Vanish (11 page)

He went back downstairs, where Mitch and the boy were waiting.

Conner looked at the kid for a moment. His flannel shirt looked a few sizes too big. His jeans were tattered, and his sneakers looked equally worn-out. “I think Junior here could use some better clothes. And we still need to find some food.”

“Right.” Mitch nodded. “We’ll make a few stops first.”

AS THEY STEPPED OUTSIDE, Conner peered at the sky and shook his head.

“Looks like another storm is coming.” He nodded to the horizon.

Mitch frowned. “That’s not a good sign. If sunlight’s been keeping them to the shadows, they may get more aggressive if clouds roll in.”

Conner bit his lip. “To say nothing of what may happen after sundown.”

They looked at each other for a moment. Conner could see a grim resolve grow on Mitch’s face. “Let’s get moving.”

The boy climbed into Conner’s car and Mitch opted to stay on his motorcycle. They agreed it would be best to use both vehicles. Maybe they could split up and cover more highway space.

They headed back into town. Mitch pulled on ahead, following the main street into the business district. Conner could see he was scanning the stores on either side of the road.

After a few miles, he swerved into a large strip mall and parked outside Earl’s Sporting Goods. Conner pulled up next to him.

“I thought of a few things we might need,” Mitch said. “There’s a Jewel over there if you wanna get some dried goods and water.”

“Right.”

Conner and the boy headed into the grocery store and perused the aisles. Conner grabbed a shopping cart and began stocking up on snack crackers, granola bars, and beef jerky. Anything he thought might last without being refrigerated. Neither he nor Mitch had acknowledged it, but eventually the electricity was bound to go out with no one manning the power plants.

Conner made a mental note to stop by a hardware store to find a gas-powered generator. He’d also need plenty of gas cans and floodlights. If their theory was correct, they would need as much light as possible after sundown.

Then Conner realized he had lost track of the boy.

“Hey, kid?”

A moment later the boy showed up in the aisle grinning and lugging an armload of bottled water.

Conner nodded. “Good thinking.”

All in all, they filled two shopping carts with supplies and wheeled them out to the car, where Mitch was waiting.

Mitch showed them what he had picked up at Earl’s: three rifles, a pair of shotguns, three handguns, and a few dozen boxes of ammo.

Conner raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said your bullets didn’t faze that thing?”

Mitch shrugged. “My aim may have been a little off. Never hurts to be prepared.” Then he showed them a pair of two-way radios he had also found. “I figure we’ll need to keep in touch if we have to split up.”

Conner scratched his head. “You know, I was thinking we may need to get a generator, too, and some floodlights. The power’s bound to go out eventually.”

Mitch eyed Conner’s car and shook his head. “You’re gonna need a bigger vehicle.”

They looked at each other and then at the auto dealership across the street.

Fifteen minutes later, Conner rolled out of the lot in a spotless black Hummer.

The boy ran his hand along the leather seat and looked at Conner. Conner just shrugged. “I left them my credit card.”

A few blocks farther down, he pulled into an Ace Hardware store. They loaded the back of the Hummer with two gas generators, ten halogen floodlights, a dozen gas cans, and a few other items they had thought of along the way. Then they stopped at a Shell station across the street and filled up the Hummer, the gas cans, and Mitch’s tank as well.

Mitch started up his cycle and gestured over his shoulder. “I’ll head over to the tollway; if you want to, park someplace on Highway 41. If anyone’s heading into Chicago from the north, they’re bound to take one of those routes.”

Conner nodded. “Sounds good.” He held up the two-way. “I’ll be on channel two.”

“Gotcha.” Mitch pulled out and headed west.

Conner turned east. After a few more blocks, he connected with Highway 41 and turned south. He figured he’d stop at the point where he had first encountered Mitch. He wasn’t normally superstitious, but it seemed as good a place as any.

He rolled to a stop in the middle of the southbound lane and shut the engine off. The cloud bank was getting closer and showed no sign of clearing up.

He surveyed their surroundings. They were a good distance from any type of shade, so if there were any of those creatures about, they wouldn’t get too close. That is, if their sunlight theory was accurate.

