“Let me see if it’s locked.” Ben opened one
of the back doors, causing the light in the cab to click on and a
beeping to commence that let us know he’d taken off his seatbelt.
Harrison and I watched as he crept up the rocky path that led to
the gate. This was a paved road, but the black pebbles had come
loose over the years and scattered, allowing weeds to fill the gaps
and roots to crack the pavement even more.
Ben lifted the gate from its mount and walked
with it to the side, giving us access to whatever lay beyond.
“Not sure I trust nature anymore,” said
Harrison from the seat beside me. “Those fucking zombie dogs.” He
shook his head and grunted. “I don’t know what to think about
that.”
We’d discussed it earlier, but our attempt to
flee the area kept extraneous conversation at a minimum. Besides
that, I was still thinking of poor Stubs, and how I’d felt his fur
on my fingertips just before he was pulled away. I was certain Ben
hated me for it, and I couldn’t stop worrying about it.
“We don’t know they were infected,” I said as
I focused on the shadows that surrounded Ben. “They might’ve just
been…” I didn’t have a good answer. “I don’t know. Fuck, Harry, I
don’t know anymore.”
“They were infected,” said Harrison. “Trust
me.”
It was hard to argue that fact. The creature
that had murdered Stubs looked like it should’ve been dead. “What
does that mean then? I’ve never seen a zombie dog before.”
“Me neither,” said Harrison as Ben got back
in the Jeep. “What do you think, Ben? Those dogs were zombies,
right?”
“Looked that way.” His response was distant
and passionless, and I knew that he was still preoccupied with his
loss.
“Then…” Harrison looked back at his friend.
“Man, what the fuck does that mean? Dogs can get infected? There’re
dog packs all over the damn place. If dogs can catch it… Shit, man.
We’re fucked.”
“Let’s just focus on one problem at a time,”
said Ben. “It looks like this road will take us up into the
foothills. We can find a place to park and try to get some sleep
until morning. One of us can stay up while the other two sleep. If
anything comes at us, we’ll drive off. Sound good?”
“No, man,” said Harrison. “But do we have any
other choice?”
Ben offered a tired, “Nope.”
“I’ll stay up first,” I said. “I don’t think
I could sleep anyways.”
The road was rough, crumbling beneath us as
we drove, but we were finally free of the urban labyrinth that we’d
been stuck in for so long. The number of trees along the path
lessened until we were crossing a prairie that sat unscathed except
for this single road that shot across it. We decided it would be
best to park here, instead of driving into the hills where we
risked encountering a raider camp. They often liked to make homes
in old mine shafts, and this area was littered with them.
It was a relief to be able to turn off the
Jeep, silencing us and erasing the beacon our headlights offered to
anyone that might be hunting us. Only moonlight illuminated the
land around us, but it was murky and faint.
“Put the keys back in so I can roll down the
window,” said Harrison, and I did as he asked. He rolled his window
halfway down and then we all listened to the night, wary of what
might be hiding out there.
Coyotes yipped from one direction, and
another pack howled from the other, neither group sounding far
enough away to be of comfort. I’d grown up listening to their
nightly songs, but I hadn’t been fearful of them in years. Now they
terrified me.
“Man,” said Harrison in a whisper. “I’ve got
to pee something fierce, but I don’t want to go out there if we
drove our asses out into the middle of a coyote free-for-all.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” said Ben as he
started to situate himself on the backseat in an attempt to lay
down. “Just don’t wander too far away.”
“Don’t worry,” said Harrison as he opened the
door. “I’m not going more than five feet out there.” He got out and
sauntered only a few steps before relieving himself. He’d left the
window down and I could hear his urine splashing on the hard-packed
dirt.
I needed to apologize to Ben, and I knew this
might be my only chance to do it alone, but I was leery to say
anything. “Hey, um,” I struggled to speak. “I’m sorry.”
He knew what I was apologizing for. “Nothing
to be sorry for,” he said as he squirmed on the faux-leather
seats.
“I tried to…”
“Annie, don’t,” he said to stop me. Then he
reached through the gap between the front seats and touched my arm.
