The Dark Trilogy (67 page)

“Everyone ready?” He waited, his heart thumping in his chest. When he heard the whispered acknowledgements, he opened the door and moved out on the street.

The night was thick with humidity. The faint whiff of decay that permeated the air was hardly noticeable to the survivors anymore. They moved silently and swiftly toward the car. Jeff did not bother looking back, trusting that George would be on the lookout for any danger signals from behind. As the revolver barked again, Jeff nearly jumped out of his shoes. The sound, unimpeded by the closed door, came at them like thunder.

They made it to the Concorde with no problems, although Jeff thought he spotted several sets of eyes tracking them. He fumbled for the keys as Megan opened the back door and slid Sadie inside. Instead of following the child, she turned and surprised George with a hug. It was a quick squeeze that he barely had a chance to return. “You’ll never know how much we’ll miss you, George.”

She couldn’t look at him as she turned and opened the front passenger door and slid inside. George watched as she did, blinking in the starlight.

“Don’t go, George,” he pleaded. “You can still come with us! You can still change your mind. Just get in the car. We’ll find your family together! There’s no reason for you to leave us!”

“It’s too dangerous. I can’t ask you to come with me. I have to do this on my own.”

Jason opened his mouth again, but no words came out. He was still shaking his head in disbelief when George pulled him into his arms and gave him a hug.

“I just can’t believe you’re really leaving,” Jason whispered after a few moments, his voice stunned. “I’m never going to see you again, am I?”

It was as hard for George to accept as it was for Jason to say. But there it was. There were words he wanted to say, promises he wanted to make, but they would be lies, stupid little wishes. Once he left, there would be no turning back and no way to find the others again. When he and Jason finally broke off their hug, George shook his head.

There were no more words. Jason turned and slipped into the car beside Sadie, shutting the door behind him.

“It looks clear to your car.”

Jeff had been acting as lookout as George said his farewells. There were bodies moving out there, but none between the two cars, as far as he could tell. Another gunshot exploded in the night as George squinted, searching for the Corsica. He spotted it and nodded at Jeff. He patted his pants pocket, making sure he still had the key.

“I hope you find your family, George. I really do.”

There was a trace of wistfulness in the words. Jeff wanted to believe, for George’s sake, that his family, beyond all fathoming, was still alive.

George looked at Jeff and saw the pain that still resonated behind his eyes. It had been a rough day for all of them, but it had taken more of a toll on Jeff than on any of them.

“Jeff, we’ve all done things …” George hesitated as he tried to piece together something that would make his friend understand. “We’ve all done horrible things that we feel like we can’t live with, that no one could ever forgive us for.” He stepped closer and forced Jeff to look him in the eyes. “But you have to forgive yourself for what you’ve done. Because Megan already has.”

Jeff nodded, though George wasn’t sure if the other man was agreeing or just placating him. It was clear Jeff had been damaged by the events of the past few days—even the past few hours—but George could hope the damage wasn’t irreparable. He knew that if anyone could help him heal, it was Megan.

He held out his hand. Jeff looked at it and only hesitated for a split second. The anger left his face while the embarrassment remained. This was goodbye. Jeff forced a smile onto his face. “You’re a good friend, George. I’m going to miss you.”

George nodded. “Me too.” He squeezed Jeff’s hand tighter for a moment. “Take care of them. They need you now more than ever.”

Jeff nodded. “I will. No matter what happens, you can count on that.”

It was not an easy thing to do, but George let go of the other man’s hand and ran to the Corsica.

Jeff watched while circling to the driver’s-side door and kept on watching until George climbed into the other vehicle. By the time the sixth shot rang out, he was behind the wheel of the Concorde and starting it up.

Megan had the map out of the glove box and was ready to navigate. Jeff looked in the back seat and saw that both kids were buckled up, ready to go. Jason had a distant look in his eyes, as if his mind was already far away. He had his arm around Sadie, who was leaning on him with her feet curled up beneath her little body. She was already slipping off to sleep again, and Jeff was amazed at how easy it was for the little girl to do that.

He glanced over at Megan as he flipped on the lights. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” A small smile crossed her face as she reached over and took hold of his hand, squeezing it. “Let’s get out of here.”

Jeff smiled back at Megan and thought about what George had said, about giving her the time to understand.

Several ghouls stopped when they saw the lights and heard the engine come to life. Jeff easily avoided them as he drove down the street, listening to Megan’s voice as she read the map and told him where he needed to turn. The directions would take them out of town and a few miles into the country. The path Ben had laid out was a series of residential streets, away from the crowds, wrecks, and barricades that would hamper their movement.

Another shot rang out, and Jeff’s thoughts turned back to Ben. He wanted to remember everything he could about him. Perhaps he would write it all down someday: the journey he’d taken and the people he’d met. Otherwise, memories of the hulking man and even of George would fade. They would become myths for those who lived, if they were remembered at all. Jeff stared out onto the road as he thought about it.
So many people I don’t want to forget. So many people I should never forget.
Even the ones he despised needed to be remembered. If they were lucky enough to meet anyone else on their journey, their stories needed to be told.

As they turned off the main road and diverged into a residential neighborhood, Jeff felt some of the burden of what had happened in Manchester over the past day slip off his shoulders. They were still alive. It defied all logic, but they were.

Megan looked over at him, her hand sliding across the console to touch his arm. As he glanced over at her, there was a solemn look on her face.

“Remind me to tell you about what happened to my husband sometime.”

