The Nightworld - Jack Blaine [25]
For the last two days Gus has been helping me—showing me different routes into the city on the map, drilling me with facts: keep hydrated but don’t waste water, eat small meals all day while I’m walking, sleep well hidden from all vantage points, with my back against something like a wall or a rock or a hill if possible.
The television is out more and more. When we check the internet, the stories seem even more dated than the ones on TV. I show Gus the notes Mr. Holzer scribbled and the Geothermal Systems site. I show him the last text I got from Charlie. All he says is that it sounds like a place to start.
I hold the curtain back from the sliding glass door, staring out at the backyard. The grass looks weird—sort of limp and gray—and the dandelions sprouting in the lawn are a creepy white color, like plants that have been growing under a rock. They’ll all be dead before they form their third leaves. Some of the ornamental plants have already succumbed to the colder temperatures. The only things that look sort of normal are the pine trees; so far they seem okay.
I don’t want to go out there. But it’s time for me to do just that. I don’t know if I’ll find Lara, but I have to try. If I don’t find her, I’m heading to Detroit. Maybe there’s something there—maybe Charlie’s there.
Gus comes out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Make sure you stay off the roads like I said, son.”
“I will.” I let the curtain drop. “Sure you aren’t coming?”
Gus doesn’t answer.
When I turn around, he’s staring at the tabletop, shaking his head. “I should, son. I know I should go with you instead of letting you face the trip alone. But I’m old. And if I’m going to die, I expect I’ll do it next door, waiting for my son.” He looks up and his eyes are shining in the dim light. “I’m sorry to let you down.”
Part of me wishes he would come, because I am scared and I don’t want to be alone out there. But he doesn’t owe me anything. He’s tried to help me as much as he can. He could have shot me that first day and taken the supplies in the Holzer house for himself.
“You’re doing the right thing, Gus. I’ll be fine.”
He nods, a little too eager to agree. “I know you will be. Just stay off the roads, and keep one of the guns at the ready.”
I pick up my backpack and shrug it onto my shoulders. It’s pretty heavy now, packed with everything we could think of that might prove important. I slip on some gloves and it’s time to go.
“Well.” I’m not sure how to say good-bye. “Take good care of Tank.” I rub the top of the dog’s head. He’s been watching us all morning, getting my stuff ready to go. He knows something’s up.
Gus doesn’t seem to know what to say either. He keeps his eyes on Tank. “He’s gonna miss you.”
I slide open the door to the backyard. One step, two steps, and I’m outside. I turn, and before I close the door behind me I take one last look: Gus and Tank are watching me with the same look in their eyes.
“See ya.” And I shut the door.
Before I even get to the back gate, the door opens. Tank flies out of it and runs to me, dancing around my feet and snuffling, almost panicked.
“He wasn’t having none of it.” Gus leans out the door, tosses me a bag of dry dog kibble. “Probably for the best. I’d just have ended up eating him when things got tough.”
I know he’s joking, or at least I think he is, but people are doing it. The latest news broadcasts—before they stopped altogether two nights ago—were brutal. One clip showed the head of a golden retriever, tossed in a gutter like garbage. There’s no food in parts of the country, and people are desperate.
I raise a hand to Gus, in a final farewell. He nods.