Zocopalypse (Death Fields 1)

In a matter of days Paul felt like a brother, or at least what I imagined one would feel like. This is what I’m thinking about as he talks about the road south. Paul isn’t going with us to the lake or to Georgia. He’s heading north back home.

“What’s your plan to do after you find Jane?” he asks once the granola bars are gone and Mom has fully dozed off. From his spot in the back of the cab I see his face glowing blue from his phone screen. Service is spotty. Battery life is quickly fading. He can’t help himself though. I’ve seen him reach for his phone a dozen times a day. The checking is compulsive—I’ve caught myself doing it more than once.

“Better shut that off,” I warn.

“I wonder,” he says digging through his bag. He shoves a cord into the front. “Plug that in. See if it charges.”

It takes me a minute to find the receiver, but I push the end into the socket and hear the familiar ping of the phone starting up. Paul gives a fist pump, his face lighting up. I can’t help but smile too.

“Hey, I have an idea,” he says. “Lean this way.”

He moves to a familiar pose and I move toward him. Together we take a selfie.

“You gonna tag that #apocalypseselfie?” I joke. “God, I look like a wreck.”

“I feel like I need to sink into a pit of boiling water just to get the germs off.”

“Seriously.”

I take out my sweatshirt and fold it up to use as a pillow. Already each item in my bag takes on a dual function. I’ve just closed my eyes when I hear a whoop of excitement from the back. I jump, alert(ish) and ready. “What?”

“I got a signal.”

“You did?” I lean over to see.

“Yep.” His fingers fly over the buttons, stumbling a little due to happiness.

“Anything?”

“Looking at the emergency page, it was updated yesterday.” His eyes skim over the screen and I grip the sides of the seat to keep myself from snatching it from him. “Oh man, the evacuation centers are mandatory now for all counties in the quarantine zone which has spread to the borders of Texas up to North Dakota. Looks like if you’re out and about they will bring you in—by force—if necessary.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” He tries a couple of other things but from the way his head shakes nothing else online is very active. Reluctantly he lowers the phone and says, “What do you think?”

“Mom and I are not going in.”

He nods. “I’m just worried I’ll walk a hundred miles home and no one will be there when I get there.”

“Makes sense.” I agree. “We’ve got to do this thing for my dad, or maybe I’d consider it.”

“I guess if I got home and no one was still there I could go to the evacuation center for their area. At least I’d be with family.”

“That’s smart.”

Still, he doesn’t look convinced. “I really don’t want to be alone, Alex.”

I reach my hand out and take his, squeezing tight. “I know.”

It’s all too much. Too heavy. We’re too young. The only good thing about the travel and hyper adrenaline is that exhaustion is quick to take over and I fall asleep fast. I dream of a beating drum, thumping out a solid rhythm in the pitch black night.

I wake but the pounding doesn’t stop. Mom sits up next to me and peers through the dusty window. A bright light flashes overhead.

“What is that?” I ask. My voice groggy and crap, and my neck is janky from sleeping weird in the seat.

“Helicopter?” she says. It must be. They’re not totally uncommon but over the last week or so we’ve been seeing them less and less. Grimacing from the pain in my neck I peer out the side window trying to catch a glimpse of something. Anything.

Paul stirs behind us and sticks his head between the seats. We wait, unsure. The sound of the propeller softens.