by D. L. Orton
When I go back inside to get my scavenging gear, Madders is just getting up.
I wave good morning and make sure he has enough food inside for breakfast. Then I grab my things and start wheeling the fuel container down the highway toward an overpass covered with abandoned cars. The bridge looks golden in the first rays of light.
A hawk calls from the thick woods to my left, but I don’t see anything move. The swampy lake on my right is still and silent in the early morning chill.
I climb up the embankment of the overpass, happy to be on higher ground and out of the shadows, and start checking cars. I pry open the fuel tank cover on a white sedan and unscrew the gas cap.
The odor of gasoline fills my nose.
Bingo.
I set down the crowbar and pick up the stick, glancing through the window as I stand back up—and let out a gasp.
There’s a skull staring up at me—its straight, white teeth smiling even in death.
“Oka fefe!”
The back seat of the car is littered with disintegrated clothing and child-sized bones.
Images of frightened people trapped outside the Bub flood in, and I wrestle down panic.
They’ve been dead for decades, Lani. Let it go.
I take a deep breath and return to the task at hand.
I feed the stick into the dark opening, jiggling it around so that it will make a noise when it hits the gas. I keep pushing until the stake won’t go any farther and then pull it back out.
The wood is bone-dry.
“Damn it.” I kick the bumper and then grab my toe in pain, hoping I didn’t break anything.
There’s a loud hiss—almost a snarl—on the other side of the car. I vault up onto the car’s trunk and crawl onto the roof, my heart pounding in my throat.
The hiss turns into a low-pitched growl, and although I’ve never heard that animal noise before, it fills me with primal fear.
Whatever is making that sound killed a lot of your ancestors.
From up here I can see the east-facing slope of the overpass, brilliant gold in the first rays of sunlight.
Every inch of it is covered with sleeping alligators.
And one of the largest reptilian monsters I’ve ever seen is on the overpass next to the car. He’s a good three feet longer than the sedan and does not seem to have received the memo about running away from people.
He’s probably never seen a human before, you lolo.
I bang the stick against the side of the car, trying to scare him away, and the growl turns into a roar. Scores of alligators bolt toward the murky water, but the huge one next to me stands his ground, thrashing his tail and bellowing.
I poke him hard in the back with the stick, and he wheels around, grabbing it with his jaws and ripping it out of my hands.
Oka fefe. Getting killed won’t help Shannon. Just get back to the plane.
I vault onto the hood of the sedan and jump over to the next car, thinking I’ll lead him away from my stuff, and then circle back around to grab it.
It sort of works.
He follows along next to me, roaring and snapping his jaws and trying to get up on the cars.
You should have brought the gun.
I continue jumping across the sea of automobiles until I get to a full-size truck with sandbags stacked in the back. The alligator stays with me, growling and biting into the already-flat truck tires when I stop moving. I attempt to pick up one of the heavy sacks to drop on the gator, but the cloth bag disintegrates in my hands, spilling sand all over me and the truck bed. I pick up a second bag with similar results, and then grab a handful of sand and pelt the monster in frustration.
The gator roars and throws himself up against the side of the truck, pushing the huge vehicle up on two tires and knocking me back against the side wall.
I scream as the reptile tries to grab on with his front claws, scraping the paint off as he attempts to find purchase, his huge jaws swinging back and forth a couple feet away from me. If he manages to pull himself up into the truck bed, he’ll kill me.
I consider trying to make a run for it, but I don’t have any idea how fast giant, angry alligators can move.
And I don’t think I want to find out.
I try the driver’s door and when it opens in my hand, I dive into the cab and then slam the door shut.
Thank Pele there aren’t any bones in here.
I look out the passenger window just as the gator falls sideways across the glass, his white, scaly belly leaving a swath of muck on the window. I sit there in the front cab, trying not to hyperventilate, his low growl coming through the rusted floorboards a foot away from me.
Find something heavy to throw at him.
I check, and the glove compartment is locked. I search under the seat—forcing out images of coiled snakes and hairy spiders.
Nothing.
I slide the passenger seat forward and spy a large jack behind it. I drag it out, guessing that it weighs twenty-five pounds easy.
I slide over and peer out. The gator is resting next to the door, keeping up a low growl. I consider rolling down the window and dropping the jack on him, but the windows are electric and the truck battery is long gone. I don’t think opening the passenger door would be a particularly good idea. I hoist the jack under one arm and climb back out of the driver’s side into the truck bed, struggling to hang on to the unwieldy tool.
The gator doesn’t move.
I set the jack on the roof of the cab and slide up next to it on my belly. I peek down at the alligator, feeling a pang of guilt as I hoist the heavy steel jack over his head and drop it.
It hits him on the head and then bounces loudly onto the concrete.
He lets out a thunderous roar and then runs faster than any human down the embankment toward the water. A moment later, he dives into the lake and disappears, the ripples splashing against the bank the only sound.
I go back to look for my rubber hose, checking to make sure I’m alone before climbing down onto the pavement. There are no alligators in sight.
