The Dark Roads (14 page)

They're all going to die and it will be your fault, Richie.

Fuck you.

Yeah, fuck me.

***

They lived like rock stars for four days. They ate when they wanted to, as much as they wanted to. They took lengthy naps during the night time and slept completely through the days. Richie had grown fond of drifting off to the sound of Elvis' guitar. They were truly clean for the first time since any of them could remember, taking daily showers under the outdoor rig that Richie had found.

Buddy read books as if he'd never read again, devouring whole novels in a sitting. Elvis played guitar until the strings made deep impressions in his fingertips. Amanda paged through old magazines they'd found by the stack and told them stories about magnificent shopping trips she would have gone on if she'd known that the world would go to shit so soon. Richie enjoyed reading well enough, but chose to draw instead.

Once upon a time, in a place no one would likely ever see again, Richie was a slave to the business world. He made it to work early, five days a week, and left long after his shifts should've ended. He dressed well and performed well, and surely would've been able to climb the fabled ladder that led, not necessarily to the top, but somewhere high in the middle. He was the type of employee that most companies searched for and never found.

In the evenings and on weekends, though, Richie loved nothing more than to sit in his most comfortable easy chair, facing a horizon filled with pollution and partially built condominiums, and draw the world into beauty.

He'd sketch the buildings as if they'd been long finished and the sky as if it were clear of contaminants in a sunset that was remarkable only to him. He would dig further into the pictures outside of his windows, finding an empty patio upon which he would add furniture and elegantly dressed party goers. He would find the beauty in a woman walking along the sidewalk in the rain, her umbrella broken in spots, and change the beauty of imperfection into the refinement it deserved. Richie loved to change the way the world looked with nothing more than a graphite pencil and recycled paper.

He did this often in his old life, most nights in fact, but he'd not drawn so much as a doodle in the time that he, Buddy, and Elvis had been on the road. This time they'd been given, this time they'd stolen from the hands of maniacs, gave him the chance to feel the way he'd always loved to feel and he was taking advantage. He drew everything and more in those four days, allowing the others to look at what he'd made from time to time. He only let them see when asked, but he hid back one drawing adamantly.

Elvis had been sitting cross-legged on his cot, the blanket he'd been using neatly folded at the foot of it, with his guitar. He was watching the fingers of his left hand as they traveled up and down the neck of the instrument with a quiet smile on his face.

His hair was gone, but Richie saw things as they could be, better than they were, so he drew a few strands falling across his brow. Richie let his pen change all of the qualities that were wrong, let it mark in details that could've never existed.

His eyes would glance at Elvis once in a while, more to see if he knew that he was being drawn than anything else. He'd never done this before, drawn the perfection inside one of his friends, and it hurt a little to look at the thing once he'd finished.

Richie made Elvis beautiful, as he'd always seen him, and it broke his heart. Some might have thought that making Elvis beautiful meant taking away the facial features forced upon him by the Down’s Syndrome he'd been born with, but that wasn't the truth of it at all.

This picture of Elvis was much more lovely than what he would be if Richie had drawn him to look like everyone else in the world. It was his friend, sketched on the thirty-fifth page of the pad, looking exactly like he had on their last easy day in Miami. There were no cuts on his face or abrasions on his knuckles. His hair was a bit longer in real life on that day than what Richie had drawn, but it was really
him
. He was beautiful.

At the beginning of the fifth day they decided to leave the place upon waking. Everyone knew that it was time, but no one had to say what they were all thinking. They would miss this short break from the world outside.

***

Calgary, AB

April 8, 2021

9:12 PM  94*F

In the western region of Canada, the sun had set and night swallowed the earth along with everything that lay upon it. All was silent, most of the people and almost all of the animals being long dead, and few sounds would be made until dawn returned to burn things that were nearly beyond burning.

A fire had been started two nights before at a department store where much death had been brought. The concrete shell of the place, though singed by the heat of a blaze that had burned through all of the night before, remained intact.

