36 Hours (40 page)

“The girls refueled!” Shel ey yel ed.

We raced towards the plane. The doors of the building flashed open and infected rushed the airfield.

Ashlie and Hannah helped us into the quiet of the plane. I handed the baby to Ashlie. Hannah looked out, saw the zombies; Ashlie yelled, “Shut the door!”

Hannah slammed it tight and locked it. Ashlie held the crying baby against her chest.

Shelley: “Did you guys refuel like I said???”

“Yes! Yes!”

He jumped into the pilot’s chair and started the engine. The fuel gauge shifted to full. He grinned. Outside the view screen the infected were rushing towards the plane, hundreds of them, all travelers who lost their hand of cards. The infection entered the airport through a plane landing because of civil disturbance, and it quickly infiltrated through the traveling societies. Now those innocent victims charged towards the plane as the engine groaned and the wheels began to roll; he turned us around, working hard with the controls so we could just take off the way we came. Tricky.

Ashlie gripped the baby. “Where did you find it?”

“It’s mom killed herself,” I said. “Left the baby alone.”

Shelley roared, “Buckle up!”

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Ashlie sat in a seat with the baby and locked the belt. Hannah did likewise. I slid into the co-pilot’s seat and strapped myself in. Shelley fumed, “Don’t
ever
run off again.”

“We saved a life.”

“We don’t know that yet.”

The infected threw themselves against the gear of the plane, against the fuselage. The propellers spun, slicing the air. The infected jumped on top of the plane, beating at the windows. Ashlie screamed as a fist came through the window by her seat; it reached out, grabbed her hair. Hannah unbuckled and jumped up. A face came through the window, snapping at Ash; Hannah drove a fist into the face, knocking it back.

Shelley: “Cover the window! Cover the window!”

Hannah grabbed a seat cushion and pressed it against the window. “Will that work???”

“We’ll see,” Shelley mumbled, thrusting the plane into full power. The engine cackled; the propellers spun faster. An infected climbed onto the view screen. Shelley swore. “If he breaks that, we’re dead!” I just fell deeper into my seat. The plane gained speed. Most of the infected slid off the smooth surface, tumbling over the pavement, getting up, chasing. Some infected ran across the field and into the path of the Caravan. The propellers cut through them, slicing them to pieces; bloodied body parts and buckets of body fluid covered the nose and view screen. The infected on the nose raised a fist to smash in the window. Shelley wrenched back on the yoke and we careened into the air, against all gravity, the engines breaking all physics laws. The infected vanished off the side of the window, drawing bloody prints on the window; he disappeared below, smashing into the fields. Shelley flashed the view screen with wiper fluid and we saw the stars again as the Caravan, freshly fueled, carried its way back into safety.

The plane leveled out, the airport vanishing behind us. I gasped for air, not realizing I hadn’t been breathing. Shelley reached over, grabbed me by the collar, hissed, “Listen to me: I am not going to lose my own life because of your stupid antics. When I tell you to stay,
stay
! Next time this happens, don’t think I’m going to chase you.” He released and I pul ed away from him. Anger scoured his eyes. I didn’t want to sit in the cockpit anymore, so I moved back into the cabin and sat next to Ashlie and Hannah.

“The window’s holding up,” Hannah said to me.

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Ashlie: “Now do you believe me?”

I said nothing, just moved to another seat and looked out the window. I closed my eyes, and somehow, over the cries of the newborn, drifted off into nightmares and dreamscapes.

4:00 a.m.

Sing to me…

It’s better, now that it’s done

Ruin of the sacred

The house rose out of the mist, the mist that had fallen and wrapped the earth in
a tender sleep only hours before. The headlights barely cut through the fog, and
the windshield danced with droplets of moisture; the wipers sang back and
forth. I pulled into the driveway, looking into one of the large windows, people
moving inside. Chad sat beside me, and Drake behind me. Les was coming with
his mom. The car came to a stop and I just sat there, looking at the window,
wanting to leave. I felt like I was at the awning of Hell, and stepping through
was a choice – Chad and Drake opened their doors and I followed suit, half
mad at myself for caving in so easily.

