(Book 2)What Remains (24 page)

“I hope you’re right. We don’t have many other
options. Thanks for the advice.”

“Of course. Just because I don’t want you all
staying here doesn’t mean I don’t want you to make it to your
parents’ farm.” Randall’s cheeks reddened after his poor attempt at
a joke. “If I can remember where they are, I’ll point out a couple
of other spots on the route. Two years ago I did some panel work on
an office west of Martinsville. Maybe you and your old man can hit
it up after the family gets settled. I’ll write some pointers down
for rigging a solar panel, if you can find one. There’s a little
pharmacy off route 58 that I stopped at to fill a prescription
while I was on the job. It was a mom and pop place that could be
good for supplies. If it hasn’t been picked over already, that
is.”

“Once again, Randall,” I said sincerely, “we are
in your debt.” Another awkwardly silent moment passed. “I meant to
comment when I sat down, that’s a hell of a weapon you have
there.”

He shrugged. “Yeah I guess it is. Picked it up
after my first big corporate installation. Felt like treating
myself to something pointless at the time.”

It was interesting how this man shifted back and
forth between extroverted and introverted. After our pre-dinner
conversation when he reminded me of the deal we had made, I sensed
that he wanted to limit interactions. This wasn’t something that I
faulted him for, I would likely follow the same course. Having a
guest that you will knowingly send away to their possible doom was
a unique burden. Still, I wanted to find out what he’d been through
after the dead rose.

“I imagine it has come in handy.”

“It has. Never thought I’d use it that way when
I bought it at the gun show. Never
wanted
to use it for what
I’ve had to.” He stifled a sigh. “That sword looked interesting.
The one you had when I saw you from the balcony. What was it?”

“It’s called a Kukri. And yes, it’s supposed to
look that way. I had it for years as a collectible. We’ve all had
to use seemingly pointless items in ways we wouldn’t have imagined
before the pandemic.”

He surprised me with a blunt question.
“Breathing or not?”

“What?” I knew what he was asking. I simply
didn’t want to think about the answer.

He looked up from the rifle. His volume lowered,
the bluntness did not. “The ones you’ve used it against, were they
breathing or not?”

“I could ask you the same thing. A few hours ago
you were ready to shoot me on your front lawn.”

Randall laughed loudly then solemnness overcame
him. My expression couldn’t have been much different, we were both
men with demons. He raised his glass towards me for another toast.
“Here’s to the breathing and to those whose breathing we
stopped.”

The Fishers insisted everyone turn in early.

After the quality time spent with our
counterparts the kids and I got our chance to take a shower. When
it was my turn I actually hesitated because of how vulnerable I
felt removing my layers of protection. Turning the hot water nob in
the basement standing shower was equivalent to transporting myself
into another world. It was an instantaneous metamorphosis that
washed my worry away along with the second skin of grime I’d
accumulated. At our house Sarah had filled up the bathtub before
our water became questionable. We had used it for cold sponge baths
that only cleaned enough to keep our skin from breaking out. For a
few minutes the warm flowing water joined with a healthy scotch
buzz to briefly erase all the dread I carried with me.

Once the water stopped, the dread returned. Our
future weighed down upon me like a death sentence. However, I was
thankful to face the coming day with a full stomach and pounds of
dirt removed from my person. While I redressed I deliberately
avoided looking at myself in the mirror. Knowing how battle worn
and weary I felt was enough to fight the temptation to clear the
fog on the reflection.

Before I left the basement I admired the
veritable stockpile of supplies that the Fishers had stored down
there. They had a chest freezer next to a glowing panel that I
assumed belonged to one of the solar batteries. Shelves of
provisions covered the walls with dozens of untapped water jugs
lined up beneath them. Randall and Jenn had gathered enough to keep
them all well fed for months, longer with rationing. His
willingness to shoot me on sight was warranted with this much to
protect.

Maddox was standing in the hall when I rounded
the bend of the stairwell. He looked upset. “Hi, Daddy,” he
mumbled.

“What’s wrong? I thought you were sleeping in
Brittany’s room?”

