Containment (38 page)

“I could’ve given up on hope back there when we had to...deal...with Evelyn. It was horrible. Before, when I pulled the trigger and put one of these things down, there was no connection. They were strangers. It wasn’t easy because I couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t too long ago and that person could have been checking me out at the cash register at the grocery store, or helping me open my new bank account, or whatever. But at least I didn’t recognize any of them. And then there was Evelyn. But even before we knew that it was her, there was this fear in me that it could have been someone else. Maybe even you. What I mean is that...shit. I’m not really good at....”

Claire smiled coyly and asked, “At what, honey?”

Jerry’s head nearly swooned as he summoned the courage to say, “Claire, I have real feelings for you and for the first time in a long time, since even before all of this began, things, at least some things, seemed good. And what I mean by things is you. For all the bad and the ugliness that’s been all around us, I think it’s a helluva lot more bearable when I’m with you. And back there, when we didn’t know who it was that they’d gotten, all I could think about was losing you. I just don’t think I could take that.”

Claire said softly and sincerely, “It was no walk in the park to have you gone either, I can assure you.” She looked up at him from beneath the ever-present green and gold Seawolves cap and flashed a smile that warmed him from inside out and made their surroundings a little less foreboding.

He thought to himself that, yes, things were good for a change.

They plodded along slowly and quietly for some time. The hushed sounds of the forest all around them were the only sounds that accompanied their trek. Even the travois’ legs, wrapped in socks, seemed to withhold their voices. They went on like this for more than an hour. Eventually even the fog grew weary of watching them and retreated further into the trees, exposing the empty, open road in front of them.

A very tired Jules looked over at Danny and whispered, “How much longer do you think?”

Danny shrugged his shoulders and wondered the same thing. He also was curious about their destination. Were they headed toward safety and perhaps more people? The constant fear, the terror, and the loss, along with the nagging exhaustion in his feet and legs were all starting to become a focus that defied ignoring. He was just a kid. He didn’t have the same coping skills that adults in their many more years had developed. He just knew that he was tired and hungry and was ready to be home again.

Missing home, like his fleeting juvenile attention, came and went, but when it was in his thoughts it was hard to shake. The memories though were becoming more bitter with each passing day. The problem that was plaguing him was that he didn’t seem to have the same recall of home or his parents as he thought he should. Their faces and their voices seemed like he was experiencing them from behind an opaque window. The basic essence of them was there, but it was just outlines and suggestions lacking any real presence. They were just masks, crude representations of the people and the things that were so important to him in a time not too long ago. He wondered if it was the same with everyone. Was it just easier to concentrate on dealing with the problems all around you if your memories weren’t distracting you? The question was there and gone almost immediately as his attention was drawn to his left by a louder than normal leaf breaking loose from its arboreal mooring and tumbling awkwardly to the ground.

Every now and again, Neil would come to the rear of the their line to ask Jerry and Claire, as well as Jules and Danny, if they were hearing or perhaps feeling the tonal vibrations that were the undeads’ calling card, but they had detected nothing. There was nothing around them making the slightest noise. Maybe it was just the fog forcing everything into a temporary slumber, but somehow it all seemed so different, so permanent and final. It was as if the air itself had become toxic and had poisoned the land to the point that life, all life, was unsustainable. It didn’t help that the autumnal season was in full swing, shaking the leaves and the vibrant colors of summer from most of the trees within immediate sight.

They proceeded like this, shrouded in the silence of the grave, for several hours more. The morning had given way to midday, which was fading into a rapidly declining afternoon.

Neil peered over his shoulder to catch Jerry’s eyes, but the younger man was too busy looking into the trees to his left. Jerry’s distraction immediately raised alarms for Neil, so he turned abruptly to make his way back to inquire. He walked briskly, choosing not to run and cause anyone else undue alarm. He swept by the group walking with Art and didn’t say a word or even make eye contact with any of them.

“Hey? We good?” asked Neil in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

Jerry, not fully aware that he’d been distracted, answered, “Sorry. I was just.... No, I don’t hear anything or see anything. Sorry to cause you any heartburn.”

“No, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a little jumpy.”

“Try decaf. I hear it helps to calm the nerves,” Jerry teased.

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m ordering a cup. Smartass.” Neil turned to resume his post at the lead position. He was just coming to Meghan’s side, with whom he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to talk yet, when Claire got his attention.

“Hey , Neil, I think we got a problem here.”

Neil thought to himself that of all the phrases in the English language, he perhaps dreaded that one the most. Every time he heard it, it seemed that things typically went from bad to worse all at once. He said unemotionally, “What’s going on Claire?”

Dr. Caldwell, meanwhile, raised the M4 assault rifle to his shoulder and assumed a very trained and professional firing stance in the middle of the road. He scanned left and right, careful to lower the gun’s muzzle if he was pointing it anywhere near the others in the group. He breathed slowly, trying to control his emotions, especially the fear that was starting to percolate in his stomach.

Neil could feel his own blood pressure begin to rise in anticipation of Claire’s revelation. He could surmise from Jerry’s posture, however, that it was something other than the approach of a ghoul or a group of the monsters. He tried to glean from Jerry’s eyes what it could possibly be but there was not the slightest hint because Jerry was looking down at the pavement.

Neil asked again, “What is it? The suspense is killing me.”

Neil was still nearing them when both Jerry and Claire pointed to the ground. Then Neil could see the unmistakably new patches of dark fluid that had pooled in long, slithering stretches along their path. It didn’t take much deduction to figure out that the fluid in question was blood and not much more to determine that it was coming from Art.

