36 Hours (51 page)

Hannah kissed my forehead. “Go, Austin. Go.”

There was a sound of uncoiling rope, footsteps. Several armed men descended into the hold.

“Survivors!” one of them yelled. “Let’s go!”

They reached for us.

Hannah said, “Leave me.”

A soldier: “Are you crazy?”

“I’m bitten. It’ll be a few hours or so. I’m just going to stay here and… and watch the sunset.”

The soldiers nodded. “Okay.” They grabbed me and pulled me away. I writhed in their grip. “Leave me, too! Leave me, too!”

“Go,” Hannah said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Goodbye.”

I was pulled onto the deck, into the evening light, kicking and shouting, cussing and fuming. They loaded me into a carriage and the carriage was wheeled high into the air, and I was pulled into the hovering Blackhawk. I tried to resist but they injected me with some green liquid and exhaustion wrapped its arms around me. I dimly remember the other soldiers catching the carriage and joining the Blackhawk. The doors were slammed shut. I crept up against the door, peering out the window, the beautiful ocean stretching against a backdrop of burning skyscrapers and ashen skies.

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As the Blackhawk tore through the sky, I saw Hannah standing on the deck, shielding her eyes, watching me leave. I cried out, but was unable to do anything. The soldiers were quiet.

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The twin propellers churned through the air, blasts of air sending clouds shooting in every direction. The heavy Chinook helicopter descended from the overcast sky, falling with tremendous speed, towards the rolling foothills. Forests, valleys, creeks and ponds filled the eye forever, as the neck craned, and filled the windows of the rustic helicopter. A sheet of snow brushed over the ridged tops of the ancient ruins. The helicopter bucked slightly, warm currents wafting over the hulk of the vessel. The pilots weren’t uneasy; they were stationed off an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico, and furious winds often threw the helicopter around like a rag doll. This was fine weather. Even with the intensifying lightning bursts in the far distance. The helicopter flared, tilting slightly, the pilot decreasing throttle and using the air beneath the belly to slow down the descent. The pilot glanced over his shoulder, beyond a wire netting, and said to several men in ghostly masks, laden with all the technical equipment of the century, “Only a few more moments! See all the lights down there, in the trees? That’s it. Hold on. Wind sheer is strong between with the two fronts hitting, and-“ The chopper jostled around; equipment rattled as steep, tree-covered slopes rose to either side of them. “You see what I mean.” The men in the back exchanged worried glances.

Snow began to pelt the titanium steel and Plexiglas windows. Giant wipers whistled back and forth. The pilot argued with the controls, and finally the chopper fell a few more feet, and the extended wheels touched home. The giant Chinook landed on the pavement. The pilot shut down, and the rotors swung to a stop.

The door flung open. Several soldiers dropped down onto the pavement. Down the road it was completely quiet. A few parked cars, rusted and falling apart. The trees were bare, and a fresh layer of snow draped the earth in angelic lace. The snow crunched beneath their feet as they held onto the assault rifles, wearily peering down the road at the homes. Broken windows, open doors, sections falling apart; some had been burnt down, only the timber remaining as the carbon returned to the earth over the last near-decade.

“Wait here,” the captain said. “Please. It’s safe.”

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The other soldiers nodded and sat down in the snow, folding the assault rifles over their laps. They lit a cigarette and began to smoke, moving their fingers, numb from the cold.

The man left footprints in the snow as he stepped past the skeleton of what had once been a vehicle.
Ashlie slowly walked into the study, pulled back the
drapes. She stared across the street, saw the broken door and windows of the
house opposite us. Above the trees rose several withering columns of smoke into
the air. Some patches of blood stained the street; the Jeep was ramped up in the
grass, much of the glass broken and smeared with handprints and blood. The
front fender was bent and dented and splotched with strips of flesh, and the
wheels and axels were twisted from rolling over bodies. The doors were wide
open, and blood covered the backseat. Ashlie just stared, unbelieving, and
closed the drapes. She didn’t move.
He let his hand glide over the freshly-lain snow, brushing it away, revealing chipping green paint. He closed his eyes, moved forward.

