by M. D. Massey
The gate was padlocked, so I cut the lock with my bolt cutters and drove through. Then I secured the gate again with some baling wire I had in the back of the truck. Once I had the gate secured, I took the long way around town until I got back to the highway. Checking my map, I decided I’d take 183 north at Johnsonville, then I’d take 1431 at Marble Falls. That’d take me almost right to my parent’s house, or damned close to it. I hit 290 and headed out at a good clip, utilizing the shoulder to get around stalled cars and wrecks.
Once I got closer to Johnson City, I started to see more stalled cars and a lot more deaders. In more than one instance I had to do some fancy driving to avoid clusters of them milling about in the road. I decided to stick to the back streets at Johnson City, to avoid being stopped by the authorities. I needn’t have worried. The town was dead, in the most literal sense, from what I could tell. I saw lots of broken windows and smashed doors as I drove through, along with a large number of corpses, moving and not.
As I was driving through the north side of town, I saw a sheriff’s vehicle pulled over on the side of the road. The driver’s side door was open, and I slowed down to see what had happened. Inside, an officer slumped over the steering wheel, his brains splattered all over the inside of the car. Another suicide. I looked around to make sure no deaders were close by, then I put the truck in neutral, set the parking brake, and jumped out. A search of the car yielded a Glock 9mm, a few spare mags, a Remington model 870 shotgun with a box of ammo, and an AR-15. I said a silent prayer for the officer and his family as I drove away.
The rest of the afternoon proceeded without incident. I blew through Round Mountain, and other than avoiding a large pile-up at the intersection of 71 and 281, the road was more or less clear once I left Johnson City. The only thing that really worried me was crossing the Colorado River in Marble Falls. As I recalled, that bridge had two lanes in either direction, so all it would take was a bad accident or some troublemakers to keep me from crossing.
Sure enough, my fears were well founded. As I drove up to the bridge I could see that it was clogged with stalled cars in both directions. I backed up and headed for the ford below the dam. I’d gone fishing there once with some friends, and with any luck the dam wouldn’t be running and the water would be low enough to cross.
I drove down old Wirtz Dam Road with my hopes high. Unfortunately, as I neared the dam it became apparent that I was shit out of luck. Someone in charge must’ve had the foresight to open the floodgates before the power went completely out, so there was no way I was making it through that crossing. In a few days, maybe, but at the moment the water was at least two feet above the road and flowing fast. No way I could risk it.
I slammed my hands on the steering wheel and weighed my options. I could head back to 71 and take it into southwest Austin, but that would mean I’d have to drive through some of the most populated areas of the city to get to my folks’ house. I didn’t even want to think about the carnage created by the blast, never mind all the deaders that would be milling around. Definitely a last resort.
I could also head east on 71 and then cut over to Kingsland, but I’d probably be facing a similar situation. The bridge there was a narrow two-lane, and it might be blocked as well. That would cost me precious time, but at least if that didn’t work out I could cut north and take 29 instead. Not my ideal route, but it would do. I U-turned and headed back down the road.
It was nightfall before I reached the outskirts of Austin, which in reality were smaller towns, bedroom communities for people who’d worked in the city proper. Cedar Park, Leander, and Round Rock had all started out as sleepy little towns before the boom hit Austin and the city’s population exploded. Folks native to Austin would tell you that all the growth had ruined the city. There’s not much to complain about at the moment, I thought, nor people left to complain. I started to get pissed. Before I got too worked up, though, I put those thoughts out of my mind and started focusing on my game plan.
My parents lived in an upscale neighborhood on the edge of town, between Round Rock and Cedar Park. I could cut south from 29 and take the Parmer Lane extension almost to my parent’s front door. The only question was how bad things were in their general vicinity. I could only hope that they’d been able to hunker down and wait it out. That’s if they were still alive.
It took me some time to make it to their neighborhood, as the roads continued to be clogged up with stalled cars, more wrecks, and the living dead. I was shocked at how many shamblers I saw, and decided that the commander hadn’t lied to me about the infection rate. I spent a lot of time driving on the shoulder to get around large groups of deaders and motor vehicle pile-ups, and saw a lot of things I wished I hadn’t seen. It was after midnight before I made it to my parent’s place. As I pulled up to their house, things didn’t look promising.
There were no lights on in the neighborhood, so I parked the truck so that its headlights would illuminate the front of the house. I grabbed my M4 and an extra tactical flashlight, turned the truck off and locked it, then I headed to the front of the house. I could hear and see deaders converging on my position from around the area, so I knew I didn’t have a lot of time. I sprinted up the front walk to the door, noting that it had been kicked in.
I decided on speed over stealth, and began calling out for my parents as I entered the home, clearing the entry and living room on the way. “Mom! Dad! Anyone here! Answer me if you can hear me!” Hearing no answer, I paused to put the door back in place and barricaded it with some furniture to prevent any deaders from surprising me on the way back out.
After moving the couch and loveseat against the door, I heard something fall over in the kitchen, followed by shuffling footsteps from that direction. I prayed that it wouldn’t be one of my parents, and headed that way using the flashlight on my rifle to light my path. I paused against the wall just outside the kitchen and waited as the footsteps got closer. I heard a low moan, and then a figure shuffled around the corner. The light blinded it temporarily, and it shielded its face as it continued to shuffle toward me.