He rubbed his arm bashfully. “That’s where my
stuff is. But can I stay in the room with you and Mommy?”

I assumed he was frightened since this was our
first night separated in a long time. “There’s nothing to worry
about, Monkey. We’re safe here.”

“I know… but,” he blushed. “Can I just stay in
the room with you? Please?”

It all made sense then. “Come on, Maddox… she’s
cute!” His cheeks became so red that they practically luminesced.
“Alright. Tell her you’ll be in our room because your mom will
sleep better and you have to take care of her. Promise Brittany
that you’ll try to come back if you can.”

Thirty seconds later he was back in the hall. We
walked together towards the guest bedroom where Sarah waited. When
we passed Courtney’s room the sound of little girl voices acting
out a multitude of stuffed cat personalities could be heard through
the door. It was a sweet, innocent sound to hear.

Sarah sat comfortably propped up reading from
her e-reader on the double bed next to an illuminated bedside lamp.
She saw us at the door and looked very confused until the look on
Maddox’s face clued her in. “You have a chance to flirt with a
pretty girl of the same age in this mess and you’re
not
taking it?” He looked at the floor then his cheeks and ears
reddened. She rolled her eyes. “There’s more blankets in the
closet. Make yourself comfortable on the floor. Daddy and I get the
bed.”

Having the bashful boy in the room limited our
time to talk. Truthfully, neither of us minded the quiet time. For
once we couldn’t hear any distant cries or gunshots, there was no
pounding of undead fists on the walls, and we didn’t have to drown
out sounds that should only have a place in nightmares.

The two of them fell asleep within an hour of
entering the room. I was the last one awake. At this hour I was
typically plagued by memories that were precursors to nightmares
waiting behind my eyelids. However, as I lay there in the warm bed,
snug as a fetus in utero, I allowed myself some peace. Terrified
feelings about the following twenty-four hours were easier to
digest when I imagined myself at the end of the day safely in a bed
at the farm.

I dreamed of Lance before I opened my eyes that
day. My old police officer friend would have rightfully made fun of
me for saying it. In his light southern twang Lance’s dry sarcasm
would pick me to pieces for admitting that I had dreamt of him.
Homophobic insults aside, he was the focus of this particular
unconscious venture.

In the dream we were back in the city trying
desperately to get off the campus grounds. Straying from my normal
nightmares, any horrors the two of us witnessed or committed
weren’t replayed in the dream like they usually did. Instead, I saw
that last moment on the south end of the Cary Street Field. We
scaled the fence that stopped us from being devoured and prepared
to separate. It was bittersweet to have succeeded in escaping the
gates of Hell only to part ways with the person who kept me
alive.

We shook hands silently, not wanting to
broadcast our position to the monsters lurking at every turn. I
handed him a piece of paper in the dream as I had in real life.
Scribbled on the scrap of paper was the farm’s address in the hope
that one day I could thank him by extending an invitation to the
safe haven that I personally longed to reach. After that we walked
half a block together before splitting up. In the dream that half a
block took miles to cover. Every mile I wanted to say more than
what was said. I wanted to wish him luck in finding his wife. I
wanted to thank him for pushing me through the horrifying campus
grounds. I wanted him to know that I was sorry that after
everything we’d been through, death would likely find us all before
the month’s end.

Then my eyes opened. An unmistakable aroma of a
hot breakfast wafted past my nose. I must have shifted or gave some
clue that I was awake because a voice whispered to me.

“Are you up? Hey, Daddy.” Maddox carried on, as
he would have any other morning before the end of the world.
“Something is going on downstairs and it smells awesome. I think
Mrs. Fisher is making breakfast already.”

“Little boy…” I was irritated and too groggy to
hide it. “I just opened my eyes. Talking to me doesn’t help me
close them again. What time is it?”

“It’s around six-thirty. I tried to sleep but
the food smells so good.”

“It smells like heaven,” Sarah said, surprising
us both. “Calm down, sweetie. We have to hit the road anyway so
it’s time to wake up.”

