The Shock

CHAPTER FIVE

They’d decided on a room in a Motel 6 on the outskirts of the city, just below the interstate but away from any commercial developments or residential neighborhoods. A convenience store and a Taco Bell were the only other buildings in the little off-road cluster designed to bleed money from travelers on the way south to Columbia or north to Raleigh. In the murky light of sundown, Rachel couldn’t make out any of the vehicles she knew were scattered along the road.

There were fewer cars in front of the convenience store, so they chose that one to explore instead of the Taco Bell. The fast-food restaurant with its darkened glass seemed absurdly like an abandoned temple, a religion whose comforts no longer served the masses. Rachel could smell the spoiled cheese emanating from the place. At least, she hoped it was cheese.

She kept watch out front while DeVontay prowled the convenience store for food and supplies. She clutched the flashlight, afraid to turn it on, figuring that invisibility was the best defense. The world’s silence was oppressive and weighty—a new sort of gravity enveloped her in an alien skin. The only sounds were the occasional crashes as DeVontay pillaged the store.

He soon emerged with his backpack bulging, a bag of Doritos ripped open in his hand. He crunched the corn chips as he said, “Got us enough to get through the night.”

“See anybody?”

“Just a couple dead folks.”

“Were they Zapheads?”

“Why you call ‘em that?”

“That’s what the media was calling them, before the power went out.”

DeVontay headed for the motel and she followed, glancing at the Taco Bell. No more running for the border.

“The solar flares,” Rachel said. “Astronomers knew they were coming. They just didn’t know what would happen.”

“I never was no good at science.” DeVontay held the bag of chips out to her.

“You shouldn’t be eating that junk food.”

“What, it will rot my brain?” He snorted in laughter.

“That stuff’s full of preservatives.”

“I might need me some preserving, if things get any worse.” He pulled his pistol from his belt as they approached the drop-off circle by the motel’s main entrance.

A red Fiat was pulled up to the curb, its front doors open. Rachel gave the car a wide berth but DeVontay peered through the window. “Bad ride.”

“It’s dead, like every other car we tried in the last half hour.”

“Why you got to be so negative all the time?”

“Maybe because everybody I know and love is either dead or trying to crack open my skull,” she said.

“Well, that’s what you get for lovin’ people,” DeVontay said. “I never had that problem.”

He left the Fiat and joined her outside the sliding-glass doors, where she peered into the shadowed lobby. The front desk was unattended. A dark form slumped in one of those stiff, formal chairs that were designed for decoration, not for sitting.

“Somebody’s in there,” Rachel said.

DeVontay tugged his pistol from his belt. “Are they moving?”

“I can’t tell.”

“Should we knock?” Rachel said.

DeVontay pushed at narrow gap where the two sliding doors stood a few inches from meeting. “No electricity. This bitch won’t open.”

“Maybe if you yell a little louder, we can get some Zapheads to bust it open for us.”

“Ain’t nobody here. Not alive, no ways.”

Rachel didn’t want to think about all the bodies spread throughout the motel. There were at least 30 cars in the parking lot, which meant a big slice of America: business travelers, families on vacation, retired people headed to see the grandkids.

“We could break the glass,” Rachel said.

“Like that wouldn’t draw attention?”

“I don’t know how well those things can hear. We still don’t much about them.”

“Wait here.” DeVontay gave her the bag of Doritos headed back to the Fiat, then he stooped through the driver’s-side door. A moment, later, the trunk popped open. DeVontay returned with a scissors jack and handle.

“Lucky it had a manual latch, or I woulda had to bust into it,” DeVontay said. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“So, we can add ‘car thief’ to your list of survival skills. Great.” She put a Dorito in her mouth and the crunch filled her ears from the inside.

“Says the lady eating a stolen Dorito.”

She glanced down at the bag and realized the moral compass, even hers, had shifted with the arrival of the solar flares. Perhaps God’s commandments needed a revision.

She might have thought that the catastrophe had been a punishment for the wicked, except that the apocalypse had punished everyone, good or bad, white or black, believer or infidel. But she couldn’t worry about the big picture right now. First, she had to survive the night.

DeVontay wedged the jack between the bottoms of the motel doors and cranked the handle until it was tight. At first, the doors held, and then they groaned in protest before yielding. The jack handle quivered under the stress, and Rachel wondered if the glass would shatter after all. Then the doors gave a grudging inch, and then another.

When DeVontay had widened the gap to more than a foot, he stepped aside and retrieved his pistol. “Ladies first.”

“You’re a real gentleman.”

“I told you, I ain’t no gentleman. Just a man. Now get in there and just scream if you see any Zapheads.”

She stared into his face, which was getting harder to see as night encroached. His glass eye was lost in shadow, but his real one burned with impatience. She pushed her backpack through the opening, and switched on her flashlight, keeping the beam directed on the lobby floor.

Rachel stepped inside, immediately hit by the corrupt air of the three-story mausoleum. She played the flashlight beam over the figure in the chair and wished she hadn’t. She had been a maid with a Spanish complexion and dark hair knotted into a bun, perhaps taking a final break without realizing her shift was about to be punched out by the Big Time Clock in the Sky. Beside her was a cart filled with folded towels, linens, and cleaning supplies.

“Grab this,” DeVontay said, shoving his own backpack through the opening. She had to wiggle it to get it through, but was uneasy about turning her back on the dark lobby. Once she got it through, DeVontay followed, and she drew comfort from the pistol he now pointed before him into the darkness.

“Smell that?” she said.

He took her flashlight and walked over to the maid’s cart, ignoring the body. He came back with a squirt bottle of hand sanitizer. He squirted some on his fingers and rubbed the goo above his upper lip, into the faint stubble of his mustache. He gave an exaggerated sniff and passed her the bottle.

