Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

From Bad to Worse

ZACH

Picking a lock takes a steady hand and concentration. The trick is to turn the lock enough to put tension on the pins. Then you insert a small pick and push up each of the pins until you hear the slightest click. Once you’ve done that to all the pins—voilà—the lock turns, and that’s just what I do.

I remove the lock from the rolling door and slide it open.

“Aiden. I got it.”

But my excitement quickly turns to disappointment. Inside are nothing but empty shelves. Someone beat us to it and cleaned out the pharmacy entirely. Not so much as a bottle of aspirin.

“Aiden. It’s a bust.”

No answer. Hmm.

“Aiden?” I turn around and see no sign of him. But the aisles are too high to see all the way across. I head along the back of the store, looking down each aisle as I pass, calling his name.

“Aiden?”

“Aiden.”

Down the next aisle, his backpack rests on the floor, leaning against a shelf. My chest tightens as I approach it. Still no sign of him. When I get to the backpack, the rifle is missing.

“Aiden!” I call out. Okay, I’m getting freaked out now.

The sound of a gunshot outside sends my pulse through the roof. I sling the backpack over my shoulders and grab the .45 out of the front pocket, all while running to the entrance. I’m just in time to see Aiden struck in the back of the head with the butt of a rifle. He falls to the ground, his attacker standing above him.

I cover my mouth to keep from screaming.

The man is tall and muscular, with short dark hair, and he’s wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. In one hand, he holds the rifle he struck Aiden with.

“Drop the rifle, or I’ll shoot!” I yell as I point my gun at him.

His body tenses, and he raises his arms above his head but doesn’t drop the rifle. He stares at me, hard and angry, like a killer.

I fire a warning shot. “I said drop it!”

He finally drops the rifle. “You’re making a big mistake,” he says in a deep, gravelly voice.

“Put your hands behind your head and start walking slowly. Count out five hundred paces and don’t turn around.”

“You’re dead boy. We’re gonna hunt you down and kill you.”

I fire another shot, closer this time. “Start walking! I mean it!”

He puts his hands behind his head and finally starts moving. Once he’s a short distance away, I run over to Aiden. I relax when his chest moves. He’s still breathing.

I slap his face. “Aiden, wake up!”

But he doesn’t respond.

I run over to an abandoned grocery cart and pull it over. Using strength aided by adrenaline, I hoist Aiden up and place him in the cart. I also gather all the rifles on the ground, and stash them in the cart beside Aiden’s limp body.

The man is probably a hundred paces away. He looks back, then starts running away from me. But that’s okay. I don’t plan to be anywhere near here when he returns with reinforcements.

I push the cart as fast as it will go, and it clatters hard against the uneven surface of the road. I take a side street next to the Safeway, then zigzag left and right at each intersection to throw off any potential pursuers. The pain from my left ankle radiates up my leg. I need to find a place to rest and also let Aiden recover.

A cheap single-story motel appears in front of me, with peeling paint and overgrown hedges. Grass sprouts up through every crack in the pavement, and half the windows are smashed. A fenced pool is thick with green algae.

I try the door of one of the guest rooms. It’s locked, but the knob is flimsy. I channel all the strength inside me. Screaming, I kick with every ounce of energy I have left. Splinters shoot from the frame, and the door swings open, banging hard against the wall.

I push the cart in and slam the door behind me. The air is horribly musty, but I’m way beyond caring. I roll the cart next to a bed, gently tip it over, and shimmy Aiden onto it. His breathing is slow and steady. Then, I bar the door with the cart, wedging it under the doorknob. I’m unsure what else to do, so I simply crawl into bed next to Aiden and fall into a tortured sleep.

All my dreams are of Aiden, and he’s always leaving me. It’s either by choice or by force, but he keeps leaving. My empty bed in the bank. His missing tent by the dam. The abandoned backpack in the grocery store. Each time, Aiden is in the distance, just out of reach. I run to him, but he floats away faster than I can catch him. I scream at him, but he doesn’t hear. He keeps floating farther away.

