After: The Shock (5 page)

“It
was stalking me,” Campbell said. “They’re supposed to charge.”

“It
was creeping up, all right. But not on
you
. It was watching
us
.”

“Wait
a sec,” Pete said. “How come you could see in the dark?”

The
man fished around in the hip pocket of his coveralls, eliciting a threatening
wave of the Glock from Pete. The man ignored the gesture and pulled out some
tinted goggles on a thick strap. “Infrared,” the man said. “Nothing but the
best in survival gear if you want to survive, right?”

How
come WE didn’t think of that? Oh, yeah. Because Pete’s drunk off his ass and my
survivalist training ended in the sixth grade when Mom made me quit the Boy
Scouts.

“Is
it just you two fellas?” the man asked, tracking his flashlight along the
scrub.

“Yeah,”
Campbell grunted. “How come this one was sneaking? I’ve never seen any of
them sneak.”

“They’re
changing.”

“Changing?”
Pete said. “Like what, growing a third eye or something?”

“The
way they act. Come on, you can ask the professor about it.” The man turned and
headed into the forest.

“Damn,
man.” Pete said to Campbell. “Hardcore.”

The
man stopped ten feet ahead and turned. “You boys ain’t dangerous, are you? With
them guns?”

“No,
sir,” Campbell said.

“Didn’t
think so. I bet you’re too scared to shoot if you had to.” He continued toward
the flickering fire.

Campbell
switched on his
flashlight and pointed it down at the corpse. He imagined he heard a low
chuckling but decided it was the thing’s stomach gases. But it didn’t look like
a thing, or a veggie, or a Zaphead. It looked like somebody’s chubby uncle, a
bus driver or brake mechanic or off-duty cop. The corpse wore a dark
short-sleeved shirt, blue jeans, and scuffed leather shoes without socks.

Campbell
wondered where the man
had been when the solar flare erupted. Zapheads rarely moved with any sort of
real intention besides venting rage on anything that breathed. If they were
changing, evolving, and adapting, he hadn’t seen such behavior manifested. But
hadn’t the woman in the plumbing van pounced with a glimmer of intelligence?

“I
don’t want these things to change,” Campbell said. “I was just starting to get
used to the idea of a planet full of mindless killers. I don’t know if I can
handle any more surprises.”

“Well,
we better catch up with Mister Happy up there.”

“And
his friends, apparently.”

“Wonder
if they got any beer?”

Campbell
led the way, giving the
corpse a wide berth. He wondered how many more Zapheads might be lurking in the
bushes, watching the campfire and waiting for an opportunity.

Pete
staggered by him, wobbling and cussing, hacking at the saplings with his free
hand. “Dude could have let us borrow his goggles.”

“I
have the feeling he’s not the sharing kind. He’d probably say some jock
bullshit like ‘Only survivalists survive.’”

As
they neared the forest, the air became moister and cooler. The creek lay beyond
them in the dark, gurgling in oblivious merriment. The clouds had spread out in
great purple skeins above, backlit by the psychedelic auroras that came in the
wake of the solar storms. Somewhere above them, the moon continued its track
across the sky. The world continued to turn, all the great cogs of the universe
appeared to fit into their proper slots, and the machineries of time functioned
in perfect precision, but the one big piece of it was broken.

Campbell
looked back toward the
road once, wondering about their bicycles, but the night had swallowed all
their travels. Now there was only the bobbing fire, and that pungent,
tantalizing smoke, and a future where former humans crouched in a depraved
hunger for violence.

“Do
you see any of them?” Pete said as they entered the silent corridor of trees.

“Shh.”
Pete squinted at the crackling fire, playing his flashlight around, wondering
where their rescuer was. They stepped into a clearing that contained a couple
of tents, a blanket hanging from a wire strung between two trees, and some gray
cookware stacked on a sodden stump.

No
one was in sight.

Then
a deep voice erupted from the surrounding shadows: “Drop your guns and move
real slow.”

CHAPTER
FIVE

They’d
decided on a room in a Motel 6 on the outskirts of the city, just below the
interstate but away from any commercial developments or residential
neighborhoods. A convenience store and a Taco Bell were the only other
buildings in the little off-road cluster designed to bleed money from travelers
on the way south to Columbia or north to Raleigh. In the murky light of
sundown, Rachel couldn’t make out any of the vehicles she knew were scattered
along the road.

There
were fewer cars in front of the convenience store, so they chose that one to
explore instead of the Taco Bell. The fast-food restaurant with its darkened
glass seemed absurdly like an abandoned temple, a religion whose comforts no
longer served the masses. Rachel could smell the spoiled cheese emanating from
the place. At least, she hoped it was cheese.

She
kept watch out front while DeVontay prowled the convenience store for food and
supplies. She clutched the flashlight, afraid to turn it on, figuring that
invisibility was the best defense. The world’s silence was oppressive and
weighty—a new sort of gravity enveloped her in an alien skin. The only sounds
were the occasional crashes as DeVontay pillaged the store.

