The End Came With a Kiss (14 page)

As I pass the driver’s door I hear a clunk and a loud thud. I spin to see the young looper on his back, scrambling to get up off the pavement. Harry hit him with the door and is yanking it closed again. I swing around. The back doors are open. I skid and hand the girl up to James who is waiting with arms extended.

Growls and screams surround us as I climb up on the metal bumper and pull the doors closed with Ashlyn. The truck rocks as several impacts fill the interior with the sounds of metal buckling. "We’re in! Let’s go!" I scream. The only option we have now is to outrun the mob before there are too many of them for the truck to push through.

The tires squeal and I am thrown against the doors. I shift and look out one of the porthole windows. Dozens of loopers are already at the back, clawing and pounding to get in at us, their blood-stained faces filled with aimless aggression, their gore-covered teeth biting at the air.

I rock into Ashlyn’s hard leather shoulder and she grips my dress shirt with her gloved hand, stabilizing us both as the truck turns onto the road. Once I have my feet under me I pull free of her grasp and make my way toward the front of the truck, passing James who has the little girl sitting emotionless in his lap.

"There’s another group!" shouts Harry. "Hold on!"

The truck turns right and I slam into the metal shelving to my left. Pain stabs into my shoulder.

Harry’s voice booms out again. "This is not good!"

I lunge forward and grip the metal divider behind the driver’s seat. From this position I can see out the checkerboard pattern of the driver’s side window. A mass of loopers is running down the sidewalk on the left side of the road. Their eyes are on us.

Thump, thump! Something hit the right rear of the truck. More loopers must be coming at us from the right side of the road. I fall left again as Harry turns right down another street.

"No!" I say in a panic. "Get back on that other road! I haven’t cleared this one!"

"There’s no way we can get through that pack back there. There’s too many of ‘em. I’ll take a left up here if I can and work back around."

There is some wreckage in front of us, but not so much that I think we can’t make it to the next street. The way looks clear of hunting packs.

Ashlyn is gripping the shelving and keeping watch out the back window.

"How we doing?" I ask.

"They’re falling behind," she says, continuing to look out.

The truck turns. I hold tight to the divider and try to get a look out the window. The next road is more cluttered but I don’t see any loopers. We shift left around a bus in the middle of the road and weave through a dozen or so trucks and cars, some on their sides, some with wheels to the sky. All look as if they hit a moose. The metal is buckled and shredded.

The next street is just ahead. Harry is already steering the truck to the left side of the road. We slow slightly and he looks out a cleared strip in the paint on the side window. I peer over his head and my nervous system gets another jolt. The street is filled with angry loopers. There must be a hundred of them!

"Keep going," I say.

Harry stabs his foot on the gas and my head jolts back. Several impacts rock the truck as we pass the street. Ashlyn hollers out, "We picked one up on the bumper!"

I can hear it scratching on the door all the way from the cab. We’re weaving again, the truck is swaying on its wheels. Up ahead there’s a wall of wreckage just after the next turn. If the street is blocked we’re in serious trouble.

I climb through the cab and look out my peek hole. The road is filled with smoke, but it is thin enough to see that it is clear.

The side window is unpainted near the mirror, so I scrunch down and get a look behind us. In the mirror I see them, the bodies of several hundred, running full tilt to catch us.

"Hold on!" screams Harry.

I stabilize myself as the truck swerves left around the burned-out husk of a Volkswagen Beetle. I hear scratching on the roof, followed by the sound of someone rolling off.

I grip the dash and get back up to the hole so I can see. We’re at the next street and slowing down again.

"What do you see, Harry?"

Harry cranes his neck to look, then instantly starts turning the wheel. "I think we can make it."

The truck teeters to the right and Harry downshifts.

"They’re gaining!" shouts Ashlyn from the rear.

"I know! I know!" says Harry, his eyes wildly scanning the road, his foot stabbing the gas again. The truck picks up speed, but not nearly as fast as we need it to.

"They’re almost on us!" shouts Ashlyn, the tone of her voice loud, yet even, as one might call out a Bingo number.

Harry shifts it to the next gear up and punches the gas again.

"We’ve picked up three!" shouts Ashlyn. I hear them scratching their way up onto the roof.

"HOLD ON TO SOMETHING!" screams Harry. I grip the dash as the truck plows through a hard piece of wreckage. My body is driven forward and my head knocks off the windshield. Pain floods my face, I grip it with my hand.

"Five more are climbing up!" shouts Ashlyn.

There is no time to coddle my wound. I shake my head and climb over and get behind Harry so I can see the road in front of us.

A body slams off the windshield and disappears to the left of the truck.

"What was that?" I say, with eyes darting.

"There are a few in front of us, but I think we can make it through." As he says this, I’m already seeing what he is talking about. There are a few stragglers in the street ahead. They were probably docile until they heard the crowd behind us. Now they’re in a frenzy too, stirred up by the wailing screams of alarm.

One is running headlong toward the truck, as if it thinks it can tackle us. Harry lets out a long controlled scream as the looper leaps into the air. I flinch as the body connects with the hood of the truck and rolls like a rag doll up and over the windshield, leaving a splatter of red gorey meat at the upper corner of the painted checkerboard.

The truck continues to race forward, picking up speed. The few loopers who attempt to attack it are brutally rebuffed. It isn't long before we are turning onto the main drag. As we do, I hear tumbling sounds on the roof. I think we’re losing a couple more. Harry downshifts in the turn and picks up speed on the other side.

