by Newman, AJ
The truck spoke, “My gas tanks and the auxiliary tank are full. All other liquids are full. My tires are properly …”
Jill was tired of the truck’s voice. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear from you again unless something is wrong or about to break.”
Beef jerky, BBQ pork skins, and a Sunkist orange soda stopped the hunger in her stomach, but nothing could stop the never-ending queasy feeling in the pit of her bowels. She was familiar with the feeling but fought hard to block the memories of the men she’d been forced to kill in the line of duty. Even killing evil men caused her pain when she had to tell her side of the story, knowing the scum had innocent family grieving for him. Jill had been good at blocking out those thoughts over the years. Now, it was different with death all around her.
Chapter 7
Along Highway 5 in Oregon – June 2038
The next day, Jon pulled into Grants Pass. The city was no different from the smaller towns, which Jon had passed through so far. The air was heavy with the smell of wood smoke and a pungent odor from a large pile of burning tires. There were a few burned and looted stores, dead bodies bloating in the sun, and cars were strewn about haphazardly. Doctor’s offices and pharmacies were the main targets of the looters trying to save their family’s lives from the fast spreading plague. Jon drove quickly through the city and headed south on Highway 5. He hoped to stop in Talent and Ashland to find some pharmacies that hadn’t been looted. He had plenty of general medical supplies but felt he needed some modern antibiotics and antiviral agents.
Every pharmacy in Ashland and Talent had been looted. There were none of the antibiotics or vaccines left in any of the pharmacies or doctor’s offices. Jon drove to the hospital and only saw a pile of burned out rubble with occasional puffs of smoke rising. Jon found a chain restaurant and raided its freezer. Of course, the food was defrosted, but he dug down into the middle of the stacks of meat and found some still half-frozen steaks. Bo and Jon ate tenderloins, mushrooms, and corn on the cob for supper while Samantha was parked out front, ready to warn them if humans approached.
The shadows were long, and the night was coming soon when Jon checked a veterinarian clinic for antibiotics. He knew many animal and human drugs were chemically the same and safe to use. The clinic hadn’t been touched and had many of the medicines he recognized. Jon filled his bag with every medicine for humans and another with all the stock in the building for dogs as an afterthought. Bo might need some medicine one day. He also took several books on animal medicine.
The day had been long and tiring for Jon and Bo. They found a suitable but empty motel and chose a room on the ground floor to crash. He forgot and turned the faucet on to fill the tub, and was astounded when water flowed into the bathtub. He thought there must be a large above ground reservoir tank. Jon sat on the bed and took the cap off a fifth of bourbon. He started to take a pull from the bottle when he remembered crashing the Corvette. He poured a shot into a glass and set the bottle down. He swished the whiskey around in his mouth and took the bottle into the other room.
Jon felt some pain in his leg where the hog had bitten him. He rolled his pants up and was shocked to see the angry red streaks running from his wound. The bite mark also had a greenish white puss oozing from it, which had stained his sock. Jon panicked and took two pills out of every bottle marked with familiar antibiotic names and washed them down with a glass of water. John sat in the tub, soaking with his leg hanging over the side. Sometime later, he moved to the couch.
Jon came to a couple of times over the next day and tried to stand up but didn’t have any strength. He coughed up blood and thought he was dying, and then he began to feel better. The next morning, he woke up feeling good enough to stand up. He surveyed his surroundings and saw the door was open to the room. Bo was nowhere to be seen. Jon lifted himself from the couch and staggered to his stack of bottled water. He was very dehydrated and drank two sixteen-ounce bottles as fast as he could swallow.
It took a while, but he was able to dress and comb his hair before looking in the mirror. He didn’t recognize himself. He saw a gaunt scarecrow-looking man with hollowed cheeks. He hadn’t eaten in three days and could hear his stomach growling. He knew not to stuff himself, so he ate a handful of crackers before leaving the room to find Bo.
The sun shone with a sheer brilliance through the gaps in the blinds and blinded him when he opened the door. A minute later, he saw Bo looking up at him from his perch on top of a bench outside his room. There were piles of rabbit fur and bones under the seat, which made Jon feel less guilty for abandoning the dog. He patted Bo on the head and gave him a piece of jerky. Bo looked up at Jon and yawned.
Jon slept twelve hours a day for the next five days, too weak to get much done. He glanced at the whiskey bottle several times but didn’t take a drink. The stores and restaurants closest to his room were thoroughly checked out and stripped of anything Jon found useful. He also added to food and survival stocks until the large truck was full. He rested often but kept working down his list of tasks to get done before leaving.
There were only a few bodies on the sidewalks and streets, but the homes and businesses were full of grisly bodies. Jon didn’t see any more people like him but did see a dozen or more people who had been stricken by this disease but hadn’t died yet. Several had tried to approach him but left when he waved his gun at them. He only had one harrowing experience when one man confronted him with an ax.
The man caught Jon by surprise. “Why don’t you have the disease? My wife and girls are dead. It’s not fair,” he barked as he ran at Jon with the ax in the air.
Jon yelled, “Go away! I’ll shoot!”