She understood and aped his actions. The perfumed aroma immediately filled her nostrils and masked the smell of death.

“You’re pretty resourceful,” she said.

“Saw it on a TV show,” he said.

“Wow.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. We got TV in Philly, too. Before it fried out, I mean.”

Outside, a faint dusting of stars stuck to the deep ceiling of the sky, the rippling green bands of aurora borealis painting the darkness.

“Let’s get a room,” she said.

“I could make a joke here, but it’s the end of the world,” he said. He crossed the lobby to the front desk, flicking the flashlight down each wing to make sure they were empty. He went behind the desk and into the open office while Rachel shouldered her backpack and waited. A moment later, he came out holding up a key ring.

“Key cards won’t work, but one of these gotta be the master key,” he said.

“Hurry. I’m getting the creeps out here.”

“Let’s take the first one we come to,” he said. “The nicest rooms are usually closest to the front desk. Might even get a Jacuzzi, for all the good it will do us.”

“Pass the apocalypse in pampered luxury,” she said. “I can see the television commercial already.”

“Except the part where there ain’t no TV anymore.” He gave her the flashlight and she illuminated the hallway so he could try the first door.

“What if there’s somebody in it?” She meant “somebody dead” but she didn’t have to say it.

He raised his hand to knock, and then grinned sheepishly at her, squinting against the light. The eyelid covering his glass eye didn’t fully close. “We can stand out here all night if you like.”

She peered past him down the hall, into the blackness beyond the flashlight’s reach. “You hear that?”

He turned toward the end of the hall, where a scuffling noise echoed down the concrete stairwell. “Hear what?”

“That,” she whispered.

“Probably just the air conditioning,” he said.

“Power’s off, remember?”

DeVontay didn’t say anything, but his face said, “Oh, yeah,” and he selected one of the keys on the ring and tried to jam it in the door lock. It slid in halfway and stuck. He jiggled it three times before he was able to yank it free. The noise was louder now, and clearly sounded like feet shuffling on concrete steps.

“What if it’s one of us?” Rachel whispered.

DeVontay pushed a different key into the lock, but it didn’t even penetrate. His hands were shaking, causing the keys to jingle.

“Give me the gun, you can go faster,” she whispered.

“You know how to shoot?” he whispered back, shoving a fourth key toward the slot.

“No, but I’ll feel safer,” she whispered.

Before he could answer, the key slid in and he turned it with a loud click. He depressed the door handle as Rachel swerved the beam down the hall. A bulky shape filled the opening of the stairwell, moving toward them.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” Rachel implored DeVontay, pounding on his back. “He’s coming.”

DeVontay swung the door open, pointing the gun down the hall as she pushed past him into the room. The air was stale but didn’t smell of corpses.

Thank you, God, for small blessings.

“Who are you?” DeVontay yelled down the hall, but he waited only one second before stepping inside and slamming the door closed, quickly throwing the deadbolt in place.

“You know how to shoot?” Rachel mocked, aiming the flashlight at the pistol by his side.

“Smartass. I wasn’t the one squealing”—he raised his voice to a thin falsetto—“Ooooh, help, help.”

“Shush,” she said. “Maybe he won’t figure out which room we’re in.”

They heard him banging on doors, coming closer. Rachel didn’t know how smart Zapheads were, but in her observation, they seemed to have varying degrees of cunning. Perhaps the solar flares had short-circuited different people’s brains in varying degrees. Most died, some fried, and a few lucky souls were left to sort out the mess.

DeVontay drew back from the door, joining her in the middle of the room. She flicked the light around to make sure the room was empty. It was a suite, with a little kitchenette and a Jacuzzi. DeVontay had gotten lucky after all.

Then the Zaphead was pounding on the door, giving three hard blows with the bottoms of his fists. Rachel instinctively clutched DeVontay and switched off the flashlight, not wanting the beam to attract attention. She could hear DeVontay panting in the dark.

Then the Zaphead was off across the hall to the next door, repeating the pounding as he worked his way down the hall. Soon the banging was muffled, as if he had reached the far wing. Rachel exhaled, not realizing her lungs were burning with held breath and tension.

“Close one,” she said, flicking on the flashlight again.

“You got your Jacuzzi after all,” he said.

Without thinking, she turned the water tap, but nothing came out. “I haven’t had a bath in ages,” she said.

“You gonna be smelling worse than these corpses soon.”

“Well, just keep squirting that sanitizer up your nose and you’ll be fine.”

He chuckled, mostly with relief, and wiped sweat from his head. He plopped his backpack onto the bedside table and dug into it. He pulled out a few tins and cellophane bags of food, then a pack of white candles and a Bic. “Save your batteries,” he said, lighting a candle and jamming its base into the wrought-iron lamp.

He lit another, and then checked to make sure the curtains were drawn tight. “Guess we’re as safe here as anywhere,” he said.

“Would you have shot him?” she said. “If you had to?”

He turned, the candlelight soft on his face. He looked young, barely a teen. “Wouldn’t be the first.”

She couldn’t tell if he was just talking tough or trying to reassure her. She didn’t press. She wasn’t even sure she wanted him to shoot. Even though they were Zapheads, they were still God’s creatures.

Do you really believe that, Rachel? Why can’t they be Satan’s army? Or are you one of those who only believe the convenient parts of the Bible?

She shuddered. “I’m exhausted,” she said.

“King-size bed.”

“Good.” She sprawled on one side, then curled into a ball with the pillow pulled to her stomach. “You can stay way over there.”

“I’m eating first,” he said. “Sweet dreams.”

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“Huh?”

“I left your Doritos in the lobby.”