Nina died thirty minutes later.
They sat there on the porch together.
“You’ll be in the south wing,” Chung said, breaking her out of her daydream. “We don’t really maintain the other sections of the dorm.”
“You get a lot of visitors?”
“Every now and again,” he said. “Gravy won’t turn his back on anyone in need.”
He said it with a tone of exasperation.
“That’s rare in this world.”
“Among other things.”
She didn’t press the issue.
He unlocked the door and they followed him down the hallway to the first room on the left, which faced east across the campus. It was a standard dorm room, two twin beds. More nostalgia on the walls, but Rachel paid it little mind. She didn’t need another walk down memory lane, seeing as the previous one was still playing out the string.
Jerry went downhill quickly that night, sitting on the porch with Nina’s body in his arms. He sat there as he started coughing, as the nosebleeds began, as his internal furnace really started cranking. His consciousness faded like a dying campfire, but he wouldn’t let her go. Rachel waited on the porch with them; she was afraid that when he finally winked out for the last time, her mom’s body would tumble to the porch like a dropped coin.
Jerry didn’t last long; he died eight hours after he started showing symptoms, but to his credit, he did not let go of Nina. In death, his arms stiffened around his beloved bride’s corpse, and Rachel sat cross-legged on the porch, that hard unforgiving wooden porch, all night with them, the skies thick with the tang of smoke, the chatter of automatic weapons, the whisper of helicopters buzzing overhead, until the sun rose. Their cat Hobbes sat in the window behind the bench, decidedly uninterested in the fall of man.
Rachel stayed at the house for another few days, waiting to die, waiting to live, waiting for someone to come help. She buried her mom and stepfather in the backyard in the middle of that gigantic, choking, suffocating quiet. She called her father several times, but the lines were down, and she’d only been able to leave a single voicemail message. She did not know what happened to the cat.
She left San Diego on the morning of August 23, first making her way to Lake Tahoe, where Jerry and Nina had a condo, before turning east, planning to cross the country to find her father.
“Ma’am?”
Chung again.
“You all have a good night.”
“Thank you.”
He left them alone.
“You OK, bud?”
Will sat on the edge of a bed, fiddling with a fingernail on his pinkie. His head was down, his chin almost touching his chest. Preteen boys were chameleons, she decided right then and there. Look one way and you saw the man he was growing into. Turn your head just so, a change in the light, the opaqueness of a shadow cast and there was the little boy he had been not very long ago.
“They were eating people,” he mumbled.
He looked up.
“Right?”
She looked at him, tapping her clenched fists together, unsure of what to say. The room was deathly quiet but for the patter of raindrops on the windows and rooftop.
“Yes.”
His chin dropped back down.
“Why would they do that?”
“A lot of people have forgotten how to be nice.”
He guffawed, almost derisively, as if annoyed by his mother’s attempt to sugarcoat the horrors of their world.
“That’s a long way from being nice.”
“You’re right, sweetie,” she said.
She turned his question over in her mind for a bit, wanting to give him a better answer. It wouldn’t be a good answer because she doubted there was one.
“The truth is, some people have forgotten they’re human. They’re no better than animals, wild animals who will do anything to stay alive.”
“Would you ever do that to stay alive?”
She was shaking her head even before he finished the question.
“No. Absolutely not.”
He looked back up at her, his jaw set, his eyes wet and bright.
“I would rather die.”
#
Gravy came to see her later in the evening.
Will was asleep, and she sat under the portico in the cool night air, looking up at the stars. It was a clear night, one of the clearest she could remember, and she wondered if this was a hint their perpetual autumn might be coming to an end. The enduring nature of the cool clammy weather had been wildly frustrating. It couldn’t last forever, they kept telling each other, but one way or another, it had. Maybe the nuclear exchanges alone hadn’t been responsible for the climate. Maybe it had been that and humanity’s mass die-off. Maybe they had pushed the planet beyond the point of no return, and this was the way things were going to be.
Still, she didn’t want to believe this was mankind’s epilogue. A disjointed, confused mess where they bounced around like free radicals extinguishing each other until there were none of them left. She ran her hands through her hair; a thin clump came free. The cord was thin and dry and brittle. That had been happening more and more often lately, an unwelcome byproduct of nutritional deficit. What was next? Scurvy? Was she a pirate?
The sweet smell of pipe tobacco harkened Gravy’s arrival.
“Good evening,” he said, emerging from the darkness.
He had a clear, soothing voice, one made for public radio.
She nodded.
“Mind if I join you?”
She gestured to the empty seat next to her on the porch. He sat next to her with a contented sigh.
“Nothing like a good sit, wouldn’t you agree?”
She glanced at him but didn’t reply.
“Thank you for bringing Alec home.”
