A Matter of Days (3 page)

“That sucks. To die out here waiting for speeders?”

I pulled over, shut off the engine, and handed the manual back to Rab. “Can you get what we need? You know where it all is.”

“Sure.” He hopped out and opened the side door like this was routine.

I slowly walked over to the trooper’s car and knocked on the window even though I no longer knew what was holding his hat up. The headrest, maybe?
I can do this. I can do this
. I pulled on the handle, but the car door didn’t budge. “It’s locked,” I said.

“Here.” Rabbit handed me a hammer. “Break the window.”

“Stand back.” I whacked on the glass until it broke into small pieces and the hat, with skull and bits, fell onto the ground at my feet.

“Gross!” Rabbit stumbled backward.

I unlocked the door and plugged my nose with one hand while I leaned down and popped the gas lever and the trunk. I slammed the door shut, jumped back, and leaped around, shivering and shaking. “There has got to be a better way!”

A flock of crows settled on the wires above us, interested in our activity, or maybe dinner. I gagged.

Rabbit found a blanket in the trunk, along with a gas can, and covered up the cop’s head. “You stick this end in, suck on it until there’s gas, and then put it in here. Got it?” He showed me the stick figures in the manual. “Want me to do it?”

“No.” If one of us was going to die from gasoline poisoning, it would not be him. I took a couple of deep breaths and then sucked on the tubing’s free end. I coughed and spit but finally got gas running out of the tank and into our commandeered gas can.

“Cool!” Rabbit smiled at me like I’d asked him to bathe in mint chocolate-chip ice cream.
Ice cream. God, I miss ice cream
.

I sucked enough gas to refill our tank and we continued on after I cleaned my mouth out with the last of the minty mouthwash. Rabbit pulled out a map and laid it across his lap, marking our route.
Maybe someday kids will study it like we did the Oregon Trail
.

“We need to stop for the night, Rab. I don’t want to drive the mountains in the dark.” The sun’s arms lengthened and the world gilded. Without power generating an aura of ambient light, dusk was our early warning system for a deeply disorienting black night to come.
There is no black like clouded nights with no electric lights
.

“And snow.” Rabbit didn’t look up.

“Snow?” Tension stiffened my spine and clenched my hands.

“It’s been chilly this week, and it
is
only April. Or is it May?”

I wasn’t even sure what day it was. Sunlight started to drift away from us. “Sleep in the car or find a hotel?”

“Car.”

The next rest area we spotted, we pulled in. Five cars dotted the parking lot along with a couple of eighteen-wheelers. Shadowy remains were evident in only a few. I wasn’t getting close enough tonight to find out if the others were totally empty, or if they contained a gloppy pile of someone’s loved one in the upholstery. Believing the vehicles empty meant sleeping better.
Maybe
.

“Let’s check out the vending machines!” Rabbit undid his seat belt and bolted across the parking lot. From here, nothing seemed vandalized. After locking the doors of the Jeep, I followed with the hammer.
No quarters
.

Rabbit shone a flashlight through the glass, into the lobby area. “Hey, there’s a pop machine, and the snack ones look full!”

I smiled.
Christmas presents in April. Or May
. Times changed; I hadn’t kept up with the calendar. The door’s chain was padlocked, but the window out front wasn’t even shatterproof. “Be careful of the glass, Rab,” I reminded him as we stepped inside.

“Sure.”

Rabbit went to work on the vending machines and I raided the bathrooms for paper products and anything else useful. We made several trips to the car, then sat on the grass by battery-operated lantern and ate a dinner of chips, trail mix, Sno Balls, and root beer. “You want real food, too?” I asked, too tired to dig out the burner and canned soups.

“Nah.” A yawn cleaved Rabbit’s cheeks and his words. “I’m just sleepy.”

Sleepy
underestimated my exhaustion. The last week with Mom I’d slept five minutes at a time. I was beginning to see double. But could I relax enough out here to sleep?
God, I hope so
.

We brushed our teeth in the women’s room. The men’s was occupied, and the last thing I wanted Rabbit seeing before sleep was a possible zombie to dream about. “Wash your face, too.”

