Phoenix (29 page)

* * *

Rakburn couldn’t feel his feet.

Ten hours and ten miles later, his feet were
numb and his body was growing weaker with each step. His body had
used up most of its fuel and he’d had nothing to replace it. The
freezing temperatures were leeching everything out of him. His Psi
senses were cranked up as high as he could muster, searching for
any sort of aid he could find. He was nearing the last turnoff, the
one which was marked on the map as being unpaved.

Since it was daylight, he decided it was safe
to stop and rest. He found a mostly bare spot just off the road in
the trees and sat down. He took one shoe off at a time and rubbed
his feet through the sock. It was enough to warm them and bring
back sensation.

Good
.
No
frostbite
.

Rakburn rummaged through the stolen bag he’d
been carrying over his shoulder and found a dirty t-shirt. Using
his knife, he cut it into sections and wrapped them around his
feet. He had to loosen his shoestrings, and it would be a tight
fit, but hopefully the added layers would keep his feet a little
warmer. Once that was finished, he wiggled his toes inside his
shoes and rubbed his hands together. He could rest, but he had to
keep moving in some fashion.

It was dead quiet around him. There weren’t
even any animal sounds coming from the woods. As far as he could
see in either direction, the road was empty. The snow hadn’t even
melted because it’d been cloudy ever since it had fallen.

If
only
the
sun
would
come
out
.

He dialed down his senses, not quite closing
that mental door but leaving it ajar. He needed to give his mind a
chance to rest as well as his body. He pulled his knees close to
his chest, still wiggling his toes and rubbing his hands, and
lowered his forehead to them. He closed his eyes, promising not to
fall asleep. He meditated instead. It wasn’t true rest, but it
would have to do.

* * *

"Hey, buddy. You alive?"

The voice was gruff, scratchy. Rakburn
thought he was dreaming, it had been so long since he’d heard
another living being speak. He didn’t open his eyes; he felt so
comfortable lying on the bed of dead leaves. He wasn’t even cold
anymore.

He sighed.
Yes
,
I
am
dreaming
in
a
nice
,
soft
bed
. He smiled to himself.

"Must be. Dude just smiled or something."

A different voice. Younger.

Two men, a father and son dressed in
blaze-orange and camouflage, stood over Rakburn with hunting rifles
slung over their shoulders.

"We can’t leave him out here. He’ll die. He’s
lucky he ain’t dead yet," the son said.

The father bent over and shook Rakburn’s
shoulder. "Hey, buddy, c’mon. You need to get up. Too cold to be
laying out here on the ground like this."

Rakburn fought to wake up. He was dreaming,
but threaded through that was reality. And the two mixed told him
he was being attacked. The door in his head swung back and he saw a
bearded face staring through it. Rakburn’s hand dove into his coat
pocket and drew his knife. He lashed out with it and jumped to his
feet. The two men quickly backed off and held up their hands.

"Whoa now, easy, mister!" the older man said.
The younger of the pair pulled the rifle from his shoulder and
brought it up, barrel pointing at Rakburn’s chest.

Rakburn held his knife in front of him.

"We can help you, buddy. Okay? Help? Can you
understand me?"

Rakburn shook his head and his knife wavered.
His free hand rubbed his forehead. He drew in his power and
centered himself. The two strangers appeared in the doorway and he
saw them for what they were: living beings.

Pull
yourself
together
.
Now
.

"Y-yes," he forced the words from his throat.
"I understand." He lifted his eyes and met the older man’s
concerned face.

"Put that away." The father gestured to his
son, who in turn slung his rifle. He returned his attention to
Rakburn. "How long you been out here?"

"I—" Rakburn stopped and thought a moment. He
hadn’t intended on falling asleep, and had no idea how long he’d
been out. He was confused. It was still daylight, however. "I
stopped to rest this morning. I did not mean to stay long."

The father smiled. "Blew that plan all to
hell, didn’t ya."

"Who are you?" Rakburn asked. His knife was
still in his hand, though he’d lowered it a fraction.