“You’re going to have to do it, Austin,” Chad said. “It’s the New Year! It’s
time for change!”

“A time for renewal,” Drake chimed.

Chad added, “Here’s your New Year’s resolution: stop being a coward.”

“I’m not a coward,” I grumbled. “I’m realistic.”

The front door loomed so close.

“You
are
a coward,” Drake said, patting a hand on my shoulder.
Another car pulled in as Chad knocked on the front door.

“Why can’t I make my own resolutions? Is there something wrong with that?”

“All yours are dumb. Read a book. Lose weight. Lose weight? You’ve lost
seventy-five pounds. You’re skinny enough.”

I touched a soft patch of gut. “Okay, man. For all I know, everyone just says
that and laughs behind my back.”

Drake laughed. “No, man.”

The door opened. Rachel stood there, Tyler behind her. “Hey boys!”

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We all said hello and entered. She shut the door. Tyler touched her arm. They
were all over each other.

“Kind of sickening, isn’t it?” Chad said.

Drake shot him a look. “You and Ellie made out in front of your grandma.”

I shook my head and went into the kitchen.

The plane creaked. I awoke. “Shelley?”

“Turbulence. We’re passing though a storm cell. We’re somewhere over Idaho.”

The moment I shut my eyes, the dream – the memories – returned.
Plates of food sat everywhere. There were Fritos with chocolate, star cookies
with strawberry cream, two servings of spicy meatballs, chili and chili dip, corn
chips and brownies. A dozen two-liters clung to the counter. Melanie and
Amanda were pouring their drinks. I grabbed a cup and reached for the
Mountain Dew, looking around for her. Part of me rejoiced – is she not here? –

and another part crumbled. If you’ve experienced it, it is an odd feeling. A sort
of excitement; your mind races through all the possible conclusions, especially
elaborating on the successes. She disses me, says no, we just become friends –

or we’re holding hands, kissing, watching movies together. As I stood there with
the cup in my hands I smiled: standing outside in a thunderstorm, feeling the
rain, just sitting together, and just enjoying the rapture of the moment under the
eaves of thunder.

“Austin,” Amanda says. “Hello?”

“What?”

“I’ve said your name like a thousand times.”

“Oh. Hah! Sorry. I just dazed off.”

Melanie said hi and drifted off.

Amanda watches her go, grabs me by my shirt, and tugs me into a far-fetched
corner. “So are you going to ask her?” she demanded, gazing into my eyes.

“What? Ask who?” I pretended.

“Dang it, Austin. You’re such a wimp.”

“I don’t know-“

“Wimp, wimp, wimp, wimp-“

“How many people know?”

“Are you going to ask her?”

“Who the heck told you? I’ve only told three people!”

“Your sister told me.”

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I slapped myself in the face. “But I didn’t tell her! You’d think secrets would
stay secrets in
church
!”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t tell…”

“Quiet, you tell Hank everything. Is he coming?”

“No. He’s at a party in Arlington. Are you going to ask her?”

“Is she even
here
? I haven’t seen her.”

“She’s in Rachel’s room.”

“What’s she doing in there?”

“I don’t know. She just went in there.”

The baby’s crying woke me up. I rolled my head over to the side. Ashlie was cradling the baby, hopping the boy or girl on her knee. The baby was wailing. I looked over to Shelley – he just kept a stoic glare out into the night. Hannah slept soundlessly. Ashlie looked at me and smiled. I smiled back and rolled over. We’d be safe soon. I knew it.

The hallways were dressed in pictures, photographs, of everyone in Rachel’s
family, especially her little sister, only six years old. I searched a few rooms,
found the one that had to be Rachel’s, and pushed it open. It was dark, the
shadows culminating in the corners. They swept away at the light from the
hallway, and my eyes flew over a bed, a dresser, make-up set, one of those nets
with stuffed animals in the far corner. I entered and then I saw Hannah sitting
in a chair, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She was crying. Bad time?

