Eaters (39 page)

Someone whispered, “God have mercy…”

Cheryl hadn’t seen Jade since the attack started, but he suddenly popped up from the center of the room. “Get your bikes. Get out of here!”

Cheryl and Aidan managed to pry a couple of rifles from the fingers of people that seemed to have been downed by friendly fire before the stampede began. Then they found themselves pinned against a wall by jostling elbows, gun barrels, and the sheer mass of panicked bodies trying to get out the back door.

They followed the rear of the group outside and saw a few stragglers from the first wave of Eaters, but they didn’t seem to be an imminent threat. A few rooted around in the trash bin, while another ghoulish figure made of gray skin and bones was on his knees, trying to stick his black tongue in a beer bottle to get at some unidentifiable lump inside.

Engines revved as the people scrambled to find their bikes in a strange and frantic game of musical chairs. Cheryl expected that a fight was going to be the only way they’d be able to wrestle one away from someone or convince a couple of riders to allow them as passengers. Before they could decide on a plan of action, the caravan of motorcycles sped away, leaving them behind in the dust.

There were horrible sounds from the advancing horde now. Time was running out to make a break for it. There were five motorcycles left. Three of them didn’t have keys in the ignition. The fourth was Aidan’s wounded steed. He glanced back, saying a silent farewell to it, then led Cheryl to an Electra Glide Classic with a feathery roach clip attached to a key chain dangling from the ignition.

The Eaters were just yards away when they peeled out—a delay of one more second would have been their doom. They skidded towards the road and the battalion of corpses screamed as one as it saw its dinner getting away.

Holding on to Aidan’s waist and sinking in to the back seat cushion, Cheryl exhaled all of the foul air from her lungs. When they were a mile down the road, she noticed something flipping in the wind like a silver fish by her thigh. She looked down at the name on the dog tag that was wrapped around the back handle and felt a moment of satisfaction.

Chapter Twenty Three

The motorcycle was a more comfortable ride than Aidan’s Sportster, but it wasn’t as fast, a fact that could have serious consequences if they found themselves in trouble again. Luckily, no trouble presented itself immediately. They rode south for several miles without seeing any of the other evacuees from Black Todd’s or any more infected hordes. The road was so empty that it seemed like the desert had just swallowed them up.

They were in the middle of nowhere when Aidan stopped.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m so fucking thirsty.”

He took his knife out of the pocket of his jeans and walked over to a statuesque cactus with upraised arms.

Cheryl yelled after him. “You know it’s illegal to mess with one of those.”

“Really? Then, I guess I shouldn’t do
this
.” He stabbed into it with his knife, took it out, licked the sticky bitter goo off the blade and spat it out. “Let me know if you see a sheriff coming around to arrest me. Maybe he’ll take me to a nice air-conditioned jail cell where I can have a burger for lunch and watch a little TV. Sounds like a vacation right now.”

He continued to rant as he took another stab, licked the knife, and spat again with a grimace. “I don’t see how they make tequila from this crap. Tastes like shit.”

They make tequila from agave, not saguaro.
She didn’t correct him.

“Why don’t you try one of those?” she suggested, pointing to a prickly pear with fat red fruits on top of their pads. “I think they’re more edible.”

He took a third bite from the saguaro before he gagged and gave up. Minutes later, they were together, sitting on a rock, savoring the succulent flesh and fruit of the prickly pear, red juices dribbling down their chins.

They sat in silence, until Aidan asked, “What if we get to Tucson, and your dad and your aunt are dead?”

She thought about the very likely prospect. If that worst case scenario played out, there were only two options: she’d either implode from the burden of the grief or thicken her skin, get over it, and adapt to whatever challenges lay ahead.
What was the saying? Whatever didn’t kill you made you stronger?
It still surprised her that she’d made it through Mark’s demise. Maybe she didn’t know the limitations of her resilience yet. She looked Aidan hard in the eyes, “We’ll play it by ear.”

“Fair enough,” he said, biting into another tart desert strawberry.

It seemed completely stupid to ask him this far along in the game, but she couldn’t prevent her mouth from forming the words. “Why are you here? Why have you come this far with me?”

He took his time before answering, and he didn’t look at her as he said the words. His eyes were trained at the blood red clouds in the west. “Maybe I think you’re alright. Maybe I’ve just fucked up a lot of things in my life, and I wanted to do someone right for once. Last chance and all.”

After Mark’s sacrifice, it was fortuitous that this stranger came along, rescued her, and adopted her mission as his own. It smacked too much of martyrdom and seemed to go against his loner creed. Yet she was grateful, and if something happened to him, she wasn’t sure how she’d cope. She didn’t feel deserving of what he’d done for her. It made less sense when she thought about the tragedy of his own loss—his girlfriend and her kid.

The emotions got the best of her as she threw her arms around him. “Thank you.”

* * *

They were off the main road, somewhere between Hayden and San Manuel when the sky turned from periwinkle to midnight blue and a frosting of stars appeared above them. They decided to stop for what would be their final night before reaching Tucson and whatever surprises it had in store for them.

It was windy, so, using a tarp and a rope, they made a makeshift bivouac like a tent off the side of the motorcycle. It was just a small area, so they found themselves hip to hip once they laid out the sleeping bags.

Cheryl resisted sleep, not wanting to dream about Mark or have another nightmare. She was also anxious about what the next day would hold. Would she find Aunt Donna together with her dad in the basement of his little brick house, trembling with fear and grateful for their arrival, since their food and water were almost gone? Would she find their homes empty and have no idea what happened to them? Or would she walk into the aftermath of a bloodbath?