The man charged toward Jon, even though Jon had the Kel-tec KSG shotgun in the crook of his arm. Jon raised the weapon and fired a warning shot over the man’s head to no avail. John racked the slide loading another round and shot the man in the chest. The man stopped for a second and then stepped in Jon’s direction. Jon pumped another load of double aught buck slugs into the man. That one knocked the already dead man backward and to the ground. His last words were, “It’s not fair.”
Jon looked down at the man and replied, “Tough crap.”
On the ninth day in Grants Pass, he felt strong enough to leave. Jon opened the door, and Samantha said, “Good morning Jon. I see you still have the ball licker.”
“Hello, Samantha.”
Bo hopped into the truck, circled several times, scratched the seat, and then lay down with his head on the console’s armrest.
Jon ordered, “Start,” and the big Ford spoke. “Jon, you have been gone for a long time. Several large animals and thirteen of those bloody-faced zombies approached and were scared off by my siren.”
Samantha rumbled to life, ready to take them on their journey southeast to the Gulf of Mexico. The truck swerved from side to side as he went around abandoned vehicles and bodies. They had just crossed the river on Highway 199 when he saw the large sign for two-way radios. The sign was aimed at over-the-road truckers, but Jon wanted to try to contact another living person.
Pulling off the highway, he followed the directions on the sign to the radio and electronics shop. The bay doors were open, but no one was there. Jon drove into one of the installation bays and parked next to a Ford F350 with the hood up. He rubbed his hands together and prayed the installation had been completed. His hopes were dashed when he saw a CB radio and Short Wave radio sitting on a table beside the truck. The good news was the instructions and tools were all on the table. Jon glanced at the instructions and decided he could do it himself.
Installing the radios and antennae was easy. The damned wiring drove him nuts, but four hours later, the radios were installed and wired close to what the instructions called for. Samantha chastised him a couple of times for improper wiring when he got mad, trying to run the hot wire to the truck’s fuse box. He then took a punch and knocked a hole in the firewall. Threading the wire through and hooking into the fuse box was a piece of cake
.
He turned the CB on and changed the tuner through all of the channels without hearing anything but static. The Short Wave was the same. This discouraged him, but then he had a brainstorm, walked into the showroom, and found exactly what he needed. There were several blocks of shelves filled with books on CB and Short Wave radios. He searched through them and found several to read. He then went to the truck and fetched some supper to eat while he read. Bo was bored and quickly fell asleep while Jon read until dark.
Jon woke up the next day with radio facts, figures, and workarounds buzzing in his head. He searched the store and found exactly what he needed. There was a small section of camping and emergency outdoor radio antennae. They were meant to be strung from tree to tree, but Jon had another and maybe a better idea. He selected two of the most robust ones and then had to find the rest of the items to make his contraption. The phone book was under the front counter, and he ripped out the pages he needed.
He thought, Damn, where is the interweb when you need it the most. I haven’t used a phone book since…well, I can’t remember.
He freshened up a bit, ate some jerky, and told Bo to get in the truck. The Short Wave antenna was mounted to the front of the vehicle and was a distraction. He knew it was there to remind him not to go under low hanging limbs and overpasses, but it bugged the hell out of him. He drove around the city, collecting the items he needed to help him attempt to communicate with the outside world.
The welding shop also had tanks of helium. He took one big cylinder. Lowes had suitable wire and a big reel to hold and dispense it. Now, he only needed a big-ass balloon. The party supply store had some about two-feet across that were too small. The toy store had several heavy-duty balloons that were also too small. He took a dozen just in case he couldn’t find a single big balloon that could raise the weight of the wire. He searched several novelty stores and party supply stores before he saw precisely what he needed on the side of the road. A big red balloon rode the wind with a hundred multicolored flags below. It was tethered to the front of a store specializing in outdoor advertising. He got off the highway and worked his way around to the store. Bo didn’t understand why Jon was happy, so he just lay in the truck’s front seat while John raided the place.
He took two of the four-foot balloons and then added four of the big six-footers. He stopped for a second and then swapped out the balloons for a mixture of white and black balloons, so he could fly them day or night without drawing attention. These would clearly take the light wire antennae and tether string up into the air high enough he could reach out a long way, and with atmospheric skip, the entire Earth was possible. He loved it when a plan came together. Now he knew he had to get his butt back on the road to Mobile.
Jon drove down Highway 5, listening to static on the CB, but no voices were heard. He started driving with the intention of not stopping until his bladder screamed, or Bo begged to get out of the truck. Then he saw the sign for Mount Ashland that mentioned the peak was 7,532 feet tall. He read that to mean, no balloons needed to communicate with the rest of the world. He followed the signs to Mount Ashland and soon found himself in the parking area below the NOAA weather-radar station and TV towers. He felt he was on top of the world as he surveyed the scenery below the mountain. Then he had to get to work.
“Samantha, ram the gate and break it open.”
“I can’t do that.”
He selected the manual option and broke through the gate blocking access to the NOAA facility and TV antennae grouped together at the end of the short drive. The truck stopped about fifty feet from the closest TV tower, and he climbed about fifty feet in the air and attached the end of the antenna wire. Then he stretched the cable between the truck and the tower. Connecting the wire to the radio only took a minute, and he was ready to broadcast.
