Dead Time

by D. L. Orton

  “Mierda,” I say. “It’s going to play out differently here.”

  “What are you talking about?” Her eyes are dark and distrustful. “Who are you?”

  “An idiot.” I take her hand and start pulling her back out of the mob, but she resists.

  “Stop!” she shouts over the melee. “The checkpoint is the other way! Where are you taking us? And if your wife is already inside, why aren’t you in there too?”

  “Look,” I say, people bumping into me as they try to push past, “this mob is going to turn violent any minute, and we don’t want to be in the middle of it when it does. We have to find another way to get to the biodome. Another entrance.”

  “Ticket holders, please approach the main gate,” someone on a loudspeaker says. “Form one line, single file, and have your tickets ready.”

  “Fuck the tickets!” someone behind us yells. “It’s reached Denver! Let us in!”

  The crowd pushes in even tighter.

  “Denver?” Sam says. “Isn’t that where Grandma lives?”

  A teenager in front of us has a boom box on his shoulder tuned to the news. “…pandemic. Unconfirmed reports out of Cheyenne, Albuquerque, and Denver suggest that the virus is spreading faster than the CDC predicted and—”

  “Please,” I say to Lani. “You have to trust me. There’s no way we’ll make it to the main gate in time. We have to get out of this mob.”

  “How long do we have until the virus reaches here?” she asks, not bothering to question how I know.

  “A few hours,” I say, hoping it’s still true. “We have to get Sam inside before it does.”

  Lani glances up at Sam, and he nods.

  “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go.”

  I take her hand again, and lead her back up the hill, Sam holding on so tight that he’s almost choking me.

  Two or three times, Lani is nearly torn away from me, but I refuse to let go of her.

  After a minute or two, I start shoving people out of the way, ignoring their angry curses. We hear sporadic gunfire and a bullhorn telling people to move back from the security fence or risk being shot. The mob is two or three times bigger than it was when we first approached the fence, and we hear the bullhorn admonish the crowd to stop surging forward and crushing people.

  We’re halfway to the top of the ridge by the time we manage to break free of the hordes.

  “We need something to write with,” I say, trying to catch my breath. “Markers or paint.”

  “I have crayons in my backpack,” Sam says. He pulls his small Pikachu backpack off and takes out a pencil bag.

  “Good,” I say and pick up a discarded “Blow Up the Biodomes!” sign. The back is covered with a caricature of Dave with a Hitler mustache. I throw it down and pick up a different one: “The End Is Near.”

  Finally got it right.

  The back side of this second one is empty.

  I draw big outlines of the letters in “LANI” and the number “215” below it.

  “Help me color them in,” I say.

  Sam and Lani don’t argue.

  Once we’re done, we hike up to the top of the ridge.

  From this vantage point, we can see plumes of smoke rising from the city out east.

  “Denver,” Lani says and looks at me. “What’s happening over there?”

  “Doomsday,” I say and force myself to look away.

  The mob is pushing hard against the security fence now, and the jeeps are no longer parked by the checkpoint.

  I hold up the sign and wave it around, hoping Dave or one of his minions will see it.

  A covered military truck comes from behind the biodome and stops in front of the airlock. Soldiers pile out, and a minute later, they fire up flamethrowers and start using them to force people back from the fence.

  We hear more gunfire, and this time, one of Dave’s men shoots back, killing a gunman on top of the pump house. There are screams, and the crowd surges forward like a rogue wave heading for the biodome.

  A section of security fence gives way, and people start scrambling over it.

  For a moment, I think there’s going to be a massacre, but the soldiers guarding the airlock don’t fire their weapons into the crowd. Instead, their brethren shift positions, forcing the mob back across the downed fence with the flamethrowers.

  When the people at the front see the fire, they turn back. They rail against the mob, but it refuses to yield, unstoppable. The mass of panicked humanity is forced forward through the breach in the perimeter fence and into the flames. There are screams as the military men approach the crowd, the heat finally causing the hordes to stop pushing.

