Authors: Tracey Ward
Jordan nods and closes his eyes as I take a seat at the motor and rev it to life. I don’t see any oars in this boat and I’m grateful there will be no complaints from him about using the motor.
I can still see smoke plumes rising up from the wreckage of Salem and there are infected all along this shore, on both sides. The sirens are wailing and I can hear screams and shouts in the distance as the Fever rages through the city. How it lasted this long without being overtaken is a mystery to me, though I imagine it has a lot to do with the slow roll of the infected. I wonder what Corvallis will look like. What I should be worrying about, though, is what Albany looks like. It’s the last big city on the river between us and our goal, and I’m hoping against hope that we can cruise down the river past it without trouble and get to my uncle. Jordan’s arm is going to need stitches, and while I doubt Uncle Syd has anything medicinal to numb the pain, I know from experience he has other means.
Albany is nothing. Seriously, it’s nothing. It’s empty and desolate and gone. People must have heard about the chaos up North and cleared out early. I’ve never had much good to say about Albany, with its odd smell and industrial terrain, but I guess the people who lived there aren’t stupid. Or maybe they were just waiting for a good reason to leave.
I’m sparing nothing on this ride down the river. Jordan
pitches a fit for a bit about using up all the gas by running the motor wide open, but I don’t have time to worry about that. He’s still bleeding and I don’t trust slowing down or stopping anywhere but my uncle’s at this point.
I tell him as much, but he doesn’t answer me and I hope he’s asleep. Mo
stly I hope he’s not dead, but I don’t stop to check on him because what difference would it make? I can’t do anything for him other than what I’m doing right now, which is getting him to relative safety as soon as possible. Also, I kind of crave the quiet. We’re heading into the end of another long day, another day without my meds, and I’ve already seen the effects of it. I can handle this, though. I just have to reacquaint myself with the ugly parts and remind myself that they don’t last forever. I have long dry spells where nothing is wrong and I’m happy and free, but I’ve kept my demons locked up tight for years and now that they’re loose, they seem to want to play for a while.
While Jordan continues to snooze slumped against the side of the boat, I pull out my cell phone.
“Al, where the hell are you?” Uncle Syd demands, picking up on the second ring.
“Just south of Albany.”
“How is it?”
“Dead. Everyone’s gone. They must have heard everywhere up north had fallen and got out quick, but where would they go?”
“Here.” he answers, sounding annoyed. “The city is overflowing. People are packing the interstate and highways heading south to Eugene. They’re all convinced it’s still clean and on lockdown.”
“What do you think?”
“The news broadcasts say they’re reporting from there. Guess it must be true.”
“Are we heading there?”
“Hell no. Too many people. One biter gets in that crowd and it’s all over. No, we’re packing up the camper and heading east. I’ve been stocking it up and working on it since we last talked. How much longer till you get down here?”
I rub my hand over my tired eyes and suddenly feel like crying. It hits me out of nowhere, this incredible, crushing weariness.
It’s another sign of my illness and I’m not surprised it’s hitting me so hard, just like I’m not surprised anymore by how good I felt kissing Jordan in Salem. High highs and low lows are the calling card of my condition and stressful situations can bring it out. Jordan being shot and the world going to hell in a hand basket is pretty damn stressful.
“I don’t know. Soon. Tonight.” I say, my voice shaky.
“Alissa, keep it together. You can do it.”
A small sob bursts out of my throat and I whisper, “I’m so tired.”
“I know, sweetheart, but you can’t stop now. We’re gonna get you home and get through this together. I don’t want you coming into town, do you hear me? There are too many people here and they’re panicked and wild. I’ll drive up and out of town, meet you on the river. You got that? Watch for me on the river when you get close to town.”
“I got it, yes.” I tell him,
trying to sound strong.
He’s doing that thing where he talks to me like I’m made of porcelain, which right now maybe I kind of am, but I still hate the feeling.
It’s good though. It reminds me I need to rally, that I’m not done yet.
“Good. I’ll see you soon. Stay strong, Al.”