The garage door was twisted, snapped apart on the right.
I ran over someone’s
foot as I went forward; going back again, the garage door began to shred apart.
I drove up close to the wall, put it in reverse, and slashed my foot on the pedal
as hard as I could. Infected tore off the sides of the truck as the back end
barreled through the garage door; paint tore and withered; screeching metal
filled the air; the side mirrors were torn off; but I peeled into the driveway, into
the night, leaving the infected jumping through the hole in the garage door.
Now he stepped back through the hole. Snow had come in and rested against scattered tools, against the van secluded in the corner. The door to the house was left open. But his eyes drifted down to his feet, down to beside the door leading to the side yard. A grotesque skeleton, twisted and inhuman; the head had been snapped off and lay against the dog’s bed. Tattered clothes still covered the bones, and the cloth was brown with what had once been red blood.
The broad of the axe connected with his shoulder, throwing him against his
truck. He snarled and fell to the ground, squirming to stand. Energy sapped
from my arms and legs. I swung the blade down, chopping off part of his leg.
Blood sprayed up at me. Dad howled—but it wasn’t Dad, it wasn’t Dad!—and
he leapt towards me, but fell to the ground, writhing. I stepped back, gasping
for air. “Sorry, Daddy.” And the axe went down, into his forehead; his cap fell
back and blood and brain matter stained the cold concrete flooring. I let the axe
be and sauntered away, seeing spots.

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The man entered through the kitchen. The blinds were disheveled and hung loose. Snow had crept its way in, covering the moss-eaten tile floor. My eyes swept to the empty island sitting in the middle of the kitchen.
Amanda sat on the
kitchen island, clasping a hand over her arms. Faint trails of blood echoed
between her fingers. Her face was a contorted mask. Several soiled towels lay
next to her, clothed in blood.

He took the steps slowly, his hand moving over the guardrail. So familiar… so foreign. He stood on the upper floor; he pushed open the bathroom door. The shower mirror was licked and spotted brown, but it held the reflection of a skeleton contortedly hurled against the wall and fallen to its demise.
Blood had
been splattered all over the mirror, and a bullet had fragmented most of it into a
webbed masterpiece. I saw my own horrid reflection in the mirror, yet was
drawn to Amanda’s naked body, sick and twisted, purple and ghastly, a skeleton
of death, opened its yellowed jaws, hollering in rage. She leapt up at me,
springing agile; I ducked out of the way and sliced at her with the knife, slitting
open her chest. Blood sprayed all against the wall; I elbowed her hard in the
face, breaking her nose. Blood trailed down to her mouth; she reeled at me,
jaws gaping, teeth dripping with malicious poison; I drove the tip of the blade
into her eye; she screeched once and fell still against me. Suddenly the body
was so heavy. I side-stepped and let it fall onto the counter, and then into the
floor, where blood began to form an ocean on the white-washed tile.
Brown stains still covered the tile, dry and flaky. He shut the door and continued down the hallway, into a bedroom.

Dad walked in. His eyes were sunken, and he scratched his back. “Are you
up?” Groggy.

“I’m up,” I lied, lying in bed.

“You’re going to miss the shower.”

“I’m up.”

He shut his eyes, almost left, but forced himself onward. He looked over the bed, the fish tank – fish skeletons at the bottom – and the dark computer, everything bathed in a yellow glow of dust. He peeped through the window blinds, saw the Chinook below, rotors slowly spinning, the soldiers laying cards out on the fresh snow, laughing. A pack of dogs roamed several houses back. The man turned away and opened a compartment in the desk. He ruffled through it and drew out a small notebook. He flipped it open.

