36 Hours (38 page)

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Tennessee at Lee University, and Rachel was headed west to sing with the Young Americans – a world-renown musical group that could get her an easy ride through college. We would always sit at lunch and talk about college, about our futures, when school would end. Such futile and empty conversations now. I would never see Rachel or Tyler again.

Everything I trusted, everything I’d built my life upon, all of that was just an empty shell. Those I’d poured countless hours of friendship into were just memories. Chad and Drake ran down to Kentucky for an Ichthus concert – I could imagine it there. No, actually, I couldn’t. My mom had killed herself, I’d killed my dad. The church I loved was a scattered array of corpses running the life-void streets of Ohio. The only people I had left was my sister and Hannah. We were leaving our homes, our jobs, our memories behind us, cut up and burnt, and traveling to what might be salvation – or just another damnation, in another time and another place. Ash asked me if all was going to be okay. I looked out the windows and saw the fire stretching everywhere, through homes and businesses, neighborhoods and urban blocks – and I struggled to say, with all honesty, “Yes, it’s going to be okay.”

Ashlie began to snore. Hannah didn’t want to talk. I got up and rummaged through the blankets we’d thrown in as the plane took off. I took two and put one on Ashlie. She groaned and wrapped her fingers around it. The other I placed on Hannah. She took it and wrapped herself up, but said nothing. I took two more blankets and some Frito’s bags and moved to the front. Shelley took one of the Frito’s bags and ripped it open, scarfing some down. I dropped into the co-pilot’s seat, listened to the engine, leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and munched on the chips. Never before has anything tasted so good. Shelley played with the controls, placed it on autopilot, and stared out the view screen. Lightning flashed, so close, bathing the cockpit in light. None of us said anything. I hoped we didn’t get-Thunder boomed and I almost fell out of the seat. The entire plane shook as rippling air waves rocked through the atmosphere. The plane stopped shuddering and I looked back; the girls were wide-eyed. Shelley said, “Storm turbulence. I’ve been through it a million times. Nothing to worry. Even if we get struck by lightning, the sheet metal isn’t conducive.” They decided to trust him. I guess I would, too. The pilot broke the silence. “Being a janitor is a sucky job. You always have to work nights. Sometimes you get morning shifts, but usually you’re cleaning up other people’s crap when they’re at home sleeping. There’s no honor in it, Anthony Barnhart

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either. Until you see a janitor, it doesn’t cross your mind that there is one. I wasn’t always a janitor, you know.”

“No?”

“I was actually going to Harvard. My family could barely afford it, but I was on the roster.”

“Harvard? You must be a genius.” I finished the bag of chips and tossed the wrapper in a little wastebasket.

“I learned to fly when I was seventeen. My father was a pilot, and my father before him. My other grandfather rode in planes, did the navigating for the bombers. We have a family history of being airborne. I just love it. The feel of being so high, so free. It’s quite an amazing feeling. When I turned sixteen, my father gave me a card for my birthday, and inside was a picture of a Skyhawk, a small plane. I was ecstatic. I loved riding in planes, and the idea of flying one just excited me. I was the top kid at school. Some kids drove their girls in cars, but I took mine into the
sky
! It was great. I wasn’t exactly a stud, though. Some people thought I was a nerd for being a pilot. Oh well. Stereotyping sucks.”

I wondered,
How could a janitor ever be so cool?

He said, “I was valedictorian at my high school – Centerville, actually. I was going to Harvard and we’d barely scraped up enough money. That’s when things got real y complicated. My friend and I went into town for some coffee, and there was this girl behind the counter. Lovely girl, except her eyes – I could see the loneliness in them. We had a little two-piece conversation, but then my friend and I drank our coffees. Not until we were out on the road did I realize how desperate she was for a friend. Next week I returned, invited her to drink coffee with me, and we just started talking, became friends, and things went uphill or downhill, I’m not sure. A month later, she’s pregnant, refusing an abortion, and I have to pay for the baby. Harvard’s dead. But the girl’s not. Now, I may look like the sleazy janitor, but I’m a romantic at heart, and I don’t just screw the next girl walking down the sidewalk. I loved her. So I got a janitorial job at the school, made some money, and we raised the kid. I was happy. I might not have been in college, I might have a sucky job, but this girl, gosh, Austin, she was
amazing
! She wasn’t just beautiful, she was
spectacular
!