I wake up to my own screaming. I try to open my eyes, only to realize they are already open. The room is pitch black. Night has descended. My throat is dry and sticky with mucus, and my stomach grumbles. But I’m too exhausted to care. Beside me, Aiden’s rhythmic breathing continues. It’s best to let him rest. I drop my head on the musty bedspread and drift back to sleep.

When I wake again, sunlight streams in, casting the entire room in a sickly yellow hue, but next to me, the bed is empty. I dart my eyes around the room, and I’m relieved to see Aiden standing and peeking out the motel window.

“Aiden! You’re okay!”

“Shhhhh.” He puts his index finger to his mouth, but then he shoots me a smile and gestures me over. When I’m next to him, he kisses me. “Thanks for saving me,” he says in a hushed voice. “I assume that’s what happened, but I don’t remember much.”

“No problem.” I beam.

“I want to hear all about it, but first check this out.” He points out the window. On the road in front of the motel dozens of armed people march in unison.

Following behind the gunmen, a group of people trudge down the middle of the street, their expressions neutral and their shoulders slumped, hands hanging downward and swaying as they move.

More people fill the street, all shuffling their feet, moving from right to left, all with the same blank stares. There must be at least a hundred of them. It’s by far the most people I’ve seen in one place out in the open.

“What the hell?” I say.

“Must be one of the slave camps I’ve heard about. They used that girl to lure me out of the store.”

At the rear of the ghastly procession, ten people wear steel collars around their necks, each guided by a captor holding on to an attached chain.

Trailing them is the man I chased away with the gun.

“That’s the one who attacked you. In the plaid.” I point toward him.

“He looks tough. I’m impressed.”

“I let the gun do the talking.”

Aiden lets out a soft laugh and kisses my forehead. “If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be walking with them as we speak.”

When the macabre parade has passed, we both let out a long breath.

“And that is why I don’t like going through cities,” Aiden says.

“I’m starting to agree with you.”

“The only good news is I’m guessing they’ve managed to clear out most of the Infected. That’s probably why we haven’t run into any.” Aiden turns to me. “Still, I think we better hightail it outta here before they find us again. How’s the leg?”

“Been better, but I agree. We should get going. How’s the head?”

Aiden touches the spot where the gunman hit him and winces. “I’ll live.”

As we wait for the people to disappear well out of sight, I fill Aiden in with the details of the attack and how I rescued him. He smiles broadly as I recount what happened, wearing an expression I can only describe as pride.

Once the street is clear, we quietly open the door, slip out of the shabby motel, and never look back.

*

AIDEN

Both of us are so done with Ellensburg. All we want is get the hell out of this town and its bizarre residents. Zach is limping badly on that left leg. But neither of us wants to spend another second in this town. We’ll take our chances finding antibiotics elsewhere. Cle Elum is the next good-sized town. Hopefully, we’ll have more luck there.

We stay quiet while we snake our way through abandoned neighborhoods. Only talking enough to discuss which way to go. We meet up with the Palouse to Cascades Trail again. Once we’re on it, we go as quickly as possible to leave Ellensburg behind us.

As we continue down the trail, farmland stretches into infinity in every direction. Being this exposed isn’t great, but at least it’s unlikely somebody would be out here. We make it another few miles before the shadows get long. Zach’s shoulders are slumping, and he’s looking worn out. We cross the Yakima River. A lush forest runs all along it, giving us an excellent place to camp away from prying eyes.

We find a day-use picnic site nestled into the trees. It has a wooden shelter with picnic tables underneath, well water from a pump, and vaulted outhouses. Overall, a nice find. Much better than the desert landscapes we’ve camped in the last couple nights.

We both strip naked and wade into the chilly river water to wash off the mud and grime from ourselves and our clothes. Once we’re done, we dry off and lay our clothes out to catch the last rays of the fading sunlight.

