36 Hours (48 page)

“Austin-“

Starbucks was crawling from the inside of the truck. The fuel lines ignited; there was a brilliant flash and Starbucks screamed; the whites of his eyes shimmered for a moment before the entire truck was lifted off the ground, propelled by exploding gas tanks. Fire reached out over the spilled passengers, and the truck toppled over, completely up in flames. The former passengers screamed, clothes on fire. Those closest to the truck had been utterly scorched. Pressed against the wheel, I’d simply felt a blast of steaming air, then deep ringing. Hannah’s eyes fluttered. I wobbled to my feet. People were running around, burning alive. Hannah stood next to me and we leaned against the Humvee, the world spinning in frantic circles. My head pounded, pulsated, and my neck scorched with searing pain. Hannah squeezed her temples.

The wall behind us began to move. The Humvee lurched forward. I tried to keep up, begging softly, hardly able to talk. The explosion had completely set me off-scale.

The gunner didn’t seem to notice me. They rolled over the scattered bodies and kept going. The last Humvee passed. I tried to keep up, but it was impossible. I collapsed in the street. Hannah picked me up. I really don’t Anthony Barnhart

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remember a whole lot, except she was whispering in my ear, and there was the smell of sulfur and smoke was everywhere: in my throat, my eyes, my skin, my nose. I was coughing and retching and tearing. We walked across the street, between burnt cars, onto a sidewalk.

There was a creaking noise and then I blacked out.

10:00 a.m.

Surf Shop

Lilies

Exhaustion of the Soul

She sat in the front of the car, and I sat in the back. She was saying something,
counting change or something, I really didn’t notice what. Her hair was so
beautiful. The seat fell backwards and her hair fell into my lap. She looked up at
me with those beautiful eyes and started laughing; my hands ran through her
silky strands and I just laughed, too.

She undid the seat belt and crawled into the back with me, pressed her face
against mine. Her breath was warm, smelled like a wintry forest. “You love me,
Austin?”

“I love you.”

“Do you really love me?”

“I really do.”

“Then kiss me, Austin. Kiss me. Don’t be afraid. What is there to be afraid
of?”

“Will you like it?”

“I’m asking you to kiss me, Austin. If you loved me, you’d kiss me.”

I grinned and leaned towards her lips.

Splinters of excruciating pain shredded the wonderful dream to pieces. My eyes opened and I felt dizzy; what felt like iron spikes being driven into the back of my head made me gasp in pain. The world around me swam, as if in a fog. My back was hard: I was lying down. Exhaustion drenched me in its mahogany sweat. A dull light covered my face, and a window revealed red sunlight. There was movement behind me, then something cold and wet Anthony Barnhart

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splashed on my forehead. Cold water dribbled down my face; I let out a grunt of satisfaction – the water cooled me off like rain on an overheated engine. Hannah moved around me and sat down. I just stared at the plaster ceiling. The room was small and stocked with boxes; there were some scattered clothes, a rusted-out sink, some surfboards stashed against one of the walls, and a small window at the top of one of the walls. I heard the sound of cackling flames, the wind against the building, and silence. Hannah just watched me as I lay there; balling my fists, I begin to feel small trances of energy spitting through me, water in a fire hydrant, trickling, beginning to gush. Muscles awoke. The pain diminished. Didn’t leave, but slackened.

“How long was I out?”

“Thirty minutes,” she said. “Or forty. Something. I didn’t know if you’d come back.”

“I fell asleep?”

“You blacked out. After the explosion.”

“What explosion?” I wouldn’t be able to remember it at all until after it all was over.

“At the trucks.”

No recollection. I tried to get up but lightning pierced my neck. I lay back down.

“Does it hurt?”

“Slightly.”

“You got knocked around pretty hard.”

I looked at the walls, eyes rolling in the sockets. “Where are we?”

“Ron Jon’s Surf Shop. Combined with Pacific Sunwear.” I’d seen those tshirts at school. “We’re in a storage room. It’s small, there’s water, and they don’t know I’m in here. The door locks, too.”

“They don’t know?”

