Extinct (27 page)

The one thing Brad didn’t find was any other real live people. He followed tire tracks through the snow, but never found any footprints leading to a house, or saw any cars driving around. He got good at rolling up on parked cars and siphoning off their gas when he got low. Brad always remembered to leave the gas doors open on cars he drained.

Then, finally, a week after he’d moved into the ferret house, Brad walked up to the parking lot to find the boy standing next to one of the parked cars.

“Hi,” Brad said, raising a hand to the boy when he was still a few dozen yards away.

Robby lifted a hand back, but waited until Brad drew closer before he spoke.

“Do you want to come have dinner with us tonight?” Robby asked.

“Sure,” Brad said quickly. “Where?”

“You know where the Denny’s is?” Robby asked.

“The one right up there?” Brad asked. “There’s not another one, is there?”

“That’s the one,” Robby said. “We’ll be there at four.”

“Great,” Brad said. “Can I bring anything? How many people?”

“The clocks in these cars are both right,” Robby said. “You don’t need to bring anything. See you at four.”

“Excellent,” Brad said. “See you then.”

Robby turned and snaked between some parked cars, heading towards the back of the lot.

“Wait,” yelled Brad, “what’s your name?”

“I’m Rob,” he called back.
 

“See you tonight, Rob,” Brad said. “My name is Brad.”

Robby didn’t turn around, but lifted a hand to wave and acknowledge Brad.

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Brad cleaned himself up the best he could. He used an outdoor turkey frying rig to heat up several gallons of water and then dragged the water inside to the bathtub. He found fresh clothes in a house behind his Dead Ferret house. The men’s clothes in the Dead Ferret house hung comically large on Brad. But, the guy who’d lived in the house behind the Dead Ferret house must have been just Brad’s size.
 

He bathed and shaved, amazed at how much better he felt about himself when he finished. His hair hung down over his forehead, but he managed to sweep it back with some mousse from the bathroom cabinet. Brad changed twice. He settled on a red golf shirt. It had a collar, but didn’t look too fancy. Over the shirt he wore a thin grey sweater to match his thick grey socks. He wore flannel-lined chinos which fit okay in the waist. He rolled up the cuffs so they didn’t drag when he walked. Brad finished the ensemble with a nice black jacket—zippered, but nice enough to wear indoors if it was cold.
 

He went upstairs to look himself over in the master bedroom’s full-length mirror. Before, he’d looked like a homeless person. Just what you’d expect in a post-apocalyptic hellscape, but not the best way to make a first impression. He preferred to look capable, together, but not too prosperous. He wanted to look able to take care of himself, but not somebody you’d envy. He’d lost a lot of weight—he saw it in his face now that he was clean-shaven. His cheeks didn’t have grooves in them, but they showed noticeable shadows where the grooves were staking out their claim. Brad reminded himself to smile a lot—smiling hid the shadows.

Brad walked up to the Denny’s. Taking a car from the lot felt cumbersome, and Brad wanted to feel unencumbered in case he wanted to get away quickly. He took his pack, loaded with survival supplies, and tucked it behind a bush about a block away from the restaurant. He got there too early—almost thirty minutes too early—so he walked around the side streets for a while. He found the local jail. It sat in a tidy brick building near the train tracks. His watch read three-fifty we he got back to the Denny’s. Brad went inside.

Two kerosene heaters—not the same as Brad’s, but the same idea—warmed the place up to about sixty. Brad took off his outer jacket and kept on the black one. It wasn’t toasty, but it was comfortable.
 

“Hello?” he asked the room. The only light inside came from the flames of the heaters and the late afternoon light through the windows. The door was unlocked, but someone had drilled out the lock, so it would remain forever open. One table with four chairs had a tablecloth and candles. Brad sat down and lit the candles with a book of matches he found on the table.

The swinging door from the kitchen opened and a young woman stepped into the dining room. She looked like a schoolteacher to Brad. More accurately, she looked like one of Karen’s friends—Brad couldn’t remember her name—who had taught fifth grade. Brad immediately thought of this woman as a teacher, just because of her resemblance to a woman whose name he couldn’t remember. She wore shoulder-length brown hair and a windbreaker over a bulky sweater. Both the windbreaker and the sweater hung down over her black corduroys. When she pushed through the door she looked down at her feet, and her eyes seemed buried in dark hollows. She brightened considerably when she looked up and spotted Brad at the table.

