The Dark Roads

by Lemmons, Wayne

  He passed pictures of his friends, pictures of the shelter in which they'd slept, pictures he'd drawn from the memory of the horizon outside of his apartment windows. He could barely see the lines of any of it in the darkness, but he knew what each of them was.

  When Richie came to the first blank page, he began to write. It took him a long time to do it, to make it small enough and still legible but when he finished, he'd written himself a short note on the top half of the paper and drawn a small picture of Amanda as she was right then.

  He carefully pulled the page out, ripping the edge along the perforated line. He folded the page around the tiny letter and drawing, trying to be precise, needing the thing as miniature as he could make it. He worked up all of the saliva that he could manage and licked the edges he'd folded before pulling the wet ends apart.

  Richie picked up the pocket watch he'd taken from Amanda's possessions and pressed the small button on top to open it, the attached chain dangling along the outside of his hand. He held his portrait up to the watch cover, considered, and turned the corners in before fitting the paper into the watch as if it were a locket. He nodded as he read the words to himself. He could use this. This would help.

  He opened the clasp that held the chain onto the watch and slid the thing out of its loop. He'd find a piece of string, maybe, or see if one of the others had kept a necklace that was long enough and strong enough to hold the thing.

  He hoped that Amanda wouldn't mind giving him back the duty of time keeper. She seemed to like being able to look at the clock, but he needed it more if he wanted to stay in the moment with them. He needed this reminder of reality.

  "This is not the dream," he whispered, before reciting the words he'd been told to write down, "The night is real."

  Richie put his things away. Richie laid back down on his sleeping bag. Richie went back to the dream for a while, but Benny didn't join him.

  ***

  "I don't mind," Amanda said as she packed her things away and zipped the opening on her ruck.

  "Thanks," Richie told her, the fingers of his right hand fiddling with the pocket watch hanging against his chest on a shoe-string Elvis had given him.

  "Got to talk to you about something," Buddy said.

  Richie looked up at him. Buddy was already on his way up the stairwell, but had turned to Richie. Richie nodded and followed him while the others finished stowing their gear.

  The doors, heavy wood on rusty hinges, screamed in protest as Buddy pushed them open. The night was cooling, as it adjusted to the world of moon and stars. Both of them breathed deeply of the fresh air and walked a few feet away.

  “Never saw the stars this clear back home,” Buddy said as he looked up.

  “Too many lights back then. End of the world can’t be all bad.”

  “I miss things, though.”

  “We all miss things, Buddy.”

  “Remember sitting down to a table? Me, you, Elvis, and Benny would all go to that seafood place in Lauderdale for oysters.”

  “Southport,” Richie said with a faint smile, “Great view from the back deck.”

  “Elvis would pile the horseradish onto his oysters and sweat the whole time he was eating.”

  “And Benny would have a mountain of cracker crumbs in front of him. That guy was awful to eat with.”

  They both laughed, before the moment could pass. Once it did, a sober look stole Buddy’s face away from happiness. He looked away from Richie, blinked a few times, then met his eye.

  "I'm sorry, Richie," Buddy said.

  "About what? It wasn’t your fault that Benny was a slob.”

  "I need to take your gun," Buddy told him, struggling to keep eye contact.

  The sound of crickets. That was another thing Richie had been missing recently. He'd heard them in the dream, finding the memory pleasant. He focused on that for a moment before saying anything.

  He didn't know if he was angry, or sad, or if he understood why Buddy wanted to take his weapon from him. He did. It wasn't something he was very fond of, but his lapses in grasping reality were unsettling.

  "Amanda and I were talking while you guys were sleeping," Buddy said, "This thing that you're going through. We don't know if it's the drugs or if it's something permanent. I just want to make sure we're all safe, including you."

  "You think I'm going to what? Just turn around and start shooting?" Richie finally asked, not sure whether he was angry or just curious.

  "No, man. I just want to make sure we're all safe, like I said."

