“At the same time, he must have been selling some of the newly genetically-modified cultures to someone from Sinopec. Then, when he got caught, he must have told the Feds I was a terrorist in order to get immunity for himself. I am so furious!”
She added through clenched teeth, “I never liked Tim. But I did trust him.”
She told Jeremy the whole story in excruciating detail of her torture and escape, making the drug episode sound funny enough that they both laughed out loud, and mentioned her current plan to get to the off-grid community in Indiana.
As they reached the houses, they saw that they were cheaply-built townhomes painted in pastel colors to look like a beach resort. A sign said University Apartments. Cars were in the complex's parking lots, some with the doors, hoods, or trunks open, and a few of the units had doors standing open. Jeremy walked over to the front of one of the homes and turned on the water tap for the garden hose. Nothing happened.
“PVC pipes, probably,” remarked DD. Their water situation was about to get serious. They drank the last of the water in the cooler, then walked a little further.
A small strip mall, with a diner and several small shops was less than a quarter mile away. Again, no sign of life. The restaurant’s doors were open, there was no water in the kitchen behind the counter. They checked all three stores and none of them had water either. They walked a little further, to the gas station on the corner. A car sat by the pump with the dispenser handle still stuck in its fuel door. The parking lot of the gas station was full of abandoned vehicles. The shop itself had been locked up, but the glass doors had been shattered. They ducked inside. The place showed signs of some light looting: the registers had been forced open and merchandise was scattered all over the floor. Every plastic container that anyone had touched was burst open and melted, but there was still plenty of bottled water, soda, juice, and tea inside the closed glass-fronted coolers.
“Hey, look! Beer!” said Jeremy.
“Are you kidding? That crap is like sex in a canoe!” said DD.
“Sex in a canoe?” Said Jeremy.
“Fucking close to water.”
The refrigerators weren’t cold, but DD took an Arizona Iced Tea and Jeremy took a Coca-Cola, and they sat in the shade on the stoop of the store and drank their tepid beverages.
“This is the best tea I ever drank in my entire life,” said DD.
“Yep.”
They rested for a few minutes. Then they spent some time opening bottled waters, trying carefully to keep from touching the mouth of the bottle, and pouring them into the cooler, filling it to the top. They stocked their pockets with Slim Jims and bags of nuts, things that wouldn’t melt or spoil. They each ate a candy bar, softened in the heat. Jeremy stashed a couple of the weak, warm beer cans despite DD’s eye roll.
“What University is this?” Asked DD.
“You are new around here, aren’t you?” Asked Jeremy. “Texas A & M, the Aggies. Galveston Campus. Marine Biology, Merchant Marine, Navy ROTC…”
“So, we’re close to Galveston then?”
“Right across the causeway.”
DD grabbed all the band-aids, alcohol wipes, gauze wrap, and antibiotic cream in the meager first aid section. She also slicked herself down with sunblock, especially her arms, which were turning a florid shade of red; hopefully at least they wouldn’t wind up blistering. She grabbed a foam sun visor and cheap sunglasses (realizing as she grabbed these plastic items that she was contaminating them and they would be melted soon), and off they went.
The causeway was beautiful, with a thin strip of sandy beach and ocean water on both sides. Derricks and shipping cranes could be seen on the horizon, but they were all still; one was actually toppled over. The remains of a small pleasure boat, hull half-dissolved, motor nowhere to be seen, lay at the water’s edge. The island’s eponymous pelicans soared overhead and landed on pilings. The water on the Gulf side was blue-green with soft swells breaking on the shore, and the Bay side was golden and dotted with the froth of rough wavelets.
What was no doubt a short, pleasant drive in a car now seemed interminable on foot, especially with DD’s wounded feet, but eventually they reached the end of the causeway and ambled onto Galveston Island proper. They paused to survey the prospects.
Useless, abandoned cars punctuated the roadway. Jeremy set the water cooler down, careful to put it on the sand and not the contaminated asphalt. and stepped over the guardrail. DD wasn’t inclined to follow; stopping had brought the pain in her feet to the front of her mind. Instead, she plopped down on the pavement, sticking her feet straight out in front of her.
