Pam appealed to Rudy, who was standing further back, half-eaten by shadow. “Talk to him!” she implored, her expression underscored by firelight. “Make him see the sense of it!”
“I would,” Rudy answered, “but I’m afraid I agree with him. If anyone goes to town, it ought to be Shane. I don’t condone it, but he’s better qualified than you, and your skills are better used here.”
“But he’s just a baby!” she cried, horrified.
“Mom,” Shane murmured, flashing her a warning look. “I’m sixteen years old! I’m not a baby!”
“If I may, Shane?” Rudy interjected, turning to the boy’s mother. “What you’re proposing, Pam, is something akin to combat. The army recruits boys Shane’s age for such purposes. Boys who are quick and strong. They do not, as a rule, recruit 35-year-old women, however admirable their courage or nursing skills.”
“Now just a minute,” Pam objected, two red spots flaring high on her cheeks.
“Oh come on, Mom” Shane said, cutting her off. “He’s right and you know it! I can drive there and back in fifteen minutes!”
Here, Rudy interrupted. “You may have been able to do that in the past, Shane, but it won’t be so easy now; not nearly so easy. The nearest pharmacy, as your mother pointed out, is the Walgreen’s on Hudson Street. That’s in a good-sized shopping center off a busy arterial. I doubt very much if you’ll be able to drive up and dash inside. The roads, once you get to the bottom of the hill, are likely to be filled with obstacles, completely impassable in places.”
“So I’ll take Dad’s mountain bike,” Shane countered. “I’ll go around them.”
Rudy considered this then shook his head. “A bicycle doesn’t offer any protection if you find yourself cornered,” he pointed out, referring indirectly to the infected dead. “A car wouldn’t offer much either, at least not against a dozen or more, but you’d be better off on foot than a bike; it’s not as fast, but it would give you more agility.”
“You’re not going!” Pam maintained, her stance and her jaw set against it.
“What about a motorcycle?” Shane proposed, ignoring her. “A dirt bike?”
Rudy nodded. “That would be ideal, but where would you find one?”
Shane grinned. “The Sturlings have one! I saw it in the back of their garage!”
“Have you ever driven a motorcycle?” Rudy asked, doubtful.
Shane’s smile faltered.
“No he hasn’t,” Pam cut in, seizing triumphantly on this fact. “He hasn’t even learned to drive a stick shift!”
“How hard can it be?” Shane argued. “I can practice right here in the street until I get the hang of it.”
Rudy shook his head. “The sound of the engine will carry. It might attract… others,” he said uncomfortably.
“I can drive a motorcycle,” a voice quietly volunteered.
The three of them turned to look at Larry.
33
“I’m serious,” Larry asserted, frowning at their expressions. “Back when I was Shane’s age. I couldn’t afford a car and needed something to get me to work and to school, so I bought a second-hand Honda. I didn’t join a bike club or wear a leather jacket, and I sold it as soon as I could afford a car, but I rode it for two or three years, in all kinds of weather.”
“Could you ride me double?” Shane asked, looking at Larry with a new respect.
Larry smiled weakly. “I think I could manage.”
Rudy and Pam, however, weren’t as quick to warm to the idea, much less agree. Larry was aware of the frank, probing looks he was getting and guessed he knew what they were thinking. He hadn’t after all, distinguished himself very well in the past few weeks. In fact, he’d behaved like a scared and selfish coward. He saw this in their eyes and decided to meet it head-on.
“I know I haven’t done much to earn anyone’s trust; you don’t need to remind me of that; but I’d like to do this, if you think it will help.” He glanced into the fire, at the remains of his son. “I don’t know what’s waiting out there, no more than any of you, but I can guess. I’ve had to deal with it in a way that none of you have and I pray to God… well, I just pray that you don’t have to.” He looked up at them, his eyes rimmed with naked tears and fire. “It doesn’t seem likely though, does it.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of belief. “After what I saw today, I think we’re all just buying time — minutes and hours; no more, really.”
Rudy stepped forward. “If you genuinely believe that, Larry, why do you want to do this? Why do you want to drive Shane into town on the assumption you’ll find a drugstore that still has a stock of antibiotics and — providing you do find them and return here safely — that they’ll do Mike or anyone else the slightest bit of good?”
Pam and Shane both objected to this dour supposition, but Rudy waved them aside, interested in Larry now and not the niceties of his question. For the moment, they had ceased to matter.
Larry shifted uncomfortably, reluctant to shine such a searching light on his motivations and emotions. After a moment’s consideration, however, he admitted that he found his bomb shelter a lonely and sterile place, little better than a prison cell. He admitted that what they thought of him, how they remembered him, mattered, and what he wanted — more than simple survival — was to rejoin their society. He also understood that to do that, he had to make some sort of atonement.
“That’s admirable, Larry, but reckless as well. I can’t speak for anyone except myself, but the fact that you want to come back is enough for me. We don’t need to see you risking your life to prove anything. It’s not an initiation.”
“I realize that,” Larry nodded, “but there’s also a matter of self-respect. If you each contribute your strengths and skills as the need arises, why shouldn’t I? I don’t want to be carried; I want to help. If I’m standing here listening to you say you need a motorcycle driver, why shouldn’t I volunteer, since I can.” He paused and looked back at them challengingly. “Unless you’re lying when you say I don’t need to prove anything?”
“That may have been a poor choice of words,” Rudy admitted. “To be frank, blunt perhaps, Shane’s life may well depend on you and I’ve seen you falter under fire. We would gladly welcome you back into the fold, but — again, to speak my mind — that doesn’t mean I’m ready to trust you with my life yet, or Shane’s.”
“I guess that’s plain enough,” Larry grimaced, “but at this point, is there a difference? The issue seems fairly black and white now. There’s us and there’s them. What could be simpler?”
“It’s always been us and them, Larry; it’s just a question of where you draw the line. A month ago we never would have taken up firearms to stop those men at the creek, much less hung them from lampposts and power lines once they were dead; but it came down to an issue of us against them. This morning Keith Sturling was one of us and before the day was half over he was one of them. It happened in a heartbeat. I’m certain Mike can attest to that; in fact, it cost him two fingers. One day I might have to draw such a line between your house and mine, or the Dawleys. It all depends on how things unfold. I expect we’ll all have to make the same decision… when and where we’ll draw those lines.”