"Name’s Fetter. Jeff Fetter. This is my son,
Tim." The man, Jeff, hitched a thumb at his son. "We’ve been out
hunting. Was on our way back and found you just laying there.
Thought you were dead ‘til we saw you breathing."

"Thank you for waking me." Rakburn took a
step back. "Sleeping was not my intention."

"Uh, sure." Jeff threw an unsure glance at
his son. "Listen. We’ve got a truck just up the road. You can come
with us if you want."

"Dad," the son hissed.

Jeff waved it away. "Quiet." He turned back
to Rakburn. "Our place is safe, warm, and we have food."

Rakburn considered the two men. Jeff wasn’t
nearly as old as Rakburn himself, but his beard was streaked with
gray. His face was lined in just the right places, telling Rakburn
that this man had spent a fair amount of his life laughing and
working out in the sun. He didn’t possess the spare tire most men
had at his age, which told Rakburn that he had either burned it off
since the end of the world, or he’d taken care of that many years
before. His son, Tim, was clean and seemed well behaved. He looked
to be in his twenties, and stood slightly behind his father. This
told Rakburn that he respected his father and let him take the
lead, as he should.

Most importantly, the shimmer that had formed
around them in his mental doorway told him these two, especially
the father, was being truthful.

Rakburn slipped his knife inside his coat and
held out his hand. "Thank you. I think I would like that."

Jeff smiled and shook hands. "Good. We should
get moving. Gonna be dark soon."

"Yes."

Jeff motioned for his son to take the lead
out onto the road. Tim gave an all-clear sign and Jeff moved to
help Rakburn out of the woods.

"Thank you, sir, but I am quite capable."

"Sure. Okay." Jeff went ahead of him and
waited with his son.

Rakburn made his way out of the woods a
little more slowly than he would have liked. His legs didn’t want
to cooperate and his feet were once again numb. He had hoped the
extra layers from the t-shirt would have helped that. Apparently
they had not. He didn’t want these strangers to think him weak, so
he raised his head, firmed his back, and forced his legs to carry
him out onto the road. Tim started off ahead of them, his head
constantly turning and his eyes staying alert for danger. Rakburn
could have alleviated those fears by telling them they were alone,
but that would have raised too many questions that he wouldn’t
answer. Jeff hung back with Rakburn. Probably to make sure what he
perceived as an old man didn’t fall and break a hip.

"I didn’t catch your name, mister." The
material of Jeff’s hunting pants swished with each step.

"Thomas."

"Good to meet ya, Thomas."

"Thank you. I am obviously quite pleased to
meet you as well."

"You’re not from around here, are ya?"

Rakburn chuckled. "No, I am not."

They were nearing a bend in the road and
Jeff’s truck came into view.

"Yeah you don’t sound like it." Jeff threw up
a hand. "No disrespect."

"None taken."

Rakburn saw Tim dig in his vest pocket and
pull out a set of keys. It was then he realized he’d left his bag
back in the woods.
No
worries
.
I
shouldn’t
need
it
now
. The boy fiddled
with something in his hand and the rear lights of the truck lit up
and blinked three times.

"Almost there, Thomas. You gonna make it, or
you wanna wait here and Tim can come pick us up?"

"No, no, that is quite alright," Rakburn
lied. "It is not much further now and my legs are feeling much
better."

"Okay then."

Rakburn noticed Jeff kept his right hand
free.

He’s
prepared
to
catch
me
if
I
stumble
.
Or
he
has
a
hidden
weapon
and
is
prepared
if
–
No
.
This
is
a
decent
man
.

Besides
,
he
would
need
to
be
on
my
other
side
to
successfully
draw
a
weapon
.

Stop
it
.

The truck rumbled to life and started
drifting back toward them. It was a new F-150, or rather, as new as
it could be considering there were no longer any Fords being made.
It was also a crew cab. Lots of room.

"Here ya go." Jeff opened the back door for
Rakburn.

