Scott Nicholson - The Echo

A shark had her leg.

She turned in the murky water, still looking for Chelsea, but the pain was intense. She kicked, trying to shed the shark. Chelsea had already been under for, what, minutes? Oryears? Blooms of red colored the water around her, and the surface above sparkled with a thousand blue diamonds. She struggled for breath, fought to get free, fought the pull of the inevitable tide of gravity that pulled her to the center of the earth and into the ultimate darkness.

“Rachel?” Her shoulder shook, and she thought the shark had discovered a fresh morsel, but then she recognized Stephen’s voice.

What’s HE doing here? He didn’t come to the lake with us.

She opened her eyes to bright sunlight. Her leg still throbbed, but it was unencumbered.

“Whew,” Stephen said. “I was worried. You wouldn’t wake up.”

Rachel sat up. She was still in the driver’s seat of the Subaru, but the seat was both reclined and moved away from the steering wheel. One leg of herjeans was split up the knee, a bandage covering the dog bite on her calf. She didn’t remember wrapping it. The passenger door was ajar, letting in a fresh autumn breeze. The stench was present but no longer overpowering.

“It’s morning,” she said. Her throat was cracked and dry. As if reading her thoughts, Stephen held out a bottle of water. He was in the passenger seat, a comic book in his lap.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the water. “So you got our backpacks.”

He shrugged. “Nothing else to do.”

“And you… cleaned out the car.”

“Well, that was easier than trying to move you. I’m just a kid.”

No, Stephen, you’re much more than just a kid.

She sipped, and then drank deeply and gratefully. The water was warm and tainted with plastic, but it was the best she’d ever tasted. Far better than the poisonous water of Lake Norman. Which, as far as she knew, didn’t contain sharks, but plenty of far deadlier creatures.

Like memories.

Like guilt.

Between the Subaru and the truck lay the dead German shepherd and golden retriever. “Where’s the other dog?” she asked.

“He took some of the meat and went into the woods.”

“You should have stayed in the car. He might be out there watching.”

Stephen shrugged. “It didn’t mean to hurt us. It’s just a dog. Just like the Zapheads are just people, right?”

“We don’t really know what they are.”

“Well, they used to be people, didn’t they? So they can’t be all bad. Somewhere inside them, they have some of the love and stuff, right?”

“It’s complicated.”

“What about the ones that Jesus saved? They’re not bad, are they?”

Rachel fidgeted with her bandage. Ointment squeezed out from around the cloth, as well as some nasty yellow-red fluid. “You’ll have to ask Jesus.”

Luckily for her, Stephen changed the subject, as boys will. “Can I have a dog? I mean, after this is over?”

It’s never going to be over, sweetie.

But she couldn’t tell him that, so she fell back on that timeless adult bailout. “We’ll see.”

“Will DeVontay catch up today?”

“Maybe. But he wants us to keep moving. I like the look of that Exxon station up there.”

Stephen grinned. “Maybe it has some Slim Jims!”

“Bet so.” She flexed her leg, wondering if she’d be able to walk. But she suspected if she sat there much longer, it would stiffen up and hurt even worse. The gas station would likely provide some antibiotic ointment and hydrogen peroxide, as well as some aspirin.

“Okay, let’s pack up.” She was eager to be out of the stinking vehicle, but by the time they were ready and she opened the door, she was already sweating with exertion, even though the autumn morning was pleasant. She hoped she wasn’t getting a fever from infection.

Stephen was waiting for her outside the car. She gritted her teeth and put weight on her injured leg. The pain came in a fresh rush, but she buried it so Stephen wouldn’t see it and worry. When she stood, she held onto the roof of the car so she wouldn’t sway.

“How are you feeling?” Stephen asked.

“I can make it.”

“You told me not to lie.”

“Okay, then. I feel terrible. But I’ll feel even worse if we sit here and the Zapheads get us. Besides, it’s only a mile or so. I can make it that far, don’t you think?”

Stephen pursed his lips, looking far too wise and mature for a boy his age. “We’ll see.”

She took a couple of hobbling steps and he ducked under her right arm to take some of her weight. At first she resisted, not wanting to seem weak and dependent, but soon she leaned into him and they fell into a rhythm, keeping on the shoulder of the highway so they wouldn’t have to weave between the occasional vehicles.

By the time they crested the hill, sweat was rolling down Rachel’s face. They stopped once for water, resting a moment in the shade of a jackknifed tractor trailer. Below was the exit ramp, with a Cracker Barrel, McDonald’s, and an Autobell car wash beside the gas station. Houses were visible along the side road, scattered across the wooded slopes. Farther ahead, the great swells of the Blue Ridge Mountains rose toward the dawn-tinted sky.

“Looks like people might be here,” Rachel said.

Stephen fanned himself with one of his comic books. “You mean Zapheads?”

“Yeah, them too.”

“Well, you know what they say. We’re not getting any younger.”

“How about McDonald’s? My treat.”

“All those burgers are yucky by now. Besides, it’s probably full of dead people.”

“All right, then. We’ll stick with junk food in plastic bags.”

“Can I have a Sprite?”

Rachel considered it. “Well, I guess you deserve a treat for taking care of me.”

“Time for a bread crumb.” Stephen ripped a page from his comic, walked over to the nearest vehicle, a rusty Toyota pick-up, and slid the paper under the windshield wiper. He shoved what was left of his comic into his backpack and zipped it, then returned and helped her to her feet.

Her leg throbbed worse than before, and the skin felt wet under the bandages. She wasn’t looking forward to the long hike down the incline. Looking at the truck, she got an idea. “Was there anybody in the truck?”

“I didn’t really look, but I didn’t see anybody.”

“Come on,” she said. “I know an easy way to get down there.”

The Toyota still had the keys in the ignition, not that they were any use. Like most survivors, in the days after the solar storms she’d tried to crank plenty of cars, only to find them all dead. The pick-up’s bed contained baskets of rotten peaches, and yellow jackets buzzed around the fruit.

“It’s a straight drive,” she said. “On old models like this, you usually don’t have power steering or brakes. All we have to do is get it rolling, and we can coast down the hill.”

“At least it’s pointed in the right direction.” Stephen didn’t sound convinced. “Can you steer around all those cars?”

“Easy. Look how spread out they are.”

“Okay, then. Let me move my bread crumb.” He plucked the ripped comic page from the Toyota’s windshield and ran it over to an SUV.

Rachel had already checked the handbrake—the truck’s driver might have abandoned the car when it lost power, heading down to the exit on foot and intending to return. Except the driver would have taken the keys under those circumstances. He’d probably mutated into a Zaphead and gone on an interstate killing spree.

“Okay, load up,” she said, tossing her backpack in the cab.

Stephen opened the passenger door and put his backpack on the floor. He climbed in the seat and looked over at her. “Well?” he said with impatience.