Dead Highways (Book 3): Discord (17 page)

“What do y’all think?” Ted whispered.

“Sounds like they’ve got a pretty good situation going,” Robinson replied. “Better than ours at the moment.”

“You don’t think they’re bullshitting us?”

“Why would they?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m going paranoid,” Ted said. “I don’t like that they tracked us down. Followed me back here. Just want to be careful. Last time we trusted somebody we got ambushed.”

“If it’s all an elaborate story to lure us in, then it’s a good one,” I said.

“That’s the point. It’s a good story they have. Maybe too good to be true,” Ted remarked. “But don’t let me hog the floor here. I’m just rambling…thinking out loud.”

“I’m not worried,” Bowser said, peering across the lawn at our three visitors. “What else we gonna do if we don’t go with them…head back home?”

“Well, we had talked about finding a place outside of the city anyway,” Robinson said. “This might be exactly what we need. And it sounds like it’s going strong so far. Most of the heavy lifting has already been done for us.”

“It would be nice to be able to relax a bit,” Peaches added.

Ted adjusted the rifle in his hands. “I don’t think we can afford to relax just yet. Maybe someday, sure. But not now. Not today or tomorrow or next week. Society isn’t just gonna spring back up overnight.”

“No, but it sounds like these people are on the right track. They’re starting a community. They’re trying to rebuild their lives. They’re not hiding.”

“I’m not suggesting we hide,” Ted replied. “I just think we need to be careful. That’s all.”

“Being careful is a given,” Robinson said. “But I also think we have to put our stake in the ground somewhere. It doesn’t have to be here…or with this group. But it has to be somewhere. Does anyone have any objections to at least checking this place out?”

Bowser and Peaches both shook their heads. Like me, Peaches was ready to go check it out the minute she heard they had showers. I had a feeling Bowser had other interests; his eyes remained glued to Zoe ever since the group pulled up. Settle down, big boy.

“What about my father?” Naima asked.

Robinson leaned back against the brick wall and crossed his arms. “I don’t know. Are you sticking with him?”

Naima sighed. “I don’t like the person he’s become, and I won’t put up with it anymore. But I also don’t want to leave him like he is right now. He needs somebody to help him. I know how disappointed my mom would be with the way he’s acted. But I also know how disappointed she’d be with me if I gave up on him.”

“I totally understand. It’s a difficult situation he’s put us all in, you especially. I wish we didn’t have to deal with it. But as you know, what he did last night was totally unacceptable, and while he paid the price for it, I still stand by the decision I made. I know I’m not alone in saying I can’t trust him anymore. I barely trusted him before. With all that said, if they want to let him in their group, that’s their choice.”

“Would we still go?” I asked.

Robinson shrugged. “I guess that depends. If he were to go, I’d need some reassurance that he wouldn’t become a problem.”

“He’d say anything to save his ass, Robbie,” Bowser said. “You know that.”

“I don’t really care what he has to say. The reassurance would need to come from
them.
I would have to tell them what he did. I think they deserve to know.”

“Maybe we should do that now,” Ted said. “Get it over with before we go any farther.”

“We can do that, but are we all at least okay with checking this place out?” Robinson asked.

Ted nodded. “I’m okay with following them to this school. If we get a bad feeling, we bail.”

“Sounds good to me.”

And to the rest of us.

Robinson whistled and waved the three back over to the porch. Paul stayed in the front of the line, with Zoe and Jenson hovering in his shadow. All three had their rifles slung around their backs, indicating they no longer viewed us as a threat.

“What did you decide?” Paul asked. “Would you like to join us?”

“Maybe,” Robinson replied. “But we have a little problem.”

Paul curiously raised his bushy eyebrows. “Go on.”

Robinson elaborated, told the story of Aamod’s history of imperfection as it pertained to our group. The list of negative traits was extensive.

Itchy trigger finger.

Poor attitude.

Prone to acts of sudden insanity.

