by Brian Keene
In the woods beyond the exit ramp, something screamed. Human or animal—I couldn’t tell which, but the sound was like nails on a chalkboard. I fought to keep from screaming myself, and whispered Terri’s name.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
We walked on. A blister broke on the bottom of my heel, and I felt my sock grow wet. I winced, trying to ignore the pain.
“You okay?” Charlie asked, concerned.
I nodded. “Blister. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ve said it before,” Frank panted, “and I’ll say it again: I’d kill for a cold beer right about now. Boy, would that taste good.”
“I’d settle for a cell phone that worked,” I said.
“I’d like an airplane,” Charlie quipped. “Or even a taxi. My feet hurt.”
“Mine, too,” Frank agreed. “Haven’t walked this much since I was in the Army.”
“What’d you do in the Army?” I asked, trying to get my thoughts off Terri.
“Construction,” he grunted. “Story of my life. I did four years and then got out. Wish I’d stayed in, though. Could have retired with a full pension at forty. Shit, there wasn’t anything going on at the time. Vietnam was over, and Desert Storm was a decade away. But I was stupid, I guess. The old lady wanted to get married, so I got out. Kick myself in the ass for it now, especially after we got divorced. But I was a stupid kid.”
“We were all stupid kids once,” I said.
“Yeah, and if we only knew then what we know now, right? If I’d re-upped and taken that early retirement, I could’ve been at home today, instead of walking down this fucking highway in the dark and listening to crazy people talk about God and aliens and bleeding shopping malls.”
Charlie and I both laughed, and Frank continued.
“Don’t know why I’m so damn eager to get home, anyway. It’s not like there’s a beautiful woman waiting on me. You’re lucky there, Steve.”
“I know it,” I said. “That’s what’s keeping my feet moving right now.”
“So you live alone?” Charlie asked Frank. “No kids or anything?”
He shook his head sadly. “Nope. Not even a dog. I had some fish, but the little fuckers kept dying on me. I’d buy one, put him in the tank, and a week later he’s floating upside down. My ex and I got divorced before we could have any kids. I don’t know. It never bothered me much, but the older I get—I would have liked to have a son.”
“You still can. You’re not that old.”
Before Frank could reply, a deer ran across the highway and leaped over the guardrail. We stumbled to a halt, and Charlie gave a surprised little yelp. The doe dashed away across the field, her white tail flashing in the moonlight, before disappearing into a line of trees.
“My heart’s racing,” Charlie gasped. “Fucking thing scared the shit out of me.”
A thought occurred to me. “I wonder if any animals have vanished, too.”
Frank and Charlie stared at me as if I were as crazy as Carlton and the Soapbox Man.
“Whatever it is that’s happened,” I said, “why should it just be limited to us humans? Doesn’t make sense.”
“We saw that dog a few minutes ago,” Frank reminded me. “And there’s been plenty of dead animals alongside the road.”
“Not road kill. I’m serious. Maybe some of the animals have disappeared. Maybe there’s empty kennels and cages at the zoo right now.”
Charlie shrugged. “It’s something to consider, I guess.”
We’d walked another two miles before we heard the voices. As we pressed on through the darkness, they grew louder. There was a large group of people ahead, judging by the sound. We rounded a curve and saw taillights in the distance. Traffic had stopped again, and I wondered what was causing the backup this time. As we got closer, we saw that at least a hundred people stood in the road. Then we smelled something burning: an acrid stench that made my eyes water.
Volvo’s car lay on its roof in the middle of the highway, stretched across the median strip and one northbound lane. It was on fire. Smoke poured from the interior, and we heard a high-pitched whining sound. It took me a moment to realize what it was.
Screaming. From inside the car.
Volvo screaming.
A hand flailed from the driver’s-side window. The bubbling flesh sloughed off as it waved desperately, but I recognized the expensive Rolex around the charred wrist. The wind picked up, and I smelled roasting meat.