I try ten more cars, each filled with bones, each with the same result: no gas. Either the cars were still idling when the people in them died, or it’s been too long for the tank to hold a seal.
I check again for gators and then lean against the side of a small truck. The back is full of junk: camping gear, a bicycle with flat tires, a case of water bottles that have all burst, a rusted ax, and four small canisters of propane—which are all empty.
Then it hits me, and I smile. “A gas can.”
If I were trying to escape by car, I’d fill up my tank and take as much as I could carry in a can. I check the truck bed and then go back through the cars, looking carefully into each. After twenty-odd attempts, I hit pay dirt: There’s a huge, black SUV with four large gas cans in the back.
Good thing this guy didn’t get rear-ended.
I try to open the hatch, but it’s locked. I check the other doors. All locked. I try to pry the back door open with my crowbar, but it’s impossible to get any leverage between the door and the bumper. I jab the window as hard as I can, but my small crowbar just bounces off.
“Damn it.”
I kick one of the flat tires, and then jog back to the pickup and grab the ax out of the back. I weave back through the cars to the SUV, checking for gators twice, and then swing the ax as hard as I can against the back window. The glass cracks, and after a couple more whacks, it falls as a sheet into the back.
The gas cans look like military surplus—dark green metal canisters with heavy duty handles. I pick up the first one and curse.
It’s empty, but on closer inspection, I can see that the cap isn’t sealed properly.
I pick up the next can, and then let out a whoop.
It’s too heavy to lift. And so are the other two.
Still unable to believe my luck, I snap open the lid and take a sniff, afraid it might be water.
Twenty-year-old gasoline fumes fill my nostrils, and
I laugh—and then cough.
I stick my rubber hose in and start siphoning the gas into my 25-gallon tank with wheels. It takes me two trips to unload all the gas.
While Madders filters the gasoline using an old tube sock, I try to raise Shannon on the radio again to no avail. Then I help him pour the fuel into the wing, load everything into the plane, and we take off into a cloudless blue sky.
That evening, we make camp less than a hundred miles west of Catersville.
Prior to bed, I make one last attempt to raise Shannon. There’s a lot of static interference tonight. I sit for twenty minutes and wait for the sun to go down before trying again.
In the purple and orange twilight, I put the headset back on and power up the radio.
“Shannon,” I say, “if you’re out there, this is Mom. I’m on my way to find you. Please come in, baby. Are you there?”
I wait for ten minutes and then try again.
“Lord in heaven,” an old woman says over the radio, and I wonder if I’ve somehow managed to reach Catersville. Before I have a chance to ask, a voice I have been longing to hear for weeks comes on.
“Mom? Oh my God, Mom is that you?”
“Yes, baby!” I say, pressing the headphones to my ears, unable to believe what I’m hearing. “Are you okay? Where are you, Shannon?”
“I’m fine, Mom. We’re near Memphis—on our way to a biodome in Texas. Everyone is using my rebreathers, Mom! They work great.”
“You walked out of Catersville on foot?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Those wankers were being cruel to us—so we had to leg it out of there fast.”
“Pele, help me. How many people are with you?”
“Twenty total. And Mom?”
“Yes, baby? It’s so good to hear your voice!”
“I want you to meet someone. His name is Peter, and he’s my husband.”
39
We Don’t Need Forever
Diego
It’s dark by the time I drive through the open security gate and start up the road to the Magic Kingdom, the scooter managing only twenty-five on the steep mountain incline. The air is brittle, and I can see my breath as the headlight illuminates a sliver of road up ahead.
Bearhart is tucked in next to Isabella on the trailer, both of them under a pile of blankets. I’m hoping it’s enough to keep her warm for a bit longer.
With the lousy roads and blowing snow, it’s been a long and grueling day. We left Eisenhower’s Library this morning at dawn, and after twelve exhausting hours of driving, I’m ten clicks past spent.
Thank God, we’re almost home.
I flex my hands and feet, trying to keep the cramping at bay, and glance up at the brilliant display of stars.
Are you out there, mi amor, looking up at the night sky and wondering where I am?
I only have three days left to get back to my own world, and I don’t even know if there’s a working time machine inside the mountain—or the power to run it.
If someone went to the trouble to send you that note, there has to be a way to get back to her. There has to be.
Although the rational part of me knows it’s nearly impossible, I cling to that thought—and drive on into the cold, dark night.
When I come around the last, steep curve and see lights along a huge gash in the mountainside, my heart beats a little faster.
The Magic Kingdom.
There’s a dim glow coming from an opening in the middle of the wall. I drive across the ledge, swerving around potholes, chunks of concrete, and scattered garbage probably left by the Bub folks. I head for the illuminated tunnel, trying not to bump or disturb Isabella while praying that James comes through for us.
There’s some sort of access panel flashing red at the end of the passage, but the blast door is open. I park in front of it and turn the scooter off. I spend a moment getting the circulation back in my arms and legs and then wrap a blanket around Isabella and lift her out of the trailer.
She’s as light as a hummingbird, but her pulse is strong.
“Hang on, hun, we’re almost home.”
