Dead Highways (Book 3): Discord (2 page)

Angry.

This wasn’t fair, not fair at all. I didn’t deserve this horseshit. She shouldn’t have put so much pressure on me. There were other people in the group. They should have had an equal say. We should have just taken a vote. But no, I was the one left holding all the power. Power
she
had forced on me. Power that I didn’t want, that I never asked for. And when I finally gave her what she wanted, she had the nerve to act like she didn’t even care. Instead of a hug, she gave me the cold shoulder.

Mother Mary, I was so angry. Where’s a damn brain-dead zombie when you feel like blasting something? Nowhere in sight.

I tried not to let my anger show as I walked up on the rest of the group.

“What happened?” Ted asked. “You look pissed.”

Apparently, I didn’t try hard enough.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, and fumed silently for a moment. “It’s Peaches. She’s being...dumb.”

“What did she do?” Naima asked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Did you two at least come to a decision?” Robinson asked. “About Olivia.”

Cathy and Brian looked on nervously, anticipating my response. I didn’t feel bad anymore about delivering the news. I just wanted to get moving again, put this moment in the past and leave it there.

Did I mention I was angry?

“Peaches didn’t do anything but sit and sulk,” I said. “
I
came to a decision. Olivia is staying with us.” Cathy hung her head, clearly disappointed. Brian hugged her close. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Brian said. “It was just an option. We respect your decision.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

Cathy let go of her husband. “Can I at least hold her one last time?”

“Sure,” I said, carefully handing Olivia over.

“She’s very lucky, ya know,” Robinson said, “to have so many people fighting over her.”

I looked down the dock. Peaches had finally started walking toward us. She stopped between me and Robinson, watched Cathy rock Olivia in her arms.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” Ted said, shaking Brian’s hand once more. “Thanks again for the lift. Sure do appreciate it.”

“Hey, you saved my life,” Brian replied. “It was the least I could do. If you find yourself on the west coast of Florida again, stop on by.”

“Will do.”

With the final good luck wishes out of the way, Brian climbed into the boat to start it up. Cathy remained on the dock holding Olivia. Watching her, seeing how much she adored that baby, a crazy thought passed through my head.

I had a vision of Cathy hip tossing Olivia to Brian waiting in the boat, and then jumping in after before any of us could react. “She’s mine,” the baby thief would yell, laughing long and loud as they made their getaway. “So long suckers.”

I was losing it. I needed rest like Michael Vick needed more prison time.

In many ways, what
really
happened next was even more surprising.

Cathy walked over and handed Olivia to Peaches. “I’m sorry if I upset you,” she said, smiling thinly. “Take good care of her.”

Peaches glanced down at Olivia. The baby girl looked like she was trying hard to get back asleep, made difficult by the large-sized humans that kept handing her off like a football.

Cathy began to walk away.

“No,” Peaches called out.

Cathy stopped, slowly walked back over. “What?”

Now it was Peaches smiling thinly, tears trembling at the bottoms of her eyes. She held baby Olivia out to Cathy, her voice cracking. “You take good care of her.”

Cathy took Olivia back in her arms, a look of surprised joy on her face. “Are you sure?”

Peaches nodded. “I’m sure you’ll do a better job than I ever could.”

“Thank you, “Cathy said, tearing up now herself. “Thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“I think I do,” Peaches replied. “We’ll come visit when we get back.”

If
we get back, I thought.

As the two of them hugged it out like typical women, I could feel the anger rise off me like an ugly odor and join the New Orleans smog above.

I felt like a caught fish lucky enough to be thrown back into the ocean for a second chance.

I was off the hook.

And, oh boy, was I relieved.

Peaches held Olivia one last time while Brian helped Cathy climb into the boat.

“I’m gonna miss her,” Peaches said.

“Yeah, I’ll miss her too,” I replied.

“Sure you will.”

“Really, I will.”

“Cathy and Brian will take good care of her. Olivia has made me realize what it would be like to be a mom, even if she’s not really my daughter. But that’s still no reason to keep her. And I didn’t want this to come between us. So there...you were right.”

Before I could do a victory dance, Naima interrupted our conversation, wanting to admire the baby one final time. Her father, Aamod, stayed in the background, bent down on one knee loading his beloved shotgun.

Finally, we handed Olivia back to Cathy. Jax must have thought we were all going back to Florida because he tried to jump onto the boat. Robinson had to hold him back by his collar.

“No, buddy,” Robinson said to the disgruntled German Shepherd. “You’re staying here with us.”

Brian gradually eased the boat away from the dock. Cathy sat down next to him with Olivia and waved goodbye. We all waved back.

“Good luck,” Brian shouted. “Hope you find your son.”

Robinson nodded, and shouted back, “Thanks, and good luck to you too.”

By his side, Jax began whimpering, watching his pal Olivia float farther and farther away. Robinson let go of his collar. Jax went up to the side of the dock. He looked out at the boat slowly drifting away down the Mississippi and started barking.

Ruff. Ruff.

That’s exactly what it sounded like. His barking.

Ruff. Ruff.

“Jax…be quiet,” Robinson scolded. “Get over here.”

