Allison Hewitt Is Trapped

  “I wish I could’ve thanked them,” I say. “I wish I could’ve known them better.”

  “About that,” Renny says. Her eyes stay on the road. She’s merged us onto County Road 6, ignoring the posted signs that ask her to please go 45 mph. We’re driving parallel to the highway on our left. “I had a few of them write out how they got here—you know, the way you do on your thingie.”

  “Blog?”

  “Yeah, blog,” she says. “They’re not typed up or anything, but I put them in your laptop bag.”

  “When did—”

  “Yesterday,” Renny says. “I thought it might be good, you know. I thought Ted might like to know them.”

  “You going for your Junior Anthropologist badge?” I ask. Renny raises her fist to punch my shoulder and then stops, remembering that I currently have the structural integrity of days-old sashimi.

  “We need to stop and get something to clean her up,” Julian says, squishing himself against the passenger door to make more room for me. “Some of those cuts are nasty.”

  “Let’s get back on the highway first. I want to put a little distance between us and the good ol’ boys. We’ll need to get food anyway,” Renny replies.

  As if to prove her point, my stomach lets loose a growl that would give a Doberman pinscher a run for its Alpo.

  “Hungry,” I say, frowning.

  “We’ll stop soon,” Renny says. “I promise.”

  “I can’t believe you used that Johnnie Walker bottle.”

  “Desperate times, honey. Desperate times,” Julian murmurs, staring out the window.

  I glance back between the seat and watch the city falling away behind us. The smoke rises from Iowa City, from Coralville, from every small stop in between. Somewhere Dobbs is leading survivors to his farm and I don’t know if that’s a new beginning or a kind of end. I can’t decide if we did any good at all. Is this what we can expect—to leave a place in ashes, to leave our footprint in fire?

  COMMENTS

  Isaac says:

  November 4, 2009 at 1:23 pm

  Thank goodness for small miracles. Close one, eh? Glad you made it out. We’ve knocked over every store in a fifteen mile radius and I think soon we’ll need to find a new area. If we can push north before the first really bad snow we might be able to make a more permanent home. It’s only fair, right? You’re getting Liberty Village and we need something too.

  Allison says:

  November 4, 2009 at 2:04 pm

  Well hey, if Canada sucks you could always try Colorado!

  November 5, 2009—On the Road

  “Now that we know there’s life beyond the grave—”

  “A kind of life.”

  “Right, a kind of life, does that make anyone else a little more interested in this whole heaven-and-hell thing?”

  Julian and I have been asked to keep watch outside the Kum & Go on 235. Des Moines is a ghost town, an eerily silent counterpart to Iowa City’s chaos. Renny is inside, filling a few grocery bags with chips and drinks. It’s already been raided but we’ve learned to search the storage rooms of these places, break down the locked doors that hide a few crates of water, soda or juice. In these places one can almost re-create the panic. Renny has asked us to stay outside for this exact reason. Julian and I got a little too into playing CSI: Des Moines at the last gas station.

  Judging by the trail of blood to the employee break room, the brunt of the attack took place here.

  What else do you see, Greg?

  Well, Grissom, there are finger marks on the door, like someone tried to crawl their way in. It must be locked. I’ll get that broken tooth fragment over to Trace, that might be corn chips stuck in the crown.

  Oh Greg, you’re so delightfully edgy and fashion-forward. You truly are the lovable Padawan of this diverse and emotionally crippled crack team of scientists! Also you will never be given a love interest because no one would date someone with hair like that.

  Thanks, Griss! You’re such a tough but ultimately well-meaning papa bear in my life.

  You’re welcome, Greg. Now stop talking and take a swab of that urine puddle.

  Yeah. You can see why we were given guard duty this time.

  “I’m not curious about heaven,” I tell him. “I’m not curious about anything right now except food. Let me eat something and I’ll get back to you.”

  Julian makes me sit down on the curb (and by make I of course mean nagged me to do it until I relented) so he could administer first aid. The first Kum & Go was out of Band-Aids and antibiotic cream. It was, however, fully stocked with gross puns for Julian. Thankfully the childlike joy of counting Kum & Gos wore off about forty-five minutes ago and now Julian has returned to fussing over my health. Sure, the cuts sting and my ankle feels like an elephant herd River Danced all over it, but it could be worse. I could be Ted.

