Sarah didn’t push the issue.
They’d broken into a large sporting goods store in Durham, where they geared up for a long bike ride. Adam had needed to start from scratch, having left much of his gear behind during his desperate search for the rabies vaccine. So when they left the store two hours later, both were outfitted with backpacks, tents, sleeping bags, water bottles, energy bars, ponchos, waterproof matches, compasses, hunting knives, a GPS transmitter/receiver, and flashlights. They also stopped in a drug store and stocked up on toiletries. It was surreal for Adam. Simply taking the stuff had felt so foreign; he kept waiting for the police to swoop in and arrest them for shoplifting. But, of course, none did, and they pedaled out of Durham around noon on August 31.
Adam was hopeful that they’d be able to trade up to something with an internal combustion engine a little ways up the road, but they never found more than a few miles of highway that wasn’t blocked those first couple of days in September. So they stayed on their bikes. The slow pace was maddening, but there was nothing Adam could do about it. Moreover, it limited the stock of supplies that they could carry at any given time, necessitating more frequent stops.
As they rode, Adam tracked the landscape passing by; he realized he was looking for some sign that the world had changed, that things looked fundamentally different. But the truth was that it all looked about the same. A grain silo rose up before him, growing larger as they drew closer, and then receding behind them until it was gone from view. A Target distribution center. A salvage yard. These things looked exactly the same. They saw no one, the countryside hauntingly empty.
The early afternoon of September 3 brought them to Kernersville, North Carolina, about seventy miles west of Durham. They ate lunch on the playground of the Kernersville Elementary School. There had been little chit-chat between them since their union, only what was necessary to keep the expedition moving westward. This, Adam supposed, was shock. Didn’t matter who you were, what you’d done before, you didn’t watch the world die without a little piece of you going with it.
After lunch, Sarah studied their map while Adam administered the second dose of his rabies vaccine. So far, so good in that department. The bites themselves had nearly healed and he’d seen no evidence of any strange new symptoms. The fear was still there, as though hermetically sealed, ensuring it would never decay or yellow or soften at the edges. He wasn’t sure he wanted it to fade away. It was important he remember what happened. That he remember how far off the reservation they were.
He got up and walked around, the late summer heat pressing down on him. The trees full and green, a few leaves on the branch tips just starting to turn. The incessant buzz of cicadas. He touched each piece of playground equipment, feeling the heat absorbed deep in the wood, and it made him sad to think how there were no children here. Behind him, Sarah lit a cigarette, and while she smoked, he checked his iPhone for messages. The dreaded No Service icon flashed in the top left corner of the screen. It had been days since he’d pulled a signal; he figured the cell towers had finally gone down.
Sarah was crushing the cigarette under her boot when he made his way back to her.
“There aren’t a lot of population centers west of here,” she said. “It might be worth trying to snag a car this afternoon.”
This perked Adam’s spirits. He couldn’t believe how little progress he’d made since leaving Richmond, and this was welcome news indeed. He needed a win, badly. The vehicles left in the parking lot were their first target, but they were all locked or missing their keys. They rode into the center of town and stumbled across a Jeep dealership. A few minutes of trial and error finally resulted in a hit – the keys to a new Jeep Grand Cherokee, just a few miles on the odometer and fully gassed. As they loaded their gear into the cargo area, Sarah tapped him on the shoulder. When he looked up, she tipped her head toward the main road. He looked up to see a car quietly approaching from the north. Behind him, he could hear Sarah readying her M4. His heart pounded.
A rotund middle-aged man jumped out of the car and sprinted toward them, his arms flailing about his head. He was wearing a nice pair of dress pants, but he was shirtless and in bare feet; his shoulders and face were badly sunburned. Adam did not think the man was much in his right mind.
“They’re here!” he yelled as he drew toward them. “They’re here!”
“Whoa, whoa!” Sarah said, stepping out from behind Adam, making sure her machine gun was visible to all. “Take it easy, big guy!”
