“If they’re still alive, they would have heard the UN’s message by now, and will probably head to the survival station, too,” Amanda said.
“Well, if they do, then they’ll be safe there,” Riley said. “But if they didn’t hear it…”
Martina couldn’t miss the hope and pleading in the girl’s voice. She knew if she were in Riley’s position, she’d want to do the same thing. “All right.”
Riley smiled. “Thank you.”
“But,” Martina quickly added. “They may not have even gone in the direction I’m heading, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“I won’t,” Riley said.
Martina looked at her friend for a moment, then said, “Grab your bag.”
As Riley rushed to the cars, Noreen said, “I’m going with you, too.”
“What?” Valerie said. “Are you crazy?”
Noreen, jaw set, said, “Martina’s my best friend. I’m going with her.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned after Riley.
“Anyone else want to get themselves killed?” Valerie asked, scanning the rest.
A shoe scuffed against the asphalt, and a hand shot up. “Me.”
It was Craig.
“Oh, so, what? You going to be the big male protector?” Valerie asked.
Craig looked confused. “No. I just…no.”
Martina knew why. Riley.
Valerie scoffed as she rolled her eyes. “Fine! Is that it? Anyone else?” When no one else spoke up, she said, “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
Once everyone was loaded up, the driver’s window of the lead car rolled down. “Last chance, Gable,” Valerie said.
“Good luck,” Martina told her. “We’ll see you in L.A.”
The look on Valerie’s face as she rolled her window back up said she very much doubted that. One by one, the cars started pulling away. Most of the girls waved and shouted their good-byes.
“Think we’ll ever see them again?” Noreen asked.
“I’m sure we will,” Martina replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
They fell silent and watched the cars head north on China Lake Boulevard.
When the last of the vehicles fell out of sight, Craig said, “So, uh, who are we looking for?”
“A friend,” Martina said.
“Ben, right?” Noreen asked. She turned to Craig. “His name’s Ben.”
Martina shouldn’t have been surprised her best friend knew. “Yeah. Ben.”
“Is he your boyfriend or something?” Riley asked.
“Bingo,” Noreen said.
“How do you know he might still be alive?” Craig asked.
“Because he left me a message on my phone.”
“What?” Noreen said. “When? What did he say?”
“I only had a signal for a little bit. Not long enough to listen to them. But I do know the last one came yesterday.”
“That’s great,” Noreen said, smiling. “Hey, that’s great!”
“We should get going,” Martina said. She picked up her pack and started walking toward the road.
“Wait. We’re going to hike out of here?” Craig asked.
“Not the whole way.”
When she’d thought she’d be going on this trek alone, she knew a car was more than she needed, and might even be a liability. Now, even with the extra companions, her opinion hadn’t changed.
When they finally neared her intended destination, she pointed. “There.”
In front of the building was a white sign with red letters outlined in black:
GLAZE’S MOTORCYCLES
Ben Bowerman wiped the sweat from his brow. It had to be one of the hottest New Year’s Eves ever recorded on the San Francisco Peninsula. Well, it would be, he figured, if anyone were still keeping records.
He knew the fact that he’d so far spent half the day digging into the ground probably influenced his opinion, but it still didn’t take away from the fact that the day was warm, and that usually New Year’s Eve was a time for jackets and scarves and sweaters.
He already had three of the graves completed, and the fourth almost done. They weren’t the standard six feet deep — more like four — but they would do just fine. After he removed the last bit of dirt from number four and evened out the bottom, he leaned against his shovel and looked out at the green rolling hills of the cemetery. In the past, a place like this was a peaceful home for the dead. Now, peaceful aside, it seemed like everywhere was home for the dead.
For days he had known he was going to have to come out here and do this. The only question had been, how many graves would he have to dig?
The pandemic took his father first.
Ben had been at his apartment in Santa Cruz two days before Christmas when his phone rang.
“Ben? Ben, please come home.” It was his mother. He had never heard her sound more frightened.
“Are you all right? Is something wrong?”
“Yes, something’s wrong. Haven’t you been watching TV?
Of course he had. He’d been stuck on his couch riveted to the news coverage of the shipping containers that seemed to be spread around the world, belching out an as yet unknown substance.
“It’s probably nothing,” he said, trying to find words that might calm her down. “I’m sure it will all be over soon, and everything will be back to normal.”
“Please, come home,” she said. “I’d feel a lot better. The rest of us are here.”
“Dad’s not at work?”
“They closed his office today.”
Those five little words did more to scare Ben than the hours of news he’d been watching.
“Please, Ben. Please.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a couple hours.”
“Thank you,” she said, clearly relieved. “Oh, and Ben, if you see a drugstore open, can you pick up some cold medicine? Your father isn’t feeling too well.”
His dad had lasted until the day after Christmas. By then, his sisters Kathy and Karen had already come down ill, and his mother was starting to sniffle. Kathy held on the longest. He kept hoping she’d pull out of it like he had in the spring. There was one day when she seemed to be doing better, but the next morning she was worse than before. Finally, just over twenty-four hours earlier, she had drifted off to join the rest of his family.
By then, he had no more tears left.
He had figured out pretty early that he was immune, had even sent out a silent thank you, but as his family continued to die, he began to wonder if being immune was actually worse. The only thing that kept him sane — the only thing — was thinking about Martina. If his previous exposure to Sage Flu made him immune, it would have been the same for her.
He had tried calling, but kept being immediately directed to her voice mail. Every time he’d left a message, but not once had she called back. Then, the same day Karen died, his cell phone stopped receiving a signal at all, so all he could do was focus on nursing Kathy.
He knelt down and checked his work. The bottom of the grave was nice and flat, the corners perfectly edged. It was important to him to be as precise as possible. It was the way his father, a US Navy vet, would have liked it.
The plots were near a tree on a west-facing slope, the very ground his parents had purchased several years ago for the day they would need it. He hadn’t realized they’d taken the step until he found the information in their things.
Naturally, they had bought only two plots, so he was worried when he came out here that he’d have to double up, maybe his parents together in one, and his sisters in the other. But the spots on both sides of his parents’ chosen resting places were vacant. Since it was unlikely anyone would claim the land, he did.