  “Are we ever going to change his bandages?” I ask. My gaze wanders to the sedan where Ted is still asleep. We haven’t changed his dressings since the surgery.

  “Sure. I can do it if you’re afraid to look,” Julian replies.

  The sun is out, taking the edge off the stiff November wind. Julian looks warm enough; he grabbed a hideous Windbreaker at the last gas station. It’s no surprise that it was left behind in the raids. It’s puke-green and there’s a little howling wolf embroidered on the left side. The parking lot is small and treeless and it whistles like the Great Plains. Weeds stick out at awkward angles from the cracks in the macadam. They’re brown and short, as if they couldn’t wait to get out from under the parking lot and then thought better of it when the cold moved in. I can almost imagine the entire place covered in weeds, taken over, reclaimed for the Earth. Part of me wouldn’t be surprised to see a stegosaurus or herd of buffalo wander in from off the interstate.

  “Why do you think I’m afraid all the time? Do I need to swallow a goddamn flaming sword to get you past this or what? Ouch! Fuck, Jules.”

  “Stay still,” he says. “I don’t think you’re afraid generally speaking. But I do think you don’t like to be confronted with Ted’s mortality.”

  “You’re the one getting all philosophical. I take it back, I don’t need food. I’ll answer your question now. No, the presence of a third choice—undeath—does not convince me that heaven and hell are real. If anything, it makes me sure they aren’t.”

  “And if they do exist?” he asks.

  “They don’t.”

  “Come on, indulge me.”

  “And if they do, I hope heaven is a road trip. I hope it’s you and me and Renny and Ted with nothing but time on our hands. I hope it’s, I don’t know, crossing an immeasurable distance with your closest friends.”

  Julian pulls his hand and the cotton swab away from my face. With the sun overhead I can see my face reflected in his bright blue-green eyes. His dimples emerge, hugging his sudden smile. He makes a little sound of confusion or maybe pleasure in his throat and then puts the cotton ball on my forehead. It feels cool for a moment and then begins to sting.

  “I don’t need to think about hell,” I conclude. “I already know what it’s like.”

  Renny comes out of the gas station with her arms full. She drops the bags on the curb beside us. “Trip one. There’s so much shit in the back room, we’ll be set for the rest of the trip.”

  “Cool, take your time,” I say.

  Renny goes back inside, humming to herself as she goes.

  “You look tired,” he says.

  “Yeah I’m not sleeping the best. I’ve never been good at sleeping in cars.”

  “We could raid a house or two,” he suggests. “Look for some night-night pills.”

  “No,” I say quickly, thinking of the arena and the vodka and a big scary King of Ithaca telling me to follow my heart home. I shudder.

  “Something the matter?”

  “I’ve sworn off medication,” I say. “The last time I took anything stronger than a Tylenol I ended up hallucinating that I was on the beach at Troy a
nd Odysseus was my spirit guide. Dude is hard-core.”

  He guffaws and then, realizing I’m serious, adds, “Well, that’s a pretty good spirit guide. Mine would probably be a moose.”

  “Or Diana Ross.”

  Renny returns, another load of full bags in her arms. I get up off the curb and take one to lighten her load. She nods toward the bag I’ve just taken from her.

  “Look inside, there’s a surprise.”

  I pull the lip of the bag forward and spot a hint of gray metal.

  “A new ax!” I say, beaming. Best news I’ve had all day.

  “Found it in the back. I can’t fucking believe how many stores still keep these things around. I mean, it’s gotta be a fucking safety hazard,” she says.

  “Thanks for this,” I tell her. I test the heft of the ax. It’s heavier than my first and the head could use a sharpening. Alas, you never forget your first. “I felt naked without one.”

  “Hey!”

  In unison, all three of us turn toward the sedan. A mop of messy black hair and a pair of dazed brown eyes stare back at us, his busted glasses cocked to the side. “Thank Christ. I thought you had abandoned me in a parking lot.”