He could feel the heat coming from inside.
"Thank you." He grabbed the handrail and pulled himself up. Rakburn
felt Jeff’s hands on his back, helping him in.

Jeff shut the door and went around to the
passenger’s side, climbing in beside his son. "Take us home."

"Aye, aye, sir," Tim said. "Seatbelts."

Rakburn raised an eyebrow but strapped
himself in.

Jeff turned in his seat and his beard pulled
up at the cheeks when he smiled. "In about twenty minutes, you’ll
be eating the best food you’ve had in weeks. Guaranteed."

Rakburn smiled back and nodded. He was dirty,
cold, partially numb from the waist down, sitting in the back of a
vehicle so clean he wanted to throw himself out the window to
prevent soiling the upholstery. He’d left his map back with the
bag, but the image was seared into his brain. If he was correct,
this man and his son were taking him to the place on the map
Rakburn had marked "Journey’s End". The smile stayed on his face.
Now he understood why this area constantly showed clear in his
doorway, and why Isabel was headed in this direction. He took deep
breaths to contain his excitement.

Maybe she was already there, waiting for
him.

* * *

Mort’s group stayed at the house for three
weeks. Brad worked with Adams to try and figure out if they were
still being blocked. Mort helped on occasion, but mostly he
observed. Brad learned that Adams’ ability was a real son of a
bitch, like a wicked genie. He had to phrase his questions just
right to get the answer he was looking for. He couldn’t leave any
room at all for interpretation. After many questions, a few
arguments, and more than one headache, the two men came to the
conclusion that yes, they were being blocked, and yes, the block
was getting weaker. It wasn’t so weak, though, that Adams could
answer anything specific about PhoenTek.

It was December and it had snowed twice more.
The temperatures hovered around freezing during the day and dipped
ten degrees lower at night. The weather was nothing if not
consistent. They ran out of food and hit the road. It was either
that or stay and starve. Water was plentiful. Each person carried a
few bottles with them, and when they ran low, they simply packed
the bottles with snow and added more as it melted until the bottles
were full again.

The group agreed they needed another vehicle.
They weren’t equipped to travel in the cold and snow, no matter how
much easier travel was now that the zombies were freezing.

That was something they noticed right
away.

A day after leaving the house, they came
across a few of the dead. The bodies were lying in the middle of
the road. Mort and the others tensed to run, but Adams made them
wait.

"Ask me if they’re dead," he said to
Brad.

"Of course they’re dead. They’re
zombies."

"No, dumbass. Ask me if they’re still…hmm.
How to phrase it…oh. Ask me if they’re frozen."

"Okay." Brad studied the bodies. They hadn’t
moved. "Oh, Magic Eight-Ball. Are those zombies frozen?"

"Yes." Adams fist-pumped. "Awesome."

Brad walked closer and kicked one of the
zombies in the side. Its eyes were open and its tongue moved in its
mouth, but the body was stiff. It couldn’t move. Brad and Adams
smashed the heads in while Mort tested his empathy.

It didn’t take long for Mort’s ears to fill
with the expected squeal and his mind to fog over with snow.
"They’re still giving off that noise. Freezing must not stop
it."

"Let me try." Brad closed his eyes and
checked his radar. The lines were squiggly and blips jumped around
in random patterns. He opened his eyes, said, "Goddamn zombies,"
and kicked another as they moved on.

It was decided they would keep moving, since
it was obviously safer to travel in the cold, and they needed to
find another vehicle. There was no way they’d make it on foot. They
could’ve outfitted themselves with gear, but the nearest store that
carried anything like that was so far out of their way they might
as well give up and go back to the house. None wanted to do that,
since they’d traveled so far already. So because the dead posed
them very little physical threat, they stopped each day at dusk and
built a fire. They took turns keeping watch through the night just
in case, and whoever was awake kept the fire burning. The blankets
and sleeping bags they’d taken from the house served as pretty
pitiful bedding. They were keeping themselves alive, but not much
else.