by Russ Melrose
Once out on the street, it only took a few seconds to reach 31st East. I turned right and slowed. There was a serious dip in the road a half block up where a side street intersected with 31st. I eased the car past the dip and checked the intersecting street for any sign of the infected but didn't see any.
There was a four-way stop at the end of the block, and I had a fleeting feeling of deja vu. There was something reminiscent about the street and the four-way stop, though I couldn't place it. I slowed as I approached the intersection. There was a school catty-corner with a sign that spelled out Wasatch Jr. High Warriors. And again, the familiar sight teased my mind.
I cruised to the middle of the intersection and stopped. I scanned the street both ways but didn't see any infected. Intuitively, I looked right a second time and caught a glimpse of the freeway, and the memory broke free. Skyline High School was two blocks down the street. Because of the slope of the street, I couldn't see the underpass, but I knew it was there. I'd driven this way for Alex's football games back when we were in high school, maybe ten years ago. And I could remember the underpass a block past the school. A single freeway entrance and no exits. During the summer months, the underpass was rarely used.
I backed the ATS up and turned down the street. I had to stem a rising tide of excitement as I headed toward the underpass. I felt juiced but did my best to remain calm. The underpass could be my ticket out of the valley. I stayed patient and managed not to drive like a maniac. I passed Skyline High on my left with its bizarre undulating roof—a remnant of the '60s. After passing the school, I went through another four-way stop and I was there.
There was a single freeway entrance on the other side of the underpass and no exits, just as I'd remembered. Cars were tightly packed together at the freeway entrance, but this underpass would be much easier to cross. I'd be able to drive past the underpass to where the cars were jammed up at the freeway entrance. From there, it would only be a couple blocks to the nearest residential neighborhood.
Then it dawned on me this was the same street that turned into Millcreek Canyon Road. While I'd never had any intention of driving up the canyon road—all the canyon roads had been blockaded on Black Saturday—I had planned on using the road as a guide to take me east through the mountains. I'd planned on paralleling the canyon road from up high and steering clear of any infected roaming the canyon floor. The mountains through the canyon wouldn't be as steep or as difficult a passage as their towering neighbors. I had to pinch myself. I couldn't believe my luck. Everything was suddenly falling into place.
For a moment I got caught up in the excitement of having a viable escape route and was tempted to take it, but then I thought about Sarah and Becky. They'd taken up residency in the periphery of my mind, never far from my thoughts.
I made a u-turn and headed back to the four-way stop, driving with a renewed sense of urgency, managing my speed as best I could. When I arrived at the four-way stop, I glanced back down to 39th but didn't see any infected. I turned right and accelerated till I hit forty. I slowed where 31st East t-boned into Craig Drive.
Once I turned left on Craig, I relaxed and slowed to a pedestrian speed, keeping my lights off. A two-story home on the even side of the street had their porch light on and I could just make out the address—2940, less than a block from the Josephsons'.
The ATS felt stuffy and the smoky odor from the leather seats was getting to me. I wasn't used to the leathery smell of a new car. I lowered the windows. A subtle refrain of moans drifted aimlessly through the night, rising and falling endlessly.
I felt tense, though it had nothing to do with the proximity of the infected. I was anxious about meeting Sarah and Becky. Excited in a strange way too. Their home had to be close. I pulled the car over and stopped alongside the curb where I believed their house would be.
I grabbed the bat and set it on the seat next to me. Opening the door would be too noisy. I took off my seat belt and eased through the window, face toward the asphalt. I grabbed the dinged side-view mirror for support. Halfway through, I twisted my body around and sat on the bottom of the window frame. I gripped the upper part of the door frame, tucked my right leg into my chest and turned and edged my leg out the window. The rest was easy. Feet firmly on the street, I reached in and grabbed the bat.