“Are you Brad?” she asked.

“Yes,” Brad said. He half rose from his seat—wanting to seem polite, but unthreatening.
 

She approached quickly with her hand outstretched.

“I’m Judy,” she said as she shook Brad’s hand. “Robby will be here in a bit.”

Robby entered through the front door a few seconds later. An older man followed Robby. Brad figured this guy to be in his sixties. Brad was forty-two, and hoped he could move as gracefully as this guy did when he reached that age.

“I see you’ve met Judy,” Robby said. “This is Ted,” Robby gestured at the older man. “Ted and Judy, this is Brad.”

Brad shook the older man’s hand as they all moved into position around the table.

“Judy called you ‘Robby’ just now,” Brad said to Robby. “You said your name was Rob earlier. Are you a Rob or really a Robby?”

“He
prefers
Rob," Judy said. “But he only seems to answer to Robby.”

Robby smiled and blushed a little. Brad liked him more in that moment than in their previous two encounters combined. The kid had seemed too serious before, like he was trying to act like he thought an adult should.

“Does everyone like pancakes and sausage?” Robby asked.

Judy nodded. She took a seat next to Brad.

Ted stood behind a chair and held the back of it as he spoke. "I’m just here for introductions. I’ll leave you to dinner. Brad,” he extended his hand again, “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

“Okay?” Brad said, shaking the man’s hand.
 

Without further explanation, Ted waved and then left by the front door.

“Pancakes?” Robby asked Brad again.

“Yeah, sure, absolutely,” Brad said.
 

Robby turned towards the kitchen.

“How can I help?” Brad called after Robby.

“Just have a seat and I’ll be right back,” Robby said as he propped open the swinging door with a high chair.
 

Brad sat down reluctantly and smiled at Judy.
 

“I wish I could help with something,” Brad said. “We can’t just let the kid do all the work, can we?”

“Don’t worry about it," Judy said, smiling. “Robby likes to cook for people every now and again. He prefers not to have an audience though.”

“Oh,” Brad said. “So you’ve known Robby for a while then? Are you related?”

“No,” she said, smiling. “I’ve only known him for a month or so. We met at the grocery store.”

“Oh,” Brad said. “So where were you living when everything happened? Were you in Portland.”

Judy put her hand on the table between them, as if she could pin the conversation right there, on the tablecloth. “Do you mind if we wait until Robby comes back before we talk about how we all got here? He’s heard it all before, but we always like to make sure everyone is present when we talk about recent history. ‘More ears pick up more details,’ he says.”

“Sure, sure. That makes sense,” Brad said. “How about farther back? Can we talk about what we did before?”

“Of course,” Judy said. She smiled and looked down at her hand as she withdrew it to her lap. She touched her ear before she began to speak. “I used to work in marketing for a little company downtown. We did things like direct mail, emails, magazine ads, you know—increasing brand awareness and stuff.”

“Cool,” Brad said. “What was the product?”

“I don’t know,” she said, smiling a tight, close-lipped smile. “I mean I do, but I don’t really. I’d only worked there a couple of months, and it seemed like we were just selling air.”

Brad smiled and nodded. “I think I’ve worked for that company too,” he said.

“What do you do?” she asked.

“I was a contractor,” he said.

“Like construction?” she asked.

“No, nothing so practical. I did computer stuff—web stuff and programming,” he said.

“Sure, okay,” she said. “Good work?”

“Not really,” he said. “But it paid the bills.”

Judy nodded and pushed a wrinkle out of the tablecloth with her finger. Brad was careful to keep his hands on his lap, one on each thigh. It was a trick he used whenever he spoke in public. With his hands on his thighs he would keep his feet flat on the floor and sit up straight. If he slouched, he tended to stammer. Good posture brought clear speaking.

“I’m just wrapping up,” Robby yelled from the kitchen.

“Is everything okay with the other guy? Ted?” Brad asked.

