Matthew Costello - Vacation

Would the Can Heads eventually figure out how to take charge of the ferry, and ram it into the St. George Terminal?

And once they got there, would their contagion spread? Was it even a goddamn contagion?

But that brought to mind another question that bothered Jack.

The holes in fences, the stopping traffic, the breakthroughs.

Are we losing this war?

No one talked about that.

Not yet. Not on TV.

And that wasn’t surprising. Would anyone want the world to be even more panicked than it already was?

If people thought that the Can Heads were winning—what then?

Jack moved the mouse to scroll the map upward, to where he really needed to look.

He zoomed close to the New York Thruway as it snaked up to Albany. Promoted as New York’s safest highway, Jack knew that it had become a vital pipeline for the limited food and supplies that moved back and forth from the ports of New York to the rest of the state.

Who knew where they got the money for the ten-foot fences and the armored checkpoints?

A few chopper stations had been built, mini-launching platforms for a response to any problem picked up by the highway’s motion detection system or video surveillance.

Then from Albany, the Northway continued the same degree of protective armor.

As expected, these highways showed green all the way clear to Montreal.

But it was the road he’d have to take getting off the highway that concerned Jack.

To get to the Paterville Camp, he would have to travel through some of the smaller towns of the Adirondacks. Most of them—thanks to low populations and the fact that the locals had their own guns to fight back—remained relatively quiet.

Relatively.

Each week would bring the story of another battle between a horde of Can Heads and local townspeople. Each town had its own Home Patrol, a neighborhood watch on steroids. There was some support from the State Troopers, the undermanned National Guard, even volunteer militias.

Still, things could happen.

These roads—watched and guarded, but still very much open and exposed—could be attacked.

And were.

If there was any danger on this road trip, it would come on those stretches of road.

For now, the route they’d need to take—nearly an hour and a half off the highways—looked quiet.

He slid the mouse to the left and right. Western New York. A few spots glowed red, but nothing within a couple hundred miles of Paterville.

We winning this thing?

He wished he could believe it.

He clicked on an X in the corner of the screen. The NYPD site vanished.

“Jack, could you give me a hand here?”

He got up and left the quiet shadows of the dining room.

Jack looked down at the freezer chest. Full already, with so-called juice drinks, the synthetic peanut butter and jelly sandwiches—a staple—and some unknown items wrapped in tin foil.

Christie held a few bottles of water, as precious as food.

“Can you help me find some room in here? Maybe move some things around?”

Jack smiled. “Room? Looks packed.”

“C’mon. Work your man-magic. Move stuff. I want to keep this water cold for our trip.”

Jack crouched down and rearranged things. Like some kid’s sliding block puzzle, eventually he made space appear.

“See. I knew you could do it.”

“A man of many—”

“Dad! Dad! Tell stupid Simon that I get the big bag!”

He turned around to see his kids, each with a hand locked on a purple suitcase. Kate gave it a rough yank that sent Simon spinning, then flying across the kitchen, his hand released.

Jack straightened up, shooting a look at Christie, hoping she would take this one.

“Guess I get the bag,” Kate said, shooting a grin at her brother.

But Simon raced back.

“What do you even have in here, dork?”

“Look,” Jack started, “we have a lot of—”

Kate unzipped the bag and an assortment of plastic monsters, refugees from decade-old cartoon shows, spilled onto the kitchen floor.

“Hey!” Simon yelled. He gathered up the tumbled creatures while trying to lock a hand on the bag.

Kate, however, continued making jerking motions as the bag went left, then right, then up.

Christie finally took the cue that Jack didn’t have a clue how to intervene here.

“All right. Enough . Kate, put down the bag. Simon—just freeze.”

Simon held his gathered creatures close.

“We have a lot of bags.”

“Yes, but I’m the oldest and I—” Kate began.

Christie took the bag. “Really? I need to use this one. You two can use any of the other bags in my closet.”

“They’re all ugly,” Kate said.

“Not big enough,” Simon said, looking down at his toys.

Now Jack saw his opening.

“Well, they’ll have to do. We leave in an hour. Hate to leave without you.”

Kate shook her head and stormed away while Simon stood there, looking confused.

“Si, think you can pick only a few of those toys to bring? We’re only gone a week.”

Simon nodded and walked away.

Jack turned back to Christie. “Nice peaceful week ahead, hm?”

“Good thing I’ve already packed for them. Otherwise they’d only have toys and bathing suits.”

Jack turned back to the freezer chest and closed the lid. Two snaps on either side locked the top down tight.

“I’ll put this in the Explorer.”

He picked up the chest and walked out the kitchen door to the car outside.

Jack backed up the SUV slowly.

Not that there was any real danger of a kid racing by on his bike. Kids playing in streets… just not something that happened anymore.

Everyone sat quietly, as if they all knew that this trip, this vacation was a big thing.

And it is, Jack thought.

Now that it was about to begin, he felt good about it. To get away. To a place where there were trees, fresh water, and even—so the brochure promised—fresh food.

Jack edged the car out onto the street.

Nope, nobody out on bikes. Warm summer day. And everyone inside.

Watching old movies. Getting excited if they caught a bit of a TV signal. Mostly boring stuff from the government. The lucky ones had old videogames to play.

Hiding.

Yeah, good thing we’re doing this.

He straightened out the Explorer, and pulled away,

In the rearview mirror he saw Kate and Simon turn to watch their house receding in the distance.

Until he took another curve, and home vanished, and the long trip lay ahead.

Christie saw Jack look back at the kids as the gate started to roll open and they prepared to leave their fenced-in development.

“Okay. Who can tell me the rules when we’re outside the fence?”

“Jack, I don’t think—”

“The rules are there for a purpose. So, Simon, Kate, what are they?”

“Window up!” Simon said. Christie had to smile. This is such a big adventure for him. She looked at Kate, who rolled her eyes and added, “Doors locked.”

“And stay in the car.”

“Right—as if I’d ever want to go walking around outside here .”

“Good,” Jack added.

Such a cop, Christie thought.

Only then did Jack ease the car outside. And despite everything—the beautiful early-morning sun, the safety of their car, all those rules—Christie had to admit that it felt different.

It always did.

Whenever they were outside things looked different. Grass overgrown, the road pockmarked with potholes. Buildings and stores abandoned. No Can Heads here—at least that’s what the local police had told Jack.