I looked over at her then, actually
noticing her for the first time since the roadblock. Her legs were
curled up against her chest, her arms wrapped around them, reminding
me of a child hiding in the corner of a closet. A slow stream of
tears fell down her cheeks as she struggled to hold back sobs. It
seemed as though she was at much at war withing herself as I was. I
could feel my heart sinking in my chest: there had to be something I
could do to reach her. There had to be something I could do to help
her; to pull her out of the battle she was fighting.
I watched as my hand seemed to move of
its own volition. When it came to rest came to rest on her shoulder,
she flinched. A moment later, her crying shifted. Before, it had
sounded hopeless and lost. Now, her sobs were more violent, and it
seemed as if there was anger in her tears. She turned and looked at
me and her eyes didn't look hopeless. They looked upset. I tried to
make sense of her expression and the only thing that came to mind was
a statue I'd seen years before. It was a statue of an angel with a
child's broken body in its arms, built in memory of a bombing or a
shooting or something. I remember thinking that its eyes weren't
downcast, looking upon the child. Instead, it seemed that they were
fixed on me. It's face had grief written across it, but its eyes
seemed angry: the angel was crying out for justice. Suddenly, the
look on Charlotte's face made sense. It made sense because I felt
it, too.
Her sobs lost some of their force and
she began to speak, as if she were trying to explain something. I
think she had to give it words as much to help in her own
understanding as to help me understand. She struggled to find the
words a first, but it didn't take long for her to gain momentum. She
spoke passionately, saying things weren't supposed to be like this.
Everything was wrong. Before the outbreak, there had been good things
and bad things, but the world worked. Everything seemed to fit
together and things made sense. Now, everything was broken.
Everything was so broken, it was hard to even remember what normal
was. It used to be that when something seemed wrong or broken, you
could fix it. You might have to work hard to make things right, but
you could fix things. But now, everyone was dead. The things that
used to matter were gone and nothing made sense anymore. It was
all...broken.
I realized that our struggles were the
same. We felt things differently because we were different people,
but we suffered from the same wound. What she had said resonated
with me. It brought clarity. Some things that I'd struggled with
suddenly made sense. I could feel the sadness she felt and I felt
the tears begin to form. It felt like that sadness was moving
through my body, slowly spreading from somewhere in my gut. It
seemed to sting at first, but as it continued to spread, it eased the
hurting I felt. It cut the sharpness of the pain I was feeling and
left a dull ache in its wake.
I thought about California and
realized that I had a new perspective. California wasn't just a
place to go because I had nothing better to do; it was a chance to
fight against the brokenness. It was a chance to create a new
normal. Things could never go back to the way they had been before.
That world was lost, but in California, they were fighting so they
might at least hold on to some of it. It was just a chance, but it
was a chance that was worth risking everything for. To some degree,
I'd always known this, but now it was more than some
indistinguishable feeling: it was an idea. Now there was a different
kind of urgency in getting to California. It felt less like I was
running away from something and more like California was a place to
run to.
As we put more and more distance
between us and the barricade, more and more thoughts danced around in
my head. One thing that came to mind was how much Charlotte and I
had in common. We were so dissimilar in so many ways, but in what we
were going through we were the same. We fought the same battle. Up
until now, we'd fought that battle alone. Now we stood shoulder to
shoulder. We were comrades. Now, our futures were intertwined.
Getting to California meant saving her from the fate that I feared
for myself. I felt a shift in my thinking as my hopes for the future
began to matter less and whatever it was she was fighting for began
to matter more. I wanted to protect her and to protect her future.
After driving for a while with so many
thoughts bouncing around in my head, I just needed to stop. I needed
to try to make sense of some of it before my head exploded. I pulled
over at some sort of scenic overlook letting her know I needed a
break. I just needed to think. I sat down near the edge of the
bluff and tried to make sense of my thoughts: to organize then in
some way so they all fit together. Soon, Charlotte came and sat near
the bluff’s edge. I decided to try to explain why California was
important. California meant more than a bed and food and walls and
people. Everything had just sort of clicked together when she'd been
talking earlier. Before I’d been too angry to really be sad or to
mourn. My response to the brokenness had been rage. In a way, it
felt like I should somehow be fixing it, but the more I saw that I
couldn’t, the angrier I got until it almost consumed me. But now,
I finally felt the sadness. It seemed to quiet the rage. I wasn’t
so angry anymore. And now California was a place of hope. We just
had to make it there and help in whatever way we could. It was the
most important thing we could do with our lives. There was nothing
else more important.
We sat and talked and enjoyed the view
until the sun started to disappear behind the foothills. As it
descended, the light streamed through the hilltops and shadow slowly
transformed the simple hills into something more. It was
magnificent. I hardly dared breathe or talk as I watched nature at
its best. As the moment started to fade, I drifted out of my reverie
and found myself wishing I had a camera, even if to just catch the
end of what happened. I must have been wishing out loud because
Charlotte got up and went back to the Juggernaut and pulled a camera
out of the bottom of her bag. She came back to the edge of the
bluff, hesitating before handing it to me. I stared at it for a
moment. What I was holding in my hands was more than just a camera:
it was the only thing that remained of her friend.
