Goodbyes
They didn't get far before hitting traffic. By some miracle, they managed to get out of Sharon in one piece, only getting separated maybe once or twice before meeting up again, but they weren't the only ones who thought it best to stay off the highway.
"Do you have a charger?" David asked, sifting through the McDonald receipts that flooded the center console between the two seats. His phone was in the single digits now.
"I must have left it back at the house."
"Dammit." He let the papers drop out of his hands and sat back in his seat. He looked in the side mirror and spotted the blue Chevy that belonged to Michael and was glad that they at least had that. Before getting out of town, they had run into more of them. They had spotted glimpses of them as they drove. Once they almost reached the car's windows, and Dave had instinctively reached for his gun. They never did though, for that they were lucky.
"At least we only have a couple miles to the next town." Paul said, pointing to the GPS he had mounted on the windshield. They had three miles until reaching Greenville, not that it mattered. Traffic was still heavy. They were only reaching maybe twenty before being forced to slow again. It was giving David a headache. Or maybe it was just making the one he already had worse.
"We don't want to go near any towns, remember?" His friend only grunted. "That's why we have everything we need in the back of our cars." Paul's truck answered with three short chimes.
"That is," his friend began, "except gas."
"Don't tell me." He felt his headache intensify.
"You better call Michael." David grudgingly did so, pulling out his already dying phone and scrolling to his friend's contact number. He pressed the green call button and pulled the phone to his ear. He watched in the mirror as Michael handed his phone off to his wife.
"Hello?" He heard Karen pick up.
"We have to stop for gas." He said without hesitation. "Paul's truck is almost empty." He heard the frustration as the news was passed.
"How much does he have?" Karen asked. "Michael wants to know."
"He's on empty. We have to." He glanced at his friend. "I know. I don't want to either." Grudgingly, they agreed that they would stop with them at the next town.
"Only one more mile." Paul pointed out as he hung up. His phone's charge was seven percent.
"Just be careful." Dave said. He looked to his right and watched as more and more homes slowly passed by his window. They were entering the town limits of Greenville and it showed. Traffic almost had them at a stop.
"This is ridiculous." Paul grumbled. He looked to the GPS. "We're only a couple streets away from Main Street." David looked for himself and confirmed it was true.
"Hey!" He tapped Paul's shoulder as an idea popped into his head. "Turn down this road here on the right."
"Barret street?" Paul flipped on his turn signal. "That's kinda funny." They inched forward but were still too far from the turn. On their right was an empty parking lot.
David made sure Michael was following their lead and then sat forward in his chair, waiting for traffic to move. From behind them, they could hear a siren get closer.
"Shit." Paul turned the wheel to the right and gassed it a little, sending them closer to the side. "It's the fuzz." A moment later, a Greenville sheriff's police car sped past them.
"I wonder where they're going." Paul answered by pointing a pudgy finger at his GPS.
"There's an accident up ahead." They both looked up the road but there was nothing they could see. "We're never going to move." Paul continued. Dave didn't have an answer for that. He could feel that this headache wasn't going to go away for awhile.
"Fuck it, Paul." He finally said a moment later, a hand up to massage his temple. "Go through the parking lot."
"We already passed the entrance."
"So go through the grass!" He was so frustrated he laughed. "You're in a truck." Paul didn't say anything, only twisted the wheel so they edged out onto the grass. "Let's just hope Michael catches on."
He did, following shortly after. They turned onto Barret street and found it was less packed than eighteen was. It was a neighborhood like any other, with nice, two story houses with big lawns. There were a lot of large trees that shaded the entire street as they drove. Dave wished he had lived in a place like this. It would be nice if it didn't seem like everyone was in a hurry to leave.
They passed a family who were out in their driveway. The father was stuffing a blue minivan with plastic bags and boxes. The mother had a hand on a small boy's shoulders. They were both watching the cars pass them, and Dave felt their eyes follow his until they were out of view. He felt a shiver run down his spine. It would have been a nice place.
The GPS rattled off directions in the machine voice of a young woman, letting them know that their turn was coming up in half a mile. They were making pretty good progress. It was better than what they were doing before. Not many had gotten the idea to bypass the traffic yet, so they were able to move quicker. That changed when they reached the main street.
David swore under his breath. There were four cars in front of them, and gridlock on the adjoining street, the one they had to turn onto. The first car in line was laying on their horn.
"It's okay." He consoled himself more than anything. "This is better than what we were in before." He saw that Michael was still behind them and then turned back to the front.
"That dude needs to stop with the horn." Paul said. He pointed up ahead. "Someone is even letting him go." Another motorist on the main street had stopped, allowing a big enough space for the lead car to pull out, but it wasn't. Paul shook his head. The other vehicles behind the first one began honking.
