“But Mexico?” Megan said. She sounded doubtful. I shared that doubt, but wouldn’t admit as much.
“Look,” I said. “I wasn’t telling you this to convince you to come with us. I was just telling you what we were thinking, explain what we’d been trying to do. That’s all. Nothing else.”
“You don’t want us to go with you?” Gene furrowed his brow, narrowed his eyes.
“That’s not what I mean. You want to come with us, that’s fine. There’s safety in numbers, and the work can be more evenly divided.” Thought about clearing a building, or making that run through a Costco or Sam’s. Everyone takes a turn, makes it better than just Dave and I always doing it.
“I know you weren’t,” Gene said. He looked at his wife, and she nodded. And he nodded back. “I’ve got a bus.”
I closed my eyes. We didn’t need a bus. We needed to travel a few thousand miles. We needed another plane. A bus was shit, a shit method of transportation.
“No,” Melissa said. “It’s not like you’re thinking. It’s a school bus.”
I was glad my eyes were closed, because when I rolled them, no one saw. The fact that guy had a school bus really didn’t make that bus any better, any more attractive an offer.
“Their right,” Megan said. “I’ve seen it. It’s a converted school bus perfectly designed for the apocalypse. If Romero had seen this thing, he’d of used it in one of his movies. It’s even got one of those cattle scoopers on the front, you know -- like the ones you see on trains? They clear the tracks of animals and well, shit, anything, so the train can chug right along.”
“Thing will destroy any cars blocking the road. Destroy them.” Gene smiled, grinned really.
I looked at Allison, Charlene, and then at Dave.
Dave cocked his head to one side. “Let’s see what this thing looks like.”
“Good.” Gene clapped his hands together. “Great.”
“All right,” I said. “So where is this monster masher of yours?” I asked.
“Well, see, that’s where there’s something of a problem,” Gene said, his smile gone, his shoulders deflated. “It’s not here.”
“It’s not here.” I ground my teeth. Seemed like a school would be a perfect place for a school bus, but maybe not for a school bus with a cattle scoop.
“No. It’s not.”
I shouldn’t have to ask the next obvious question. Gene didn’t get the idea. It was his turn to talk, and reveal the location of his school bus. “Gene,” I said. “Where is it?”
“Home.”
“Home,” I said.
“I was at work when everything started. I called Melissa, like I always did at the end of a day, you know, for a ride home.”
“He doesn’t have a license,” Melissa said.
“I can drive. I drive fine. I know how to drive.” Gene shook his head. “But, I lost it. Couple years back.”
“He drives fine, sober,” she said, and smiled at her husband, as if drunk driving was cute, and their little inside joke.
“And about the time she came to pick me up, hell was breaking lose all over town. Sirens blared. Cops running this way and that. We didn’t know that it was zombies eating people. We had no idea what was really going on. When she got here, there was a ruckus going on over on the main road, fire engines and trucks had the road all blocked.”
“Thought it was an accident, cars smashed all together, someone was trapped,” Melissa said.
“So she came in,” he said.
“And we never left. We followed all kinds of reports and started locking the school down. Knew we had to make this place as safe as one of them underground bomb shelters. Our home is that way, too. End of times, and all that. People used to laugh at me, stocking supplies and weapons. I just always believed in being ready for anything.”
“No one’s laughing now,” Melissa said, and placed an arm around her husband’s waist.
No one is left alive to laugh, I wanted to say. “Gene. How far away do you live?”
“Across town,” he said.
“I’m going with you,” Charlene said.
“Honey, I didn’t say I was going anywhere,” I said.
“I’m going, too,” Allison said.
I looked over at Dave, and he nodded. “You know I’m going. Don’t need to hear me say it.”
Gene nodded. “Well, kids, looks like we’re taking us a field trip.”