  Lani gasps. “That could have been us.”

  “Move back behind the barrier,” a familiar voice says over the loudspeaker. “Do not approach the biodome.”

  Dave.

  The crowd erupts with boos and profanity.

  “All troops are approved for lethal force,” he says. “I repeat: Do not attempt to cross the barrier. We will shoot to kill.”

  Just as he finishes speaking, a couple breaks through the middle of the mob and starts running toward the biodome. Five or six people follow. The soldiers turn the flamethrowers on all of them and screams erupt from everywhere.

  I drop the sign and pick up Sam, turning away from the carnage.

  “Let’s go,” I say and grab Lani’s hand, leading her back into the forest.

  “But the virus,” she says. “Where are we going to go?”

  “We’re both immune,” I say before I can stop myself, “but I don’t know about Sam. We need to get him inside.”

  She doesn’t ask how I know, and I’m grateful for that small gift.

  There are a few looters going through tents, but they pay us no mind. We make our way around the biodome, heading for the airlock that’s next to the I-beam numbered 215. It’s in the back—and on the opposite side from the section that’s going to be blown up sometime tonight.

  It takes us nearly an hour to make our way across the rough terrain, around to the other side of the dome. There’s no outside access in this area, no road or pond, and we don’t see anyone else as we scurry down to the double security fence.

  A minute later, the emergency airlock next to beam 215 opens, and Dave Kirkland steps out—wearing a rebreather mask. He motions with his arm, and six men exit the biodome, two with rifles and four carrying tools. In less than thirty seconds, one of them cuts a door-sized U in the first fence. Two of them bend it up while the other two slip through. They repeat the process on the exterior fence and lift up the metal mesh.

  I set Sam down, and the three of us wordlessly scramble through both openings.

  They reseal the fences with metal clips and escort us back to the biodome.

  When we get close to the airlock, Lani rushes into Dave’s arms.

  He picks her up like a doll and swings her around. “Fuck me, it’s good to see you, Lanikins.”

  “See?” Sam says to me. “I told you he was going to marry her.”

  Dave glances over Lani’s shoulder at Sam—and then our eyes meet.

  For a moment I think he’s going to call me dickface or asshole or even sandwich man, but he doesn’t. He keeps one arm around Lani and reaches out to me with the other.

  “Thanks,” he says and shakes my hand. “I owe you one.”

  He ruffles Sam’s hair and then escorts Lani into the airlock. Sam and I follow, the uniformed men right behind us.

  Everything looks shiny and new.

  “Is Isabel here?” I ask, my heart in my throat.

  “She was,” Dave says and starts the airlock cycle, the Virus Detected indicator still dark. “But she left a couple months ago. Borrowed my Tesla and never returned it.”

  The disappointment on my face must show because he steps closer and puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know you two had something going again.”

  His display of empathy catches me off guar
d. The last time we met in this universe, it nearly turned into a brawl.

  “Any idea where she went?” I ask. “Did she mention the Magic Kingdom?”

  “Why would she drive all the way to Florida?” he says and drops his hand. “The whole state is underwater.” He puts his arm back around Lani and runs his hand through his hair. “Last I heard, she was headed back to that remote cabin of yours. I think she was expecting to find you there.”

  I glance at the airlock door we just came through. “I need to go back Outside.”

  “Outside?” Dave narrows one eye, looking at me like I was born without a brain. “Despite the panic, I’m inclined to believe the Feds when they say the virus hasn’t made it to Denver yet—but it’ll be here tonight or tomorrow at the latest. You get caught out there when it hits, and you’ll be dead in a matter of minutes.”

  “He’s immune,” Lani says, looking up at Dave like he’s a superhero.

  A muscle in his neck twitches. “How do you know?”

  “Long story,” I say.

  He looks more carefully at me, thinking through the implications, and then nods. “You need a jeep?”

  “That would be great.”