"Go!" David yelled, as if the driver would hear him. "Are you serious?" He lowered his voice when his head pulsed with pain. Finally, someone pulled around the first vehicle and hopped the curb, pulling into the space provided. Everyone else moved up.
"At least we're moving." Paul said. "It could be worse." The cycle repeated until Paul's truck was behind the unmoving vehicle. The horn was still blaring.
"There has to be something wrong with this dude." David said. He instinctively locked his door. When their time came, Paul began pulling his truck off to the right, the vehicle rocking as they used the sidewalk. David craned his neck over Paul to see inside the other vehicle. The driver was a man, and he had his face in the steering wheel. He wasn't moving.
"Should we help?" Paul asked, easing onto the brake.
"No." he said after a moment. "No we shouldn't." Paul pulled onto the road.
The GPS broke the silence between them before it got awkward. It let them know that their turn was coming up in less than a mile. David checked the mirror and was glad that people were being understanding today. Michael was only a few cars behind them. His phone began ringing again.
"Where are we stopping?" Karen's voice asked.
"There's a station up ahead." He answered, glancing at the GPS. It was a Sheetz, located on the turn they had to make anyway. He wondered how packed it would be. "Just stay right on our tail and come into the station with us." Karen said she would and hung up, leaving him staring at his home screen. It was dark, the screen lowering its brightness automatically to conserve battery power. He could barely see the sunset hanging over the beach in the picture. The battery read four percent. He locked the phone and stuck it back into his pocket.
It took them twenty minutes to reach their turn. When they finally pulled off the main street, the station loomed directly off their right, and Paul turned into the crowded parking lot.
"This is nuts." Paul cried. The pumps were full, with lines stretching more than three or four cars out. They barely had room to turn in. "We're never going to get in."
"We have to." David pointed to a nearby pump that someone had just pulled out of. The line was smaller than the rest. "Go for that one." Paul did as he was told and came to a stop behind a green sedan. They were roughly in the center of the line of pumps. Since the lines were so long, Paul was blocking anyone from moving past him.
"I don't like this." The big man said.
"It doesn't matter." Dave said, watching Michael pull into the lot behind them. "I'm going to talk to Michael." He twisted out of his seat belt and opened the door, stepping out into the pavement. He pulled his black jacket closer to block the wind and walked over to where his friend was stopped. Michael hadn't quite made it into a parking spot, and was sitting behind another truck that was jostling for a position at the pump. He reached the driver's side door and found it already unrolled, his friend waiting expectantly.
"You guys hungry?" He asked. He thought he saw the man in the back nod, but they didn't say anything. "Well if you want, you can run inside while we wait. It shouldn't be too long." He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
"Are you okay?" Michael asked. David nodded and looked around the lot. It was only getting busier by the minute.
"I'm still kind of shaky from earlier." His friend looked like he understood. "I've got a pretty bad headache. I think I'm going to head inside and see what I can grab real fast."
"I think I'll go with you." Karen said, opening her door. She shared a look from her husband before closing it behind her. When she turned to Dave it had been replaced by a smile. "Shall we go?" She asked, cheerily.
"Sure." Dave didn't hide the suspicion in his voice. When they were far enough away he spoke again. "What was that about?" He walked close to her, his hand idly drifting by the holster of his gun.
"Nothing." She shook her head, allowing him to open the door for her. The inside was just as busy as the outside, and he wondered if they would be able to get out quickly enough.
"Do you want a soda?" She asked him, turning towards the coolers near the back. He shook his head and headed down another small isle. He watched her rifle through what was left of the soft drinks before turning to the small section for medicines. He grabbed a bottle of aspirin, at the same time remembering that he had some in his suitcase, and kept it anyway. More couldn't hurt.
He grabbed a small red gas can, one of only two left, and a car charger for his phone too. Halfway to the register, he met Karen and they got in line together.
"Ready?" She asked him, and he nodded. The two of them waited, the line almost reaching the door. Twice he caught her looking at him before he decided to ask.
"Is there something wrong?"
"I'm sorry to hear about what happened at Paul's house." She said. "You must still be just so shaken up."
"Yeah." He answered. "Yeah, I am."
"And you're sure you're feeling okay?" He gave her a hard look.
"Yes." He said. "I just have a headache."
"That's all?" He didn't have an answer for a moment. He just looked her in the eyes. Finally, he blinked and opened his mouth.
"What's this about?" But it was their turn to pay and she didn't answer, instead swiping her card when she was prompted. She wished the teenager behind the desk well and they made for the exit.
When they were outside, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. She turned to him, something swirling in those blue eyes of hers that he didn't like.
