Convulsive Box Set

by Marcus Martin

  Jackson hooked a U-turn and they retraced their route. At the intersection they crossed under the freeway, towards the other services. The second gas station was intact, and had a single car on the forecourt: a small Chevy hatchback. Three men climbed out, wrapped in thick layers of clothes. The foremost man signaled Jackson to stop. His navy tracksuit looked stuffed and misshapen, like he was wearing multiple layers. He wore a black scarf and red fleece hat, which contrasted against his pale cheeks. The second man wore a deerstalker hat and brown duffle coat with an upturned collar. The coat covered his ear lobes down to his shins, where his hiking boots took over. The third man, by contrast, was clad in designer skiwear. He sported a coordinated ensemble of snow boots, charcoal-grey ski pants, and a two-tone grey-black jacket, with the hood pulled up. Jackson, Lopez, and Lucy climbed out in their matching fatigues and met the men on the forecourt.

  “You guys selling this stuff?” said Jackson.

  “Nah, we here for the ambience,” said the man in the red hat. The other two men guffawed at this.

  “How much?” said Jackson, without smiling.

  “What you got?” replied the duffle coat guy.

  “We’re with the US Army,” said Lopez, straightening up his uniform.

  “Technically, we with the US Probation Service, so let’s call it even,” said the man in the red hat.

  “He means like we was their number one customers, you know what I’m saying?” laughed the man in skiwear.

  “They got it, Alfonse. You over-explained it again,” sighed Red Hat.

  “We’re freezing our asses off here and we need to get to DC. You gonna give us fuel or what?” snapped Jackson.

  “Alfonse, remember that sign you put up out front – what does it say?” said Duffle Coat.

  “It says ‘gas’,” said Alfonse.

  “Huh. So I’m wondering why these clowns think we some kinda charity,” said Duffle Coat.

  “You’re telling me you won’t even support your own army in a crisis?” said Lopez.

  “That would be a yes,” said Red Hat.

  “So patriotism is truly dead,” said Lopez, despondently.

  “Naw, it’s still alive, man. It’s everyone else that croaked,” chuckled Alfonse.

  “Screw these guys. There’ll be other gas stations,” said Jackson.

  “You sure about that, baby?” said Duffle Coat.

  “Who you callin’ ‘baby’?” said Jackson.

  “You,” said Duffle Coat.

  “You didn’t call him ‘baby’,” said Jackson, gesturing to Lopez.

  “Nah, I call him ‘cupcake’,” said Duffle Coat.

  Alfonse and Red Hat howled with laughter.

  Lucy pulled out a handgun.

  “Woah, cool it!” cried the tallest man, as all three men drew their weapons, prompting Lopez and Jackson to do the same. All laughter was gone, and eyes were on Lucy’s gun. It was the one she’d scavenged from the abandoned car.

  “Young, what the hell are you doing?” fumed Lopez.

  “This gun’s in good condition. We’ll give you it if you fill our tank,” said Lucy, ignoring Lopez and focusing on the men.

  Red Hat took the pistol and inspected it.

  “This buys you ten gallons,” he declared.

  Lucy reached into her vest pocket a retrieved a handful of bullets.

  “Alright. Twenty gallons,” Red Hat conceded.

  “Not enough. We need more – we’re in a Hummer for Christ’s sake,” said Jackson.

  Lucy reached into the car and pulled out three bottles of ketchup.

  “You kidding me?” said Red Hat, scowling.

  “There’s five hundred calories in each bottle. Right now I’m guessing that’s about a day’s worth of calories for each of you, and I don’t see many other folk lining up to give you food,” said Lucy.

  “You got any mayo? I don’t like ketchup,” said Alfonse.

  Duffle Coat elbowed him.

  “Yo, sidebar,” said Red Hat, stepping to one side to consult with Alfonse and Duffle Coat.

  Lopez grabbed Lucy by the arm, firmly, and turned his back on the group.

  “You wanna give us some warning next time, before you pull a gun on total strangers?” he hissed.

  “You said you wanna get to DC. I’m getting us to DC,” said Lucy, shaking him off.

