by Ben Reeder
“We’re stuck here,” she hissed as she pulled through the parking lot and turned the truck’s dented nose into the parking lot’s sloped exit. I watched as more and more cars joined the line, then looked back over my shoulder toward the apartment complex.
“Wait for it,” I said softly.
“Wait for what?” she asked. To her credit, I saw her flex her hands on the steering wheel.
“Chaos,” I said slowly. “Somewhere along this line, some intellectual giant is going to figure out that things will go faster if…” I paused, and my faith in humanity was vindicated by the strident blaring of a car horn. More horns joined in the chorus, and I closed my eyes as a chorus of shrieks rose from behind us.
“Oh, no,” Porsche said quietly.
“Someone’s going to bolt, and that’ll give us a gap,” I said as I grabbed the M4 and looked left and right. Figures emerged from the shopping center to our right and charged the waiting cars. More screams erupted down the street as we watched the infected drag people out of their cars and fall on them in the road. I heard gunshots from my right, then the sound I’d been hoping for ripped the night open to my left: the sound of a revving engine and breaking glass. Two car-lengths to our left, a bright yellow Hummer H2 in the right hand lane was shoving a Hyundai Sonata out its way. The smaller car was no match for the massive SUV, and it slid into the middle of the road with a grinding of metal as the Hummer did a U turn and headed back west.
“Go! GO!” I yelled even as Porsche burned rubber out of the parking lot. The truck bounced onto the road, then I was flung against the right side of the bed as she slewed to the left. My back and left shoulder took the impact as my legs flew into the air. Desperately, I grabbed the window frame with my right hand and pulled myself up so I could see where we were going. My first thought was that ignorance had been bliss as we bounced over the curb. Ahead of us was the side of a house.
“Right!” I yelled frantically. “Go right!” Porsche yanked the wheel to the right, and her truck chewed up someone’s back lawn as we skidded through something that got us pointed at the gap in the chain-link fence surrounding a playground. Calling it a turn would have been generous. She hit the gas again and we sent a gout of dirt up behind us for a second, then I was pointing to her left.
“There! Behind the school. Cut across the field there. Then go right. That’ll bring you out on Kimbrough,” I explained. Without waiting for an acknowledgement, I turned and looked over my shoulder. Sure enough, we were being chased. I couldn’t tell how many, but the shrieks that were reaching my ears told me that it was too goddamn many. We opened up the distance between our pursuers and our tender behinds as Porsche crossed the playground, but they gained some of it back when she slowed down to make the turn to our right. Chain-link fence blurred by on either side as she poured on speed, and then we were fishtailing our way onto Kimbrough. The shrieks of the infected followed us as she wrestled with the wheel to stay on the road. An intersection loomed ahead, and the headlights illuminated the profile of a man in slacks and a suit jacket in the middle of the road. I felt the truck slow as Porsche took her foot off the gas pedal. In the split second before she could hit the brake, the man turned his head toward us. Blood covered the lower half of his jaw, and thick strands of gore dripped from his chin. A sound of disgust came from Porsche, then the truck surged forward as she hit the gas again and I found myself sliding along the bed of the truck on my side. Pain blossomed in my right shoulder as I hit the tailgate, and a microsecond later, I was bouncing off the floor of the truck as the bed bucked underneath me. My left hand grabbed the tailgate and I pulled myself up in time to see the mangled body of the infected man rolling along for a few seconds in the glow of the tail lights before the darkness swallowed him up again.
My shoulder and back hurt like Hell as I grabbed the M4 and crouch-walked back to the rear window. More shrieks came from either side to our rear as we flew through another intersection.
“Where in the Hell are we going, anyway?” she yelled over her shoulder to me.
:Sunset and Fort,” I called back. “Willow Gardens.”
“Campbell’s gonna be a bitch,” she said.
“Probably,” I said. “Get on the north side of Sunset. We’ll cross the ditch at Jefferson and get on the Greenways trail to avoid traffic.”
“You are completely insane, did you know that?”
