36 Hours (49 page)

The city behind us was a blend of red smoke and flames, a smog of epic proportions engulfing every building and street. There was a roar as the skyscraper aflame tilted and fell. It didn’t seem real. It smashed into a dozen buildings, breaking apart, shattering. Dust blew out from every direction, engulfing all the nearest buildings. The streets turned an ashen brown. The dust rose like incense to God.

We swept behind the warehouse. Our hands slipped and slid over the licheneaten warehouse. Hannah: “I can’t grab on… It’s too slippery…”

“There’s a ladder coming up,” I said, choking up water. “Just grab that.”

She grabbed on, and so did I. The ladder led up to a door. She crawled first and opened the door. She looked back and forth and pulled herself inside. I watched the bloodied city skyline and climbed up and in. Hannah shut the door, submerging us in blackness.

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“Let’s just rest a moment,” Hannah said, breathing heavily. “Give those guys time to forget about us.”

I agreed. I sat down, and shivering, soaked and cold, I blacked out.

12:00 p.m.

Fogged glass and moaning

Discovery

No red carpet

We awoke some short time later, aroused by sounds drifting through a large, iron, padlocked door. I stepped around Hannah and pushed it open, expecting the worst. It had come to the point where I did not care – whatever happened, I was sure of this: there was no Heaven or Hell. There was only us, only them, and only death, simply a matter of when, how, why…

Wooden crates were scattered everywhere. A tool chest against the far wall. Water dripped from the rafters; the air smelt of salt and granite. Most of the room was drenched in shadow; at the other end of the cavernous chamber was a glass window; the glass was tempered, made to look like ice. Dark shadows, the outlines of hands, palmed the glass, drew across the glass. Moanings from the other side. They weren’t scary – ominous. We just stared at the fogged glass, the hands drawing back and forth, and without speaking we told each other to be quiet.

I moved between the mountains of crates, covered with a fine layer of dust. There was a dolly and several metal barrels. I pushed myself forward in the darkness; my hands touched something cold and rutted: a large hangar door. Why a door? Hope lit inside me; fumbling about, I felt the smooth surface, curved, and followed it to a broad slice above my head. A hull. My heart hammered. I moved along the hull, feeling the smooth surface; a body bumped into me.

“A boat,” Hannah said.

“Yes, I think so.”

Eventually I discovered a ladder and climbed up, stepping onto the bed of the boat. My eyes were adjusting, and I saw that it was a speed-boat with a lower level. The gears and wheel were drowsy in the shadows, and I crept down into the lower level. My feet scooted over carpet, and my hands brushed over a Anthony Barnhart

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polished dresser, something slender; I found a chain and pulled. A grunt escaped from my throat as blinding light sprinted everywhere and melted the shadows to nothing. There was a large bed, a chair, two dressers, and a small closet. The bed was made, the dressers bare. Dust on everything. It hadn’t been used forever.

Hannah followed the burst of light racing onto the deck and came down. She gawked at everything.

I opened a cabinet and found boxed foods, some cans. In the closet were gallons of water.

“This is amazing,” I breathed. “Geez! Think, Hannah – if we can get this thing out of here, we can just speed out offshore and eat the food, drink the water, until these things die out. It’s a miracle.”

Hannah nodded. “Can you get it started?”

“Bryon taught me how to hotwire a car.”

“This isn’t a car.”

“No,” I said. “But how much different could it be?”

“I’m thinking a lot different.”

“Ye of little Hannah.” I crept upstairs, to the engine. There was a slot for the key. “If I can get this panel off-“

“Maybe,” Hannah said, “I could look for a key?”

“Give me a chance, okay?”

“You’ll end up breaking it.”

I fiddled with the panel. “No, I won’t.”

She watched the infected patting the window. “I can see it now.”

“Hannah, just have Hannah. Your name is Hannah and you don’t have Hannah.”

“I have Hannah that the engine is supposed to start with a
key
.”

“Do we have a key?”

“Let me look for it.”

“Needle in a haystack. Besides, those guys are pounding on the glass…”

“They aren’t getting in.”

“I have it, Hannah, all right?”

She sighed and dropped down off the boat.