  “You had no idea how they were gonna react. That move could’ve got us killed,” said Lopez.

  “How history would’ve missed us,” said Lucy, staring him the eye.

  Lopez glared at her.

  “We good here?” said Jackson, leaning in to their confrontation.

  “Yeah, we’re the dream,” said Lopez, walking away.

  Jackson waited until he was a few paces away, then leaned in to Lucy.

  “I get it, you’re going through some stuff. Been there. But the Major’s right. Don’t be a loose cannon,” said Jackson. She gave Lucy two pats on the back then followed after the Major, who was doing a lap of the Hummer.

  Lucy’s fists clenched. She felt herself quiver with rage. Some ‘stuff’? These people had no idea what she’d been through. They hadn’t survived alone, for months, carving out a brutal existence amidst the clutches of winter. They hadn’t lost their loved ones the way she had. Yet here they were, controlling her, telling her how to survive, how to negotiate, how to grieve.

  “Yo, we got a question about the ketchup,” said Duffle Coat, invading Lucy’s private rage.

  “Take the damned bottles, coat man. Whatever your question is, my answer is: Take. The. Bottles,” said Lucy.

  “Or we’ll use your twenty gallons to drive to another gas station and trade it with them,” added Jackson.

  “A’ight, Bottles will get you five more gallons,” said Red hat.

  “I reckon I could eat one of you with enough ketchup,” said Alfonse, nudging Duffle Coat.

  “Man, you’d be too busy choking on your own bullshit to swallow either of us,” Duffle Coat replied.

  “Yo, we good. Serve ‘em up,” ordered Red Hat.

  Alfonse and Duffle Coat crouched down and pushed against the hood of their car until the vehicle rolled back several yards, revealing a fuel hatch in the ground. They retrieved some equipment from the car, then set about work.

  “You guys run a gas station but you wheel your own car?” said Jackson.

  “Waste not, want not,” said Red Hat.

  “You’ve got no idea how much fuel’s left in there, have you?” said Lucy.

  Red Hat scoffed.

  Alfonse levered the hatch open, and Duffle Coat knelt down beside it. He pulled a buff over his mouth and nose, then lowered a bailer bucket inside. The hatch was narrow – only a few coffee cups wide. Duffle Coat continued lowering the bailer bucket, releasing the coiled cable from around his shoulder inch by inch over the course of a minute.

  “How deep does that thing go?” said Lopez, re-joining the group.

  “’Bout thirty feet,” said Red Hat.

  “How many gallons is your bucket?” said Jackson.

  “Five or so.”

  “Jesus, we’re gonna be here all day,” Jackson protested.

  “Fine by me,” said Red Hat. “I ain’t go nowhere to be. How about you, Earl, you got somewhere to be?”

  “Nah. I had a date but she cancelled cos of the world ending five months ago,” said Duffle Coat.

  “Quit yankin’ us around and hurry it up,” said Lopez, impatiently.

  “Slow’s the only way, boss. Otherwise you excite the fumes. Then boom,” said Duffle Coat.

  “Why haven’t you mechanized this? You could easily rig up a portable generator to power the pumps?” said Jackson.

  “You remember the other gas station? The last gang tried just that. That was a bad day for those boys. Great day for us, though. Business really picked up after they exploded themselves,” said Red Hat.

  “You’re telling me you guys are the smart ones? That’s depressing,” said Jackson.


  Duffle Coat finished reeling up the first bucket-full. Alfonse placed a jerry can with a cut-off-top beneath it. Duffle Coat decanted the fuel, and Alfonse ported it over to the Humvee, where he tipped it into the tank.

  The process was repeated five more times, during which Lucy resorted to doing star jumps to keep warm. Eventually, the order was complete, and Lucy handed the gang their payment.

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” said Red Hat, loading the bullets into the handgun.

  “See you round,” said Lucy.

  “Word of advice. Don’t go into the city. All kinds of crap going on in there. Just go around – use the beltway,” Red Hat added, pointing to the intersection from which they’d come.

  “Can you be more specific?” said Lucy.

  “Yeah. Ask me how many cousins I got left in Cincinnati,” he said.

