The Remnants of Yesterday (5 page)

12

IT TOOK ANOTHER TWO and a half hours to reach the next exit, and by the time we got there, we had witnessed enough death to last a lifetime. We didn’t talk about the airplane with the bodies still strapped into their seats. There was enough carnage ahead of us on the highway without thinking about the gruesome sight inside the wrecked plane. Once in a while we came across an empty stretch of road, and that was a welcome respite, but there were always more wrecks up ahead, more broken and burned bodies.

Two hours into our journey, however, I began to notice a trend. Some of the cars and trucks lacked occupants, just like the car at the bottom of the off ramp, and the plane’s cockpit. A few vehicles stood with their doors ajar, which clearly indicated that the people inside had escaped unharmed, or at least with minimal injury. Others were so totally wrecked it seemed impossible that anyone could have survived. Some, those that hadn’t burned, still had seat belts buckled, despite being devoid of their human cargo. Try as I might to figure it out, a rational explanation eluded me, and in the end I gave up trying.

After leaving the interstate behind, we walked for a while lost in our own thoughts. It seemed neither of us felt inclined to engage in idle chat after the horrors of the highway. We still encountered the odd car, but these didn’t display anywhere near the level of damage, and they were all empty, much to my relief.

After a while, we reached a small side road and turned up it, finding ourselves at a set of wrought iron gates flanked by two large brick pillars. An ornate arch spanned the gap between them. White painted lettering followed the curve of the arch.

Ripton College.

“This is it.” Clara looked back at me, her face full of hope, and worry, then stepped past the gates. “Come on.”

We traversed a long driveway flanked by centuries old oak trees that formed a corridor leading to the main campus, which was dominated by a large house that looked like it dated back to the nineteenth century, or even earlier.

The driveway exited the trees and split in two, running off to each side of a large three-tiered fountain, only to swoop back inward in front of the house. To the left and right of the driveway were other buildings, some old, some new. The mix of modern construction and classical architecture should have been strange together, but somehow it worked, each structure offsetting and complimenting the others. Clara made a beeline for the main building, her feet crunching on the gravel driveway as she walked.

“It looks old,” I said as we approached the building and climbed the steps to the main entrance. “Really old.”

“It is,” she said. “The main house dates back to 1855. It was built for a general in the Civil War. I don’t remember which one. It was gifted to the college after the Second World War when the last heir died.”

“Nice.” I glanced around. The place seemed deserted. “Where is everyone?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Clara said, approaching the door. “It’s usually really busy at this time of the day.”

“Maybe they evacuated the place?” I could think of no other reason why the school would be deserted.

“I don’t think so.” Clara glanced toward the parking area. “There are still cars here, and besides, how would they do it, the highway is pretty much impassable.” She took a swipe card from her pocket and ran it through a reader. A buzzer sounded and the door clicked open, granting us access.

We stepped across the threshold into a large foyer, the walls covered with portraits in ornate gold frames. An imposing grand staircase of dark polished wood dominated the center of the room. Corridors ran to the left and the right.

Clara paused for a moment, clearly disappointed. Her eyes wandered from the staircase to the corridors, then up to the floor above. “Damn. I thought we might find someone here.”

“Sorry.” I had hoped there would be some sign of life inside the building, but it was becoming clear that we were on our own. “What now?”

“We go to the dorms, maybe someone will be there.”

13

THE INSIDE OF THE BUILDING smelled musty in that odd dusty way that academic institutions often do. Clara led me past the staircase, down a narrow corridor, and through a back door that opened out onto a central courtyard surrounded by three more buildings. This area too was empty, but Clara did not stop to ponder upon it.

She hurried across the courtyard, making a beeline for the furthest building, her feet crunching the gravel underfoot as she went. When we reached the largest of the buildings, she stopped and pulled the key card out once more.

“These are the dorms.” She swiped the key card for a second time, and then pushed the door open and stepped inside, her face falling when she saw that this space was also abandoned.

“I was hoping…”

“I know.” I cut her off. “Where’s your room?”

“This way.” She moved toward a set of narrow stairs and started to climb. When we reached the third floor, she led me down a long corridor and stopped at a plain brown door.

“This is my room.” She swiped her card through yet another reader, and stepped inside.

I followed her, letting the door close behind us, and then took stock of my surroundings. The room was small but comfortable, with two beds, one against each wall. Two small closets framed a lead paned window on the far wall. Under the window was a desk cluttered with books of all shapes and sizes.

Clara stood in the middle of the room, a look of disappointment on her face. “She’s not here.”

“Who?”

“Shelly, my roommate.” She turned to me. “I know it seems silly. We haven’t seen anyone else on campus, but I was hoping she was here. I wanted her to be safe.”

“She might be. Just because she’s not here…” I trailed off. A part of me wanted to reassure her, but another part of me, a bigger part, knew that Shelly might be anything but safe. We had no idea where the faculty and student body had gone, and although it was comforting to think they were somehow evacuated, rescued by a passing National Guard unit or airlifted out, it didn’t seem likely given all we’d seen so far.

“It doesn’t matter.” Clara sniffed and wiped away a tear. She took her backpack off and threw it on the nearest bed, then stepped over to the desk and pulled a laptop from the drawer.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“The internet. We can find out what’s going on.”

“Of course.” I hadn’t thought of that. The cell phones might be out of action, but maybe we could still get on the web.

She bent down and plugged in the charger. “I’m sure the battery is dead.”

