Dead Highways (Book 2): Passage

by Richard Brown

  “I give it two days before you’re throwing things at each other.”

  “Wow, really? That long?” Robinson said. “I’ll take it.”

  Two days later.

  I was wrong. Robinson and Bowser hadn’t killed each other yet, nor had any infection. Their condition was improving, even if their general mood remained unchanged. Bowser was especially fussy, not used to being bedridden, and only getting up for the necessary bathroom trip. The rest of us made sure they had plenty of fluids and pain medication, and once a day we would apply new bandages to their wounds.

  Brian’s condition had also vastly improved. Rest being the key ingredient. That and perhaps a giant dose of love. Cathy rarely left his side in the master bedroom. Similar to how Jax looked after Olivia, laying at the foot of her crib.

  Two days later.

  We made a second supply run. Peaches and Naima both came along this time, not happy with the clothing Aamod and I had picked out last time.

  Well, sorry.

  How was I supposed to know Peaches wouldn’t fit into a size six? It looked right on the rack. At least I didn’t get her a size too big. She probably would have slapped me harder than Charlie, and the left side of my face was still a little tender. I must say following her around the bra and panties section left me more confused than a David Lynch film. She grabbed the largest bras and the smallest panties. Such a contrast. It made no sense.

  Then again, maybe having a half inch of lace tickling your ass crack felt nice.

  Two days later.

  Around lunch time.

  I huddled over Ted as he siphoned gasoline from a minivan three houses down from Cathy’s place. “Do you need my help?”

  “No, just keep an eye out,” Ted said.

  I looked both ways down the block, one hand on Sally. Nothing. No infected. “Haven’t seen anybody down this way all week long. No reason for them to leave the main road.”

  “I know. But it only takes one stray.”

  “To ruin our day.”

  “Exactly.”

  Once the minivan was dry, we carried the two five gallon canisters back to the house. Set them into the garage. Ted picked up two more red cans, both empty, and handed one to me. I thought about how hard it had been to find a gas can over a week earlier when I wanted to make Molotov cocktails. Now it was easy. Brian had four or five just laying around in the garage collecting dust and spider webs.

  We headed off down the street again, filled the two cans, and then went back to the garage.

  Brian was waiting for us this time.

  “Thanks for doing that,” he said. “Hopefully we won’t need it, but it’ll be good to have just as a precaution.”

  “It was no problem,” Ted said. “You ready to go to Tony’s?”

  “Yep. I’ll drive.”

  Earlier that morning, before Ted and I left on our little gas run, Brian had thrown us a curve ball. Cathy, in her desperate struggle to convince us to help locate Brian, had significantly oversold the capabilities of their boat. She had done this unknowingly, of course, but done it still. Brian’s boat was only twenty-five feet long, not nearly large enough to fit all eleven of us and our supplies. Thankfully, Brian had a friend—Tony—who up until a few weeks ago lived on the next block over. Like most people who buy property on a canal, Tony owned a boat—a much larger boat capable of safely and comfortably taking us where we needed to go. Louisiana. Only question was whether or not the boat had enough gas in the tank.

  We broke into Tony’s house and searched for the boat keys. After ten minutes, I found them nestled inside a catchall drawer in the kitchen. Connected to the key chain was a white piece of foam cut into the shape of a fish, designed to keep the keys afloat should they accidentally fall into the water.

  Out on the back dock, Ted and I helped remove the boat cover so Brian could climb inside. A moment later, the boat’s duel engines roared to life. Brian looked down at us and nodded. Then he cut the engines off and climbed back out.

  “How big is this boat?” Ted asked.

  “It’s a forty-foot cabin cruiser,” Brian replied. “The tank is sitting at about ninety percent.”

  “Will that work?”

  “Yeah, that should work just fine. It has two one hundred gallon tanks.”

  “Wow, that’s insane,” I said.