  “How many?” asked Lucy.

  “One,” said Red Hat.

  “OK…” said Lucy.

  “It used to be two. Ah, I should have said that bit first,” mused Red Hat.

  “I used to have, like, fifteen, but they all died in the virus thing,” said Alfonse.

  “‘Like’ fifteen?” said Duffle Coat.

  “It’s a lot of cousins to keep track of,” shrugged Alfonse.

  “We’ve wasted enough time here already, let’s go,” said Lopez.

  Lucy opened the driver’s door and climbed into the Humvee.

  “I think Jackson should drive,” said Lopez, holding the door ajar.

  Lucy wrenched it from his grip and slammed the door shut. She fastened her seatbelt and flicked the engine on. Lopez climbed into the passenger seat beside her, glaring at her. Jackson buckled up in the back.

  “Recommend us to your friends!” called Red Hat, as Lucy pulled away.

  The gas station and the three probationers disappeared from view. The Humvee approached the intersection.

  “What’s that?” said Jackson, pointing out of the side window.

  A man was running towards them from several hundred yards away. He was waving his arms desperately, slipping and stumbling as he scrambled across the snow. Behind him was an abandoned car. The swerving tire tracks looked fresh, and the driver’s door was open.

  “Creature sighted, hook a right!” said Lopez, binoculars raised, pointing beyond the man.

  “You mean leave him?” said Lucy.

  “We can’t risk losing another engagement. And even if we did help, we don’t even have enough food as it is,” snapped Lopez.

  “No way. I listened to you in Madison and you were wrong,” said Lucy.

  “Creature’s closing, Young get us out of here!” barked Lopez.

  “We’re the US Army, and that’s a US citizen,” said Lucy, spinning the Humvee around to face the desperate man and hit the gas. The Humvee jostled as it picked up speed.

  “Listen to me, Young, we just lost a whole company to these creatures, we need to get to DC alive so we can fight back in numbers. If we engage in knee-jerk, emotional fights we won’t make it, we have to be disciplined,” implored Lopez, shouting over the engine.

  Lucy tightened her grip on the wheel and accelerated towards the stumbling man.

  “Young, abort!” cried Lopez.

  The running man tripped once again. The beast was closing in. The man rolled onto his side, cradling one hand, and scrambled backwards.

  “Cover us!” cried Lucy.

  She hit the brakes and skidded around, putting the Humvee side-on between the man and the charging creature. Lopez and Jackson flung open their doors and fired on the beast.

  Lucy banged on the window and screamed at the man to get in but he scrambled further backwards, his face awash with panic. She threw open the driver’s door and leapt out. She ran across the snow, grabbed the man by the shoulders, and hauled him to his feet. Still gripping his coat, she rushed the man towards the vehicle.

  “Look out!” cried the man, pointing to the side.

  Lucy spun around. A creature had flanked them. It was closing in on the pair of them. She shoved the stranger towards the Humvee and turned to the advancing beast. Setting her feet wide apart, Lucy dug her boots into the snow, blocking the creature’s path to the fleeing man. She fumbled for her gun but she couldn’t release the holster. The creature was just yards away, bearing down upon her with each great bound.

  Lucy looked up and stared at the beast as it prepared for its final leap. The world suddenly slowed and an immense sense of calm washed over her. She stopped reaching for the pistol. Everything suddenly made sense. Lopez and Jackson’s gunshots faded to a distant crackle. She noticed the utter tranquility of the snow-dusted city. The mountain-crisp air. The beauty of the creature’s lean, muscular design. The richness of its thick, polar fur. The precision of its gait as it bounded towards her. She closed her eyes and pictured Dan’s face.

  Snow sprayed across her cheek. The creature skidded to a halt just feet from her. Retching and sniffing punctuated its snarls. Lucy opened her eyes. The creature’s teeth were bared. It pawed the ground frenetically. Its tail was raised like a periscope and darted around as the embedded black eyeball searched for a way past.

  Six rounds tore into the creature, sending it collapsing into a heap with a single whimper.

  “Young, get in the fucking truck!” screamed Jackson, her rifle trained on the dead beast.

