Burn District_Short Story Prequel to the Series Read online

  Randy and I took our turn when everyone got back into the car. He didn’t say anything about Kelly, but later I noticed he was more interested in her than Mike was. Maybe he was afraid. I thought of my children, how empty my life would be without them. I was glad Kelly was with us so she wouldn’t be alone. If I hadn’t included her with our plan, she’d be dead. I took Randy’s hand.

  “Pop, Kelly would be dead now if we’d left her behind.”

  “I didn’t say she shouldn’t be here. I’m just saying be wise. Don’t take your husband for granted, or her for that matter.”

  “Well, you too, Pop,” I replied. “You’re a man, too.” He gave out a chuckle.

  “Yeah, right,” he said, laughing. “Those days are gone forever.” But I wasn’t so sure. I’m not psychic, but I had a creepy premonition.

  Mike had moved to the passenger seat and was watching us holding hands and laughing. He was smiling at me, knowing I was probably trying to placate my father-in-law about something. “I’m not even going to ask,” he said when I got back inside.

  “Wise man,” Randy replied, getting behind the wheel. And I nodded my head. I’d tell Mike about our conversation later, when we were alone. “How far are we going tonight?”

  “How tired are you, Pop?” Mike asked.

  “I want to make it to St. Louis. It’s supposed to be one of the safer places along our route.”

  “St. Louis is okay if you know someone,” Kelly added. “I have a friend just north of the city if you want to take a chance.”

  “Where’d you think we should stay?” Carol asked, ignoring Kelly.

  “The campgrounds are safe havens. At least that is what I’ve read,” Randy replied.

  “They’re all south of the city,” Kelly said, determined. “My friend’s place might be nice if you’re tired.” We’d been on the road over eight hours. St. Louis was another six hours away. I was exhausted and didn’t see how Mike and Randy were able to keep their eyes open.

  “I say let’s go to a campground,” Mike said, closing the discussion. Kelly looked at me and frowned. I shrugged my shoulders.

  “Maybe we should check out Kelly’s friend before we head south, just in case,” I added. “Okay, I’m open to anything.” Randy looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Hey kid, you want to drive next?”

  “I’m afraid of the trailer,” I answered.

  “I’m not,” Kelly said. “I’d be happy to drive for a while.”

  “When we stop again we can switch,” Randy replied. After four hours, we stopped at the rest area and repeated the routine only this time, Mike and I waited while everyone else went to the bathroom. I didn’t bother to tell him what his father had said. If he wasn’t thinking about Kelly in that way, I didn’t want to plant any seeds. He got into the back seat with me. We snuggled together and kissed, waiting.

  “I love you, Laura,” he whispered huskily in my ear. “I can’t believe we’re here.”

  “I know,” I said. “I have to keep pinching myself.”

  “It’s a nightmare. It’s the kind of thing you don’t think will ever to happen to your family.”

  “We’ll be okay as long as we stick together. We can’t let anything come between us.” If Mike read anything into my words, he didn’t let on, holding me tightly, only letting go when the others returned and we took our turn.

  “I’m a little hungry,” Junior said when Mike and I got back in the van. I made bologna sandwiches, using an entire loaf of bread. It wasn’t time to start rationing food. Everyone ate sandwiches and chips. Kelly got behind the wheel to drive her leg of the journey.

  Near eight the next morning, I woke up as we were bumping along a dirt road. Mike and Kelly were talking softly while she drove. Randy and Carol were snoring, leaning on each other, and my children were still fast asleep in spite of it being daylight.

  “Where are we?” I asked, yawning.

  “Almost to my friend’s place,” Kelly answered. “Mike said we could stop there. It’s just around this next bend in the road.” I sat up, straining to see out of the window, at the gray daylight.

  “Oh no, this doesn’t look good,” Mike said, sniffing the air. Kelly slowed down and gasped. “Better not stop.” She picked up speed as we passed the burned out shell of a farmhouse, the rubble of barns and outbuildings, the sign barely legible; Thorton’s Dairy, covered in black char.

  It wasn’t an isolated fire. Mile after mile of scorched farmland as far as the eye could see, remnants of buildings reduced to charcoal. I sat up straight and looked out of the window when Mike moaned; dead, burned dairy cows lay all over the barnyard, the smell of burning hair still strong.

  “My God,” Kelly cried. “I just talked to him last week. Everything was fine. His license to sell milk was renewed; the farm got a clean bill of health.” I hoped they had been warned to leave, like we’d been, but didn’t say it out loud.

  “Be quiet. Just keep driving,” Randy said, awake now. “We don’t want to stop anywhere near here.” I was glad my children were still asleep as the concentration of road kill increased impossible for Kelly to avoid, so she just drove over the carcasses. Some of what I saw was so horrible I can’t write about it. It was clear that the forest of animals were trying to escape the fire, along with cars that wouldn’t or couldn’t stop as they were fleeing.

  Because of the bumpy ride, the children started to wake up and I knew we were going to have to stop soon; either at a rest area or a campground. “What’s the plan?” I asked, trying not to think about what I had seen out the window, hoping the children didn’t notice.

  “We keep driving,” Mike said. “I wish we didn’t have to go through town but I don’t want to take a chance stopping.” According to rumors, a stopped vehicle was an open invitation for the police to search and seize. It wasn’t worth taking a risk, especially with the children. Kelly navigated the van back onto the crowded interstate. We passed police cars, but no one gave us a second glance. It was unnerving. I thought everyone around us looked like they were fleeing. They’d need an army to stop all these cars.