“It’s one of my more endearing traits,” I said as I stood up again. This time, I made sure I had a good grip on the lip of the window. Street lights cast an orange glow on the street in front of us, and I could see headlights and tail lights in front of us. It looked like they were all pointed west, but it wasn’t until I saw the blur of lights going the opposite way across the intersection that I was sure. We sped through the last stop sign and came up on Sunset. Like Battlefield, Sunset was backed up headed west. Going east, it was pretty much clear. Aside from the one car that we’d seen, no one seemed too interested in going back into town. I didn’t blame them. Porsche stopped for a second, then turned right onto Sunset.
“What are you doing?” I ducked down to ask.
“Getting on the other side of Sunset,” she said with a smile. “Trust me, I’ve got plan B covered.” She headed down Sunset, and beyond the last of the cars, then took a left turn onto a short maintenance road. Once we were past the curb, she turned back to the left, and followed the sidewalk toward a thicket of trees that came to the edge of the concrete. While we bumped along over the grass, I grabbed one of the pistol belts and pulled the Beretta from its holster. The magazine that dropped into my hand had a reassuring weight to it, but I changed it out anyway and chambered a round just in case, then thumbed the hammer down.
“There’s a round in the chamber,” I said to her as I passed the belt into the cab. “Fifteen rounds of nine millimeter bang-bang in that. Just aim for the head and pull the trigger.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“Already got one,” I said in an outrageously bad Monty Python accent. “It’s verra nice.” As I was making hash of British humor, I buckled the other belt around my waist. Her laugh was quick, and I could hear the first hints of hysteria in it. We passed the trees, and Porsche cut across the field that opened up to our right toward Jefferson Street. Luck must have been with us, or maybe we’d managed to fly under its radar, because there weren’t a lot of cars on Jefferson. We crossed the bridge that ran over the creek, and she followed the concrete trail as it led behind the trees and sheltered us from sight. Behind us, the shrieking of the infected sounded, and we heard chaos erupt again. I could hear Porsche’s voice rising and falling in a steady chant through the window.
“Hold it together, just hold it together, You can do this. Just hold it together,” she was muttering to herself. She jumped when I put my hand on her shoulder.
“Porsche. Turn your headlights off. Drive slowly. Inhale, exhale, repeat as necessary…just breathe. We’re going to make it.”
“What about them?” she asked as she pointed toward the screaming.
“They’re in Someone Else’s hands now. Our job is to stay alive. I don’t know about you, but I have people who are counting on me to be there for them. I don’t mean to let them down by getting myself killed.”
“I don’t have anyone here,” she said as she turned her head back to face the trail. “No one to look out for and no one to look out for me. I don’t suppose there’s room on your list for one more is there?”
“There’s always room for one more friend on the list,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “I think you’ve more than earned it tonight.”
“Thanks,” she said as the truck slowed to a stop. Campbell loomed ahead of us, with cars backed up as far as we could see from the trail. I stood up so I could get a better view, and found myself at about eye level with the curb because of the Greenways trail’s lower elevation. Cars filled all four lanes and every single one of them was pointed south. None of them were moving, though most lo
oked like they were running. Behind us, the shrieks and screams were getting louder as the infected found more victims. I had minutes left to come up with a way past this. My brain raced to find an answer, and when it came to me, it was another cat that delivered it.
As the infected devoured the living, I watched a calico cat emerge from the brush beside us and trot confidently down the trail and follow it under the bridge. Moments later, three half grown kittens scampered after her. The trailway was too narrow, but the spillway beside it was just wide enough for Porsche’s truck. It had been right there in front of me the whole time. I squatted down.
“Under the bridge. And don’t spare the paintjob.” She nodded and put the truck into gear. We hit the concrete spillway and she aimed the nose for the opening in the middle. The thick cement partitions were just barely wide enough to slip between. Her side mirrors scraped against the sides for a few feet before they bent back on themselves. The headlights came on, and she drove us through the darkened passage and out the other side. I let out the breath I’d been holding once the night sky was in view again, and Porsche headed for the right bank of the creek again. She turned her headlights off before she got us back on the Greenways path, and we were on our way again.