I looked back to where 31st East intersected with Craig Drive just to make sure there were no infected around. A dullish street lamp lit up the intersection. I watched closely but didn't see a thing. Satisfied, I hurried up the sidewalk. Two-thirds of the way to the front steps, I was able to make out the address—2889. The Josephsons' would likely be the next house down. I crossed the lawn furtively and checked the address next to the darkened porch light and it matched the number she'd given me over the phone.
The Josephsons lived in a two-story home with beige vinyl siding and a four-foot, rust-colored brick facade that wrapped around the front of the house to the sides. A late model claret-red Corolla was parked in the driveway. I wondered why their car wasn't in the garage, but I let it go and headed back to the car.
It was easier climbing back into the ATS than it had been getting out.
I eased away from the curb. Two houses down was a ranch-style brick bungalow. The ranch style home was an oddity on Craig Drive and would serve as a landmark for me. All the other homes were two-stories.
The fourth house down had a soft light on in an upstairs window. The rest of the house was dark and shadowy. The picture window in front had sash curtains pulled back to the sides, and none of the home's windows had been shuttered up. Whoever had lived here was gone … or so I thought.
Suddenly, a shadowy figure appeared in the window. Not much more than a slender whisper of a person. She looked at the ATS and began to slap feebly at the window pane with the palm of her hand. The soft light behind her threw her face into obscure shadows. Her head trembled in a slight elliptical orbit as if she were trying to keep her head up but her neck muscles weren't up to the task. I assumed she'd been infected early on and had been stuck in her bedroom ever since.
Before turning right, I checked the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time for any sign of the infected, but there was nothing. I was suddenly living a charmed life.
I abandoned the ATS on a dead-end street, the third street up from where I'd turned. A white RV was parked in a driveway halfway down the street. It was perfect. The house was abandoned and there was expanded RV parking next to the driveway. The motor home was a white Fleetwood Terra. It would easily conceal the Cadillac. Even if the Swimmer somehow managed to find the car, he wouldn't know where I was.
I turned the car off and exited out the window. Exiting was easier the second time around. I reached in and grabbed my backpack. I left the fob on the front seat so someone else could use the ATS. Maybe it would help them as much as it had helped me.
It took me fifteen minutes to get to Sarah and Becky's block. Traveling vertically through blocks proved much easier than traveling lengthwise through them. I breezed through the backyards. With the unfettered growth of nature and the constant clicking of the crickets, the backyards had become wilderness-like. The crickets rhythmic high-pitched screeching drowned out the distant moans of the infected, and I didn't mind that at all.
I found an abandoned home with food right behind the ranch-style brick bungalow I'd chosen as my landmark. There wasn't a lot in the fridge and some of it had gone bad. The cow's milk was spoiled, the yogurt dated, and the lettuce wilted. There was some cheese that was still good along with a half-gallon of almond milk. Apples too. The freezer had salmon and chicken breasts. The pantry had numerous cans of soup, saltines, peanut butter, boxes of pasta, and lots of bottled water. Not a bonanza, but enough to feed them for at least a few days. When I got to Sarah's, I would empty my backpack and come back for the food.
When I came to the fence leading to the Josephsons' house, I balked. I stood at the fence and tried to relax. I wondered how late it was getting. I slipped my backpack off and dug my watch out of the
outer pouch. I hadn't worn the watch since my first night out. It was 1:45 in the morning. I wondered if it was such a good idea to break into their home in the middle of the night. I thought about waiting till morning. They'd almost certainly be asleep, and I didn't want to spook them.
But they hadn't eaten for two days and needed nourishment. They needed something in their stomachs, and they needed it now, not later when I was feeling more relaxed about meeting them.
The sharp crack of gunfire fractured the night air. The gunshots came from the east, not too far off. I knew there had to be more than one shooter because the gunfire overlapped. Some shots sounded like firecrackers, probably coming from handguns, others boomed like shotguns. The density of shotgun blasts rolled through the night air like thunder.
The crickets had suddenly gone silent.