She smiles weakly and squeezes my hand.
Bearhart follows me into the airlock, his toenails clicking on the concrete.
I use my elbow to push the Start button and then collapse on a wooden chair, cradling Isabella in my lap. I’m so exhausted, I can barely keep my eyes open.
There’s a soft musical bong, and the computer says, “Welcome to the Warm Springs Complex. Commencing airlock cycle in thirty seconds. Stand by for decontamination.”
I watch the huge blast door close, grateful that it’s out of my hands now.
Isabella rests her head against my shoulder, her breath soft as snowflakes on my cheek. I kiss her on the forehead. “Not much longer now, Isabella.”
Bearhart lies down next to us and lets out a soft whine. I glance down at him. “I’m worried about her too, buddy.”
A pump starts up somewhere, and Isabella squeezes my arm. “Thank you.”
I stroke the hair back from Isabella’s face, hoping it’s not too late to save her. In my world, the medical center had every possible machine and gadget. I can only hope it’s the same here.
A male voice says, “Thank you for bringing her back to me…”
The sound startles me until I realize it’s coming from a speaker in the ceiling.
“James?” Isabella says, turning her head toward his voice.
“At your service, hun. I’ll have you safely inside in eight minutes.”
She smiles, her eyes bright. “Oh, James. It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“And yours, mi amor. Christ, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”
A tear rolls down her cheek, and I wipe it away with my thumb.
“I’m sorry, Isa,” James says, his words laced with torment. “I’m so sorry about everything.”
“It’s not your fault, James. I should have trusted you when you said we were in danger. God, I was such an idiot to believe you would kill yourself. I knew you would never do something like that.” Her voice is trembling, but I don’t know if it’s with anger at Dave or regret for the years lost—perhaps both. “I should never have let David talk me into it.”
“He didn’t give you the letter, did he?” He sniffs.
“No,” Isabella says letting out great heaving gasps. “But I found it last week, hidden in his safe.” She shakes her head, her jaw clenched. “I hate him, James. I hate him!”
“I’m the one you should hate.” He lets out a sob. “Mierda. All those years, you had to live believing that I killed Lucas and abandoned you and Soleil.”
“I was like a selfish child, James, too angry and hurt to ask the hard questions. Even after Soleil insisted that you and Lucas were alive, I never wondered why things didn’t add up. All I could think about was how you had abandoned us—but I should have known better.” She presses her lips together, fighting back tears. “I should have known.”
James fights to breathe, and it’s like listening to a wild animal struggling to get out of a trap. I can almost hear his heart breaking. “No, Isa. No.”
“David wanted me to think you had betrayed us, that you were some sort of coward. How could I have been so stupid?”
James lets out a roar of frustration. “That fucking bastard.”
Isabella squeezes her eyes shut and takes a labored breath.
“You should rest, mi amor.”
“No.” She sits up a little, her eyes defiant, and I recognize that look.
There’s no way she’s going quietly into the night.
She sighs. “I need you to know the truth.”
“I do, hun.”
She wipes her face. “He talked me into marrying him, James. God, he even adopted Soleil so she wouldn’t have to suffer the stigma of having a father who committed suicide.”
There’s a loud bang, like a fist hitting a wall. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Yeah?” Isabella says. “W
ell, take a number.”
James laughs. “I love you, Isa.”
“Not as much,” she says through sobs, “as I love you.”
Some sort of hidden fan turns on, moving the cold air around the room, and Isabella shivers. I tuck the blanket in around her and then hold her tighter, trying to use my body to keep her warm. She lays her head on my shoulder again, snuggling against me, and I stroke her back. “We’re almost through, hun, and it’ll be better inside.”
“Yes,” James says. “It’s not the Ritz Carlton, but it’s warm and safe in here. I’m so glad you came.”
“Me too,” she says.
“I wish Lucas was here,” he says, his voice trembling. “I tried to find a way to save him, Isa. Really, I did.” He takes a ragged breath. “He was strong and brave to the bitter end, stronger than I was.” He exhales. “Christ, I miss him.”
“I miss him too,” Bella says and dries her cheek on my shoulder.
“I should have found another way to keep you safe without lying to you,” James says like he can’t get past it. “Some other way to protect you and the kids.”
“It’s not important now,” Bella says. “The only thing that matters is that you’re alive. That you waited for me.”
“I love you, hun… More than… life itself.” He’s sobbing so much that it’s difficult to understand him. “The only thing that kept me alive all those years… was the hope that you and Soleil… were out there somewhere.”
“Oh, James,” Bella says. “Your daughter’s a most amazing woman—smart, vivacious, caring. Every time I look at her, she reminds me of you. And even when I made things difficult for her, she held fast to her faith in you.”
“I’m so grateful you both made it Inside,” James says. “But I can’t think about it without getting angry—not being able to watch her grow up, meet her first boyfriend, see her graduate from college.”
“You’d have been so proud of her, James. I know I was.”
We hear him blow his nose. “Mierda, I’ve been a basket case since I found out you’re alive.”
“Ditto,” she says, crying and smiling at the same time.