“They’re here!” he said again. “They’re here now!”
The man was becoming hysterical, his face cycling through about eight different shades of red. A bubble of mucus inflated from his left nostril as he repeated his warning again and again.
“They’re here!” he yelled again, dancing in place, almost as if he had to go to the bathroom.
Adam glanced at Sarah, who just shrugged her shoulders.
“They’re here,” he said again, sinking to the ground. “They’re here to kill us all.”
Then he was curled up into the fetal position, bawling, howling, as though Adam and Sarah were ritualistically disemboweling him rather than simply watching him. Adam knelt down next to him.
“You OK, buddy? Who’s here?”
He continued to howl.
“Let’s calm down a little,” Adam said. “You’re safe.”
Howls. Screeches.
Adam tried consoling the man for another fifteen minutes, but he simply could not reach him. He patted him on the shoulder. Nothing. He asked him for his name. Nothing. Every minute or so, he’d call out his warning and then retreat back into his catatonic state.
“Adam,” Sarah said.
“What?”
“We need to get moving.”
Adam dropped his chin.
“I know.”
“Hey buddy,” Adam said to the man. “We’re gonna hit the road. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Here,” the man said. “Here now.”
“I can’t leave him here,” Adam said. “He needs help. Help me lift him in the car. He just needs some rest.”
“You sure?” Sarah asked.
“We’ll keep an eye on him. Grab his legs.”
Adam slid his arms underneath the man’s underarms while Sarah hooked hers around his legs. As they lifted him off the ground, the man bucked like a bronco. A runaway fist clocked Adam’s ribcage, and the man was up and running and flailing about again.
“They’re here!”
He ran back to his car and climbed onto the hood, where he continued his sermon, this time in earnest.
“THEY’RE HERE!”
Adam’s head hurt.
“Let’s go,” he said to Sarah.
Sarah took the first shift and guided them back toward the interstate, the shouter’s pleas booming in the giant stillness.
“They’re here!”
They were two miles up the road before the man’s voice faded away. Adam wondered what would become of him and those like him. How many people were out there right now, falling apart, unable to cope with the enormity of what had happened these last few weeks?
In the ordinary quiet of the car, things seemed almost normal. The air conditioning worked. An album by a band called the Tattered Remnants spun in the compact disc player. Just another road trip along a forgotten stretch of highway. Again, chit-chat was kept to a minimum, the experience at the dealership unnerving them both.
Fortunately, as Sarah had predicted, the roads northwest of Kernersville were clear. They drove deep into the wilds of North Carolina, toward the mountains. Adam’s unease grew as evening approached, the sun tracing its eternal route through the sky, inching its way toward the horizon. He was still having a hard time at night, when the panic would rush through him as darkness spread across the landscape. It was almost palpable; watching the sun dip toward the horizon was like having his head pushed underwater, unable to breach the surface. He’d find himself clinging to the last bit o
f light as it leaked from the sky, almost willing it to freeze in place. This new world was crappy enough in the late-summer sunshine. Nighttime in a world of the lost was almost more than he could bear.
“Storm’s coming,” Sarah said.
Adam glanced up at a ridge of purplish clouds stretching toward the horizon. A storm. He’d loved thunderstorms once upon a time, but now it was just another thing to worry about.
“We may want to think about finding real shelter tonight,” she said.
Adam’s pulse quickened as Sarah pulled onto the shoulder. Finding shelter was something new. Something different. And anything different in this new world could be bad. Deadly, even. Adam looked down at his lap as Sarah studied the map from the glove compartment.
“This next town looks like our best bet for tonight. We can stock up on supplies.”
“Oh, shit, we forgot to get them in Kernersville,” Adam said.
“I know,” Sarah said. “That scene with that guy just freaked me out.”
They curled off the interstate and passed an empty park to their left, the susurration of the tall grasses audible in the giant emptiness. Just beyond, a large sign welcomed them to Walkertown.