“Gonna see what I can see from high ground,” said Jeremy. He crossed the road and scrambled up a 20-foot mound of dirt and construction debris. DD looked up at him where he stood atop the hill, silhouetted against the sky, pivoting slowly to look in all directions. The ocean breeze ruffled his hair and his eyes creased in the sun reflected off the water. Freed momentarily from the pain in her feet, she paid attention to her emotions. She felt… gratitude.
It seemed like a million years earlier that she’d driven her car onto the nearby ferry dock for the ride to Bolivar, and the B and B where they’d first met. He hadn’t said anything about their brief encounter or her abrupt departure. Should she? She’d sworn off drama years ago, had no desire to repeat the Kabuki of falling in love, being disappointed or betrayed, breaking up, licking wounds. It was draining. It was a sign of how shaken she was by recent events that she was even considering it. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, trying to ignore the burning soreness in her feet, her sunburned arms, and her chapped and cracking lips. She quarried deeply within herself for the self-assured scientist, the fiercely independent woman who’d hopped in her SUV to leave her old life behind, such a short time ago.
The world went black.
Jeremy’s shadow was blocking the burning sun from her eyelids. She opened her eyes to his silhouette, and then squinted as he moved away from his spot between herself and the sun.
“See anything interesting?” She asked.
“Maybe.” He said. “Pedi cab.”
“You mean, like those bike rickshaws? I didn’t know they had them here!”
“Yep. They use them for festivals and on the tourist strip. There’s one up ahead about half a mile, flipped over on its side. Can’t tell why it's flipped over from here.”
“But it might be working! That would be so wonderful!” Her voice quavered on the last word. Shit. I’m a basket case.
Jeremy’s face showed a fleeting micro-expression of deep empathetic pain before firming up. “How are your feet?”
“They hurt like Hell.” She blinked at his extended hand.
“Come on, not much further. Let’s see if we can get to that Pedi cab.” She took his hand and tried not to wince or gasp when she stood. There’s no way I can put my feet on the ground that doesn’t hurt! He shouldered the water and they commenced their plodding pace again. When they were within a hundred feet or so he broke pace with her and easily strode up to the bike. “Looks good!” he shouted. She limped the remaining distance.
He set the Pedi cab upright. The metal structure of the cab was fine. The tires, however, were falling to pieces, the rubber softened by the dissolution of the nylon casing underneath. The plastic reflector lenses on the back were crazed and cracked as if they’d sat out in the sun for twenty years. The vinyl upholstery on the seat was melting and cracking. So was the foam rubber underneath it. The vinyl sunshade was in tatters.
“We won't get far on those tires,” DD said, crestfallen.
“I have an idea about that. You rest over there in the shade,” he nodded at a backhoe a little ways off, casting the only shade available for miles on this treeless shoreline. “I’ll be right back.” He strode off towards the dock, and DD helped herself to a drink of tepid water and then walked, on her knees, over to the backhoe. She hated being a burden, but she didn’t want to be foolish either; she was hurt. Once she rea
ched the shade of the backhoe, the heat was still stifling, but the sun wasn’t beating on her anymore. She held her fists out and stacked them up from the western horizon to the sun: one, two three…about 2:30 then.
She leaned back and closed her eyes…When she opened her eyes, the sun was setting, a creamsicle-orange ball surrounded by streaks of lime and citron. The ocean was calm and steely. A fly was mountaineering on her chin and she brushed it off, which made the row of fresh mosquito bites above her left eyebrow start to itch. She smelled salt sea air, p. davisii, and most strongly, herself. Not my freshest. She sat up, her back and thighs protesting, and wiggled her toes. They felt sore as hell inside their woolen sacks, but judging by their movement, they were slightly less swollen. She’d no way to rewrap them properly, so she decided not to take off the jerry-rigged moccasins to investigate any further.
She turned her head and saw Jeremy bent over the rickshaw bike, which was upside down on the sand. She unconsciously put her fingers into her hair, where they stuck fast in the snarls. Never thought I’d rock dreadlocks.