“Jerry, can you go up to the front and help keep an eye out? Claire, I need you to stay back here and do the same. Doc, can you come back here for a second or so?”

Everyone’s agitation quickly peaked. Emma, who was pulling the travois, looked at Neil’s concerned expression and then down at Art, whose face was absent of all color. He looked as pallid and lifeless as a sterile white hospital wall.

Dr. Caldwell pulled open the blankets that had been used to shroud Art into a warm cocoon. Even before the last layer had been peeled away, Dr. Caldwell could smell, hell he could almost taste, the briny aroma emanating and beckoning like Charon’s otherworldly beacon from Art’s seeping wounds.

He touched the other man’s neck but there really was no point in it. Dr. Caldwell had seen death before; entirely too much before. Art was dead. There was no denying it. Somewhere along their journey, Art had peacefully drawn his last breath, exhaled it in a long, quiet hush, and then left this world.

The doctor looked up silently, shaking his head as he did. “He’s gone.”

Out of habit from a life that seemed he lived so long ago, he shared, with his silent but expressive eyes, a moment of acknowledgment with everyone standing around him. Regardless of anyone’s opinion of Art, the realization that suddenly there was one fewer of them to continue forward was very sobering. They were now tops on the Endangered Species list, higher than even the African White Rhino. And as autumn started to look and feel more like winter, would there be a more appropriate season to contemplate the demise of one’s own species?

Despite Meghan’s and Gerald’s quiet protests, it was determined that they would merely wrap Art tightly in his blankets and leave him under a pile of crisp leaves and small sticks on the side of the road. They stood quietly over the lifeless body, nobody willing to break the reverent silence. After a brief moment standing thus, they got back on the road and continued their trek east.

As they walked, Emma wondered aloud to Meghan, “I wonder if he was conscious?”

Meghan answered flatly, “No. I think the Doc had him pretty doped up.”

“Damn. Died without even realizing it.”

“We couldn’t have him crying out and attracting the fucking zombies, now could we?”

“I wonder if it’s better or worse.”

“Dead is dead. It doesn’t really fucking matter.”

Emma asked seriously, “You still think dead is just...dead?”

A reluctant sigh escaped Meghan. “You’re right. Maybe we and even Art should be thankful that in his case dead is just dead. I guess there’s some peace in that at least.”

“Meghan, I’m really sorry.”

Her frustrations at the assumptions continuing to be made boiling over, Meghan bit as quietly as she was able, “For what? I wasn’t with Art. I didn’t want to be with Art. I don’t know how any of that came about. To my knowledge, I’m not in a committed relationship with anyone at the moment since my goddamned worthless fiancé joined the ranks of the undead.”

Emma, trying to quiet her, asked calmly, “And Neil?”

“I thought...maybe...I don’t know. It felt like it and I think I wanted it, but maybe I just wanted it more than he did.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I kind of thought that maybe he’d have put up some kind of a fight or something. But he just folded his tent and moved on down the road without even looking back. I thought maybe I’d been imagining it all along. Maybe it was just convenient for him to have me at his side in whatever capacity I was.”

“What about now?”

“I was having one of those emotional moments a couple of days ago and thinking that I was missing Brian—my ex. But I think I was actually missing Neil.”

“He’s a good man, Meghan.”

“I know, I know. But I’ve hurt him so badly. He barely even looks at me anymore, and I didn’t mean to do any of it. Hell, I didn’t even
know
that I was doing it. Seems like I should have been able to enjoy whatever it was that I did.”

“He’s probably just not sure what to do. You know how guys are. What’s the word? Oh yeah, clueless.”

Meghan smiled in appreciation of the levity and looked up at Neil, who had his back to her. She was glad, as they all were, to have him leading them again. He was good at it. She hoped that perhaps, since he was able to take up that role again, he might be able to find a way in his heart to see that she did care for him and wanted to be with him, despite how things might have appeared.

As the day yielded to evening all at once, the now bone weary survivors were just happening upon a traffic gate that allowed access to the largely open and inviting Glenn Highway, the lone artery north out of Anchorage. This stretch of highway was far enough north of the clot of traffic that contributed so heavily to the demise of Anchorage and its residents that there were fewer and fewer vehicles the further one looked away from the city. The essentially eternal gridlock of cars and trucks was behind them, leaving clear pavement and an unknown future in front of them. Not having the claustrophobically tight confines of the city stalking their every step was refreshing and perhaps a little unnerving.

Without the constant traffic typically seen along the highway and the accompanying sounds, it was as if the road was auditioning for a supporting role in a special about America’s ghost towns.

Claire echoed everyone’s sentiments when, after only a brief handful of steps along the shoulder, she remarked, “Kinda creepy.”

With good humor at its root but a dash of snip for flavor, Emma responded, “D’ya think? Way to state the obvious.”

“Just sayin’.”

“I know, Emma said. “Sorry. I just can’t help myself sometimes even after all that’s happened. I guess old habits die the hardest.”

Neil chimed in, “Speaking of which, I think we probably missed rush hour and the next one won’t be comin’ through any time soon. Maybe we should move out onto the road and put a little more distance between ourselves and anything that might be in the trees.”

Without a word but perhaps a quick glance over the shoulder for each of them just to be certain, they fanned themselves across the road forming a moving line that bisected the northbound side of the highway. They didn’t necessarily need to be on that side of the road but, as Emma suggested, old habits do tend to take the longest to die.

Dr. Caldwell said, looking back at the dwindling setting sun, “It might be wise to find ourselves a good spot to stop for the night in just a little bit...before it gets dark I mean.”