  "You also said, 'including me', right? So what happens if I get caught in a fight with no way to protect myself?"

  "It's just until you're done with the antibiotics, Richie."

  "That's today, Buddy. What about tomorrow?"

  "You're fucking dangerous right now, man!" Buddy shouted, losing his self-control unexpectedly, "Every time you have one of these fucking freak outs, you aim the coach at somebody! I can't risk it!"

  Richie glared at his friend. He was angry now, but he didn't know if it was anger at Buddy or himself. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to hold the fury at bay, trying not to say something that couldn't be forgiven.

  "Fine," Richie said, "Get it out of my pack."

  "You know I don't want to do this, but things have been getting scary lately," Buddy explained with an apologetic note in his voice.

  Richie nodded. He did get the reasoning, but couldn't trust himself to speak any further on it. He walked away from Buddy, toward the road, needing a moment to himself. He held the pocket watch tightly and stared down the length of the road.

  Is it the dream? he asked himself, wishing for a moment that it was.

  To be in a dangerous world, unarmed and confused, was a frightening concept, one that he could barely grasp. Richie was afraid, not of what could happen to him as he walked down the road, but of what was going on in the back of his mind.

  Could I actually hurt them, thinking that it was the dream?

  He opened the watch, looked at the picture he'd drawn and the words that went with it.

  "The night is real," he whispered.

  ***

  Elvis walked to Richie's left at all times now. He would defend his friend's blind side and Richie was thankful for that. He wondered if Elvis knew what was going on. Did he know why Buddy was carrying the coach now, rather than Richie? It was possible. Elvis was perceptive.

  "You remember South Beach?" Elvis asked him, not looking away from the road.

  "Oh yeah," Richie said with a small smile. It was the first thing he'd said since they'd started walking.

  "You remember the boardwalk?"

  Richie's smile widened as the memory of that long stretch came to him. Elvis was smiling, too.

  "The coconuts, right?"

  Elvis laughed out loud at that. They were avid fans of the tourist walk along South Beach in Miami. They would find a spot at one of the beach entrances on warm days and just watch. It was always a kick to watch the travelers buy coconuts from the locals when they could have simply picked them up on their walk. There was always a guy with a shopping cart full of the things, selling them at ten or twenty dollars each and there was always a line waiting to buy them.

  "And the necklaces and earrings," Elvis said, still snickering, "Coulda' bought the same stuff at the dollar store for cheap."

  Richie and Elvis had always enjoyed watching the tourist’s transactions. Buddy hadn't ever joined them on these little expeditions, not understanding the entertainment value of watching people buy random things. It would always be just the two of them and it was always good. Richie had almost forgotten such simple pleasures.

  It was good to think about sitting in the sun, the warmth of it on your face, and people-watching with a friend who could enjoy it as much as you did. At the thought of the sun on his face, Richie reached up to touch his bandage, but touched the pocket watch instead.

  "What are you guys laughing about," Amanda asked, "Secrets don't make
friends."

  "Just old times," Elvis told her, "Did you ever go to Miami?"

  "Once," she said, "When I was in my thirties."

  "Did you ever go to South Beach?" Elvis asked, looking at Richie to let him in on what was coming.

  "Yep."

  "Did you ever buy a coconut?"

  Buddy looked over at Richie for the first time since their conversation earlier in the night and grinned. Richie gave the grin back, telling him that it was okay, that he could accept what had happened between them and that their friendship would remain as it had always been.

  "I did, actually," Amanda said, her face lighting up in with reminiscent smirk, "From a little island guy with a shopping cart."

  Richie's eyebrow raised and his smile changed to laughter. Elvis was trying to talk, but couldn't get anything out for his own chortle. Buddy shook his head and chuckled.

  "What?" Amanda asked, confused and amused at the same time.

  "You guys are such dicks," Buddy said.

  "Takes one to know one," Richie told him.

