No Man's Land

by Jacqueline Druga

  End her suffering.

  End my misery.

  I aimed as she headed my way.

  It broke my heart, it did. Even in her current form it was devastating to think about what I was going to do.

  “I’m so sorry, Leah. So sorry. God forgive me.” I pulled the trigger.

  I was right about the kick. I wasn’t ready for it and the force of the weapon knocked me back and off my balance. I landed on the ground.

  When I looked up, Leah was still walking my way.

  I didn’t know if I missed or hit her, but I failed in putting her down.

  Instead of trying again or driving away, I took that as a sign. I waited for her and would deal with it another time.

  Oregon Trail

  “She smells,” Leah had told me. It was totally unlike Leah to say anything negative about anyone, except Marge Lemon. She was a co-worker of mine and Leah always had something to say about her when her name was brought up. That particular time was when I was getting names for a barbecue we were throwing. “She smells.”

  “Oh, she does not,” I argued.

  “She does. Like cat. How can you not smell that?”

  “Really? Cat?”

  “And Cal, have you ever noticed the way she eats? Things are always stuck in her teeth.”

  There were valid reasons why that conversation popped into my mind. The first was we had passed the exit for Lemon, West Virginia. The other was Leah herself.

  “Look, Leah,” I said to her in the back seat. “Lemon.”

  Leah was far from smelling like a rose. In fact, she was pretty bad. So bad that I pulled over at the self-serve car wash just outside of Marshal, busted into a vending machine and stole every single pine tree shaped air freshener in there.

  There was her sour, rotting odor and then there was her mouth. It was still covered with the blood of the man who tried to carjack us, and his flesh filled her mouth. Leah chewed on it while staring ahead.

  It was an odd and freaky sight.

  “Marge has nothing on you,” I looked in the rearview mirror. “Just sayin’.”

  What was wrong with me? I mean, really, what was going through my mind?

  I was traveling with my two-day-old son, trying to get to a sanctuary city, with my decomposing, reanimated wife strapped in the back seat.

  I think in my grief-stricken state it was like she was still with me, I hadn’t lost her. Not yet. There was no shock and horror over her appearance, not that she looked normal, but she didn’t seem to look as bad as any other Vee I had seen.

  Again, that was probably my distorted perception.

  When I pulled over to tend to Edward, I looked again at the map. I set a goal. A release goal. If Leah was still with me by the time I reached the welcome center on Interstate 79, then I would make her go.

  I had to. How much further could I take her along?

  The journey reminded me so much of a game I used to play as a child. It was called, Oregon Trail. A poor-graphic game that made the player plan out a survival trip during the westward expansion. You put in your name, the members of your family, and with an allotted amount of money, the player would purchase enough supplies to get his family from Kansas to Oregon alive and well.

  Usually, it didn’t work out. The route was rough and dangerous. Along the trail the virtual family got ill, the wagon petered out, the food stolen. Everything and anything happened. The game would flash a screen and you’d just continue on.

  You broke a wagon wheel.

  Mary broke a bone.

  Mary has typhoid.

  Mary has died.

  For me, the signs along the way and the events that occurred created a live version of that game from the moment I left the house. All I needed was the bad music.

  Leah has been bitten.

  Leah gave birth.

  Leah has died.

  Sanctuary Trail.

  Next stop, Carver Town. Did you want to look around?

  No. Hell no.

  Carver Town may have been Vee free at one time, but I didn’t need to walk in to know it no longer was a safe zone.

  My plan was to pull over and hide the car a mile or so before Carver. I would have done so had I not seen that lone Vee walking the road. Something told me he wasn’t turned away at the gate by some guy saying, “Hey now, we’re a Vee free zone, just turn it around, buddy.”

  Hordes of dead roamed in front of the ‘We are Vee Free’ sign, as if gloating that they were victorious.

  Even though I didn’t need to stop, I did however, have no choice but to drive through it. I was glad I did.

  The main road in town was like navigating a video game. Vee bombarded the car, pounding relentlessly. Twice I swore I heard someone yelling out for help. It wasn't safe and I couldn’t stop. However, I did see another piece of my proverbial Oregon Trail.

  Safe Route to Sanctuary 14, 15, 16 use Highway 119.

  I didn’t know how old that sign was or how much credence I should put into it, but it was worth a shot to try. It was either Highway 119 or the main interstate. Since doing my calculations and finding I would need at least one more full tank to get there, I figured I stood a better chance of refueling on the safe route.

  10

  Cleanliness

  Highway 119 was a wide stretch of secondary artery that ran south in West Virginia. It was darted with small towns, occasional houses, and businesses along the route.

  A truck actually passed me on that road not long after I hit it.

  I was not alone.

  I wasn’t the only one headed to a sanctuary city.

  I picked up the pace to try to catch the black Ford, but they were flying. Fearing that I’d lose control of the vehicle with my son in the car, I slowed down. Eventually, I figured I’d catch him.

  Plus, speeding wasted gas and I didn’t have it to spare.