“Hey, you’re awake. Can you walk?” Called Jeremy, nodding at her feet.
“Tell you in a minute.” She flipped onto her hands and knees, then cautiously got her feet under her. Ow. Shit. “I think I’ll be okay,” she said unconvincingly, and hobbled over. He’d liberated a length of ship’s mooring rope, the heavy hemp rope almost as thick as her chafed, scabbed, and sunburned wrists. He’d cut a piece long enough to fit around the rim of the bike’s wheel, where it fit into the groove nicely, and fastened it on with scraps of stout wire he’d apparently cut from the chain-link fence nearby. The two wheels on the axle under the passenger cab had received the same treatment. He flipped it over right side up. He piled the remaining length of rope on the floor of the thing.
DD was astonished. “That’s amazing! You were a Boy Scout, weren’t you?”
“Well, I don’t know about that. But it should help us get around.” But he was smiling. And looking at her. And damned if she didn’t feel something rise within her, battered and sunburnt and exhausted as she was! Whoa, girl!
But it sure is nice to have found a friend. She smiled back with cracked and bleeding lips.
XXXVI.
Material Girl
Jeremy and DD rode the Pedi cab into downtown Galveston, Jeremy pedaling and DD sitting with her feet out in front of her on the pile of rope. Here and there, a house randomly appeared occupied, the door intact and closed. Some of these had hand-lettered warning signs on the gateposts, or hastily built barbed-wire, broken-glass, or thorn bush barricades. However, most of the city appeared to be deserted, dark and subdued by the twilight. They stopped at an abandoned motel. Jeremy got off the bike and walked around cautiously, checking each and every room, but there was no one there. By the time he was finished, it was completely dark.
He came back to the bike. “Some of the rooms are pretty disgusting. But there’s one right there,” he pointed, “that’s not too bad inside. Let’s stop here for the night.”
“Okay,” said DD. She braced herself, took a deep breath, and put her feet on the ground. The pain was momentarily excruciating. But she thought it wasn’t as bad as it’d been that afternoon. She hobbled into the indicated doorway, noting that the door itself was intact, but the furniture was randomly piled against the wall next to it...someone had apparently been barricaded inside, and then later pushed the furniture aside to get out.
Using the flashlight, they surveyed the room. The bathroom door was closed; opening it, she was hit with a stench which told her there was no water in the dwelling, but the toilet had been in use anyway. She quickly shut the door. There was a sink outside the bathroom door and the freely-turning faucets confirmed the lack of water. There were two beds, both rumpled. Jeremy went outside to get the rope and water from the Pedi cab to bring inside. She sat on one of the beds, yearning to collapse into sleep, but she’d her feet to attend to.
“Will you help me dress my feet?” She reached into her bag and extracted the remaining gauze, tape, and antibiotic cream, and pulled her little knife out of her pocket. She took off her crude woolen moccasins, then began peeling off the existing dressings while Jeremy held the flashlight. She took the flashlight and pulled one foot up onto her knee to inspect it. It was still pretty badly swollen, and there was enough dried blood that she couldn’t see what condition it was in. Jeremy brought her the one clean hand towel still perched on the rack above the sink and wet it with water from the cooler.
Once all the blood was sponged away, her feet didn’t look that bad. “I might be able to pedal tomorrow! You're a good nurse!” Jeremy had wrapped them up snugly, but not too tight, that morning. Apparently, the ointment had staved off infection. Her soles were for the most part just cracked and nicked. Though she’d felt as if they must be mutilated, there were no serious cuts or gouges, and the swelling seemed to have pushed most of the sandspur barbs from her flesh. Just seeing that the destruction wasn’t as bad as she’d feared made them hurt less already. However, the alcohol wipes she used next on the torn-up pads of her feet made them burn like Hellfire! She hissed and rocked until the pain subsided. She extended the first foot out and let Jeremy re-bandage it with plenty of antibiotic cream and gauze while she peeled and cleaned the other foot.
Once both feet were dressed, still throbbing slightly from the isopropyl, she lay back on the bed with a sigh. Jeremy got up and walked around to the other bed and collapsed spread-eagled on his back. DD noticed his stiff gait and reflected that he’d likely not ridden a bike in a while.