“There’s a little market up ahead,” Sarah said.
Sarah pulled into the parking lot of Hall’s Grocery and shut off the engine, which ticked and hissed as it cooled, the sound huge, almost embarrassingly so.
“You wait here,” she said. “I’ll get us something to eat.”
“You shouldn’t go alone,” he said. “It may not be safe.”
She patted her M4 rifle. “I won’t be alone. Besides, you can keep a lookout.”
She got out of the car, stretched, and went inside.
While she gathered their dinner, Adam fiddled with the vehicle’s satellite radio hookup, edging his way across the spectrum, earning nothing but mild static for his efforts. He’d subscribed to the service himself, passing the time behind the wheel with the Bob Dylan channel, the ‘90s channel, Howard Stern.
Was Howard Stern dead?
That was a weird thought to have.
He took big, shallow gulps of air, sweet evening air, and he had to laugh at himself. He was still giggling a little when Sarah emerged from the store, a sack of groceries tucked under her arm.
“Something funny?” she asked.
“Just laughing at our little predicament here,” he said. “Because this is some crazy shit we are dealing with.”
This earned him a thin smile, but nothing more. As she stood there, smiling her thin smile, shockingly unfazed by the disaster, a bolt of anger swept through him.
“How are you so calm?” he snapped.
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re standing in a worldwide graveyard, and you don’t seem the least bit put out. How is that?”
The smile disappeared.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“Everyone you and I have ever known is dead! You get that? Dead!”
A sneer of disgust curled up on her face.
“Oh, I get it all right,” she snapped back. “More than you’ll ever know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“None of your goddamned business. Do you want to eat or not?”
The fight went right out of him, a balloon floating away from a child’s hand.
“What the hell.”
She sat down on the curb as the day’s last light ebbed out of the sky. Adam switched on the headlights, bathing the storefront with a harsh white glow. Inelegant, perhaps, but better than the dark. Way better than that. He sat down next to her, quiet, as she picked through the paper bag, emblazoned with the Hall’s Grocery logo. She handed him a can of spaghetti, a kid-sized cup of applesauce, a pack of Oreos and a lukewarm bottle of beer. He studied the label, AMB Pale Ale, a brand he didn’t recognize.
“Sorry the beer’s not cold,” she said.
“Drank my share of warm beer,” he said.
He twisted the cap off, priming his ears for the hiss of carbonation as the seal was broken. They clinked bottles, and he took a long pull. It was shit beer, truly wretched stuff only a college freshman could love, but it was still beer.
Sarah belched, loudly, and set the bottle down next to her.
“You’ll forgive the lady.”
“Sure.”
He rolled the can of spaghetti between his hands, taking comfort in the weight. Sarah popped open her can and dug in with a plastic spoon. The tangy aroma of the tomato sauce tickled his nose, but not in a particularly good way, and he decided to pass on the pasta course.
“You need to eat,” she said. “Keep your strength up.”
“Think I’ll pass tonight,” he said, patting his midsection. “Watching my weight.”
The joke fell flat, and she continued to eat her spaghetti.
Eventually, he ate the applesauce and the Oreos and then washed it down with the rest of his beer. When he was done, he got up and began stuffing the remains of his dinner into the trashcan posted at the front door. Then he stopped, his hand holding the heavy plastic flap open.
“God dammit, I’m such an idiot,” he muttered.
“What?”
He wasn’t even listening now, as he stewed in his juices, marinating in the annoyance of his cleaving to the old ways, dumping his trash as though the county sanitation department would be along in the morning to empty the cans out.
“This fucking shit!” He tipped the can over, sending it clattering onto the concrete walkway in front of the store. The lid came loose, and a coil of hot, stinking garbage oozed out, waiting for a garbage truck that would never come. Adam picked up the lid and flung it into the door, shattering it into a million pieces. The tinkling of fracturing glass echoed through the parking lot, and he stood there, watching the shards rain down onto the sidewalk in front of the store.
