Phoenix (28 page)

They split up and checked the kitchen and
first-floor bedroom. They came back with a dead drill and
nails.

"Seriously?" Mort rubbed his forehead.
"Alright. I
was
going to have you two take all the doors off
their hinges and cover these windows. Can’t do that now."

"We might be able to use something else to
pound the nails?" Brad offered.

"Too much noise," Izzy said.

Mort agreed. "Yeah. We’d be better off just
leaning the damn things up against them," he indicated the windows,
"and staying quiet. If we don’t give them a reason to break in,
then they won’t."

Brad looked at the nails in his hand. "You
sure about that?"

"It worked at my house."

"Good point. So why cover the windows?"

"So they don’t see us if any happen to pass
by."

"Right."

"Just get the doors. There’s two windows down
here that have to be covered. Living room and bedroom. The kitchen
and bathroom are small and up high. Maybe they won’t be a problem
if we’re careful."

"We should probably leave the bathroom door
on," Adams said.

"Yeah," Brad answered. "We can take that
bedroom door and the one from that room upstairs that stinks."

"Sounds good."

They took the flashlight and went back to the
kitchen to look for something to pry the hinges. Mort and Izzy
knelt in the living room and went through the supplies, in the
dark.

"You think the noise from those explosions
will draw them in?" Izzy asked while Mort emptied the two bags and
started organizing by feel.

"I’d say we should ask Adams, but we can
assume yes." Mort moved his hands over everything, counting,
adjusting, making sure to touch each thing the same number of
times. "We can check the kitchen cupboards while we’re here. If
there’s food, we’ll eat it first."

"And we should sleep upstairs, at least for
tonight. If we get in trouble, we can jump out the window and
run."

"Speak for yourself. I’ve filled my lifetime
quota for roof-diving, thanks."

She smiled. "Then I’ll hang back and push you
out."

Izzy helped Mort to his feet and they
wandered into the kitchen. It was dark and they had to feel their
way, but eventually Izzy’s fingertips found the faucet. She held
her breath and turned the knob, then had to bite her tongue to keep
from squealing with joy. Mort was pulling drawers open but snapped
his head around to the sound of running water.

"I’m not even going to question it." He
reached overhead and started jerking doors back until he found the
cups. "Here, let’s try it."

Izzy took one and filled it up. She took a
small drink at first, then downed the whole thing. "It’s not
bad."

Mort cupped his hand under the water and
tried a sip. "Drinkable. After the boys get those windows covered,
we should get upstairs for the night. The rest can wait until
morning, when we can see."

They grabbed the bags and made their way
upstairs. Adams and Brad were just taking the door out of the
frame, handling it like it was dynamite.

"Not this room. Take the other." Brad jerked
his chin toward the only other bedroom on the second floor. Mort
nodded and he and Izzy went inside. Brad and Adams shifted the door
so they could carry it down the steps.

Brad went first. "Let’s get this one up, then
we’ll work on the other."

They eased down the steps one at a time and
leaned the door against the living room window. It did a fair job
of concealing them from anything that might walk, or shamble by on
the road. The two then went and repeated the same thing with the
downstairs bedroom door, taking it and leaning it against the
window in that room. After making sure the front door was locked
and the couch firmly scooted against it, Brad swept the flashlight
around one last time and motioned Adams upstairs.

"At least the doors hitting the floor will
give us some warning if anything breaks in the windows," Adams said
when they got to the top of the stairs.

"I thought that’s what we had you for,
Eight-Ball."

Adams rolled his eyes. "Uh huh. Well as long
as your radar is working, how about you try pulling some of the
weight."

"Uh huh."

"Shut up."

Brad chuckled and Adams jabbed him in the
back, then shut the bedroom door behind him. He and Brad shoved a
dresser in front of it. It was heavy, still full of clothes and
whatever else.

"That’s about all we can do," Brad said,
lowering himself to the floor and leaning against the wall next to
Mort. "Now we wait."

