Days of Love and Blood

the darkness. I carefully steered the R.V. onto the road and turned the lights off. I tapped the brakes and coasted to a stop. There was no time to wait or prepare by donning my normal protective gear. After turning the engine off, I strapped on my double scabbards and ran toward the back to fetch the red plastic gas cans.
    I kept no less than twenty full five-gallon cans in the R.V. It was for times l ike this. I rarely used them and almost always found a gas station where I could use my pump and long hose to siphon gas from the underground storage tanks. But now I was in the country. It had been too dark to find a station and I was so close to home; my eagerness caused me to skip the details and make mistakes. I should have pulled over at the last station I drove by.
    With two cans in my hands I ran back to the door and put them down. I held my breath and cautiously open ed the door. Tilting my head to the side I stiffened and listened for anything: a footstep, a heavy sigh, a grunt, shuffling in the distance. Anything which would tell me to keep moving. But the rain made it difficult to distinguish sounds.
    Rain .
    I can’t hear.
    Make sure.
    I won’t go down this close to home.
    Ronan.
    I grabbed the two cans and leapt outdoors, making my way to the gas tank. Two would not be enough. After emptying the cans I went back for more, each time stopping to listen as I returned to the open door.
    The R.V. drank eight cans before I was satisfied. That would be enough to get us home. We had been on the road for nearly two months all the way from Oregon to Tennessee. We were almost there. Ronan had only been there twice before on family visits. It was where I grew up. It was where my parents lived. The farm had been in my father’s family for generations.
    If I was alive and my son was alive, there was a fair chance that one of my parents could be alive. The virus attacked people with a common genetic trait. I apparently didn’t carry the gene and neither did my son. Mom or Dad could still be alive. Maybe both of them. I hoped for the best and prepared for the worst. Even if they were gone, I still wanted to be home. Without Ritchie, it was the only thing that would bring me any comfort at all. Home .
    Because the virus killed off the human population so quickly, we never got any more information about it. The world was quiet within days. No more TV, no phone calls or text messages, no more emails or internet. No more Ritchie. Ronan and I were alone.
    We did come across a few survivors in passing. Although we didn’t know each other, it felt like a glorious reunion. But they all had somewhere to go. Just like us, they were all looking for their homes and families so we never paired with anyone for long. We all eventually went our separate ways.
    Before the power went out, I spoke with Mom on the phone. I could hear Dad coughing in the background. She said he was fine; his emphysema was acting up.
    “Does he have a fever, Mom?”
    “No, Carson. I swear, we’re fine.”
    “Mom, this is serious. You have to check and make sure. Call the hospital if you need to.”
    “How’s Ronan? Are you all okay?”
    “Yes, Mom, we’re all fine. We’ re staying in, locking the doors. You should do the same.”
    “For w hat? We don’t live in the city. We’re perfectly safe.”
    “Haven’t you been listening to the news, Mom? The virus is hitting everywhere! No one’s safe. And now there’s something a bout the infected who don’t die. Have you seen this?”
    “We have, Carson. But we’re fine, I promise.”
    “Mom, I’m coming home.”
    “You can’t travel now…”
    “I’m coming home,” I interrupted. “I’m coming home as soon as I can. This is serious. Stop trying to make it out like it’s nothing, Mom.”
    “I’m not Carson. I just don’t want you to worry.”
    “I’m already worried. The fact that you’re playing this down is freaking me out even more, Mom. Something’s wrong. You’re not telling me something.”
    Mom went on, trying to make light of the situation at every chance. It was because Dad was sick. I was sure of it. If he hadn’t been sick, she would have been asking a thousand questions on my health, Ronan’s, even Ritchie’s. She wouldn’t have let me get off the phone either. But on this occasion she told me she had to go because her cat, Miso, had just thrown up. I could hear Dad retching before she slammed the phone down.
    That was the last time I heard from my mother. The