The Dark Roads (23 page)

Canyon, YT

July 20, 2021

12:02 AM  78*F

The night was cool, almost refreshing, as they moved along the faded white line of the shoulder. The road had become gravely and loose, but the roadside was made of dirt and was easy to walk on.

Richie was lagging behind, letting everyone else make way for him as he pondered the final depletion of their food. They were empty of any type of ration at this point, and had been for the last two days. Water would have to be enough until they stopped again. He wondered how long they could make it without eating, but dismissed the thought quickly. There was no reason for his deliberations on the subject. Nothing could be done.

King followed them, his tail out and curled toward the sky, with a spry step. Abby would look down every once in a while and smile at her claimed pet. Richie could not help but do the same, though the smile on his face wasn't nearly as angelic due to his scars.

Scars. That was something to think about. Scars upon flesh. Scars upon the mind. He decided to stick with hunger as his topic of speculation. After all, there were worse things than a hollow belly.

"I'm thinking that you need a nickname, Richie," Buddy called back to him.

"Let me guess. One-eye?"

"You never get tired of that, do you?" Dylan remarked, eliciting laughter from everyone.

The laughter was forced, but all of them needed to force an emotion. Buddy, who was grasping at straws to keep himself occupied, felt that chiding Richie would be the best way around their current mood. He decided that something else was in order.

"Dylan, my old friend, tell me a story."

"What might you like to hear, Buddy?" Dylan asked amiably, "Fairy tale?"

"I would like to hear the story of Dylan," Buddy answered.

Amanda smiled at the notion. Dylan had been a bit of a mystery, only interjecting small facts about his life from time to time. It would be nice to hear something new.

"None of the sad shit, mind you. You're screwed the same as the rest of us and we already know that. Tell us the good stuff from before the great tan we almost got."

"Okay," Dylan said thoughtfully, "Give me a minute to gather my thoughts."

Dylan looked up to the night sky, one that was oddly more beautiful in the world they now lived in. There was so little light left on in the night that it couldn't affect the amount of stars within view. The sky seemed an ocean of heavenly illumination now, starlight shining upon them from forever. If given the time to truly stargaze, a man could look beyond the furthest depths of imagination and see more yet to come. Richie joined Dylan in his glance at the worlds that weren't theirs, and found himself longing for a somewhere that he could never reach.

"I was a kid in DeBolt. I already told you that. What I didn't tell you about is the way I grew up there," Dylan began, breathing deeply of the clean air, "My father was a bison rancher. He was also one of the most aggravating men I've ever known and loved nothing more than to work his hands until they were callused and chafed. Liked it when my own mitts were in the same condition."

"Didn't I say 'no sad shit’?" Buddy interrupted.

Dylan raised his eyebrows and smiled. For the first time, Richie had registered the man's accent as he spoke. He sounded like most Canadians that Richie had ever met, but Dylan sounded almost French when he really got to talking. Richie waited through the pause.

"Ain't sad, my friend, just facts. You ever known a farmer that don't work too hard? I never met one."

"Go on," Buddy allowed with an embellished wave of his hand.

"Anyway, since I'm not getting interrupted, I was saying that my old man liked to work. He liked to mend the fence and then fix the stall doors where we kept the horses," Dylan said, nodding when Abby's eyes got wide, "We sure did have them horses. They were ornery as the bison, but never really mean for no reason. We used to corral the bison with 'em. I was good on a horse, too, but might just be because they were sweet as candy when you were riding them. Only time I ever seen one of those mounts kick was when daddy put a saddle on too loose. Makes 'em uncomfortable.

"So we would be riding around, looking for stray bulls or something, and daddy would point at some tree or plant and tell me that I shouldn't ever eat it 'cause it would give me the runs. I'd just laugh 'cause he knew I wasn't gonna eat a tree or plant when we had all that food at the house. He'd laugh right along with me like we had our own little joke. I guess we did, 'cause he never said anything like that to any of the hands we'd hire during the branding.

"I didn't stay in the ranching business, if you hadn't guessed. When I was old enough to go get a job, I went to work at the general store for a while. Once I saved enough money, I moved out of the home place and got into a place of my own. Still didn't leave DeBolt. Grew up there, so probably I grew roots to the place. After a while I went to work in the oil fields when a job came open and worked there up until the sun went bad.

"Had me a wife who was from the same place and lived there all her life, just like me, and before long we had a little boy who liked horses."