I flinched with every sound as raccoons and other nightlife began to materialize out of the woods.
There are no zombies. There are no criminals out there tonight
. It would help if I knew someone else had survived. Unfortunately, I couldn’t check email or voice mail to find out.
You’re getting punchy, Nadia. You need sleep
.

“Yes, Mom.” His teasing wrecked the little bit of peace we’d both found. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Take the backseat.”

“But I can fit in the front better than you?”

“I can’t stretch out either place. One of us should be comfortable.” I shrugged and fluffed his pillow, unrolling one of the sleeping bags to make a bed of sorts. I left my shoes on, pulled on a sweatshirt, and reclined the seat as far back as I could. Not bad. Not good, either.

“Night, Rabbit. Sleep in and then we’ll get going, okay?” I wanted to get over the Cascade Mountains tomorrow.

“Night. Don’t let the bedbugs …”

“Bite.” I switched off the lamp and a profound claustrophobic choke of night engulfed us. I hit the car door locks
quickly.
Combat breathing: inhale four counts, exhale four counts. Yes, Daddy
.

“It’s dark.” Rabbit’s voice quavered.

I swallowed and forced my voice to remain calm. “Close your eyes. It’s not as dark then.” I took my own advice and a giggle escaped. In a weird way I was right.

“Can we have a light on?”

“We have to save batteries, Rabbit. But here”—I grabbed a small flashlight from the door well and handed it to him—“take this. Keep it off, but anytime you want to check, you can, okay?”

“ ’Kay.” Instead of a teddy bear, or a Transformer toy, my brother fell asleep clutching a flashlight, his fingers reaching out to touch mine.

Even though fear fought to keep my eyes open, in moments I was asleep and dreaming. Those first days came rushing back.

… The driver’s-side door swung open, and for a split second, I thought I saw Dad. At first glance, as an identical twin, Bean was Dad’s mirror image.

“Hi, kiddos. Let’s go inside.” Uncle Bean ushered us inside, carrying a canvas messenger bag. Usually freshly laundered and pressed even out of uniform. But now his slacks were wrinkled and stained. His eyes a stormy gray. His lips flat.
Like Dad’s right before a deployment
.

“Nadia, I need to talk to you. Like an adult. Listen, I need to give you all shots.” Bean set his bag down and leaned into the sofa like he hadn’t slept in days.

“You came all the way here to give us shots? For what?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Yes and no. There’s a new bug.” He extracted a
metal shoe box with a thick buckle.
An old munitions can. Dad has five in the garage holding nails and tools
. On top was a sealed envelope of thick, creamy stationery. “I need you to promise me that you won’t open this until after I call to wish you a happy birthday.”

“Huh? I don’t understand.” I took the box and held it in my lap.

“Pay attention, okay? Sometime in the next few weeks, I’ll call to wish you a happy birthday. When I do, I want you to start keeping track of a week, okay? Count down seven days, then read this letter. Open the box. But not before I call.”

“Seven days after you call, read the letter? Is this like a scavenger hunt? My birthday isn’t until July.”

“Go hide the letter and the box someplace your mother and your brother won’t find them. And when you do open them, do it by yourself. Promise me. This is very important. It has to be a secret. Classified.”

 … Bean wouldn’t do anything to hurt us. He was a medical doctor and worked for the military like Dad. Only his job wasn’t so much with patients as in the lab. I knew his work was dangerous. Mom always threw Bean’s military “experiments” in Dad’s face when she blew up.…

“That’s a big needle.” Rabbit’s lip quivered, his bravery momentarily stunted. He hated needles.

“I know, buddy. It’ll take a second and then it’ll be over.” Bean filled the syringe and wiped down Rabbit’s bicep with an alcohol swab.

“What about Mom?” Rabbit asked. Mom was a nurse working double shifts at two of Seattle’s biggest hospital emergency rooms.

Bean didn’t pause or make eye contact with me. He seemed rushed. “I’ll leave a dose for her, too. See if you can get her to inject herself?” He quickly jabbed Rab.