Her looks, her personality, her laugh, her smile, it was incredible! She was always waiting for me at the house when I returned from work, even when I worked nights. And the kid grew up. He was so awesome. He was a toddler and he just loved me.” He was grinning. “I had a perfect life. Sucky job, but I was Anthony Barnhart

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willing to have it just for the awesome family I’d gotten. Some people would say I’d been cursed – I thought,
Blessed
.”

The Caravan went through a patch of turbulence; I gripped white-knuckled on the chair.

“One night I returned home from work and there was a policeman there. I asked what was wrong, and he said he needed to talk to me. I let him inside, fixed some coffee. It was really depressing. There was fog, it was night, the lights were dim. I already knew because they weren’t home. He told me some drunk had slammed them in an intersection; the car had rolled into a tree and wrapped around it. He asked me if I could find anyone to identify the bodies. I phoned a friend, and they agreed to go. When they returned, I asked if it was them, and he said, ‘I couldn’t tell.’ I just lost it, completely lost it.

“I turned into a workaholic. Harvard crept up into my mind again. All my dreams had been broken. I was a miserable wreck living a miserable life with a miserable job. I flew every now and then, especial y since I had the money, not having to support the family and working all the time. It got to the point where the depression just ate me away. I would play Russian roulette with myself. Every time I’d go through two or three rounds, and then I’d give up, refusing to give in. And then I’d drown myself in cigarettes and beer, listen to depressing music, and hear the rain outside, the mist on the doorstep, and just imagine what it was like when they were here. Imagine my kid’s laughter, my wife’s touch. Nevermore.

“The YMCA landed me. I met a girl named Mary. Not a girl, she was my age, about forty. We hit it off well. Last night she came over and we ate pizza and listened to music. I kissed her on her way out and I felt sky-high, like my life was coming together.”

We rode in silence for what seemed hours.

“I’m covered in her blood.”

I pushed the blanket off and stood.

Shel ey: “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not that,” I said. “We’ve all gone through a lot. I just don’t know if… if I can stand anymore. I just want to forget it all.”

“Maybe you should sleep.”

“I think I will.”

I crawled into the back of the plane and took one of the leather seats, dragging the blanket along with me. The cabin was cold in the sky, and the lights Anthony Barnhart

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flickered out as Shelley flipped a switch so we could sleep. I gawked out the window, looked at dark clouds, the lightning, heard the thunder and the rain, the engine massaging me to sleep. We passed over a big city because all I saw was massive burning in every direction, reaching out from the heart of this city, spreading through suburbs and neighborhoods. The vision vanished as Shelley took us higher to avoid the sight.

I fell asleep. I don’t remember nodding off. You never do. But I
do
remember my dreams.

In one, my sister and I were inside a house. For some reason we had popped open the window and I had jumped out. Suddenly, off to the right, two eyes peeped out of the bushes and a person rushed the fence, jumping over, running towards me. The window was high up on the wall; Ashlie was screaming for me to get in, and I kept jumping, but I couldn’t get to her. The person hit me and I fell over, and I felt warmth and stickiness on my neck, felt a horrible pain, and knew he was biting me, biting through the flesh; I could feel his saliva working through me. The blood gushed from my neck, but I felt peaceful and serene, hearing Ashlie’s crying screams, hearing the roaring of the infected, feeling my body slowly die as blood splashed all over me. Even the pain wasn’t too bad. I awoke with a start, startling myself. Outside the window was darkness. It wasn’t raining anymore.

I leaned forward, rubbed my eyes. “What time is it, Mr. Shelley?”

He answered, “Only 2:40. You’ve only been asleep about fifteen minutes.”

“Where are we?”

“Somewhere over Indiana, I think. GPS is all messed up.” He tapped a dial. I slid back to sleep, this time dreaming that all of my family was inside our own house. We were watching out my bedroom window as the infected walked around the street. Mom said we should make sure all the doors were locked. Ashlie said there was a party over at Les and Chad’s, and if we could make it, we should go. Dad heard a noise. I went downstairs to see an infected hobbling through the door. I wasn’t scared – just annoyed. I had locked that door. He went into the kitchen and started eating popcorn.