He squeezed gently and I set my hand over his. I brushed my thumb
against his scarred knuckles.
“I tried to save him.” Tears welled up in my
eyes so fast that it seemed like they’d been there all along. I
took my hand off Ben’s to wipe my eyes. “I should’ve left him with
you.”
Ben sat up so that he could reach me easier.
He did his best to embrace me from the backseat and ended up
putting his arms around my chest as he leaned over to press his
cheek against mine. I felt the wetness of both our tears as he
whispered that it wasn’t my fault.
Harrison had finished peeing and opened the
door back up, causing the light inside to come on. He saw us, and
then said, “I’ll hang out here a minute.” He closed the door and
walked a few feet from the Jeep to give us privacy.
“It’s not your fault,” said Ben.
“Yes it is,” I said. “You trusted me. He
trusted me, and I just… He fell and…”
Ben put his hand on the side of my face as he
moved closer. He was positioned awkwardly between the seats as he
said, “Annie, look at me.” He held my face and I looked down,
ashamed as the tears continued to fall. “I don’t blame you. Okay?
Whatever happened, I know it wasn’t your fault. Stubs had a good
life; a hell of a lot better than most dogs like him could’ve ever
hoped for.”
I looked into Ben’s eyes and said, “I let you
down.”
“Are you kidding me?” He chuckled through the
sadness that had reddened his eyes. “You saved my life. You saved
both Harry and me. If it weren’t for you, we’d be zombie food by
now.”
I tried to shake my head in disagreement, but
he had a tight grip on me. “I know how much you loved that
dog.”
He leaned forward and kissed my forehead.
“Yeah, I did. And I always will. I’m always going to remember him,
and his stubby little legs.” His voice cracked from sorrow, but he
acted as if he were laughing. Perhaps he turned that sorrow into
joy somehow. “And how he was such a picky eater.”
“And how he used to snore,” I said, doing my
best to add to the fond memories.
“That’s right,” said Ben with another
chuckle. “He used to snore so loud, and fart too. Oh man did that
dog fart. Used to stink up the whole room.”
We both laughed, but my solemnity returned.
“I should’ve tried to fight them. I should’ve fought to get him
back; to save him from them.”
“Do you really think I’d want you to risk
your life like that?” asked Ben. He waited for an answer that I
didn’t offer. “Annie, I loved that dog, but I’d rather have you
safe. I’d rather have you.”
There was nothing I could say, and I just
looked down. Ben pulled me closer and I sighed with a mix of
sadness and exhaustion as the coyote’s chorus continued
outside.
We heard Harrison say, “All right, that’s it.
I’m getting back in.” The Jeep’s dome light turned back on as Harry
got back in the passenger seat. He whistled and said, “There’s a
whole damn pack of coyotes out there, bickering back and forth.
Chatting up a storm and giving me the willies. Sorry, but I ain’t
staying out there with them no more.”
“It’s okay,” said Ben as he retreated to the
back seat. “Since when are you scared of a few coyotes, Harrison?
First time I met you, you were sitting on the hood of that truck
eating beans, begging the dogs to come take a bite out of you.”
“Yeah, well, that was before there were
zombie-dogs,” said Harry as he rolled up his window. “Who the hell
knows what’s out there waiting for us now.”
We all looked out at the bleak, dark
prairie.
* * *
Harrison had no trouble falling asleep. He’d
leaned his seat back as far as it would go, or at least as far as
Ben would let him, and within ten minutes he was snoring. Ben
tossed and turned for a lot longer, but he eventually fell asleep
as well after making me promise to wake him before dawn so that I
could get some sleep.
I stared out at the waning moon as it sat
amid the streaks of grey clouds. Coyotes continued to howl for an
hour or so, giving me something to listen to as I counted the
stars. There was no shortage of fears to keep my mind busy, but I
tried to occupy myself with more pleasant thoughts. I’d taken
Billy’s map back from Ben earlier, and was reviewing where my
mother had said they’d be setting up New Vineyard. I tried to guess
the reasons why she’d approved the spot. I often found myself
trying to think like she did. I respected the way she considered a
wealth of opinions before arriving on her own. It was a skill I
lacked, though I was trying to get better at it.