I couldn’t get the panel off. After several tries, I sat back and stared. How hard could it be?

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Hannah climbed up. “Look.” She tossed me a key. “It was on a rack against the wall.”

“Stroke of luck.”

“Stroke of genius.”

I inserted the key and turned. The engine rumbled to life. We both looked back at the fogged window. The pattering had ceased. Their shadows just lurked behind the window. Were they wondering what the noise was?

Hannah said, “Gasoline is on empty. We need more. Dang it. Always
something
.”

“I saw barrels down on the floor. I’ll put one on a dolly. Find me some tubing. Look in storage.”

I pulled the dolly and barrel over; she had found some tubing. We hooked it up to the gas main. I sucked a few times and finally the gasoline spat out all over my jeans. I grunted and thrust it into the gas tank. The tube gurgled and gasoline splashed.

“So are we going to just roll out of here on a red carpet?”

“What?”

“How are we going to get the door opened?”

“Maybe there’s a garage door opener or something.”

“Hold on.” She disappeared.

I kept fueling. Gasoline bubbled over the edges. I stopped the fueling and wheeled the barrel, tubing and dolly out of the way. There was a grinding noise and the door began to lift, rising up; bright afternoon sunshine split into my eyes and it hurt. I had grown accustomed to darkness. The sun’s beating rays were torture. I covered my face against the brightness, against the sound of the ocean, against the sweet smell of salt. The light bled through the room, illuminating piles of crates, barrels, racks of tools and equipment, the fogged window, Hannah standing by a button panel dangling from the ceiling, and the onehundred-foot-long sports boat we were commandeering. I climbed up onto the deck and turned on the engine. It roared to life. The propeller slowly spun.

“We need it in the water!” Hannah shouted.

“Can you give me a push?”

She did. Nothing. “It’s too heavy!”

I told her to take the wheel; she did, and I tried. Nope. “Work together,” I said.

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She hopped down and pushed with me. The wheels of the boat ramp began to turn.

“We’re golden,” I grinned.

Then the fogged glass windows shattered and they poured inside.

1:00 p.m.

The Warehouse

Hannah fal s

Mount Saint Helens

The infected launched over the crates and came at us. We spun around against the boat ramp as they charged. Hannah climbed up onto the deck, kicking her feet. I smashed the head of one of the infected with my fist and carried after her. They grabbed onto my pants, pulling, snarling, trying to – God, no – bite me. Hannah appeared with a broomstick and jabbed at the creatures’, bludgeoning them in the face. They reached for the broom, letting go of me. I toppled onto the deck. She tried to fend them off; one grabbed the broomstick and ripped it from her hands. Splinters tore into her. She gasped and raised her hands in the sunlight.

“Austin! I don’t have anything!”

I ran over to the wheel, searched the gears, found it. I pressed the power all the way. The propellers began to spin faster and faster, until they were a blur. Blood sprayed all over the crates as the blades sliced through human flesh; an infected fell back with half her body missing.

Hannah kicked at them as they tried to get up. “Austin! Do something!”

“What does it look like I’m doing!” I yelled, fiddling with the gears.

“Nothing! You’re doing absolutely
nothing
!”

I smashed at the gears, cursing. As I smashed it with my feet, the panel opened. A 9mm slid out. I picked it off the ground.

Hannah wailed and fell over; one was climbing on top of her. I turned and blasted the trigger. The back of the creature’s head turned into a bloody flap and it spilt its brains all over the boat deck. The body went limp. Hannah shoved it off and crawled towards me. More infected reached over the edge of the boat, avoiding the propellers. I shot them as they came, right in the head. One fell Anthony Barnhart

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onto the propellers and turned into a mess of blood and guts covering everything.

Beside me, Hannah panted, “We’re not going anywhere!”

I raised the gun. “Hold on to something!”

“What are-“

The gun roared. The bullet sped over the invading infected and lodged itself inside a gasoline can. There was a roar and the explosion lit towards us, combusting with the dust. The shockwave knocked me off my feet; I landed against the wheel; Hannah was thrown to the ground. The boat ramp shuddered and groaned forward under the blast; the boat dipped into the choppy waves. The ramp sunk and the boat bobbed. The end started to drag downwards; it was roped to the ramp.