“I think so," Judy said. “He doesn’t like gatherings. Or, I mean, he likes them, but he doesn’t like to stay. He just wants to be introduced and then he usually heads on his way.”

Robby came in holding a serving tray with both hands. He brought plates, utensils, and a big stack of pancakes.

“They’ve got a great gas grill out back, so we like to do gatherings here,” Robby said as Brad stared at the pancakes. To Brad, the pancakes looked like civilization, and smelled like heaven. He kept his hands in his lap as Robby and Judy passed around the plates, silver, and food. Robby doled out equal portions to everyone, and Judy used her fork to put two of the pancakes back on the center stack.

Brad wanted to dive into the food, but waited as everyone fixed their plates just so.

“You wouldn’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve eaten any decent food,” Brad said.

“It shows on your face," Judy said. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Brad said.

As soon as Robby lifted his fork, Brad tore into his stack of pancakes and savored the authentic maple syrup. That syrup hadn’t come from a Denny’s. Brad would have bet a thousand dollars on it if money still meant anything. That syrup came from someone’s backyard maple tree.
 

“This is fantastic,” Brad said.

“Thanks,” Robby said. “It’s one of the few things I cook well.”

“I’ll say," Judy said. She and Robby shared a smile. Brad couldn’t tell if her statement was a compliment, or a light-hearted jab.

“So did you guys wait to talk about how we got here?” Robby asked through a mouthful of food.

“Yes, are we waiting for Ted too?” Brad asked. “Judy said we should all be here, but I’m dying to know what you guys know.”

Robby nodded as he chewed. He wiped his mouth and set down his fork before he replied.

“No, we don’t have to wait for Ted,” Robby said. He pushed away from the table and went to the counter to grab three bottles of water. After he drank, he told Brad and Judy his story.

Judy nodded at all the right spots, but it was clear she’d heard it all dozens of times. Brad listened closely to Robby’s account of Thanksgiving on the island. The boy’s story seemed to have coherent details and no exaggeration, but it was hard to take everything Robby said as a gospel truth. Brad wondered how much of the story was colored by Robby’s age and lack of experience. Robby told everything, including how he met Judy and the days leading up to the dinner they all were currently sharing.

Brad quickly understood the wisdom of this approach. With Robby’s entire story told from his perspective, there was no blended viewpoint. When Judy began, she told all of her details even though some of her story shared many of the same elements as Robby’s. They both told of snowstorms, TV and radio broadcasts fading to static, and people disappearing. She attempted to drive south, but turned back when she found all the wrecked-car corpses lining the roads.

“I wasn’t scared,” she said deliberately. “I wasn’t. I mean I wasn’t scared of the dead bodies, but I thought there was probably some plague or something that infected everyone down there. I figured it would be safer to come back here. Everyone was gone here, but at least there weren’t dead bodies everywhere.”

Brad nodded. Robby stopped eating while he listened to her account.

“I saw a couple of people who looked like their eyes had burst,” Brad said. “It was like they’d been exposed to low pressure or something, and their eyes just popped out. I mean, not popped, but burst.” They sat for a second before he spoke again. They all nudged their plates away. “I’m sorry, you were right in the middle of your story.”

Judy picked up the thread again with how she returned to her apartment and figured out how to survive. After a few weeks, she met Robby in the grocery store. Here, apart from the times they’d been alone, her story and Robby’s were fairly identical. They both had sketchy descriptions of their daily activities. Brad sensed plenty of room in there to hide many details, but he didn’t probe with questions.
 

When Judy and Robby turned to Brad for his side of the story, he started immediately after the explosion that woke him up. He left out any account of the casually-dressed government guys, spinning rocks, killer vines, and fugue-like flashbacks. He started with the snow, and how it was almost immediately too deep to make any attempt at escape. The beginning of his story stumbled, but everything flowed better once he started talking about the snowmobile journey.
 

Robby didn’t move an inch while Brad talked. As soon as Brad finished, Robby rose, took their plates and headed for the kitchen.

“I have to at least help with cleanup,” Brad said. He stood and dabbed his mouth with his napkin before dropping it on the chair. Outside, the sun went down, leaving them on a little island of flickering light provided by the candles and heaters.