He
soon emerged with his backpack bulging, a bag of Doritos ripped open in his
hand. He crunched the corn chips as he said, “Got us enough to get through the
night.”

“See
anybody?”

“Just
a couple dead folks.”

“Were
they Zapheads?”

“Why
you call ‘em that?”

“That’s
what the media was calling them, before the power went out.”

DeVontay
headed for the motel and she followed, glancing at the Taco Bell. No more
running for the border.

“The
solar flares,” Rachel said. “Astronomers knew they were coming. They just
didn’t know what would happen.”

“I
never was no good at science.” DeVontay held the bag of chips out to her.

“You
shouldn’t be eating that junk food.”

“What,
it will rot my brain?” He snorted in laughter.

“That
stuff’s full of preservatives.”

“I
might need me some preserving, if things get any worse.” He pulled his pistol
from his belt as they approached the drop-off circle by the motel’s main
entrance.

A
red Fiat was pulled up to the curb, its front doors open. Rachel gave the car a
wide berth but DeVontay peered through the window. “Bad ride.”

“It’s
dead, like every other car we tried in the last half hour.”

“Why
you got to be so negative all the time?”

“Maybe
because everybody I know and love is either dead or trying to crack open my
skull,” she said.

“Well,
that’s what you get for lovin’ people,” DeVontay said. “I never had that
problem.”

He
left the Fiat and joined her outside the sliding-glass doors, where she peered
into the shadowed lobby. The front desk was unattended. A dark form slumped in
one of those stiff, formal chairs that were designed for decoration, not for
sitting.

“Somebody’s
in there,” Rachel said.

DeVontay
tugged his pistol from his belt. “Are they moving?”

“I
can’t tell.”

“Should
we knock?” Rachel said.

DeVontay
pushed at narrow gap where the two sliding doors stood a few inches from
meeting. “No electricity. This bitch won’t open.”

“Maybe
if you yell a little louder, we can get some Zapheads to bust it open for us.”

“Ain’t
nobody here. Not alive, no ways.”

Rachel
didn’t want to think about all the bodies spread throughout the motel. There
were at least 30 cars in the parking lot, which meant a big slice of America: business travelers, families on vacation, retired people headed to see the
grandkids.

“We
could break the glass,” Rachel said.

“Like
that wouldn’t draw attention?”

“I
don’t know how well those things can hear. We still don’t much about them.”

“Wait
here.” DeVontay gave her the bag of Doritos headed back to the Fiat, then he
stooped through the driver’s-side door. A moment, later, the trunk popped open.
DeVontay returned with a scissors jack and handle.

“Lucky
it had a manual latch, or I woulda had to bust into it,” DeVontay said.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“So,
we can add ‘car thief’ to your list of survival skills. Great.” She put a Dorito
in her mouth and the crunch filled her ears from the inside.

“Says
the lady eating a stolen Dorito.”

She
glanced down at the bag and realized the moral compass, even hers, had shifted
with the arrival of the solar flares. Perhaps God’s commandments needed a
revision.

She
might have thought that the catastrophe had been a punishment for the wicked,
except that the apocalypse had punished everyone, good or bad, white or black,
believer or infidel. But she couldn’t worry about the big picture right now.
First, she had to survive the night.

DeVontay
wedged the jack between the bottoms of the motel doors and cranked the handle
until it was tight. At first, the doors held, and then they groaned in protest
before yielding. The jack handle quivered under the stress, and Rachel wondered
if the glass would shatter after all. Then the doors gave a grudging inch, and
then another.

When
DeVontay had widened the gap to more than a foot, he stepped aside and
retrieved his pistol. “Ladies first.”

“You’re
a real gentleman.”

“I
told you, I ain’t no gentleman. Just a man. Now get in there and just scream if
you see any Zapheads.”

She
stared into his face, which was getting harder to see as night encroached. His
glass eye was lost in shadow, but his real one burned with impatience. She
pushed her backpack through the opening, and switched on her flashlight,
keeping the beam directed on the lobby floor.

Rachel
stepped inside, immediately hit by the corrupt air of the three-story
mausoleum. She played the flashlight beam over the figure in the chair and
wished she hadn’t. She had been a maid with a Spanish complexion and dark hair
knotted into a bun, perhaps taking a final break without realizing her shift
was about to be punched out by the Big Time Clock in the Sky. Beside her was a
cart filled with folded towels, linens, and cleaning supplies.

“Grab
this,” DeVontay said, shoving his own backpack through the opening. She had to
wiggle it to get it through, but was uneasy about turning her back on the dark
lobby. Once she got it through, DeVontay followed, and she drew comfort from
the pistol he now pointed before him into the darkness.

“Smell
that?” she said.

He
took her flashlight and walked over to the maid’s cart, ignoring the body. He
came back with a squirt bottle of hand sanitizer. He squirted some on his
fingers and rubbed the goo above his upper lip, into the faint stubble of his
mustache. He gave an exaggerated sniff and passed her the bottle.

She
understood and aped his actions. The perfumed aroma immediately filled her
nostrils and masked the smell of death.

