Jacqueline Druga - No Man's Land

In class, we learned how to keep the baby warm, how to be proactive about feeding the child should the mother die, and how to humanely take the baby’s life should the child be born infected.

The joys of parenthood were replaced with fear.

That was why I wanted to get to Sanctuary City.

I feared for my son and my ability to care for him. Leah and I barricaded ourselves in our home; we failed to see what was going on in the world around us.

Yes, we knew about the Vee but we didn’t know about society, because our area was overrun with Vee.

Sanctuary cities according to rumors were a success, and people left trails of hope along the way.

Something we didn’t expect.

I held out hope that we weren’t the only people who waited until the last minute to get to a sanctuary city and as the miles passed us, I saw evidence that there were others.

Not long after leaving the shed with my newborn son on the front seat, I saw a barn with a message spray painted on it.

Like a rest stop sign on the side of the road, that barn gave me a destination.

Carver Town was about a little over a hundred miles ahead just across the state line.

I would stop, but would do so at a safe walking distance.

I didn’t need to stop for me, I needed to stop for Edward.

If Carver Town was still a stopping point, perhaps there was a doctor or medical person there. I just needed someone to check the baby. To tell me he was going to be okay.

Joining up with someone wasn’t a priority. In fact, I probably would venture alone, avoid others. Maybe only cross paths when looking for a place to rest or for supplies.

I couldn’t just drive into a place like Carver Town, especially if there were people there. I couldn’t. Not with Leah in the vehicle.

I couldn’t leave her.

The smell of death was a frequent odor that could not be mistaken. All too often it permeated the air and served as a warning that an attack of the Vee was underway.

A mob smell was what I called it.

However, I never knew what the fresh smell of death was like until Leah had died. Twelve hours after her passing, she exuded a smell. It wasn’t strong, a hint of sour, but a smell nonetheless I knew would only get worse in the closed in space of a car.

I likened it to opening a fridge and catching a whiff of something that just wasn’t right.

Only this time, there was no closing the refrigerator door to stop it.

It was there, behind me as I drove. Of course, I chose to keep Leah. She kept following us, staggering, reaching out as if to say, “Why are you leaving me?”

She was my wife, the love of my life and I wasn’t ready to give that up, or her.

Not yet.

The tape covered her mouth, her arms were bound and the seat belt kept her in place. The logical part of the brain was dead and undoing the belt in her state was like rocket science. She merely rocked back and forth never once reaching down and unhooking the belt.

I felt safe and didn’t fear her getting free.

I had a little over a hundred miles and I would be out of our zone. I wasn’t sure what was ahead, aside from Carver Town. There was no news or radio, nothing. Then again, everyone in our zone was either dead or evacuated. The roadways were barren and the only people I saw were Vees. It would be interesting to see what was in the next area. Maybe life… something.

A huge ‘Welcome to West Virginia’ sign created an arch on the highway as I entered the northern most part of the state. A mile later spray painted over the ‘Visitor Station One mile’ sign were the words, ‘Sanctuary Info.’

Another hand-painted sign, this one was blue. It told me people were looking out for each other by leaving signs.

To me, things were looking brighter.

Carver Town.

Sanctuary information.

I worried that everything and everyone around us had died while we were held up in our house.

I wished they weren’t exterminating the areas. Whatever that entailed. The Vee would eventually die off and expire. Our home was the best option and we’d had to leave it.

I debated on pulling over at the visitors’ center until I saw there were no cars, no Vee. I parked out front of the visitor building, reached down and popped open the trunk.

Gently, I laid Edward on the passenger side floor, looked back at Leah, then opened my door. I peered around, then listened as best as I could for sound.

It was quiet and the only Vee I could smell was Leah.

Still, I couldn’t be sure. In a ‘ready to leave’ position, hand holding onto my car door, I called out. “Hello!”

I waited.

Nothing.

“Hello.”

With a third attempt, I beeped the horn. No Vee emerged, that was a good thing.

Staying diligent and focused, I hurried to the back of the car, opened the hatch and grabbed a blanket along with the baby carrier. It was one of those cloth things that strapped around your chest. One geared for newborns, it would keep Edward close to my chest, curled up and safe, allowing me to have my hands free.

Even though I saw no one around, I tossed the blanket over Leah to keep her hidden, figuring the tinted windows aided in that ask as well. I lifted Edward and placed him in the carrier. He squirmed some. Not much, then again, he was only a day old.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “We’re safe.”

There was no reason to go into the visitor center other than to seek out information. I needed to know what was ahead.

There were three cars in the parking lot all appearing to have been abandoned a while ago. The doors were open, windows smashed and the interior and paint was smeared with blood.

Body parts created a trail; they were so decomposed the flies didn’t even show interest in them. I walked slowly to the building. One side of the double doors was open, the glass on the other had been smashed.

I was confident there were no Vee inside, because they would have come out when I made noise. That wasn’t to say there weren’t any in the area. I wanted to be fast in case they transcended on me.

A slaughter had taken place in that visitor center. Dried blood painted the walls, pools of it had hardened on the floor. The Vee left very little of their victims, hair, eyes, bones with tendons on them, maybe even a bit of muscle.

I had a brother who could put a chicken wing in his mouth and pull it out clean. That’s what it reminded me of. Nothing was wasted.

Other than a human smorgasbord, it was once a place where people holed up. Probably traveling, saw the sanctuary information and stayed for the night. Canned goods and other food items were scattered about on the floor. I spotted a large backpack and lifted it. I would take those items. Even though Leah and I had packed the car, I didn’t know if I would need more.

I didn’t have time to dally and I looked around.

The entire place was nothing but a shrine to surviving.

On the far wall was a huge map of West Virginia, one of those ‘you are here’ jobs. Next to it was one of the United States. Circled on the map in thick marker were the areas of sanctuary cities. Along with notes on the map.

Avoid this route. Take this route.

A string was taped to a marker than dangled on the frame of the map. Written big on the wall was the instruction, ‘Leave info for others that may pass through.’

People did and they left more.

John and Cindy Gray were there.

Melvin Hayes was looking for his daughter.

Along with factual speculation information about what was ahead.

Carver Town Vee Free

Bruceton infected

Heard I-79 was clear.

EAS reports highway blocked at mile marker nineteen.