Jon felt stupid when he realized he hadn’t read about rules for communicating on short wave. He backed up and turned the CB back on. Nothing on channel one. He turned the dial slowly until he heard something on channel nine. The voices were garbled and very faint. He listened for a minute and then kept trying channels and heard nothing but static until he reached channel nineteen. He heard, “…help, I’m alone, and I think my ankle is twisted.”
Jon started to reply when he heard. “Look, bitch; make your voice sexier. We need them to come to your rescue.”
“I’m doing the best …” Jon heard the sound of a slap to the face and keyed the mic. “I’m on the way, and when I get there I will kill you for hurting the woman.”
The man realized the mic was hot and begged, “We need help, my sister hates to beg, but we’re going to die.”
John turned the CB off when he thought, Damn, they could be trying to triangulate my position and find me.
He turned the short wave radio on and immediately heard a man speaking in Spanish. He couldn’t speak Spanish, so he turned the dial. Over the next few minutes, he heard numerous pleas for help in several languages. He listened but didn’t speak. The five people talking were afraid of dying from the plague, fearful of bad people finding them, and worried they were the last living survivors. None would give out their location. Jon finally spoke up. “Why don’t you band together to help each other survive?”
A lady responded with words that troubled him deeply. “My husband gave out our location a week ago. I was out tending my garden when a van pulled up. Before I could wave or say a word, two men jumped out of the van and took my husband and son. The van sped off, and I haven’t seen my family again. The assholes wore those anti-contamination suits. They took my family,” she began sobbing but kept mumbling words Jon couldn’t understand.
Jon’s hopes for finding other survivors sank. He was sad and a bit depressed while he took the antenna wire down. Bo tried to get him to play fetch, but Jon rushed him back into the truck. Bo watched Jon for a few miles and then dozed off. Jon was deep in thought when he passed a few survivors in Oregon. He drove until the sun was long gone behind him when suddenly the front collision avoidance system slammed on the brakes, the dash flashed an angry red, and there was a sickening thud.
Samantha chuckled, “Oops, sorry. The damned deer ran in front of me from the side. I will do a system check and give a report.”
The deer made the unfortunate choice to run onto the highway and watch the big truck smash him, and then run over its dead carcass. Jon hadn’t noticed he’d been in Nevada for several hours when he hit the deer.
Jon was still in a daze with his reaction time shot to hell when Samantha hit the brakes throwing poor Bo under the dash. He drove on until he saw the Kyle Canyon Road exit on Highway 95 and stopped for the night only a few miles from Las Vegas. He dreamed about Samantha and then zombies most of the night. He woke up after one horrible zombie dream and was so scared he laid his pistol on his lap. He calmed down and went back to sleep an hour later. Zombies scared him almost as much as becoming the last man on earth left alive.
Chapter 8
Las Vegas, Nevada – July 2038
Jon’s heart raced, and he was out of breath. His temples pounded, and pain racked his head. He ran as fast as he could, but the mob was on his heels. He felt the heft of his trusty pistol in his grip but was afraid to stop and shoot. He turned his head for a second and saw bones and guts on the undead. There were a dozen of the running dead men behind him intent on eating him alive. He was exhausted, and they were now gaining on him. It was now or never. He had to stop, drop to a knee, and shoot until they were dead or they dined on his body.
“Oh crap!” he moaned, “They’re already dead. I gotta make headshots!”
Joh screamed and pulled the trigger twice. The explosion and flying glass woke him from his nightmare. Bo barked at him and then growled until Jon dropped the pistol to the seat. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and his head pounded in pain. The thumping in his chest scared him. He thought he had a heart attack. His eyes were open, but he still saw the zombies for a second until reality slapped him in the face, and he saw th
e steering wheel and broken side window. His ears rang, and his pulse raced for a few minutes until several deep breaths calmed him down.
He yelled like a mad man, “It was a dream! I could have killed Bo or an innocent person! God, it was so real.”
Samantha asked, “Jon, there was an explosion in my cab. Are you and the ball licking son-of-a-bitch, okay?”
He ignored Samantha and turned to Bo. “I’m sorry I scared you so much. Here’s a dog treat.”
Bo turned his nose up at the dog treat and pawed at the door. Jon opened the door for Bo, and the dog bolted from the truck and was soon out of sight. Jon was afraid he’d lost his only friend. Then he sat on the ground, wondering if he’d lost his mind.
Jon leaned into the truck and asked, “Do you add more words to your vocabulary from what I say?”
“I have the entire dictionary of all English words in my memory. I just add new combinations from the words you speak. You have quite a vulgar vocabulary. Your momma wouldn’t be proud of you. Do you kiss your momma with that mouth?”
Jon thought for a minute, “How do you know Bo licks his balls?”
Samantha replied, “All male dogs lick their balls. I also have cameras to monitor the occupants and make adjustments to meet their needs. Oh, you scratch your crotch frequently. I hope you don’t do that in public.”