But the dog didn’t obey. He continued barking—ruff ruff—and then did something that left all of us (even Aamod and Bowser) with our mouths hanging open in shock.

Jax leapt into the muddy brown river and began swimming after the boat.

“Aw, shit,” Robinson said.

“Aren’t you gonna jump in there after him?” I asked.

Bowser came up next to Robinson. “Unless things have changed in the past twenty years, I don’t remember you being much of a swimmer.”

Robinson shook his head. “Nope. Nothing’s changed.”

He began yelling for Jax to return. Naturally, the dog didn’t listen. A passenger was on that boat he loved more than anything, and Jax was determined to catch up to it, even if the boat moved across the water at ten times his speed. Luckily, Brian glanced back and noticed the dog trailing him, that or he heard Robinson yelling, and turned the boat around. He stopped about ten feet off the dock.

“Looks like you lost somebody,” Brian yelled.

Jax swam up to the side of the boat, looking for a way inside. Brian cut off the engine, likely fearing the dog might get too close to the propeller.

“Think you could grab him,” Robinson yelled back.

“Yep, I’ll get him.”

A small ladder was attached to the rear of the boat. Using the ladder for balance, Brian leaned over the side and managed to snag hold of Jax’s collar. With one hand firmly secured on the collar, he wrapped his other arm around the shepherd’s body and lifted him out of the water and into the boat. The dog flailed about in his arms. I was sure Brian would slip off and fall into the water. And I was sure I’d start laughing when he did. But somehow, he retained his balance.

Damn.

Once inside the boat, tired from the swim but happy as a dog could be, Jax began shaking the excess water off. Cathy shielded her face, while her husband restarted the engine and inched the boat back up to the dock.

After a good solid minute of sweet-talking and begging, and trying to persuade the dog with some treats we’d snagged from the Walmart warzone, Robinson sighed and put his hands on his hips, defeated. The dog,
his
dog, wouldn’t budge. He wasn’t going to exit the boat under his own power.

“I could pick him up again,” Brian said. “Hand him over to you. Hell, I’m already wet as it is.”

Robinson frowned. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem. So you want to just do that. Or you could come aboard and get him. Whatever.”

“You know what you have to do,” Ted said.

I glanced over at Robinson. The look on his face said he knew. He
definitely
knew. And the thought of it was bringing him down.

“He really loves Olivia, you know,” I said. “It might be better if...”

Robinson stared across the way at his four-year-old dog, sopping wet, looking back at him. The dog he’d tried to train to be a police dog. The dog he’d named after his favorite football team, the Jacksonville Jaguars. The dog that for the last four years was probably his best friend. The dog that in two weeks time had found a
new
best friend. The once hardened police officer had a look of abandonment on his face, and it was a clear reminder that things were changing right before our eyes. Life would never be the same as it was. In this new world that lay before us, letting go would become as common as a cold. And becoming attached, whether to a person or place, or even a pet, was to spin in a circle of constant fear.

“Well...” Brian pressed.

“I think if we remove him from the boat, he’ll just jump back in the water,” Robinson replied.

“So what are you suggesting?”

“You think you could take him with you? He obviously loves the baby.”

Brian looked over at Cathy, but his wife offered no response. “You gonna come back for him?”

Robinson shrugged. “I can’t guarantee it. Maybe.”

“I guess we could take him. Yeah, no problem.”

“He’s not much of a guard dog,” Robinson said. “But he’ll at least bark if he hears something, and he’s house trained.”

“Sounds good. Unless Cathy has any objections.”

Cathy peered down at the dog at her feet. “He can stay.”

“Great. I’ll hand over his food.”

Once all Jax’s stuff was on the boat, we said our goodbyes again and Brian began pulling away.

“Anyone else want to go? Speak now or forever hold your peace,” Ted said.

We all stood quietly at the edge of the dock and watched the boat sail down the river until it was out of sight around the bend.

“How are we gonna carry all this shit?” Robinson asked. “You think maybe we brought too much?”

I looked down at the shit (as Robinson had called it) we’d brought along. Despite the unappealing nature of the word, most of the stuff before us was essential for our continued survival, therefore
not
shit.

Boxes of food and water.

Boxes of weapons and ammo.

Boxes of medical supplies.

Boxes of clothing and other accessories.

Boxes. Boxes. Boxes.

“You can never have too much,” Ted said, smirking. “Just need a truck to haul it, that’s all.”

“Keep in mind my shoulder still hurts like hell,” Robinson said. “I doubt I can lift much more than my pack for long periods of time. Bowser, how’s your leg?”

Bowser shrugged. “Sore, but I’ll manage. Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay, tough guy.”

“Why don’t we scout ahead,” Ted said, “see if we can find a vehicle that’ll work?”

Robinson nodded. “Sure.”

The two of them headed east into the graveyard of old shipping containers and rusted metal parts. While they were gone, the rest of us used the time to chow on a morning snack.

Prior to departing Florida, we had each stuffed a backpack full of various items that we’d want on hand. I had used every last inch of space. My bag was more bloated than Michael Moore at an all-you-can-eat buffet, though not nearly as heavy.