“You’re
pretty resourceful,” she said.

“Saw
it on a TV show,” he said.

“Wow.”

“Don’t
sound so surprised. We got TV in Philly, too. Before it fried out, I mean.”

Outside,
a faint dusting of stars stuck to the deep ceiling of the sky, the rippling
green bands of aurora borealis painting the darkness.

“Let’s
get a room,” she said.

“I
could make a joke here, but it’s the end of the world,” he said. He crossed the
lobby to the front desk, flicking the flashlight down each wing to make sure
they were empty. He went behind the desk and into the open office while Rachel
shouldered her backpack and waited. A moment later, he came out holding up a
key ring.

“Key
cards won’t work, but one of these gotta be the master key,” he said.

“Hurry.
I’m getting the creeps out here.”

“Let’s
take the first one we come to,” he said. “The nicest rooms are usually closest
to the front desk. Might even get a Jacuzzi, for all the good it will do us.”

“Pass
the apocalypse in pampered luxury,” she said. “I can see the television
commercial already.”

“Except
the part where there ain’t no TV anymore.” He gave her the flashlight and she
illuminated the hallway so he could try the first door.

“What
if there’s somebody in it?” She meant “somebody dead” but she didn’t have to
say it.

He
raised his hand to knock, and then grinned sheepishly at her, squinting against
the light. The eyelid covering his glass eye didn’t fully close. “We can stand
out here all night if you like.”

She
peered past him down the hall, into the blackness beyond the flashlight’s
reach. “You hear that?”

He
turned toward the end of the hall, where a scuffling noise echoed down the
concrete stairwell. “Hear what?”

“That,”
she whispered.

“Probably
just the air conditioning,” he said.

“Power’s
off, remember?”

DeVontay
didn’t say anything, but his face said, “Oh, yeah,” and he selected one of the
keys on the ring and tried to jam it in the door lock. It slid in halfway and
stuck. He jiggled it three times before he was able to yank it free. The noise
was louder now, and clearly sounded like feet shuffling on concrete steps.

“What
if it’s one of us?” Rachel whispered.

DeVontay
pushed a different key into the lock, but it didn’t even penetrate. His hands
were shaking, causing the keys to jingle.

“Give
me the gun, you can go faster,” she whispered.

“You
know how to shoot?” he whispered back, shoving a fourth key toward the slot.

“No,
but I’ll feel safer,” she whispered.

Before
he could answer, the key slid in and he turned it with a loud
click.
He
depressed the door handle as Rachel swerved the beam down the hall. A bulky
shape filled the opening of the stairwell, moving toward them.

“Hurry,
hurry, hurry!” Rachel implored DeVontay, pounding on his back. “He’s coming.”

DeVontay
swung the door open, pointing the gun down the hall as she pushed past him into
the room. The air was stale but didn’t smell of corpses.

Thank
you, God, for small blessings.

“Who
are you?” DeVontay yelled down the hall, but he waited only one second before
stepping inside and slamming the door closed, quickly throwing the deadbolt in
place.

“You
know how to shoot?” Rachel mocked, aiming the flashlight at the pistol by his
side.

“Smartass.
I wasn’t the one squealing”—he raised his voice to a thin falsetto—“
Ooooh,
help, help
.”

“Shush,”
she said. “Maybe he won’t figure out which room we’re in.”

They
heard him banging on doors, coming closer. Rachel didn’t know how smart
Zapheads were, but in her observation, they seemed to have varying degrees of
cunning. Perhaps the solar flares had short-circuited different people’s brains
in varying degrees. Most died, some fried, and a few lucky souls were left to
sort out the mess.

DeVontay
drew back from the door, joining her in the middle of the room. She flicked the
light around to make sure the room was empty. It was a suite, with a little
kitchenette and a Jacuzzi. DeVontay had gotten lucky after all.

Then
the Zaphead was pounding on the door, giving three hard blows with the bottoms
of his fists. Rachel instinctively clutched DeVontay and switched off the
flashlight, not wanting the beam to attract attention. She could hear DeVontay
panting in the dark.

Then
the Zaphead was off across the hall to the next door, repeating the pounding as
he worked his way down the hall. Soon the banging was muffled, as if he had
reached the far wing. Rachel exhaled, not realizing her lungs were burning with
held breath and tension.

“Close
one,” she said, flicking on the flashlight again.

“You
got your Jacuzzi after all,” he said.

Without
thinking, she turned the water tap, but nothing came out. “I haven’t had a bath
in ages,” she said.

“You
gonna be smelling worse than these corpses soon.”

“Well,
just keep squirting that sanitizer up your nose and you’ll be fine.”

He
chuckled, mostly with relief, and wiped sweat from his head. He plopped his
backpack onto the bedside table and dug into it. He pulled out a few tins and
cellophane bags of food, then a pack of white candles and a Bic. “Save your batteries,”
he said, lighting a candle and jamming its base into the wrought-iron lamp.

He
lit another, and then checked to make sure the curtains were drawn tight.
“Guess we’re as safe here as anywhere,” he said.