Stubborn.

Doesn’t work well in a team.

Prefers fighting over hugging.

Hands out threats as though they were Halloween candy. Trick or treat?
I’ll fucking kill you.

And last but certainly not least.

Couldn’t keep a hot dog roller stocked at lunchtime.

Unforgivable.

Naima jumped in every now and then to try and soften the blow, instinctively wanting to protect her father. No matter what we said, however, Paul didn’t look that concerned. As a junior high school principal, he was no doubt used to dealing with bratty kids like Aamod.

“Our group is great,” Paul said. “But I won’t lie to you and say we haven’t had any problems. A few fights, even. It’s unavoidable. We’re all trying to adjust to the new world. Some people have a harder time controlling their emotions than others.”

“If he were to come with us, I’d want to make sure he wouldn’t be a problem,” Robinson said. “Not only for us. But for everyone else as well.”

Paul nodded. “Absolutely. I understand that. I think we could work something out. Section him off on the other side of the school if it’ll make you feel better. We can keep an eye on him.”

“I already took his gun, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get a hold of another one.”

“Like I said earlier, we have a small armory inside the school. But it’s only accessible to a handful of people.”

“So most people aren’t allowed to carry guns?” Ted asked.

“The only time we use guns is on fence patrols or supply runs. Otherwise no one carries a gun, and never inside the compound.”

Ted slouched, noticeably put off by the
no guns in school
policy. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

I glanced down at Sally attached to my hip like a stray puppy—a puppy with a loud bark and a deadly bite. After all the adventures we’d been through together, I didn’t know if I had the heart to let her go. Send her away to a farm to live with the other guns. Without her, who would protect me from the dead people? Who would keep me company while I drank coffee and read the morning newspaper? Who would be there to cheer me up after my boss sexually harassed me at work? Who would I call on for support on those days when life was too much to handle?

Ah well, guess I’d just talk to Peaches instead.

“If everyone at the school was an adult, maybe we wouldn’t have such strict rules on weapons,” Paul said. “But we have a lot of children. The last thing I’d want is for a young kid to get a hold of a gun and accidentally hurt themselves or someone else.”

“I’m probably just biased because I used to own a gun shop,” Ted said. “I have to remind myself sometimes that a lot of people aren’t used to being around firearms all day like me.”

“You might be glad to know that we’re looking into converting the gymnasium into a sort of survival center where people can learn and practice different techniques. Even use it as a shooting range on occasion. With your knowledge and experience, you could be a valuable asset in helping us set that up…if you wouldn’t mind.”

“No,” Ted replied. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” Paul said. “Now about this other guy. Is he inside the house? Is it possible I could speak with him?”

Robinson led the way inside the house. Aamod was right where we had left him, head down on the dining room table. He faced toward the living room, eyes closed, pulling in long wheezing breaths through his mouth. Small flakes of dried blood littered his face like dead skin.

“Here he is,” Robinson said in a low voice. “He had a long night, as you can tell. Think he’s still sleeping it off.”

Paul squeezed up next to Robinson, bending down to take a closer look at Aamod’s beaten face. “This man needs to see a doctor. His left eye is in especially bad shape.” Paul peered up at Robinson. “You did this to him?”

“No,” Robinson replied.

“Who did?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.”

“While he might not look it, I assure you Aamod here was the one who started the fight.”

Paul stood back up. “He just didn’t win.”

“Not even close.”

“I just figured you were involved because of your arm.”

“Oh, this,” Robinson said, glancing down at the sling on his left arm. “No, I was shot in my shoulder. That’s why I’m wearing this thing.”

“Wow, really? When were you shot?”

“Gee, it had to be at least a week and a half ago now. The shoulder is healing slowly but I still have a lot of pain.”

“You probably need to see a doctor too then,” Paul said.

“I think we all do.”