  “Armstrong will get you set up,” he says, “but you’ll have to leave through the main gate.”

  “I’ll manage,” I say.

  The inner door beeps and then slides open.

  Lani takes Sam’s hand. “Thank you,” she says and kisses me on the cheek. I take the sheet of paper Soleil gave me out of my pocket and hand it to Lani. “If you’d make a copy of that for me, I’d appreciate it. And you’re welcome to keep a copy for yourself.”

  She unfolds the sheet and glances at the title. “Biotechs? Is that why you’re immune?”

  I nod. “The ink’s biodegradable. So it’s going to fade quickly.”

  “I’ll have a copy when you get back,” she says.

  “How come you’re not staying with us?” Sam asks.

  “I have someone I need to find first,” I say. “But, I’ll be back. In the meantime, you take good care of your sister, okay?”

  Sam nods, and Lani leads him through the inner door.

  “And Dave,” I say, keeping my voice low. “There’s a bomb somewhere in the main storage area—near beam 35. I don’t know if it’s inside or outside the biodome, but it’s going to go off tomorrow—after the virus arrives.”

  He stares at me for a full ten seconds and then motions with his head toward his men. “Check it out.”

  The four uniforms with rifles hurry through the door.

  “Thank you.” He offers me his hand again and I shake it. “Good luck,” he adds. He exits and disappears with Lani and Sam.

  One of the four remaining men steps forward. He’s attempting to grow a blond handlebar mustache—but mostly failing. “Let’s get you that jeep,” he says and gestures toward the inner door.

  I step into the one and only biodome in my universe...

  Epilogue

  The Girl with All the Gifts

  When I hear the sound of tires squealing, I put the top back on the big jar of gummy bears, step over the bodies, and peek out the winda of the candy store.

  A jeep that looks like Sarge from the car movie comes shootin’ down Main Street, goin’ way too fast for the curves up ahead.

  Grammy would say like a bat outta hell if she weren’t already gone.

  I take the lid off a jar of jelly beans and scoop out a handful, trying not to get any of the black ones. I’m feeling a little sick, but I figure there’s not much time until it gets dark and all the dead people come after me like in the movies.

  Ain’t no little girl gonna have a chance against all them zombies—and I reckon this candy is just goin’ to waste.

  I hear Sarge’s tires squeal again—and then a loud crash.

  “That’s what comes a ballhootin’ on them steep mountain roads,” I say, pretending Grammy done said it.

  I get a fancy plastic bag out from behind the counter and fill it up with some of each kind of candy—all except the black ones. I hates them ones.

  “Let the zombies have ’em.”

  I wedge a rock in the door of the candy store and walk down the street toward the smoke. I try not to look at all the bodies, but the cats and dogs are too much. I stop and pet one of the kitties, hoping he won’t turn into a zombie and come after me tonight.

  By the time I get to Sarge, the man is gone.

  I sit on the rocks in front of Sarge and eat my candy. After a minute or two, I see the man hightailing it up the ravine on foot, heading toward a cabin near the ridge.

  “Ain’t nobody gonna be alive up there,” I say and go back to my sweets.

  When it gets dark, I climb under a blanket in the backseat of Sarge and go to sleep.

  I wake up to the sound of glass breaking, and at first, I think it must be the zombies.

  But the streetlights are on, and none of the bodies have moved a whit. There’s a light on in Grammy’s Bar. I wrap the blanket around me and take a peek in the winda.

  The man is back, and he’s sittin’ at the bar with a big bottle of likker in front of him, cryin’ like Sissy after her boyfriend ran off with someone else.

  Even though Sissy and me don’t get along, the thought makes me sad.

  Sissy’s dead now, same as everybody else.

  The man pours some hooch into a glass, takes a long swig, and then hurls the whole thing against Grammy’s expensive mirror.

  I watch him sittin’ there, cryin’ and breakin’ glass, for a few minutes, and then I sneak back to Sarge and try to sleep.

