Roads Less Traveled (17 page)

When she saw the undead, she avoided them. The last thing she needed was to use up the small amount of ammo she had, and to draw more to her. Tired and hungry, she kept moving. The only thing occupying her mind was finding a bicycle. Terror seemed to drive her, give her strength and energy when she thought she had no more to give. By sunup, she had lost track of how many miles she might have covered through the night. She had skirted around many towns already, but didn’t think it wise to prowl around in search of a bike until after daybreak.

It wasn’t long until Mia found what she needed. Just over the ridge she spotted a rest area with surprisingly few deadheads. She could stop and take a break, smash into the vending machines and get something to eat, and then head out. Her eyes sharp and alert, she eased the shotgun from her shoulder and pumped the action, pointing the barrel in front of her. Luckily she didn’t have to cross the interstate to reach the rest area; she could quietly sneak in from behind. It was a round building, not much outside for anything to hide behind. Regardless, she took her time and searched the area. The only zombies she found were those trapped in their cars in the parking lot.

She entered the lobby, which was quiet, then thought twice about going into the ladies room.
Nah, I don’t have to go that badly. Nothing good ever happens in the shitter during situations like this,
she thought while bracing the lobby door shut from inside. She shrugged off her backpack and tossed it against the wall, then walked over to inspect the handles of the bathroom doors.

“Yes,” she whispered and smiled. These were actual knobs, and as far as she could tell, the sonsabitches hadn’t learned to turn them yet. Relieved a bit, she strode over to the snack machine and shattered the glass with the butt of the gun. She leaned it against the Pepsi machine before snagging a few bags of Sun Chips and some M&M’s, then dug in her jean pocket for some change.
Please, please, please,
she thought, pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to bust the soda machine open. She nearly squealed in joy when she pulled five quarters from her pocket, then screamed when she saw it took a buck fifty to get a Mountain Dew.

Chips and candy fell from her arms as she kicked the machine. The longer she kicked, the louder she screamed. She never gave a thought to what sort of attention she was drawing to herself; her mind was consumed with agonizing frustration and that fatigue which settles right down into your bones. The screams soon turned to hoarse sobs as the kicking subsided. She turned and slid down the machine, wrapped her arms around her knees, and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

A rustling noise yanked Mia awake, but an alarming dread is what kept her eyes closed and her body still. She held her breath and listened, suddenly aware she had slid the rest of the way down and had been lying on the floor. The noise was coming from her left, close to her feet. As she slowly began to calm, the whoosh-whoosh in her ears fading, she noticed another sound: the chewing and crunching of chips. Slowly she turned and lifted her head, peeking over her hip, thinking she would see a rat or maybe even a dog eating her forgotten loot. She gasped when she set eyes on a boy, sitting cross-legged at her feet, munching away on her Sun Chips.

He was apparently oblivious to her gawking, too intent on shoving handfuls of now-crushed chips into his mouth. Mia guessed he was around six or seven, but it was hard to tell through all the dirt that covered him. His hair was caked with mud, his clothes were grimy and filthy, and there was about a pound of sludge stuck to the bottom of his sneakers.
What the hell has this kid been doing?
she thought.

She pulled her legs closer and slid her hands around, easing herself into an upright position. After watching him finish off the chips and tear into the candy without so much as a glance in her direction, she decided he was either extremely rude, still in shock, or mentally challenged. Only one way to find out.

“You enjoyin’ those?” Mia asked. The boy jumped at the sound of her voice, and froze with a handful of M&M’s poised in front of his open mouth. His eyes were wide as he stared at her, giving no indication of understanding what she had asked. But she knew he had heard her, so she decided to keep talking.

“Go on, there’s plenty where that came from. May I? Don’t mind if I do,” she carried on a one-sided conversation as she turned and walked on her knees to the vending machine. She reached in and pulled out another bag of chips, Lays Barbecue this time, before scooting back over and leaning against the Pepsi machine. Pretending to pay him no attention, she proceeded to open the bag and eat politely, the pain and emptiness in her stomach imploring her to eat faster. After a few moments the boy continued eating as well, only not as gluttonously as before, his eyes never leaving Mia.

“So, where you from?” she asked as casually as she could muster. The boy didn’t answer, but kept eating. She decided to take another approach.

“What’s your name?” Nothing.

“My name’s Mia.” Nothing.

“I walked here all the way from Washington, D.C.” She hoped this would perk the boy’s curiosity. She had been a teacher after all, and she knew how a seven year old mind worked. The more farfetched or gross the story, the better.

“Really?” he finally asked, timid and shy with a mouthful of candy. Mia nodded and continued munching on chips.

“Mmhm. And boy are my feet tired. Pretty hungry too, want some?” She offered her bag to him, but he shook his head. He lowered the M&M’s and studied her quietly before finally deciding to talk.

“I’m Ashton. We stopped here ‘cause Mom said she was sick, and Dad said no we had to keep moving, but then Mom got mad and started crying so we stopped,” he rambled suddenly. Mia nodded along as he spoke, hoping he would grow more at ease with her. When he made no sign of continuing, she picked up the lead.

“It’s nice to meet you Ashton. Where are your folks now?” she asked. He pointed at the lobby door and remained silent. Her gaze followed his finger, and she realized what he meant.

“They’re still in your car, aren’t they.” She finished the chips and gathered both their empty bags while she talked, standing and walking over to the garbage can. She glanced out the small vertical window as she shoved open the lid, dropping the bags in as she watched two zombies, a man and a woman, thump uselessly at the windows of the station wagon they were trapped in. She turned and looked at Ashton, who had stood as well but was standing by the far wall, next to the bathroom.