The trail led us back to Sunset, and we followed it to where the street became a divided road. There were very few cars on this side of Sunset, and we had no trouble getting into the west bound lanes. It was quiet here, the screams of the dying just a faint whisper in my ear, and all the more sinister for that. I stood back up and leaned against the cab, eyes forward. My girl was less than a mile away, and getting closer every second. The blinking red lights of the intersection were my beacon, and Maya was just beyond them. I could feel my heartbeat faster in my chest as we got closer to the intersection, and my breath seemed to be just a little short.
“When we get to Fort, go right and then take the first street on your left,” I directed Porsche through the window. She took the right turn smoothly and eased her way through the left turn. The red brick front of Willow Gardens was barely visible in the lights of the parking lot, but I could see enough to start grinning. We were almost there, and Maya was as good as in my arms again.
And then, the building blew up.
Chapter 6
The Ashes of Faith
Despair is the conclusion of fools.
~ Benjamin Disraeli ~
There is a sound that an explosion makes that is nothing like what you hear on TV or in the movies. Explosions don’t have this long, almost crackly sound that goes on forever. It was more of a whump that I felt in my chest like a kick from a giant. The truck rolled to a stop as the heat washed over me, and I watched a ball of fire roll into the sky. Porsche’s door opened below me. When she got out of the truck, her head turned up to the orange column of smoke and fire that climbed into the night. One hand went to her mouth, then she turned back to me.
“Oh, God,” she said. “Dave, I’m so sorry.” Something in me tried to die as I watched the building burn, but another part refused to let it. Rage and pain fought each other to get out, but one thing beat them both down: denial. My brain refused to believe Maya was dead. Pure defiance drove me to grab the M-4 and jump out of the bed of the truck. Porsche stepped in front of me and put her hand on my chest.
“Dave, don’t do this to yourself,” she said softly. “She couldn’t have survived that. Nothing could have.”
“Denial is the first stage of grief. You don’t want to get in the way of that. Not now. Not with me.”
“Why not?”
“Because the next stage is anger. Now either come with me or stay here, but whatever you do right now…don’t stand in my way.” She stepped aside to let me pass. The sound of her truck starting came from behind me as I walked up the driveway into the parking lot. Employee parking was on the right side of the building, and I followed the concrete to where I knew Maya normally parked her car. Broken glass and smoldering bits of debris crunched under my feet as I prowled the side of the building. Most of the cars were on fire, their interiors belching out black smoke and orange flames. The paint was scorched black on all of them, so I was forced to look at the body styles. Minivan, SUV, sedan, another minivan, a compact, all blazing away in the darkness. Behind them, the building burned too, consuming anything that wasn’t brick. Movement from inside the building caught my eye, and I saw the silhouette of something vaguely human shaped moving through the flames. It moved toward the windows, then fell into the fire around it. I shuddered as I watched another one walk toward a hole in the wall, then fall into the flames. Something had survived the explosion.
As I realized I was near the end of the row, I started to feel a bit of dread. As much as I wanted to believe she’d somehow survived, or had the foresight to leave before the place blew up, I knew that was hoping for a lot. She’d come in late for a shift, so her car was probably parked near the end of the row. My stomach started to sink as I went. Porsche’s truck crawled along behind me, illuminating the ground in front of me. When I came to the empty space, hope made my heart skip a beat. Without thinking, I stepped into the empty spot and stared at the ground, as if I could somehow see Maya’s car being parked there. I checked the last two spaces beyond it, and didn’t recognize either car as hers. Her car wasn’t here. My hope was that she hadn’t been here when the building blew, either.
My leg tingled for a moment before I realized my phone was vibrating in my pocket. I slung the M-4 and dug for it. My fingers trembled as I pulled it out and looked at the front screen. Amy, it read. Seeing Maya’s daughter’s name made my heart crumble as I put the phone to my ear. What was I going to tell her?
