by AJ Powers
“Never saw that one.”
“Not surprising,” Malcom said. “World War II epic. Weren’t really a lot of baby-faced pop singers in that one.”
“Hey!” Naomi barked back. She sounded offended but wore a smile on her face.
“All right. Then what’s your favorite movie?”
“Boondock Saints,” she replied without skipping a beat.
Malcom’s eyes widened. “Yeah right.”
“What?”
Malcom let out a chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t know… a couple of Irish guys going around killing mobsters… It just… it just doesn’t seem like your wheelhouse.”
“Just because I’m fifteen doesn’t mean I’m obsessed with boy bands and high school dramas.”
“Fair enough,” Malcom conceded. “So, what made that movie so great for you?”
Naomi’s cheeks flushed red, and she bit down on her lip as she attempted to conjure up an answer in her head. But before she could reply, Malcom answered for her.
“You think one of them is cute, don’t you?”
She repressed her smile and shook her head vehemently as she stared down at her feet.
“That’s what I thought.” Malcom jested, “I knew it!”
“Shut up, Malcom,” Naomi quipped, punching him in the arm.
“Ow,” he feigned, rubbing at his shoulder. “It’s all right, I won’t tell anyone. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Naomi laughed, turning away from him to hide her rosy cheeks. “You’re an ass,” she chuckled bashfully.
“Language,” Malcom said sarcastically. “Little ears back there.”
Naomi turned around to look at her brother before spinning back forward. “He’s asleep… And you’re still an ass.”
Malcom’s body bounced with amusement over the snarky words of the teenager. He and Naomi were finally starting to develop a bit of a rapport, which would be imperative for them moving forward.
But the smiles soon faded, and the jovial moment passed as reality soon found its way back into her mind. “Whatever,” she sighed. “Everyone in that movie is probably dead now, anyway. So who cares?”
“Wow,” Malcom said. “Way to take the starch out of that shirt.”
His response elicited another chuckle out of Naomi, including a snort that made him think of Tessa. But the truck fell silent again as she became lost in thought, a somber expression on her face. Malcom knew that look—he’d donned it himself thousands of times since losing his family. “You know, it’s okay to laugh, Naomi. It doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten her. Just means that… that you’re finding ways to keep going.”
Naomi’s eyes glistened as Malcom’s words sank in.
“Take it from me, kid… If you can’t find any joy in life—even just a little—you’ll find yourself in some pretty dark places real fast.”
“I’m already there, Malcom.”
He shook his head. “No, you’re not. Not even close.”
Naomi glared her objection.
“I know you’re hurting, Naomi. Probably worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. But the mere fact that you’re able to smile, even if you do feel guilty afterwards, tells me that you’ve not strayed too terribly far down that path…” Malcom looked over at her, her wet eyes avoiding his. “Just trust me on that one.”
Naomi started sniffling, doing her best to avoid a breakdown, but it was a hopeless battle. “She died thinking that I hated her, Malcom,” Naomi whimpered, her voice not much stronger than a whisper. “I was… I was just so mad at her. But I didn’t hate her.”
Malcom’s eyes also danced with tears as he thought of the hell Naomi put Tessa through back on the boat… He also grieved for the remorse that Naomi would now carry with her for the rest of her life. Putting on a strong, confident voice, Malcom said, “She knew that, Naomi. She knew you were just upset, and that you didn’t mean what you said,” he lied to the girl. “And she never stopped loving you. There’s absolutely nothing you could have said or done that would have changed that,” he added sincerely.
Naomi nodded her head as she dragged the back of her finger across her eye. “I didn’t even realize I was saying it until after the words left my…” Naomi’s voice trailed off as Malcom lifted his foot off the gas. She swiped at her eyes again, looking out the windshield with a puzzled expression across her face. “What is that?”
Malcom squinted at the large blue-and-white cloth dancing in the wind up ahead. “I think it’s a parachute,” he said as he allowed the truck to coast for a few hundred feet before easing to a stop just in front of the unexpected roadblock. “Wait here,” he said, reaching for his AR-15 in the back.