With all of us in agreement to at least give the sanctuary a look, we gathered our bags, stuffing them with any extra food or supplies we wanted to take from the house, and then regrouped in the front lawn. Naima took some extra time waking her father and getting him up to speed on what was going on. He did everything she told him to do without protest—for the first time ever.

Even though there was plenty of room for us in the cabin now, Peaches and I elected to sit in the back of the truck again. Just like the previous day, the fresh air felt good blowing against our faces, through our hair. Paul and company led the way in the silver truck while Naima followed us in a red minivan that used to belong to Robinson’s ex wife. Aamod sat in the passenger seat, reclined back.

It took just under an hour to reach the junior high school located in a rural area west of New Orleans. Detouring when necessary, we carefully avoided all the major highways, particularly those that ran east to west. It was clear Paul had travelled this route numerous times before and knew what he was doing. Packs of scattered infected roamed the streets with us, sometimes forcing us to slow down or drive on the shoulder, but their numbers thinned out to almost nothing the farther we got from the city.

Peaches and I held hands the entire trip, grinning wide, excited for the possibilities that lay before us. A sanctuary for survivors. A community. A place with food and electricity and showers, safely secluded from most of the infected. As Ted had said, it all sounded too good to be true, and yet I think we all shared the same warm feeling in our hearts as we got closer.

This place was true. This place was real.

And we could finally stop running.

We could rest long enough to take a breath.

One final turn took us south down a winding two lane road. Tall trees lined the road on both sides, their lost leaves covering much of the gray asphalt in an earthly blanket, sweeping up into the wind as we drove over them. Every so often, we’d pass a row of three or four homes scattered amongst the trees, perhaps a general store or small business sitting lonesome on the corner of an unnamed road. But for the most part, until we reached the school three miles down, the final stretch of the trip was mostly dense woods with pockets of swampland mixed in to break up the monotony.

“I think this is it,” Peaches said, turning away from me to stare out at the collection of buildings ahead on the left.

I scooted up next to her and rested my elbows on the side of the truck bed as we approached what would most likely become our new home.

A half dozen sand-colored brick buildings of various sizes stood tall and interconnected in the distance. Painted in green and white on the side of the largest building was a giant alligator. The school mascot. A seven-foot high fence with barbed wire spun around the top made a big rectangle around the entire schoolyard. The ankle high grass contained within the fence was a mixture of green and yellow in color.

Farther down a sign came into view near the front entrance. South Bayou Middle School, the sign read. Home of the gators. Underneath the name was a reminder to parents of a school play on March 9. A month ago.

We waited for an armed man on the other side of the fence to unlock the front gate. When finished, he swung open one side of the gate and waved us inside. As we rolled up toward the school parking lot, the armed guard relocked the gate behind us. We came to a stop in the school bus loop near the front office. A grassy median separated the bus loop from the school parking lot. If there was an empty spot, I didn’t see one.

The office door opened and an attractive older woman stepped out. She wore a red blouse with a matching knee-length pencil skirt. She had a slender frame accentuated by her long dark hair. As she came closer, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth became more distinct. She looked like a woman that could have been a teacher in her previous life, perhaps even at this school.

With the truck engine off, Peaches and I hopped out of the bed. The rest of the group exited their vehicles and joined us under the covered awning where kids once waited to get on or off the bus. Aamod was the only one who didn’t join us. He remained in the passenger seat of the minivan, resting his troubles away.

The woman in the red blouse walked up and greeted us with a bright smile. “You found them,” she said to Paul, and then began shaking hands. “Welcome to the school. My name is Susan.”

We went down the line and introduced ourselves.

“And the man in the van,” Susan said. “Who is he?”

“He’s my father,” Naima replied.

“He needs to see Dr. Bailey as soon as possible,” Paul said.

“Oh no. What’s wrong with him?” Susan asked, appearing genuinely concerned.

“Just really banged up. One of his eyes is swollen shut,” Paul replied. “Do you think you could fetch the doctor, Susan? Let him know we’re gonna need him to check out some new arrivals ASAP.”

