Rebirth (16 page)

The smoke had cleared and the bike continued to hum without its rider. Side-stepping to check the far side of the bike for a body, I carefully rounded the back, gun still drawn. Jesus, Sara! Don’t go any further. The voice in my head was right: why didn’t I stop? I had a screaming baby strapped to my chest. But the curiosity and adrenaline had gotten the better of me, and I couldn’t seem to stop myself. Leif was wailing – the deafening gunshots had probably hurt his ears, hopefully not irrevocably, but I dared not set him down. I ignored his pleas to be coddled. I needed to end this twisted chapter in my trip.

“I will blow your head off!” I blindly threatened the Ring Master over Leif’s frightened cries.

As the far side of the bike came into view I saw the man, curled over on his side, arms crossed over his stomach, rocking back and forth. He wore leather chaps over faded jeans and cowboy boots whose soles had long since fallen off. His torso was bare save a cape he had tied around his neck. It was his face though which captured my interest. Nothing should have surprised me anymore. But this did.

He wore a red rubber clown’s nose torn down the center. His eyebrows were gone. Deep scars split his cheeks, travelling from the corner of each eye down to his jaw. His head was covered in a ridiculous orange fuzzy wig. He looked up at me, and as he did blood rushed out of his mouth, mixing with the dusty earth. He tried to say something through a painted smile.

I shot him in the chest without hesitation. Blood splattered across the ground as his heart exploded from the impact. His head fell hard and fast, his eyes staring into the abyss. Whatever he had to say to me I didn’t want to hear. I lowered my arm and spun around, careful not to leave myself vulnerable to another attack.

Then the immensity of what had happened hit me like a ton of bricks. My face hurt as it contorted and I screamed out, stomping my feet. Leif was stunned momentarily into silence, and then cried harder than before. I knew I had to get away. I couldn’t be in this place any longer. The motor bike was still running and I thought it looked simpler than a regular motorcycle to operate. I looked the machine up and down. I had ridden dirt bikes before, and this couldn’t be much different. I grabbed my bag, tied it down to the wide back rack and climbed on. Leif continued to protest, but getting us free of the carnival was my priority.

I pushed down on the clutch, revved the handle and toed at the gears. I popped the clutch when I had decided I was in first and jerked forward. I was moving! I pushed the clutch again and toed at the gears to second and rallied through the grounds on approach to the front gates. Slamming through the maintenance gate, I made a hard right following my original path, heading north. Whatever lay to the north, it couldn’t be worse than this.

Chapter Thirty Three

I drove the entire day, stopping in spurts to feed Leif and myself. The freedom I experienced riding in the open air was exhilarating. The wind in my face and hair, billowing against my jacket and long pants offered a welcome reprieve from the world at large. I was able to reconnect briefly with a younger me, who used to ride my father’s dirt bike in the field adjacent to our house. Leif was lulled to sleep by the motion each time we got back on the road. I kept my speed to a minimum in order to conserve gas, never actually turning it off as we stopped, for fear of it never starting again. I worried about the level of noise the bike created but convinced myself that it would accelerate our path to Leif’s destiny. Who knew how long I had until I got to where I was going.

That’s the thing about destiny. It seems to know where you’re headed, even if you don’t. So I assumed we were heading to something, somewhere, north. The devastated landscape was little more than an endless graveyard of rotting forests, still ponds and fields of radioactive dirt. As I moved past them, the forward motion in my peripheral blurred the scenery into torn grey curtains. If others had headed north on this highway, they had done so long ago. There was no sign of life on the road.

*****

After roughly eight hours on the deserted highway I hit a wall. I was exhausted, my eyes burned, and my arms ached from navigating the bike around countless obstacles. Even my back throbbed from the angle I was forced to sit at. I followed the first off-ramp I came to, located a rest stop, and pulled in. Hesitantly I pushed the red stop button on the bike’s dash. If it started again, great, but if it didn’t I guessed I could chalk that up to destiny. All I knew was that I couldn’t ride it anymore. As I stepped off the bike all the blood seemed to rush back into my thighs, igniting a pain so severe it felt as though I had run the whole way. I rubbed my legs and arched my torso, palms pushing against my lower back. Leif remained comfortably in his wrap strapped to my chest, sleeping.

