900 Miles (Book 2): 900 Minutes (4 page)

In the moment before I looked up to see Kyle drop one of the creatures across the room, I saw the metal sprinkler head hit the ground in front of me, sliding to a stop at the edge of the che
f’
s apron. An instant later, small drops of water began to rain from above.

With that blow, the tides turned in that little skirmish, and our team made quick work of the rest of the Zs; the fire quickly extinguished to nothing more than a smoldering ash pile. The Med Center was a mess, and blood was spiraling into pools on the concrete floor. That shit never truly washed out of the concrete. If you looked close enough, yo
u’
d see light pink stains scattered throughout the halls of Avalon.

A stain. It is all that is left of us once w
e’
re gone.

“
Jesus, man, I thought Mr. Rodgers was nuts
,”
Kyle said as he walked up to me and patted my shoulder.

Keeping my eyes fixed on the melted plastic and cracked glass of the medicine bottles, I did
n’
t respond. It had
n’
t hit me ye
t…
what this really meant. At the time, I thought we had some additional meds in storage.

“
We need to get you some cardio
,”
Kyle continued as he tapped two fingers against the armor across my stomach.

I laughed but still did
n’
t respond to his quip. Hell, I was in better shape than
I’
d been in since high school. Before the apocalypse,
I’
d spent ten years sitting in front of a computer. The most exercise I would get in an average day was walking up and down the stairs in the parking garage, and that was only because it was an easier route than walking across the full length of the garage to get to the elevator. We were bred to be lazy back then.

And I was as pathetic as the rest of them.

Pulled from my introspection, Kyle caught my attention as he crossed the room toward a smaller sized cabinet. Nodding his head up toward me, then glancing back down at the metal handle just below, he motioned for me to walk over toward him. As I approached, he crouched down a bit and whispered that h
e’
d seen someone crawl in there, but was
n’
t sure if they'd been bitten or not.

With the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, I lifted the hammer above my head, ready to strike while Kyle reached one arm down to the cabinet. Taking a deep breath, I nodded to him as he touched his hand to the handle and yanked.

Stepping forward, ready to bring the weapon down, I pulled back as a small girl rolled out onto the floor. She was
n’
t older than ten or twelve, and did
n’
t have a mark on her. With long blond hair and overly pale skin from living underground too long, she looked almost angelic.

Putting my hammer back into my belt, and nodding at Kyle, I reached down and lifted her up with both hands. One small arm rolled across her chest, and she lifted her head slightly before falling back to sleep. 

I gave a huge sigh of relief. With all the death in that room, at least one person had made it.

Chapter 4

My eyes caught a movement across the room. There was a banging at the cylindrical door, followed by a squelch as a circular switch began to turn to the right. I glanced back at Kyle, who  shook his head. Mr. Rodgers lifted his eyes to meet mine. It could
n’
t be the creatures.

The door clanged open and slowly swung wide as we watched our fearless leader enter the room.

Jarvis, the man who had been elected leader of Avalon shortly after Kyle and I had returned, stepped through the frame and into a pile of gore covering the floor. Glancing down, he shook his boot, splashing small chunks of brain across the dead body of a woman wearing a scarf.

When we initially encountered Jarvis, in those first weeks of the apocalypse, he was well-kept. Suit and a tie, short silver hair, and a friendly smile that you could
n’
t help but trust. His status was somewhere in between the Elites that ran Avalon and the Commoners that were tasked with taking care of it.

I
t’
s funny to think of him like that. Over the past months, his polished demeanor was quickly replaced with black Army fatigues and long, pushed-back hair. He now sported a small scar running down his neck, a wound h
e’
d picked up during the fight after the Arena battle, and a constant two day
s’
worth of gray stubble. The harder, more toughened looking Jarvis was still just as poised as ever. He was someone we all knew we could trust.

Jarvis had fought hard to transform Avalon into a place where people were equal. He taught us to scavenge without stealing, and to live without needless killing. While we had our share of issues in this little compound, his leadership helped maintain a level of trust inside the walls. We all knew what we were following him towar
d…
a society that adapted to the new reality, but held on to its humanity. Ultimately, h
e’
d created a positive place in a world of evil. I would have followed Jarvis to hell and back. We all would.  