“We can take turns pedaling,” she said. He grunted softly, doubtful.
“It’s going to be cold at night further North,” he replied after a minute or two. “Are you sure you can find this place in Indiana?”
“Oh, I’m sure. I used to visit every time I drove through on the way back and forth between Florida and Bemidji.” That was fifteen years ago, when I was twenty-seven, but it can’t have changed that much, can it?
She considered saying that out loud, but couldn’t decide: is it better to tell him the complete truth, or more important to encourage him? She ruminated on that question, but before she decided, she heard his breath sink into a light snore. The rhythm of it lulled her.
What felt like moments later, she opened her eyes to the luminosity of daybreak through the window. Jeremy wasn’t in the other bed. She had to pee, and she turned down her mouth and wrinkled her nose at the thought of opening that bathroom door again. She stood cautiously, testing her injuries. Her feet were sore, but not awful. She looked nearby for her makeshift moccasins. She located them and bundled her feet up quickly, then went outside. She trod slowly and gingerly, watchful about her foot placement, around back of the motel. By the time she was situated in a squat to take care of business in the weeds, her bladder was about to burst.
When she came back into the room, Jeremy was sitting in one of the cheap fabric-upholstered chairs, holding a pair of... “Shoes!” DD practically squealed.
They were leather shoes, ballet-slipper style. Size nine, and she wore a seven and a half, but with her feet swollen and bandaged they should be about right. The soles were intact... for now. “These soles are probably plastic of some sort...they could be natural rubber, but I doubt it. I’ll have to watch where I put my feet.”
He held up two more identical pairs. “You've got spares for a while, anyway. There’s a shoe store across the street. My boots have—used to have—synthetic soles, so they fell apart this morning.” He pointed to two pairs of men’s shiny, lace-up dress shoes on the table. “These are leather and my size, and most important, the leather soles are sewed on.” She looked down and he was already wearing a pair of them, his feet looking oddly metrosexual in contrast to his grimy, threadbare, faded jeans.
“Yeah, they don’t make stitched shoes for women,” sighed DD. “They’re all glued, even the really expensive ones.” She frowned. “Maybe I can find some of those upscale sewn m
en’s dress shoes in a small enough size.” She slipped on the ballet skimmers. “In the meantime, these are perfect! Thanks!”
They breakfasted on their spoils from the convenience store. They both drank a good bit of water, bringing them down to half the cooler left, but the cooler was starting to show a few sticky spots. DD spared a small amount of her isopropyl to wet the colonies down and hoped that would do it. They loaded the Pedi cab and were on their way, Jeremy riding this time and DD pedaling, her feet doing acceptably well, at first, on the rope-wrapped pedals. She had to stop, though when her feet began to throb after an hour or so. She pulled off a skimmer and saw a fresh yellowish stain on the gauze where the scratches had begun to ooze through. Jeremy pedaled the rest of the day while she sat in the gondola and felt sorry for herself. I hate not being able to pull my weight—literally in this case. I did pedal for a few miles. At least it’s a start.
They stayed on two-lane back roads and didn’t see many people. Passing houses, it was hard to tell if they were occupied. The usual tell-tale signal of a car in the driveway was meaningless now since most cars were infected and remained parked wherever they’d been when their gasoline and oil was digested to water by the bacteria. Their first experience of this was when they passed an unexceptional ranch-style home set back from the road. The front door was open, the screen door was shut, and there was no car in the carport or driveway and no sign of movement. They decided to see if there was anyone home, or anything inside to forage. Leaving the Pedi cab at the bottom of the driveway, Jeremy strode up to the open front door, DD moving slowly and gingerly behind him on her still-tender feet. He stepped onto the shallow wood porch, lifted a hand to knock, and both he and DD heard the metallic clack of a shotgun being cocked. Jeremy instantly raised his hands in the air and took a step back. “Turn around and walk to your bike,” a woman’s voice commanded from within. Jeremy complied, DD leading the way, with her hands also in the air. They never saw the woman's face.
Eupocalypse Box Set Page 13