  “How could you think that?” I shout. I run over to the car and find Ted sitting up in the back, still pale but alert and smiling. “We would never abandon Dapper.”

  “Smart-ass.”

  “Glad to have you back,” I say, pretending to punch his good shoulder. Renny and Julian catch up, a bottle of water out and uncapped for Ted.

  “Welcome back,” Renny says. “This is Julian, he’s a doctor.”

  “So you’re the one I should be thanking?” Ted asks, squinting up at Julian.

  “Yes and no,” Julian replies, pulling a hand through his shaggy hair. “It was a collaborative effort. How are you feeling?”

  “Sore … and groggy, but I can move my hand so that’s good, right?”

  “We’ve got road trip munchies thanks to Renny,” I say. “And Julian is going to change your bandages before we head out.”

  “Any beef jerky in there for me?” Ted asks. Renny is already loading the grocery bags into the backseat next to Ted.

  “All you can eat,” Renny replies. “I hope you like teriyaki. Couldn’t find any black pepper.”

  “You win some, you lose some,” he says.

  It’s good to see him smiling, to see him drinking and scarfing down jerky. He lets Dapper take a bite and then eats from the same piece. Yup. Our Ted is back.

  “There’s something happening,” I say, clutching my chest. “I think … Yes … My frozen heart is melting a little. We were so worried about you, Teddy.”

  “I was worried about me,” he says. “I had some seriously trippy dreams—giants and big-ass bugs and mermaids and shit.”

  “I bet they’d be even better if we could find some morphine,” Julian says.

  “Now then I’d have to kiss you,” Ted says.

  “I’d pay to see that,” Renny adds, patting Julian on the back. He shrinks away, pulling a face.

  “I think we’d all rather see you and Allison go at it,” Julian replies. “And by all, I actually mean Ted and myself.”

  “Unlikely,” I say, frowning. “Renny is way out of my league.”

  “Amen,” Renny says. “Shall we?”

  While Ted has his bandages checked, Renny lays down a few plastic bags on the backseat to cover up the crunchy bloodstains. I take the opportunity to grab my laptop and wander around the parking lot, keeping a close eye on the little stepped wireless meter. It’s a miracle I’m still finding any kind of signal and it makes me wonder where it’s coming from. There are either scattered bastions of civilization functioning or I managed to buy the one magical laptop in the store.

  In the far corner of the lot there’s a blip, one tiny green bar and I crouch down on the cement to upload an entry. WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONNECT TO SNET? Yes, indeed, I certainly would. Just that one blinking green bar of connection gives me hope. It reminds me that one sliver of civilization endures, somewhere, maybe even close by.

  Through the thin line of trees at the edge of the lot I can see a figure, a shuffling of ragged feet.

  I close the laptop and take up the ax. It’s second nature now, it’s how a mother must feel when she holds her newborn, it’s how a missionary feels when they take up the banner, the cross, the cause. There’s a crackle as the tree branches part and a glimmer like hunger or hope in the lurker’s eyes. It doesn’t matter what’s there, I raise the ax, wind up and swing.

  When the Groaner’s head is on the ground at my feet I see that it’s a middle-aged woman with her throat torn out and both ears missing. It looks like she had a perm and she’s dressed in a flowery nightgown. She was someone’s mother, someone’s lover and now she’s missing her mind and her head. That’s not my mother, I think to myself, that’s not my mother’s fate. We’re getting so close to our destination now and I know I’ll see her when we get there, Liberty Village, looming like Disneyland on the horizon, a place where all your dreams come true. I can’t help it. I feel like a kid—the excitement, the anticipation is growing stronger every minute.

  COMMENTS

  Isaac says:

  November 5, 2009 at 4:37 pm

  The area’s getting too dangerous so we’re moving on. I just wanted to say goodbye and good luck. You’ve kept our spirits up and now that you’re nearly home I think it’s time for me to move on too. We’re going to try moving north, maybe to Canada. If we find somewhere safe and good I’ll pass on a message but it sounds like you’re home free, Allison. All the best and happy trails.