I turn off my phone and slip it back into my pocket. I go to use the hem of my shirt to wipe my eyes, but it’s the dead zombie’s shirt and I realize I’d be rubbing her goo into my eye socket and could contract Pink Eye of the worst kind. I strip off the disgusting clothing and toss it into the river, then do the same to Jordan. He grumbles in his sleep as I jostle him because I’m not especially gentle about it, but he never fully wakes up. He’s not losing a lot of blood so I’m not sure what his fatigue is about. Maybe he’s just tired too.
I open up the little motor on the boat and haul as much ass down the river as it can manage. It won’t be long until I’ll be home, clea
n and properly medicated again, which is good because I can’t stand the idea of seeing Snickers. The very thought of it sends a shiver down my spine and goosebumps break out on my arms.
It took us about 3 hours to get from Salem to Albany and only an hour to get on the outskirts of Corvallis. It’s amazing how fast this trip can go when you’re not running into trouble around every other bend
and you make the executive decision to run the motor. I spot Uncle Syd’s truck parked in a field just shy of the river’s edge where he’s standing and waving to me. I don’t like the feeling of seeing him exposed like this, out in the open by himself where anything could find him. I have to remind myself that he’s a grown man, a war vet and a concealed weapons permit carrier. There are at least two guns, a handgun and a rifle in that pickup truck.
He doesn’t say anything or call out when we arrive, just waits patiently on the shore and watches as I bank the boat near him. He glances at Jordan, frowning, and I don’t know if the frown is in response to the bloodied arm or the fact that he’s a good looking young man traveling alone with his niece. Either way, he isn’t happy.
“How are you feeling?” he asks me immediately, helping me step out of the boat.
I lunge at him and wrap my arms tightly around him, tears streaming down my face. Normally, I’m not this emotional. During my everyday life, I’m actua
lly pretty tough. But right now I feel strung out and stretched too thin. My emotions are raw and bubbling close to the surface and I can’t seem to contain them.
Uncle
Syd wraps his arms loosely around me and I feel him nod.
“That good, huh?”
I chuckle weakly and pull away, wiping at my face. “I’ve been better and I’ve been worse.”
He nods in understanding and pulls a prescription bottle out of his pocket.
“I brought these, just in case.”
“Thank you.” I say gratefully, taking the bottle and popping the top.
“Are you out? I thought you had some.”
“I did, but… I lost them. I lost everything.” I whimper, and I can feel the wave of emotions rising up and threatening to pull me under.
“Okay, it’s alright. We won’t talk about it. I’ve got a water in the car that you can use to take it.”
I nod and silently follow him to the truck. I take my pill
, and even though it will take time to go into effect, I feel better knowing the ball is rolling. I can’t be this mess, not in the new world we’re all in, and if history has taught me anything, this is just the tip of the sad ice berg I’m about to collide with.
I start telling Uncle Syd about our journey, carefully avoiding the topic of Snickers because I’m just not ready for that yet. W
e’re making our way back down to the boat to collect Jordan when a runner comes bursting out of the trees nearby. It goes straight for Jordan, either picking him because he’s weakened or just because he smells like fresh blood and open wounds. He’s awake now and he cries out, trying to stand up to defend himself and failing miserably.
I break into a sprint, pulling my knife swiftly from the sheath on my leg. It’s not time for my arrows, the thing is nearly on top of him already and I have shaky hands. I’m messed up right now, too emotional and wound tight to be of any good to anyone. There’s only one thing I can think to do that’s going to solve the problem unraveling before me. When I reach the shore, I jump. Not into the boat so much as over it and right into the infected standing in front of Jordan. My moment
um arcs me over the boat and toward the water and I make sure I take the infected with me. On the one hand, it’s a foolish move because now I’m in the water with an infected and I don’t know how easily their blood and various juices can be transmitted into my body. If I drink in water with their blood am I done for? Probably, so I hold my breath and keep my mouth closed. On the other hand, I’ve removed the threat of the infected’s fluids from reaching Jordan and his waiting open wounds. One small drop, just a little bit of splatter from my attack, and Jordan’s dead. And with what I’m about to do, there will be a lot of splatter.