A door opened on the ground, dragging the remains of an aluminum skeleton slowly along it's track, and a person climbed to the surface of the place. The person seemed shocked for a moment, said something to those following him, and stood waiting.

The surprise left him, almost before it could register, and he went about the task of helping his companions out of the hole in the ground. Each of them took the time to look at the damage that had been caused as they hid, their ignorance of the goings on evident in their postures and the looks that they gave to each other. Soon, though, they joined the first to come out and left the shell. There was nothing they could do about this ruined place.

Three men and a woman walked north and west along a seldom marked highway. Sometimes they walked in a cluster, seeming to draw strength from one another. Other times they walked in a single file to be isolated within themselves.

When they spoke to each other, it was quiet and careful. They were in sync in some internal way that told them what they needed to do and when they needed to articulate.

To an outsider of the group it would be considered odd, possibly even eerie. Few beings learned how to be with people void of the complications that come with most relationships. The common goal they shared, survival for their group at any cost, set them apart from the rest. Even the newest addition to their circle had caught on quickly and become one of them without knowing it.

One of the men led them naturally without ever having been elected to do so. The other two would surely die for their leader as he would die for them. The woman was becoming a sort of glue that would hold them together in a way they hadn't been before. Without her to reinforce the union they'd already created, it was possible for their foundation to crack. With the addition of her presence, the foundation had been made stronger than ever before.

They walked until they found the next place to be. They walked until someone tried to stop them. They walked.

Edmonton, AB

April 19, 2021

2:10 AM  86*F

Elvis was humming softly as he used Richie's battered pocket knife to whittle a small chunk of wood away to nothing. He'd gotten in the habit of doing this, recently, and showed no signs of stopping his exercise in destruction.

Amanda watched him do this as they walked, wondering how he could do such a thing while moving. Elvis didn't notice her curiosity, so she didn't bring attention to it. They were in a quiet time, right now, and she had no urge to change that.

Richie and Buddy were walking side-by-side, Richie holding this coach at the ready. This was Richie's new habit, one he'd started just after they'd left the panic shelter, and though Buddy understood his reasoning, it made him nervous. He said nothing to Richie about it. Certain things put people on edge. Being anxious was a part of life these days. It could only be accepted and lived with.

"Time?" Amanda asked, breaking the silence.

Richie looked at his watch, blinked twice to get a better focus on the darkened face, and told her that it was just after two in the morning. Amanda thanked him. They kept moving along the road, their steps making muffled taps on the surface.

The silence returned. The night seemed thicker, somehow, but Richie knew that was his imagination. The temperature was dropping as they moved north. It was down to eighty-six on the surface at night, which was a major improvement on their situation with every mile they traveled. The days were still lethal, but the nights were definitely getting better.

Elvis, Buddy, and Richie had learned to doze while walking. It was an easy way to move through the night without thinking too much about it. Richie had been going in and out since their first hour on the road.

It wasn't like sleeping, not really, but more like a liquid daydream where everything took on a fuzzy aura. His eyelids fell, but didn't quite close. Amanda, who hadn't quite gotten the hang of their version of sleep walking, noticed the time pass while the others did not. There were moments, like this one, where she cursed herself for not finding her own watch at some point.

Amanda asked the time again. Richie was patient, didn't mind looking at his watch a hundred times in a night if it put someone at ease, and did so without paying much attention. It wasn't a big deal. He didn't even have to wake up much.

"It's two-ten," he told her from his blanket of walking slumber and yawned.

Amanda stopped, frozen in her tracks. This made the others take note and stop also, but with less fear in their eyes. Richie looked at her expectantly.

"What's wrong?" Elvis asked her, voicing everyone's question.

"How long ago did I ask you what time it was?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I don't know," he answered, watching Elvis wipe the sweat off of his face with a red bandana.

That's odd, Richie thought, He hasn't been doing that lately.

"It's been a while, right?" she asked, "Tell me I'm not crazy here."

"It
has
been a little while," Buddy said, "What time was it the last time?"

"He said that it was a little after two," Amanda answered him, fear growing inside of her, "And it's getting hotter."