“Jesus . . .” Coughing, I turned away. He may have been a yuppie asshole, but he hadn’t deserved this.
A trucker with a small fire extinguisher sprayed foam all over the blackened frame, but it was too late.
Charlie bent over and puked on his shoes. As much as he’d thrown up today, I was amazed that he had anything left inside him. Then I ran to the side of the road and did the same.
Three more cars had been involved in the accident. One was smashed into the guardrail, blocking the other northbound lane. The second was on its side in the southbound lane. The third was spread out all over the highway. Shattered glass and pieces of steel and fiberglass littered the pavement. The smell of gasoline mixed with the stench of burned flesh.
Frank muttered something, but it was lost beneath the noise of the crowd.
“What’d you say?” I asked.
“There’s one more person who ain’t going home tonight.”
I checked my watch—9:30 p.m. sharp. On a normal night, Terri and I would have finished dinner, talked about our days, and would now be climbing into bed together. We’d be reading books, or watching television, or making love. An hour from now, we’d go to sleep.
On a normal night.
Which this wasn’t.
I needed to get home to her. Needed to feel her in my arms, to smell her hair and breathe in her scent and tell her that I loved her. It was very important that I tell her. I said it several times a day, but after years of marriage I didn’t really think about it anymore—didn’t consider the truth behind the words. Saying “I love you” had become a habit. I needed to let her know that it did still mean something to me, and that I did still love her. I loved her so much it hurt. Something swelled up inside my chest.
“Come on,” I said. “We’re halfway home.”
“Wait,” Charlie called, pointing back the way we’d come. “Look at that.”
Red lights flashed at the bottom of the hill and slowly came towards us. An ambulance. When the driver turned on the siren my spirits soared.
But they plummeted again when we saw what happened next.
The crowd surged towards the ambulance, swarming it from all sides. They clawed at the doors, crying out for help, begging for medical assistance. The driver laid on the horn and the siren wailed, but the mob kept coming. The ambulance slowed to a crawl, and continued rolling forward, tires crunching a discarded soda can. When it became clear that the paramedics had no intention of stopping, the throng grew angry and then violent. They stood in front of the vehicle, blocking the lanes and preventing it from moving forward. Some people pounded on the windows and several jumped onto the hood, hammering at the windshield with their fists. Another guy climbed up on the roof and jumped up and down. Inside, the eyes of the driver and passenger grew wide. They laid on the horn again as the ambulance rocked back and forth.
“I don’t believe this shit,” Frank said. “They’re gonna tip it over.”
“They can’t,” Charlie said. “They wouldn’t.”
And then they did. A few unlucky people were crushed beneath the ambulance as the rest of the mob pushed it over onto its side, their shrieks lost beneath the roar of the crowd. One man clambered onto the still-rocking vehicle’s side and danced. Enraged rioters smashed the driver’s window and pulled the screaming paramedic from his seat. Blood streamed from a gash on his forehead. Struggling, he called out for help, and then disappeared in a swarm of clubs and fists. Flesh struck flesh. The sound of the blows was sickening.
I watched, una
ble to tear my eyes away. It was horrifying but I had to see.
“We should do something,” Charlie whispered. “That poor man.”
Frank shook his head. “You kidding? I ain’t going down there. Fucking suicide.”
The second paramedic was pulled from the vehicle and thrown onto the road. The rioters began kicking him. I heard his bones snap and, despite my shock, was surprised how loud the noise of breaking ribs actually was. He coughed blood, tried to cry out, and then a boot connected with his mouth, shredding his lips. His teeth flew from his mouth like popcorn from an open popper. The injured man raised his arms to cover his head, and the crowd fell on him.
Another rioter dashed forward with a bottle in his hand. A burning rag was stuffed into the neck, and I smelled gasoline.
“Get the fuck back,” Frank warned us.