  Allison says:

  November 5, 2009 at 5:01 pm

  Cheers, Isaac. I’m actually sorta … choked up. I feel like I’m losing a friend. Not losing, but, you know. I hope you find your way safely to Canada. It’s been a strange, horrible ride but I think you made it a little easier for me, for all of us. Don’t forget to keep your eyes peeled for ambulances and grocery stores.

  November 7, 2009—Gates of Fire

  “This is the song that doesn’t end; yes it goes on and on my friend…”

  “Oh it ends,” Renny says, gripping the wheel like a trucker blazing through the last hour of a speed high. “It ends with your skull rolling down the interstate and my tire making chicken paillard out of your large intestine.”

  “Come on, you guys,” I say, rubbing Renny’s shoulder. “We’re almost there. After that you never have to step foot in this car again.”

  A lot of weird things become normal when you’re constantly in fear for your life. So it follows that when you experience an emotion that, once upon a time, came easily and freely you tend to notice. Which is why, when we see the sign that previously read: FORT MORGAN 45 and it’s been scratched off and repainted to say: LIBERTY VILLAGE 45, I can’t help but feel an overwhelming rush of ecstatic, endorphin-flooding glee. This is joy, and relief, and the feeling that at last, at long last, a pure-hearted wish has come true.

  “Forty-five,” Ted repeats, making a song out of it. “Motherfucking forty-five miles, miles, miles!”

  Renny and I have switched back and forth, trading places so the other one can sleep. Renny won’t let Julian drive because she doesn’t trust him, claiming that only people with the use of both hands can drive the car. He doesn’t seem to mind and has slept most of the ride to Colorado. All of us are tired and, in the safety of the car, are allowed to nap and nap and nap. It’s a good feeling, even if I’m dying for a shower and an actual meal.

  We’re all awake after that Liberty Village sign, not speaking but sitting in excited, apprehensive silence. I know that for my part I can hardly believe it’s true. I keep thinking that if I blink, if I fall asleep again then the city itself will vanish, an apparition. The view is beginning to change. The rolling hills of the Midwestern plains giving way to the mountainous disunity of Colorado, an unpredictable scenery that possesses its own strange harmony of form and color. There are so many greens
and grays, so many new textures to appreciate. And there’s a kind of shared feeling in the Chevy, a buzz in the air. It takes me a while (too long) to put my finger on it but then, with a jolt, I know it.

  Hope.

  It’s been a miserable time. A sweaty, dysfunctional car ride with plenty of complaints and body odor and grumpy silences but now … but now … now the future has ignited our good sides.

  “The first thing I’m going to do is change my fucking underwear,” Julian says, breaking the tense silence.

  “I hope you didn’t mean to say that aloud,” Renny mumbles.

  “Lighten up, Renny,” I say. And then: “The first thing I’m going to do is find my mom and hug her until she begs for mercy.”

  “I’m going to find a bed and sleep in it,” Ted says. “Sleep the shit out of it.”

  “I’m going to get laid,” Renny cries, honking the horn.

  “Amen,” shouts Julian, and Ted expresses his enthusiastic agreement. I don’t quite know what to say. Any enthusiasm I might feel on that score is dampened by the knowledge that I’m not ready to let go of Collin, not yet. I’ll have my mom and she’ll be the best possible distraction. Even so, I can feel that nagging emptiness inside, the anxiety that says: you’re marked, marked by something you might never resolve. You miss him.

  I look around the car. Goddamn. They’re laughing, laughing together, giggling like a bunch of feel-good idiots at the end of a Brady Bunch episode. It’s fantastic and I can’t help but join in.

  “What’s that?” Julian asks. He’s pointing at something out ahead, maybe seven or eight miles down the interstate.

  Life, so they say, is never as simple as it seems.

  Renny slows down and gradually it dawns on us. It’s a barricade, and in front of that barricade is a mile-deep horde of undead. They’re trying, like us, to get to Liberty Village. Such a heavy concentration of living, breathing human beings must have attracted them like flies to shit. The barricade looks like some kind of bridge, as if both sides had been detonated and dropped into the road to stem the tide of undead. Along the top edge of the barricade there’s a barrier of flame, a flickering wall of fire and smoke.