I got to my feet, grabbing the wheel. The engine spit water, but we weren’t moving. Our end was sinking.

Infected clambered through the warehouse as the flames began to die down.

“Hannah! The ropes on the sides! Cut the ropes!”

I leaned over the edge of the boat and began untying the rope from the railing. The railing on Hannah’s side snapped; she gave a gasp and was thrown overboard.

The rope on my side slithered away; the boat righted and began moving away. Hannah swam in the water, waving her hands. “Austin!”

I saw her disappearing behind me, in the shadow of the docks, and I grabbed the engine controls, cutting the propeller down in speed. I felt the acrid heat and dust from the city washing over me as I turned the boat around, driving over to her. She reached up at the slick sides but couldn’t grab; I ran over and reached down, taking her head. I pulled. She kicked. Eventually she flopped over the edge, landing on the deck, breathing hard.

I left her to pull away from a collision with the dock. I grabbed the 9mm again and aimed it at the warehouse. Infected were everywhere. I aimed like I did in video games and pulled the trigger.

A blast like Mount Saint Helens sent waves rolling outwards from the dock. The gasoline can I hit ignited, engulfing the others, and the gasoline blew apart. The warehouse filled with fire and the blast tore out the moorings and the bolts. Infected were consumed in an instant, vaporized, and the dock tilted, sinking; the warehouse fell apart and disappeared in the water, in a billowing freak show Anthony Barnhart

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of steam and smoke. The dock the warehouse was attached to bent, pulled, groaned – snapped.

We both watched as all that was left of the warehouse were a few floating debris, slowly sinking into the shallows.

Hannah took several deep breaths. “So we’re in the water.”

I leaned against the wheel. “We’re in the water.”

Salvation.

2:00 p.m.

Beauty in the Ashes

The Pyramids

Why Me?

“Where are we going?” Hannah asked.

The wheel was in my hands. I felt the boat rising up and down, side to side, the waves splashing and gurgling, breaking against the hull. “I don’t know. Just not there. Away from there. I don’t want us to fall asleep and suddenly wake up beached.”

“We’re just going into the middle of nowhere?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so. At least for now.”

“For now?”

“I was thinking we drive until we don’t see land, cut power, drop anchor.”

“What if it’s too deep?”

“We go inland a little bit. When we run out of food, we can return to the shore.”

“So that’s the plan?”

“Right now it is. I’m just making this up as I go. You knew that.”

I cut power, not wanting to waste anything. And we let the boat drift west, towards the middle of the Pacific – no aim, no resolution – no plan. Just gratefulness. Gratefulness that we weren’t in constant danger. Grateful that we could now sleep – and sleep well. None of them were anywhere close. I felt the wind in my hair and just listened to the waves carry us along. Hannah went down below. I stayed on the deck, completely free, relaxed, without a care in the world.

It was the most beautiful experience of my life.

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How lucky was I? The numbers would ring in later. At the last U.S. census there were two hundred eighty-one million, four hundred and twenty-one thousand, nine hundred and six people in America. Of that two hundred eightyone and a half million, only 50,000 would survive and make it to the next census nine years later. How long people held out throughout the continental U.S. is still a mystery. Worldwide, it was estimated that there were six billion, four hundred ninety million, eight hundred and forty-one thousand, seven hundred and fourteen people. Out of that, only 500,000 survivors in nine years. In America, there were only about 49,999 people other than me who would survive nine years. Worldwide, 499,999.

I didn’t know this at the time. But I knew I was lucky. I felt my own arm. My own. I’d never been grateful for that before. Now life seemed so much more beautiful. Beauty in the ashes. I closed my eyes and just stood there. Stood there and thought about… nothing.

A plane flew overhead, circled, and vanished into the sun’s shadow.

Refugees huddled amongst the giant stone pillars, praying and weeping, praying some more. The sunlight sprinkled them in its wonton glow, and somehow, as they looked up at that sun breaking through the stone pillars, there in England they knew everything would be okay. Hope ruffled through the group. Their prayers had been answered. They were spared.