Immortality (51 page)

Suzy had napped for a few hours but now was awake. Traffic had picked up. Both sides of the highway were lined with tents and makeshift markets. There were countless thousands of people. Why had they all stopped here? Most of the shelters were plastic sheets held together with duct tape and rope. There were small children playing in the dirt. Their skin and clothing were smeared and mothers were nowhere in sight. There didn’t seem to be any open fires. Even though the sun was shining, all of it looked drab.

Suzy focused her camera on a roadside stand. The table was stacked with canned food. A full-bearded man sat beside it on a green, webbed beach chair. In his lap was a military rife. His hair was blown wild by the wind of passing cars. His eyes followed her. He seemed to be staring directly into the camera and through it into her soul. He smiled, lips parting to show gleaming white teeth and a pair of small canines. Suzy felt an evil chill.

The shantytown had run on for a dozen miles and looked like it would keep going forever. Artie pulled to the shoulder by a fruit stand. There was an elderly man and woman running it. Behind the stand was a farm truck loaded with wooden crates. Suzy walked along a counter made from the same crates. She ran her fingers over all the food. There were apples, pears, black berries, and peaches. The air smelled sweet. Artie struck up a conversation. The man’s name was Harland and the woman was his wife Carol Ann. They’d come north from their farm to help out in relief efforts organized by a religious group called International Hope.

“By God, we had more produce this year than we knew what to do with. There weren’t enough companies looking to buy it – and now I ’spect there aren’t any companies to buy it. Figured it’s the
Lord working in strange ways
that gave us this bounty to help others.”

Harland’s voice had a slow pleasantness to it. Suzy felt immediately at ease. Carol Ann handed each of them a free apple. The apple was shiny red and heavy for its size. Suzy hadn’t known how hungry she was until she took a bite. The apple was crisp. Juice ran down her chin. She wiped it away with her sleeve and took a second bite.

“How much fruit will you trade me for a case of canned food?” asked Artie.

“What brand o’ food?” asked Harland.

“Does it matter?”

“Well, if it’s the kind I’ve got a taste for.”

Artie smiled. Suzy could tell he liked the older man.

“I’ve got SpaghettiOs, Beefaroni, and Chef Boyardee ravioli.”

Harland seemed to ponder the possibilities with great care.

“I’ll give ya’ll a crate, half apples and half pears for a case of the ravioli.”

“Mix in some peaches and it’s a deal,” said Artie.

They shook on it.

“So you folks planning on going all the way to Satan’s Crossing?”

“What’s that?” asked Suzy.

“He’s talking about the I64 line,” said Artie.

“Yeah, that’s right, ma’am,” said Harland. “I’m just asking ’cause ya’ll seem like nice folks, and that’s not a place for anyone nice. Me and Carol Ann went straight there when we first came north to help. We stayed put a day and then headed up around here where it’s safer. Folks down there are crazy and there’s too many guns.”

~

Artie stopped the Volkswagen next to a mobile home. There was a slow but steady stream of vehicles arriving behind him. He’d been worried about this happening all day and now it had. They were in the middle of a freeway that had turned into a parking lot. There was nowhere to exit or park without getting trapped. A grass median separated the highway’s north and south lanes. The median was heavily rutted from u-turns.

According to the map, they were within a mile of the I64 line. After a short conversation, Artie convinced Suzy they needed to go on foot to scout out the line. He turned around across the median and parked on the shoulder of the northbound lane along with a few other cars. The shoulder angled down into a ditch where the remains of several cars and small trucks looked ready to decompose back into nature. They got out and started walking. Artie was wearing a light jacket with his gun tucked underneath. He was worried about leaving their supplies locked in the car, but there was no choice. This was a necessary reconnaissance mission and he was not going to leave Suzy alone to guard a prime target like a van full of food. If someone stole it, he would just have to steal it back.

Artie stood motionless and stared. Suzy clung to his arm. He barely noticed her. So this was the I64 line. He was breathing rapidly after walking up the steep hill. There was no passage through the line; only endless miles of towering razor wire fence, steel spikes embedded in concrete, surveillance cameras, and then a second razor wire fence. Even though the sun was out, floodlights from the opposite side lit the barrier. Every few minutes, a police car roared past at high speed like a jet fighter patrolling a battle line.