It wasn’t a truck stop or anything elaborate, but it met our needs and I was thankful for it. A rest stop this far north normally had a well that could be manually pumped for clean water. This stop was also small enough to be overlooked by most. Though it may offer water, it would offer little else, I noted. Even the information building had been vandalized beyond recognition for the contents of its vending machines.

All I needed was water, and some semblance of shelter.

As I inspected my new surroundings I slipped the pistol out of my waistband. Though the odds seemed remote that I should run into another hostile survivor in this isolated place, the idea of it still spooked me. What looked like birch trees stood along the perimeter of the rest stop, their tops missing. Nothing green remained. A wind had picked up from the south and I flinched as it rattled the dead branches and carried debris down the highway. I cursed its timing.

I crept up to a sign at the end of the parking lot that read Historic Site, 1814. Site of the James Spring Reservoir, established to aid troops in the war of blah blah blah… I wondered if future generations would plant signs like these in the hot spots of the world created by the Reaper’s evil deed. What I was hoping for with the sign was some indication that a well was near. I spun around and sighed. I had already drained a half dozen bottles of water and needed to replenish them. I had to keep my fluids up. Leif’s dependency on my breast milk made this a tantamount necessity.

Suddenly, a new sound, and I froze. Branches again, snapping, but not in the way the wind would push the tree tops and snap them. This snapping was consistent and deliberate. The forest was alive with the sound. Someone or something was walking through the woods. I strained my eyes against the encroaching twilight but saw nothing. Then a loud crunch came from behind the ravaged information building.

Whatever it was must not have seen us yet. It definitely came from behind the building. I ran back to my bike on the balls of my feet and mounted it once more. I made myself small, leaning over the gas tank, kneeling on the seat, my gun trained on the far side of the building. Amazingly, Leif was still sleeping. I waited for the sound’s creator to emerge.

After several tense seconds, the head of a deer poked around the corner of the ruined building. I was struck by its huge, sad eyes. Its tongue licked at its nose as it stepped out into the parking lot. I remained still, not wanting to scare her. My gun followed her as she moved across the lot and left. The poor thing was emaciated and moved painfully slowly. What had she been living on all this time? Bark? As much as I loved animals, I was no vegetarian and a slab of venison cooking over an open fire flashed in my mind. My mouth automatically watered. I could kill this deer if it was truly life or death. But I had food, I didn’t need to kill for anything yet. The bigger question would be how would I skin it and cut it up? Then a vision of Earl skinning Gareth forced the thought from my mind. I continued to follow the doe with my eyes as it moved into the woods. I watched as she nosed at a short stump. As she did, the right side of the narrow stump gave way and lifted. She did this several times before I realized what was happening. It was no stump- it was a water pump!

I dismounted the bike once more and slowly approached the doe. The sound of liquid hitting the ground was music to my ears. The pump was producing water! I let the deer drink what water had collected in the cement basin and watched it go. Then I ran to the pump, lifted the arm and pushed down. I did this until the water gushed out of the spout. I leaned down, cupped my hands together until they were full of water. Then I drank deeply. It was good. I ran back to the bike, collected my bottles from the bag, and refilled them.

*****

That night Leif and I settled into the information building. I ate a meal of crackers, canned carrots and canned pineapple, drinking all the water I could stomach. I was so happy to have found a water source, I decided to stay near it as long as no one discovered us.

For about three days after arriving at the rest stop I awoke to the deer at the pump, its squeaking handle bringing me out of a restless sleep. I would trudge to the well, Leif in tow, and fill my bottles to capacity. Our days were spent sleeping, eating, and occasionally playing. Leif was able to respond to my smiles now. His toothless grin could entertain me for hours on end. I would sing to him and tell him I loved him. Thank God this little person had come into my life.