That made me think about Kim, and despite how
I tried to force her memory out of my thoughts, I dwelled on her
idiosyncrasies. I thought of how she’d always been so resolute in
her decision-making, and how hard it was to change her mind once it
was made up. She was a born leader, whereas I was…
What the hell was I?
Kim and our mother both excelled at getting
others to follow them. Kim did it by simply not accepting the idea
that anyone would do anything but follow her, while Mom was far
more democratic about it. I’d grown up quiet and withdrawn, far
more comfortable by myself than in a group. I wasn’t ‘leader’
material.
I closed my eyes, and the image of Stubs
being snatched away flashed in my mind. I grumbled a quiet curse
and then rubbed my eyes. I decided to step out of the Jeep for a
minute to get some fresh air, and cringed as the light came on when
I opened the door. Neither Ben nor Harrison stirred as I got out,
and I tried to quietly close the door behind me.
It felt good to stretch my legs. I lifted my
arms high into the air and arched my back as I swayed left and then
right. I swiftly turned my head to crack my neck before starting to
explore the area.
Winter still held sway, although just barely
enough to turn my breath to mist. The morning would bring frost,
and I could see the beginnings already glistening on brown stalks
all around me. Above, the stars twinkled like diamonds in the oily
black, marred only by the wisps of clouds that drifted lazily
through the moonlight.
It was close enough to morning that even the
coyotes had stopped their singing, opting instead for the safety of
their dens. Only the chirps of bats were there to greet me, and
even they sounded far off.
I walked to the back of the Jeep and started
to do pushups, and then a few lunges in an attempt to get my blood
flowing. I only did enough to warm up but not start sweating, and
then walked back over to the driver’s side door. I didn’t want to
get in just yet, and stayed there to stare up at the moon.
That’s when I heard the rustle of weeds
somewhere nearby.
I gripped the handle of the door, prepared to
dash inside if needed.
I waited through the ensuing silence, not
daring to breathe in fear of giving away my position. After a long,
quiet pause, there was another rustle ahead, giving me a sense of
direction as I searched for the intruder. I squinted as I peered
out into the interminable dark.
A grey shape emerged from the black, and
suddenly the creature was revealed as if it had been part of an
illusion cast on me by the night. It was a buck, tall and thick,
with antlers that looked like they might rival the branches of most
of the trees in the area. Its head was down as it nosed through the
brush off to my right, and when it lifted its head I could see
grass hanging from its lips as it chewed.
The animal wasn’t more than ten yards from
where I stood, and I marveled at how such a massive beast could sit
so hidden to me in the night’s veil. That wasn’t a comforting
thought, and I scanned the area in concern. What else might be
hiding just out of sight?
I opened the Jeep’s door, causing the light
inside to come on. The sound got the buck’s attention, and a plume
of mist came from its nostrils as it snorted in response to my
disturbance. His eyes flashed green as the light from inside of the
Jeep caught them. I eased myself into the Jeep and then closed to
door, curious if the buck would flee.
It didn’t. Instead, the majestic animal
stayed where it was, and lowered its head to search the ground for
food.
I was so focused on the male that I was
startled when a doe pranced out onto the road just a few feet
further on. She stopped, her head held high, and turned to peer at
me. Her white tuft of a tail stood as straight as her neck, and she
stood unmoving there for a long moment, as if uncertain how to
react. We stared at one another until her curiosity waned and she
darted off to the left. The buck followed at a more leisurely pace,
crossing the street just as the blackness of night began to turn
grey with the promise of a dawn that was yet far away.
There was a comfort in this moment that I
needed, and I cherished it.
“That was something,” said Harrison.
“I didn’t know you were awake,” I said as the
old man raised his temporary bed back into a seat again.
“It’s gonna be morning soon. You should
sleep.” His voice sounded hoarse, and he grunted as he pinched at
his throat. He coughed and shook his head. “I can stay up.”
“You feeling all right?” I asked.
“Yeah, yeah. Just morning, and lack of sleep.
Makes my throat hurt.” He sniffled and wiped his nose.