We waited while the machine booted, which seemed to take a frustratingly long time. She tapped in a password at the prompt, and then opened up the web browser.

She turned to me. “Thank God. We have a wireless signal. What should we try?”

“CNN?”

She typed in the URL.

The browser instantly returned the message SERVER NOT FOUND.

“Damn.” She typed another domain into the browser. The same message popped up. “I don’t get it. The computer says it has a wireless signal.”

I got it though. “We do have a signal from the router. I bet the router doesn’t have an outside Internet connection.”

“You’re right.” She looked glum.

“Hey, cheer up,” I said. “I didn’t even think of it.”

“Oh well. It was worth a try.” She stood for a few moments looking at the useless laptop, and then shrugged and turned back toward me. “You should charge your cell phone.”

“What’s the point? No service, remember.”

“I don’t know. Just seems like we should cover all our bases.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, then rummaged in my backpack for the charger, which we had taken from the gas station. “What now?”

“We should get cleaned up. You look like an axe murderer.”

I looked down at myself, at the polo shirt spattered with Walter’s blood. Somehow I’d also managed to get dark smudges of soot from the burned out vehicles on it. “I do, don’t I.”

“There are showers down the corridor on the left.” Clara pulled a set of fresh clothes from the closet. “We’ll be able to think more clearly once we’ve freshened up.”

“You go first.” A hot shower sounded good, but I had a feeling Clara needed it more.

“How about we shower together,” she said, grabbing a shower caddy from one of the nightstands.

“I don’t think-”

“Get your mind out of the gutter.” She blushed a little. “I’m not seducing you. Separate cubicles. I just don’t think we should split up right now.”

“Oh. Of course.” It seemed like a good idea to stick together, but I also suspected that she didn’t want to be alone.

14

THE SHOWERS WERE ARRANGED along one wall of a large white tiled room. There were six cubicles, each with a plain cream curtain suspended from a metal rod. Along the other wall was a row of porcelain sinks mounted under large rectangular mirrors.

“You can take the shower closest to the door,” Clara said. “That way if we run into any trouble you can protect us.” She pulled a couple of towels from a locker near the door and draped one over each stall.

“I’m hoping we won’t have that problem.” I peeled my top off, dismayed to see that Walter’s blood had seeped all the way through and left red blotches on my chest.

“Me either. But just to be safe…” Clara pulled at the buttons of her work shirt, and then slipped it off, discarding it on the floor. “Won’t be needing this anymore.”

“What, you don’t think Walter will take you back?” I grinned, a feeble attempt at humor.

“I think trying to kill your employee is a sure sign you don’t want to work with them anymore.”

“I’d say so,” I replied, glancing over as she undressed, despite myself. 

She stripped off her khaki pants and dropped them next to the shirt. When she glanced toward me, I averted my eyes, but apparently not quickly enough. “That’s all you get,” she said, and padded toward the second cubicle in her undies, then pulled the curtain closed. A moment later, I heard the steady drum of water as she turned the shower on.

I followed suit, taking the shower next to her and basking under the hot spray, relishing the way it played over me, soothing and comfortable. “I saw a pile of books on the desk back there. Shakespeare, Capote, and some Hemmingway too I believe. Is that you or your roommate?”

“Me.” She reached around the cubicle and handed me a container of shower gel. “Literature major.”

“Really.”

“Yup. You caught me. I’m a book nerd.”

“Well if that’s the case I must be one too.” I soaped up, relieved to wash the Walter stains off.

“Oh really. And what grants you access to the nerd club?”

I couldn’t see her, but from the way she spoke it sounded like she was smiling, and that was refreshing. “I just got my first book deal.”

“You’re a writer?” The awe in her voice was evident.

“No. I’m a barista who happened to find some fool to publish my book,” I replied. “Different thing.”

“Don’t be so modest. It’s a big deal. Is it out yet? Would I have heard of it?”

“No, and no,” I said. “I only found out three days ago. The visit to New York was going to be a double celebration. My brother’s new baby, and my first published book.” I squirted body wash into my hands and rubbed it into my hair in lieu of shampoo.

“Bummer. Sorry about that. Awful timing.”

“Story of my life.”

“I’d love to write a book,” Clara said. “That’s why I came here. This place has the best literature program in New England.”

“It’s a good thing you could afford it.”

“Are you kidding? I couldn’t afford this place in a million years. I worked my ass off to get a full scholarship, and I still ended up working in that shitty gas station four nights a week to survive.” She turned the shower off. “Are you done in there?”

“Almost.” I rinsed my hair off and grabbed the towel.

“Good,” Clara said. “I’ve been thinking. We should stay here tonight.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” I wanted to reach New York and find my brother. This felt like an unnecessary delay.

“Come on, it makes sense. We spent last night on the floor. I don’t know about you, but I hardly got a wink of sleep, especially with Walter tied up out front. We’re exhausted. We have comfortable beds here, and as much food as we want in the school kitchens.”

“Well…” I still I felt we should keep moving. On the other hand, a good night’s sleep did make sense.

“Just one night. We can use the time to plan our next move.”

“One night.” I pulled my boxer shorts on and stepped from the shower.

Clara was already dressed. She eyed me for a moment, her eyes dropping briefly to my boxers, and then she turned toward the door. “Great. We’ll stay here tonight, and move on in the morning.”

I was about to answer her, but at that moment the lights flickered once, then twice, and went out.