Stepping out of the truck, Malcom shouldered his rifle and swept the muzzle from left to right as he crept closer to the damaged pallet in front of him. Hundreds of white, plastic packages were splayed across the asphalt, a few of them torn open enough to confirm Malcom’s suspicions.
“What is all that stuff?” Naomi asked from behind.
“I thought I told you to wait in the truck,” he replied.
“Guess I didn’t hear you,” she rebuffed as she stopped by his side, cradling the Cx-4 in her arms. “So, what is it?” she asked again.
“It’s food,” Malcom replied.
“That… doesn’t even remotely look like food.”
“They’re MREs.”
“Huh?”
“Meals Ready to Eat. It’s soldier food. Has a long shelf life and is easy to pack, which also makes it pretty ideal for disaster relief.”
“All right. So if it’s meant for disaster relief, why did they drop it in the middle of nowhere like this?” Naomi asked, taking in the fields surrounding them, “it’s not like there’s anyone nearby to use it.”
“I imagine someone screwed up.”
“Obviously,” Naomi replied. “I thought our guys weren’t supposed to make mistakes like that.”
“Everyone makes mistakes, but…” his voice trailed off as he crouched next to the pallet and got a closer look at the MREs. “I don’t think it was our guys,” he said as he held up one of the packages in front of him.
“Okay, those don’t even look like real words,” Naomi chimed in again. “What language is that?”
Malcom studied the label closely as he racked his brain as to where he’d seen the characters before. His eyes darted around the package, searching for a clue that would help him identify the origin. Besides the small United Nations logo stamped on the back, there were no other indicators that told him where the food was produced. It was clearly Asian, but it was neither Chinese nor Japanese. That’s when Malcom remembered watching the winter games in PyeongChang back in 2018. “I think it’s Korean,” he said, still slightly unsure of himself.
“Korean? Like that Gangnam guy?”
“I sure as hell hope so,” Malcom replied.
Chapter Thirty-Two
32 – Gainesville, Texas – June 20th
“Read ’em and weep,” Naomi said as she laid her cards down on the bedspread, proudly displaying a full house.
“Oh, give me a break,” Malcom grumbled as he threw his cards down with exaggerated ire, conceding that his three aces weren’t good enough. “Beginner’s luck,” he added.
“I sure seem to have a lot of it,” Naomi replied as she swooped her arm across the small pile of candy bars in the middle of the bed, dragging them to herself with a smart-alecky smirk.
“I think I’m getting hustled,” Malcom said, tearing open a 5th Avenue bar from the much smaller stockpile of candy next to him.
“Maybe I’m just a natural.”
Malcom shrugged. “Either way, I better quit while I still have something left to munch on once we get back on the road.” Malcom leaned to the side and looked over at TJ quietly playing with a few toys over in the corner of their motel room. “Think he’s okay to move again?”
Naomi glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah, he’s been a lot better since the rain stoppe
d.”
They were about sixty miles north of Dallas when they crossed paths with a severe thunderstorm tearing through the area. The strong gusts of wind rocked the full-sized pickup truck with ease, and the dizzying flashes of lightning mixed with the swirling downpour made visibility piss-poor at best. The cabin of the truck was filled with tension and anxiety as the violent storm strengthened, eerily reconstructing the scene from Tessa’s final moments, which coerced a shudder from all passengers aboard. Though each of them was unsettled with the summer storm, TJ’s fragile mind was unable to bear the weight of such stress and sorrow again, causing him to have something of a panic attack. He screamed and shrieked with every bolt of lightning, and then again with the associated cracks of thunder. He’d thrashed around in his seat like an inmate in the psych ward and even tried to unbuckle himself before Naomi climbed into the back to comfort him.
