The End Has Come

The van bucked, sputtered. Teale pressed the accelerator, but the van didn’t respond.

“Shit. Shit.” She slapped the steering wheel, her heart racing as they rolled to a stop on the shoulder. There was nothing in sight — no buildings, no side roads, nothing. Wilson’s face was slack, as always, but there was bright, wet alarm in his eyes. Their eyes were the only part of them that seemed alive, as if their entire selves had retreated inside them.

She turned, faced the kids. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m going to get us another car. I’ll be back soon.”

Opening and closing her door as quickly as possible to keep the heat in, Teale raced around to the back, opened the hatch and pulled out the suitcase holding their winter gear. She put coats, gloves, and hats on the kids, trying hard to seem calm as the kids watched, terrified. She wrapped them in the comforter, gave them each a drink from their thermoses, startled as always by how animated their faces became when the straw touched their lips and they sucked on it reflexively. After dressing Wilson, she pulled on her own gloves, scarf, and hat, then leaned over and retrieved the handgun from the glove compartment and stuck it in her backpack.

“Okay, be strong and keep the faith. I’ll be back before you know it.”

A gust of biting wind hit her as she left the warmth of the van. She locked the door, then took off at a sprint, aware that her family was watching and that she had to look fast and strong, had to look like she could sprint the whole way to the next town like it was no big thing.

When the minivan was out of sight, she slowed. Her lungs were burning, her legs rubbery. She was not a runner; she was an indoor woman carrying an extra thirty pounds who felt at home behind a desk in a climate-controlled room. The opposite of Elijah, whose ADHD had kept him in perpetual motion before the nodding virus took his body away from him.

Teale spotted a sign a half-mile ahead. She tried to pick up her pace; the green sign crept closer, but she still couldn’t make it out. She slowed to a walk to steady her jarring vision, squinted at the sign, gasping for breath.

Gunnison 13

Teale stifled a sob. Thirteen miles? That would take hours. She pictured her family in the van, probably freezing cold already. She eyed the dark woods hugging the highway. Cut through the forest? But what if it was a thousand acres of wilderness?

There were no good options. Trying not to panic, she went back to jogging along the shoulder of the highway.

Within ten minutes she was feeling nauseous and had to slow to a walk again. Pressing her hand against the stitch in her side, she pressed on, images of her family sitting in that van, silent, plumes of white mist coming from their cold mouths. She imagined returning to find them frozen, dead, and —

Teale stopped walking. For the briefest instant she’d felt the most horrible emotion as she imagined returning to find her family dead.

Relief.

Relief that she wouldn’t have to change their diapers any more, or feed them, or carry them to bed. Relief that they would be free of bodies that had become prisons. And relief that she wouldn’t have to witness their deaths, yet hadn’t abandoned them like so many others had abandoned their loved ones.

A humming caught her attention. It took her a moment to identify the soft rumble of an engine rising in the distance. She stopped, spun.

An SUV appeared, barreling toward her.

Teale stepped into the road, waved her arms. “Hey. Hey, help!”

The SUV slowed, stopped on the shoulder a hundred yards short of her.

Teale headed toward it.

When no one stepped out, she paused. Why weren’t they coming out? Were they waiting to make sure she was alone and unarmed?

She swung her pack off her shoulder, deliberately retrieved the handgun so whoever was in the vehicle could see it, then stuck it in the waistband of her jeans. Hopefully the signal was clear: I can defend myself, but I mean you no harm.

As she approached the SUV, she prayed it was filled with women, or old people. Not men with thick beards and automatic rifles.

The driver’s door opened. A white guy in combat boots stepped out, slung a rifle over his shoulder.

Teale’s stomach lurched. She stopped walking, put her hand on the pistol grip. “Are you alone?”

“No.” Head down, the guy stepped toward her.

Teale backpedaled a few steps, drew her pistol. “Hang on. I don’t want you any closer.”

The guy stopped, spread his arms, palms up. “You waved me down. Do you need help, or not?”

“I do. I broke down a few miles back. My family’s still back there.”

He gestured toward his SUV. “Get in. We’ll pick them up. I can take you to the next town.”

Teale eyed the SUV. From this distance, with the truck’s tinted windows, she couldn’t see inside. “Who’s with you?”

“My wife and daughter.”

He opened the back door as she got close, then stepped away. Teale tensed as she leaned in, half-expecting someone to grab her.