The man smiled again, this time with more pain than happiness, but he went on with an upbeat tone that Richie and Buddy both admired. At the mention of a son, Amanda's face fell a bit as Abby's raised. The two had different views of the thing, one seeing it from childhood as the other saw it from adulthood. Amanda was already on the verge of crying as she thought about the man's loss. Abby was fascinated with a story involving a child. When she interrupted Dylan, it was with the next logical piece of the tale.

"You took him to your daddy's farm!"

"You got it, little bean. I took him riding from the time he was old enough to catch a stirrup. He liked it better than anything at all. My little James would ride as fast as I'd let him, but I always made him slow down when we passed certain plants and trees. Why you think I did that?

"Because if he ate 'em, he'd get the runs?" Abby giggled.

"That's right, bean. He giggled just like you do, with his
whole
belly."

Dylan went quiet, still smiling the smile of a man who couldn't bear to let a memory go bad. Buddy thanked him with a pat on the back. Richie watched Amanda smile through salty tears.

***

It was an anxiety filled night for the follower. The reason for his anxiety was the fact that he wasn't following anymore.

The stranger had started moving before the group came out of their hole and had been nearly running for half the night to stay ahead of them. It was time for his gift, but he wouldn't be giving it to them in a face to face manner. He had to plant the packages at their next stop. They were hungry enough now.

He arranged the things as if they'd been on the shelves waiting for Richie, Buddy, and the rest. He had even gone as far as sprinkling road dust on the packs to make sure they
looked
left behind. Again, the situation was nerve racking. What if they were suspicious? Would they eat what was inside? Would they be able to tell where they'd come from?

So many questions ran through his mind that he'd actually stood in the service station for much longer than was planned. If he'd stayed in there for even an hour longer, he wouldn't have had time to dig out his shelter for the night. Just before leaving the place, the stranger had felt weakness for the first time in months, and actually grabbed one of the packages for himself. He was tired from the pace of his night of travel and would need the thing to recuperate. It wouldn't matter.

Once his shelter was ready, the follower sat waiting for them, watching the road intently for the movement of the group. He'd been behind them for so long that being in front of them actually felt surreal. He couldn't truly rest until they appeared a few miles away from him on the road.

He wrapped an extra layer of bandage around his gnarled calf before turning to look at them again. He badly wanted to watch as they found the presents he'd left for them, but didn't have the energy to stay awake. He slipped into his hole, spread a weathered tarp over the lower half of his body, and began to pull the earth over him.

Haines Junction, YT

July 21, 2021

3:42 AM  77*F

"How sweet it is," Buddy sang out as he walked the center aisle of the truck stop, his fingertips grazing the shelf full of dehydrated meals, "To be loved by you!"

"The fuck are you going on about?" Richie asked as he walked up.

"Do you not see the love that our lord has bestowed upon us?" Buddy asked, pulling his glasses off to wipe his eyes.

Richie looked to the indicated direction and smiled. There would be food for
three weeks
if they stretched what was sitting on the shelves, but everyone would get a full meal today. Both men began piling the packages into their arms and shouting for the others. Everyone was pleased by the sight. All of them carried the load into the storage cellar where they would sleep through the day on full stomachs. High spirits were catching and shared by each of them, including King. The cat was given more scraps on this day than had been available since they'd found him.

Once the group had laid out their bedding, eaten, and sat down to rest, Buddy had a real chance to look at the packages they were eating from. In his ravenous state everything about finding the wealth of sustenance seemed perfectly normal. Now, once he'd had the chance to find reality, there was something off about all of it.

"The dust is a different color," Buddy said to himself.

"What's that?" Amanda asked from the other side of their encampment.

"The dust on the bags doesn't look like the dust on the shelves. It's darker," Buddy explained.

"Like road dust," Richie agreed, looking at his own empty package.

"Yeah. That's it," Buddy nodded.

"Does that matter?" Amanda asked.

Neither man seemed to have an answer. Dylan's light snoring seemed to be the only response in the small space, but that wasn't going to explain anything.

"How does outside dust get inside?" Richie asked finally.

"Maybe it's our dust. Maybe we make a cloud of it when we make camp," Amanda offered.

"Could be," Buddy admitted.

"Yeah, but I don't think that's it. The bags are all sealed, right?"

"Good thought, One Eye," Buddy said, "They are, but there are ways to put shit in food without breaking the seal."