Zach’s been a trouper. I’d guess he’s been operating on adrenaline and willpower for the last few days. But he looks spent now that the crisis is over and we’re resting.

I set up the tent and let him rest in it while I make us dinner. The site has metal BBQ stations. I risk a small fire so we can have a warm meal. When I bring it to Zach, he cracks a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks exhausted.

“Thanks.” He tries to sound cheerful, but it comes out flat.

“No problem. You get some good rest tonight.” I smile and try to hide my worry.

We sleep together in the tent again, but Zach is restless all night. We both sleep poorly. Toward the middle of the night, he’s radiating heat. Sweat beads up on his brow. I press the back of my hand to his forehead and feel a fever. He’s already half awake, but I give him a little shake.

“Here, take these.” I hand him a few ibuprofen pills.

He swallows them without question. In a while, his fever subsides, so we get a few hours of sleep before sunrise.

In the morning, we wake to dark clouds. It’s a change of pace from our relentless sun, but rain won’t be welcome today, especially with Zach feeling worse by the hour.

His wound looks more infected than ever, with pronounced red streaks heading up the leg. Pushing him like this tears me up, but things could get dire if we don’t get some antibiotics soon. Cle Elum, the next town, is still a twenty-mile hike.

Going for antibiotics by myself is an option. But a forty-mile round-trip hike would take me all day and into tomorrow. Leaving him alone for that long is a bad idea, so I convince him to at least try part of the trip. I won’t be gone for so long if we can make it halfway.

It’s slow going. We’ve been at it for a few hours, and Zach looks more pitiful with every step. His fever has returned, and the ibuprofen isn’t doing much this time. Anything he eats makes him nauseous.

And then the rain starts. It’s just a little sprinkle, so we press on, hoping it will end soon.

I’ll try anything to take his mind off of how he feels. “Hey, Zach, let’s sing aBeatles song, whacha think? ‘Here Comes the Sun’?”

Zach sighs but manages a little laugh. “Clever. Okay. Let’s try.”

I start with the melody. “Here comes the sun—”

I sing the next verse, and Zach joins in with harmony. “Here comes the sun—”

But as we get into the rest of the verse, Zach trails off.

I turn around as he collapses in a heap on the ground. As if on cue, the skies open up and start pouring rain.

I run to his side. “Zach! Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s still breathing, but his forehead radiates heat.

The rain comes down in a torrent. This is nothing less than Mother Nature giving us the middle finger. My backpack is getting soaked, so even setting up a tent for him would mean he’d be lying in wetness.

With no other choice, I hoist him into my arms and start heading down the trail. Maybe if I can find some shelter, I can at least get him out of the rain where he can rest and get dry. I’m wracked with guilt. I can’t believe I pushed him this hard. He went downhill so quickly. If I’d known how bad it would get, I would have set him up with the tent, then tried to run the entire way. I might have made it in time.

Zach’s eyes flutter open, and he makes a little groaning sound. Then they close again.

“Hang in there, Zach.”

The rain is relentless. My shoes fill with water, and blisters form on my feet. My shoulders and back are aching. But I have to press on. I ignore the pain. Nothing would feel worse than losing Zach.

It’s been at least an hour, and there’s no good shelter anywhere. Even under the trees, the water still pelts us. My endurance is waning. Carrying him is getting too hard. The muscles in my shoulders and legs quiver, nearing failure.

Then, off to the left, a thin trail of smoke rises from the forest. With no options left, I take a leap of faith and turn into the woods. After a few minutes, I get to a short chain-link fence, which is easy to get over, more designed to keep animals in than people out, I’d guess. Just a bit farther, we get to a clearing where a farmhouse sits, nestled among the trees. It looks well taken care of. A wrap-around porch covers the front, and smoke rises from its chimney. Dim firelight flickers in the window.

I approach the house, hoping someone will take mercy on us. This thin sliver of hope is all I have left at this point. I’m almost to the door when the sound of a shotgun being cocked rings out.

“Now hold it right there!”