“Absolutely,” Susan replied with a pleasant smile, and then hurried back inside the building.

“Susan is my assistant,” Paul said. “She used to work at a big law firm in the city. She’s been through a lot. Lost a husband and four children to the virus. Quite frankly, it’s amazing she stays so upbeat all the time. She helps keep everything organized around here.”

“Who did you lose?” Robinson asked.

Paul sighed and looked off in the distance for a moment, swallowing hard. “The usual. Family. Friends. I lost my wife, Lauren. We never had any children. Lauren couldn’t. So the kids here at the school were my kids.”

“I’m sorry,” Robinson said.

“Yeah, but we can’t just sit around all day feeling sorry for ourselves, right? There were people who had it worse than me before the collapse, and there still are now. People like Susan. If she can still smile, then I can too. We’re still alive. We’re not sick. Most people can’t say that anymore.” He took a deep breath and turned to address Zoe and Jenson standing at his side. “Zoe…if you don’t mind escorting Naima and her father to the nurse’s office. Maybe get a wheelchair from inside. Jenson, if you could do a quick interior fence walk I’d appreciate it.”

Jenson nodded and strolled back toward the front gate. Zoe took off inside the school, returning a minute later with a wheelchair. She accompanied Naima to the minivan and helped Aamod out of the passenger seat and into the wheelchair. Then the three of them disappeared inside the building.

“So…” Paul said, rubbing his hands together. “I guess I should show the rest of you around, eh? In case you didn’t see the sign out front, welcome to South Bayou Middle School. Like I said earlier, I used to be the principal here so I know the place well. I had the job for going on ten years. It was a very rewarding experience.” He pointed to a darkly tinted window nearby. The gator mascot was painted in the center. “That’s my office window. Gives a nice view of the teacher parking lot as you can see. Nothing fancy.”

“Do all these cars belong to people who live here?” Ted asked.

“Only a few. Most belonged to city officials or their families, most of which are no longer here. I’d say over fifty percent of the people we’ve rescued didn’t have a vehicle at the time we found them or chose to leave it behind. Having a car here really isn’t all that necessary. We only have limited space as it is.”

“How do people leave?” I asked.

“Most don’t.”

“They don’t, or they’re not allowed?” Bowser asked.

“Let me explain. Everyone who is here is here because they want to be. We don’t force people to stay if they want to leave. So far only a handful of people have left, most because they wanted to go look for family out of our reach. But we can’t allow the people who choose to live here to come and go as they please because that would create a security concern. We have to manage our runs outside the gate cautiously. The reason why this place has thrived for as long as it has is because we keep a low profile. We don’t want to draw any attention. For example, this street we just came down connects to the interstate about four miles north, about a mile up from where we turned on. And as you all know, the interstate is packed with the sick. Had we turned right instead of left, we would have come upon a very different scene than this. Look around. Look how peaceful it is here. We’d like to keep it that way. So sure, there are rules. Every community has to have them. If someone needs to go somewhere for whatever reason, or they need a certain item brought back on a supply run, they can put in a special request. You’re right to be suspicious. Trust me you aren’t the first arrivals to ask these questions. But I assure you we bend over backwards to make everyone as happy as possible. I’m sure you’ll agree once you spend some time here. Why don’t y’all follow me inside and meet some of our people.”

“What about our guns?” Ted asked.

“I won’t ask you to give them up just yet. I only ask that you keep them safely on your backs or at your side. Now come on, I’ll give you the deluxe tour.”