"You never answered my question." He said. She pulled away slowly. He didn't keep her. Without a word, she placed her hand on his forehead.
"You're warm." She stated. "You only have a headache?" Again, he was speechless for a moment.
"You think..." He couldn't finish.
"I don't know." She said, and he could see that her eyes were cloudy. "His mother was going on about how it spread and..." She turned her eyes away from him.
"You think I'm infected?" It was more of a statement than a question, and she didn't have to answer for him to know. "I'm not." He reaffirmed. "I'm not infected with anything." She didn't say anything in return, and he could feel his face burning with a mixture of anger and fear. His heart beat heavy inside his chest, and he could feel the sweat pooling underneath his arms. He wasn't infected.
"Are you two coming?" They heard Paul's voice and turned to see his truck sitting nearby. Before he moved, he looked back to Karen to see her standing in the same spot. She looked frozen in place, a tear hanging on one of her eyes. She had a hand out, as if to stop him. He shook his head.
"I'm not infected." But as he walked away, he didn't know if that was to convince her or himself.
When he was back in the truck, and they were back on the road, he finally felt the panic start to set in. His hands were shaking, and his gut was twisted. His headache had worsened, and he hoped the pills he had popped a few minutes earlier would kick in soon. He had told Paul he was fine, but he was having trouble believing it himself.
"Are you sure you don't want me to stop?" Paul asked again.
"It wouldn't solve anything." He argued, a hand rubbing his stomach. They were still on eighteen, and traffic had thinned considerably, most of the other drivers probably making for either the few airports nearby or maybe another route. They were traveling at a quicker pace, able to reach forty or fifty most of the time. Soon eighteen would join three-twenty-two and take them north-east.
Dave tried to take his mind off his condition, counting the few homes they passed or the fields that lay in between. He just felt horrible, and it set in so quickly. He hadn't had time to prepare for it. He was sweating, the beads running down his face and making him take his jacket off. They hit another pot hole and his stomach jumped.
"Okay," his hand jumped to his mouth, "stop." Paul hit the brakes and before the truck was still, David was out and on his knees puking into the dirt. He heard what must have been Michael's Chevy pull up soon after.
"What's wrong?" He heard someone ask through the sound of his breakfast splattering onto the ground. When there was nothing left, he continued dry heaving.
"He's sick!" A female voice cut in. "He's sick! I told you!"
He felt a pair of hands on his back as he wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. His vision was swimming all of a sudden and he put a hand to the ground to steady himself. He still felt hot even without a jacket on.
"Don't touch him!" The female voice came again. It must have been Michael's mother. What was her name?
"We have to help him." Michael said. It was his hands that were on his back, helping him to his feet. "Are you okay?" He shook his head.
"No." He turned back to the truck and put a hand on the hood to keep him upright. "I feel like shit." Michael's face appeared in front of him, looking at him closely.
"You look like shit, my man." He couldn't help but grin.
"Get away from him!" He watched Michael's face disappear along with the fleeting hope it was all okay. Everything seemed fuzzy and blurred for a moment.
"I'm telling you!" He heard the voice of Michael's brother. "He has it! We've seen it before!"
"No he doesn't, James." He watched his friend defend him, hands up as if to push his younger brother away. "He's fine."
"Listen to me." His mother stepped in, a shorter woman who nevertheless had sway over her son. She pointed around him and to Dave. "He is sick with this disease." Michael tried to argue but she cut him off. "I've seen it before. You're brother has seen it before. It is dangerous and he has it." He felt her eyes on him. He could feel her hate. "He will kill us all."
"Now wait just a second!" Michael raised his voice. They fell into an yelling match, both sides attempting to overpower the other.
David felt his symptoms withdraw for a moment and stood straighter. He took a step towards them. They were arguing and didn't notice him close the distance until he was right up on them.
"Back up!" James screamed when he finally did notice. He put an arm in front of his mother and pushed her behind him. "Don't take another step!" He raised a fist.
"What are you going to do?" David argued. He hadn't had a word in from the beginning. He had been unable to defend himself the entire time and he was sick of it. Without warning, James stepped forward and shoved him.
"James!" Someone screamed as he fell backwards, his head cracking against the pavement underneath. His vision blurred, his hands reaching back to grab the spot he had fallen on.
"Stay the fuck back!" James yelled again, and suddenly everyone was yelling. He couldn't hear who was saying what, only the scuffle of feet. He only laid there on the cold ground, clenching the back of his head and squinting his eyes. The pain had exploded inside his head with the impact.
"Get inside the car!" Someone yelled, and a door slammed, followed quickly with another.
"Dave, are you alright?" He heard Michael's voice close by, speaking into his ear. He opened his eyes and saw his friend hovering above him, Paul close by. "Are you okay?" He repeated.