We retreated a few steps. There was a whoosh, and then the ambulance burst into flames. The rioters cheered. Then, looking for a new source on which to focus their rage, the crowd turned on each other. It looked like the world’s biggest mosh pit. People fell, pushed or punched, and were then stomped on by those still standing, or weaving around and over and under the parked cars. Windshields and teeth shattered. Tires and stomachs ruptured. Oil and blood flowed. A gunshot rang out, followed by another.
Then, as one, the rioters surged towards us, a single entity composed of fists and angry faces and makeshift weapons.
“Let’s go.” I grabbed Charlie’s arm.
He stumbled forward, his gaze locked on the crowd. “This can’t be happening. Society doesn’t behave like this.”
“What planet you been living on?” Frank snorted, breaking into a trot. “This is exactly how society behaves. Always has.”
The violence drew closer.
“Always will,” Frank continued. “Especially now. You said it yourself. It wasn’t the skinheads that hung that child molester. It was everyday people—people like this.”
“Come on,” I urged them both.
Exhausted, we ran.
7
An unmoving, naked woman was sprawled out on her back in the middle of the highway at Exit 25. There were twigs and leaves in her hair and gravel embedded in her face. I assumed she had been raped. She was definitely dead. I’d never seen so much blood. Her throat was cut, her nipples, nose and ears sliced off, and her eyes gouged out. She was young and, despite the horrific mutilation, she was beautiful—even in death.
Frank and I both tried our cell phones again, but there was still no service. Meanwhile, after he’d thrown up again, Charlie stripped off his shirt and laid it over the dead woman’s face. Then he stood up again, and tucked his undershirt into his pants.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Covering her up,” he replied. “It seems wrong, leaving her out here like this. Don’t want the animals getting at her.”
Frank grunted. “Looks like they already did.”
I stared at the young woman’s body, her upper half now concealed beneath Charlie’s shirt. There was a dark purple bruise on her blood-caked thigh, next to a small tattoo of a dolphin jumping through a peace symbol. More blood pooled between her legs. She’d been somebody’s daughter, maybe someone’s girlfriend or fiancée. She’d been alive. Had hopes and dreams. Now she was fodder. Road kill. Another unlucky casualty, left behind in the dark and never going home again. I wondered who was waiting for her at home. Was there somebody who missed her, or had they disappeared?
Unable to tear my eyes away, I glanced at the damage between her legs. The space between them was no longer recognizable as a part of human anatomy, and I quickly turned my head.
Frank was right. The animals were on the loose tonight, hunting in packs.
I thought of Terri, home alone and probably scared to death.
“I’m coming, honey,” I whispered. “Just a little while longer and I’ll be home.”
Charlie looked at me. “You say something?”
“Nothing. Just tired.”
We walked on. A burning car lit the highway. We made sure to give it a wide berth.
An hour later, we saw flames burning several miles ahead of us. It looked like the entire horizon was on fire, just like the other horizon behind us where the city still burned.
Frank pointed. “What the hell’s that?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “Forest fire, maybe? That’s Exit 26, and there’s nothing around there but fields and woods.”
As we got closer, we realized that we’d have to walk around, because Exit 26 was gone. The off-ramp, highway and fields on both sides had been obliterated in a plane crash. A section of fuselage jutted up from the mud, its sides scorched and blackened. Smoking wreckage and bodies were scattered throughout the area; it was like walking into a slaughterhouse. The stench of burning jet fuel and oil and flesh grew thick as we approached it.
Frank gaped. “My God . . .”
Charlie coughed. “Wonder what brought it down?”
“Maybe the pilot disappeared,” I said. “And the co-pilot.”
“Don’t they got those auto-pilot things?” Frank wheezed.
My eyes began to sting. I breathed through my mouth to avoid the smell.
“Sure.” I wiped the water from my eyes. “But you’ve still got to have somebody to land the plane.”