A few minutes after that I was alone. Maddox,
Sarah, and the girls went downstairs to feast. I sat on the
mattress looking over the map by the bedside lamp. Randall appeared
at the doorway to give me a startle.

“Sleep well?” His voice leaned toward the
robotic, emotionless version that indicated he meant business.

“Amazingly so, thank you.” I knew he actually
asked as a courtesy, like a hotel manager urging guests to check
out early. “We’re packing up. Please don’t let Jenn go to any
trouble with breakfast. That was never part of the deal and we’ve
imposed enough.”

“Nonsense!” he said, his hospitable side
returning. “You have been our guests. All you asked for was a bed;
the rest was our idea. We’ll send you out with full stomachs. That
is the polite thing to do.”

“Again, I don’t know how to thank you for what
you and Jenn have done.”

“We’ve enjoyed having you all so I mean it that
it’s not a problem. You keep praising me and I’ll have to point a
gun at you again to even things out.” We chuckled awkwardly then he
added, “Listen, Nathan, if you stop along the way like I suggested
then keep your eyes peeled. Stay on guard.”

“I always do! It’s kept us alive so far.”

For the first time I saw Randall look worried.
“I know, I know. But I mean it. There is a kooky guy, the girls
call him ‘Crazy Doug’, that’s our neighbor on the far end of the
property. If you think I’m nuts with the stockpiling and weapons
then you should see Crazy Doug’s place! He’s got MREs, guns, ammo,
the whole lot. As nuts as he is, he’s also got a heart of gold the
way he’s always letting survivors camp there overnight. I bump into
him every couple of days when I do my morning perimeter walks. If
not for him, I’m not sure I would have had the heart to take you
all in. He’s passionate about the stories he has of helping
strangers and the things he’s heard from the road since this shit
started. Even if Doug has a screw loose, his tales make me worry
that...” he paused in thought. “It’s just that I get the feeling
there are worse things prowling the roads than the rotters.”

The change in his demeanor unnerved me more than
what he said. Throughout his explanation I saw the genuine worry
behind the words. It was oddly uncomfortable so I tried to break
the tension. “That snow is crazy, huh? I can’t remember a time when
it snowed in Virginia by the end of November. Definitely not
looking forward to driving in the unmaintained roads.”

“I see it as a sign that we’re in for a long
winter. The roads shouldn’t be too bad if you go easy on them. That
weird mail truck y’all are driving will do you right.”

We were quiet for a minute and could head our
families downstairs, happily chattering away. Then his guarded tone
returned; it was a bi-polar swap that amounted to ripping the
bandage off a wound. “We should eat. I expect y’all to be on the
road by seven-thirty.”

After I finished breakfast Randall led me
through the garage to warm up the truck. An inch to two inches of
white blanketed everything in sight. It was quite beautiful,
strangely enough, to see the dreaded coating. I’d grown accustomed
to seeing destruction and gore marks telling stories of how
humanity had failed in its fight with the Reaper virus. I had all
but forgotten that the landscape could look so serene.

“Hold tight. Let me do a quick check to make
sure we don’t have any other guests,” ordered Randall. Less than a
minute later he came back to wave an all clear.

I turned the keys in the ignition while he
popped back into the garage to grab a windshield scraper. He
stopped a few feet from 522 looking at the chain link-covered
glass, totally perplexed. I hopped out of the cab holding my
sheathed Kukri.

“Yeah… about that windshield scraper... Give her
a minute to warm up then the wipers can do the trick.” The Kukri
obviously caught his eye; he looked angered. “I’ll put it back in
if you’re that uncomfortable. I feel naked without it on my belt.
Once we’re driving it is a bitch to put the thing on from the
driver’s seat. By now I’d hope you trust that I won’t try anything.
Keep the rifle on me if it makes you feel better.”

“You’re right, sorry. Just being cautious. Can
you blame me?”

“Not at all. I’d expect nothing less.” I undid
my belt to return the scabbard to its rightful place.

Randall walked slowly around the LLV, his eyes
taking in every detail of the unusual transport. “Not bad, Nathan,
not bad at all. Never thought of using a mail truck like this. How
did you come across this beauty?”