“Feel better?” she asked.
He stood there, his hands on his hips, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He felt his legs buckle, and he dropped to his knees, shivering, sweating. His heart thrummed, and his breath was catching in his midsection. His stomach hurt. Maybe he needed to go to the bathroom. Hell, maybe he was finally dying of Medusa.
He felt Sarah’s hand on his back.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Hey. It’s going to be OK.”
He rolled back onto his seat and pulled his knees to his chest. Hot jets of shame flooded through him, falling apart like this in front of this woman. Come on, Fisher. Come on.
He looked into her eyes. They were clear, calm, flat hunter-green pools. No hint of panic, no indication she was unable to handle this pitch the universe had uncorked at them. That’s what it was about her. A preternatural calm. Where did it come from?
“I’m gonna run inside the store for a minute,” Adam said. “Want anything?”
She shook her head.
Adam stepped inside the store. It was dark and humid. He shone the flashlight across the aisles, across the rack of postcards, the dead cooler full of soft drinks, the weekly newspaper stacked at the front so out of date that the headline read Early Start to Flu Season. He opened his wallet and withdrew all the cash inside, some sixty dollars. He left it on the counter and weighted it down with the collection jar. He didn’t know why he did it. It was a horribly futile gesture, he knew that, but it made him feel better all the same. Maybe he’d eventually get used to the fact that everything, everywhere was simply there for the taking. But it still seemed wrong.
“Want to talk about it?” she asked when he got back outside.
He looked back and saw her watching him, maybe studying him.
“I don’t even know what to say,” he said. “I mean, I want to say something, I feel like I should say something, but nothing comes out.
“I mean, what the hell is this?” he said, spreading his arms wide, feeling it all pour out of him, like his sanity had been inside a cup that had tipped over. The scale of it, the everyth
ing-ness of it, had pushed and pushed and pushed down on him, the pressure growing like air in a balloon.
She got up and brushed her hands on her pants.
“What’s the first thing that comes to mind?” he asked.
She looked up at the sky and let out a long sigh.
“I guess I can’t help but wonder what the hell happened.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “If it makes you feel better, I’m a doctor, and I don’t have the first damn clue.”
“A doctor? Not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.”
He supposed he could understand; if a doctor couldn’t explain what happened, that was a pretty sorry state of affairs.
“Can I ask you a question?” Adam said.
“Sure.”
“Did you ever feel sick? Did you ever experience any symptoms of Medusa?”
Her eyebrows popped up.
“Now that you mention it, no, I didn’t,” she said. “I kept imagining it, that I was coming down with it, but I never did.”
“Me either,” Adam replied. “Now it’s possible that we did experience symptoms but that they were so minor that we didn’t notice them.”
“Is that important?”
“At this point, probably not,” he said. “I’m not a virologist or infectious disease specialist, so this isn’t really my area of expertise. But I’d love to know why we survived.”
“I came through Philly, Baltimore, and D.C. before I made it to Raleigh,” she said. “Barely saw a living soul. Heard folks. Voices carrying on the wind and whatnot. You were the first person I’d talked to in a week.”
The image of the crowded northeast corridor emptied out made Adam’s head spin. The virus would’ve spread fast, so fast, there.
“What kind of doctor are you?”
“OB/GYN.”
“Babies.”
“Yep.”
She became silent, eyeing Adam, more looking through him than she was at him.
“Will babies get it?”
It was an important question, possibly the most important question of all, and he was disgusted with himself for not considering it. Pregnant women out there in the big empty. There was no way to know whether a fetus would survive its mother’s exposure to the virus. And if the baby did survive to delivery, there was no way to know if she’d survive outside the womb. Adam just didn’t know enough about how Medusa worked.
The Immune Box Set [Books 1-5] Page 19