Part of me readied to leave, but another part flooded with compassion and love,
and I entered the room.

She felt my presence: “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” I said.

“I’m okay,” she said. “Really, I am.”

I sat down beside the chair, looked at my own reflection. “Do you want to talk
about it?”

She looked at me with a blood-red eye. “Do I look like I want to talk about
it?”

Raising my hands in submission, I stood. “Sorry. I’ll get out of your way. Just
wanted to help.”

“You’ll help when you leave and shut the door. I just want to be alone.”

I walked towards the door.

Her voice: “My cousin’s really sick. They don’t know what it is. They think it
is stomach cancer. The hospitals never reported it. Jerry, he’s like one of my
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best friends. It’s like I might lose a best friend. Everyone is celebrating the New
Year, celebrating life and love and happiness, and here I am sitting alone in a
chair, crying, because all that life, love and happiness can be ripped from my
family before the ball even drops. Have you ever thought of that, Austin? Life is
so tragic. It’s so futile. It’s so… easily taken. One misstep, one bad decision,
and you’re gone. Someone slips, and you’re gone. You can’t control it. I could
get hit on my way to work in the morning, and I’d be gone. What’s the point of
goals? What’s the point of setting New Year’s resolutions? The next New Year
may never come. And the goals, the things we strive so hard after? It’s all
meaningless, so empty… it’s nothing.

“There are moments when I know it ends, moments when I realize the world
doesn’t revolve around us. And still we’re keeping it, keeping going, hoping the
day will get better. No one’s listening, Austin – no one, really, cares. We’re just
insignificant, surrounded by maybe a dozen or two people who would really be
effected by our deaths. The world won’t end if we’re gone. In fact, it may be
better. Less mouths to feed.

“So I keep a tight grip like a child on a swing set. Waiting and hoping to find
what I can’t figure out yet. Please don’t try to convince me this is something
new, another nightmare instead of a dream, better left alone.”

She stood and walked over to me, grabbed my hand, and stared into my eyes.
My heart was beating. “Sing me something soft, sad and delicate, or loud and
out-of-key, sing me anything. We’re glad for what we’ve got, done with what
we’ve lost, our whole lives laid out, right in front of us. Sing like you think no
one’s listening.”

She touched me, rubbed my hand, and leaned forward, eyes closing, darkness
wrapping us in its tender embrace. Our lips touched, she pulled close to me,
wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me like she’d die to let go. Her body
against mine was pleasure, and her own lips massaging mine, her soft tongue
entering my mouth, our tongues entwining in a dance of epic grace, she
breathed hard and panted, so shy yet so brave, and she moved her lips,
groaning. I returned it, with both hands on the soft skin of her face. She shook.
She pulled away, looking at me with those dove eyes, and left the room.
She would always deny it ever happened.

Shelley banked the plane; my head bumped against the cold window and I awoke. My fingers felt like ice. Getting up, I scrounged around for one of the blankets and sat back down, wrapping myself up. I turned in my seat, drawn by Anthony Barnhart

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memories, and saw her sleeping.
Why did you never tel anyone? Why did it
have to be kept a secret? What were you ashamed of? Ashamed of love?

Ashamed of being discovered that you’re not a hollow shell as you make it out
to be? Ashamed of all your preppy friends discovering that you are something
different – something genuine, something wonderful, someone worth spending a
life with?

At that moment I didn’t care about what was going on. I didn’t care about the Hell unfolding all around me. I just cared about her – and me. I just cared about our memories, those memories that I hold onto even now, so sacred and wonderful, the memories I use to slip back into a time when there was no bloodshed, no terror, no screams. Every part of me thirsted to get up, to sit beside her, to whisper in her ear, “You don’t need to pretend anymore. Things are different. The games are over.”