“Smoke from the explosion covered everything, even us. I dusted you off. The smoke, it veiled our movement.”

“Why is your sleeve bloody?” God, was she bitten?

Sheepishly, “The owner was in here. I had to get rid of him.”

“What happened to the convoy?”

“I haven’t seen it.”

“Probably overrun.”

Hannah said nothing.

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“How close are we to the ocean?”

She weakly smiled. “About twenty meters,” she said. “The shop is on the beach.”

“There aren’t any boats, are there?”

She fidgeted. “Actually, there’s one. There’s a dock outside. At the end, there is a rowboat, tied up.”

“Can we get to it?”

“I’ve seen a few of them meandering across the beach. I’ve been watching.”

I closed my eyes. Could I sleep again? Run to the dreams, forsake this awful place?

Hannah got up, looked out the window, sat back down. “You never answered my question.”

“What question? Sorry. I’m a little… out of it.”

“Back at the trucks. I asked you if you meant what you said, about me. Do you remember?”

“I can’t remember the trucks very well.”

“Do you remember the apartment building roof?”

That was clear. “Yes.”

“Do you remember what you said, about it all being a dream?”

Had I really said all that? “Yes.”

“Well. Did you mean it?”

My lips smacked, parched. “I meant it… at the time.”

“At the time? What does ‘at the time’ mean?”

“It means I meant it at the time.”

“What about now? Do you mean it now?”

“I didn’t say it now.”

“If you did, would you mean it?”

Roaring silence. Cackling fire.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s either yes or no, one or the other. You have to make up your mind.”

“I don’t. My head hurts too much. I just want to sleep.”

“Don’t fall asleep. Answer my question. Yes or no.”

“Why do you want to know so bad?”

“We’re all we have left! I think I should know!”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Tell me, Austin. Tell me if you meant what you said.”

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“It doesn’t change anything.”

“Yes, it does.”

“How? What? How in the world does it change things, and what does it change? Look outside that little square window. Are there any walking on the beach now? Probably. And guess what? They’ll kill us! We’re either going to die of starvation or die as our bodies are ripped apart. So what does me saying,

‘Yes, I meant it,’ change?”

She bit her lip. “So you
did
mean it?”

I leaned forward; pain; fell back. “Did you not just hear what I said?”

“I heard it fine. But I want to know yes or no.”

“What is it with you and black-and-white answers?”

“Austin. Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Hannah muttered under her breath and got up, going to the window. I mental y bashed my brains out as I lay on the chilled storage room floor. She crept up to the window and peered out. A moment later she ducked down. “It’s clear. Right now. So is the dock. It’s clear.”

“You’re crazy,” I said.

“What have we got to lose?”

“I can hardly walk.”

“It’s all psychological.”

“Oh, I forgot, you’re an expert. Are
you
laying down here?”

“Get up! Do you want to get to the boat or not?”

“Hannah! I am mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually exhausted. I don’t think I can run anymore.”

“Spiritually exhausted? What does that mean?”

“How am I supposed to ‘grow in my Hannah’ when my family is trying to kill me?”

She didn’t answer.

“I want to sleep for a little bit. I just want to breathe and be quiet and dream.”

“Well, dream by yourself. I’m leaving.” She fidgeted with the window. I propped up on my arms. The pain was draining away. “What? Where are you going? No.”

“You want to die of starvation? The longer I wait in here, the longer I am convinced that had I gone for it, I could’ve escaped. I’m going for it. If I die out Anthony Barnhart

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there, at least I’ll have made an attempt. And you can just lay on the floor and let your insides rot out for all I care.”

“Hannah. Hannah.” I started to get up.

She pretended not to notice. The small window opened.

“Hannah. You can’t just-“

She did. Her body disappeared out the window.

I stood alone in the surf shop, wrestling with my thoughts, and finally gave in. The sand on the beach was warm.

11:00 a.m.