"We still have one on the back, but the rest have fallen behind," shouts Ashlyn.

We race past storefronts and office buildings at top speed, under the overpass, and out through the residential neighborhoods beyond, leaving the city and its angry inhabitants far behind.

14

Once we are safely en route, I go back to check on our new guest. She is still sitting in James' lap, and Ashlyn is crouched next to her with a granola bar in her hand.

"How we doing?" I ask.

Ashlyn has a slight look of bewilderment on her face. "I guess she's not hungry."

"Not hungry?" I say, crouching down.

The little girl looks at me with her beautiful blue eyes and flawless face, and I hide a nervous swallow. Is she flawless? She’s alive, but I didn’t think to check to see if she was infected. Everything happened so fast.

James seems to read my mind and moves the little girl’s ponytail to reveal a birthmark on her neck. I acknowledge his action with a nod.

"So," I say with a sigh. "What's your name, honey?"

"She doesn't speak," says James, repositioning her on his leg. "I think she might be in shock."

I take one of her hands into mine, the one that isn’t holding the black stuffed bear. Her fingers are loose in my grasp, and her eyes stare blankly into mine. Her sandy blonde curls are noticeably dirty, and her skin has a light layer of grime in spots. But the dress and the socks look freshly washed. "You don’t feel like eating?"

Her eyes stare, but there is no reaction to what I’ve said. Okay. How about a different tack? Perhaps if I can connect with her on a personal level, she’ll snap back to reality. "Do you have a mommy?"

She continues to stare.

"What's your mommy's name?"

Her eyes wander from mine, but I don’t think it is because she is pondering my question. Her face has more of a look of boredom on it.

"Do you have a doggy or a kitty?"

Her eyes come back as though I might have made a connection.

"Is it a doggy? What’s your doggy's name?"

No response, but she is still looking at me. Perhaps if I pose a question that begs for an emotional response.

"Is he a big doggie with lots of fuzzy hair?"

Nothing.

"Does he lap your face and get you all slimy. I used to have a dog that did that. He would get drool all over my face and all up in my hair."

Her head tilts as though she is trying to figure out why my demonstrative motions and silly voice are not funny. I don’t let it deter me.

"Does he climb up on you while you're in bed and cuddle with you at night."

No response, but at least I still have her attention.

"Do you love your doggy?"

Her head bobs slightly, so slightly I wonder if it is my imagination, or perhaps just a reaction to a sway of the truck.

"It’s okay, honey. You don't have to talk till you're ready. You're safe here. If you need anything, like food or something, you can just point at it. Okay?"

Her eyes blink.

"I’m Ben, and this is James and Ashlyn."

"And I’m Harry," says Harry from the front seat. "I’m the good looking one."

Her head tilts down and she squeezes her black teddy bear.

"Okay then," I say, rising to my feet. "Let me know if she needs anything."

James gives her a little squeeze and looks up at me. "We’re gonna be okay."

Ashlyn’s eyes are on James, tracking down his strong arm and taking note of the gentleness with which he is holding the little girl. They slowly rise back up, drinking him in as they go, until they come to rest on his handsome face. Her attraction for him might as well be a billboard, because it is anything but subtle.

Good.
I think to myself as I leave them and climb back into the cab.
Why shouldn’t they find love?
They’re nice enough kids, and God knows we could use a reminder that life goes on. I’m sick to death of death.

We travel out into the valley and around to a network of neighborhoods where my cul-de-sac is, only encountering a few small packs of hungry loopers. They are not as organized out here. Or maybe it’s just because they are more spread out.

Harry brings the truck to a stop in front of the road and peeks out his peek hole. "Is this it?"

"Yeah."

"It says dead end," he says, referring to the sign on the stone wall of the entrance gate.

"Yeah. It’s a cul-de-sac."

"You think it’s wise to go down a dead-end road?"

"Do you want to walk?" I ask.

"Point taken," he says, pushing on the gas and turning the wheel.

We creep in through the gate and I lean into my peephole, careful not to bump my bruised forehead on the glass. I see a man in his driveway preparing to mow his lawn. He is bent over with a fuel tank in his hand. He has to be a looper. No living person would waste gas on a lawn mower. A wave of hope washes over me. If this guy is still looping normally, maybe my wife is as well.

We round the bend and I see another sight that sets me even further at ease. It’s the strange sight of the family on the corner eating dinner around their dining room table, even though there is a car-sized hole in their wall, and the hollow space between the first and second floor can be seen. If our neighborhood were swarming with the hungry dead, they would not be partaking in their randomly timed dinner ritual.

I pull back from the unpainted patch. Harry’s wide eyes are scanning every home. His large hands have the steering wheel in a death grip.

"We can relax a little. Things look pretty quiet here. If these people are looping, then the hunger frenzy may not have reached this far."

Harry’s grip loosens.

"The loopers in the city are stirring each other up. The number that are actually hungering might be low. A lot of them did feed themselves for weeks."

"Well I hope these ones here’ve been feasting like it’s the end of the world."

"From what I’ve seen, suburbanites are prone to habitual behavior and conveniently located resources. This is a good combination for a looper." I lift my hand. "Okay. Slow down. That’s my house right there."

He pulls the truck into the driveway and shuts it down. I grip him by the shoulder and climb into the back. I look down at James with the little girl in his lap. Her face is still stoic and detached. "How’s our little friend doing?"

James tilts his head and looks down at her. "Still kind of keeping to herself, but I think she’ll be okay once she realizes we’re the good guys."

I smile and look at Ashlyn. "All right. This is it."