Malcom turned into the first motel they came by and quickly cleared a room for them to stay in until the storm passed. Unfortunately, he didn’t expect TJ’s lingering terror to stay with him for as long as it did. Even though it was just a light drizzle the day after, the low, gray clouds and the precipitation was enough that TJ resisted. Though Malcom couldn’t know exactly what was going through the boy’s head, he knew that both kids had been through far more than either deserved, and he wasn’t going to force the child to leave the motel before he was ready.
Groaning as his cramped legs stretched off the bed, Malcom moved over to the window and peeked outside, observing a hot, yellow sun climbing higher into the clear, blue skies. Movement in the parking lot of a Mexican restaurant across the street caught his eye, putting him on edge. There was at least a dozen of them milling around the dormant cars, growling and scratching at their skin as they impatiently waited for someone to cross their path.
Malcom sighed quietly at the prospect of delaying their departure just because a handful of infected showed up this morning. He had developed a serious case of cabin fever and was ready to leave right away. But he also didn’t want to waste a lot of ammo just so they could make it out to the truck. Texas was a hell of a big state, and they still had a very long way to go before El Paso was on the horizon. Malcom wanted to operate under the assumption that the ammo they currently had was all they would have for the duration of the journey. It needed to last them the rest of the trip. And though he wasn’t naïve enough to think they wouldn’t have to burn through some of their reserves before the finish line, if there was any way for him to avoid pulling the trigger, he would. Even if it meant adding an extra hour or two to their day. Play it safe. Play it smart, he recited in his head as he watched two of the infected hobble off behind the restaurant.
Barring the infected botching their exit strategy, Malcom wanted to leave within the next hour. He moved back to the bed and began packing his belongings, encouraging Naomi to do the same. TJ watched anxiously when he realized they were heading out soon and clung to his big sister’s leg.
Malcom sat down on the bed and called TJ over. The toddler refused at first, but eventually came over.
“How ya feeling, buddy?” Malcom asked of the terrified three-year-old.
“Scared,” he sniffled.
“Why are you scared?” Malcom asked, knowing the boy had a plethora of legitimate reasons to offer up.
TJ looked down at the floor and stared at his shoes. He pursed his lips and gave the slightest of shrugs. “I’m just scared that the boom-boom will get my sissy like it got my mommy.”
Malcom put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and pulled him in for a fatherly embrace. TJ felt strange in his arms—different than his own son—but Malcom could feel the boy’s tense muscles loosen in his grip. “I know it’s scary. But I won’t let the boom-boom get you or your sister. I promise,” he said, knowing there was no way for him to guarantee he could make good on that promise. “I won’t let anything bad happen to either of you. You hear me?” he asked as he eased away from the hug to look TJ in the eyes.
The boy bobbed his head. “Y-y-yeah,” he said as confidently as he could, putting his trust in a man he hadn’t even known for a month.
“Good boy,” Malcom said before mussing TJ’s hair with his fingers.
TJ giggled briefly before his angst took control again. He quietly spun around and returned to his toys on the floor, allowing his mind to be distracted by a diecast locomotive and three plastic dinosaurs.
Malcom returned his attention to his gear on the bed. He grabbed a stack of magazines off the bedside table and put them into his vest’s various pockets. During their stay, he selected the highest quality cartridges for each of their calibers and loaded them into the magazines. Four of his AR magazines were loaded with polymer-tipped V-Max rounds, including the one that was seated in the rifle, and the other three were loaded with XM855 light-armor-piercing rounds. He’d also split up two boxes of police-grade hollow-points between his Glock and Naomi’s Cx-4. The shotgun was already loaded with double-aught buck, but Malcom replenished the empty sidesaddle with the birdshot he found earlier.
Finished with his packing, Malcom ensured all the guns were hot with the safeties engaged—on the ones that had safeties, anyway—before returning to the window. Peering out from behind the curtains, he counted three infected remaining in the parking lot across from the motel. Any infected within eyeshot wasn’t good, but three of them would not be enough to stop them from heading out.
Malcom turned around just as Naomi zipped up her pack. She gave him a nod, confirming she was ready. He stepped over to her and leaned in close, whispering in her ear. “There’s three of them out there. I want you to carry TJ. You make sure he doesn’t see them.”