"And get some rest," the older man added. "We
don’t need everyone to keep watch." To the other two he said, "Get
some sleep. I’ll take first watch." He turned to Brad. "I’ll wake
you in a couple hours."

Izzy had already claimed the bed and was
asleep. Adams lay down on the floor next to it, using his coat as a
pillow.

"Oh damn, now that feels good." He stretched
his legs.

Brad fell over on his side, next to Mort.
"Never thought a floor would be better than sleeping in the
car."

"Tell me about it, man." Adams yawned.

"Quiet, now," Mort whispered. "Get some
sleep."

The two younger men rolled and squirmed
around for only a few more seconds, then Adams started snoring.

"You too, Brad." Mort shifted, trying to
alleviate the arthritis pain in his hips. Brad stayed quiet and
pretended to sleep, though his mentor knew better. While this area
wasn’t quiet, the noise level was the lowest it’d been for some
time. Because of that lack of interference, Mort had no trouble at
all bringing up images of his three friends and seeing colorful
wisps form around them.

Yellow and brown shades around picture-Brad
told Mort that he felt anxious and guilty. After an hour of it, he
tapped Brad’s shoulder and whispered, "Okay, might as well tell
me."

Brad took a deep breath and rolled over. He
clasped his hands together on his chest and stared at the
ceiling.

"I don’t think PhoenTek is blocking us
anymore. Or if they are, they’re getting weaker maybe."

"Why do you say that?"

"’Cause me and Izzy have both seen things
minutes before they happened. Remember back at that farm? I dreamed
about it right before it happened. Then Izzy, back on the road with
that convoy. She dreamed of the jets and there they were."

"Are those the only times it’s happened?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm," Mort rubbed his chin, "we’ll have to
ask Adams about it later. Then we’ll know if they’ve stopped or if
the block is just weaker."

Brad grunted and fell silent. Mort
waited.

"What do you think happens to us when we
turn?" Brad whispered.

Mort snorted. "Have you
noticed
the
dead people walking around?"

"That’s not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Us, as in people like us. The Psi. Do you
think we come back as regular zombies, or something else?"

Mort leaned closer. "Why are you thinking
about that? Did something happen? Are you—"

Brad started to chuckle but bit it off. "Hell
no. How could I get bit when I’ve been stuck in the car with you
people for weeks?"

"Fair enough."

"So? What do you think?"

"Well," Mort shifted again and leaned against
the wall, "I don’t know, really. Never thought about it. Those
things are dead, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. Except if they are, why
do they put out that buzzing?"

"Let’s just assume they’re dead. Okay, so if
they’re dead, that means their brains are dead, right?"

"I guess. We don’t really know how this virus
works. Is it keeping part of the brain alive? Is the brain totally
dead and the only thing living is the virus, and it’s somehow
manipulating the body?"

"Well, boy, the only thing I can tell you is
if the brain is dead, then we definitely come back as regular dead
people. But if there’s something left, depending on where our power
sits in the brain, then yeah. We might come back as something
different."

"Wow." Brad fell silent for several
minutes.

"I know."

"That’s not at all comforting."

"I know."

"What do you think happened to Laura when she
changed?"

Mort didn’t answer. He started to more than
once, but kept falling short on words and instead sucked in a few
quick breaths.

"Exactly. That’s what I’ve been thinking
about. And, well…you know."

"Yeah." Mort’s voice cracked. "That look in
her eyes."

"Kind of makes you grateful there were so
many dead around, you know? You weren’t able to feel it when—"

"Okay." Mort coughed and cleared his throat.
"That’s enough. No more tonight. Lay there and rest for another
hour, then you can take watch."

Brad stared at the ceiling. "Yeah."

Rakburn stepped out of the bathroom, running
a comb through his wet, thinning hair. The room he entered was dark
and musty, but it was secure; no windows and only one door. He’d
been on the road for weeks, after her trail went cold, when he came
across a roadside motel. Here he finally decided that he would
continue traveling southeast until he came to the Ohio River. If he
couldn’t pick up Isabel’s trail there, he’d give up and head back
to Columbus. His secret hope was he’d detect her the closer he got
to her supposed destination.