  Brian shrugged. “It won’t get us as far as you think. Boats aren’t cars. They don’t get close to the same gas mileage. Even with almost two hundred gallons, we’ll still have to stop somewhere about halfway and refuel. That is, if we can find a marina with a fuel pump that’s still operational.”

  Ted nodded. “We’re gonna have to.”

  “You still want to leave in a few days?” Brian asked.

  “That’s the plan, far as I know. Why … is that a problem?”

  “No, no problem. Just wanted to be sure. You should start to gather together all the stuff you’re taking in one of the cars, and I’ll help you put it in the boat tomorrow. That way we’ll be ready to go at sunrise the following day.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll let everyone know when we get back.” Ted clapped Brian on the shoulder. “Thanks for doing this by the way. We really appreciate it.”

  “You guys saved my life. It’s the least I can do.”

  Technically, Aamod saved his life. The rest of us just got shot or punched in the face. But I wasn’t about to bring up that sad story again.

  The next day.

  We made our third and final run to the Walmart. This time the girls stayed back at the house, along with Bowser, who could only walk so long on his leg before needing to rest. Every day, it got a little easier on him, but it was going to take some time before he was back to one hundred percent. If such a goal was even achievable.

  We left the store with more medication, batteries, canned food (dry food for Jax), water, diapers and formula for Olivia, an arm sling for Robinson, a knee brace for Bowser, beer and wine to honor our last night at Cathy and Brian’s, a carton of cigarettes for Peaches, and my personal favorite vice. Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

  Then, with Brian’s help, we hauled most of our supplies over to Tony’s and transferred them into the boat. The forty-foot cruiser had more than enough storage space.

  A few hours later, after sitting together for a nice dinner, we moved out on to the porch to enjoy the sunset.

  “Nothing quite like a warm beer,” Ted remarked.

  “It’s not warm,” Robinson said. “It’s room temperature.”

  Ted smiled. “Hey, I’m not complaining.”

  Peaches sat on one side of me, Naima on the other. It was a Jimmy sandwich. Naima sipped at a glass of wine. I was surprised her father allowed her even the one glass, given his usual adherence to super strict parenting. Maybe Aamod was lightening up a bit. We could all only hope. Peaches, however, as in all aspects of her life, did whatever the hell she wanted. No wine for her. She chugged beer better than the guys.

  Peaches leaned over to me. “You sure you don’t want one? It won’t kill you.”

  “I’m fine with just water,” I replied.

  “Okay then.” She smiled at me, took a long sip of her beer. “You’re such a goodie goodie, Jimmy.”

  “I just don’t see the point.”

  “In what?”

  “In getting drunk. I don’t like the idea of not being in control of myself.”

  “Who said anything about getting drunk? One beer won’t do nothing but … I don’t know … relax you a bit.”

  “I’m relaxed.”

  “Really? I’ve seen you relaxed, and you don’t look it now. Remember the first night we met?”

  I smiled. “How could I forget. I don’t remember being relaxed though. I was so scared my grandma was gonna come down the stairs and see me smoking that joint. I swear it took a good week before the bookstore smelled like books again.”

  “So you were a little paranoid. It all turned out for the best, right?”

  “Wel
l, other than society collapsing. Sure.”

  “I mean … you don’t regret it, do you? Spending those few hours with me, cheering me up after I had such a lousy night.”

  “No, I don’t regret it. I’m glad we met. And I’m happy we’ve managed to stick together.”

  “Are we … together?”

  “We share a bed, and it doesn’t feel awkward anymore.”

  “It never felt awkward for me.” She guzzled the last few inches of her beer and then kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

  While Peaches was gone, I listened in on the rest of the group’s conversation, mostly involving the route tomorrow. Brian led the talk, while Cathy sat beside him, rocking Olivia, smiling big and bright. Her spirit had returned with the return of her husband. Just seeing her infectious glow made all the pain Charlie had dished out more than worth it. It also made me feel ashamed. To think we’d tried to talk her out of even looking for Brian. In this new world, hope and optimism was the currency that kept everything going. If there was no chance things could get better, what was the use in living? Cathy showed me—showed us all—why it was important never to give up. By degrees, I could feel the weight of Diego’s suicide grow lighter.

