Rise of the Governor

The only immediate problem is the fact that every abandoned filling station or truck stop is infested with Biters, and Brian is getting very concerned about Penny. At every pit stop—either to take a leak or to forage for food or water—her face seems more drawn, her tiny little tulip lips more cracked. Brian is worried she’s getting dehydrated. Hell, he’s worried they’re all getting dehydrated.

Empty stomachs are one thing (they can go without food for extended lengths of time), but the lack of water is becoming a serious issue.

Ten miles southwest of Hartsfield, as the landscape begins to transition into patchworks of pine forests and soy bean farms, Brian is wondering if they could drink the water from the motorcycles’ radiators, when he sees a green directional sign looming up ahead with a blessed message: REST AREA—1 MI. Philip gives them a signal to pull off, and they take the next exit ramp.

As they roar uphill and into the lot, which is bordered by a small wood-framed tourist center, the relief spreads through Brian like a salve: The place is mercifully deserted, free of any signs of the living or the dead.

* * *

“What really happened back there, Philip?” Brian sits on a picnic table situated on a small promontory of grass behind the rest area shack. Philip paces, sucking down a bottle of Evian that he wrested from a broken vending machine. Nick and Penny are fifty yards away, still within view. Nick is gently spinning Penny on a ramshackle old merry-go-round under a diseased live oak. The girl just sits on the thing, joylessly, like a gargoyle, staring straight out as she turns and turns and turns.

“I told you once already to give that a rest,” Philip grumbles.

“I think you like owe me an answer.”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

“Something happened that night,” Brian persists. He isn’t afraid of his brother anymore. He knows Philip could beat the shit out of him at any moment—the potential for violence between the Blakes seems more imminent now than ever—but Brian doesn’t care anymore. Something deep within Brian Blake has shifted like a seismic plate changing with the landscape. If Philip wants to wring Brian’s throat, so be it. “Something between you and April?”

Philip gets very still and looks down. “What the fuck difference does it make?”

“It makes a big difference—it does to me. Our lives are on the line here. We had a pretty fair chance of surviving back there at that place, and then, just like that … poof?”

Philip looks up. His eyes fix themselves on his brother, and something very dark passes between the two men. “Drop it, Brian.”

“Just tell me one thing. You seemed so hell-bent to get outta there—do you have a plan?”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Do you have, like, a strategy? Any idea where the hell we’re headed?”

“What are you, a fuckin’ tour guide?”

“What if the Biters get thick again? We basically got a piece of wood to fight ’em with.”

“We’ll find something else.”

“Where are we going, Philip?”

Philip turns away and lifts the collar of his leather bomber, staring out at the ribbon of pavement snaking off into the western horizon. “Another month or so, winter’s gonna set in. I’m thinking we stay moving, heading southwest … toward the Mississippi.”

“Where’s that gonna get us?”

“It’s the easiest way to go south.”

“And?”

Philip turns and looks at Brian, a mixture of purpose and anguish crossing Philip’s deeply lined face, as though he doesn’t really believe what he’s saying. “We’ll find a place to live—long-term—in the sun. Someplace like Mobile or Biloxi. New Orleans, maybe … I don’t know. Someplace warm. And we’ll live there.”

Brian lets out an exhausted sigh. “Sounds so easy. Just head south.”

“You got a better plan, I’m all ears.”

“Long-term plans are like a luxury I haven’t even thought about.”

“We’ll make it.”

“We gotta find some food, Philip. I’m really worried about Penny getting some nourishment.”

“You let me do the worrying about my daughter.”

“She won’t even eat a Twinkie. You believe that? A kid who doesn’t want a Twinkie.”

“Cockroach food.” Philip grunts. “Can’t say I blame her. We’ll find something. She’s gonna be okay. She’s a tough little thing … like her mother.”

Brian can’t argue with that. Lately, the little girl has shown miraculous spirit. In fact, Brian has started wondering whether Penny might actually be the glue that’s holding them all together, keeping them from self- destructing.

He glances across the rest area and sees Penny Blake dreamily spinning on that rusty merry-go-round in the little scabrous playground area. Nick has lost his enthusiasm for turning it and now just gives it little incremental nudges with his boot.

Beyond the playground, the land rises up to an overgrown wooded knoll, where a small windswept cemetery sits in the pale sun.

Brian notices that Penny is talking to Nick, grilling him about something. Brian wonders what the two of them are talking about that has the girl looking so worried.

* * *

“Uncle Nick?” Penny’s little face is tight with concern as she slowly turns on the merry-go-round. She has called Nick “Uncle” for years, even though she knows very well he is not her real uncle. The affectation has always given Nick a secret twinge of longing—the desire to be somebody’s real uncle.

“Yes, honey?” A leaden feeling of doom presses down on Nick Parsons as he absently pushes Penny on the merry-go-round. He can see the Blake brothers in his peripheral vision, arguing about something.

“Is my dad mad at me?” the little girl asks.

Nick does a double take. Penny looks down as she slowly spins. Nick measures his words. “Of course not. He’s not mad at you. Whaddaya mean? Why would you even think that?”

“He don’t talk to me as much as he used to.”

Nick gently pulls the merry-go-round to a stop. The little girl jerks slightly back against the bar. Nick tenderly pats her on the shoulder. “Listen. I promise you. Your daddy loves you more than anything else in the world.”

“I know.”

“He’s under a lot of pressure. That’s all.”

“You don’t think he’s mad at me?”

“No way. He loves you something fierce, Penny. Believe me. He’s just … under a lot of pressure.”

“Yeah … I guess so.”

“We all are.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure none of us have been talking all that much lately.”

“Uncle Nick?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Do you think Uncle Brian’s mad at me?”

“God, no. Why would Uncle Brian be mad at you?”

“Maybe ’cause he’s gotta carry me all the time?”

Nick smiles sadly. He studies the look on the girl’s face, her little brow all furrowed with seriousness. He strokes her cheek. “Listen to me. You are the bravest little girl I ever met. I mean that. You are a Blake girl … and that’s something to be proud of.”

She thinks about this and smiles. “You know what I’m gonna do?”

“No, honey. Tell me.”

“I’m gonna fix all them broken dolls. You’ll see. I’m gonna fix ’em.”

Nick grins at her. “That sounds like a plan.”