I needed to accept that Charlene was no longer a baby. I couldn’t help recalling her days in kindergarten…
# # #
If it had just been the first day of school, I don’t think I would have received a talking to. Instead, because I worked nights, I drove my daughter to school each morning. She had been in kindergarten and I didn’t want her on a bus with kids in first, second and especially not third grade. I knew the innocence wouldn’t last forever, and school was one of the first places to pick away at the sheltered wall her mother and I had built, but I was going to hold on to what I could for as long as possible.
We’d leave the house a little early, hit McDonald’s for a couple of hash brown orders and juice, and get to school just ahead of the buses. We’d park in the visitor’s lot, and wait for kids to get off the buses. She didn’t like to be first and I didn’t want to leave her alone in a classroom waiting for her friends, so hanging out until the buses arrived was fine with me. Then I’d carry her through the front doors.
She would talk my ear off the entire time. Usually the conversation revolved around cartoons, toys, or wanting to get a dog and why she’d be an amazing pet owner. How she’d take care of it, feed it, walk it, and wash it.
We’d smile and wave to staff as we entered the school.
On this particular day, Charlene’s teacher met me at the door to the classroom. “Good morning, Mr. McKinney.”
“Ms. Wingfield,” I’d said.
“Can I have a word with you?”
I set Charlene down, gave her a kiss and a hug, and a little encouragement to go into her class. I waved to her as she finally crossed the threshold. “What’s going on?” I said.
“I think it is time you stop carrying your daughter all over school.”
I’d cocked my head to the side. “I’m sorry?”
“You daughter needs to walk to her class. At this point, I don’t even think you should be walking her to class. You should say your goodbyes at the main door. She needs to begin developing some independence. You carrying her everywhere prohibits that from happening.”
I had to search her face for a smile, certain it had been a joke. When there was no trace of anything humorous in the grim expression she wore, I almost lost it. I wanted to go off on her, ask her who the fuck she thought she was. Charlene wasn’t always going to want me carrying her, so while she did, I sure as shit was going to. Was as easy as that.
“I’ve talked about this with your wife,” she said.
Talking about it with my wife, did little--no, did shit--to influence my thoughts. I may have noticed when I spoke I was a little louder than I intended to get. “She carry her down to class, too?”
“No, Mr. McKinney, she does not.”
“So she agrees with you?” I said. My hands were in my coat pockets. This was a good thing. I think if Ms. Wingfield saw my fingers roll into fists, the confrontation might have gone from bad to handcuffs fast. “Nah, I get it. I see what the two of you want. We’ll see how it goes. Can’t promise anything.”
“She needs to learn, Mr. McKinney. The question is, are you carrying her to class each morning because she wants you to, or because you want to?”
I clucked my tongue. “You know what, Ms. Wingfield? You have a great day,” I said, turned and walked away, back down the hall, toward the front-center of the school. Something needed punching. I just had to keep my cool until I was off school property.
By the time I reached my car, started it, and left the parking lot, I realized something I fought to admit.
Charlene needed t
o start walking to her classroom on her own. She did not need me carrying her to the door. The other kids in class would catch on, and make fun of her. She’d be remembered as the girl who had her daddy carrying her everywhere. Wasn’t as terrible as the kid who was bound to shit his pants in class, but I didn’t want my kid having to wear any labels.
# # #
“We’ve talked it over,” Andy said. He stood with both his hands in front of his stomach. His fingers twirled around one another, and it seemed to take a large amount of control not to make eye contact with any of us.
“Talked what over?” Gene said, and took a step toward Andy.
Behind Andy were Megan, Michelle, Robert and Kia. Like Andy, not a one made eye contact. “We’re not going.”
“You don’t have to,” Melissa said. “The six of us are going to get the bus. You wait here.”
“You guys can get some of the supplies together. Food in boxes, some of the medical stuff from the nurse’s office. Meet us by the back bay door,” Gene said.
“No.” Andy shook his head from side to side. “You’re not understanding me, us. You’re not understanding us, we’re not going with you on the bus. We don’t want to go to Mexico,” he said.