Richard, his number two in command, sidestepped the reddish-black puddle and entered just behind him. They both looked around at the mess, assessing the damage to the Med Center.

“
You boys got here a bit late on this one, did
n’
t you
?”
Jarvis finally asked.

None of us responded. He did
n’
t expect us to.

As they walked toward the middle of the room, their eyes finally fell on the small girl resting in my arms.

“
One survivor
,”
I managed to get out.

No response from their end. I did
n’
t expect one.

We all looked around in silence. The writing was on the wall, in blood. At this pace, we were
n’
t going to make it. There was no stopping the fact that as hard as we tried, this existence would eventually end us all. We were simply holding our thumb on the slow motion button until we hit the inevitable.

Glancing up from the little girl, I looked over at Jarvis and asked
,“
Have we received any more communication from our friends on the West Coast
?
”

I must have looked desperate.

Jarvis shifted his shoulders toward mine, but did
n’
t make eye contact as he continued to look around the roo
m“
No, we haven't heard from them in six weeks
.
”

“
I
t’
s looking more and more like w
e’
re on our own out here
,”
Richard added in a low, solemn voice.

There was one distant star of hope out there just weeks after the world fell apart. Avalo
n’
s communication array was fairly advanced, and we were able to connect with a group that called themselves the New America. According to the radio broadcasts, they were on the West Coast, living in the Rockies. Evidently, what was left of the government had set up shop there while they figured out what to do about Occupied Americ
a’
s little infestation. Occupied America being everything to the east of the Mississippi River, according to the broadcasts.

“
Never thought those guys were real anyway
,”
Rodgers finally spoke up from the background
.“
All seemed a bit too convenien
t…
Safety in the mountain, new government. Blah blah blah
.
”

He said this as he kneeled over and smeared the blood splatter from his faceplate against the blood-soaked smock of the fallen chef
.“
You know, I liked this guy. He made the dried eggs seem almost passable. Shame really. I need to figure out how he did that
.
”

He was right. Earl did make good eggs.

“
If you ask me, this so-calle
d‘
New Americ
a’
is just a bunch of guys holed up in a bunker somewhere with nothing else to do but give people false hope
,”
he continued.

We sat there in silence. Who could argue? The thought had crossed all our minds. It was heavily debated in the first weeks after their broadcasts began. After all, we never saw them. It was all just a bunch of radio chatter. The so-called New America could have been one or two guys getting their kicks out of messing with anybody still keeping the o
l’
radio dial on.

Our apocalyptic version of the greatest hits.

It gave us something to listen to at first. Always someone on there. Sounded like the same one or two guys, but you could
n’
t really tell through the static.

They kept broadcasting that food and medical supply drops would be coming. Kept telling us that we needed to hunker down until they could get us out. Support would be coming to areas that were fortified and held people. They encouraged us to be their eyes and ears in the occupied zone and to report back anything that we saw. Our outbound radio broadcasts were met with static. We were always careful not to be specific about our location, but hoped w
e’
d at least get some sort of response. Maybe we did
n’
t have the range. Or maybe it really all was just bullshit.

Most importan
t…
they asked everybody in the occupied zone for patience, something that was running in short supply.

Avalon had means. Hell, we had an armada of planes and helicopters sitting outside our walls. Gas was always an issue, but shortly after we learned about New America, we decided to use what we had to fuel up one of our long-distance planes. Kyle called it a Gulfstream. Three men had left on that plane setting out to head west. With no specific destination or address, they were simply heading toward where the sun set.

One of them was the Asian that had fought side by side with Kyle and me in the Arena.
I’
d still never heard the guy say a word. Not even when he looked back at us as he stepped into the cockpit. However, there was a determination in his eyes that made me feel like h
e’
d make it.

Hope was high at that point. A good opportunity to escape the madness. We were assuming that there was a part of the world that still existed without these creatures running rampant. Hell, it was the only thing that could really keep us going. In the end, we were just hoping that the broadcasts were not full of shit.

Sometimes you need a little hope.

After three weeks without a response from the team, things started to feel a little darker. Hope had an easy way of drying up really quick.