  The night wore on, the four of them walking without incident and talking to each other about old times. Richie made it through that part of the journey without falling into himself and was happy with the lack of daydreams.

  He didn't think that they would ever be as happy as they once were, not in a world that had turned against all of them, but there were always memories to keep them together. They had enough good ones to cancel out some of the bad things, and it was obvious, to him at least, that they would be able to hold onto that. They would always have each other and the life before to get them through the one they were living.

  They walked north.

  Chapter 6

  DeBolt, AB

  May 12, 2021

  4:01 AM 80*F

  Changes in scenery were uncommon lately, as they traveled along I-43, and anything out of the norm was suspicious. Buddy had been the first to notice the latest change on the horizon and they decided to stop for the day before they got any closer to it.

  The road was straight for some miles at this point and they could see for a long distance. The sight that greeted them at the end of this night was a monstrosity of a truck and trailer arranged to block both lanes of their road.

  "How far?" Elvis asked as Buddy worked to jimmy the lock at the back of an oddly built service station.

  "Gotta be about five miles from the look of it, but I'm not sure," Buddy replied as he fumbled with the deadbolt.

  "You think it's anything to be worried about?" Amanda asked from a few feet behind them.

  "I think we need to approach with the utmost caution," Buddy said.

  "Are you going to be dicking with that lock much longer?" Richie asked.

  "Do you want to do this?"

  "He is better at it than you are," Amanda said.

  "He is," Elvis agreed.

  Buddy stepped back with a flourish and a cocked eyebrow, both of his hands pointing at the lock, palms up.

  "Then be my guest, one-eye."

  Richie took the tools from Buddy and set to work on the lock, grinning. He hadn't been allowed to pick a lock in quite a while and actually found that he missed performing the task. It could be tedious at times, but he'd gotten fairly good at it. It was also something from the old routine, much like keeping track of the time, and he felt a little more of his old self return when the lock twisted open straightaway. Buddy looked at him sourly.

  "I loosened it up for you."

  "Yeah," Richie said, "Same thing you said about your sister."

  "Oh! Good one!" Elvis laughed.

  "Bite me," Buddy retorted amiably.

  With the door opened and the night close to its end they entered the gas station in a single file line, Richie in the middle due to his lack of a weapon, and cleared the main area. The doorway marked "storage" opened without manipulation. Richie and Elvis stood together outside of the stairway as Buddy and Amanda checked the place for inhabitants. None were found and they were able to set up camp in little time. They were in the middle of preparing the day’s meal when the sound of breaking glass filled the area above them.

  Buddy jumped to his feet, the coach in his hands instantly, and looked to Elvis. Neither of the men spoke as they started up the stairs. Amanda stayed at the bottom of the steps, her weapon at the ready. Richie pulled a pocket knife out of his pack, wishing for the weight of a gun in his hands. The storage room was silent, but for the movements of Buddy and Elvis on the stairs.

  Richie waited, afraid to breathe as if the sound of it would tell some intruder of their location. He watched his friends disappear through the doorway at the top of the steps with frustration. He should be the one going up, leading the group into whatever lay in wait. He should've been the one in danger, the first man through the door, able to protect the rest of them as they did him. His heart was beating too fast and his breath becoming too shallow. He knew what would happen in the next few minutes if he didn't calm himself.

  Is it the dream? his injured mind asked as the room began to blur.

  No! he shouted silently, grasping for the pocket watch and flipping the thing open to look at the message he'd left for himself. It was like leaving breadcrumbs along a trail into the woods. If he didn't look at it soon, the chance would be gone. The night is real!

  It is the dream, his thoughts insisted, but he fought them, closing his eye and grasping the watch in his left fist, struggling with whatever this was as his friends searched for an enemy that may or may not be stalking them.

  Amanda watched this struggle, knowing what it was without asking and began to nod. She knew what he was doing, knew that he had a chance, but that he may need something more than a picture to get him through it. She said nothing, hoping that Richie could hold on, praying for him to a God that might not be real or care to listen if he was.

