The End Came With a Kiss (13 page)

"Oh! Good thinking," I say flatly. There is no mockery on any of their faces, but I still manage a respectable level of embarrassment. I was unaware that these doors could be locked without a key. I never had to bother myself with such mundane facts in my former life as a high-powered executive. There were custodians and janitors who dealt with the simple workings of the building. But information like this is now the difference between life and death.

There is no time to dwell on it. The air is alive with angry growls both near and distant. Fortunately, there is no immediate threat on this level of the garage. We run to the armored car. Harry climbs up on the metal bumper to unlock the back door. The truck looks like it has seen combat; there are several dents, cuts, and blood splatters on the side as well as a bloody mess of gore around the right wheel well.

"Here we go," says Harry, swinging the heavy doors open one at a time. The inside reeks of body odor. Ashlyn's face winces.

"Sorry about the smell," says James with a sheepish look. "Donald lived in this thing, we didn't have time to clean it."

Ashlyn washes the pained look off her face. Her voice takes on a diplomatic tone. "Yeah. Sure. I didn't assume."

James' response is somewhat spastic. "Oh, I know. I wasn't implying that you were. I just wanted you to know that, we didn't make it smell like this."

"Okay," she says awkwardly. She follows this with a strange purse of her lips and a nervous nod.

Are they attracted to each other? If they aren't, this is the weirdest exchange I've ever seen. Harry notices it too and a funny look crinkles his big round face. "When you two are done making googly eyes at each other, we have things to do." Their faces pucker, and Harry lets out a belly laugh as he climbs into the truck.

I can't remember the last time I've heard someone laugh. It feels like ages, but my body remembers how to respond even though I cannot. I feel my gut tighten and one chuckle works its way out of my throat.

"I just don't want her to think we live like this," says James defensively.

Harry laughs again and lumbers in toward the driver's seat.

James brings his eyes back to Ashlyn and they share a look that conveys their mutual rejection of Harry's observation. "Sorry about that," says James with a white smile that stands out against his rich brown skin. "He likes to tease." He holds his hand out to help her up onto the truck.

She cocks her head and says, "I'm all set," then grips the door and pulls herself up. James and I climb in behind her and shut the doors.

The interior of the truck has shelves on the left wall where packages and money were once stored, but now they're filled with canned foods and sundry supplies. There are two sleeping bags shoved against the wall underneath with a dirty white pillow on top and a pair of black boots in the corner. The right side has two fold-out chairs with thick black cushions, and there is a fire extinguisher on the metal divider on the passenger side.

I climb around the divider to get in the passenger seat, but there isn’t one. The vehicle was built to allow the driver to exit out the right side of the vehicle. At the top of the stairs is a turned-over milk crate with a dirty lawn chair cushion perched on top.

"Sorry about that," says Harry. "It's all we got to work with."

I sit myself down with a short squelch and rest my shotgun in my lap. "This will work."

He smiles as he leans forward to fire up the truck. "You two love birds secure back there?"

"Yes," says the irritated voice of his son.

I take note that the side windows and the passenger side of the windshield are almost entirely covered with black paint, save for a few small peek holes. The driver's side of the windshield is covered in a checkerboard. I assume the paint is to keep the loopers from seeing in. I had considered doing it with my car at one point during the quarantine war because crazed loopers attack any living thing that is not part of the hive. I'm not sure how they differentiate. It isn't by smell or some form of special sight, because they can be fooled. My guess is that they have certain behaviors, and that they can tell when something is behaving contrary to those behaviors. Whatever it is, the paint is a good idea. It will keep our visibility low.

Harry puts the truck in gear and we roll forward. I nuzzle up to one of the peek holes. There is no movement inside the garage, but outside and to the right I see many shadows shifting. There is a group nearby, but I can't figure out where. "Stop just before the exit so we can assess the situation outside," I say, still studying the moving shadows.

"Yes, sir," says Harry with quiet apprehension.

We roll toward the exit slowly. I’m not able to hear the growling and screaming of hunting parties over the vibration of the engine, so I put all of my concentration into studying every detail I can see through the small peek hole.

"Hold on!" I say, lifting my hand.

Harry must see what I see because the truck is already slowing. In front of us, just to the right of the exit, a figure has climbed up over. The sunlight is behind him so it’s hard to make out more than the shape of his body. He is lean, and shifting violently left and right in a crouch.

There’s no way he can hear me if I talk normally, but I keep my voice down anyway. "You think he’ll attack the truck?"

"I don’t think they’re drawn to noises," says Harry in a similar voice. "When we drove over here we passed a bunch of them without any problem."

The figure leaps down from the half wall and starts running full tilt across our path then off into the parking area to the left of the truck. His eyes never look our way. I watch him till he is gone from my field of vision. I look over at Harry and he blows a puff of relief through his big lips. His fat hand grips the stick shift and slides it back into gear. The truck stutters forward.

We creep up to the exit where I can see out onto the street. To the right, in the middle of the road, six loopers feast on the remains of an animal. I can't tell what it is. Beyond them is another group running up the sidewalk, some of them climbing over parked cars as they go. It’s disturbing to think how easily they do it. A living human would make it over five or six cars and be exhausted, but loopers never seem to get tired. Their dead muscles do not seem to need oxygen to replenish. They can go like that almost indefinitely, scurrying over car after car without hesitation.

Harry grips the steering wheel. "Which way we going? Please tell me it’s left."

"Yeah. Left." My voice sounds hollow in my own ears. The sight of all the starving loopers up close reminds me of the quarantine, and those are memories I do
not
want to revisit.

