Carl stuck his hand out to help him up but he waved it away. "I meant to do that."
"Yeah," Carl snorted and walked away shaking his head. John pushed himself back to his feet and walked over to where Carl stood. Carl's gray eyes were attentive as he rubbed the brim of his stained and faded Red Sox hat. His brown hair, longer than John had ever seen it, curled around the edges of his hat and the collar of his shirt. But then, John knew his own hair was the longest it had been since his junior year of high school as it tickled at the corners of his eyes. "I never thought I'd be so happy to be in New York."
"Me either," Xander agreed.
John had been concerned that there wouldn't be any happiness to be found after Bobby's death two days ago, but he actually saw smiles on the tired faces of the people surrounding him. Those smiles had been absent ever since they'd left the graveyard behind. However, he hadn't been doing any smiling either. He still couldn't get over how fast it had all happened. One minute Bobby had been there talking and fighting with them, and the next he was gone. He knew how fragile life was but he'd been living with a false sense of security ever since Lee's death.
He'd wrongly assumed the worst was behind them, that since they hadn't gotten sick they would be able to fight off the sick ones, and they'd be able to make it. The worst wasn't behind them though and he wasn't sure it ever would be. He lifted his head to study the highway winding through the mountains on either side of the road. They had hooked back up with the interstate less than a mile back, just outside of Danbury. He saw no homes around him but vehicles were scattered across the roadway and in the grass median.
"How far is it to the cabin from here?" Carl asked Al.
"Normally about an hour, hour and a half, but there are a couple of bridges between here and there that could be a problem," Al answered.
"I'm sure there will be more than bridges in between that will be a problem," Josh muttered.
John silently agreed with him as he stared at the rocks lining the mountains on each side of them. "We should have known about the bridges," Peter grumbled.
John released a low groan that caused Carl to shoot him a look. Peter hadn't said much since Bobby's death but every time he did open his mouth, John had to fight the impulse to punch him in his face. He didn't know what would happen if they did make it to the cabin and they had to live with the guy for an extended period of time. It wasn't a pleasant proposition.
He didn't understand why Bobby had lost his life, while this guy was still alive and being a dick every chance he got. Life wasn't fair, he knew, but he would have traded Peter in a heartbeat for Bobby. Unfortunately, that wasn't a possibility.
"We're going to run into obstacles everywhere we go," Carl said. "Bridges may be the least of our worries. Let's get back on the road."
John turned and followed him to the rack body truck. Rochelle walked by his side, her head bowed as she stared at the grass that crunched beneath her feet. "We're almost there kid," he assured her.
"Are we?" she asked.
That was an excellent question but he didn't have the answer for her. "Just have to take it one mile at a time."
She gave him a wan smile before focusing on her feet again. John draped his arm around her shoulders. He'd noticed a change in her since Bobby's death. He kept hoping she was just in a funk, or as much as he didn't want to think about it, maybe it was even hormones.
He knew Rochelle was trying to sort through things on her own, but he kept expecting her to snap out of it. Worry that she might not began to fill him. How could she just bounce back to that stubborn and resilient girl they'd encountered on the road after everything she'd endured?
Don't leave me kid, he pleaded silently but he didn't know what to do to keep that from happening.
She leaned against his side as he opened the door and gestured for her to jump in. John went to climb in beside her but he felt a hand wrap around his arm. He turned to find Mary Ellen standing next to him. She nodded to the back of the truck.
"What's wrong?' he asked when they were away from the others.
Mary Ellen glanced at where they'd left Rochelle before turning back to him. She kept her voice pitched low while she spoke. "I know Rochelle really likes you…"
"I think of her like a little sister!" he gushed out.
A small smile curved Mary Ellen's mouth as she shook her head. "I know, I didn't mean anything like that. I'm not saying she has a crush on you or anything, but that she simply likes you. She looks up to you and she sees you and Carl as friends. I think she thinks of you like brothers too. You make her laugh. Besides, if I thought you were looking at her in that way, I'd kill you."
John almost laughed at the matter of fact way she stated that, but the fierce look in Mary Ellen's eyes and her fisted hands made him change his mind. He may be stronger than her, but he had no doubt Mary Ellen would kill him, or anyone else, that tried to hurt her daughter. He had to respect and admire her for that but he knew he would do the same thing.
"She hasn't been doing a lot of laughing or smiling lately," he said.
Mary Ellen rang her hands before her, her brown eyes were pleading as they held his. Her dark brown hair had been pulled into a ponytail that highlighted the planes of her broad face. Even dirty and disheveled, with that strained look upon her face, she was still hot. John shook his head to clear it of that notion, now wasn't exactly the time.
"No, she's not," Mary Ellen agreed. "I've tried talking to her but she won't open up to me."
"Do you want to ride in the truck with her?"
Mary Ellen looked torn as she glanced between him and Rochelle again. He hated the idea of riding in the car with Peter, and a shudder went through him at the idea of taking Bobby's place in the car. He would ride with Riley, Xander, and Al if Mary Ellen said she would prefer to stay with her daughter.
"No," she finally said. "No, she won't talk to me and she needs someone to talk to right now. Bobby's death really hurt her."
