Dead Highways (Book 2): Passage

by Richard Brown

  Aamod continued with his hard stare, and then finally said, “Stay away from her. She’s not yours to have.” He backed up toward the door. “I will be watching you.”

  I left a few seconds later, angry at Aamod for thinking he could bully me around. Sure I’d gazed at Naima once or twice or a hundred times in the past, but things were different now. She wasn’t just some girl at the convenience store I gawked at while she rang up my fucking hot dogs. She was my friend. And that was it. Nothing more. A friend. But more than angry, I left the restroom feeling confused. It was something Aamod had said regarding Jerry the rapist, who had kidnapped Naima just two days ago.

  He did enough, Aamod had said. More than you know.

  What did Jerry do that I didn’t know?

  Bowser stopped me in the hall. “What’s going on? Is he fucking with you?”

  “He thinks I’m trying to get with Naima.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  “Did he threaten you?”

  I shrugged. “Sort of.”

  “He threatened me.”

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  “You let me know if he steps at you again. I’m gonna take care of his ass … don’t you worry.”

  I nodded and walked away. I felt confident I could fight my own battles, when and if they came, but if there was anyone I wanted to have my back, it was the six foot five, two hundred and fifty pound black guy.

  It was just after eight in the morning when we loaded up and left the Mattress Barn. None of us had been too quick to get moving after spending the night reloading on sleep, but now that we were back in the car, we could at least enjoy the ice cold air conditioning. Even better, I didn’t have to drive. I sat in the backseat of the SUV next to Peaches and Olivia, soaking up the cool air, gazing out the window at the abandoned, and often looted, businesses as we rolled by. Robinson drove, while Bowser rode shotgun. Robinson’s German Shepherd, Jax, sat in the third row, occasionally resting his head on my shoulder, begging for attention.

  We had, as a group, officially embarked on the first leg of our journey to New Orleans.

  Plan A had been to take the Florida Turnpike up to I-75, but dead cars and soon to be dead people lined every lane, all pointing northwest. The closer we got to the center of the city, the more congested the streets became. With some careful maneuvering, we managed to get within eye shot of Highway 50, and could see it was no better than the Turnpike. Disappointed, Robinson pulled over and got out to discuss a Plan C with Ted, who along with Aamod and Naima, had been following behind us in the second SUV.

  I watched from the backseat as Ted unfolded a map out on the hood of the car. For a few minutes, they stared at the map, talking, strategizing, though I couldn’t hear a word they were saying. Then Robinson climbed back into the captain’s chair and we were off again, doing a U-turn and heading back south.

  “What’s the plan?” Bowser asked.

  “Go south out of the city, and then cut west to Highway 27.”

  “Where does that go?”

  “It goes north south.”

  “And you think it’ll be clear?”

  “No, I didn’t say it would be clear. But it runs outside of the city and so hopefully should be less crowded. Of course we won’t know for sure until we get there.”

  It was almost two hours later before we arrived at Highway 27. It was a drive that under normal conditions might have taken us half the time. But we were no longer living in normal times, and the clutter of car corpses and scattered groups of migrating infected certainly didn’t represent normal conditions. At least not normal by the standard of a week ago. Our speed averaged between ten and thirty miles per hour, and never got higher than forty-five, as there was hardly a stretch of open road where the remnants of some disastrous accident or destroyed property didn’t eventually pop up and slow us down.

  Buildings burned.

  Trash and broken glass lay everywhere.

  I was shocked we hadn’t blown a tire yet, considering the sound of some of the garbage we had rolled over.

  As we slowly approached the on ramp to Highway 27, the road gradually become more and more congested, until we were finally forced off the pavement and on to the grass.

  “Doesn’t look too good,” Robinson said.

  “Nope,” Bowser agreed.

  I scooted to the center of the backseat and looked out the front window. The green sign up ahead read: Clermont Turnpike North. Exit only.

