We resume the journey south again, only this time we walk together. We amble along in silence for a while, not really knowing what to say. The time in this world for idle small talk has long since pa.s.sed. Yet, how does one interact with a stranger when there"s no small chitchat to break the ice? When all there is to talk about is a reminder of painful memories and horrors witnessed? As awkward as the silence feels, there is a tremendous comfort in there being another person walking next to me.
As dusk approaches we reach Larkspur. There"s a small convenience store in town that I"m familiar with, as it was a stop for the annual trip to the Renaissance Festival held nearby. I have a small hope that we can replenish some of our supplies there. I only have one bottle of water left and Wimbley and I are getting dehydrated. Ian has been nursing his last bottle all day. Even though I offered to share mine, he politely refused.
When we reach the store we are greeted by the stench of rotting food and spoiled milk as the electricity that powered the coolers has long been off. Inside we find a few small bags of chips, a box of cookies, and a couple of power bars that luckily no critters had gotten to. We are fortunate to find a few bottles of water, juice, and soda. Ian lets me have most of the water since obviously dogs can"t drink soda. We scavenge the remains of the store for other useful supplies, including bandages and toiletries. We fill our remaining empty bottles with water from the toilet tanks. In a more civilized time I never would have considered such a thing, but desperate times call for desperate measures. It is clean water after all.
After filling our packs with the few useful items we could find, we head a little further south before setting up camp for the night. We eat some of my MRE"s and a sleeve of cookies. Since there isn"t a whole lot of cover on the road we decide to sleep in shifts. It"s horribly unsettling being in complete darkness, especially when you know there are things that go b.u.mp in the night. There are no lights from nearby towns, and it"s too risky to light a fire, so we have to make do in the total black.
The next couple days pa.s.s much the same as the ones before it. We walk, we stop to try to find supplies when we can, and we eat a little, rest a little, rinse and repeat. Ian and I don"t discuss family, friends, or our jobs before everything went to h.e.l.l. None of it matters. If we still had any friends or family left we wouldn"t have stumbled upon each other alone in the middle of nowhere. What we did for a living is inconsequential. Money no longer has any bearing on us.
We find camaraderie in discussing books. Books seem to be a constant. TV shows and movies have already faded away with no directors to direct them, no actors to star in them, and no electricity to show them for the people who are all dead. You don"t need electricity to read or write a book. We have in-depth discussions about our favorite authors. I even find myself laughing a bit as we discuss George Carlin and his many humorous books. It"s nice to laugh again, although it feels slightly foreign to me now.
When we reach Colorado Springs I begin to feel hope filling my heart. Only ten more miles to go, just one more day, and we"ll reach Cheyenne Mountain. We find a small park to set up camp for one final night before what we hope will be salvation. We can"t have a fire again tonight, not this close to a big city. The Anathema lurk in the larger cities, waiting to pick off the stragglers who come there searching for help. This is the most danger I have been in since I left Denver, yet knowing that I"m not here alone has given me a little peace.
When I wake around five a.m., I realize I slept better than I had in weeks. I stretch my arms above my head and yawn. Wimbley is doing the same next to me. I reach down and scratch his head. I don"t see Ian and become instantly worried. I look around in a panic. I quickly turn behind me to see him standing five feet away, his arms hung tight at his sides with a strange look on his face. I can"t read it. "Ian? Are you okay?"
"Yep, I"m fine. I was just getting ready to wake you. Are you ready to go? Cheyenne Mountain awaits," he replies with a sly smile. I arch an eyebrow at him, confused by his odd demeanor this morning. Since I don"t know him well, I brush it off as a personality quirk. "Yeah, let"s get going"
We are silent for much of the day. Each lost in their own thoughts. I can"t help but wonder if we find refuge at the mountain, then what? Will I spend the rest of my life in an underground military bunker, hiding from the Anathema? Are there plans already in the works to try to fight back? How many people are left? Are there other survivors around the world, in other countries, just as paranoid as our own, with underground bunkers for such catastrophes? I glance at Ian from time to time only to see a slight smile on his face. The smile reflects more in his eyes than his lips. He must be more of an optimist than I am, I think to myself.
We reach the final leg of our journey, Norad Road, only a few miles left to go. Our pace picks up as we turn down the road. Even Wimbley is walking faster and wagging his tail. When we reach the first security gate there is no one there to question or stop us. We walk right through. We encounter much of the same at each check point. My hope is beginning to dwindle. If anyone was here, wouldn"t someone come to meet us? I think to myself.
It"s nearing dusk when we reach the North Portal, a large concrete tunnel that runs directly into the side of the mountain. I begin to feel the panic rising in my chest. "How did we make it this far and no one tried to stop us?" I ask while searching the hills nearby for any signs of life. "Where is everyone?"
I take my pack off and begin pacing, unsure of what to do next. Ian is standing still. He continues to watch me. "Well, what are your thoughts?" I ask him, with my hands on my hips. He remains silent but the smile that has been dancing around in his eyes all day has finally reached his lips. I stop pacing and feel my heart start to race. "Ian?"
He begins to laugh, a low, sinister laugh. He starts clicking his tongue, a gesture one would use to scold a small child or pet. "You are one gullible b.i.t.c.h," he says, while shaking his head. A low growl starts to emulate from Wimbley"s throat as he moves up beside me, his hackles raised. "Did you honestly believe there was salvation here? Something or someone to protect you?"
My brain must have shut down because suddenly I start babbling. "No, you said you were coming here too. We came here together." I keep shaking my head as if somehow that would make this scenario stop.
"Nope, you"re wrong, little one. I never said I was walking here. I simply asked if you wanted a walking buddy. No wonder it"s been so easy to extinguish your kind. You"re far too trusting," he laughed. I tried to replay the conversation in my head. Oh G.o.d, he had never said where he was going! "Did you not find it odd that we never ran into any Anathema? Why they chose to leave you alone for four days? You know the reason why now, don"t you?"
Tears begin to sting my eyes. "Because... there was already one with me," I whisper, in a daze. I stand silently, staring at the ground for what feels like an eternity. Wimbley"s growl brings me back into the moment and Ian"s betrayal. "Why didn"t you just kill me right away?" I ask, as I slowly slip my hand down my hip and to the back pocket of my jeans for my weapon. My heart stops as I realize my pocket is empty.
"Looking for something?" He smiles while holding up my knife. "Slipped that little beauty out of your pocket while you slept last night and you didn"t even notice. Not that it would have done you any good. You can"t kill me. As to why I didn"t kill you right away? Well, there"s no sport in that is there?" He slowly unsheathes the knife and twists it back and forth in his hand while admiring it.
As if sensing the immediate threat, Wimbley lunges at Ian"s leg. "Wimbley!" I scream, as time seems to slow to a crawl. All in one brief moment Wimbley has ahold of Ian"s leg, sinking his teeth in. He shakes the little dog off with barely a thought and lunges at me. Before I know it I"m staring into his eyes, just mere inches from my own. There"s a searing pain in my neck. Ian holds a b.l.o.o.d.y knife before my face. He has stabbed me in the neck with my own weapon.
My knees give out and I collapse on the ground, bleeding out. I know this is the end. I am moments from my death. Ian bends down so his lips are next to my ear and whispers, "You know the best part of all this? I don"t even know your name, not that it matters." The last thing I see as my vision begins to dim is a wicked grin on that son of a b.i.t.c.h"s face as he advances towards my brave little dog.
THE END.