"Shit!" Richie said, looking at his watch, the thin hand that ticked away the seconds holding at three after the hour, "It stopped!"

They all stood there for a minute, though it felt like a year. It was close to dawn and they hadn't realized it.

They were less than sixty days from their destination. They'd survived for more than three hundred days by paying attention to everything around them, but the most important thing to know was the simplest thing. It was the thing that would've definitely killed them if not for Amanda's need to know what time it was. It could still kill them if they didn't get moving. When would the sun rise?

"Run!" Buddy shouted, "We gotta fucking run!"

They ran, though not as quickly as they might have been able to do a year before. They searched the sides of the road, praying for a house or gas station to enter their vision. They didn't say anything, too busy using the energy to run.

All of them felt the bundles on their backs gaining weightt, shuffling back and forth with their strides. The sound of the contents of their rucks served as a cadence.

They looked from side to side, not knowing how long they had to make it underground. They felt the temperature increasing, but didn't know if it was due to the exertion, or if it was the day closing in on them.

More speed. They needed more, just to make it to where ever they were going. The fear helped, dumping adrenaline into their blood streams as they went.

Richie cursed himself. How could he have slipped like this after so long? He cursed the watch for letting him down, cursed it for doing what everything does sooner or later. He didn't have time to hate himself, just now. He had to run, had to find a place for them.

They're all going to die! It's your fault, Richie! If you're lucky, you'll die with them!

Shut up!

"The right!" Elvis shouted, pointing out a squat structure against the side of the road.

Richie judged the place to be about a mile away. It would likely have shelter, as all of the buildings they'd found in the area so far were built over basements or shelters of some sort. He picked up speed, hoping to get there first, in case something was amiss. He pulled ahead of Buddy, really starting to feel the effects of the running.
Please God,
he thought as he started the last half mile.

The heat was becoming unbearable. They'd taken too long to get this far. If Richie had realized the time, they'd have picked up the pace. It was his fault if anyone got hurt or died. It would be on him to make this right.

When he reached the front entrance of the place he almost kicked the door in without looking inside first. He stopped for a brief second, the need for caution overwhelming his own need to get everyone under cover. The place only had two rooms from the look of it and was empty, but there was no sign of an entrance to a cellar.

He could have wasted more time if he'd try to enter it. He ran away from the front door, making his way down the near side of the house and still saw no cellar door. He moved around the back, hoping against hope, wondering if they could survive in the house if it had no basement.

"Over here!" Buddy yelled, only ten or fifteen feet away from Richie. He'd gone down the other side of the place and had found the door.

"Okay," Richie said when he reached the door.

"Gotta pick it?" Buddy asked, still catching his breath as their other two friends joined them.

Richie nodded, shedding his pack. He thought about breaking the lock with the butt of his shotgun, but didn't know if it would release under the assault or not. None of them carried a crowbar due to the weight and they didn't have time to find one. He hurried through his pack, looking for the picks.

He had a bad moment when the tension wrench slipped out of his fingers and fell to the charred ground, but Elvis was there to pick it up and hand it back. Richie went to work on the lock, trying to take his time, trying to feel the thing out. His friends didn't urge him on. They knew that he had enough motivation.

"It's gettin' real hot," Elvis whispered to himself. He didn't want to rattle Richie, but he couldn't help but say something.

The tumblers on this lock were loose, the key hole wiggling under his picks. He didn't have time for finesse, so he began raking the pick across the tumblers and adding tension to the lock. More tension. Rake faster. The sweat from his forehead was running fast into his eyes as he worked. The heat was almost unbearable. They needed to get in.

"Come on you cock sucker!" Richie finally shouted in frustration and yanked too hard on the tension bar, snapping it in two.

He stared at the remnant of the tool held between his index finger and thumb. His eyes were wide and beginning to fill with tears.

"Fuck," he whispered, pulling the pick from the lock, "Oh fuck."

It was Buddy who noticed that the lock had come partially free when Richie pulled the pick out of it. He reached for the body of the thing and yanked it downward. The lock popped open.

