36 Hours (28 page)

36 Hours

173

“Batteries?” I shrugged. Guess so. Internet flared up on the screen; the Home page was www.yahoo.com.

I went up to the address bar and typed up the address of my own blog. Waited. Something slid against the side of the house; no one paid any attention. Morris seemed to have things under-

A black and green screen popped up. My blog peered me in the eyes; a website I posted thoughts on whenever I felt deemed to, which tended to be every other day or so. One from just last night glared at me as if an omen from a distant, lost world:

Sometimes I have to wonder. I sit in silent amazement, and close my eyes, and just feel it--it never leaves. When I close my eyes, the feeling presses me in the blackness. When I go to sleep, my dreams do not betray my hidden desires. Every moment I walk and every second I breathe, my mind is on fire and no one and nothing can quench the burning longings. Every inch of me wants to bow down, wants to love, to embrace, to cry out and talk and hold and be there to fight for and to be loyal, to sacrifice, to put myself to death even without warrant. I can't explain any of it. All I know is how it is--why, I can't explain and don't pretend to. I cry out for answers. I wail to understand. I beg for it to end--such beauty and wonder is torture on the mind if in the mind it remains.

Is it love? I wouldn't know.

Why can't I forget her?

How come I ever had to meet her?

Why don't my feelings for her leave?

How come my prayers to forget her are left unanswered?

Why must my heart suffer for futile longing every time I see her?

How long must I go through this hostile and agonizing torture?

Why are her words, her laugh, her very eyes so deep and beautiful?

How come I feel this way about her?

Why won't this end?

How come my mind plays games with me?

Why do I reach out and long for someone I can never have?

Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

174

I want to see her sitting across the table from me. I want to hold her hand, to feel the blood rushing through her veins. I don't want her to look away, but to look at me and smile. I want to hold her in the rain, under the thunder and lightning. I want to be free and untethered. I want to run wild like the stallion, and be as ferocious as the lion. I want to spend hours driving through the countryside with her by my side. I want all this. I want it simple. I want her.

But it seems I can't have all this; I can't have it simple; and what kills, I can't have her.

Maybe it is just me being a teenager. But after countless prayers and attempts to forget, I am left empty and hurt and thirsty for her. It should take months to get rid of her. But I've been trying for years. She never leaves me. Never leaves. Never.

Les’ arm moved around me and he snapped the notebook shut. Tried to protest, but he cut me off: “Don’t do this to yourself, Austin. It’s not going to change anything.” I wanted to argue but I knew I was only poisoning my own soul, my own survival, my own existence. Every moment spent in past fantasies was a moment I let my guard down, a moment the water crept up on the dam, and at any moment, given enough time, enough fantasies, enough allusions and painful memories, the dam would bust. I’d be gone. Maybe others. Maybe even Ash. I stepped away from the notebook, wanting nothing to do with it. Suddenly it seemed so… evil.

Morris ducked into the living room. “Les?” Les turned. He shook his head.

“Never mind. Hannah?”

Hannah stood up beside Ash. “Yeah?”

“Look at you. You’re a mess. Let’s get you a new change of clothes. Virginia might have some old clothes you can wear, though she was a bit rounded than you. But we’ll see what we come up with. You look dreadfully cold and miserable. Let’s try on… a warm, dry sweater! Aha!”

Hannah beamed. “That’d be really nice of you.”

“Follow me, then.” He disappeared.

Hannah followed him out into the parlor and upstairs. Anthony Barnhart

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Les said, “I was looking around while Mr. Morris grabbed you some clothes, and I found something.” He left the room.

Turning to Ash, I said, “You okay if I slip away for a few?”

She nodded. “I’m going to try and get some rest anyhow.”

“Yeah. Good idea. I’ll join you once Les shows me whatever fantastic finds this is.”

“He thinks,” Ash said with a smile.

