Dead Highways (Book 2): Passage by Richard Brown Page B

the top runners of the infected class passed us by. We also heard more gunfire.
    “Tell them to go,” I whispered.
    Robinson spoke softly into the walkie. “Ted. You have to go without us. More are coming.”
    “It’s just me and Bowser. The others have left already,” Ted answered back quickly.
    “Listen to me. We’ll be okay. We found a place to hide.” Robinson wisely kept his voice down, and even more wisely made sure the radio’s volume wasn’t at full blast, for when Ted yelled into the other side.
    “But we can’t just leave you!”
    “Yes, you can. Now shut up and go. Please.”
    There was a long moment of silence, and then Ted said, “I’ll come back for you.”
    Robinson set the radio down. Outside, the infected continued past the truck, though it seemed their numbers had thinned quite a bit. Ten seconds later, the last of them ran by, while the gunfire had stopped completely.
    I could feel Robinson next to me, could hear him breathing, but I couldn’t see his face. As we rested there in silence, huddled in the back of a supply truck that smelled like burnt cabbage, realizing how lucky we were to still be alive (even if our luck would only be temporary), to have a moment to gather ourselves, to allow our heart rates to go down, I wondered if he was thinking the same thing I was.
    What the fuck were we gonna do now?

 
    We hid for what felt like a half hour under the heavy green cloth before the noises outside finally ceased. The infected had slowly—and I mean s l o w l y —made their way by us, most likely heading back for the interstate. During this time, Robinson and I had hardly said a word to one another. He used the radio a few times early on, asking, whisper quiet, if Ted was on the other end, if he could hear us. If anyone could hear us.
    No one answered.
    Once we began to hear the sound of footfalls outside, he set the radio down between us, the volume on its lowest setting, and waited until the area was clear—or at least, until it sounded clear.
    Now it was time to try the radio again.
    Ted had said he’d come back for us. I believed him because I think he meant it when he said it. But that was twenty, thirty minutes ago. They could have been held up, run into more trouble. They could be dead. Peaches. Olivia. All of them. Dead. The thought crept into my mind and sat there like an anchor, festering, pulling me down and drowning me in dread.
    Robinson picked up the radio, pushed the talk button. “Ted, come in.” He let go of the button, waited for a response. Hearing none, he pushed the talk button again. “Hello, can anybody hear me? Hello?”
    No response.
    Robinson sighed, set the radio down again.
    “How much longer should we wait?” I asked, still keeping my voice down.
    “I don’t know.”
    “The coast might be clear now.”
    It sounded ridiculous once I heard it played back in my mind. The coast might be clear. Sure, it might. Or maybe the infected hadn’t gone back to the interstate. Maybe they knew we were in here all along. Maybe they had the truck surrounded, and planned on waiting us out. Wouldn’t be the first time they’d done such a thing. The coast might be clear, or we might walk right into a trap. Then again, without as much as a chirp on the other end of the walkie, what other choice did we have?
    “Let’s take a peek,” Robinson said.
    Gradually we lifted the green cloth until it was just high enough for us to see out. I looked around for a good while, back and forth, feeling satisfied. Then I looked over at Robinson. It was the first time I’d seen his face since we’d taken refuge in the supply truck. He also looked satisfied. The coast was clear.
    “Should we go?” I asked.
    Robinson nodded. “The question is where. We definitely need to get off the highway.”
    Getting off the highway had my vote as well.
    We lifted the green cloth completely off our heads. Finally, I could breathe again. I sucked in a good dose of the fresh, albeit hot and