  Once again, the police had set out cones to keep traffic orderly, and had also left a few dummy cruisers (as Robinson had called them) parked on the shoulder. But lucky for us, there was a good helping of grass on the side of the highway, so we had no problem reaching the apex of the on ramp.

  Robinson stopped the car, then rolled the window down and waved for Ted to come alongside. Ted drove up and stopped on the right side of us. Both Ted and Bowser then rolled down their windows so they could talk without having to exit the car.

  From the backseat, I scanned the highway. It wasn’t saddled with nearly as many cars as the turnpike had been, but there was still plenty of infected heading north. I also noticed they were sticking together in packs more often now. It was becoming a rare site to see one walking alone.

  “What are ya thinking?” Ted yelled out the window.

  “I’m thinking we try to take this as far north as we can,” Robinson replied.

  Ted nodded and then opened up the map again, flattening it out against the steering wheel.

  Now would not be the time to honk the horn.

  “Looks like this runs back into Highway 50 about fifteen miles or so north,” Ted said, not looking up from the map.

  “We don’t need to get on to 50 though. This should take us north for quite a ways.”

  “Yeah, but we could run into a serious mess up there around 50. And even if we can get beyond the overpass, what then?” Ted continued to study the map. “Looks like it will eventually take us up through Ocala. We should probably try to avoid that, don’t ya think?”

  “If you got a better idea, I’m all ears.”

  “Well, at this point I think you’d agree that speed ain’t really a factor. We’re not getting anywhere fast,” Ted said. “So it might be in our best interest to head west and then ride up along the gulf coast.”

  It was true that, for now, the infected appeared to have changed course, heading north and not west. But it was hard to be absolutely sure, as the direction they traveled also seemed to change depending on what road or highway we happened to be on. Here, on Highway 27, they were all going north, not south. Yesterday, as Robinson and I hunkered down in the bushes off Interstate 4, I had observed most of the infected heading northeast. Not west, or even northwest. My guess was they were taking I-4 east all the way till it connects to I-95, and from there they’d head north. Wherever they were going, one thing always held true—they always stuck to the easiest route, which for us meant the safest route would probably be the least obvious.

  “What do ya think?” Ted asked.

  Robinson shrugged. “Whatever. What’s the best way west? This highway runs north south.”

  “Looks like if we ride north for a couple of miles we’ll hit a county road that’ll take us west. Number 474 on the map. From there we’ll just have to wind our way down some of these back roads until we get closer to the gulf. It’s off the beaten path, but I think it’ll be a lot safer.”

  “Since you got the map, why don’t you lead the way,” Robinson said.

  “Sure thing. How you lookin’ on gas?”

  Robinson checked the gauge. “Less than half full.”

  Ted nodded. “Yeah, me too. Once we get off the highway … get away from the threat … we’ll find some cars and I’ll siphon us some gas.”

  “Okay, sounds good.”

  “Olivia is gonna need some more stuff soon,” Peaches said.

  Robinson cocked his head back. “What kind of stuff?”

  “Diapers.
Formula. You know … baby stuff.”

  Duh.

  “How long can she make it?” I asked.

  Peaches rummaged through Olivia’s baby bag. “I don’t know. Dinnertime.”

  Robinson turned back toward Ted. “The baby needs some stuff too. We’ll have to find somewhere to stop and raid once we hit the gulf coast.”

  “You got it,” Ted said. “You ready?”

  Robinson signaled for Ted to take the lead, and then rolled all the windows up.

  We carefully navigated Highway 27, weaving on and off the road, over medians, through parking lots, until we reached county road 474 two miles down. Then we went west, and for the first time that morning bested forty-five miles per hour. When 474 came to an end, Ted took us north and then west again down another narrow two lane road.

  Oil Well Road.

  Seriously, that was the name. You can’t make this shit up.

  I rested my head against the window and enjoyed the simplicity of the view.

  And I tell you what, the middle of nowhere never looked so good.

  Rest stop.

