warning.

  The dog growled, low and threatening. Ryan reached for the spear on pure instinct.

  “What’s that?” Emily asked, flipping over on her knees to peer back in the dog’s direction through the steel bars.

  “I don’t know. Something’s not right.” Ryan checked the latch on the cage, reached in a saddlebag for the pistol. “What is it, girl?”

  The dog’s ears went flat as she growled. Ryan felt naked where he stood, in the middle of the road with not even a car close by to run to for safety.

  Something moved among the grass beyond the dog, something large and furry and white. Snow white.

  His stomach twisted into knots. His right arm, his spear arm, was as weak as an infant’s, both from having pulled the wagon many miles, and his most recent dose of Soma forty minutes prior.

  The tall grass swayed along with the
wind. Birds called to one another—then abruptly cut off.

  A scent of decay, of putrefied flesh and candy corn danced along the border of his senses. He was afraid to flee, certain their motion would attract even more attention. Whatever it was that was hunting them would surely find excitement in such an action, and he and his daughter would end up just like Fork, guts spilled out on the empty roadway begging for sweet death.

  A throaty roar, half-meow, half-growl, came from deep within the roiling fires of a great beast’s belly, piercing the silent air so hard it bled. Terror found both Ryan and Emily, nerves shutting down, hearts stopping. Feet nailed in place. The dog barked on, taunting what Ryan knew to be a larger, much more dangerous creature than this ratty mutt.

  Among the grass, incongruous blue eyes of a superior beast flashed, fixing on the wagon and its driver; its owner’s cursorial appendages tensed in preparation for meal time.

  The road was no longer safe for them, if it ever had been.

  “We’re gonna back up real slow,” he whispered to Emily. “Stay quiet, okay?”

  She said nothing. On a primal level she knew their situation was deadly dangerous. Bullwhip Barbie was gripped so firmly in her hand, her knuckles were white from blood loss.

  They backed away from the feuding animals, leaving them to their own devices of territorial dispute. The eyes of that beast, fixed on their every movement, wouldn’t leave his imagination. He could see claws and teeth, blood and fear, intestines used as feline entertainment, string from a ball of fleshy yarn. Toys.

  The dog vanished from view, yet her barks between growling could be heard clearly. Ryan backed into a car he hadn’t noticed, eyes over his shoulder, and felt his skin prickle with shock. He let out a long breath and started moving again, careful where he placed his feet next. The wagon rocked and the camp stove banged against the cage. Emily’s eyes were wide.

  Nervous words formed on his lips, their volume set low, “Oh no! Oh no! Tall grass! Tall grass! Can’t go over it. Can’t go over it. Can’t go under it. Can’t go under it. Can’t go around it. Can’t go around it. Have to go through it. Have to go through it. Swish swish swish swish.”