A few moments later I heard the squealing of tires and the rising whine of an engine hitting its apex before being shifted into another gear. The sounds came from east of the freeway, most likely from the Olympus Hills Shopping Center, less than two blocks from the underpass near Skyline High. Gunshots rang out sporadically. I heard the car being shifted again right before the sudden screeching of tires that preceded a loud crash. I wondered what had happened, but I had no doubt what the outcome would be. A couple shots rang out after the crash, but that was it. After the last shots, the moans spiked and became frenetic.
It didn't take long for the crickets to resume their clicking.
I slipped into my backpack and quietly snapped the buckle shut. I grabbed the top of the fence post and pulled myself up, swinging my right leg up to the top of the fence. I pulled myself up all the way, then jumped down easily onto the grass.
The Josephsons had a wood patio built up against the back wall of the house—fifteen feet deep by fifteen feet wide—bordered all around by a wood railing. The decking was redwood. A glass patio table with a floral umbrella and four chairs resided on one side of the deck. On the other side, two lounge chairs were separated by a small bamboo table.
Three steps led up to the deck level which led to the back door. I gripped the railing and stretched my leg up to the deck level and pulled myself up. I walked quickly across the deck.
The back door had two locks and the top lock was a deadbolt. I retrieved the tension wrench and rake pick from my pocket and went to work. I picked the knob lock first. As usual, it was easy. Deadbolts were more difficult, though the process was the same. I kept raking the pins upward, but a few of them kept slipping back down. After a few minutes, I felt the pins set and I turned the tension wrench and felt the deadbolt slide back into the lock housing. I opened the door with meticulous care. Once inside, I pushed the door back up to the door jamb but didn't close it.
Now that I was in their home, I wasn't quite sure what I should do. I might scare the bejesus out of them if I tried waking them, and I had no idea where they might be in the house.
Chapter 10
Raj
I didn't hear her till her strangled voice whispered, "Who's there?" Her voice trembled wildly as she spoke. "We have guns," she warned. "If you don't leave, we'll have to shoot you."
I couldn't tell where her voice was coming from, though I could hear her clearly. She sounded frightened but determined. Despite her threat to shoot me, I didn't believe she actually had a gun. I wanted to let her know she wasn't in any real danger.
"Sarah, is that you?" I asked quietly.
She didn't say anything, and a dark silence built up between us. I stood motionless in the bleak shadows of the kitchen, waiting. The only sounds were the hum of the fridge and the muffled clicking of the crickets outside.
I'm not exactly sure what I'd imagined would happen, but this wasn't it. Was it a Mexican standoff without guns? Mine was tucked away in my backpack and she very likely didn't have one. We were stuck in a fearful stalemate. I had been so hell bent on getting here, I hadn't thought things out very well. I'd never really thought about what I would do when I got here.
She broke the silence herself.
"Who's there?" she asked, sounding apprehensive.
"It's Jake," I said, as if we were long lost friends and the mere mention of my name would trigger her memory. But she had no idea who I was. "We talked on the phone earlier this evening?" I reminded her, letting my voice trail off to make it sound like a question. Then I added, "You called your grandparents' home. Remember?"
And then to cement the connection, "You said you needed food."
After a few moments, she responded, "But you said you'd come tomorrow afternoon."
"Yes," I told her. "I said that. But they attacked your grandparents' home. I had no choice. I had to leave."
She paused again, then asked, "How did you get here?"
"I took the Cadillac," I told her.
"But you said you couldn't drive. You said it was too dangerous."
I couldn't understand why she was peppering me with questions.
"I didn't have any other choice," I explained. Then I took a breath and spoke to her as calmly as I could, as if I were talking to one of my fifth graders. "They had the house surrounded," I whispered to her. "Taking the ATS was the only way I could get away. I was lucky to get out."
Then, all of a sudden, I caught a glimpse of her. She was immersed in dark shadows. She'd leaned her head around the corner of a wall adjacent to the kitchen. She'd been much closer than I had imagined, no more than ten feet away on the other side of the wall. I could just make out her head and the tip of her shoulder, though I couldn't see her clearly. She appeared to be checking me out. I showed her the palms of my hands to let her know I wasn't armed. I didn't know what else to do. A few seconds later, she curled around the corner of the wall and stood in the wide entryway.