  Peaches returned a minute later with three beers.

  “You must be thirsty,” I said.

  “One of these is for you.”

  She handed me a beer.

  “And the other two…?”

  “These are for me,” she replied. “Hey, I never said I had a problem getting drunk.”

  I put the beer to my nose, smelled it. It had an interesting scent. The taste, however, was less interesting. I couldn’t hide my displeasure as I swallowed.

  Peaches watched me, and then took a sip of her beer. She made no funny face. “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s … beer.”

  “You look like you’ve never had one before.”

  “I have. But it was a long time ago.” She stared at me, waiting for further explanation. “My grandpa gave me a sip once when I was little. It tastes the same as I remembered.”

  “After four or five, you don’t even really taste it anymore.”

  “I can’t imagine drinking five of these.” I glanced down between the chairs. There was three empty bottles already, and Peaches was working on polishing off a fourth. “I hope you can keep all of that down. You know we have to sleep in the same bed tonight.”

  She smiled. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to it.”

  Hmm.

  Okay. That must be the beer talking.

  I’d let that one slide without comment.

  Later, after the sun went down and the party dissolved, I found out what she really meant.

  The house was silent. Everyone was in their respective rooms. Except Ted, who was riding the couch downstairs. Olivia was in the crib, asleep. Jax at the foot of the crib, almost asleep.

  All doors were shut.

  All candles snuffed out.

  It was sleep time. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

  I was in bed, looking up at the useless ceiling fan, sheet pulled up to my neck. The window was open, but the hot air outside did nothing to cool the hot air inside. It was mid-eighties in the house, if I had to guess. Still, I slept with the sheet on top of me—kept myself covered—because I didn’t want Peaches to see me with just my tighty whities on. She was in the connecting bathroom, changing into her pajamas.

  Only.

  When she came out, she wasn’t wearing her pajamas. She had on only her bra and panties. I had watched her pick them out at the store.

  I quickly looked away, shut my eyes, and pretended to be asleep. I felt her crawl into the bed next to me, slide under the sheet we shared, and then lay still.

  After a moment, I opened my eyes and glanced over at her.

  And what did I see?

  Her lying on her side, head on the pillow, gazing over at me like I was a piece of meat.

  That’s right.

  I was a piece of meat. And she was hungry.

  “Hey,” she said softly. “You tired?”

  Tired?

  I was. A little. But that was ten seconds ago. Ever since I saw her come out of the bathroom, I was wide awake.

  “Aren’t you?”

  Perfect. Answer a question with a question.

  Good deflection.

  “No,” she answered. She scooted closer to me until her legs touched mine. “I have plenty of energy.”

  Apparently not a good enough deflection.

  My whole body tensed up. I looked into her eyes—her hungry eyes—and said, “You had a lot to drink. I’m surprised you’re not already passed out.”

  She smiled. “Do you wish I was?”

  “Not really.”

  She leaned in close and kissed me on the lips. Then she whispered in my ear, “Did you want to take advantage of me?” Suddenly I felt her hand on my thigh gradually moving up my leg and over my underwear, where she stopped and began caressing little Jimmy.

  How was I to respond?

  Every muscle in my body tightened. One in particular. It quickly grew in size as she continued to massage it, up and down, while planting kisses all over my neck and face. Finally, she reached her hand up and pulled my underwear down. Then she began stroking me like I’d never been stroked before.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  Stupidly.

  She withdrew her hand. Stopped kissing me. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Not satisfied with my answer, she began again. Rubbing me. All five and a half solid inches.

  “What’s wrong?” she said. “Don’t you want to touch me?”