It was with a sense of purpose that I
held the camera up and captured the setting sun. Now the moment
would last forever. It was time to stop running from the past. It
was time to start making new memories. If I wasn’t running away
anymore, it was time to start living in this new world…or at least
in the hope of a new world. Something about that thought just felt
right, and, while caught up in the moment, I insisted that Charlotte
and I take a picture together there on that spot. It seems childish
or strange to me now, but at the time it seemed incredibly important.
We needed to document that we were there. It was a turning point
for me, and it was important that it was recorded somehow.
We spent the night at that overlook.
I spent the first few hours of darkness looking up at the stars and
considering the future. I felt at peace. Now that there was hope
for the future, I could look at it with new eyes. Before that day,
the hope of a world beyond the zombie apocalypse was a distant hope.
It had felt like a ridiculous thing to put my hope in—like
believing in Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy. It had been as though I
had to force myself to believe. I had to convince myself that there
was light at the end of the tunnel. Now I didn’t just hope. I
knew there was a world beyond the apocalypse. I could feel
it. Hope was growing in my chest like a flame. I could feel it
blazing within me and I basked in its warmth. We were at the
threshold of a new world. I held onto that thought as I went to bed.
Sleep came quickly that night.
I slept through the sunrise the next
morning. I found myself wishing that I had seen it. It was the dawn
of more than a new day. Something inside of me had changed.
We headed out and our trip brought us through foothills and mountains
and wilderness. As we drove and talked, it felt as though I was
beginning to heal. Apart from stopping at gas stations for supplies
and having to clear fallen trees and rocks from the road, the next
few days were uneventful. We just talked and laughed and listened to
music. We just enjoyed the trip. It was such a welcome change after
feeling lost and alone for so long.
We came out of the wilderness into
seemingly endless grasslands. Travel was faster here; there was
nothing blocking the road except for an occasional abandoned vehicle.
Once or twice we came across cars that had collided or gone off the
road. It was easy to picture what had happened, but it didn’t
affect me as it had before. I felt sadness and an uncomfortable
stirring within me, but the feeling passed whenever the wreckage was
out of sight.
The worst sight in the grasslands was
a small town that had been destroyed by a derailed train. We stopped
on a hill overlooking the town, documenting it with the camera and
trying to piece together what had happened. It seemed to me that a
vehicle must have stopped on the tracks and gotten hit by the train.
The impact had knocked the train off of its tracks. Houses and shops
had been flattened by train cars. Much of what hadn’t been
flattened had burned. In spite of how violent the destruction must
have been, it looked so quiet now. Rain had fallen many times since
the train wreck and it was washing away the signs of the town’s
wounds. Grass had begun to grow, masking the scars with shades of
green.
It almost seemed wrong to take
pictures of the town, like we should just let it rest in peace. We
had agreed, though, that it wasn’t likely that anyone would ever
again see this town. It might just fade back into the grasslands
before people ever came this way again. Without pictures, the town
would fade from memory, becoming just a dot on maps. Many other
towns were already on their way there. This was not the only town of
its kind. Such thoughts make me sad even now. Yet, there was
something hauntingly beautiful about the town because it would soon
be nothing more than a memory.
We left the town as the sun set,
turning our eyes and thoughts once again to California. We cased the
sun westward until it sank below the horizon. The next few days
passed uneventfully. We drove. We refueled. We scavenged for
supplies. We didn’t see a single zombie and it felt like we had
left danger behind. Even so, I kept my swords on my back each time
we left the Juggernaut. I really didn’t think anything of it at
the time. I’d carried them with me ever since I’d gotten them.
When I had them with me, I was safe. When I didn’t, I wasn’t.
It was as simple as that. But Charlotte brought it up as we were
driving.
She said it was stupid. You see a
zombie and you just run, it’s as easy as that. Swords were
dangerous. They were almost as bad as guns. Was I after some kind
of vengeance against the zombies? Was I some kind of bloodlust that
drove me to fight them? Did I think I was some kind of superhero? I
was caught off-guard. In a way, the question about vengeance was
right. It hadn’t started like that, though. It had been about
protecting what I cared about. It had always been about protecting
what I cared about. The only time it had been about anything else
was when I didn’t have anything left that I did care about.
I had wanted vengeance. I did want them to pay. I
wanted to keep tearing them apart until there were none left. But
was it really just about vengeance? That didn’t seem right.
It was about trying to make the world right again. The zombies had
brought death and destruction. They had to be stopped. It felt like
it was a war between them and us.
I didn’t think I could explain all
that to her though. The way she said it, it sounded like the swords
made her feel unsafe. It sounded like she was worried I’d go crazy
and just start hacking everything in sight. I could understand where
she was coming from. If she hadn’t seen me fighting the zombies,
she had at least seen the aftermath. How could I explain that I had
it under control now? As long as she was with me, I wouldn’t go
back to being that person. I just couldn’t put it into words.
Since I couldn’t say the things I wanted to say, I just told her
that I needed them with me in order to feel safe. They had kept me
safe so far. I would keep them with me until we were safely in
California. Then maybe I wouldn’t need them anymore. It wasn’t
a lie. I’m not sure I would call it the truth, though. She
accepted my answer without an argument, but I could feel a space
growing between us. I think she had wanted me to put them away and
just act like a normal human being. But I couldn’t do that. I
wished she could understand.