She nodded.
“He didn’t want to talk about it.”
“No,” she said. She said it declaratively, to make it clear she wasn’t going to discuss the subject either. If Alec wanted to share what had happened to him, that would be up to him. It wasn’t her story to tell.
This cloaked the discussion with a shade of tension.
“Your accommodations are acceptable, I hope?”
“Yes, they’re fine, thank you.”
“How’s your son?”
“He’s fine,” she said, without any real knowledge if that were true.
“He’s very young,” Gravy said.
“He’s small for his age.”
“Is he your biological son?”
“No.”
“I’m a patient man,” he said, “but I don’t like being lied to.”
Her shoulders sagged. What was the point in lying about it anymore?
“Yes, he is my son.”
“And he was born after the plague.”
Rachel didn’t reply.
“Remarkable,” he said. “You’re a very lucky woman.”
Rachel took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Sometimes I’m not so sure.”
He lifted a single eyebrow.
“Yes, I suppose it must be quite a challenge.”
“You were the headmaster here?”
“Yes,” he said. “This was a school for kids with behavioral problems.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“But…”
“Everyone is so nice?”
“Yeah.”
“When it all went down, these boys were so scared. So scared. A few boys ran off during the outbreak, and, I presume, got sick. We never saw them again. The rest fell in line pretty quickly. That first year was rough, but we managed. Weird what the end of the world can do to a person.”
“Indeed.
Another pause.
“I have to ask,” she said. “What kind of name is Gravy?”
He laughed.
“My real name is Gary. Gary Fanwood. When I was a kid, my little brother had a hard time saying my name, and it came out as Gravy. The nickn
ame stuck.”
“You were very lucky to not get sick.”
“I believe a higher power was looking out for us.”
She bit down the urge to ask about the seven billion people who hadn’t warranted such protection. But their survival made sense at some level. Medusa was a virus, subject to the laws of virology. The outbreak had ended because the pathogen had found no more hosts to infect. And although the virus might be still swimming in her bloodstream, the fact Alec hadn’t gotten sick probably meant immune survivors couldn’t transmit the virus to others. It had only been two days, but Medusa had been nothing if not speedy. More importantly, if there were women out there who had never been exposed to Medusa…
“Are there any women here?”
“No.”
Rachel’s mind was racing.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “I made a list of all-girls’ boarding schools, women’s prisons, hell, I even went to a convent. We must have gone to fifty different facilities. I didn’t find a single survivor.”
That didn’t mean there weren’t non-immune survivors somewhere, but then she remembered that would simply mean more mouths to feed.
“I’m sorry.”
She laughed.
“I think we’re way past the point of apologizing to each other.”
“I hope not,” he said. “There’s something civilized about apologizing to your fellow man. To express sadness or remorse, to empathize, I believe that is what makes us human.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Rachel watching the stars, Gravy fiddling with his pipe.
“How long can we stay?” Rachel asked. No point in beating around the bush. She was going to take as much as she could for as long as she could.
“Two nights,” he said, pausing to exhale a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. “We can’t offer much in the way of food, but we can give you one good meal before you go. Tomorrow night, a banquet, to thank you for rescuing Alec, and then the following morning, we’ll send you on your way.”
Part of her wanted to wake Will up and hit the road now, tonight, under the cover of darkness. Safety there, and she preferred anonymity to the unknown risks associated with casting your lot with others. She simply wasn’t there yet, as friendly as these people seemed. Actual freedom was better than the promise of freedom. But the specter of starvation hung over them, that eternal cloud darkening their daily existence. You ate when you could eat. You didn’t push a plate away. It was the cardinal rule.
“We would love to join you for dinner.”
27
She woke with a start, forgetting where she was, almost forgetting who she was. Was she dreaming now or had she been dreaming before? Because it wasn’t possible she was a gypsy traipsing across a post-apocalyptic wasteland, was it? She took a deep breath and let it out as she regained her bearings.
The room was clouded with the gloom of the early dawn. Will was still asleep, hard, the kind of rest that could only be built on a foundation of security and safety. Her body felt rested, if not a bit stiff. Amazing the restorative powers of sleep, amazing how good it felt when you had been deprived it for so long. Another week of it and she might start cutting into her deficit. She might start feeling human again. Knowing Will was safe, that he’d been cared for, that he had some food in his belly had been the equivalent of a sleeping pill. Every meal they could get inside their stomachs reminded her of the arcade games of her youth. If you could make it to the next checkpoint, the words EXTENDED PLAY would flash on the screen, getting you more bang for your video game buck.
She stepped out into the hallway, still dark at this early hour. Her foot brushed against something; she looked down and saw a small box by the door. She knelt and opened it to find four bars wrapped in foil and two bottles containing a purple-colored liquid.