  Truth was if I didn’t find gas within the next hour or two, I was not making it much further.

  Then about forty miles in, I saw the black truck again. It was pulling out of a gas station on the other side of the highway.

  It cut across the lanes and continued south.

  Did he or she not even see me? They seemed to be in that every man for himself mode. Then again, weren’t we all?

  I wondered if the station had power, how he got gas, if he even did. There was one way to find out and I veered across the highway to that service station.

  No sooner did I enter the lot than an older woman carrying a rifle walked out. For some reason I worried that she would shoot Leah. That was stupid and silly, but my gut jumped in nervousness and I was glad my rear windows were tinted.

  Edward was quiet. I removed the carrier from my body, laid him on the passenger’s seat, then opened my door and raised my hands.

  “I don’t mean any harm,” I said. “I just need gas.”

  She was a stout woman in her sixties; she held the rifle steady and with confidence. “Where are you headed?”

  “Sanctuary City…” I paused. “Sixteen.”

  “Sixteen? I haven’t seen anyone headed there in a while. You from Boston?”

  “Philly.”

  She nodded. “You can put your hands down.”

  I did.

  “You’re half way there, you know.”

  “I know. And I really think one full tank will get me there.”

  “I can’t fill you up. I can’t. Only reason I am here is to help people who want to go to a sanctuary city. I got to make what I have last. I can trade you some fuel. What do you got?”

  “I have food and water…”

  She shook her head. “I have that. Right now going price is medicine or weapons. The medicine has got to be worth it.”

  “I have ibuprofen.” I shifted my eyes to my car. “I have… I have a shotgun. But I don’t have any ammunition.”

  “You’re riding around with a weapon you can’t fire?”

  “I think there’s one more round in there. Not sure.”

 
; “Let me see.”

  I walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. When I grabbed the shotgun, Edward squalled.

  “What is that?”

  “My son. He’s a newborn. My wife died giving birth.” I handed her the shotgun.

  “You’re toting a newborn?” she asked.

  “I have to. I have to get him to sanctuary.”

  She examined the shotgun. “Alright. This will do.” She turned and walked back inside. When she returned she had a five-gallon container and she set it down by my legs. “About seventy miles south there’s a church. Ravenswood. They let people rest there. Another twenty is Berchum Mills, he has property that he’ll trade a safe night’s rest for food and water. Lots of places in between.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Are you headed to a sanctuary city?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’m gonna take my chances out here.”

  I lifted the gas can. “Thank you again.”

  “Listen, try to make it as far as you can. It’s not safe out there. It really isn’t. There’s more and more of those things daily.”

  “I know.”

  “Just be careful. Godspeed to you.”

  I began to carry the gas can and stopped. “Do you… do you know anything else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I haven’t heard the news in weeks.”

  “You probably know about as much as me,” she said. “There hasn’t been any news. I only hear what people tell me. Big cities are overrun. Not so much out this way. Used to be the infection wasn’t anywhere near here. Now… the Vee free zones get smaller by the day.”

  “Why do you think that is? A wave hits?”

  “It’s been a while since one of those came. This thing is everywhere now, no more need for nature to spread it. To answer your question, we were Vee free until people came through infected and turned. That’s the way it is everywhere I suppose.”

  “I suppose. Thank you again.” I could have placed the can in the back of the car, but I decided to add it all to the tank. I returned her can, got in my car, placed on the carrier Edward was in and started the car. I sighed out in relief. I had nearly a full tank. I could make it and if Edward was cooperative, I could do so without having to stop.

  <><><><>

  So, this is what you look like when you expire.

  That was my thought when I pulled over into the parking lot of a beer distributor about eight miles after I left Gas Can Lady.

  There was something off about our final moments. She watched me leave, but she did so as if she was looking for something. It left me with a bad feeling and I wouldn’t have stopped had Edward not been out of hand.

  I had to pull over and take a break. Stop moving. I did what I normally did when I left the car. I opened the back door and unbuckled Leah. Each time I did that I hoped that she would leave and I wouldn’t have to be the one to deal with it.

  I just wanted badly to acknowledge her death, mourn her and be sad. I couldn’t. She was there, always there. Even in her Vee state she was still my wife. Little by little she took on a Vee look. Her skin seemed to shrink like a raisin, although it looked as if underneath the layers of skin fluid was waiting to ooze out. The area under her eyes were dark and sunken in. Her pupils were glazed over and gray.

  The eyes were unmistakable.

  He had the eyes. The man in the beer distributor. Without a doubt, he was a Vee. Aside from the eyes, his fingers had that boney look with the black fingernail beds. There were no shoes on his feet and his soles were split from walking. He was on the floor, his upper body slanted and propped against the Bud Light Beer display, his legs extended out and he didn’t move.

  He was probably infected in a wave because there were no visible bite marks, no organs torn from his body. There was no gunshot wound or bashed in skull.

  Nothing.

  Yet, he was dead… again.

  It was a Vee appearance I had never seen. His toes were curled and feet pointed inward, his hands were atrophic and tight to his body. His skin looked dry, mummified, and his wide-open mouth formed an ‘O’ trying the impossible to gasp for air.