Conner switched his radio to channel two. “Mitch, you there?”

A moment later the radio crackled and Mitch’s voice sputtered through. “I’m here.”

“I’m going to scan the channels for a minute to see if I can pick up any other signals. See if anyone else is out there.”

“Good idea.”

Conner switched through successive channels repeating a hail. “Is anyone receiving this signal?”

Only static returned. Conner went through a second time with the same results. Finally, he switched back to channel two, reported the results to Mitch, and set the radio down beside him.

The boy pulled out a box of granola bars from a plastic shopping bag at his feet. He handed one to Conner along with a bottle of water.

Conner smiled. “Thanks, kid.”

The granola tasted a little stale, but the water was okay.

Conner closed his eyes for a moment and tried to clear his head. He felt oddly detached from the bizarre nature of what was happening. Here he was, maybe one of the last three people on Earth, sitting in a stolen Hummer in the middle of the highway, waiting for something to happen. But what exactly? The whole scenario seemed more like something from a 1950s end-of-the-world B movie.

He glanced at the boy. “Sorry, kid, I was going to find you some better clothes. Guess I forgot.”

The boy leaned his head back against the seat.

“Guess you had a long day too, huh?”

The boy just rubbed his nose.

“What are you, about nine or ten?” He was a lanky kid, Conner thought, a little undernourished. “You like sports? You look like you play soccer.”

The boy didn’t reply.

Conner’s gaze drifted off. “My son loved soccer. He was always kicking that thing around.” He sighed. “He would’ve been about your age by now. Sometimes I wonder what he would’ve looked like.”

Conner remembered one of the items he had thrown into his bag. The family picture from his desk—the one he had been looking at last night.

“You want to see a picture of him?” He grabbed his duffel bag from behind the seat and rummaged through it. “Here it is.”

He handed the picture to the boy, pointing to Matthew’s face.

“That was my son. Matthew.”

The boy peered at the picture for a moment and smiled. He pointed to Matthew’s face and looked back at Conner.

Conner nodded. “Yeah. Matthew. That was my son.”

The boy looked back at the picture and said, “Matthew.”

Conner’s eyes widened. “What did you—?”

He lurched back in his seat as another convulsion hit him. This one was stronger than the others and took his breath away with its intensity. His muscles tightened as the pressure built in his chest. His neck arched uncontrollably as the white light pressed in again from the corners of his vision. A frigid blast of air ripped through him. It roared in his ears. Thunderous, like a waterfall.

But through the din, the pain, and the blinding light, Conner thought there was something else. Some other sound. Indistinct, beneath the rumble of the wind.

Then it passed and Conner slumped forward, gasping for air as the white light faded. He felt a small hand on his arm. He leaned back and groaned.

The boy was leaning over, peering at him. His brown eyes seemed filled with concern.

Mitch’s voice crackled over the radio.

“…you there? Come in.… Repeat, I see a car approaching from the south.…”

“…YOU THERE?” Mitch’s voice persisted. “Dude. Conner. Come in.…”

Conner fumbled for the radio. “I… I’m here.”

“I had a red SUV approach from the south. They just passed by.”

“They didn’t stop?”

“They didn’t see me. I’m parked on the overpass. I was trying to keep out of sight. I’m going to follow them.”

“Where are you?”

After a pause, Mitch’s voice came back over the rattle of his motorcycle engine. “Take 137 over. You should be able to cut them off.”

Conner rubbed his temples as the last of his dizziness left him. He started up the Hummer, turned it around, and headed north. Just a few miles up he could cut over to the tollway. He flew through intersections doing more than eighty miles an hour.

His thoughts quickly returned to his seizure. They had been getting progressively worse. It had been nearly two hours since his last one in the cemetery and only a half hour between his first two. They came on with jarring abruptness and with such intensity that Conner didn’t think he could survive many more.

Then he remembered what had happened just before his convulsion. He frowned at the boy. “So you can talk, huh?”

The boy looked up at him, his brown eyes registering no sign of comprehension.

“Matthew. You said ‘Matthew.’”

The kid held up the picture but didn’t say anything.