Impaled on the spikes was the burnt-out carcass of what had been a car. Artie could see it had been pummeled with heavy weapons. The air was thick with the smell of wood fires and sewage. Behind them was a huge tent city. The ragged encampment looked like it stretched the entire length of the line. Near the horizon, the fence and the tent city merged like the parallel rails of a train track. An occasional peal of laughter rose up from the constant murmur of life. If he closed his eyes, the noise conjured memories of a bar.

“Reminds me of a concentration camp,” said a man standing next to them. “And we’re on the wrong side. Food’s getting a little better though – plenty of beef.”

Artie looked at the man, instinctively sizing him up and gauging him for potential threat. He was young with an angular face and longish, scruffy blond hair.

“Name’s Henry Lucas. Just kidding about the beef. You want to stay clear of that stuff. It’ll make you sick.”

The man held out his hand. Artie shook it. He heard the noise of scuffle a dozen yards behind him. A teenager ran out from a row of tents and then disappeared back into the hive of people. A man emerged a few seconds later. He glanced both ways, standing there with a baseball bat at his side. Another man came out from a row of tents dragging the teenager behind him. Before the kid could say anything, the man with the bat hit him full swing in the gut.

“The line runs from here through Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Alabama,” said Henry. He was oblivious to the ruckus behind him. “Doesn’t stop until it hits the Gulf of Mexico at Mobile, Alabama. I know ’cause I drove the entire length on a dirt bike, scoping for ways across. Of course, if you’ve got something valuable...”

“We’ve got nothing,” said Artie.

“Whatever,” said Henry. He waved his hand dismissively. “You’d be surprised what people consider valuable nowadays – food, guns, even women. I’ve heard rumors that if you have enough juice, the police will escort you across; otherwise, forget it. See what’s left of that car – I was here when that happened. That wasn’t the work of a few cops with guns. No, sir; that was the work of an Army attack helicopter, a goddamn fully armed Apache. It just hovered off behind the line, right there by those trees. The minute that car hit the spikes and its front tires blew, the Apache opened up with a short burst from some kind of machine gun cannon. It was dark out. The shells glowed like a fucking laser beam. I’m telling you, it blew that car up like a phaser blast from the Starship Enterprise. Took all of one second and there was no more car, no more people, no more nothing except burning gasoline.”

Artie didn’t like leaving their supplies unguarded for too long, and their new friend Henry made him feel even more nervous. He and Suzy headed back after a few more minutes of Henry’s monologue. The return trip seemed to take twice as long. As soon as they got within sight of where he’d parked the Volkswagen, Artie knew it had been a mistake to leave it. The shoulder was completely empty. Their Volkswagen and several other cars were now on their sides in the ditch. He couldn’t figure out what had happened. There were long scrapes in the roadbed. It looked the cars had been shoved off the highway by a bulldozer.

Gunfire cracked in the distance, somewhere south of them. Suzy flinched with the echo of each report. Artie knew she was flashing back to New York; so was he. They had to get across that line. There were no other options. Staying here would ensure a slow death, first the spirit and then the body. He’d been thinking how he could accumulate enough for a bribe. He felt the weight of the gun pressing in on his side. Ten years ago, the answer to their problems would have been simple. He didn’t know if he had it in him to keep doing those kinds of things. Could he look more people in the eyes and take what he wanted from them? Was he ready to murder for his small family?

Dusk was falling quickly. Artie noticed some people were flowing into the area. They were walking along the shoulder and glancing furtively into the ditch. They looked like normal people, mothers and fathers and children. There were small groups of them. Artie knew they weren’t normal. They were scavengers. He could tell by the hunger in their eyes. They were staking out their claims. As soon as it was dark, he knew he would start to hear the sounds of windows breaking from within the ditch.

He and Suzy unloaded as much as they could carry. They headed north up the highway away from the I64 line and took the first exit they found. He’d made a decision: this had to be about his and Suzy’s survival. As soon as he found a safe place to hole up for a few days, he’d head out on his own and find what they needed. If other people had to be hurt, that wasn’t his concern.