"Do we really think that there is someone running around the end of the world trying to poison people?" Amanda asked.

"We're a band of survivors carrying a cat around with us and not eating it," Buddy said, "Can we really throw stones at weird situations?"

"We'll know soon enough, I guess," Amanda said, tasting some imaginary poison that she was sure hadn't been in the food.

"Nah. Might be poisoned at random."

"Thanks Buddy. That's a big help."

"King tastes everything we eat before we eat it from now on," Richie ordered, "If he's alive after an hour, then we should be fine."

"Good thing we kept that cat."

Amanda looked at the two men with something like exasperation before she could admit to herself that using King as their taster was a solid idea. If something happened to their furry companion, Abby would be inconsolable, but if one of the
people
in their group died...

"Fine," Amanda allowed, "As long as we make it through today."

"If I die before I wake," Richie muttered as he rolled over on his side.

"That's the ticket," Buddy grumbled, "That's the best way to figure out if we've been poisoned."

"Something else about the bags is weird, too," Richie said, his voice muted by the way he was laying.

"What's that?"

"Don't know for sure. I have to think about it."

"Let me know when you get it all figured out, then," Buddy demanded gruffly, "I'll be waiting with baited breath."

***

Burwash Landing, YT

July 25, 2021

1:02 AM  79*F

The cat was happily following his humans, padding along their line from front to back. Richie was watching the animal and being amused by his movements.

All of them were well fed for the moment, but would begin rationing on their next stop. They would have enough food to make it over the border and into the remote state of Alaska. They were just over one-hundred miles away. Richie, who had seen their destination from the opposite point on the north American map, could barely believe that their goal was actually in sight. The ability to place his feet onto the soil of the fabled place was something that he had thought about for so long that he was nearly afraid of it.

The others were talking quietly amongst themselves. Even Abby was joining in on their talk, which was an oddity in itself. She was normally preoccupied with the cat. Richie smiled, again, at the notion of a group of survivors with an actual pet. It was ludicrous but it was their circumstance. When the cat matched Amanda's stride, Richie focused on her.

Amanda's hair was getting longer, Richie noticed, and had started to fluff and curl around her ears. She'd taken to wearing an old baseball cap that she'd found on one of their many stops and it suited her. The team name of the thing had faded away, leaving the traces of a dirty gray outline on a white front. One of Richie's favorite mind games to play was trying to figure out which team the hat had been an advertisement for. He decided not to partake in the game as they walked through this night, but was sure he'd get back to it.

King passed Amanda, walking along side Buddy.

Buddy's glasses were dirty, something his friend would never have put up with in the old world, and Richie almost pointed it out. He decided not to. His companion seemed in a cheerful mood, though his posture was aware and stiff. The man wore the usual pair of cargo shorts and hiking boots, but the weather had actually improved to the point of allowing a shirt. Buddy had picked up a thin cotton tee with a breast pocket. Richie had to hold his breath for a moment when he noticed the dry bandana held in Buddy's shirt pocket. He knew that his friend always held one for their fallen comrade, but usually ignored the fact.

The cat crossed in front of Buddy to keep pace with Dylan.

Though they'd gotten to know Dylan by listening to his stories and watching his actions, the man was still closed off to them. Richie understood the way Dylan felt and didn't press him to open up any more than he already had. Most people would hold others at an arm's length long before all of the horrors they'd been through. The only one of them Dylan seemed to talk with on a truly personal level was Abby. No one would try to say anything against that behavior. To Richie it just made good sense. The girl was the only one who could hurt Dylan with her own death.

Once King had tired of Dylan's pace, the fur ball slowed to walk with Abby.

Richie could only watch the thin girl for a moment. Her face was dirty, making her smile seem much brighter within its frame. It was a heart racking smile that made Richie point his good eye at anything else in the world but her. Her clothes were ragged and ill fitting, as if they hung on the frame of a ghost.

Their pet slowed down once more, coming to Richie.

He looked down, knowing that his looks wouldn't matter to the eyes of an animal as long as the food kept coming its way. He knew that he was barely a shell of the man who had led his friends out of Florida and onto the road more than a year before, but he also knew that he'd survived more than most men could have.

It wasn't a thought filled with pride. In fact, Richie would've gladly traded himself for any of those that had fallen during their journey. Tears wouldn't be shed on this night, not by Richie, but there were plenty of them fallen to the pavement and long dried by the raging sun.