  We didn’t pull off the road. There was no need. We hadn’t seen another moving vehicle all morning long, and for the last few hours, since we had exited civilization, we hadn’t seen a person either. Not one infected. I could have counted the number of houses or farms we passed on one hand. So Ted and Robinson left the cars in the right hand lane, cut the engine, lifted the back gates, and then passed out lunch.

  After lunch, we walked around and enjoyed the fresh air—enjoyed being outside without having to look over our shoulders. Most of the men went off to pee on a tree—Jax marked quite a few trees actually—while Peaches went off to squat behind some bushes.

  Naima and I stayed back near the cars, kicking rocks, waiting for the others to return. Naima held Olivia, who had woken up long enough to squeeze something nasty into her diaper. Both of us were more than happy to let Peaches take care of it when she returned. Meanwhile, I kept my eye out for Aamod the Destroyer. He was out of sight, off doing his business, blocked by the cars. Good thing too. Didn’t want him seeing Naima and I standing within ten feet of each other. He might go into a rage again.

  Peaches came back first. “You don’t have to go?” she asked of Naima.

  Naima shrugged. “I do, but I don’t really want to go out here.”

  “Where else you gonna go? There’s plenty of places to hide.”

  “I’m pee shy too,” I said, “and I was able to go.”

  Naima smirked. “It’s not that.”

  “What then?”

  “Not that,” she reiterated. “Do I really have to say more?”

  “Oh … okay,” Peaches said. “I don’t really blame you then. I don’t think I’d want to do that out here either. We do have toilet paper though … if you change your mind.”

  Apparently beautiful girls have to take shits too.

  Who knew?

  Naima handed Olivia back to Peaches. “Speaking of which, I think she left you a present.”

  “You didn’t want to change her?”

  “No, not really.”

  Peaches looked at me. “Jimmy…”

  “I’m okay,” I said. Two days of caring for Olivia, and I still hadn’t changed one diaper. And I wanted to keep it that way—keep my streak going.

  “Why am I the only one doing the dirty stuff?” Peaches asked. “You think I enjoy it or something? I believe you’re the one that found her.”

  “Would you prefer I hadn’t?”

  Peaches gave me a nasty look I probably deserved.

  “I’m sorry,” Naima said. “I’ll change her. It’s not a big deal. You’ve just done such a great job with her so far. You’re like her adopted mommy.”

  “Awwww, thanks.”

  Yes, thanks Naima. She might have saved me with that last line. Adopted mommy? Fucking wonderful thing to say, and Peaches clearly liked the idea. She went off to change Olivia with a big smile on her face. Naima joined her.

  Ted returned and I helped him put some of the supplies back into the car. “We’re gonna have to stop again to refuel soon.”

  I looked around at the vast expanse of dirt and weeds and trees extending as far as I could see. “Where?”

  “First cars we come across.”

  “I haven’t seen a car in a while.”

  Ted began examining the map. He pointed to what he thought was our current location. “I think we’ll start seeing some houses come up after we round this bend in maybe … I dunno … fifteen, twenty miles.”

  “And what if we don’t…”

  “We still should have enough gas to make it all the way to the coastline. It might not seem like it, Jimmy, but we’re really not that far away now. But you know how it is … don’t want to let the gauge get too low. Better to do the transfer out here on the outskirts anyway, where we’re less likely to have company.”

  Once the others returned, we loaded back into the cars and left our temporary rest area. Jax took it upon himself to climb into the second row with Peaches and I. Running around outside had filled him with energy. As he twisted around on my lap trying to find a position that pleased him, his sharp little elbows dug into my crotch.

  “I hope you’re comfortable,” I said.

  Robinson glanced into the rear view mirror. “I am.”

  “I was talking to your eighty pound lap dog here.”

  “If he’s bothering you, tell him to get off.”

  Jax stopped moving. He rested his head against my chest and looked up at me, gave me his best sad eyes. “Nah, he’s fine.” I petted his head. “Why the name Jax though … I could think of some better names for him?”