When she felt a hand on her thigh, it was a welcome distraction.

Aidan didn’t say a word as his hand slid up underneath the back of her filthy shirt. The caress of his fingers against her skin was just a tickle at first then it became soft strokes that caused goose bumps. By the time his hand found her breast, she felt ripples of pleasure mixed with pangs of guilt. She was half-expecting Mark’s voice to pop into her head with the sound of his throat clearing in protest.

Stop it. Let it go.
You can’t cheat on a dead man.

She turned to face Aidan, and their mouths met in a passionate wet kiss. It wasn’t long after that they were both shirtless and slippery with sweat as they started to devour each other’s body.

During a pause to untie the tangle of laces on her combat boots, Aidan’s head jerked up.

“What?”

“I heard something.”

No. Not now.

Cheryl hoped it was just the wind or a coyote.

Aidan leaned over her and peered out of the tarp then let out a barely audible gasp.

“What is it?” she whispered. But as she asked the question, she heard what he’d heard—a chorus of sorrowful moans that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but what it was.

“There’s a line of them coming over the next dune, heading this way.”

He quickly fumbled over her side and grabbed the gun.

She peeked out, and what she saw caused another rash of goose bumps, the kind made by fear, not the pleasurable touch of fingers. “There’s not much ammo left,” she said as she quickly pulled on her shirt. “Should we try to outrun them?”

He remained fixated on the scene. “It’s weird. They’re moving in a straight line, heading south. I don’t think they’ve spotted us.”

She looked again, holding her breath in case something as simple as a sigh might give them away. In the dim light of the moon and the sprinkle of stars, they looked like waddling Bobbleheads. There were about twenty of them, and she wondered if the skeletal figures were following the one in the lead who was a few feet ahead of the rest. A second later, the formation looked a little more ragtag. One broke ranks, picked up a snake, and put it in his mouth. Another took a bite out of the shoulder of the ghoul in front of him, causing a momentary scuffle.

“Where are they going?” she asked, still mesmerized by what she was seeing.

“I don’t know, but they don’t seem to be wandering, they’re headed somewhere.”

She agreed as she kept her head low and watched them.

The line slowly snaked over dunes. If one fell, the others trampled right over the top of him. Then he’d get up and join the back of the line.

A few minutes later, the group disappeared from the horizon. Cheryl and Aidan decided that the danger had passed, but their intimate party was over, because there was no way to get back in the mood with that much of a threat nearby. They huddled close together with their weapons at the ready.

* * *

She awoke with a bright light shining in her eyes and wondered if she was dead, but the booming voice that followed sounded too young to be God’s.

The voice seemed to come from a megaphone. “Come out with your hands up!”

Cheryl was dazed as they emerged into the brilliant spotlight, and she was unable to make out its source.

“You folks sick?”

“No!” Aidan shouted. “We’re fine.”

“Stick out your tongues.”

They complied.

The spotlight seemed to intensify, and Cheryl had to lower one arm over her closed eyes.

A second later, the light dimmed. When her eyes adjusted, she saw a soldier standing in a military Jeep with a machine gun mounted on the hood. He had gritty dark eyes peeking out between a hard-shelled helmet and a cloth facemask. His M-16 was trained on them as he spoke to them without the loudspeaker. “What are you doing out here?”

“We’re headed to Tucson.”

The man shook his head. “You don’t want to go there.”

“Yes, we do,” Cheryl said.

The man didn’t start a debate. Instead, he picked up a handheld radio and said, “This is Private Verace. Victor. Echo. Romeo. Alfa. Charlie. Echo. Got me a couple of refugees. Requesting clearance to bring them in.”

“Ten four,” the voice on the radio crackled. “Take them to the quarantine entrance.”

“You two know how to use those weapons?” the soldier asked as he put down the radio.

“We made it here from Colorado,” Aidan quipped. “What does that tell you?”

“A lot. Glad to have some backup with me. Pack your stuff, so we can get going.”

“Where?”

“Fort San Manuel.”

“I don’t think so,” Aidan said, widening the stance of his legs.

Cheryl grabbed his arm, “Come on. It’s not safe out here. You saw all those Eaters. We’ll just check it out just for tonight. Maybe they have food, beds—”

Private Verace interjected. “You saw some N.E.U.s? Shit. How many and where’d they go?”

“About twenty,” she said. “They were heading south.”

He took off his cap and said, “Whew. We’d better get going then.”

Cheryl started untying the tarp, but Aidan didn’t move.

“You got a problem, man? I can’t force you to come, but it looks like the lady is going with me.”

“Don’t go, Cheryl.”

She looked at him as she folded the tarp. “It’s stupid to stay out here.”

He stood there for a full minute while she packed their few belongings, then he picked up his sleeping bag and started rolling it.

Minutes later, Cheryl was on the passenger side of the Jeep with Aidan riding behind on the motorcycle.

“Man, that’s some luck finding you out here,” Verace said. “I don’t always come out this far on recon. Just got orders to start zigzagging around and take an indirect route. The Colonel doesn’t want there to be a well worn path going straight to the fort—might make it easier for the N.E.U.s and other undesirables to find their way there. Hey, you weren’t really trying for Tucson, were you?”

“We heard a radio broadcast that listed a shelter in Tucson. We’re headed there to find my family.”

Verace spit out the side of the Jeep. “There were some civilian shelters in Tucson, but there ain’t anymore.”

Cheryl felt her body go hollow, like everything inside whooshed out.
He had to be wrong.
Even if he wasn’t, there had to be people there who’d banded together and survived. Her dad could be one of them. She had to hold on to that.