A note reading DRINK ME was affixed to each bottle.
She smiled.
She took her breakfast under the portico. The beverage wasn’t particularly tasty, but it wasn’t bad, sort of like homemade Gatorade, and it washed down the chewy protein bars. She threw caution to the wind and ate both of hers as she watched the day brighten around her. In the distance, the sounds of the campus coming to life for the day.
Will was sitting up in bed when she got back to the room, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.
“Morning.”
He acknowledged her with a yawn.
“How’d you sleep?”
A single thumb up in reply.
“Breakfast,” she said, tossing the box on the bed.
He dug in, inhaling both bars in a handful of bites.
“Are we leaving now?”
“Tomorrow,” she said.
“Why not now?”
“One more good meal, one more night’s sleep. You know the rules.”
“How much farther to Colorado?”
He drained the last of his drink.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Not as fast as we’d like, I’m guessing.”
“We should go now,” he said, yawning.
His face was gaunt, his eyes puffy.
No, they should stay. He needed to rest. Another full day of rest would do wonders for them and they would hit the road refreshed. It was the smart play.
#
Will didn’t put up much of a fight. In fact, he had fallen back asleep shortly after breakfast. Rachel spent much of the day in bed herself, reveling in the quiet, in the solitude, in the knowledge that at least for today, they wouldn’t have to fight to stay alive, they wouldn’t have to be on high alert.
She wandered the hallways of the first floor, peeking into each room along the way. The rooms were sterile, having long been stripped of anything useful. It was a routine now, habit, she supposed, a muscle developed over the last decade, an instinct to check in every nook and every cranny of every new place for something of use.
A noise in the hallway startled her, freezing her in place. Like a computer program, she reached for her HK, even though it was back in her room. She turned back and saw Gravy near the door to her room, his palms out.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s OK.”
“Everyone ready for dinner?”
His voice sounded a bit high, reedy, more than she remembered from their earlier discussions.
“I think Will is still asleep,” she said. “Let me check.”
A quick check of the room confirmed her suspicion and she rejoined Gravy back in the hallway.
“Did you all get some rest?” he asked.
“Yes. Kid is still zonked out. I’d like to let him sleep a bit longer.”
“Of course,” he said. “We have time, I think.”
He lingered in the doorway, and Rachel became aware of an awkwardness between them. It was his school, his building, but she got the sense he was waiting for an invitation.
“Would you like to wait with me?” she asked. “He’ll be up soon.”
“Thank you.”
“Why don’t we move to the next room?”
He nodded.
They each took a bed, sitting across from one another. Rachel placed the lantern on the end table between the two beds and closed the door. A plastic potted plant was perched on the end table next to her. The carpet was threadbare, worn to the concrete in some spots. Gravy sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, tapping his fingertips together.
“Thank you again for your hospitality,” she said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your sharing your supplies with us.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he said.
“It is a big deal. Very few people would do what you’ve done. Most would put a bullet in our heads. More efficient.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Well then. You’re very welcome.”
They sat in silence for another few moments. Gravy continued to tap his fingertips together. Rachel was content to sit in silence; she had never been one to make small
talk for the sake of filling a void of silence. He was handsome, she saw, stealing glances at his profile. A weariness about him she found warm, almost inviting. Someone who had seen darkness but hadn’t let it drag him down into its depths.
“I have a confession to make,” he said.
Fingertips tapping.
“Oh?”
“You’re the first woman I’ve spoken to in a long time. Since it happened, in fact.”
She did not reply.
“I have to admit, it’s made me very nervous. I feel like I’m doing everything wrong. Like this thing I’m doing with my hands, I don’t even know why I’m doing it. I don’t know if I’ve ever done it before.”
He stopped tapping his fingers together and looked at his hands like they had just sprouted from his wrists.
“Did you have a family? Before?”
“No. Divorced when I was twenty-five. Never remarried. Worked here six years before the plague hit.”
“You’re probably better off,” she said.
“How so?”
“No entanglements. Less to worry about. Less to mess with your head. Everyone’s fucked up now. The things we’ve seen. The things we’ve had to do to stay alive. I doubt anyone has been immune from that.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
She got up and sat next to him on the bed. Her body was turned toward her host, her right leg folded underneath her. What was she doing?
Her eyes caught his in the dim light; his cheeks colored, and he looked away.
“Where are you headed? You and your son?”
“Nowhere in particular,” she said. “Meat for the pot, roof over our heads. Keep plugging away. Like everyone else.”
She waited as he processed that, wondering if he would dig any deeper.
“I hope you find a place to call home,” he said.
“We’ll see.”
There was another silence.
“How do you all pass the time? Keep the crazies away.”
The Immune Box Set [Books 1-5] Page 78