down the street. They didn't seem to be a group--just nine loners, spaced out and staggering toward us, attracted by the noise.
We got in the Blazer and pulled away before they could reach us.
I drove around and past the people in the streets. Some stopped and, with slack jaws, watched us pass; others chased us. I couldn't get over how little some of them were wearing. How could they stand this cold? The thermometer on the dashboard was showing the outside temperature at 18 degrees Fahrenheit.
I headed east on College to 6th Street, then took that to Bragusberg Road.
"Are we going to your house?" Jen asked softly. She'd put the shotgun in the backseat and was resting her head against the window. The big, brown coat covered her like a blanket, pulled up to her chin.
"No," I said. "A friend owns a place out between Gala and Farmtown, I'm going out there."
Her distant stare was back.
"Are you okay?" I said.
"No."
I didn't know what to say. She and I were "friends" on Facebook, but that was the extent of our relationship. We had only been acquaintances in high school; we didn't run in the same circles. I might have seen her three times around town since graduation. I didn't know anything about her.
"You grabbed the wrong coat," she said. "This is Zach's coat...my boyfriend."
"Sorry," I said. "It was the first one on the rack.”
She was silent for a moment. She pushed her hands down in the pockets of the coat. An ever so slight grin crossed her lips.
"Score," she whispered and fished out a pack of cigarettes. She stuck one in her mouth.
"Do you mind?" she asked.
I did mind, but I said, "No, go ahead."
"Want one?”
"No," I said. "I quit back in 2004."
"2004? Hell...good for you. But I think we've earned it."
"If I smoke one, I'll smoke the whole pack," I said. "The last thing I need to is get re-addicted to something they might not be making anymore."
She pulled out a lighter, and flicked it a couple of times until the flame danced.
"Ain't nothing worse than a smoker that's quit," she said, lighting up.
"Why's that?"
"They bitch and moan about smoking more than people that's never done it."
She took a deep drag and exhaled, filling the cab with smoke.
I opened my window, and the cold wind bit at my face.
"I should know, because I quit, too. I gave Zach hell about these things every damn day. I wouldn't let him smoke inside...."
She rolled her window down and she threw the cigarette and the rest of the pack out.
"Tastes like dirt," she said.
We put our windows up and were quiet for a while. I pulled off of Bragusberg Road onto little Britton Lane. The road had been snow-covered the whole way. There were no tire tracks or footprints.
"Have you been exposed?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said. "I've been around people that had it, so probably. I've been wearing this mask."
"If I'm going to turn..." she paused as if she didn't want to finish. “If I turn into one of them, it'll be sometime today. Zach and I were probably exposed to the disease within a few hours of each other. He probably caught it at work, and I probably caught it from him. We should know by this afternoon whether this alcohol thing works."
"Do you think there is something to it?" I asked, turning onto Gala Road. "It sounds crazy."
"Crazy is all we've got right now."
"There's no way to know how much to drink," I said.
"I got wasted," she said. "I made sure I got my brain good and soaked."
She looked out the window.
"I've got a headache," she said. "I don't know if it is from the virus or the liquor. I thought you ought to know."
"Is a headache the first symptom?"
"Yeah," she said. "Zach got a headache. His sister and her kids were staying with us, because their power went out yesterday, and their neighborhood was getting bad. They were all in bed with bad headaches before long. I was drinking, but I don't know if it helped."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Me too," she said. "He was an
We got in the Blazer and pulled away before they could reach us.
I drove around and past the people in the streets. Some stopped and, with slack jaws, watched us pass; others chased us. I couldn't get over how little some of them were wearing. How could they stand this cold? The thermometer on the dashboard was showing the outside temperature at 18 degrees Fahrenheit.
I headed east on College to 6th Street, then took that to Bragusberg Road.
"Are we going to your house?" Jen asked softly. She'd put the shotgun in the backseat and was resting her head against the window. The big, brown coat covered her like a blanket, pulled up to her chin.
"No," I said. "A friend owns a place out between Gala and Farmtown, I'm going out there."
Her distant stare was back.
"Are you okay?" I said.
"No."
I didn't know what to say. She and I were "friends" on Facebook, but that was the extent of our relationship. We had only been acquaintances in high school; we didn't run in the same circles. I might have seen her three times around town since graduation. I didn't know anything about her.
"You grabbed the wrong coat," she said. "This is Zach's coat...my boyfriend."
"Sorry," I said. "It was the first one on the rack.”
She was silent for a moment. She pushed her hands down in the pockets of the coat. An ever so slight grin crossed her lips.
"Score," she whispered and fished out a pack of cigarettes. She stuck one in her mouth.
"Do you mind?" she asked.
I did mind, but I said, "No, go ahead."
"Want one?”
"No," I said. "I quit back in 2004."
"2004? Hell...good for you. But I think we've earned it."
"If I smoke one, I'll smoke the whole pack," I said. "The last thing I need to is get re-addicted to something they might not be making anymore."
She pulled out a lighter, and flicked it a couple of times until the flame danced.
"Ain't nothing worse than a smoker that's quit," she said, lighting up.
"Why's that?"
"They bitch and moan about smoking more than people that's never done it."
She took a deep drag and exhaled, filling the cab with smoke.
I opened my window, and the cold wind bit at my face.
"I should know, because I quit, too. I gave Zach hell about these things every damn day. I wouldn't let him smoke inside...."
She rolled her window down and she threw the cigarette and the rest of the pack out.
"Tastes like dirt," she said.
We put our windows up and were quiet for a while. I pulled off of Bragusberg Road onto little Britton Lane. The road had been snow-covered the whole way. There were no tire tracks or footprints.
"Have you been exposed?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said. "I've been around people that had it, so probably. I've been wearing this mask."
"If I'm going to turn..." she paused as if she didn't want to finish. “If I turn into one of them, it'll be sometime today. Zach and I were probably exposed to the disease within a few hours of each other. He probably caught it at work, and I probably caught it from him. We should know by this afternoon whether this alcohol thing works."
"Do you think there is something to it?" I asked, turning onto Gala Road. "It sounds crazy."
"Crazy is all we've got right now."
"There's no way to know how much to drink," I said.
"I got wasted," she said. "I made sure I got my brain good and soaked."
She looked out the window.
"I've got a headache," she said. "I don't know if it is from the virus or the liquor. I thought you ought to know."
"Is a headache the first symptom?"
"Yeah," she said. "Zach got a headache. His sister and her kids were staying with us, because their power went out yesterday, and their neighborhood was getting bad. They were all in bed with bad headaches before long. I was drinking, but I don't know if it helped."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Me too," she said. "He was an
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