“No offense, Mr. McKinney,” Robert said.
I held up my hands. “None taken.”
“This is ridiculous,” Gene said. “We’ve been together since the start. We’re a family. I don’t want us to split up. We need to stay together.”
“Then stay with us,” Kia said. “There’s no reason to make a dangerous journey across town to pick up your bus, and then travel in it across the country just to cross a border. We have no proof Mexico is any better off than America. None.”
“It was just something I heard,” I said. I didn’t feel defensive. These people had as valid a point, if not more, than my notion to cross into Mexico. “Only thing I keep thinking is that we need to keep moving. Staying in one place seems more dangerous, but that’s just me. My thoughts. Mexico might be a million times worse off than the U.S. But it is something, you know? It’s forcing us to do something.”
Kia nodded. “I know and I respect your thinking, Chase; your decision. But it is not mine. I think it isn’t that bad here. I’m staying at the school. Everything we need is here. Everything.”
“Those supplies will run out,” Melissa said.
“And I’ll worry about that when it actually happens,” Kia said. “We have the weapons that you had in the trunk of your car, and they’ll--we can keep those weapons, Melissa, Gene? Can’t we? You’re not taking back all of those weapons?”
Everyone tensed. I saw hands tighten on rifles.
“They’re yours. Everything here, it’s yours. The bus is stocked. Prepped. We’re not taking anything from you. I wouldn’t do that. But, Andy, you’re sure?” Gene said. “I am not comfortable leaving you. I’m really not.”
Andy looked at the people behind him. They each cast a silent ballot with a slight nod. “We are,” Andy said. “We’re going to be okay.”
“I don’t like it,” Gene said to Melissa, like they might be the only two in the room.
I understood the man’s sense of feeling torn. “Gene, I think you guys should all talk. It’s something we can discuss in the morning. I would never want to be the one to come between you and your family. The road is going to be very dangerous. At some point, we may have to leave your bus because of things blocking the way. This is not going to be an easy journey.”
Not an easy and maybe not even a smart journey. This school wasn’t so bad. It did have everything, and was close enough to surrounding woods that eventually hunting for food and other supplies might not be as deadly a task as it was currently. Maybe we all needed a night to think things over.
Gene nodded, wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “You’re a good man, Chase. And I agree with you. I do. It’s very late. We should get some sleep, and in the morning, we can talk more. That sound alright?”
“Yes,” I said. “Sounds fine.”
“We’ve set the gym up like a mini-hotel. We pulled cots from the nurse’s office, and gym mats to use as beds, and separated the gym with play props for borders,” Melissa said, and smiled. “It’s not so bad.”
“I’m sure it’s not,” Allison said.
“Andy has sentry duty. Walks the halls, keeps an eye on things. It’s a one level school, but it’s spread out over a lot of land. We take turns doing this each night, using a rotation. Everyone has a turn,” Gene said.
“Good system,” Dave said. “I think I’ll stay up with Andy. Get a feel for the place.”
“That’s not necessary,” Melissa said.
“I want to, though. As long as it is alright with you, Andy?”
“I’d love the company.”
Gene clapped his hands. “Sounds like a plan then.”
Chapter Fifteen
Tuesday, November 3rd, 0725 hours
I woke up first. Allison, Charlene and I slept close to one another. The blue wrestling mat served well as a mattress. Walking around white tri-fold room dividers --more than likely from the nurse’s office, I saw that the gymnasium was ours, and ours alone.
While the plan had been to talk before bed, we’d all been exhausted. As soon as we’d settled in, we’d fallen asleep. I’d slept well. Felt very rested, but no less conflicted.
Mexico.