"So, go?" he asks with lifted eyebrows.

"Yes, but slowly at first."

Again, he slips the truck into gear, and we continue forward.

James and Ashlyn have come up behind us. James looks nervous as he peers over his father’s shoulder at the activity on the street, but once again I note that Ashlyn’s face appears calm. I thought her temperament curious before, but seeing her next to James creates a stark contrast. He has a nervous sheen of perspiration on his face and an intensity in his eyes, while her face is nearly placid.

The truck lurches to a stop and I slam against the dash and the windshield. As I spin to figure out why we’ve stopped, I see James’ eyes have grown even larger.

I put my eye to a peek hole and my heart constricts.

13

Standing a mere three meters in front of the truck is a beautiful little girl, maybe five years old, in a bright yellow dress. Her sandy hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and one of her white stockings has fallen down to rest around her ankle above her black dress shoe. In her right arm, pressed tightly to her chest, is a black teddy bear.

I turn slowly and look at Harry. "Is that a looper?"

James grips his father’s arm. "Don’t move, Dad. She’s looking right at you."

I twist back around and look out. The little girl is still there. Watching us. But she doesn’t have the blank stare that the loopers get. There is movement on her face and a controlled tilt to her head. Is she alive? If she is, how is that even possible?

Her eyes blink, and I recoil from the peek hole.

"She’s alive!"

James squeezes his father’s arm. "Don’t move, Dad. There’s no way that little girl is alive. She’s a looper, and she has her bead on you. We need to back up and…"

I cut him off. "Loopers don’t blink unless they’re running a process, and that girl isn’t frozen in place, her head is moving. Look at her." They all lean in to get a better view through the checkerboard pattern. "Watch her eyes. Look at her lips. She isn’t locked up, and she isn’t running a process. That girl is a living breathing little girl."

Harry’s hand shoots out and pulls the handle on his door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" says James, gripping his father’s shirt. "Where are you going?"

"We can’t just leave her out there."

"You’ll bring the whole city down on us with them looks of yours."

Harry is beside himself. "Then you get her," he says over his shoulder.

James looks out the window. I can see the indecision on his face. He knows it’s the right thing to do, but he is unsure whether or not he has the courage to do it.

I step in and rescue him. "It’s okay. I’ll go."

Harry’s expression is a mixture of intensity and gratitude.

"Stay here," I say, pulling off my ammo pack and resting the shotgun against the dashboard. "Be ready to open the back door when I rap on it.

Harry and James nod, but Ashlyn looks conflicted.

"You all right, Ashlyn?"

Her eyes snap to mine. "What?"

"I said, are you all right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You look like you want to tell me something."

She lifts a hard chin. "Well I don’t."

There is no time to pry. I open the passenger door cautiously and peek out. I can’t see any loopers behind the truck or up on the half wall divider, so I climb down and close the door behind me.

The little girl’s eyes lock onto me, but she doesn’t move or call out. I crouch down slowly, hold my hand out toward her, and give her an expression as if to say, ‘Its okay. I won’t hurt you.’ She remains fixed in place. I try to make my face even friendlier and wave for her to come.

Still nothing.

I climb slowly to my feet and look behind me again. It’s still clear.

Okay then, I’ll have to go get her. I inch forward through the stone archway and look around the wall at the feasting loopers in the middle of the road. The other larger pack of loopers is gone.

I step out from the entrance one measured step at a time. The little girl watches me the whole way. When I am close enough, I take a deep breath and crouch down in front of her. She shows no sign of fear, not unlike Ashlyn. I wonder if they share a similar experience—something so traumatic that their ability to be afraid is permanently seared.

I reach out slowly and touch her arm, partly to comfort her, and partly to see if her skin is cold to the touch. It is not. It’s warm and soft in my hand. She’s alive. I don’t understand how, but she’s alive. How did she survive out here with all of these crazed loopers hunting the streets? Sure, she is beautiful, like a porcelain doll, but there has to be more to it. She’s too young to mimic their movements and behaviors.

My contemplation will have to wait. I have to get her back to the truck, but what will she do when I try to move her? Will she stay quiet and come willingly? Or will she shout out, warning everything in the area.

I wipe the nervous sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand and wipe my hands down my thighs to dry them off. Here goes nothing.

A low guttural growl causes me to freeze in place. One of the feasting loopers has lifted his head and is looking at us with his handsome blood-covered face. My movements have caught his attention. Hopefully, his belly is satisfied from the half-eaten carcass and his motivation to attack is weakened, but just in case, I begin to ratchet my head and look around, pantomiming the way they move.

The interested looper doesn’t appear to be buying it. His shoulders are offsetting and it looks like he is planting his left foot to charge. He is young, maybe in his teens. If he is fast, I don’t have a chance of getting back to the truck with the girl in my arms. He pushes off the ground and runs headlong straight toward us. I scoop the little girl up and start running. "Pull the truck ahead!" I scream. "Pull ahead!"

I see Harry’s body moving frantically and hear the truck shift into gear.

"Pull it ahead!" I scream again. My legs pump for all they’re worth as I struggle to keep the little girl in my arms. I don’t look behind me. I don’t check to see if the young man is gaining ground. There is no time. I have to stay focused. I have to make it to the truck.

More growls fill the air. The other feasting loopers are joining the frenzy and I can’t hear how close the teen is. The world is a blur around me as the truck lurches toward us. Two more meters. One more. We’re past the headlight, but I can hear the teen right behind me. We’re not going to make it.