“How far to Islamorada?” I ask Cara.
“Three days? Maybe four?” It’s been our end goal for so long, I just need to get there. The hope that Henri’s daughter is alive and well was all that motivated us before. Now, I’m sorry, Henri, but I need hope for something else. I need there to be anyone alive and well, and with supplies to help Jamie. Then they’d have to be different from the people we’ve met so far.
“What if we pedal through the night?”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“What if we did it anyway?”
She bites her lips. Top and then bottom. It’s something I’ve noticed she does when she’s nervous or uncertain. She bites her top lip with her bottom teeth and then her bottom lip with her top.
“Two days.”
“Cara, he’s dying.” She doesn’t say anything. “I’m ready to pedal for forty-eight hours if I need to.”
Top lip, bottom lip.
“We need to find him help.”
“The houses on the way...”
“The antibiotics aren’t working. We need someone who may have raided a hospital.” There were antibiotics back at the cabin. Why did we even come all this way? It started out as me trying to do the right thing, but for what? So I could feel better about killing two people who also tried to kill me?
Ask me if I feel better.
“There might be hospitals on the way.”
“I’m sure there are, and we’ll stop there as well, but we need to getoff the road for good so Jamie can really rest. We have to get down there.”
Top lip, bottom lip, repeat. “What if no one is there?”
“Cara.” There’s a warning in my voice.
“We should tape flashlights to the front of the bikes.” So we do just that, and when the sun sets, we continue to pedal through the night.
My legs are burning, my back screams in agony, my butt feels like it’s going to fall off. All this and the sun beating down on us. We’ve stopped three times since sunrise and every time we stop it gets harder to keep going.
Jamie woke up long enough to take a drink of water but he wouldn’t get out of the cart to pee or eat and just fell back asleep.
I ask Cara how far we are after we pass through Homestead. On the map it looked close, but she says there’s still fifty miles. We’re never going to make it.
No. I have to hope. I have to believe the best-case scenario here because anything less will be...
I glance back at him. He’s still sleeping and the ring of sweat at the neck of his T-shirt is growing. I can’t lose him.
I focus on everything Jamie and I have been through instead of the burning agony in my legs and back. I focus on memories of his smile. The way his cheeks dimple when he laughs. The way his hands feel when he holds mine.
“Andrew, look.” Cara snaps me out of my daze. I’ve been staring right at it, but it takes Cara’s voice to make me realize it’s there—a large gate severs the road ahead of us. We slow to a stop.
The gate is black steel and ten feet high. It crosses the entire road and connects to a similar-looking fence that goes in both directions on either side; to the left as far as we can see, and to the right until it ends at the ocean.
“Is there another way around?” I ask Cara. She drops her kickstand and goes to the pack at Jamie’s feet. She checks the road atlas, turning it and leaning close to the page, moving like a bird as she concentrates. Then the lip bite.
“No. This road leads into Key Largo and down to Islamorada. There’s no other way to access it unless we backtrack to SR-905A and try Card Sound Bridge.”
Not an option. This is the end of the line.
I flick my own kickstand to the ground and check on Jamie. He’s burning up. I pull the bottom of his shirt up to look at the wound in his side. It’s gotten worse.