  It took me more than a few seconds for the question to register in my brain. She was doing wondrous things with her hand, I tell you, wondrous things. I was totally zoned out. She had me lost in her spell. She had me at hello.

  There was no use in fighting it.

  “I know you’re a virgin,” she said. “I can tell.”

  There was no use in denying it.

  All I could say was, “Okay.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid. I don’t have any expectations.”

  All I could say was, “Okay.”

  “If you don’t want to do it … if you’re not ready … just say so, and I’ll back off.”

  Her hand sure didn’t back off. Up and down. Up and down. Softly. Gently.

  “I just don’t think this is the right time,” I muttered.

  “I understand,” she said. “You’re nervous. That’s natural.”

  “Well, it’s just weird ya know. Olivia is in the room. And Jax.”

  She smiled. “Is that it?”

  Partially. I was scared. This was all so new to me, and it had come on so sudden. She had come on so sudden, like a wild animal in heat.

  “Are you upset?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “You might be right. I’m a little drunk. And I’ve been known to get loud. How about I just give you head?”

  I kept staring into her eyes. Speechless.

  This was like something I had dreamed about every night for years and years. I was with a woman in bed, and she wanted me. She wanted to please me. This was what it must have felt like to be Brad Pitt.

  She didn’t wait for me to respond. Not that I had a response to give. She sat up on her knees and looked down at me—her black thong panties staring me right in the face. Then she removed her bra. Without restraints, her giant breasts hung free, her nipples large and pink.

  “I want you to touch me,” she said, and then led one of my hands up to her breasts.

  I squeezed softly, tried to mimic the approach she’d used on me. Her skin felt so smooth on my fingertips. Her nipples got hard as I ran my hand over them, around them. While I was focused on the upstairs, she slid down her thong, exposing the rest of herself to me. I had never felt so excited. My heart beat heavily inside my chest. My penis throbbed.

  She moved my
hand down to her vagina, allowed me to explore. She began to breathe hard, moan softly. My fingers instantly became wet.

  “You’re doing good,” she said. “Just keep doing that.”

  Then she settled back on to the mattress, her head now near my crouch, one leg up so I could continue to run my hand against her. Run my fingers inside her. A moment later, she put her mouth on me, twisting up and down, sucking hard. I felt all the tension in my body begin to slowly fade away.

  I put my head back. Closed my eyes.

  It would all be over soon.

  I could feel it building—feel it coming. And still she kept going. She never pulled back. Even as I finished, her mouth never left me.

  She was a pro.

  And I was officially in love.

  “You feeling any better?” Robinson asked.

  The question was directed at Peaches. We were down in the cabin of the boat. I was scrunched up on a sofa. She sat at a desk, slouched over, her head in her hands.

  “Not really,” she replied, not looking up.

  Robinson turned to me, nudged my leg. “How ‘bout you big guy?”

  Big guy? What was I ten years old?

  I grumbled and rolled over on my stomach.

  Robinson got the idea and climbed back up to the main deck without further prodding.

  Tony’s forty-foot cruiser was nice. Spacious. Clean. There was a twenty-inch flat screen TV. A DVD player. A powerful stereo system. But unfortunately, I wouldn’t get to enjoy any of these things. The motion of the water, as we cruised along at around twenty knots, had my stomach tied up in about a hundred knots. We weren’t in the Gulf of Mexico for more than an hour before I was hugging the toilet, saying hello again to my breakfast.

  Peaches, on the other hand, wasn’t bothered as much by the motion of the boat. She was paying the price for drinking too much the previous night. Her head hurt. She felt fatigued. She had stayed up late. We had both stayed up late. After our little play session, we had talked (my idea), while cuddling (her idea). It had felt so nice at the time, getting to know each other better on so many different levels. But when the crack of dawn came and we were forced to get up, our bodies rebelled. And thus, we’d spend most of the first leg of the trip down below, miserable, confessing our sins to the porcelain God.