From the first step inside, I felt as though I’d walked back in time. The cool air was the first thing that hit me. It had been a while since I’d stood inside a building with electricity, and the air conditioning felt as good as I’d remembered. The sweat under my arms immediately started to melt away. The second thing I noticed upon entering was the smell. Much like libraries or hospitals, schools always had a special scent that was uniquely memorable. But unlike the dusty paper smell of books or the acrid odor of disinfectant, the school smell was much harder to diagnose. What caused the scent was unknown, probably a mixture of many things all assaulting the senses at once, and it didn’t much matter anyway. The smell instantly transported me back to the good old days five years ago when I was in high school. The days of gay slurs on my locker. The days of being picked last in gym class. The days where being popular meant everything. The days of free lunch and hall passes and drama club and reading aloud to the class. The days of homework and pep rallies and spit wads and kids asking if you had a pencil they could borrow. Standing there in the hallway thinking back, the zombie apocalypse didn’t seem so bad.

“This is the front office,” Paul said, opening a door on the right and poking his head inside. “My office is in here, as well as the secretary and counselor offices. The nurse’s station where Zoe took your friends is at the end.”

Paul led us down the wide corridor past dozens of rooms. The walls were painted in the school colors, white with green stripes. The classrooms were grouped by grade level. Each classroom had a square glass window on the door, with the name of the teacher listed underneath. Miss. Williams. Mrs. Holler. Mr. Woods. Many of the rooms had a large rectangular corkboard next to the door where special artwork or other projects made by the class were displayed. Groups of lockers separated each room.

We came to an intersection and went left, passing numerous people of all ages in the hall, often glaring at us suspiciously as we walked by. We were the new kids at school—the freshman class, looking around with wide eyes trying to figure out where to go. We swung around another corner to the right.

“These last two wings are where everyone sleeps,” Paul said.

Robinson stopped and peered inside room number 124. “Where did you get the beds?” he asked, stepping out of the way so the rest of us could take a peek. The twin beds were set up in rows about a foot apart taking up most of the available floor space. What room was left was reserved for the chairs and desks stacked in the corner.

“The cots were delivered by the national guard,” Paul replied. “We’ve got just enough for everyone. But as I said, we’re getting near full capacity. The beds aren’t comfortable, but they’re still better than sleeping on the floor. As you can see, this particular room is unoccupied at the moment.”

Paul continued onward, leading us around another corner to the right, pointing out the entrance to the school library and the exit doors that led out to the auditorium. The backend corridors made the shape of a large square, with classrooms, teacher break rooms, bathrooms, and custodial rooms on the outside, and the library and cafeteria taking up the large space in the middle.

As we moved down the last wing, the halls became more crowded with people. Adults talked quietly amongst themselves, going in and out of rooms. Kids ran by chasing each other, squealing with joy. Paul took us into the cafeteria and through the kitchen, introducing us to a few of the people tasked with getting that days lunch ready. I won’t say the food smelled good, but it was a hot meal. It couldn’t be any worse than the stuff I’d eaten when I was back in school, and I had no doubt it was better than Ted’s MRE meatloaf surprise. If I didn’t mention the steaming bowl of colorful diarrhea I left at Ted’s house the morning after the meatloaf…well, I have now. Getting all of it out was the toughest challenge I’d faced yet.

We followed Paul to the end of the back wing and out a set of double doors that led to the recess area. The outside heat made me quickly miss being inside in the air conditioning. Off to the right side against the wall were four blue portable restrooms I couldn’t wait to go inside and smell.

We stood for a moment on the large uncovered concrete patio, the sun beating down on our faces, and watched the kids play in the distance. Climbing the monkey bars. Swinging on the swing set. A boy and a girl were kicking a soccer ball around. Things that had once seemed so normal now left me staring with my mouth open in shock. It was surreal, like I was watching something made up. A strange fiction. An old television show where people were happy and life was good. Nothing about it felt real, and yet if I was dreaming I didn’t want to wake up. I wanted to stay there forever and hold onto the moment for as long as possible.

Without even realizing it, Paul had led the others toward the gymnasium standing tall and mighty to the left a short walk from the patio. I jogged to catch up but was stopped by a kid sitting with his back against the wall reading a book.