The backpack brought back memories of being in high school. I had a bag that looked similar back then—filled to the max. Yep, I was one of those kids who carried every textbook or folder around with them to each class. No stopping off at the locker for me. The last few years I don’t think I used my locker once. I doubt I would have even remembered the combination to the lock, should I have needed to for some reason. I didn’t carry all my books around because I wanted to use my five minutes between class to socialize either (I could count the number of friends I had on one hand), I did it because of a kid named Dillon “Dill” Marshall. People called him Dill not just because it was short for Dillon, but also because he always smelled like pickles.

In ninth grade, my first year of high school, I had been blessed with the locker right next to old Dillweed. I didn’t know him at the time. He had transferred from a different school, and I thought maybe I could befriend him before everyone else told him to ignore me.

I was the king of wishful thinking.

Dillon “the villain,” as I later thought of him, had introduced himself by writing a gay slur on my locker in black permanent marker. I don’t know how many kids read what he had written or how many had heard it second hand, but it was enough. The only thing that can travel faster than the speed of light is high school gossip, and for the next four years, I was the gay kid (not that there was anything wrong with that). But I had a hard enough time getting girls to notice me. From that incident on, I didn’t use my locker anymore.

Thanks a million, Dillon, I thought. I hope you’re still the same as you were back in high school. A foul-smelling zombie.

I unzipped my backpack (my bug-out bag, as Ted called it) and rummaged through my stuff. Flashlight. Tissues. Roll of toilet paper. Toothbrush. Lighter. Gloves. Spare shirt. One pair of socks. One pair of shoes. A couple of spare magazines for my gun, Sally, already loaded. A box of extra ammo. A bowie knife Ted had given me. And crushed at the very bottom were my snacks (crackers, peanuts, candy). Circus food. I pulled out a pack of peanut butter crackers and a bottle of water, and then closed my pack.

“Starting to warm up,” Peaches said. She was ripping into a granola bar.

Ted had said granola was a good choice. Nutritious. Filling. Decent shelf life. I’m sure all of that was true. My grandma liked it, but I never did. I hate how it got stuck in my teeth. Unlike my grandma, I couldn’t take out my teeth to clean them. However, I was most concerned about all that fiber. Out there on the road, I figured it was best to keep my bathroom trips to a minimum, even if eating that stuff would likely produce a solid.

The cop and the redneck showed up five minutes later, on foot.

“There they are,” Bowser said. “Looks like they didn’t find anything.”

“What happened to finding us a truck?” I yelled as they approached.

Both Ted and Robinson motioned for me to keep my voice down.

Whoops. Sorry.

“Don’t yell,” Robinson said. “There’s infected close by.”

“Infected…how close?” Aamod asked, tightening his grip on the shotgun.

“Up on the road,” Ted replied. He had something folded up underneath one of his armpits. “Maybe a hundred yards or so. We saw them but they didn’t see us.”

It was amazing how just the mention of the word
infected
had put everyone in the group on notice. We scanned the surroundings nervously, making sure no one had followed Robinson and Ted back to the dock.

It had been almost a week since we really had to worry about any infected. Cathy and Brian’s home had proved a safe place to rest and recover from the ordeal with Charlie and his crazy gang of followers. We rarely left the house that week, unless it was to the Walmart up the road for a supply run, and even then, as long as we stuck to the back entrances, we never ran into much trouble. Unless of course you count the run where Aamod and I had picked out clothing for the two girls. That was brutal.

“What is that under your arm?” I asked.

“Oh, a map,” Ted said, taking the map out and beginning to unwrap it.

“Thought we already had a map?”

“We did. But I accidently left it on the boat. It’s Brian’s now.” Ted knelt down and smoothed out the open map on one of the supply boxes. “Found this one in a little shipping office around the bend.”

“And what about a car?” Aamod asked.

Ted cleared his throat. “Saw lots of those too. Unfortunately, none in the general vicinity. Looks like everyone who worked here didn’t stick around once the shit hit the fan. Can’t really blame them. Thought maybe there’d be a truck good for hauling close by, what with all this junk just lying around. But nope, nada.”

Aamod frowned, unsatisfied with that answer. “And how far are these cars you
did
see?”

“Not far. Out on the road,” Robinson said. “Problem is the infected nearby.”

Ted examined the map. “The road we saw is probably this one here. Leake Avenue.”

“Which way are the infected going?” I asked.

“What do you think?”

“Still west?”

Robinson nodded. “And there are quite a lot of them, though they’re not coming in packs like we saw back on Highway 528 in Orlando. They’re just scattered about. One here. Two there.”

“I reckon we’re gonna have to sneak by on foot,” Ted said. “We could leave most of our supplies in the shipping office until we can find a vehicle. Then we’ll come back for them. That’ll at least keep them out of the sun or rain.” Ted pointed at a spot on the map. “Looks like there is a golf course near here, due east of our position. I say we head there. Taking the golf course north will hopefully help us avoid trouble for a little bit. Keep us off the roads. Still, we have to cross this Leake Avenue to reach the golf course.”

“Any objections?” Robinson asked of the group. No one spoke up. Not even Aamod, which was a damn miracle. “Okay then. I guess everyone grab a box.”