Jeff stared at her for another moment, the surprise evident on his face. Then he nodded as his eyes moved back to the road. Megan’s fingers ran down his arm until they reached his hand. She gave him a quick squeeze before letting go.

*

As they moved past the quiet residential neighborhoods and out into the country, Jeff scanned the horizon. The road ahead was dangerous. There was no way of knowing where it would lead them. Perhaps there was some safe haven where they could forget the world for a time. Even if just for a brief while. But Jeff didn’t want to dwell on the idea. Being alive for the time being was good enough.

“Do you think we’ll make it, Jeff?”

It was a question that could drive them insane if they let it.

“I don’t know,” Jeff said quietly. “But I remember something someone told me once. At the time it sounded a bit hokey, like it was out of some sort of self-help manual, but as I think about it now, it seems to ring true. They said live this day as if it will be your last. You will only find tomorrow on the calendar of fools.”

As they drove on into the night, Jeff’s words echoed in Megan’s head. They were in uncharted waters, but they had each other. All they could do was take it one day, one hour, one moment at a time. Somehow, she could accept that.

The road up ahead was dark and dangerous, but for some reason, it did not frighten Megan anymore.

Epilogue

Part 1

The roads were obstacle courses forcing him to keep the car below thirty miles per hour and even slower when he came upon one of the dozens of smash-ups along the rural routes. The four-cylinder engine huffed and groaned at him as he switched his right foot from the gas pedal to the brake again. At least there weren’t a lot of ghouls in the area.

George figured most were behind him, back in the town he had left behind for good. The car, a rusted Chevy Corsica that was nearly twenty years old, smelled like mothballs and ancient sweat. It wheezed and protested as he urged it along, rattling and threatening to fall apart, but it kept moving. The headlights and the engine worked, and that was good enough for him.

As the buildings disappeared in the rearview mirror along with the few stiffs trying to take swipes at him, George relaxed. There were more small towns up ahead, but he knew the roads well enough to avoid most of the trouble spots. Most of them. He would still have to figure out how to navigate past Willowsburg and the interstate.

Willowsburg was probably four or five times the size of the town he’d just left. He racked his brain for an alternate route around it, but unless he wanted to go off road, hit even more population, or go on foot, he had to go through Willowsburg. The road leading home went right through the town.

It was the interstate that really worried him. Everything George knew, everything he had heard, was that the highways were a complete mess. Gridlock from one exit to the next even with the National Guard cordoning off large chunks. Massacres everywhere, thousands dead as they attempted to flee in every direction while their cars remained stuck. Interstates were to be avoided at all costs.

His home was on the other side of the interstate that cut across the entire state.

The old car ate away at the miles, the headlights slicing through the darkness on the two-lane road as it rolled along. There were a few stalled vehicles—abandoned or incapacitated. George avoided looking too closely at them, though it was hard to miss the fact that some had been attacked. Even out here in the country where the population was sparse, there had been plenty of devastation. Farmhouses burnt to the ground, fire pits where bodies had been rudely tossed, and even executions.

George could not help but slow down as he passed a huge, gnarled old tree. The limbs were thick and sturdy, strong enough to hold the weight of several people. The tree was alive and vital, but on its branches were several hanging ropes. A few dangled freely, the ends frayed as if they had been hacked or chewed at. But it was the others, the ones that hung taunt that captured George’s attention.

The three bodies, hung at various heights, pitched and weaved at the sight of the car. There was no moaning, just jittery movement. George wanted to look away, but couldn’t tear his eyes from them. As he watched them gyrate and dance, their arms tied behind their backs, necks broken and distended, he wondered how long they had been up there.

No one deserves that. No one.
George stopped the car, his grip on the steering wheel painful as he watched a young girl attempt to open her mouth as her eyes bugged out. She could not accomplish the simple task with a rope snug beneath her chin. It had worn through her soft skin and throat muscles and kept her jaw from moving. Much of the skin had been picked clean from her face or had dissolved in the summer heat, George could not tell which. She wore what must at one time have been a pretty print dress, and a pair of patent leather shoes lay on the ground below her.

It must have been a slow journey to hell for the people hanging on the tree. George tried to comprehend who would have done such a thing, tried to absorb what possible reason there was to prolong these people’s agony. As he counted the ropes, he saw that there was a total of seven; seven people had been hung out on this country road. For what reason? As a symbol? As an attempt to stir up fear? Were they already dead or merely freshly bitten when they were lynched? George rubbed his eyes as he sat back in his seat and sighed. He looked past the tree and could see a house off in the distance. He wondered if the people who had lived there had taken the answers to the grave … or if they were the ones dangling from the tree.

There’s no time. Not enough time to make this right, not enough time to make any of it right.
George forced his eyes back onto the road as he pressed down on the gas pedal and sped off into the night, leaving the three hanging bodies twitching in the humid summer air.

A few miles later, George was able to turn off the rural route and hit a much wider state road. Still only two lanes, but plenty of space. Plenty of room to avoid the rusting junk piles that were more spread out here. As he turned off the rutted country path and felt the smooth asphalt beneath the tires, he knew he was about fifteen miles from Willowsburg … and fifteen more after that from home.

Home.

The thought electrified him.
All this time and I’ve been so close.
He could have run so long ago. But time seemed to slow down and then speed up day after day, moment after moment. He’d lost perspective on how long he had been away. It had been eternity and yet only a single moment. The urgency ebbed and flowed as desperation and fear struggled with one other.