  I had heard that they could just drop and cease to exist. Beer Vee Man was proof. I nudged his leg with my foot and when I did a huge, brown water bug crawled out of his mouth and dropped to his lap.

  Clutching Edward, I jumped back and cringed.

  Of everything I had seen, who would have thought a bug bothered me. I stayed until Edward was soothed, and I grabbed some beer. Not just for myself, but possibly for a trade, within a couple hours I was back on the road. I probably wouldn’t make it to Sanctuary Sixteen, not on this day, but I was close.

  There were things I thought of and things I didn’t. I read enough beforehand to have survival supplies. Enough to get me to Sanctuary and beyond. My journey was met mainly with Vee trouble and blocked roads. I couldn’t take for granted that there wouldn’t be trouble with humans ahead. After nearly having my car stolen earlier, I couldn’t take a chance that it would happen again.

  When I spotted the church with the fence around it, I backed up out of sight and pulled the car off to the wooded side of the road, parking it as if it were abandoned. Leah got out and faced the woods. I locked the doors, placed a backpack on my shoulder and the carrier on my chest.

  Hurriedly, I moved from Leah. While she had not tried to attack me yet, I couldn’t take the chance and luckily she didn’t move all that fast.

  Once I was at a distance, I stopped and watched her move into the woods.

  She didn’t follow me. My heart sunk. It was goodbye, and the church was the sure sign that I was to begin my process of letting go.

  I walked the near half-mile distance and as I closed in, I saw several Vee moving around the fence.

  I could move by them but only if the fence was unlocked.

  I kept the hammer in the backpack and pulled it out. I didn’t have a clue how I would fight them off with Edward strapped to my chest, but I would try and be careful about it. Edward was a newborn and delicate.

  “Let me get to the church, please let me get us there,” I spoke softly, focusing on the fence.

  The Vee spotted me and made their way towards me. I darted out of the way of the first one, shoved the next, and picked up the pace to the fence. There was one there, a female, standing by the gate as if she were on guard.

  I lifted the hammer, I would have to try, I had to get in. The moment I raised it, an arrow sailed into the Vee’s head and she dropped. Surprised by that, I spun to see a priest headed my way. At least he looked like a priest. A stout older man who wore all black and rushed to the fence to unlock it.

  “Come on in,” he said.

  “That was impressive shooting,” I told him.

  “Yes, well, in these times you have to be.” He waited for me to step through and he closed and locked the gate. “Pastor Jim.”

  “Calvin. My name is Calvin. Thank you.”

  He nodded then his eyes shifted to the carrier. With Edward nestled in there, I guess it was hard to see if it was a baby or supplies.

  “My son. He was born two days ago.”

  “Oh my. Then you hold a miracle. Let’s get you in there.”

  “Thank you.”

  Pastor Jim extended his hand, directing me to the church. It was a short walk across the parking lot. A large structure with white siding, surrounded by beautiful bushes and eight concrete steps that led to the red double doors.

  “I appreciate this,” I said as he opened the doors. “It’s very kind of you.”

  “All are welcome in God’s house. I wanted it to be that way, so we erected those fences early on. I was ready to leave, then when people were passing on their way to different sanctuaries needing help I knew I couldn’t leave.”

  The double doors led right into the church and the second I entered, people turned and looked at me. There had to be at least a dozen. Some looked like they were right at home.

 
“Are all these people travelers?”

  “Some. Some lost their homes in Carver or were overrun. They’re waiting it out until this thing is over.”

  “They drop you know?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “The rumors about how they can just drop and die for good. They’re true. I think. I saw one that wasn’t shot.”

  “Well that’s encouraging.” He cleared his throat. “You look like you need to clean up.”

  “Actually, I do. I suppose I don’t smell all that good either.”

  “Well, smelling bad keeps the Formers away. But in here… there are none. So…” he smiled. “There’s a room behind the sanctuary. Barrels of water for cleaning. I’ll show you where it is so you can wash up.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

  “This way.”

  Pastor Jim led me up the aisle of the church. I nodded and gave a closed mouth smile to people that I passed as I followed him. He took me to a back room, closing the door and leaving me and Edward to our privacy.

  The room was pretty large with a conference table and a couch. I wouldn’t have exactly labeled the bins of water as ‘barrels,’ but they were deep and filled.

  There was a small basin on the chest of drawers and a pitcher that I assumed was used to fill the basin. It was a welcome relief to be in such a clean environment. I wanted to throw out my clothes after I washed up, but I didn’t bring anything extra. After I had washed up, I then unraveled Edward and gently washed his skin. At first I thought he enjoyed it and then he started to whimper. Those whimpers transformed into full-blown newborn screams. There was nothing I could do to calm him down.

  We weren’t in there very long, maybe a half hour or so, when Pastor Jim knocked on the door and entered. I was swaying the baby in my arms in an attempt to silence him, but he wouldn’t quiet down.

  “Cal, I came to…” He paused, staring.