  “Mike, see if you can get any news,” Randy said. He turned the radio on but it was a bunch of rubbish, the same drivel we got back home. We’d heard burning was restricted to the mid-Atlantic corridor because of the density of people. Now, after seeing Western Pennsylvania and rural Ohio at night, and the farm and the decimated areas in Missouri around it, exposed it for what it was, lies.

  ***

  The virus was a mutation that grew in mold on lumber in south Jersey homes that were saturated with seawater during the hurricanes in early October. That may have been the initial rumor. The first time it happened, the first time there was a burn, the national media picked up the story before the government put a news blackout into place.

  A small village in southern New Jersey, stricken with an outbreak of the quickly spreading, deadly virus, was bombed with a napalm like agent. They said it was an accident, that an antiviral preparation was supposed to have been sprayed. They said they didn’t know it would explode. They said it was a foreign terrorist plot when it happened again in a small town north of Philadelphia, and there were rumors of obliterated villages from Washington, D.C. to Boston. People started out believing the lies, that burning structures halted the spread of disease, saving our children from succumbing to a horrible death, because they hadn’t heard the truth; people were inside sleeping when the bombs dropped on their homes.

  Then Pete came over late one night a few weeks after the first rumors surfaced, tapping on our kitchen window. Mike went to see who it was; Pete put his finger up to his lips and pointed to the back door. Mike opened it for him but he refused to come in. “Are your children sleeping yet?” he whispered. Mike nodded.

  “Get a coat, get your wife and come out here, please.” Mike started to protest but Pete grabbed his arm. “Please.”

  I was dozing on the couch in the den, waiting for the eleven o’clock news. Mike placed his hand on my shoulde
r and gave me a gentle shake. “Pete wants to talk to us outside,” he whispered, warning. “Don’t say anything.” My heart was banging in my chest. I’d been having anxiety about what was happening, refusing to believe what my friends and family said, that the government had our best interests at heart. Kelly was the only other person I knew who didn’t trust what we were told, not yet aware of the network of Rumors.

  Following Mike to the door, I saw Beverly was waiting, too. She had an infant with her, wrapped up in a fleece blanket. Mike pointed to the chairs on the patio; we hadn’t done much to prepare for the change of seasons, wishing Indian Summer would show one more time.

  We sat around the table and Pete leaned in. “Your house is bugged.” About to protest again, Mike didn’t get a word out before Pete put his hand up. “You have to trust me. Everyone who has a satellite connection in their house has a bug. It’s the way they are finding out who’s sick.” There was a rumor that doctors weren’t reporting cases of the virus to protect their own communities. It made sense. So leave it to the government to find another way; by invading our homes. I was so angry, my hands were shaking.

  “We are slated for a burn,” Pete said, his arm around his wife. Beverly gasped, looking down at baby April and started to cry quietly. “I don’t know the exact date. When I find out, I’ll let you know right away; we’ll have less than two hours before it happens. Start getting ready now. When the time comes, go west; the situation is treated differently the further you go. Small towns here in the east, those with poorer populations have the most to fear. We have a large number of farm workers here, so we’re next.”

  “What does income have to do with it?” I asked, the truth not sinking in yet.

  “It’s always done this way, Laura. Read history. The poor are expendable. If you’d built your house one mile over in the next township, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Killing people didn’t seem to have anything to do with the spread of the virus if what Pete said was true. I would find out later it had everything to do with money. He pushed his chair out and helped Beverly stand with the baby. “Also, don’t tell anyone else but your mom and dad. I beg of you to keep it a secret, as difficult as it may be. I know you’ll want to save everyone. But you can’t trust anyone around here. We’d better get back before they notice we’re gone. Remember what I said; get ready. Don’t tell the kids to curb their conversations, either; their noise will help keep you safe. Don’t change your routines. Just go about your business, but get ready.” We hugged them, watching them disappear through the woods. I pulled on Mike’s sleeve.

  “We have to get that satellite box out of our bedroom,” I whispered.

  “They’ll know we did it,” he said. “Let’s sleep in the living room tonight.” Before we went back inside, Mike put his arms around me. We were both shivering. I’d never been as frightened as I was that night.

  ***

  Now, I’m sitting in the van with my family as Kelly drives through St. Louis morning rush hour traffic and I realize I’m no longer frightened, I’m just numb. Every so often, I hear a sob from Kelly, and she reaches for a tissue from a box on the center console.

  Randy is stretching. “I feel like I can keep going if you all are okay with it. I had a good nap.”

  “We need to stop somewhere and let the kids stretch,” I say. Kelly drives until we get to the rural area south of St. Louis.

  “Let’s stop at that campground,” Mike says, pointing to a sign that says family camping - two miles. “We can use the bathroom and have some breakfast. What do you think?” We agree that sounds like a plan.

  But when we arrive, the campground is gone. It must have happened just before daybreak; there are still tendrils of smoke curling up from the ground. We learn burns are always done after sunset. Even the children are silent now; it’s too upsetting to say anything. I see a woman my age, riding a bicycle, crying. I look more closely as we drive by and see a body lying in a driveway. No one else in the van notices. It looks like only the urban areas are spared in the great state of Missouri.

  Kelly finds a place to pull off the road and she and Randy trade places. “We’ll need gas soon,” he says. “You all okay until we reach a station?” Everyone says yes, as he drives off to an unknown destination. I suddenly understand that this is now my life. It is an unknown destination. No one knows what tomorrow will bring, but at least in the past, I had an idea about what I would do each day; get up, cook my children breakfast, go to work, shop, clean, make love to my husband. I would cling to the familiar, try to live minute by minute.

  Junior reaches for my hand and gives me the smile I live for. “I love you, mom,” he says. I reach over and kiss his cheek, setting the tone for the eighteen-hour ride to Yuma and to safety.