It was, or had been, Mr. Keller, the neighbor from across the street. Not wanting to draw more attention than I already had, I pulled out my combat Bowie and buried it to the hilt in the top of his head. He almost pulled me down as he collapsed, so I let go of the blade to let him fall. After retrieving my knife and cleaning it on his shirt, I sheathed it and continued clearing the first floor. I noticed signs that someone had packed in a hurry, but I didn’t see any indication of a struggle—nor did I see my parents… dead or alive.
I headed upstairs to find more rooms devoid of life. Although I found indications that they’d packed and left in a rush, there was nothing to tell me where they had went or where to find them. Dejected, I sat down on my parents’ bed wondering what my next move should be.
Think, Aidan, think! Mom and Dad wouldn’t leave without letting you know where they went. So, how would they let you know where they were going?
I pondered it for a moment, until my thoughts were interrupted by something banging on the front door. It wouldn’t hold for long, so I needed to complete my search and escape pronto. I racked my brain for ideas, and then it dawned on me. When I was just a kid, sometimes my mom would leave a note for me when I got home from school. She had been working as a nurse back then, and often had to work shifts that prevented her from being home when I got off the school bus.
She’d always hated leaving notes out in the open, saying that if someone broke in it would tell them that no one was home. Never mind that once someone broke in the house it wouldn’t have mattered; there was no arguing with Mom logic. To prevent burglars who broke in from knowing they were alone, she’d always leave any notes for me in the cookie jar.
I sprinted downstairs and looked on top of the fridge; sure enough, I saw the same ceramic rooster cookie jar we’d had as a kid. I’d thought the thing had been broken or lost decades before, but obviously Mom had put it up, probably to give to me
as a wedding gift or something. I pulled it down and set it on the table, pulling off the lid to find a note scribbled on legal paper inside.
Aidan,
We couldn’t wait any longer since things have gotten really bad over the last few days. Your father borrowed Mr. Keller’s motor home; I guess he won’t be needing it anymore and it was the only thing around here that your dad could find that still runs. Your dad left you a map with the route he plans to take to get us out to the ranch. Look under the cookie jar for it. We love you, mijo.
-Mom
P.S. - Dad says to tell you it’s a 1989 Winnebago Chieftain. Gold and white with blue and gold stripes.
I reached on top of the refrigerator and found the map she’d mentioned. Unfolding it, I saw that he planned to take 1431 to 281, a route almost identical to the one I’d taken to get here. Since I didn’t see recall seeing a motorhome that fit that description along the way, I figured they’d gotten stranded or held up somewhere between here and Marble Falls. The only way to find them would be to trace their route and hope I could catch up with them before they ran into trouble.
By that time, the pounding on the front door was getting more frenzied; it sounded like the deaders were almost inside. Amidst a chorus of moans and groans, I stuck the map and note in my pocket, grabbed my rifle, and headed for the back door. Then, as an afterthought, I went back and tucked the cookie jar under my arm before taking off at a jog.
14
Success
As I exited the backyard and cleared the corner of the house, I noted that most of the deaders had gathered around the front door. I assumed that the noise I’d made when I barricaded the door had been enough to attract a few, and the noise they’d made in turn had drawn in the rest. I jogged up to the truck as silently as I could, opening and shutting the cab door before they even noticed my presence. From what I could tell, their eyesight was shit but their hearing was excellent, and as soon as I started the truck they began shuffling my way.
I had the truck in gear and was backing up long before they got close to the truck, but in my haste to get out of there I backed over a few of them. Figured I was doing them a favor, and thankfully the heavy duty bumper I had on the back of the truck made short work of them. Sadly though, I spun the tires on one of the corpses as I was taking off and ended up with a slow one hanging onto the driver’s side mirror as I drove away.
That son of a gun was strong, and held on with one arm while the other beat on the glass for all he was worth, leaving blood and pus on the window with each glancing blow. I considered drawing my sidearm and shooting him. But I couldn’t see how I was going to roll the window down while swerving to avoid the numerous shamblers that roamed the streets, all while firing a pistol at a target that was determined to climb into the cab with me. Finally, I drove close to a parked car and knocked him off, but not before he bent up my side view mirror mount. I was starting to realize that zombies were hell on automobiles, and made a mental note to keep an eye out for another Hilux that I could use for parts once I got back home.
But, first things first: I had to figure out where Mom and Dad were. I tried the cell that I’d found out in the woods, but there was zero cell service in the area. EMP had probably fried the towers, and considering that it was pitch black all over the area it probably burned out the grid too. I kept my high beams on and drove a lot slower that I might have liked, avoiding random collisions with shamblers more than once as I drove out of town.
By the time I got to 1431 and 183, it was time to gas up the beast. Thankfully, there was no shortage of stalled cars around; I just had to find one that was isolated enough so I didn’t have to fear getting bum-rushed by deaders. I pulled around the back of a grocery store, figuring I’d only have two directions to watch as I filled my gas cans; sure enough, there was a Chevy Tahoe parked behind the building.