I couldn’t even remember what the radio broadcast announced, not exactly. That had been only an hour or so after Rochester had been severely hit with the outbreak, when Allison and I had been fleeing the 9-1-1 Center, and the journey to find and save my kids had first begun. The guy on the radio said people in poorer countries such as Mexico did not have the government funding to vaccinate their people. That the borders set up to keep illegal aliens out of the U.S. were now being used to keep infected Americans out of a less contaminated Mexico.
That had been about it. The extent of it.
It would be a no-brainer if we lived in Texas or anywhere near the Rio Grande. We didn’t. We weren’t anywhere near the south. We were thousands of miles away from the border. Was a bus with a cow scooper really going to be the salvation to deliver us to this massive wall?
It seemed doubtful. Unrealistic and disheartening.
The school really was a fortress. Possibly impregnable. The kitchen was huge. There were generators, and a room stocked with batteries to keep those generators running at least through the winter if incorporated discipline and restraint was used, so as to not drain all the juice in the first months or two.
If the Terrigino brothers’ place hadn’t burned to the ground, the cabin up along the St. Lawrence would have been ideal. But ideal because the area was isolated. Not as heavily populated as a Pennsylvania county. The cabin sat up high. Was more easily defendable. The problem had been the craziness of the brothers. Fighting a few zombies here and there was nothing compared to having to take those hunters out as well.
Winter was coming. That was surely a con. Generators or not. But was it really a negative, a con?
“Chase?” Allison said.
I moved back around the tri-fold. She was up on an elbow, hair disheveled. She looked beautiful. “Hey,” I said, and spoke softly. Charlene was still asleep.
Allison stood up, stretched. If I didn’t just see her wake up and know she was still groggy, I’d have sworn she was a zombie the way she walked; clumsy steps, ankle twisting, feet slapping onto the mat and then onto the gymnasium floor, thick with layers of polyurethane.
“What were you doing?” she said, wrapping her arms around my waist, and pressing her head to my chest.
I held her, my arms squeezing just as tight. It felt good, her warmth against me. I’d slept in the middle last night, between Charlene and her. It was not the same. I kissed her forehead. “Trying to figure out what’s what, you know? If Mexico is right or wrong.”
“I’m going wherever you go. So will Dave. You’ve got to know that by now.”
&n
bsp; “I know that. I do. That’s the problem. I don’t know where to go. I’ve made a million choices over the last few days. Not all of them good. Some of them, no, many of them put peoples’ lives at risk. I am responsible for people dying.”
“No, you’re--”
“I am, Allison.” I ground my teeth. “It’s easy for people to look at what I’ve done and judge the mistakes I’ve made. I’ve tried though.”
“Who’s judging you?”
“I am.” I pointed at my chest. “Me.”
“Do you want to go to Mexico?” she said. “Do you think Mexico is the place we should head for? Chase?”
“I think we need to move south. Winter’s coming. It’s going to be cold here. Very, very cold.”
Allison dropped her hands to her sides. “Can I say something?”
“You know you can.” I reached for one of her hands.
“What if, like with rain, the snow annoys them? It’s frozen rain, right? And eventually, that snow will melt. It will be rainy for the next several weeks before winter really hits. And then rainy after winter. We’re not all that far from Rochester, really. The weather in western New York is practically the same here.”
“Or worse.”
“Okay. Worse. I’ll give you that. We get a solid, what, two or two and half months of summer? But the rest of the time is either rain, or snow,” she said. Maybe it was because I stayed silent that she became apprehensive. “It was just an idea. Just--it was just something I was thinking.”
“No, Alley. No. I -- I get it. I see what you’re saying. I do.” I almost clapped a hand to my forehead. The obvious was that obvious, but I’d never seen it. Not like this, not until Allison pointed it out.
“Seriously? Because I was also thinking about what that woman… Megan…was saying. If rigor mortis is setting in, maybe the cold, the winter will wipe them out? I mean, unless they get smart enough to find shelter for the winter, you saw them, they just stumble about. A harsh Pennsylvania winter, Chase, it could kill them.”
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