On the fourth day, I started to realize what I was doing. Was it unhealthy to be so attached to the pump, to the water? Was it counter-productive? Who knew if I’d ever find a water source like that again? Afraid to relinquish this link to life, I chewed at my fingernails absent-mindedly, spitting the gnarled nails out and examining the finger tips. Was this a problem? Could I make myself leave? My other hand worked a length of my dark, greasy hair around my index finger as I pondered my dilemma.

This couldn’t be Leif’s destiny, to grow up here. What sort of destiny would that be? Yet I was so reluctant to get back on the motorcycle and leave the pump that it made me shake to think about it. If I left I was leaving for good. If I left and we never found water again then what? If I stayed and ran out of food the water would only keep us alive for a few days more. So, what would be my catalyst? What would make me leave?

I felt a deep connection with Joel in that moment, understanding what he must have struggled with during those last few weeks. Making life or death decisions on behalf of others was excruciating.

“A little help,” I pleaded aloud in a whisper, looking up at the grey sky above. The low-lying clouds moved quickly overhead. “Storm,” I said. September storms, they were a force. Joel had loved a storm in life. I had learned to love them too. But alone, vulnerable and with a newborn, a storm meant hardships never before imagined. A rain drop hit my nose and I ran inside, Leif in my arms. There were no doors left on the building to close behind me, and if the rain fell in any direction other than straight down we would be soaked in seconds. The structure was little more than a booth and had lost all of its windows to looters a long time ago. The rain began, falling hard on the metal roof. It fell in sheets within a minute. A wind blew into the building, spraying the rain all over me. I sucked in a breath unconsciously and turned my back on it, trying to keep Leif dry.

“Shit,” I whispered as a chill ran through me. As warm as the morning was, the rain felt wintery cool against my face and hands. Leif began to cry, the shock of the icy rain on his skin a rude awakening.

The wind picked up in intensity, blowing more of the rain into the building. I might as well have been standing in the middle of the parking lot for all the shelter I was getting. I shifted, moving back and forth in the tiny building, hoping for more shelter, but none was to be found. I was dripping wet in minutes. The roar of the rain pounding on the roof was deafening, and a crash of thunder exploded overhead, Leif screamed into my ear. I was freezing, shaking uncontrollably, praying for the storm to pass.

All at once, as quickly as it had taken me from bone dry to soaking wet, the rain stopped and a glimmer of sun pierced the cloud. Now, I knew something about northern storms in September and I knew that this was merely a taste of what was to come. I knew of no other possible shelter in the area. This building was it. Even the tiny washroom which I’d huddled into had no door left to shut. My blankets were soaked. If this kept up all day I’d have a very uncomfortable night. Perhaps this ought to have been my catalyst. Maybe I could outrun the storm on the bike?

Leif had been crying since the initial spray of windswept rain had woken him. I think I was crying too. I bounced him while I paced back and forth, considering my options. Was leaving too rash a decision?

“Fine.” I stopped myself and held Leif under his arms, lifting him to my face. He stared at me with sad eyes. “I’m going to ask you a question, and then give you two possible answers. If you make a noise after I offer the answer then we will follow that path. Understand?”

“Leif,” I said in a low tone. “What do you think we should do? Stay?” I waited for the crying to begin, but he remained silent.

“Go?”

He whimpered immediately.

I wasn’t going to question Leif’s destiny; if he was meant to stay that was not the answer I got. I picked up my wrap and fitted him inside, slung it over my shoulder, grabbed my bag, and secured it to the bike.

My water supply was full save a couple of bottles, but if I was going to beat the storm north I had to move. Looking to the pump, I smiled, blew it a kiss and pushed the ignition button on the bike. It rumbled to life. My heart soared and we navigated back onto the highway, continuing north.