  She was amazed by the look on Richie's face, as it transformed from the scared frustration she'd seen time after time, whenever his fugues began, to the relaxed look of a man who'd pulled himself back to the world. His eye opened, showing an awareness of the here and now that she hadn't really expected to see. He was still with her. When he met her gaze, she didn't smile. She was too relieved for that.

  "The night is real," he whispered.

  I won this time, he thought, elated by it, but tired from the struggle. He would get better at it, maybe not come so close to losing himself the next time, but he would need the time.

  The night was real and he'd convinced whatever part of himself that had been damaged of that fact for the first time. His victory was a small one, but it was a victory nonetheless. He looked at the palm of his left hand and saw the imprint of the watch casing in his skin. He pushed out the breath he'd been holding and shuttered.

  Elvis appeared as a silhouette in the doorway that stood at the top of the stairs. He looked to be uninjured, but Richie could tell from his posture that something was wrong. Elvis was breathing heavily and waving to them, trying to get their attention. Amanda ran half-way up the steps, listened to Elvis' whispering, and then ran back down to where Richie stood.

  "We need bandages and water," she told him, opening up her ruck, "They have somebody up there who's hurt."

  "Can't they bring them down?" Richie asked, perplexed, still recovering from his momentary ordeal.

  "I guess not. Come on. We have to help."

  Amanda quickly ascended the stairway, a pile of supplies in her arms, and Richie followed. His eye searched the opening at the top for some idea of what they were walking into. He felt the absence of his weapon, the pocket knife being a poor substitute for the shotgun he'd been carrying for so long. It was a useless feeling, but he couldn't shake it off. The door was open at the top of the stairs and he shuffled through it, trusting that his friends were protecting the area from threats. As he turned toward the front of the building, he saw the reason for which they'd been brought up.

  ***

  A young girl sat in the corner of the s
tore cradling the head of a grown man, both of them barefoot and clad only in dirty underwear. The man seemed to be bleeding from everywhere. The girl looked up at all of them, her filthy blonde hair barely hiding the tears streaming down from her wide blue eyes.

  Help us, those blue eyes told Richie. Please help us.

  Amanda was on her knees, checking the man for a pulse, trying to find a spot on him that wasn't covered in gore. She finally did, looking to Elvis who was on his haunches beside her, and nodded. The medical supplies were laying in a pile beside her and she reached into them for peroxide and gauze. Elvis handed her one of his many bandanas and she drenched it in a steady stream of antiseptic. Buddy was staring into the night, leaned against the frame of a large broken window with the shotgun held in both hands.

  "Where in the fuck did they come from?" Richie asked.

  "The truck," Elvis answered him from the man's side, "I think he broke the window."

  Richie watched as Amanda swabbed the blood away from the stranger’s actively bleeding wounds. She concentrated on the worst of them, smearing the stuff away from it to see if the blood flow could be staunched. Richie knelt down, noticing something about the man's lacerations that caused him to look closer. His eye widened. He looked up to Buddy, who had yet to turn their way. He looked back to Amanda who had seen the same thing he had.

  "We have to get them downstairs," Richie said, already pulling the unconscious man partway off of the ground, "Help me, Elvis."

  "What is it?" Buddy asked, finally turning from the window.

  "Bites."

  "Bites? What do you mean?"

  "They aren't cuts, Buddy," Amanda told him from the floor, "The blood is from bite wounds."

  "Fuck," Buddy said, turning back to the broken window’s frame, "Hurry it up."

  "Honey, you have to come with us," Amanda told the girl, "Is that your dad?"

  "No," the kid admitted, "But he's my friend. He brought me with him. They were going to eat us."

  Richie heard all of this as he and Elvis carried the man down into the basement and felt his stomach tighten. Bite marks meant cannibals. The girl had probably been one of their future meals and she was with them now. The feeders wouldn't be far behind.