They walked for hours before hitting the streets of a town. Artie felt a nagging rawness in his left heel. The moon was almost full. The streetlights were dead. Very few people were outside. In a vacant lot, a group of kids were playing freeze tag in the dark with flashlights. Suzy looked worn out. Her face was slack. Her eyes were dull. Artie walked up to a single story house that was dark and knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. No one came to open the door. He furtively drew his revolver and cocked the hammer.

“What are you doing!” said Suzy.

“Checking into our motel room.”

“You can’t...”

“We have to!”

Artie walked around back and found what he was looking for. He kicked the rear door hard. There was a sound of wood cracking. The door shuddered but held. He saw Suzy had her hands over her ears. Her eyes were wide and all pupils. He hit the door a second time. The frame split, leaving half the door caved in. He opened it the rest of the way with his shoulder. He checked the house to make sure it was empty. Suzy didn’t want to come inside.

“It’s wrong!”

“Look, no one’s here. This house has been empty for days.”

“How do you know that? What if they’re coming back? Artie, we can’t do this. Please, let’s just get out of here.”

“Where else are we going to sleep? Do you want to walk a few more miles until you’re desperate enough to break into a different house?”

Suzy looked down at the ground.

“Listen, honey. Right now, there’s probably a family of strangers living in our apartment. Hell, their kids are probably jumping up and down on your new couch.”

There was a tiny hint of a smile. She looked up.

“I guess you’re right,” she said.

“Hey, it’s better than freezing your little nipples off out in some field.”

“Arrrrtie!”

She turned away suddenly acting embarrassed and shy. He was relieved that she’d given in. He’d been ready to physically drag her inside if he’d had to.

The kitchen was fully stocked and there was gas for the range. Suzy cooked while Artie made sure their temporary home was secure and warm. He’d pushed some furniture against the front door and secured the windows by barricading them or setting tripwires made from twine and noise-makers. Next, he got some split wood he’d seen out back and brought it for the fireplace. Suzy had found a canned ham. She’d diced it with onions, peppers, Velveeta cheese, and mixed it with macaroni. Artie ate until his stomach was bloated; then he waited a few minutes and ate some more. After dinner, they curled up in front of the fireplace. The wood snapped as embers were drawn up the chimney. The flames cast an orange-yellow light. Suzy looked like her old self. Artie vowed that he would do whatever it took to make sure she stayed that way.

“Tomorrow, I’ll see if we can find a new car.”

“What if you can’t?”

“Don’t worry; I will.”

“You mean you’ll steal one.” Her voice was uneven.

He thought about lying to her, but didn’t.

“Honey, the world out there has changed.”

“So have you.”

“I’m sorry but this is how it has to be. There are gangs roaming out there. I know how they think. I know what they’re capable of doing. We need to get as far away from here as we can.”

“Do you remember rule number six?” said Suzy.

“No, honey...”

“Some families are
defined
by who their enemies are. Don’t let us sink to that.”

Sarah looked at the speedometer in her patrol car. The needle was at exactly a hundred mph. A scattering of cold rain forced her to flip the wipers off intermittent and onto medium speed. The sun would be trying to rise in a few hours, but she suspected a stormy overcast would extend night’s grip well into the morning. Her work schedule had been changed to the most dangerous shift, on the most violent stretch of road – eight p.m. to four a.m., six days a week. The schedule was Captain Dupont’s revenge for her shoving the CDC fax in his face. Sarah smiled. Calling him a
greedy asshole
also might have contributed just a little to her reassignment. Maybe Dupont was hoping she’d get shot or would quit. All the line jumpers thought darkness gave them an edge. Her new shift was nicknamed ‘primetime at the line.’ Hadn’t any of the idiot jumpers seen a military news clip in the last few decades or heard about night vision goggles, not to mention video cameras and floodlights? Capturing them was actually easier at night than during the day. Even hiding in the bushes, they showed up as blobs of heat on the forward-looking infrared displays of the National Guard choppers which assisted at night. Once jumpers were spotted by cameras or helicopters, the patrol cars were vectored in. All the officers had been issued night vision goggles. It was like playing hide ’n seek war games against children with guns.