The motel still had power, though how he
didn’t know, and though he wanted to stay on the road, Rakburn
needed time to rest and gather his thoughts. A hot shower also
wouldn’t hurt. He kept his phone on and charged, but hadn’t heard
anything from the other agents, Board members, or Isabel. Neither
did he try making any calls. Each night before bed, he’d meditate
and step through the phantom door in his head. Depending on the
number of dead that were around, he’d had varying results.

He was just scraping by in the supply
department. In the areas he’d traveled, food and water seemed to be
easy to find as long as he was willing to get his hands dirty. Most
of the time, he was not. Only when he grew hungry or thirsty did he
stop. He’d clear a house and take what he could find, or he’d
stumble upon an inhabited residence and do the same. He didn’t want
to resort to this, but it was necessary. When he could, he spared
lives. They were survivors, after all. Now it was "Us" against
"Them." It made little sense to kill living people.

But he needed food and water. He had to live
long enough to find her.

Rakburn sat on the edge of the bed. Its
blanket smelled of mildew. A layer of dust coated everything he
hadn’t already touched. Looking around he could see swipes and
fingerprints breaking the smooth, filthy layer. Winter was coming
and the room was cold. There was a heater built into the wall, but
he worried it would make too much noise if he turned it on. He’d
have to find more suitable clothing soon. If he abandoned his car,
he’d have to worry about traveling exposed to the elements. He
reached behind him and pulled the old creased map onto his lap. His
general route was marked, as were each detour he’d been forced to
take. He nodded to himself; he was still on course. The map showed
nothing of importance at the end of his journey. Just simple county
roads and nothing all the way to the river. Small, unincorporated
towns dotted the way. These should prove to be rich in supplies if
they hadn’t already been picked clean.

He sighed and laid the map aside. Rakburn
fell back on the bed and closed his eyes. He’d been at the motel
long enough. In the morning, he would head out and continue on his
way.

* * *

The first snow of the season fell a week
later. It was then that Rakburn realized Thanksgiving had come and
gone. He had been forced to abandon his car some four days earlier.
Before leaving the motel, he searched most of the other rooms and
was able to find one that was occupied. Its inhabitants were dead,
so he dispatched them and rifled through their belongings. He took
one of their bags and extra clothing he was sure wouldn’t fit, as
well as a heavy coat. He was prepared for snow. He just wasn’t
prepared to walk through it.

The only positive of his situation was his
car had left him nearly thirty miles from his destination. He
didn’t know how long it would take for him to walk that far,
especially in the cold temperatures, but he wouldn’t stop except to
rest. His destination was still just a vague notion. He was aiming
for an empty spot on the map between two unincorporated towns and
on what was supposedly an unpaved road. Why this area, he wasn’t
sure. He only knew that each time he scanned the southeastern
areas, this spot radiated back less noise. It was almost a black
spot on that virtual map he held within his head.

Perhaps Isabel was already there. Perhaps
this was the same thing drawing her, a spot with no noise. He hoped
he would find something along that road. He was prepared to find
nothing.

If that turned out to be the case, he would
continue on to the river, find another vehicle, and take the
straightest route possible back to Columbus.

Rakburn pulled the collar of his winter coat
tighter around his neck and trudged through the snow. Only an inch
covered the road, but it was cold and he lacked proper footwear.
Night fell quickly this time of year. It was so dark he could only
see the area around him. He considered stopping for the night.

No, it wasn’t safe to stop in the dark. He
would rest in the morning. If he could walk at least a mile every
hour, he would make it to…where, exactly? The end of his trip. He
would make it there in little over a day. Counting one rest period,
he would be there in two days. Rakburn was sure he would be fine
without food and water for that much longer. It was true he’d had
none for a day and a half already. This close to the end, he’d eat
snow. He wasn’t stopping to loot, couldn’t even if he wanted to;
there were no houses along the road he was on.