The Scattered and the Dead (Book 1): A Post-Apocalyptic Series (42 page)

She didn’t even know how long it had been when she looked up and noticed something was off. Thinking back, she couldn’t even identify what it was exactly. The stillness that told her he wasn’t breathing? The way his mouth hung slack? The opaqueness of the skin? Whatever it was, she crawled toward the bed without thinking, her math book sliding to the floor, secants and cotangents forgotten.

Erin didn’t know how many minutes she stood there, but eventually her mom’s voice broke her trance.

“What is it?”

Their eyes met. Erin’s mom unfolded her legs from their scrunched position on the love seat. Her gaze moved from Erin down to the bed, and she saw for herself that he was gone.

And then she said, “Why are you just standing there? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

There was a note of accusation in her voice, and even though it was probably just the grief talking, Erin still remembered it, still felt it. She probably would for the rest of her life.

Her mom ran off to find a nurse then. Like the nurse was going to come in and do what? Wake him up? Pronounce him dead? What did it matter how fucking long she stood there?

Stage one, denial. Her mom was an expert at that one.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she pulled at the shoulder of her t-shirt to wipe them away.

Izzy’s voice suddenly came in a tight whisper. “Errrriiinnnnn!”

She glanced sideways at Izzy and noticed her body language: stiff and upright, like a rabbit that’s just spotted a wolf.

Before Erin pinpointed what Izzy was looking at, a sound startled her.

“Well, hello there!”

On the opposite side of the river, standing just shy of the water line, was a man. It was hard to tell from this distance, but from the graying beard and the way he was dressed — faded jeans, flannel shirt, and a Pittsburgh Pirates hat — she guessed him to be in his fifties. Maybe a youngish sixty.

A fishing pole extended from one hand. In the other, he held a blue Dixie cup, presumably filled with worms.

Izzy scurried back to stand next to and slightly behind Erin.

“Hi,” Izzy said from around Erin’s elbow.

Erin nudged Izzy’s foot with her own.

“What are you doing?” Erin growled the words through her teeth.

“I don’t know,” Izzy hissed back.

The man craned his neck around, surveying the girls’ side of the river. “Are you two out here all alone?”

Before Izzy could say anything stupid, Erin called back.

“Don’t worry about it.” She turned to Izzy. “Don’t say anything.”

“No need to be hasty. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just been so long since I’ve seen anyone,” he said, and licked his lips.

Erin beat down a pang of sympathy for him. It was that stupid beard. Her dad had always worn a beard, and every time she saw an older man with a beard, she got a little sad. Like when he died, it left a little wound in her that got opened up at the sight of some salt and pepper scruff.

“I’m Clay, by the way,” he said. “May I ask your names?”

“Thelma and Louise,” Erin answered. To Izzy, she whispered, “Go get your bike. We’re going.”

“Please, I only want to talk to you. I know you must be frightened, two young girls out here on your own. I can help you.”

Erin couldn’t help it. The condescension got her hackles up.

“We don’t need your help.”

“Look, there’s a bridge a little down the ways, why don’t we head thataway and meet up there? I have a nice place. Food. Water. I could keep you safe.”

“No, thanks.”

His voice raised in pitch and volume as he realized he was losing them. He sounded a little frantic.

“It’s not safe for you to be out here alone! There’s bad people about. Killers. Rapers.”

“Thanks for the update,” Erin called as they rode away from the park.

She cranked her head over her shoulder, half-expecting to see him wading across the river to follow them. But each time she looked back, he was still rooted in the same spot, watching them roll away. After a few blocks, he was out of sight completely.

The bike bumped over a curb, reminding her to watch where she was going.

The guy talking to her like she was some frail waif-thing pissed her off. What the hell did he know? They’d done just fine so far. Not to mention the fact that she was well aware of the potential threat of murderers and “rapers.” Was she just supposed to trust that he wasn’t one or the other? Fat chance, old man.

And yet there was a part of her that was almost tempted. Not for her sake, but for Izzy’s. It would be nice if someone else was responsible for the kid. Someone else’s job to make sure she brushed her teeth, to hound her about taking a bath. Someone else for her to elbow and kick in the middle of the night.

Izzy spoke up.

“Is it always going to be like this?”

They coasted down a small hill and Izzy kept pace alongside her. They rode into the wind now, and the button-down shirt Izzy wore flapped behind her like a cape.

“Like what?”

“Being scared of everyone. Having to hide or run away from any other person we ever see.”

“I don’t know,” Erin said. “Probably.”

Izzy quirked her mouth like she was sucking on a sour piece of candy.

“That stinks.”

“Bored of me already?”

Erin joked, but she knew what Izzy meant.

“No, it’s just… we can’t be the only good people left. There have to be other good people out there.”

Erin tried to picture it in her head. She imagined the old man taking Izzy by the hand, leading her back to his little cottage. Smoke puffed out of the chimney, and his wife waited by the white picket fence out front. A little old lady with white hair pulled into a bun and reading glasses perched on her nose. She dried her hands on her apron and then extended her arms, wrapping Izzy in a hug.

Erin blinked the daydream away. It was all fantasy. In reality, it was more likely for the guy to be some kind of predator. The kind of creep that used to peep in windows and break into sorority houses to steal panties.

She watched Izzy gliding down the empty road, hair fluttering around her head, and wished the world could be the way Izzy wanted it. But deep down she knew, the meek did not inherit. The meek got eaten by the monsters, until eventually there were only monsters left.