“Station wagon?” she asked and pointed. He nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. She turned back to the window and watched the two inside, still beating away, and her heart ached for the boy. She had to take him with her, there was no doubt about that. He would slow her down, but she figured he must be pretty clever to have survived here for as long as he had.

“I’m headed someplace safe. Do you want to come with me?” she asked as she stared at his parents. His silence worried her, so she turned and asked him again. He raised his head, tears streaking his dirt covered face.

“I don’t want to stay here anymore,” he whispered. Mia approached him slowly, not wanting to scare him more, and kneeled in front of him.

“You don’t have to stay here. You can come with me. I’ll watch out for you. Everything’s going to be okay.” She raised her hand to his shoulder as she spoke and was shocked when he fell against her, his little grimy arms wrapping around her neck as he cried on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, you’re okay now,” she said softly, patting his back. His breakdown didn’t last long. He stood back and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. She let him have a minute, then stood and put her hands on her hips.

“Do you want to get cleaned up a bit before we leave? Can’t help but notice, you’ve got a little mud on you,” she said with a smile. Ashton laughed and nodded.

“I figured out, they can’t find you if they can’t smell you. So I’ve been hiding a lot around back. There’s like this ditch, and there’s water in it, so I’ve been laying down in that and throwing mud all over me. I was in the bathroom when you got here, and was afraid to come out,” he explained while gesturing with his hands. Mia smiled at the boy’s ingenuity, taking mental note of the smell thing.

“I’m assuming you had a suitcase with you, maybe in the back of the car?” she asked, afraid it was a touchy subject and preparing herself for another crying spell. But Ashton puffed up his chest and nodded firmly.

“Yeah, it’s in the back. I can get it for you,” he started for the lobby door, scaring the shit out of Mia and amusing her at the same time.

“No, no, no, I don’t think so. You tell me where it is, and I’ll get it.”

“Ok, well, I think it’s on, um, this side,” he waved his hands to the left, “and it’s blue with my name on it. I don’t know if Mom put anything on top of it, but she probably did,” he explained. Mia smiled and nodded, then picked up her shotgun.

“I want you to go back into the bathroom, the one you were hiding in when I got here. Don’t come out until I tell you. Go into one of the stalls, shut the door, and cover your ears. Got it?” she said, very concise and to the point. A look crossed Ashton’s face.

Mia knew this was the tipping point; he understood what she had been implying, and he would either do as she said with no protest, or fight her kicking and screaming. Did he have what it would take to cross hundreds of miles of zombie infested land? Or would he get himself killed right here trying to save his parents from her?

Mia was deeply relieved when he nodded once, then turned briskly and went into the men’s room. She set her jaw, pulled the prop out from under the lobby door handle, jerked it open, and stepped outside, her gun raised and her senses alert. She turned to the left and right, scanning the area quickly for any newcomers, as she approached the station wagon. Nothing new to see; all the deadheads here were trapped in vehicles.

She went around to the back of the car, hesitating once her hand gripped the door release.
Stop screwing around, better do this quick,
she scolded herself and jerked the back door up. Ashton’s parents had watched her walk by and were already turned in their seats, but they were struggling. Mia tilted her head and stared at them a long time before finally realizing they had their seat belts on.

Following a considerable fit of laughter, she pulled herself together just enough to root around and find the boy’s suitcase. Just like he said: blue, with his name on the front, and yes, it was under a mountain of his Mom’s shit. Mia was still chuckling and shaking her head when she went back inside, trying to ignore the deep conflict she felt between being relieved over not shooting his parents, and feeling guilty over not shooting his parents. She hoped Ashton would feel the former.

* * *

After looting the snack machine of its contents and tucking them into her backpack, Mia stood watch at the lobby window. Ashton was still in the men’s room, washing up as best he could and changing into clean clothes. As had been the case since she arrived, the only dead activity had been from within the parked vehicles outside. Ashton didn’t seem to react much when she came back in with his suitcase; although after telling him her plan, he did inform her of the location of three well-maintained bicycles.

Mia was assessing the situation outside and plotting the next leg of their journey when Ashton finally came out of the bathroom. His hair was wet but at least he was cleaner than before; new jeans and a sweatshirt, (Little Buddy was written across his chest in big white letters), a blue jean jacket, a ball cap that matched his shirt, and boots. He walked over next to her, his eyes fixed on the small screen in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Mia asked.

“Found my DS in my bag,” he answered without looking up. Mia smiled and watched him play whatever game he was playing for a few moments before finally patting him on the shoulder.

“Come on, put that away. We need to get going,” she said and shrugged her backpack onto her shoulders. She picked up the shotgun and went to the door. Ashton stuffed the Nintendo DS inside his jacket and buttoned it up, then stood before her with his hands shoved in its pockets.

“Stay here. You can watch out the window if you want, but be ready to jump back in case I have to run inside. I’ll get the bikes,” Mia said. He nodded as she turned and ducked out the door. She walked cautiously to the car once again, biting her lip to keep from laughing; Ashton’s parents still struggled against their seat belts. She glanced around the parking lot, saw everything was as it had been earlier, then trotted around behind the station wagon. She leaned the gun against the bumper and climbed up, grabbing the luggage rack with one hand to steady herself as she worked with her other to loosen the straps holding the bikes on the roof.

“I’m going to need a couple more hands to get these down,” she said to herself after pulling the smallest bike loose. She took another look around then motioned Ashton outside. Hesitating, he eased the door open and looked around nervously.

“It’s okay, just look straight at me,” Mia said firmly. The confidence in her voice must have alleviated his fears, because he swung the door wide and strode out to her, never once looking at his dad, or the way the gnarled fingers clawed at the window. He stopped below her, next to the bumper with his hands still in his pockets, looking like a kid who had been told to take out the garbage.