She stood quietly in the darkness, her lithe figure erect, arms folded across her chest. Her hair was remarkably short, maybe even shaved. "Did you bring food?" she asked hopefully.
"No," I told her. "But there's a house nearby that has food. I just need to empty out my backpack and go back to get the food. I already checked the house out."
I couldn't see her face clearly, but I could sense her wariness. I could see it in her stiff posture and the way her arms were folded tightly across her chest. And who could blame her? I'd just broken into her house.
I thought it best to keep her mind off the breaking and entering. "Is there a table where I can unload my stuff?" I asked. "The sooner I get my things out of the backpack, the sooner I can get some food for you and Becky." It was the first time I'd mentioned her daughter's name; I thought it a good idea.
"In here," she whispered quietly. She motioned with a slight nod of her head for me to follow her.
I followed her into a dark room. It was a simple dining room with an oval table surrounded by four chairs perfectly centered underneath a four-lamp chandelier. She was standing a few feet away from me, an intimate distance, but she couldn't have been more remote. She was clearly uncomfortable with my presence in her home. And the way things were going, I wasn't too thrilled to be there either. I wondered what had possessed me to come here in the first place. I could have been on the other side of the freeway sleeping on a comfortable couch or bed in someone's basement, just one day away from being out of the valley.
She watched me closely as I took my backpack off and set it gently on the table. I unzipped the main pouch zipper and began to pull out the items from my backpack one at a time. I took the bat out, but left the Glock stashed in its pouch. I didn't want her to see the gun. No telling how she might react.
I glanced in her direction and asked if she and Becky would be interested in the almond milk I'd found. I didn't know whether they would care for it or not. She nodded affirmatively.
I thought she might be warming up to me. My eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness and I could see her more clearly now. She had thick dark hair, probably black, no more than a quarter inch in length, and I could see the shape of her skull with its gentle smooth curves. Her
eyes were dark and slim, shaped like almonds. She was willowy thin with a long, slender neck. I guessed her to be around five-foot seven. She had on sweat pants and a halter top and was in her bare feet. She was Asian, maybe Chinese, which caught me off guard. I hadn't expected that.
After emptying everything out, I slipped the backpack back on and grabbed the bat. I suggested she leave the back door open for me and I told her I'd be back in about fifteen minutes.
She nodded.
Once out on the deck, I breathed a sigh of relief. It felt good to be outside again.
I was back in fifteen minutes and she was waiting for me in the kitchen, arms dangling in front of her, hands settled onto her thighs. She looked anything but comfortable. Still, I took it as progress. I placed the backpack on the counter next to the fridge and opened it for her, then I stood back. She rooted around in the backpack's main pouch inspecting everything. She put the salmon and chicken breasts in the freezer and put the cheese and the apples on one of the empty shelves. The rest of the food—cans of soup, crackers, almond milk, and peanut butter—she left in the backpack.
When she was done, she motioned for me to take the backpack. "We need to go downstairs," she whispered.
I grabbed the backpack and followed her. She led me to a stairway in the living room. There was no door, just a railing and a stairway going down. At the bottom of the stairs was a partially opened door.
When we arrived at the bottom of the stairs, she opened the door all the way. The basement was remarkably dark, blacked out except for a long sliver of light that came from a door that was cracked open. The line of light came out and widened as it slanted over the contours of a couch. Sarah grabbed a flashlight off a table next to the door.
She closed the door and I followed her and the swath of light from the flashlight. We headed for the partially opened door. On the way, we passed the couch with the strip of light angled across it and a coffee table in front of the couch. I couldn't see anything else. It was too dark. She kept the flashlight's beam dialed in on the carpet. At the door, she turned to me. "I told them you were coming," she said softly.