Ray

Houston, Texas

3 days before

This roadblock looked dead. Just the two soldiers standing there. No other traffic. It would have to do.

Ray stopped the Grand Cherokee just shy of the men and turned to the woman, placing his hand on her arm.

“No matter what happens here, just stay calm,” he said. “This is life or death.”

He licked his lips before he went on.

“A lot of people are going to die in the next day or two, and we’re not going to be among them. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that’s the case.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and she nodded. For the first time he thought she seemed to be grasping the gravity of things, at least a little.

Ray put his window down.

The closer of the two soldiers approached, leaned in, his head hovering in the open threshold of the driver’s side window.

“Sorry, sir. These roads are closed by order of the Department of Homeland Security,” he said.

“I understand that. It’s just that we’re a little lost,” Ray said. “And the GPS seems to be as confused as we are. I don’t suppose you have any idea where Paradise Cove Bed and Breakfast is?”

The soldier shook his head.

“Never heard of it. Sorry.”

“You think your buddy over there might know?”

Ray gestured at the other soldier, still standing in front of the barrier, squinting into the glare of the headlights.

“Spence, come here. You ever heard of a bed and breakfast called Paradise uh... what was it, again?”

Now both soldiers leaned toward the window, their heads floating before him like talking heads on a TV screen.

“Paradise Cove.”

The second soldier shrugged his shoulders.

“Nah, man.”

“Well, shoot,” Ray said. “Is it just the two of you here? There’s no one else around that might know?”

“Just us, sorry.”

The talking heads shook around in the frame, their eyebrows raised in matching expressions that Ray thought looked like sheepish cartoons, so sorry to disappoint him. Christ, they were just kids.

“OK, good.”

Ray raised the handgun then and fired twice, the crack echoing off the windshield with a ringing tone, and the muzzle blazing, and the force rattling his arm. Both of the heads burst open and tumbled out of the frame. One of them whimpered a couple of times like a puppy before he went silent.

Ray moved the barrier, and they pressed on, moving out away from the doomed city, the headlights shining down empty roads that seemed endless.

Erin

Presto, Pennsylvania

40 days after

Erin knelt next to the generator, plucking the cap off the end of the gas can spout. Just to be sure, she lowered her head until her face was only about an inch from the spout and sniffed. She only meant to get a little whiff, but the astringent benzene smell filled her nose.

Yep, definitely gas. Her shoulders shuddered. Gas fumes always made her feel an odd combination of giddy and nauseous. She was glad she hadn’t needed to resort to siphoning gas. Just the thought of the stuff in her mouth made her spit.

The lackadaisical breeze from that morning had grown stronger throughout the day. A gust of wind rushed into her, ruffling her hair and the hem of her shirt. The generator manual lay in the grass next to her, and the pages flapped and fluttered like a goose trying to take off. She had to slap a hand on it to keep it from flying away. She found half of an old brick a few feet away and used it to anchor the manual to the ground.

The clouds were thicker now, too. Less scattered than before. They huddled together, forming larger masses that blocked out the sun for a few seconds at a time before blowing past. The daylight faded and brightened, faded and brightened, like someone was playing with a dimmer switch connected to the sun.

She didn’t want to overfill the gas tank, so she only emptied the can halfway. Her finger traced over the words on the manual, reading the instructions out loud as she performed each action.

“Fuel cap vent lever: on. Choke lever: closed. Engine switch: on. Pull starter grip.”

She pulled but too slow. She needed to stand for more leverage. On her feet, she tugged at it again, putting her back and legs into it this time. The starter rope whirred as it unraveled, but the engine didn’t catch.

A single dot of rain splatted on her nose. Clouds blotted out the sun completely now. Off to the west, the sky touching the horizon was a charcoal-black smudge.

She stooped back over the generator, renewing her efforts. She tried yanking with both hands, balancing one foot on the generator for a stronger pull.

Izzy bounced into view.

“It’s raining!”

She tipped her head back and stuck out her tongue, trying to catch a few drops.

Erin wiggled her fingers, giving them a moment’s break.

“I know. Go inside, I’ll be there in a minute.”

She grasped the handle and tried again.

“Maybe it doesn’t work. The generator, I mean. Maybe it’s dead like all the cars.”

Erin dug her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from screaming.

“It’s going to work.”

She measured each word carefully, struggling to stay calm.

The intermittent sprinkle grew to a more steady rain.

“Go inside,” she repeated. Izzy shrugged and turned toward the house.

Before Erin began again, she wiped her palms on her shirt. The rain was making them slippery.

She worked at the pull start until her shoulder and arm ached.

It had to work. There was no way it couldn’t work. She’d spent so much time trying to figure out how to move the stupid thing. Dragging it here. Finding gas. It had to work.

She only gave up when she started to shiver, her clothes soaked through and clinging to her skin. She threw the starter handle down after her last pull, and the generator sucked it up like a piece of spaghetti. She wanted to kick it but knew it would hurt her more than it would hurt the generator.

Hot rage tears dribbled down her face, mixing with the colder droplets of rain. She let the frustration and anger burn hot for a few moments before she let it go. She took a deep breath. And then another one. She didn’t want to go inside crying. It would probably freak Izzy out, and she didn’t want that.

Her hair formed sopping tentacles, drip-dropping water onto the porch while she waited for it to pass.

Finally she wiped the tears away, not that it mattered with the rain. Inside, she peeled off her wet clothes and left them in the bathtub in a soggy wad.