I gave her a thumbs-up and went into the den. Les held the oil lantern in his hands and grabbed a dusty radio off the shelf. I sighed. “Les. The truck’s radio is so much better and all we got was-“

“This isn’t a one-way radio; it’s short-wave. Two-way. I’ve seen this in Technology and Business.”

I searched for words. “So it’s like a walkie-talkie?”

“A hyped-up walkie-talkie. A really powerful walkie-talkie.”

“I never saw one in Technology and Business.”

“Mr. Cane brought it in one day to boast about it. Showed us how it worked…” He fiddled with the dials, and in a few moments we caught the sound of popping static.

“No one is-“

He ignored me and kept turning the knob. Finally the static cleared. Tiny, faint voices.

“Les, turn it up. There! There!” I ran over and hovered beside him. He twisted the volume; the language wasn’t American. “What is that?

Spanish? French?”

Les twisted his neck. “Russian.” He flipped through the channels, and we did find Spanish and French being broadcasted.

I commented, “All the voices are hurried, frantic. Nervous.”

“Scared,” Les added. “Why aren’t we seeing any Americ-“

“Les! There! That’s English!”

He twisted the knob even higher. A voice said,
“…prisons across the country
have been turned into refugee camps. Come to San Quentin and we’ll quarter
you safely. We have armed defenses and machinery that can be used in case of a
riot…”

“Recorded?” I ventured.

“Not this one, no, I don’t think…”

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“…many western towns especially in the Great Plains have been turned into
military reserve bases and are hoarding any refugees that have not been
contaminated by the virus. If you have been contaminated by the virus, do not
try to enter the camps. You will be shot to the head immediately! As of now we
are not going to bother giving you names of refugee camps because many have
not checked in with airborne control; we believe the less secure camps are
falling to the plague. The best advice we can give now is to store non-perishable
food items and water, find some blankets and emergency supplies, gather your
loved ones. Stay off the roads, stay away from cities, towns, markets, all public
places. Lock your doors, lock your windows, and
stay away from them
. Hole up
and wait. Militaries in all countries are combating the plague in various ways,
and scientists are working hard to find a cure as fast as possible. Remember –

the only means of exterminating the infected is by a direct puncture to the
brain.”

“Refugee camps?” Les said, voice carrying. “Hold-outs?”

Hope! “Militaries are fighting. We haven’t completely gone under. We’re not alone.”

“New England and the Mideast of the United States are almost completely
overrun by the virus, except for some small towns and hold-outs across the
regions. If you live in one of these areas, you are warned that you are in what
the authorities call a ‘hot zone.’ The disease has taken millions of lives over the
last couple hours. Do not go outside. Do not go away from your homes. Do not
open your doors or windows. This is not something to be treated lightly. Many
people are still dying and will continue to die until we discover a cure. The
southern United States is thirty-seven percent overtaken by the virus, and we
warn you to stay off the highways and main roads. Accidents have been
reported all over and the number of infected keep growing. Get indoors, get
safe. The western United States is only seventeen percent overrun, but the
plague is swiftly moving from the east. All westerners are persuaded to get all
emergency supplies you need, to find your loved ones, and to prepare for the
virus. It is coming. Schools have been released, businesses have been canceled.
Martial law is being enforced in several areas.”

The south isn’t overrun, and neither is the west. Ohio was taken over fast –

but the world wasn’t dead.

I eyed Les and murmured, “Hope.” My smile crossed my face like highbeams. Anthony Barnhart

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Les nodded. “They’re looking for a cure. Any time now.”

“We have just received word that Atlanta, Georgia has fal en to the virus.
Citizens of Atlanta are ordered to hole up or evacuate if you have the safe
means to do so…”

Hopes felt smashed against a brick wall. Countenances fell. Les argued, “The west is still out there, man. We just need to
hang on
. Like Morris said.”