  Lucy came out of her stupor and she regarded the dying creature afresh, suddenly cognizant of the teeth and claws amidst its crumpled mass. A shiver rippled across each of her vertebrae. A long, protracted howl emanated from an alley and echoed around the street. Lucy turned to the vehicle and her heart skipped a beat. A series of crimson dots stained the ice beneath, marking the stranger’s path to the Humvee.

  A second howl answered the first.

  Lucy leapt into the driver’s seat and hit the gas.

  “Jackson, I think he’s bleeding!” she cried, as they sped towards the freeway.

  “Holy shit,” cried Jackson, seeing the blood drips before the stranger.

  “You gotta make it stop,” called Lucy.

  “More are following us!” called Lopez, as he continued firing pistol shots from the window.

  Jackson tore a strip of fabric from one of the scarves and stuffed it into the man’s palm.

  “Squeeze,” she instructed.

  “There’s paste in my backpack, get it on quickly,” called Lucy, swerving around an abandoned car in the middle of the lane.

  Jackson dabbed the man’s blood away and slathered paste over his cut. She wound the bandaged tight, making him yelp.

  “Lose the rags!” called Lucy.

  Jackson finished mopping the blood drops from the floor and threw the bloodied scarf from the window.

  “Jackson, I could use some help!” called Lopez.

  She joined him at the window and fired upon the pack in bursts. But the creatures weaved and crossed paths as they ran, leaping erratically to dodge the shots.

  “They’re flanking us,” cried Lopez.

  In a burst of speed, the pack pulled level with the speeding truck, all grouping on one side. The pack leader took several more great strides and began to overtake the Humvee.

  “It’s a trap, hold on,” cried Lucy. She gripped the steering wheel and turned into the leader’s path, forcing the creature to skid out of the way.

  The truck ricocheted off one of the smaller beasts, jolting as the creature went under the wheels. The rest of the pack fell back, but continued the pursuit. Jackson and Lopez covered alternate windows, felling two beasts, and forcing the pack into a streamlined charge directly behind the truck.

  “Major, grenade!” called Jackson.

  Lopez tore the pin from his final grenade and held it out of the window, close to the body of the truck. He released the trigger, then dropped it into the snow. A second later, the detonation engulfed half of the pack in a fireball.

  The flash drew Lucy’s eye to right-hand mirror, where limbless beasts writhed in
agony, their fur ablaze.

  “Four left,” cried Jackson, covering the opposite side.

  Lucy sped down the freeway. As the buildings waned, giving way to fields, Jackson ceased firing.

  “They’re stopping!” she cried.

  Lucy watched in the mirror. The beasts had come to a halt. Lucy stared at the four creatures. They stood in a line and stared at the Humvee, as it rushed away from the city.

  ***

  Lucy checked the rear-view mirror. Jackson was slumped in the back of the Humvee. She looked grey, and was sweating.

  “Jackson?” repeated Lucy, louder.

  “Huh?” said Jackson, waking with a start.

  “Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine. I just need to rest a bit,” she replied.

  “You’ve been out for two hours,” said Lopez.

  “She doesn’t look fine,” said the stranger.

  His head was shaven at the sides, and backcombed on top, where a slick of thick grey-black hair swept over his scalp. He had a single stud earring, and crease lines across his forehead. His stubble was patchy – it left his cheeks bare, and his fledgling moustache was isolated from the hairs on his chin. He winter jacket had fake fur lining and smelled of cigarettes. Lucy guessed he was around forty.

  Since escaping Cincinnati she and Lopez had established few details about their new ward. Lopez, openly resentful of the man, had declined to ask questions, and Lucy had similarly lost her desire to engage. All they knew was that he was Canadian, and he owed them his life.

  “To be candid, she looks like hell,” the stranger added, still frowning at Jackson.

  “New guy, shut up. No-one’s asking you,” said Lopez, briefly breaking his vow of silence.

  “My name’s Maurice,” said the Canadian.

  Lopez ignored him and passed back a candy bar to Jackson, which they’d scavenged from a diner while she was sleeping. “Hey, soldier, you gotta keep eating,” he insisted, but she’d drifted off again.