As I pulled up, I inched forward with my brights directed at the cab, but saw no movement inside. I grabbed the M4, kept the truck running with the parking brake set, and went around back to grab the gas cans and siphon hose. I dumped the contents of the cans in my tank, and then inched over to the Tahoe to see if I’d hit paydirt.
I shined my flashlight inside the cab of the truck, but saw no signs of life or unlife inside. The doors were locked. I broke a window using the glass breaker on my combat folder, unlatched the door, and popped the release on the gas cap door. Moving quickly while scanning in both directions, I proceeded to siphon what was left in the tank into my gas cans, and was rewarded with a nearly full can of gas for my efforts. I tossed the empty and the full can in the back of the truck, and then I was on my way.
By this time the sun was peaking over the horizon and I could see the destruction that the pressure wave had created, even this far north of town. Almost every home and building had broken windows, and debris was scattered everywhere. There were a lot more stalled cars in the road, and of course I was also treated to the odd violent vignette, each of which told the tale of some unlucky person or persons who were less than ready for the zombie apocalypse.
As I drove and scanned the roadside for any sign of the motorhome, I wondered whether things were this bad in other parts of the world. It seemed like an awful crazy coincidence to have this plague, or whatever it was, hit us so soon after the bombs dropped. I had to wonder at whether or not it was a bioweapon, as I’d originally speculated, or if it was something… other. That thing that had once been Hillis’ son had suggested there was something supernatural or otherworldly behind this mess. I found it hard to accept, but I wasn’t going to rule it out, either.
Those were questions for later, after I got my parents safely back to the ranch. I put them out of my mind and continued my slow, careful search for any sign of my folks.
As I left Cedar Park behind in the grey dawn of another zombie apocalypse morning, I couldn’t help but recall all the times my dad and I had driven this road on our way out to the ranch. Hunting trips at grandpa’s place had been a fall ritual around our house. When dove and deer season came around, it had been time to load up the truck on the weekends and head out to the ranch. All my best childhood memories revolved around those trips and our land.
Now, I doubted if I’d ever be able to share those experiences with my own children.
Perhaps someday this would all blow over; maybe the government would find a cure for the plague or whatever was causing the dead to rise, and maybe things would return to normal again, or something close to it. That’s what I wanted to hope. But I couldn’t help but to replay Corporal Hillis’ words in my head, over and over again.
“You think that the government is going to swoop in and save you? You have no idea how bad things are for your species right now, or what’s to come… You are now nothing more than cattle, purposely left alive so we can slaughter you at our leisure.”
Fact was, I had no idea if those words had just been the ravings of a sick person or the mad prophecy of something from beyond our world. I couldn’t tell if I was going crazy or not myself, but after all I’d been witness to I was starting to lean toward the mad prophecy option.
Damned if I’d be cattle. I’d die with my boots on and my guns blazing, and take as many of those creatures to hell with me on the way. Cattle, my ass.
I realized I’d gotten distracted from watching the road. So when I rounded the turn and saw the roadblock, I got a little bit closer to it than I probably would’ve liked. There were a couple of tractor trailers pulled across the highway, right as you enter what might be called downtown Jonestown. Jonestown had once been known as a haven for meth labs and kitchen chemists, but it had somehow transformed itself into a fairly respectable community in recent years.
But despite the changes that’d been made in the demographic makeup of the community in recent years, I didn’t think anyone had bothered to inform the folks who stood on top of the road block. I saw a group of five on top of the trailers and more off to the sides, each of whom could have easily been an extra in a S
ons of Anarchy spin-off. I noticed a lot of ink, some one-percenter patches, and enough hardware to give the Terminator pause.
None of them drew down on me, but I wasn’t going to risk a confrontation, and especially not with those odds. I pulled a three-point turn and headed back to find a way around the roadblock. As I did, I saw something that caught my eye in the rearview… what looked like the top of a white Winnebago, just on the other side the roadblock.
I stopped in the road for a second, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel and arguing with myself over running their roadblock. I decided that was a dumb idea when one of them started sighting in on me with a high-powered rifle. I floored it and waited until I rounded a curve and was out of their line of sight before I took a left on one of the side streets and parked to weigh my options.
The chances that they’d blocked off the whole town were few and far between. My guess was that they had a few blocks of town barricaded along the main drag, in order to control the most important resources; namely food, fuel, and booze. If that were so, it meant I could probably find a house to hole up in until dark, then go reconnoiter their setup and find some intel on whether or not my folks were in there.
Or, I could just walk up and ask. Real nice. I’m sure that would turn out swell. Nope, I’d take my chances with doing a sneak and peek after dark tonight. It was killing me to have to wait, but I didn’t want to take any chances—not with my parents potentially being so close.
I drove out to the edge of town and found an abandoned house with a garage where I could hide the truck. There were a few shamblers roaming around, but none inside the house. I decided to lock everything down so I could get some sleep. I set up some makeshift noise alarms on all the doors, set the alarm on my watch to wake me at dusk, and crashed out with my rifle cradled in my arms across my chest.