"It really hurt all of us." John went to run his fingers through his hair but then he remembered that it had been a couple of days since he'd been able to do anything about cleaning it. The idea of touching it right now made his upper lip curl. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he shoved them into his pockets and hunched his shoulders up. "I'm not so sure I'm the best person for her to talk to."
"You're not the worst either," she said.
"I'm not good with words."
"You can speak them can't you?"
He couldn't help but grin at her. "They're not always the right ones. Are you sure it's not just hormones bothering her?" he mumbled and shifted awkwardly.
Mary Ellen's eyes widened before she released a small chuckle. It was good to hear someone laugh, at least a little, again. "No, not this time at least."
"What makes you think she'll talk to me?"
"She has to open up to someone, you're closer in age to her than I am and she trusts you." John wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to say or do for Rochelle, but Mary Ellen took hold of his arm and squeezed it. "If you'd prefer not to, I'd understand."
"I'll talk to her, or I'll try at least," he assured her.
"Thank you." Mary Ellen smiled at him before releasing his arm and heading toward where Donald, Josh, and Peter stood by the Caddy.
Taking a deep breath, John turned and headed back to the open passenger side door of the truck. Rochelle's head was bent; her gaze on her hands folded before her. Grabbing hold of the handle, John pulled himself into the cab of the truck and settled in beside her. Carl was standing at the front of the truck, smoking a cigarette while he and Al studied a map. John grabbed the Twizzlers off the dashboard, he held them out to Rochelle but she shook her head no.
John leaned back in his seat. He didn't know what to say to her but when he grabbed one of the licorice sticks from the bag, he recalled something he used to do as a kid. "You know what one of my favorite things to do as a kid was?"
Rochelle glanced at him before turni
ng her attention back to her hands. "What?" she mumbled.
"I would bite the ends off." He bit the head off the Twizzler and turned it around to bite off the other one. "See?" She stared at the Twizzler before frowning at him. "Then I would take it and shove it into a can of soda and use it as a straw. It was an extra sweet sugar bonus that I'm sure my parents loved for me to have."
She looked at him as if he had just hopped onboard the crazy train. "That was your favorite thing to do as a kid?"
"One of my favorite things to do. My favorite was blowing up soda bottles or jumping off the porch roof into a pile of leaves, building forts or riding my bike, or just being free. The Twizzler straw was a good time too. Have you ever tried it?"
She shook her head. "No, I've never even heard of it."
"We'll have to fix that when we get a chance."
"If we get a chance."
"Don't start going all Peter on me kid, we're going to make it."
Tears shimmered in her deep brown eyes. She looked more fragile than he'd ever seen her with the shadows under her eyes and her brown hair pulled into a ponytail. "I'm sure Bobby thought the same thing."
John took a bite of licorice. "I'm sure he did too, but you can't think like that."
"Look at what's going on around us, look at all the people we've lost already. Why can't we think like that?"
John didn't know why, not really, he just knew that it would end up destroying the outgoing young girl he'd come to care for a lot. He wasn't willing to lose more people, especially not her. "Because it's not good for you."
"Easy mom."
John shot her a look. "Easy there yourself."
A small smile actually curved her mouth. "Nice comeback."
"I try my best."
"That you do," she agreed.
John continued to nibble on his Twizzler as he studied the highway before them. "What was your favorite thing to do before all of this?" he asked.
"I loved to ride horses," she said wistfully.
"That was your favorite thing to do as a kid," he teased and leaned playfully against her shoulder. "There's something about being around an animal that can bite me and kick me through a wall that makes me a little nervous. Plus, did you know they can also stomp on your foot? And they weigh a lot."
The sound of her giggle was better than a Twizzler straw he decided as she grinned at him. "I did know that. Had it happen once," she admitted.
"Ouch, bet it broke your foot."
"It actually wasn't as bad as you would think." She stretched around him and pulled a piece of licorice from the bag. John fought to hide his smile as she bit into it. "Only bruised my toe but it's not something I'd want to experience again."
"But riding them was fun?"
"Riding them was the best," she said wistfully. "I don't know how to explain it but when I was on horseback I was free. I didn't have a single problem in the world. There was no school, no homework, no boys. There was no home, no mom and dad, none of the awful silences and even more awful…" her voice trailed off, her eyes became distant as she held the Twizzler before her.
He knew Mary Ellen had tried to keep the worst part of her marriage from Rochelle, but he also knew there was no way to keep it from her entirely. Rochelle was too smart and too observant to miss much. They hadn't fought a lot but he'd always known when his parents were mad at each other, no matter how much they tried to pretend they weren't.
"It was that bad at home?" he asked.
Rochelle shrugged absently and bit into the candy. "My mom tried to hide it but yeah, it was that bad. I loved my dad, he always treated me well, but the things he said and did to my mom…" Her brown eyes came back to his. "No one should be treated like that."
John didn't know what to say to her. All the words that ran through his mind were horribly inadequate as she unflinchingly met his gaze. "I'm sorry." They were the lamest words in the world but they were the best he could come up with.
"I think she stayed with him because of me, which made it even worse."