Laughter and Love

Hemmed-in

Treading water

Children ran back and forth, laughing, building sand castles and throwing sand at each other. Fathers and mothers watched their kids in the shallows; the teenagers went further back, even beyond the grandparents, to swim and duck and see who could swim under the docks without being seen. The sound of a city alive filled the air with the cries of seagulls, the laughter of children, the love of family and friends – life worth living. Umbrellas propped up on the beach; crowded on the blankets, couples made out, sun-bathed, read
John Grisham
and
Harry Potter
. A mother pulled out some food for a picnic, smiling at the bright sun. Peace.

She sat on her blanket, watching the little kids rolling in the shallows. The green waves lapped at the shore, spewing clumps of seaweed and scattered sea shells. She propped up her arms, elbows sore, wondered where he’d run off to, and picked up on chapter twenty-eight of her new favorite book. Suddenly he returned, dropping down next to her, gripping his arm. He was cussing and swearing; she dropped the book, seeing blood gushing down his arm, through his hands. He was shaking all over. He collapsed onto his side. People across the beach dropped what they were doing and watched. The man rolled onto his back, coughing up blood. Anthony Barnhart

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The woman shrieked, screaming,
Someone help! Oh my God!

Someone! Someone-
He lay still. She stared at his still body. Muffles flittered through the ranks watching. She hovered over his body, sobbing. His eyes opened. Hope fluttered through her; but the eyes, she saw, were not his own. He screamed and launched upwards, swiping at her. He knocked her into the umbrella; it toppled down and she lay pinned by him as he bit into her breast. Her shivering screams carried up the beach. No one knew what to think. Similar atrocities were happening all up and down the beach.

That’s how it’d looked in the beginning. Now the beach was empty. Umbrellas tossed here and there, buckets of sand left next to crumbling sand castles, splotches of blood and frantic footprints etched into the sand of time. A picnic luncheon, swarming with flies: bologna sandwiches and potato chips. Seagulls fluttered above us, grabbing food from the overturned baskets. Hannah weaved her way between piles of abandoned beach equipment; I followed her tracks. The waves rolled against the beach, frothing and foaming. Out beyond the shore a fine mist draped the ocean. The edge of the dock was veiled in the mist.

Infected came from the buildings against the beach’s edge. I saw them coming, yelled: “Hannah! They’re behind us!”

She whirled around, gasped, turned, kept going.

“Don’t stop!” You got us in to this. I won’t lose you now. I reached down as I ran and grabbed an umbrella. Snapping off the pole, I tossed the umbrella away and swung the pole in my hands. Hannah’s feet tapped over the wooden dock. The infected rushed me. The pole chastised the air, and I splattered brains at my feet. Shoving the pole into the face of a girl in jeans and a ripped t-shirt, I watched her body fall to the dock – watched with sublime satisfaction – and ran after Hannah.

The infected climbed over the girl’s body and raced the dock. Hannah yelled, “The boat’s leaving! It’s leaving!”

Horror ripped through me.

“It’s leaving! It’s leaving!”

In the mist that caked the edge of the dock, we could see the boat paddling away. Figures danced over the dock and they ran towards us. Hannah slammed to a stop and I rammed into her. She gawked, “They’re all over. Now what?”

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They won’t go into the water.

I shoved Hannah hard; she let out a shot and crashed over the edge of the dock, falling five feet to the water’s surface. She dropped under the waves, vanished in the green pallor, then resurrected, coughing and spewing. She gaped up at me. “Austin-“

Hands grabbed at me. I ripped away, fumbling off the edge. My legs bashed over the lip of the dock and I crashed into the water. Silence thundered. I twisted and turned. The water was so cold, sending icicles up and down my frostbitten spine. My hands brushed the rocky floor, and I propelled upwards. Eyes opened, the salt burned, stung. The light barraged me, and I surfaced, gasping, choking up water. Hannah was swimming against the current, towards the ocean. I looked back as I followed.

The infected yelled at us from the dock, and kept up with us, running parallel to us on the wooden planks.

Hannah kept herself afloat. “We’re going to drown…”

“No…”

“We’re going to float out to sea…”

“Go with the current. Towards the dock.”

“They’re on the dock!”

“Go behind the warehouse. They’ll think we kept going. And then hold on.”

The current swept us away from the shoreline. The infected followed on the dock.