Ashlie’s voice awoke me: “Mr. Shelley, is there a bathroom?”

“No,” he answered. “Sorry.”

She moaned and rolled over. I had to go to the bathroom, too.

“What time is it?” Hannah asked, awake. Her own voice startled me.

“2:55. Go back to sleep guys.”

Anthony Barnhart

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I looked out the window, glanced over my seat. “How you doing, Hannah?”

She looked at me. There was nothing in her eyes but void. “Fine.”

“Your arm?”

She squeezed it. “It just hurts. It doesn’t itch.”

“We’ll get stitches on it here in a little bit, okay?”

“Okay, Austin,” she said, exasperated with my parental insights.

“Ashlie?”

She was asleep. I had to sleep, too.

“Wake me when we get there, Shelley.”

He was quiet, thinking about his family. Harvard didn’t matter anymore. Sometime between 2:55 and 3:00 I dozed off. Shelley was tapping on the fuel gauge.

3:00 a.m.

Missouri Emergency

Cries & Echoes

The cost of desperation

What woke me, I haven’t the slightest clue. I remember leaning forward and staring out the window, seeing a burning ember many miles off, and wondering where we were. I got out of the seat, stood, wobbled about. The girls continued to sleep. In the cockpit, Shelley was nervously looking about, and he kept glancing over at the fiery city. I asked where we were; he said, “Missouri. But we have a little bit of a problem.” Tell me, I said. “It might’ve happened due to carelessness, but probably, when we were taking off – the fuel line is smashed a little bit, and we’ve been leaking a
lot
. We don’t have enough fuel to make it to our destination – San Francisco. We can’t even get over the mountains.”

“And you’re going to tell me you have extra fuel on board.”

“I wish.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Is it safe?”

“We’re safe now. It’s when we land that I’m worried about. We’re close to the Missouri International. I haven’t been able to pick up any radio signals, but there it is.” He pointed out the view screen and I picked up shimmering lights in the distance. The lights ringed several buildings, and marked out several Anthony Barnhart

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airstrips. Two of the airstrip lights were flickering, with burning wrecks smashed over the tarmac.

“There are lights,” I said. “So there’s power, and that means people.”

“Getting ahead of yourself. Lights mean there’s at
least
auxiliary power. Big deal. Most airports have them. Look at the wrecks. I can’t get anyone on the radio.” He sighed as he began to flip some switches; the Caravan leaned forward, splicing through the chilly spring night. “It’s abandoned. But we have to refuel. Hold on to something.”

“You’re landing?”

“Austin. We
have
to refuel.”

I got into the co-pilot’s seat.

“Are the girls strapped in?”

“Seatbelts? No.”

“That would be a good idea.”

Nodding, I stood and approached Ashlie. I shook her on the shoulder and with a plastic groan she awoke. “Buckle up,” I said. She just looked at me, so I snapped her buckle shut for her. When I went over to Hannah, Hannah said,

“I’ve got it.” She’d been listening the whole time, and now, wide awake, gawked at the back of the seat in front of her. I rejoined Shelley in the cockpit; he strapped himself in and I did the same, making sure mine was tight.

“You can land these things, right?”

“Usually I have the Tower to guide me. But we’ll see.”

“Comforting.”

The airport drew closer and closer until we screamed overhead. Most of the building was intact, except for one crumbled wing pitted with flitting fire. Jumbo jets were scattered about the tarmac, and mixed within were several baggage carriers and tankers. Shelley spied a tanker, marked the closest airfield, and soared away, banking. Below us it was just farmland in every direction, dark and empty, almost serene. So quiet. Nothing like Clearcreek. When we flew over the airport, I hadn’t even seen any of ‘them.’

Shelley slowed the airplane down, rotating around the airfield, and finally began his descent, banking sharp. The gear grinded as it descended; he extended the flaps and the ride became a little bumpy. I pressed myself deeper into the seat. We seemed to be spiraling towards the airport; my stomach lodged in my throat; I could imagine us just crashing into the runway, ending it all right there. My stomach churned in disobedience to that thought. I closed my eyes. Ash and Anthony Barnhart