Richie reached down and picked the cat up from the road. A sandpaper tongue touched his chin and he had to smile.

***

"Almost," the follower whispered, startled by his own voice.

He hadn't spoken a word in weeks, silence being an affirmation of his commitment to seeing the journey through. If he verbalized out of turn someone might have heard him. If he talked himself out of the privation to do what he was doing, his own death might quickly follow. He’d made a pledge that he would follow and see all of this through. The follower wasn't a man who broke his promises.

The moon was high and bright, showing him the image of a group of well-fed people walking along the roadside. He smiled to himself. He was the only one of them who knew where the food came from, he was sure of it. If they'd realized the origin of the stuff, they might've rather gone hungry than eat it. Surely he would've seen the dehydrated packs laying on the ground behind them if they'd figured it out. They would've also become more vigilant than they'd been before. The inverse had seemed to happen. They were
less
cautious now.

It surprised the stranger. Honestly, he felt that at least one of the group would've questioned the appearance of such bounty. It was clear that they hadn't.

Only one thing bothered the traveler about the people that walked ahead of him. It wasn't anything that they were doing. It was the fact that he was beginning to feel like one of them. He laughed at their conversations when he could hear them, applauded them for making smart decisions, was saddened by their losses. He was watching them so closely that he almost became a part of their pact. They were all on the same journey, after all. He shook his head as if trying to empty something from his mind by the visceral force of the movement.

Befriending them wasn't part of his plan. He would resist that line of thinking and continue on his original path. It would lead them all to salvation.

***

  Amanda was the first to notice the body lying in the road ahead of them. She slowed her steps, holding a hand up to the others and pointing out the new sight. They all braked with her, Richie being the last to see her signal and almost running into Buddy. In seconds weapons were out and pointing at the thing that lay straddled across the faded yellow line. The formation was like reflex to them with Buddy taking the point, Amanda and Dylan flanking him, and Richie turning to guard their rear. Abby stayed in the center of their group with the cat in her arms. She was wide-eyed and frightened by the sudden flurry of her companions' movements.

The body was motionless, its clothing dark and brittle looking as if it had been laying in the sun for quite some time. Richie searched the area behind them and found nothing to be alarmed about. He stepped slowly backward, timing his own stride with the sound of the others' footsteps. Nothing was moving in the area other than them. The coach barrels seemed to float in time with his glance.

Buddy was a few feet from the body, taking his time as he scanned the area. His steps were slow and deliberate, keeping the others in sequence with him. He was nearly sure that the body was simply another fallen person that had been caught in the light, but he wasn't about to approach without caution. It seemed that his friends agreed with him as usual.

He knelt within a foot of the slumped form, blinking a bead of sweat out of his left eye and wishing that he'd taken the time to clean the lenses of his glasses before this. There were smudges around the edges that wouldn't hamper his vision terribly, but could make seeing something off to the side difficult. He would just have to rely on Amanda and Dylan to watch his flanks.

Buddy poked the body with the barrel of his pistol, nudging the entirety of the form slightly, and felt no resistance. If anyone had been in front of him, they'd have seen his brow crinkle in disbelief. The figure should've been tough and unmoving, affected by rigor mortis and the hateful sun. As he started to turn, words of warning on the verge of spilling from his lips, a voice boomed from their right flank. Its words stopped Buddy in mid turn.

"Don't touch him again and don't fucking move!"

All of them turned to see the source, but no one stood within range of sight. The look of confusion on Richie's face was mirrored by the others. None of them moved, not ready to challenge the voice in case they were in more than obvious danger.

"Drop your weapons onto the ground in front of you! Do not test me or you will be shot where you stand and your body left for the sun!"

Richie's mind whirled, as did his eye. The voice was too loud. It had a resonance to it that almost made him think of a child yelling into one tin can that was tied to another. He didn't drop his weapon.

"I repeat! Drop your fucking weapons or we'll open up on you! You will be shot but left alive to wait for sunrise!"

"Megaphone," Richie whispered, finally understanding why the voice sounded as it did.

"What?" Amanda asked.

"Drop your guns," Richie said, finally letting his coach fall to the asphalt, "They've got rifles and scopes on us."

"How in the hell do you know that?" Dylan asked through clenched teeth.

"He's the smart one," a new voice stated, "Drop the guns or they'll put you down."