We cut through the woods, avoiding the sections that were on fire, and came out onto Old York Road, which ran alongside the interstate from Harrisburg to Baltimore. The road was quiet and deserted, free of abandoned or wrecked cars. It was darker here. No houses, businesses or even a traffic light. An owl called out from a tree limb, and a rabbit darted through the undergrowth along the bank. Somewhere in the night, a dog howled. The surrounding forest blocked out the moonlight and the glow from the fires on the nearby highway, but we could still smell the smoke and I wondered if the stench had gotten into our clothes. Then I noticed that the wind had changed direction and was blowing it through the trees. We started down the road and rounded a curve.
“Shit,” Frank said. “We should have walked this way to begin with, instead of sticking to 83. There’s no traffic at all.”
Charlie stopped and pointed. “Except for him.”
A county police car sat on the side of the road, the driver’s door hanging open. A young, baby-faced cop sat behind the wheel, his head in his hands. He looked up as we approached. His eyes were bloodshot and his face pale.
“Let me guess,” he sighed. “You called 911 and nobody answered.”
His voice sounded tired. Hollow. Beaten.
“No,” Charlie answered. “We were just—”
“Because nobody’s at the call center,” the cop interrupted. “Some of them went missing, and the others went home soon after. We were routing calls through Baltimore, but then that call center went off-line, too. We don’t even have a dispatcher answering the switchboard tonight. Cheryl and Maggie were supposed to start their shift at six and neither one of them came in. I can’t get in touch with anybody.”
We nodded in commiseration, unsure of how to respond.
Something squelched under my foot. I looked down and saw that I was standing in a puddle of vomit. Now I knew why the cop had his door open. I stepped back and wiped my heel on the grass.
Charlie cleared his throat. “You don’t have a partner?”
The cop’s voice was monotone. “No, I’m all alone out here. All alone . . .”
“Seems to be a lot of that tonight,” Frank said.
The cop ignored the comment. “You guys come from the interstate?”
“From the plane crash?” Frank pointed back the way we’d come.
The cop nodded.
“Yeah, we cut around it,” Frank said. “The fire’s spreading, though. Any idea when the firemen will get there?”
“I was the only person to respond,” the cop said. “Nobody else showed up. No fire departments. No EMTs or NTSB investigators. Or the TSA. No Feds. Just me. Where the hell is everyb
ody? Even with dispatch out, you’d think they’d be patrolling.”
“That’s what we’ve been wondering,” I told him. “It’s like this everywhere.”
“Any of you guys got a cell phone? I thought about calling some of the other officers, but I don’t have a phone and the pay phones aren’t working. Nobody is answering their radios, except for Simmons and all he did was scream.”
I shook my head. “Cell phones are out, too. I’ve been trying to call my wife.”
A tear ran down his cheek, and his face crumbled. “There were parts of people hanging in the trees…intestines and stuff. I stepped on somebody’s face. It was lying in the mud. Just their face—I don’t know where the rest of them was.”
He reached in the glove compartment, pulled out a tissue, and blew his nose.
“There was a little girl, lying on the ground. I—I thought she was alive. I grabbed her arm, to pull her up, and it…came off.”
“It’ll be okay,” Charlie said.
“Her fucking arm came off in my fucking hands!”
Charlie stepped closer. “Listen, I know you’ve had a hell of an evening. We all have. But there’s nothing you can do for them now.”
The cop frowned. “Yeah, I know. I drove over here to escape the smell. It’s in my clothes and my hair. Can’t get away from it. I’ve just been sitting here, waiting. Not sure what to do next.”
Charlie held his hands out, pleading. “Could you give us a ride? We’re trying to get home. Just over the border.”
“Yeah,” Frank said. “We’ve been walking all night. A ride would be great. We’d appreciate the hell out of it.”
The distraught man buried his face in his hands again and shook his head.
“I can’t. Not until somebody else shows up. I’m all that’s left. You see?”
Frank tried again. “But nobody is going to show up. They’d have been here by now. It’s like this everywhere. You said so yourself. Nobody is answering the emergency calls.”
“All the more reason then.” The officer blew his nose again, and then sat up straight. “It’s my job. To serve and protect.”