Richard was pacing around the room inspecting the damage. Not a word slipped through his thick cracked lips, but I could see his mind working out all the options as his eyes darted from the charred cabinet to the bent sprinkler head resting sideways on the slick wet floor. H
e’
d worked on the Hill in Washington prior to the outbreak, and showed up knocking at the doors of Avalon shortly after Kyle and I had returned.

The guy was smart, that much was clear. He always seemed to know which way the wind was blowing, quickly finding himself inside of Jarvi
s’
s inner circle. In some ways, he was a natural leader. He had the kind of smile that made you trust every word he said.
I’
ve heard people call it charisma.

Over the course of history, it is generally believed that the leaders who have done the most damage, as well as the most good, in our world have possessed that magical gift.  The rare trait of magnetic charm, often no more than a veneer used to persuade others. Humans are hard-wired to dislike uncertainty, so ther
e’
s a high tendency to gravitate toward someone who shows none. The right type of person, preaching the right thing, with the right kind o
f“
I know what
I’
m talking about char
m”
can and have had a profound effect on the world. Martin Luther King Jr. and JFK were reportedly charismatic people.  On the flip side of that coin, so were Hitler and Charles Manson.

Now
I’
m not saying Richards was any sort of monster, but I could
n’
t quite place what I did
n’
t trust about him in the beginning. Maybe i
t’
s because I did
n’
t like politics, and by default I did
n’
t like politicians. However, for some reason, my gut would turn ever so slightly anytime he was around. His demeanor reminded me of any number of charismatic blowhards flowing in and out of Corporate America, playing to executive interests more than solving any of the real problems.

I’
ve often believed that sometimes organizations succeed despite their leadershi
p…
not because of it.

Breaking the silence, the sound of footsteps running down the hallway drew our attention. They were soft steps, even as they came closer. An unfamiliar woman, panic-stricken, flew through the doorway, her eyes falling directly on the child in my arms. Wearing jeans and a black jacket, her short blond hair bounced with every step she took toward me.

Teary-eyed, the woman burst out
,“
Is my baby OK
?”
as she leapt toward me with her arms drawn out to grab the child. She did
n’
t make eye contact with me at first, keeping her gaze glued to her daughter, as she rubbed one hand up her back and through her golden blond hair.

“
She's shaken up, but alive. I think sh
e’
ll be OK with rest
,”
I finally managed to get out as I finished delicately rolling the little girl into her mothe
r’
s arms. 

“
Oh baby, I do
n’
t know what I would have done if yo
u
…
”
her words tapered off, while she squeezed her eyes shut.

Watching a tear roll down her soft, round cheek, I put my hand on the woman's shoulder
.“
I
t’
s going to be OK. Sh
e’
s going to be OK
.
”

I’
m not sure I believed my own words, but it must have come across genuinely enough because she pulled herself deep into my chest. Complete strangers to one another, I still inadvertently found myself wrapping both arms around her and the small child. I guess sometimes people just need to be held.

“
Thank you. Thank you so much for saving my baby
,”
she whispered through a cracked voice as she looked up from my chest with those eyes.

They were soft; an almost transparent blue. The kind yo
u’
d see staring back at you from a magazine cover on one of those old celebrity magazines. I was taken aback by them at first. In the underground light, most peopl
e’
s eyes looked hazel green. Not hers.

That is how I met Claire.

I’
d later learn that Claire grew up just outside of Philadelphia. While her exterior was soft, you could tell she was a survivor. Sh
e’
d have to be. After all, making the trek down to Avalon with a small child in tow must have been one hell of a journey. The kind of journey that only the most fierce, or lucky, of us would ever make - and she did
n’
t seem like the lucky type.  A mother would do anything to protect her baby.
I’
m sure she had been pushed to her limits. We all had. 

Maybe it was because I had
n’
t held anyone in so long, or perhaps it was simply because I did
n’
t know what else to do, but I did
n’
t let go. There was a silence in that moment. The kind of calm that blocks out every noise around you. Neither of us budged, as if locked in time, using every second to replace so many others that had been missed. Sometimes a connection can be made without words, without text, without anything more than a touch. I felt it, and I want to say she did too. Perhaps we were both just replacing one another with the loved ones w
e’
d lost. Perhaps not.