"Shit," Elvis said, laughing, "Get in!"

They pulled hard on the doors, getting one of them to open on the first try, and began squeezing into the space they'd opened. Amanda slid in easily, followed by Elvis. Buddy dropped into the opening and had to wiggle his way in. Once Buddy was clear, Richie dropped into the doorway feet first and began to tug the door back into place.

The damned thing wouldn't come easily from this position. He had to get back out and kick the thing until it was nearly closed. By now the heat was so bad that Richie felt the burning on his bare skin. Finally, he was able to get into the doorway and pull the door almost back to closed. It was jamming with a few inches left to go. Richie pulled as hard as he could on the handle, but the door wouldn't budge. He'd have to push it open part of the way to get it to slam shut. He braced his feet on one of the top steps before using his shoulder to open the door part- way.

Just as he was about to slam the thing home, two things happened. First, a bead of sweat poured into his right eye, stinging badly, and causing him to close it, leaving him with just the left. The second thing was sunrise.

Richie saw it for the briefest of moments, thought that it was beautiful in the back of his mind. It was pure and strong in a way that it had never been when people could gather to watch.

He felt the first ray of the day's light hit him full in the face. He fell, screaming, as the door slammed shut, blocking out the sun.

***

Richie woke up to the sound of birds chirping and the warmth of the sun on his face. He struggled away from the light, falling out of bed and onto the hardwood floor. He was tangled up in the sheet he'd pulled over himself when he'd gone to bed, so it took him a moment to get out of it and stand. He was amazed at what he saw.

It was his apartment, the studio that overlooked his imperfect horizon. He was at home and safe. He spun, slowly, around. He took in every detail of the place.

His head was killing him and it hurt more when he looked into the light, but he really was home. Dishes were in the sink. The drapes hung partially open allowing natural light to flood the place. The glass of water he'd taken to bed still perched on the nightstand.

"Is this real?" he asked the room, "Is this home?"

The place answered with silence. He could actually smell things in this place. None of them were charred burnt things. They were the smells he'd taken for granted in his life, but he smelled them now.

There was the scent of the oil soap he'd used to clean the floor so many times. He smelled the sweat left behind on the bed after his nightmare. He took a deep breath and held the odor of the left over take-out he'd brought in and forgotten to put in the refrigerator.

Richie smiled. This was real.
Wasn't it?

He walked around the efficiency apartment, touching the curtains to feel something soft, touching the back of his favorite chair. He felt the coolness of the material because no one had sat there in a while.

He listened to the refrigerator humming off and on, the compressor cycling to make things cool and good. He walked over to it, opened the door, stood in front of it. He felt the air rush out at him and basked in the simple coolness of it. Had there ever been such a feeling as this? Had there ever been a lovelier word than "cool"? It was made even better due to the fact that the sun was warming his apartment a little too well. It was getting hot in there.

Richie almost laughed at the idea. In his dream it had been
really
hot. It had been so hot that it was dangerous. He was so glad to be awake now.

"Get some water! Oh Jesus! Look at his fucking
eye
!" a voice shouted from nowhere.

Richie looked around the empty room for the source of the sound. Had he left the radio on in the bathroom, or something?

He went there, to the bathroom, and saw that he had, indeed, left the radio on. That was kind of a weird thing to hear on the device, but he dismissed it. Who knew what people would say when they had their fifteen minutes of fame?

He closed the door, walking naked through the place until he reached his chair again. Richie picked up his sketchbook and sat down on the cushion without putting anything on his body. He usually slept in sleep pants or at least sweats, but he'd been nude upon waking, so he went with it. It was strange, though, because he usually liked to wear something comfortable when he drew.

Weirdest dream ever,
he thought, deciding to draw the last thing he remembered from it. Richie closed his eyes to concentrate on an image.

He immediately saw Amanda (who's Amanda? Do I know an Amanda?) covering one of his eyes with a wet bandana, telling him that it would be okay if he just held on it'll be okay jesus buddy look at his skin it's burnt and we can't do anything for it we need burn cream or something elvis get me-