Chapter Two

Palmeri drove the Humvee up onto the tarmac and stopped by the chopper pad. Dave and I climbed out and walked to the front of the vehicle. I stared at the helicopter. It resembled a prehistoric bird on furlough from a museum. The front of the thing had a face. The big windows looked like eyes, the propeller blades draped to either side like eyebrows. I don’t know, like I said, to me it looked like a face.

“You okay?” Dave said.

I wasn’t sure if I was. When I’d been a kid, we played ding-dong-ditch. One old woman had wind chimes on her front porch. The house was set back from the road. The idea wasn’t to ring her doorbell, but to swipe your arm across the chimes. The other kids on the street were older. They forced me to do it. I worked up the courage and made my way up her lawn, staying low, and moving quietly from tree to tree. I could hear the others laughing in the street. They were ready to run and hide as soon as I rang the chimes. When I got up onto the porch, about to run my arm across the wind chimes, a light switched on. That old woman sat in a chair on a corner of the porch waiting. I’d stood frozen, and when she got up to come at me, I found my legs and ran away, screaming at the top of my lungs. I felt that way now, but at least I wasn’t alone. “Let’s just check this place out.”

The clouds were one solid sheet of gunmetal-grey that made up the entire sky for as far as the eye could see. The leafless trees stood like skeletons along most of the perimeter. The wind had picked up, brisk and bone-chilling. It smelled wet, as if rain or snow was in the inevitable future. The crisp air filled and stung my lungs. It was going to be a long, harsh winter for survivors in the north. Hibernating the next several months would prove challenging. I prayed they found shelter safe from zombies and full of supplies. None of that seemed likely, though.

Before fleeing the burning cabin, most of us had escaped with weapons from the Terrigino stash. Stocking up on rifles and ammo, machetes, swords and knives, I wore a machete and sheath on my back and a long sword with a scabbard and nine-inch sawbuck-hunting knife on my hip, completely foregoing a rifle or sidearm. I learned the hard way how frightening it was to be surrounded by zombies and out of ammunition. My daughter dressed similarly. Dave had a rifle and a sidearm. Between the two of us, I figured that even if we ran into a flock of zombies, we’d be able to deliver some serious damage before being forced to retreat. I hoped, anyway, because in every instance, it seemed like retreat was inexorable.

The Humvee’s engine let out a low and steady chugging sound; it was just a bit less than a grumble, and a tad more than a purr.  Other than that, the only thing making noise was the wind. It sounded angry, if you wanted to personify it, and ran along the hangar rattling the loose aluminum walls, rocked the helicopter’s blades and caused me to shiver against its force. I wished the vest I wore was equipped with both sleeves and a collar, but then it wouldn’t be a vest. In truth, the shiver might only be partly caused by the frigid air.

The hangar resembled a giant warehouse with a bowed roof, and appeared secured. The doors that let planes in and out were rolled closed. There was a normal door as well. I motioned to Dave with my head that we’d start that way. “Only real door I see,” I said. “Let’s check it out.”

With a slight nod, Dave followed me.

I held the machete by my side and gripped the handle, wishing I’d taken a pair of thin gloves from the Terrignos. Continued use of this thing was going to rub my palms raw. While the rubber might be better to hold than wood, sweat and blood would still make it slippery and difficult to hold, I’d bet.

We reached the hangar, and stood on either side of the front entrance. I put a wrist to my chest, feeling my heartbeat through my clothing.

“Could be a back door, too,” Dave said.

“Probably is,” I said. “Should we do a walk-around?”

Dave shook his head. “If there’s a door, there’s a door. If there isn’t…” He shrugged. His way of saying, Oh well, without saying it.

“I’m good with that,” I said. I switched the machete to my other hand and tried the doorknob. Twisted it left and right. Barely moved. “Locked.”

“Of course. We kick it in, or whatever. If there aren’t any zombies around, they’ll start this way. If there are zombies inside, it’ll be like ringing the doorbell,” Dave said. “I hate this shit.”

“Hating it right along with you,” I said. Don’t know how many times I cursed at home about having to go into work. The idea of being tethered by a headset to a workstation for eight plus hours gave me stomach cramps. Then there was that, stomach cramps. You basically had to raise your hand and get permission from a supervisor to use the bathroom. Right now, though, with things the way they were, I’d take being treated like a fucking preschooler over this any day of the week. “You see any other option?”

“We take that walk-around, see if there is another door, and check if that one is unlocked,” Dave said. “Unless you want to just kick this one in?”

I looked back at the Humvee. It was parked maybe fifty yards away. Couldn’t see through the front windshield since the glass was heavily tinted. I knew everyone inside was staring directly at us. They were counting on us. “Let’s walk it. Make it quick. There has got to be an easy way inside.”

We made our way along the west side of the hangar. I’ve never been in the jungle before, not the Serengeti, Congo, or the Amazon, and yet, I knew Dave and I were being followed. I couldn’t help feel like a gazelle. Out there was a lion, or a pack of lions. I knew it. I held up a fist.

We stopped.

“What?” Dave said, it was a whisper.

“We’re being followed.”

We both spun around.

I laughed first, Dave a millisecond later. I’d been correct. We were being followed. A giant black Humvee had closed the sixty yard gap between us. It was ten yards away, and inching closer and closer. “Guess we’re all going for that walk around the hangar,” I said.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Dave said. “Not a thing.”

I agreed. While there was safety in numbers, having a vehicle filled with armed people on your side only helped. Didn’t hurt.

Once at the corner of the building, I peeked around the side, quickly.

“Well? Is it clear?” Dave said.

I placed my back against the building. My cheeks felt numb. The temperature had to be dropping fast. My breath came out in plumes.

I shook my head, and let out a little laugh. “I looked too fast. I didn’t see anything.”

“You okay?” Dave said.

I nodded. “Ah-yeah, peachy.”

Dave stuck his head around the corner. “It’s clear.”

“Awesome,” I said. “Sorry about that.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said.

But there was something to be sorry for. I felt unraveled. The coming undone took place inside of me, in my head, and chest. Those parts of me seemed like fabric tearing away, being peeled back. I’d lost my son yesterday, and buried him this morning. There had been no time to stop, grieve, mourn, or to heal. None. Nothing.

Dave knew what it felt like, what I was going through. He’d lost his brother only days before that.

Over the last week, all of us had lost someone. Every one of us. I just needed a way to keep pushing on, moving forward, even though I didn’t want to. That was honest and raw. It was the way I felt. I didn’t want to try anymore. I wasn’t sure there was a point. Other than caring for Allison and Charlene, I was drained. They might be the only two reasons I didn’t just give up altogether. Just lay down my weapons, curl into a ball and just fall asleep forever.

The plan to go to Mexico was flat and uninspired. I had everyone all rallied and excited about crossing the foreign border. The fucking zombies were everywhere. The disease would only continue to spread. Things would get worse before they ever got even slightly better. However, things getting any worse was nearly incomprehensible. If Mexico was in any better shape than New York, I’d be more than surprised, I’d be shocked. Fucking shocked.