  “I named him after my favorite football team. The Jacksonville Jaguars.”

  Bowser started laughing.

  “Fuck you,” Robinson said. “I know they suck.”

  And for a good ten minutes, Robinson and Bowser argued about football. Favorite players. Least favorite players. Best offense. Best defense. Stupid trades. I had nothing to add to the conversation. If I watched football at all, it was the Super Bowl. Maybe the occasional college bowl game. Still, it was nice to hear them talk—if not for just those ten minutes—as though nothing had changed. As though the world hadn’t ended.

  I resumed looking out the window, watching as the woods gradually gave way to wide open spaces. Sure enough, just as Ted had indicated, we came upon a house not long after going around a bend. It was an old two-story house with dark tinted windows and a small front porch that didn’t look quite level. The outside was in desperate need of a paint job. The white paint had long ago begun to peel away from the wooden frame in big skin-like flaps. Surprisingly, a blue truck that couldn’t have been more than a few years old sat in the driveway, providing a stark contrast to the dilapidated house crumbling behind it.

  “I guess we’re stopping,” Robinson said, seeing Ted pull off in front of the old house.

  “He’s gonna check the truck for gas,” I said. “Should we wait in the car?”

  Robinson pulled up behind Ted. “I’m getting out.”

  “So am I,” Bowser said.

  “Guess I will too then.”

  Peaches, Olivia, and Jax stayed back in the car. Everyone else, including Aamod and Naima from the other car, got out and stood around watching as Ted quickly went to work. In one of his hands was the five gallon gas can I had snatched yesterday to make Molotov cocktails. In the other hand he had some clear plastic tubing that he’d brought from his garage of goodies back at home.

  Ted bent down next to the truck and inspected the cover to the gas tank. “We’re gonna have to find something to pry this open. Check the cars. I think I threw a flathead screwdriver into one of the boxes.”

  Robinson didn’t even get the car door open before a tall, crazy-haired old man in a red flannel shirt and overalls stepped out from around the house.

  “What the hell you think you’re doing?” he shouted, hobbling toward us.
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  He had a large shovel in his hands.

  Ted wisely leapt to his feet and backed away from the truck, not wanting to get smashed in the head with the old man’s shovel.

  “I’m sorry,” Ted said. “We didn’t think anyone was home.”

  “And you didn’t think to knock either,” the man replied. He stopped in front of the gas tank, looked down at the red gas can and plastic tubing on the ground. “What’s goin’ on here … you trying to steal my gas? Think you can jus’ take things that don’t belong to ya?”

  Robinson now stepped forward. “We’re really sorry, sir. You’re right, we should have knocked first.”

  “Wait a darn minute, you’re with the police?” Robinson nodded. His uniform always gave him away. “If anyone should know better, should be you.”

  Robinson continued nodding, looking ashamed. “Again. You’re right. Mind if we explain who we are and where we’re from?”

  “Don’t much matter. You ain’t from round here, I can tell that.”

  Peaches came out of the car holding Olivia, no doubt wondering who the strange man with the shovel was.

  “We should just go,” Bowser whispered.

  Robinson ignored him, took a deep breath. “How about we start over. My name’s Robbie Robinson. I was a police officer, before everything went down. These are my friends.” He went down the line and introduced the rest of us. “We’ve been driving all morning and we just needed some gas. I assure you we didn’t think anyone was home. If you know the scale of what’s happened, then I’d imagine you’d know why.”

  The old man lowered the shovel and sighed.

  “What’s your name?” Robinson asked.

  “My name’s Sam, and yeah, I heard about it on the radio. Sounded unbelievable at first. That was until my wife got sick. I went into town to try and get her some help and … well, no one would help me. Everyone was too worried about themselves, those that hadn’t gone to sleep like her, that is. Can’t say I blame them either. After that I came back home and did a lot of hoping and praying.”

  “Where is your wife now?” Ted asked.

  “She’s in the house.”