“Dave, do you know where Mom is? She’s not answering her phone!” I heard her say frantically before I could even say hello.
“Amy, what’s wrong?” I asked. Telling her that her mother was most likely dead could wait a few minutes, and all I had left was the stupidly obvious.
“Dad’s freaking out. He picked me up from school early, and when we got home, he turned out all the lights and grabbed one of his guns and he keeps looking out the window. Dave, I’m scared.”
“There’s something going on, Amy. Are there strange people walking around in your neighborhood?” I asked.
“I don’t know, he won’t let me get near the windows. He just told me to go to my room and stay there. What’s going on Dave?” For all that she sounded scared, she didn’t sound like she’d completely lost it. She was a lot like her mother that way.
“It’s some kind of outbreak,” I told her after a few seconds’ thought. “It’s a disease that makes people into cannibals. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Grab your go bag and whatever else you can carry. We’re getting out of town.”
“I don’t think Dad’ll like that. He’s all ‘I pay my taxes, where the hell are the police?’ and stuff.” Her impression of her father was funny enough to get a chuckle out of me.
“Well, what do you want to do?” I asked. There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line before Amy spoke again.
“I want us to get out of town.” Her voice was thick with emotion. I felt bad for asking her to make that decision, but it was her life, too.
“Then get out there and tell him that. And tell him to aim for the head if any of the infected come at you.”
“Infected?” she asked.
“You’ll know them when you see them. Now go. I’ll be there as soon as I can!” I closed the phone.
“What is it?” Porsche asked from her truck.
“That was Maya’s daughter Amy. I think there are infected in her neighborhood. We need to go get her.”
“What about your girlfriend?” Portia said.
“Her car isn’t here. I don’t know where she is. If I had to guess, I’d bet she would be trying to get to Amy.” I started to go to the truck when something grabbed my right foot. I stumbled and managed to catch myself on my left foot, then I felt something clamp on to the back of my right ankle. Pain
spiked up my leg as I looked back to see the red and black upper half of an infected gnawing on my foot. Tattered bits of charred fabric clung to its body, and I could see the band of half melted metal around its left wrist that I figured was a wristwatch once upon a time. I clawed the pistol out of its holster and drew a bead on the top of its head. The gun bucked in my hand, and bits of bone and half-cooked brain matter splattered across the concrete. The muzzle blast was like a slap against my leg, but the pain in my ankle let up.
“Dave!” Porsche yelled as she jumped out of the truck. She was at my side in a heartbeat. I reached down and pulled at my pant leg. It slid up to reveal a thick half-circle of purple on the outside of my Achilles tendon. I twisted my foot to see its mirror image on the inside. I twisted my foot to look at the other side again, then back.
“You’ve been bitten!” she cried as I looked closer. There were no teeth marks, and no blood. I looked at the infected corpse’s mouth and saw no white behind the charred lips.
“Actually,” I said with a relieved chuckle, “I’ve been gummed. Saved by modern dentistry.” My leg hurt like hell, but the bite hadn’t broken the skin. Still, I wasn’t about to take any chances. I pulled out my pocket knife and cut the bottom of my pant leg away to get rid of any saliva. Once I’d cut the cloth free, I got to my feet and limped toward Porsche’s truck.
“So, you’re not infected?” she asked from beside me. I shook my head and climbed back into the bed of the truck.
“Didn’t break the skin. So unless it transmits just from contact, I’m okay. Let’s get out of here. The next one that crawls out of that place might not be so dentally deficient.” She hopped into the cab pretty quickly at that.
“You sure you don’t want to ride up here?” she asked through the back window. “It might be easier on you.”
“I’m sure. I like having the wind on my face. I’m like a dog that way.” I pulled the nearly spent pistol magazine from my left cargo pocket and thumbed the last round out of it before I stuck the mag back. The other reason I preferred the back of the truck to riding in the cab was the better vantage point. I could look around in a full circle, and I had an unobstructed field of fire.