  When I wake up in the morning, the birds are chirping, but them bodies are all still lyin’ all over the place—even the cats and dogs.

  Ain’t no sign of the man.

  Two days later, the whole town is stinkin’ to high heaven—even the candy store smells too awful to go inside.

  I walk down to the market, grab a big bag of potato chips and a bottle of pop, and head back to Sarge. When I ain’t hungry and thirsty no more, I go to the library and look at the picture books, being careful not to get any dirt on them nice pages.

  I don’t see the man again for ages.

  Actually, I’m not sure how long it’s been, but the people are turning into skeletons, and if I prop open the door of the candy store, I can stand to go back inside now.

  That’s where I’m sittin’ when I see the man walk by in the street.

  His hair and beard have gone all wild—like Santa Claus if he didn’t take no baths—but I can tell it’s the Sarge man because he walks with a limp just like Grammy.

  I follow him around for a bit, keepin’ myself hidden in case he’s a zombie.

  He goes from Grammy’s Bar to the public library, then to the po-leece station, and finally to the market. I watch him munch a whole bag of my favorite potato chips, trying to remember if zombies eat regular food.

  I don’t think so.

  After he leaves the market, he wanders down the street, lookin’ in all the shop windas and steppin’ over the bodies.

  And then he goes into my candy store.

  I peek in the door, watching him eat the chocolates with nuts—which I hate—and some peppermint drops—which I don’t like much either.

  But when he takes the lid off my jelly beans, I can’t stand it anymore.

  “Them’s mine,” I say.

  He whirls around, dropping the lid on the floor. “What the—”

  We stare at each other for a bit, both of us sizin’ up the other.

  I put my hands on my hips, tryin’ to look more adult. “You can have the black ones, but the rest belong to me.”

  He nods and runs his hands over his face and hair, lookin’ spooked.

  “I ain’t no zombie,” I say.

  He picks up the lid and puts it back on the jelly beans. “Me neither.”

  “I knew that,” I say. “Zombies don’t eat potato chips.”

  He nods again.

  “
You can have the chocolates with nuts,” I say. “And the black licorice and Hot Tamales.” I point to the jars I’m talking about. “But the jelly beans are my favorite.”

  “Sorry,” he says, pushing the jelly bean jar closer to me. “I didn’t know there was anyone else… here.”

  “I saw you the first day,” I say, “when you crashed the jeep. And I followed you today—in case you turned out to be a zombie.”

  “That was very smart of you.” He squats down so we’re eye to eye. “What’s your name?”

  “Melanie.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Melanie. My name’s Diego.”

  “Why were you drinkin’ all that hooch and smashing up Grammy’s mirror, Diego?”

  “Feeling sorry for myself, I guess.” He stands up. “Because I got here too late.”

  “Grammy said it don’t matter where you go, everybody gonna die.”

  He wipes his face. “Yeah.”

  “Except you and me,” I say, taking more jelly beans from the jar. “And that man on the radio who talks funny.”

  “Talks funny?”

  “You know, like in Harry Potter.”

  “You mean with a British accent?”

  I nod. “He’s on Grammy’s radio every day beggin’ me to talk to him. But even when I turn the knob all the way up, he can’t hear me.”

  He gets a real hopeful look on his face. “When does he come on?”

  “Right after it gets dark,” I say. “But he says the same thing every night, and I have it memorized. Would you like to hear it?”

  He sits down in the wooden chair, and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Yes.”

  I swallow the jelly bean I’m sucking on and stand up real straight, tryin’ to make my voice deep like that British man’s. “This is Matt Hudson in Deep Springs, Colorado,” I say. “We have food and shelter. Is there anybody out there?”

  “She’s in the Magic Kingdom!” He jumps right up outta that chair, grinning like he’s the happiest man alive. He picks me up and swings me around, and I can’t help laughing ’cause I’ve been real lonely.

  “Would you like to talk to that guy?” he asks. “They have a bigger radio down at the biodome. That’s a—”