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January 21, 2004 Wednesday

School. Woke at 5:30, got dressed, slept with Goldie on the couch with a glass of Faygo. Art boring; read magazines – looked like I was working. Geometry, didn’t do homework, me and Ricky bashed – Erika in a good mood. U.S./World Studies – didn’t know homework was due, though everyone else did – I was like, “Since when?” Chemistry, did a fire lab; Tony and I arguing over density formula. I was right, it really was 100g, not 1,000g, as Tony held. Lunch uneventful – spicy chicken fajitas. Study Hall packed. Accounting class – W-4 and W-2 forms – will I get money off taxes? Hope so. English, went over realism and naturalism –

Career Passport
tomorrow. Grabbed info on Teacher Academy. Dad went to SHS meeting – good news with Teacher Academy. Drake, Les, Bryon over – disaster avoided on roads haha – Bryon almost did a U-turn down at Farmer’s Market intersection. Drake got us pizza from Dominoes and I picked it up. Bryon learned
I
Can Only Imagine
. Drake addicted to
Battlefield 1942
. Finished English and Geometry homework before bed. Tired. Listening to Led Zeppelin. Can’t forget Rikki. Oh, how I want a girlfriend to spend time with, to be connected to –how I want to be wanted!

He closed the journal and shut his eyes. The day remained in his head, a bad memory.
I just wanted a simple life, and I already had it.
He slid the journal inside an Army bag and descended downstairs to the front door. He opened the front door, but looked down the steps; a skeleton lay propped against the wall, back of the skull laying in pieces at the floorboards.

“Mom…”

No.

No.

No.

“It was meant to be,” she told me. “This was supposed to happen. I don’t
want to be like them.”

I just stared at her.

“I’m sorry it has to end like this.” She put the gun to her forehead. “I’m sick.
Very sick. I can feel the changes now.” The cold barrel illuminated beads of
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sweat on her face. The forehead I kissed every morning before school. I stepped
towards her. “Don’t, Austin. Don’t get close. Please. I don’t have much time.
He bit me.” She squeezed her eyes shut, the revolver to her head. “I love you.
Don’t get too close. Protect your sister. I don’t think he knows.”

“Mom!”

The revolver barked; the back of her head splattered all over the wall and she
pitched to the side, landing hard. The pistol rolled out of her hands. I screamed
and dove for her, landing next to her. But her eyes were vacant. Blood gushed
all over the carpet. Those terrible, awful, loveless eyes stared at me, blank and
unrevealing. I shuddered and tore away, lunging for the door. I spewed vomit
all over my pants and fell out of the room, swinging the door shut. I fell to the
ground, cowering, pulling my knees up to me. She was dead. She had killed
herself. I had seen it. Tears fell down my face.
He pushed the front door open and walked past the snow-covered Jeep. “Pack up your cards, boys.”

They grabbed at the deck. In the biting cold, one asked, “You know this place?”

“This is my home,” he answered, looking back.

No one said anything.

“Get on the radio. Salvage crews can get in. There might be some places in town.”

They loaded into the helicopter and it sped up into the air. The snow turned the ruined town into a winter wonderland. As the helicopter ascended, you could look out and see the skeletons everywhere. Thousands of skeletons, covered with a frosty blanket of snow. He had been right. They’d attacked each other, and eventually starved to death. It had taken nearly two months, but it had happened. And now the survivors were salvaging and reconstructing.

“Can we hurry up?” the man asked. “I want to get home to my wife and boy.”

The helicopter disappeared into the snowy skies.

●●

Halfway across the world, on the sun-bleached deserts, the ocean touched the dust with dull legacy. A boat washed ashore, lodged in the rocks, the hull yellow and brown from the years. Over the distance smoke rises, and the horses trot to a stop next to the ocean. Aborigines disband. They knew nothing of the Anthony Barnhart

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virus, nothing of
Copernicium arretium
– secluded, out-of-the-way, the aborigines had survived the 36 hours and the two months without hassles or cares. Now they approached the boat; one of them climbed inside, and shook his head.

His eyes looked down.

A skeleton lay sprawled on the deck, bones loosely jointed, dressed in shaggy clothes. A small hole reflected in the forehead, and another hole cut into the back of the skull. The aborigine dropped down to the ground, shouted orders, and the bones were given a proper Australian Indian burial.