“How are we on gas?”
He glanced at the dash then pursed his lips. “Just over a quarter tank.”
“Look for something big once we get out of the area. Maybe a truck or something?”
“We’re switching cars?”
She shook her head. “Bigger cars use more gas. I’m hoping that whoever we stumble on might have filled up since the world was coming to an end.”
He nodded and urged the little car forward, angling the headlights to the edge of the road. “There. Isn’t that the sign for an interstate?”
She gave him a puzzled look. “I-5. I didn’t realize you’d driven so much in the States. Are the signs similar in France?”
He nodded and turned the car, following the road signs. “I have. I spent a summer in New Hampshire many years ago.” He glanced at her as he navigated the tiny car between the wrecks and abandoned vehicles. “It was supposed to be…” He hesitated. “Like a work study.”
“Supposed to be?”
He sighed heavily and glanced at the moon. “I was supposed to be in the US for a three-week symposium.” He shrugged. “I stayed longer.”
“I guess New Hampshire can do that to you.”
He shook his head slowly. “It was…a girl.” His voice took on an edge that she couldn’t quite identify but knew that it must have been a painful memory.
“I take it things didn’t end well.”
He shrugged again. “It was…fast.” He gave her a melancholy smile. “I’ve tried not to wonder how she’s fared through this.”
Carol reached out and patted his hand. “I’m sorry, Andre.”
He grunted and accelerated up the onramp. “I hope that she has remained uninfected.” He gave her a quick glance. “I can’t say that I wish the same for her husband.” His voice became bitter and Carol stared at him open mouthed.
“She was married?”
“Not at the time.” He slowed to maneuver the car around a wreck, the tires crunching on broken glass and bouncing over debris. “We may have kept touch afterward.”
“As friends?”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “We both felt the other was the ‘one who got away.’” He chuckled slightly then turned his attention back to the road. “Looking back, I think that whenever she and her husband didn’t quite see eye to eye, she’d contact me. I don’t know what either of us thought would come of our…relationship.”
Carol sat back and sighed heavily. “I would suggest you try to find her, but I don’t like the idea of crossing the entire country in anything less than a tank.”
He cleared his throat and seemed to wince. “We should stick to the plan. Find a location that may have a lab and…” He cleared his throat again. “And try to work on the…” He leaned into his door and rubbed at his neck. “I fear I may have contracted the cure.”
She stared at him with wide eyes. “Throat sore?”
“Very.”
She fished through the tiny glove box then the center console. “No Tylenol but I found some ibuprofen.”
He extended his hand and she shook a couple of the brown tablets out. “I don’t know if there’s anything to…” she paused and turned to him as he chewed the anti-inflammatory. “…to drink.”
He grimaced and shook his head. “That is nasty.”
She turned and rummaged through the back seat. “How about a warm soda?” She held it up and gave him an apologetic smile. “It’s diet.”
He popped open the can and jumped when it sprayed the windshield with a fine mist. “Anything is better than those pills.” He tipped the can and sucked the carbonated soda then quickly held the can away and shuddered. “Except perhaps that. Mon dieu! How do people drink such things?”
She shrugged then rolled her window down, letting the chill night air wash over her. “Any port in a storm, right?”
“Not if it’s a diet port.”
Simon glared at the fellow standing over him, the pistol pointed at his face. He slowly raised his hand and tried to pull the trigger. He didn’t know why the cheap whiskey bottle wouldn’t fire.
He cursed to himself and dropped his hand to his lap; the brown liquor spilled across his jeans. He stared up at the guy and tried to force his eyes to focus. He tried really hard to say, “Fuck you,” but even to his muddled mind and pounding ears, it sounded like an inarticulate growl.
He watched the man…no…the boy slowly smile before he lowered his pistol, turned, and ran. Simon fell to his side and stared at the kid’s retreating form from under the driver’s door. That’s right you little shit. You better run.
Simon lay on the ground for what seemed entirely too long. He could feel his body both freeze and burn up at the same time. He could feel the sweat oozing out of his pores and the stench made his guts twist.
I gotta get out of here. The little fucker will tell them I’m down and their ‘dear leader’ will find me and put a bullet in my skull.
He pushed himself to a sitting position then reached for the bottom of the door. With all of the strength he could muster, he pulled himself up and fell across the front seat of the truck. He huffed, trying to suck in air before reaching for the steering wheel. He hooked the hand holding the pistol over the edge of the wheel and pulled himself upright.
It took him entirely too long to get into the seat, and Simon would have laughed if he had realized that he’d never let go of either the gun or the liquor. He chuckled to himself as he lifted the bottle and took another long pull from it before tossing it to the ground through the open door.
Simon stared at the dials and gauges in front of him as he tried to remember what to do. He had to put the pistol on the floor in order to grip the key. He twisted it and felt the big diesel engine chug to life.
It took him a moment, but he got