“Okay,” Naomi said before drawing in a sharp breath.
Malcom threw his backpack over one shoulder and tossed his AR-15 over the other, using the makeshift sling he’d put together with some paracord and a leather belt. He then grabbed the shotgun with one hand and Naomi’s Cx-4 with the other. He looked over at the bed furthest from the door and weighed the pros and cons of bringing the cardboard box of leftover food with them. Malcom was out of arms, though, and he wasn’t going to risk a second trip inside with infected so close by. Especially when they still had more than enough food in the truck to last them the rest of the trip. The food would stay.
Standing next to the door, Malcom leaned his body back toward the window, taking one last glance. There were just two remaining now. Even better. He moved back to the door and quietly unlatched the deadbolt and chain. “Remember, we’ve got to make sure we’re very quiet so we don’t wake up the neighbors,” Malcom said for TJ’s benefit. “Can we do that?” Naomi nodded, which prompted TJ to nod. Malcom gave an enthusiastic smile before turning around to the door. His smile faded once his face turned away from the kids as he went into a combat-ready state of mind. He soundlessly glided the door open and slipped out into the hot, muggy air. He raised the Cx-4 Storm with one hand and cleared the outdoor hallway before proceeding to the stairs. Keeping one eye on the infected across the street, Malcom, Naomi, and TJ started their descent.
Halfway down, TJ shrieked with terror as his eyes landed on the infected.
“Shit!” Malcom grunted with the unexpected scream from behind. “Move it!” he commanded as he hurried down the rest of the steps.
The screeches of the two infected quickly multiplied into dozens as the little town suddenly hummed with noxious activity. Malcom stormed over to the truck and tossed the carbine and AR-15 into the bed, along with his pack. He turned around just as Naomi arrived and quickly grabbed TJ from her. “Get in!” he said to her as he opened the back door, dropping TJ into his booster seat.
Before Malcom could buckle the child in, he slammed the door shut and spun around just as a pair of heavy footsteps approached from behind. He already had the Mossberg raised by the time he faced the beast and dumped the barrel into the man’s chest from about ten feet away. The man’s torso split open as the overwhelming punch from the buckshot ki
lled his momentum. He stumbled backward for a moment before dropping to the ground with a dark-red liquid gushing away from his body in every direction.
Four more infected raced around the corner of the motel, their deteriorated bodies quickly aligning toward Malcom and the truck. “Time to go,” Malcom said as he ran around to the other side of the vehicle. He climbed inside and handed Naomi the shotgun before putting his Glock down on top of the center console. The four infected slammed into the side of the truck just as the engine roared to life, inducing a series of screams from both TJ and Naomi. “Hang on!” Malcom yelled as he threw the truck into drive and crushed the gas pedal with his foot.
The tachometer flicked north, and the truck bucked forward as Malcom cut the wheel hard to the left as soon as he’d cleared the car parked next to him. The tires smoked and squelched as the rubber struggled to get a grip on the cracking pavement. It felt as if the truck was on ice for a moment, but Malcom was finally able to regain control.
“Look out!” Naomi squealed as one of the infected played chicken with the 4,500-pound truck.
Neither Malcom nor the infected man blinked, and the hollow, metal clank of a human skull colliding with the grill guard soon reverberated throughout the cabin. Naomi squealed and squeezed her eyes shut as she covered her ears.
Malcom went for the parking lot’s exit, but his path was blocked. There were too many of them; more than he felt comfortable trying to mow down with the truck.
“Where the hell did all these bastards come from?” Malcom growled as he steered away from the driveway, opting to hop the curb into the patch of grass separating them from the road. “Fuck!” Malcom said with surprise from the significant impact the small curb made.
“Did it break?” Naomi asked frantically as the truck bounced over the chunky terrain.
“We’re okay,” Malcom said, trying to sound reassuring as they approached the road. He nearly brought the truck to a stop as they bumped over the street curb and dropped down to the asphalt as carefully as he could.