Conner nodded. “That was my son.”

The boy just stared at the picture.

Conner swerved west onto 137 and gunned the accelerator. In another mile or so, he’d come across the interstate. He increased his speed.

Helen stared at the eight empty lanes of highway. They had left the city twenty minutes ago and had not seen a single vehicle since then. She found her jaw aching and suddenly realized how tense she had become.

Something had compelled her northward. She thought it was her own instinct, but now she was beginning to doubt. They were almost to the Wisconsin border but had yet to see any signs of life. Should she just keep driving? Through Wisconsin and then where? Canada?

She shook her head. Every mile was taking her farther from home and from where she had last seen Kyle, yet somehow she didn’t feel like she was getting any farther from him. Or any closer.

Devon fidgeted in the passenger seat, rubbing his neck and peering into the mirror every few minutes.

Helen glanced over. “Does it hurt?” She tried not to sound worried.

“A little,” he muttered, lifting the gauze slightly. “I think it’s spreading.”

Helen kept her eyes on the road. “It’s just a rash.”

“How do you know? That thing was an alien. Who knows what kind of disease I got.”

“Because it
looks
like a rash. Like an allergic reaction. Poison ivy or something.”

“Poison ivy,” he muttered. “Ain’t no poison ivy.”

“We’ll stop and get you some—”

Helen saw something flash in her rearview mirror. Like sunlight glinting off metal. She looked back. A motorcycle was racing down the on-ramp they had just passed and was closing in on her.

Devon turned around and swore. “Hey, someone’s following us!”

“I know.”

“Dude’s coming up fast.”

Helen gripped the steering wheel, her heart racing. “Is it one of
them
?”

Devon pulled out his gun. “No. Looks like some guy. He’s coming up on your left.”

Helen slowed down slightly as the motorcycle pulled up alongside them. The guy looked big. Tattoos covered most of his thick arms. Long, blond hair whipped behind him. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes. He looked as though he was trying to peer into her car, and Helen was thankful for her tinted windows.

Devon peered back at him and pointed suddenly. “The dude’s got a gun!”

“What?”

“Tucked in his belt!”

Helen’s slammed her brakes, sending Devon into the dashboard. Her throat went dry. The cycle pulled ahead and braked as well.

Helen shook her head. “We have guns too. It doesn’t mean he’s gonna shoot us. He’s probably out looking for people, just like we are.”

“Lady, you’re way too trusting.”

Helen pulled onto the shoulder. “Let’s just see what he wants.”

They rolled to a stop. The motorcycle turned around and came back. He stopped about fifty yards in front of them. Helen saw him reach around to his back.

Devon beat the dashboard. “He’s pulling his gun! He’s pulling his gun!”

Helen could see the gun in his grasp. A moment later, he put his other hand up near his mouth. He was holding something. Helen peered closer. A two-way radio! He was talking to someone else!

She reached back into her bag and slid her gun out.

Conner pulled up to the overpass and peered north and south at the empty lanes. There was no sign of any vehicles.

He got on the radio.

“Mitch, I’m at 137. Did you pass by yet?”

A moment later, Mitch’s voice responded. “No, they saw me behind them and stopped. We’re just south of you. Half a mile or so.”

“Who are they?”

“Don’t know. Looks like two people, but they aren’t getting out.”

Conner turned down the exit ramp and headed south on the northbound lane. “They’re probably as paranoid as we are. Don’t do anything. I’ll be there in a few seconds.”

In a moment, Conner spotted Mitch’s bike parked in the center lane. Beyond it was a red Tahoe pulled off on the shoulder. Conner slowed to a stop and got out.

“Stay put,” he said to the boy and shut the door.

Mitch sat on his bike, his gun drawn but held down at his side.

Conner shook his head as he approached. “Y’know, no offense, but you don’t exactly make the best of first impressions.”

“What?” Mitch got off the bike. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Just stay here. And put your gun away.”

Mitch muttered something and slid his gun back into his belt.

Conner approached the Tahoe slowly, both hands in view, and peered through the windshield. From what he could tell, there were only two occupants, as Mitch had said. A white woman and a young black man. A teenager.