“Ouch. That burns!” Rabbit rubbed his arm.

“Sorry, kiddo.” A second syringe was ready to go and Bean patted the chair for me.

“What is it?” Rabbit continued massaging his muscle.

Bean handed a glass vial to me. “See if you can convince your mom? Please?” Then he turned to Rabbit. “Come on, champ! Here’s a new video game for you—promise me you’ll practice as much as possible, okay?” Bean swung Rabbit up into his arms forgetting the obvious indignation of a tween boy.

“Cool, a shooting game. Mom’ll freak!” Rabbit grinned.

“Let’s not tell your mom about it, okay? You listen to your sister. Do what she says? She’s really smart and she’ll take care of you. I promise.”

“Okay.” Rabbit stuck his tongue out at me even as he agreed.…

Mom slunk into the house like a ghost. Pale. Drawn like a pencil outline on white paper.

“Uncle Bean was here.” I didn’t have to say more because I knew what was coming.

“What? When?” Her eyes snapped open and tension pulled her frame up as she stalked toward the kitchen.

I followed, speaking quietly, hoping Rabbit didn’t hear. “This afternoon. He gave us shots.”

“Shots?” She slammed the refrigerator door closed. “Why didn’t you call me?” …

My third-period classroom swirled into view.…

“What factors might contribute to a pandemic? Any ideas?”

“Overcrowding. People on top of each other.”

“Do we have that issue right now? Where?”

“The earthquakes in South America and China displaced millions of people.”

“Good, good, what else?”

“The droughts in Africa and India forcing people to move into cities?”

“What’s the problem with cities?”

 … A delivery truck pulls up outside our house.…

“You kids live here?”

I nodded.

“Where do you want all this?”

“Are you sure it’s for us?”

“You Nadia Jones? It’s for you. Don’t worry, kid, none of this is cash-on-delivery. Somebody named Bean paid for it.”

The UPS guys pitched in hauling boxes. “You guys preparing for Armageddon?” one joked.

Rab shook his head. “Nah, just a big family camping trip.”

Bean calling …

“You’re scaring me,” I said.

“I know. I’m sorry. But it’ll come clear.”

“When?”

“I don’t know yet. How are you guys feeling?”

“My arm is sore and I’m really hot.”

“Headache? Cough?”

“No?”

“How about Rab?”

“Rab, how do you feel?”

“Like I live in a Costco. Otherwise, fine.”

“Remember—out of sight and tell no one.” Why in the world did Uncle Bean think anyone was going to care about packs of dried fruit and cases of bottled water?

“That was weird.” Rabbit eyed me.

“Uh-huh.…”

The next morning …

“Nadia? You okay? The bus is almost here?”

“Sick. Covers. Hand me.” I scrunched my eyes against the invading light from the hallway.

Rabbit carefully pulled up the sheet and got me an extra blanket. “You want me to call Mom?”

“No, just sleep,” I mumbled.…

I scrolled through television channels as the clock flipped digits. I needed to do my homework. I clicked to the next channel, a twenty-four-hour-news one I never watched.

I sat up and leaned forward. Those were bodies. Human bodies, in piles like trash being burned. White hazmat-suited ants swarmed around. I turned up the volume.

“England’s countryside has taken on a macabre hue of black smoke. The minister of health had this to say: ‘It pains me to stand before you today.’ ” He paused and hacked into a white handkerchief, sweat poured down his reddened face. “ ‘We are experiencing a crisis on our shores we haven’t seen since the Black Death spread across our island in the Middle Ages.’ ”

“… When Bean was here, what did he say to you?” Mom perched next to me, her expression troubled.

 … Gone for thirty-six hours straight, Mom came bustling in with more energy than I’d seen since Dad’s funeral. She had a feverish, almost manic glint in her eyes. She rattled around in the kitchen cabinets, shoving papers, take-out menus, coupons. Packets of fast-food ketchup and soy sauce rattled to the floor. “Where’s Bean’s phone number?”

“Why?” I leaned against the doorframe and clasped my elbows.