The granite shelves were gray-rimmed and smooth, caught in the epochal upheaval and slide of geology. Seeing the massive rocks as grit in the hourglass of time, Rachel understood how foolish her perception of Before had been: a world where school counselors could quietly make a difference in the life of a child, where the stock market always rose, where civilization marched inexorably toward enlightenment and peace. The turbulent physics of the universe put that deception to rest in a flash.
“How’s DeVontay going to find us?” Stephen asked. “We’re way far off the map.”
“He’s smart. He’ll figure it out.”
“Maybe we should have left him a trail of breadcrumbs, like in ‘Hansel and Gretel.’”
“What if Zapheads like bread?”
“They’re probably too dumb to walk in a straight line. You saw how they burned themselves to death at that gas station.”
Those images had seared themselves into Rachel’s brain forever. After one had touched the flames, the others followed, eventually immolating themselves in a massive bonfire of human barbecue. The oily stench still clung to the lining of Rachel’s nasal passages. They said scent was the most evocative of the senses, and Rachel wished she could flush that memory out in a trail of snot and disgust.
“They’re like children,” Rachel said. “Monkey see, monkey do.”
“Maybe we can teach them to not kill us.”
Rachel wanted to lay some counselor hoodoo on him, bullshit phrases like “Celebrate diversity” and “Live and let live,” but she was too tired. “That might be a big job. The best thing we can do is get to Milepost 291. Grandpa will know how to deal with it, and there may be other people there. And DeVontay knows we’re heading that way.”
Ahead of them, so large that it created a clearing, was a massive protrusion of stone, rising like a temple. The sun spilled across the top of it, where scrub vegetation and lichen clung in patches. A black shadow beneath it suggested an opening that might be deep enough to shelter them for the night.
“Let’s try that,” she said, pointing at the cleft with her crutch.
“Looks spooky,” Stephen said. “Why don’t we look for a house?”
“We’re about to hit the national park. There won’t be any houses, but we might get lucky and run into a ranger station or camp site.”
“Unless Zapheads are there, and then it won’t be so lucky.”
A covey of birds erupted from the nearby treetops, chirping and squawking. As they fell into a pattern and headed east, their cries were mimicked from the forest floor.
The Zapheads are doing birdcalls.
The sounds were far enough away to not signal an immediate threat, but they were chilling nonetheless. Rachel wondered if the birds were in seasonal migration, or if the electromagnetic storms had disrupted whatever directional sense drove them to warmer climates each winter.
“That’s creepy,” Stephen said as the birds faded into the dusk and the Zapheads fell silent again.
“At least we know where they are,” she said.
Stephen slowed as they ascended the hill to the cave, letting Rachel pass him. The bite wound was leaking more heavily, and the fluid had turned darker. Maybe they should have risked Black Rock after all. She could have found a pharmacy and maybe some other survivors. But after their encounter with the rogue soldiers in Taylorsville, Rachel wasn’t optimistic about the odds of a warm welcome. Those who’d assumed an idyllic utopia of peaceful co-existence as the fate of the human race now had evidence of that big fat lie.
“Think of it as camping out,” Rachel said. “Lots of families come to the mountains to get a taste of the great outdoors.”
“But we’re not a family.”
Rachel thought they were much tighter than a family—they were fellow survivors. “We’re just happy campers. How’s that?”
He tried a smile that wasn’t very happy. “I guess so.”
Because of the weight, they hadn’t carried any bedding aside from thin blankets wadded into their packs, along with a few cans of food, energy bars, bottled water, a few hand tools, and a first-aid kit. Stephen had ditched the comic books for Lemony Snicket, and Rachel had helped him with some of the longer words. It was the closest she could get to her old life as a school counselor, although she’d had plenty of chances to serve as doomsday psychoanalyst.
Close to the cave, the moist, cool air struck them. It smelled of ancient forest dirt. Rachel wondered if they would actually get any sleep. They’d have to huddle together for warmth, and Rachel would drowse restlessly because of the Zapheads in the forest. But first they would eat their cold rations and she’d tackle the soggy dressings on her leg.
Can’t wait to sit down for a while. This pretending to be brave and strong is getting old.
The cave was only about ten feet deep, the rock sloping back to create a wedge of dark space. A couple of boulders created a sense of fortifications at the opening. “Home sweet home,” Rachel said, shucking her backpack and leaning against one of the boulders.
“We’ve got enough light to read,” Stephen said.
“But no glow sticks, ‘kay? Once it’s dark, no sneaking.”
Stephen groaned a little. They’d found a box of toy glow sticks in a convenience store, although Rachel insisted they save them for emergencies only. She hated to take away his one escape from the bleak reality of After, but she didn’t want any wandering Zapheads to see the stray light. Stephen took off his backpack and knelt in the dirt to open it.
“What’s on the menu?” Rachel said, unwrapping her bandage and letting the blood flow to the wound. The slit she’d cut in her jeans allowed her to see the damaged flesh. It looked green around the scalloped edges, and she wondered again if the dog might have been carrying some new sort of disease. After all, if the solar storms had altered many forms of life, why wouldn’t they mutate bacteria?
Zombie herpes. Just my luck.
She didn’t want to dwell on it. The Zapheads were bad enough, but at least they were large enough to detect and avoid. All things considered, it could be worse. And she didn’t want to dwell on that, either.
“What’s for dinner?” she asked Stephen, who was rummaging in his pack.
“Clif bars. You want chocolate chip or vanilla yogurt?”
“Two wonderful flavors of hippie goodness.” She heard the crackle of wrappers and figured Stephen had made the decision for her.
“What’s that?” Stephen said.
“What’s what?”
The crackling grew more vigorous. Stephen looked over at the boulder across from Rachel. A large gray-speckled shape was coiled on the stone, its blunt, diamond-shaped head tucked against its body, tail lifted and quivering in the air.
Rattler.
“Snake!” Stephen shrieked, flinging the snack food away and nearly tripping over his backpack as he fled past Rachel. She reached out to grab him but nearly fell herself as pain flared up her leg.
“Snake!” Stephen shouted again, and the word was echoed in the distance as Zapheads heard the boy’s panic.
The snake was probably out of striking distance, but Rachel was in no shape to flee or dodge if it rose to bite her. She grabbed her makeshift crutch and swung it like a baseball bat, nearly losing her balance. The wood connected with the snake’s body and knocked it into the dark crevices of the cave. She didn’t know whether she’d killed it, but she wasn’t going to risk recovering Stephen’s pack.
She called after him but he kept running and was quickly swallowed by the trees. He shouted “Snaaaake!” as he ran.
Without stopping to wrap her wound, she grabbed her pack and limped after him. The sun was dying beyond the hills and would soon leave the world in darkness. And she wasn’t sure Zapheads ever slept.