John pat her shoulder awkwardly. "I'm sure she was only trying to do the best for you."
"I know she was."
"She still is."
Rochelle sat back in the seat. "Look at you being all mature and adult-like."
"I think I preferred it when you weren't speaking to me." A small laugh escaped her before she grabbed another Twizzler. "Or eating my stuff."
John pulled the water bottle from the dashboard of the truck. He grabbed another licorice stick and tore off both ends of it. "I liked tag too," she said.
"Who didn't?"
"And dodgeball."
"You were still allowed to play dodgeball? I thought they were banning that now."
"I got a few years of it in," she replied. "It was fun."
John smiled wistfully as he twisted off the top of the water bottle. There had been many hours of playing dodgeball in his life, some of it hadn't been pleasant, but it had always been a lot of fun. He'd still whip a large rubber ball at someone if given the opportunity.
He shoved the shortened Twizzler into the bottle and handed it to Rochelle. "Water's probably not as good as soda but I can guarantee it's going to make it taste better," he informed her.
Rochelle studied it for a second before taking it from his hand. "Can't make it any worse."
"That's the attitude."
Rochelle grabbed the Twizzler and drank through it. She lifted an eyebrow as she gave an approving nod. "Not bad."
"Not bad? You're not doing it right then."
"It's no horse, but I can see the appeal."
"That's good at least." The door beside her opened, he turned as Carl jumped into the driver's side seat beside Rochelle. "We have our route planned out?"
"For the most part. What are you doing?" Carl asked Rochelle.
She held the bottle out to him. "Twizzler straw, John showed it to me."
"I remember those," he said with a nod. "Best with Ginger Ale."
"Orange soda," John disagreed. "Are we staying on the highway?"
"Until we run into trouble," Carl answered. "Some of the roads branch off toward New York City but we won't be going that way. It doesn't look like we'll be traveling through any heavily populated areas until Newburgh. But we'll have another problem when we get there anyway."
"What's that?" John asked.
"The Hudson River," Carl answered. "We have to cross the Newburgh Beacon Bridge to get over it. Al said it's a good sized bridge."
"That sounds like it could be a pretty big problem," Rochelle said.
Carl stared at her before glancing questioningly at John. Rochelle wasn't back to her old self, John knew that, but she was speaking and smiling again. It was a step in the right direction. She'd never be the same girl who had jumped in front of their truck what seemed like forever ago now, but she appeared to be coming back around to them again.
"It could be," Carl admitted as he started the truck.
"What are we going to do if we can't get over the bridge in Newburgh?" Rochelle asked.
"There's always another way." Carl said with confidence.
John really hoped so but he refrained from saying those words. They'd just gotten Rochelle speaking again; they really didn't need her going catatonic on them like he had before. John munched on his licorice while he took in the scenery around them. The higher they rose into the mountains the more rock walls began to press against the road.
The best thing about the increasing rock walls beside them was that he didn't see any of the sick humans running beside the truck. Most of the towns he spotted were nestled into valleys far below the guardrails that would pop up to replace the walls.
They could do this. The belief hit him out of nowhere but he felt a growing confidence as they wound their way in and out of the vehicles cluttering the road. They could get somewhere remote and they could make a stand. They could survive.
He didn't dare say the words out loud. There was no way he was going to jin
x himself and the others, but he was really trying to believe them. The only problem was going to be actually getting them all there alive.
CHAPTER 2
Mary Ellen,
Mary Ellen stared at the jagged rock walls that made up the sides of the highway as they climbed higher into the mountains. These mountains didn't have the craggy peaks like the ones she remembered from her one trip to New Hampshire. She'd been ten then, and on a school fieldtrip that was also her only camping trip. In the beginning , she'd been so excited for the adventure. She'd been so thrilled to have something to do, people to talk with, and maybe even new friends to make.
By the third day she'd had enough of mosquitos, dirt, and peeing in an overheated, foul smelling Port-O-Potty. There were no new friends to be made; in fact, she barely spoke to anyone as she felt completely out of place amongst the girls who were throwing themselves into making tie-dyed t-shirts and candles. Her t-shirts came out almost completely one blurred, icky color, and her candles were nothing but blobs on a string. Her excitement rapidly faded to misery as the week stretched endlessly on and the bug bites on her arms and legs turned into raw welts. She'd never gone camping again.
The mountains in New Hampshire gave the impression of touching the clouds; these mountains rolled out like hills that had grown far more than they were supposed to have. It was a beautiful view as they topped over one crest and the sky and woods stretched out before her. Houses were speckled through the valleys and mountains that dipped and rolled out before her.
She could have stayed and stared out across this view for hours, but she didn't even have minutes to linger upon it. She drove the car around a truck with two flat tires and back onto the roadway. Up ahead she could see a pile of boulders scattered across the road and some pines that had toppled from the top of the rock wall.
Carl was already driving the truck into the median of the highway to avoid the vehicles. She swerved off the road as they crested another hill. Her breath caught in her chest, the green pines and oaks continued to fill the mountains around them. A large patch of charred forest could be seen in the distance but the blaze had burned itself out before it had overtaken the forest.