“If you live near the coast, you are urged to get out onto the water as soon as
possible. Inhabitants of coastal towns and cities and villages have taken to the
water, observing that the infected have a strong aversion to large bodies of
water. If you have the means to reach such a body of water, and have the means
to get into it without drowning, you are advised to do so. No one has yet had
any evidence of infected entering bodies of water larger than big swimming
pools…”

The Atlantic? Too far. We’re holed up in the middle of a landlocked-“Lake Erie,” I muttered under my breath. “That’s the answer.”

Les swore. “How in the world do you expect to get to Lake-“

The transmission swept over with a screaming noise. I clenched my hands over my ears: “Down!”

Les wrenched the volume down and we heard a male’s voice:

Can anyone hear me? Please, if anyone can hear me, respond! Please! If you
can’t hear me, I’m at the Clearcreek YMCA. I have a plane next door on the
airfield and if you come get me I can get us into my plane and out of here. The
virus hasn’t gotten to the west yet, I was thinking we could-Oh God! They’re
coming in!

We drew hasty breaths.

“He’s at the YMCA,” I said. “Only a half mile away. So far.”

“Closer than Lake Erie.”

Oh God, they’re going to get in here sometime. Please. Somebody! If you can
get out here come get me! Anybody! I’ve got an airplane and keys and we can
go to a refugee camp and get out of this hellhole. Please. Anyone…

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I reached for the
transmit
button; Les slapped my hand away. “What are you doing?” he shorted.

“He’s across the field, Les!”

“Across the field? Across the world!”

“He’s got a plane! We’ve got a truck! We pick him up and-“

“And do what? Make a magic run and fly over the zombies until we land in his plane and take off and fly on a magic carpet to San Diego where we’ll be met with tears and smiles and brandy and wine?”

“Your sarcasm isn’t well-hid.”

“It’s not meant to be.”

“Les. Think. We can stay here, if that’s what you want. But I don’t want to spend every minute in fear of what will happen the next! I want to sleep peacefully for once! We
can
! But it’s not just going to fall on our laps on a silver platter, Les!”

Les breathed, “You are one crazy kid. We’ll get killed. We’ll turn into one of
them
.”

“We won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“How do you know we will? Can you sleep an hour from now knowing we could be sleeping twenty thousand feet above the earth?”

“I’ll be sleeping soundly knowing I’m not bleeding from a bite and stalking down the innocent.”

“Les…”

He turned off the short-wave. “Austin. Careful. Be logical. It won’t work. This is no video game. They’re all around the house. The field is infested with them. Remember how many were at Dorothy Lane Market? That’s on the road we’d have to take to reach the YMCA. And then we’d have to
find
this guy,
hope
he’s not dead or worse, and if he
is
dead, we might as well pull the trigger ourselves. If he
isn’t
dead, we have to find a way to get to the airfield without getting killed and we have to hope to God that the pilot isn’t some amateur with a pick-axe and hot-wiring degree.”

“Pick-axe and hot-wiring? You’re not making any sense.”

“Neither are you.”

The walls of the den burst into a million sounds, shoving icy cold darts of fear through my body. A hand fell over my chest. “Dang it. It’s going to be like this all night.”

Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

179

“Their muscles are weakening,” Les said, listening to the barrage.

“Morris is a quack. He has no idea.”

“Nice compliments for the man who saved your life.”

“Arrogance kills, Les. Does the assault sound weaker? No.”

“Fine. But it’s driving me insane. I’m getting a glass of water. Want anything?”

“No. I’m going to go check up on Ash. She’s probably freaking out.”

“You’re lucky to have her.”

“Yes, and I’m not going to lose her.”

The two of us left the den; Les branched away and bounced into the kitchen; I maneuvered past the stairwell and found Ash lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. She jumped when she saw from the corner of her eye me coming in.

“It’s just me,” I said, sitting down in the chair, feeling the waves of heat trickling from the crackling fire.

The infected kept throwing themselves against the house, trying to find a way inside.

“Ash… There’s still hope. Les found a short-wave radio, and someone said that the military still exists and is fighting, and the western United States is still pretty much intact, so-“