"I don't know." Dave said, truly not knowing. He rolled, slowly getting back to his knees, swearing under his breath.
"Let me help you." His friend put a hand underneath his arm and pulled. With his help, Dave got back to his feet, his legs shaking. He wanted to puke again.
They helped him back to the truck and he once again found himself using it for support. He looked to his left and saw Karen arguing through a window at Michael's family.
"I'm so sorry, man." Michael said. "James is a fucking idiot. He won't do it again." He could feel the anger radiating off his friend.
"Your phone, Dave." Paul placed his phone on the hood of his truck. The screen was smashed. "I'm sorry."
"Fuck." He managed to get out before his headache flared again. "Am I really infected?" He was met with silence.
"We don't know that." Michael finally said after a moment. "You're just sick." But David felt that it was more than just a cold. He felt the sinking realization that he must be. Why else would he feel this way? He hadn't been sick before, only after fighting that man inside Paul's house. He only felt this way after getting the blood in his eyes and in his mouth. They had seen it before, they said. They knew what it looked like. Is this what it looked like?
"I have it." He whispered, more to himself than to his friends. "I know I do." And at that moment he did. He knew without a doubt that he was infected. He could feel it.
"We don't know that!" Michael continued to argue, a hand on his shoulder. "This could be anything." David pushed him away.
"No, I know I do." He placed his head on the hood of the car, the cool metal against his hot skin. It felt nice. "They're right." The admission was like a weight off his chest, like they had solved a puzzle that had been nagging at them for a long while. It felt good in a way, cathartic, even if it meant something so bad.
"Don't say that." Paul said. "That dude's an asshole."
"How long do I have?" He asked Michael, unmoved. His friend didn't say anything. He didn't look like he wanted to say anything, but Dave knew he would know.
"Anywhere from a few hours to a day or two." He saw his friend's eyes cloud and was reminded of how his wife acted earlier. They must have talked about this, he realized. That was the only reason she would ask so many questions. They had discussed the possibility in the car long before this moment. They had known before him.
He reached to his side and unclipped the holster, placing it in Michael's hands.
"No." His friend started.
"Take it." He dropped the speed reloaders onto the hood as well, along with the spare ammunition.
"Dave, please." Michael placed the gun on the hood too and put his hands on Dave's shoulders. A tear dropped from his eyes. "I can't do this."
"Stop being dramatic." He forced a grin, happy to see that Michael couldn't stop one from reaching his own face, and pushed his hands off of him. Out of his back pocket he drew his wallet. "You need these more than I do." He gave him his credit cards and any of the spare cash he had inside.
"I can't." Michael's face was stone again, a few tears trailing down his cheek. He couldn't finish.
"Dave, there has to be a way." Paul said. David turned to him and placed his cards and cash in his hands instead.
"If what they're saying is true, it's already too late."
"How do we know?" Michael continued, finding his voice. "How do we know?"
"And when I go?" He thought back to the man in Paul's home, the one he shot. Half of his face had been gone. He didn't want to end up like that. He didn't want to end up dead but still alive somehow. He didn't want to endanger his friends. "You didn't see that man I shot." He looked his friend dead in the eyes. "I've seen it, and I don't want to end up like that."
Michael's facade broke and he sobbed, wrapping him in a hug.
"I'm so sorry." Paul joined in too, his large arms hugging them both tight.
"I'm so sorry."
"It'll be okay." David said after a moment, knowing it wouldn't. Already he was feeling it again. The burning in his stomach returned, spreading to his face and to his limbs. "You both need to get away from me." He finally said, barely getting it out.
They pulled away and instantly he regretted saying it. He suddenly felt so cold even though he was so hot. He looked past them and to Michael's car. Karen had a hand over her mouth and she was crying. The rest of his family was staring hard from inside the car.
"I need to say goodbye." David said, stepping away. Michael pounded the truck hood with a fist and turned away. Paul didn't say anything.
He stopped a few short steps away from her, already conscious that he should keep his distance, but she ignored it. Instead, she rushed forward to grip him in a tight hug.
"You've been such a great friend to us these past years." She whispered. He couldn't help but wipe at his eyes, his vision blurring from more than his condition. "I'm sorry about earlier."
"Don't be." He said, returning the hug. "I don't blame you." They pulled apart and she looked at him eye to eye. She shook her head, words failing her. He nodded, not having to say anything more.
"I'll miss you a lot." She finished, finally finding a way to say it. She cried. He pushed the hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.
"I'll miss you guys too."
He pushed her arms away gently and she stepped back, allowing him access to the car. He wanted to take a step forward, to lean near the car window and say something to the two inside.
But he couldn't.
He turned around and walked out into the trees.
His friends watched him go.