When I collided with the infected I made sure I got him from behind and when we hit the water I wrap my body around him, legs and all. He thrashes wildly, trying to stand and get to the surface and get to either Jordan or I, but I don’t allow it. I’m dead weight holding him down and with my hand clenched firmly around my knife, I slash as quickly as I can in the water. I slash right across his face. Across his mouth. I pull back on the knife hard, making sure to sever everything from flesh to muscle
and down to the bone if I can manage it. I give him a full Joker smile that leaves his jaw hanging useless from his face, then I let him go.
I
break
for the surface, taking my time and not worried about the infected anymore. When I rise, water cascading through my hair and into my eyes, I see the water around me turning a murky reddish brown. Uncle Syd is in the boat beside Jordan and both of them are staring at me. Not in shock, not even in surprise, but something else entirely. More like a deep concern that goes beyond my safety.
“What?” I ask harshly, stowing my knife and standing.
Jordan looks away from me and toward the monster still thrashing nearby in the water, but Uncle Syd holds my eyes.
“You should finish him.” Jordan says quietly, his voice unsure.
“Why? He’s not a threat anymore.”
“No, he’s definitely not, but he is suffering.”
I shrug and look over at the thrashing. “Give it a minute, he won’t care soon.”
“Al.”
“Alright!” I shout at the sound of my uncle’s voice, low and angry.
I pull my knife out again and walk casually over to the infected, taking my time. When I reach him,
I grab his wet hair, yank his head back and I stab my knife through his eye, the blade scraping bone. He drops instantly, falling off my blade and I swirl it in the water at my knees and turn back to the boat.
“Happy?”
“Are you?” Jordan asks, and he sounds worried that I might honestly answer that I am.
I look at Uncle
Syd, drawn to the heavy weight of his stare, and I crumble inside. My emotions are all over the place, bouncing from sad to happy to angry to nothing. Now, looking into his disapproving stare, I’m nothing but exhausted.
“No
. I’m definitely not happy.”
“Let’s go.” Uncle
Syd says, reaching down to help Jordan up. He’s surprisingly gentle with him, responding to the grunts and winces Jordan tries to hide as he moves. “It’s alright, son. We’re going to get you patched up.”
Jordan clutches his wound and groans. “Are you a doctor? Cause I think I might need one.”
“He was a field medic in the army.” I tell him, following their slow progress to the truck.
“Al, I’m gonna lay him down in the back. Do you want to ride with him or me in the front?”
I look at Jordan, wondering what he wants. I freaked him out back there going savage for a minute, and truth be told, I freaked myself out too. I think about what I did to that zombie, remember the sight of his bloody jaw dangling loosely from his ruined face, and my stomach turns. I didn’t think about it before I acted, I just did it, and it disturbs me that the idea to do that was waiting somewhere in my imagination. It wasn’t a kill move, it served no purpose beyond disabling and torturing the thing. I’m heading down a long dark road and I can’t express how happy I am that I swallowed that pill a while ago. It will take time to get back into my system, but I can wait.
“Stick with me?” Jordan asks over his shoulder. “I can’t really defend myself right now. I might need your help again.”
I grin weakly and nod.
We load up in the truck and
waste no time getting out of here. Uncle Syd drives fast but steady, careful not to jostle us too much on these old country roads, but still showing an admirable eagerness to get us into the safety of the house. I don’t know if he’s seen an infected before, and if he hasn’t then my little show back there was probably startling. I want to apologize to him but I know I won’t. He won’t want to hear it. He never has.
As we pull through the countryside I see a lot of campfires smoking lazily
surrounded by RVs and tents. This place has become a refugee camp of some kind. It’s one of the last vestiges of humanity before the supposed barricade around Eugene that’s branching out across the south. With how many people are here, stopped so close to the infected, I’m inclined to believe it’s true and the barricade is very real. I glance over at Jordan and see the worry etched on his tired face. So many people, so many chances for the infection to spread. And we just saw a runner barely north of here. The Fever is coming and Corvallis is a tinder box waiting to be lit.
“We can’t stay here.” he mutters, not looking at me.