by TW Brown
“In here,” Miranda called shining her flashlight out the doorway towards me and hitting me in the eyes with the beam.
I joined her, and when I reached the open doorway, I could only whistle in appreciation. There were two open lockers that were totally empty, but the third one held our prize.
“The keys were on the floor right in front of this closet,” Miranda explained. “When I opened the door, I thought we’d come in here for nothing, but then I looked past the second open locker door and discovered the third locker was still shut.”
As her flashlight scanned over the contents, I spotted shotguns, a few rifles, a half a dozen handguns, one of those handheld door busters, and a tear gas launcher. I was about to ask the million-dollar question when I heard something scuff along on the floor. I glanced down to see her shoving a large metal crate away from the wall with one of her booted feet.
“I hope that is ammunition,” I said, kneeling down in front of the box.
“There are four more exactly like it just to your right.”
I followed her flashlight beam to see a stack of identical metal boxes sitting neatly up against the wall. That was in addition to a row of four helmets that sat on a shelf. Under each one was a Kevlar vest. The thought briefly flashed in my mind that a Kevlar wetsuit would be amazing considering the situation. Of course, that thought was quickly followed by the realization that none of it made a bit of difference when it came to my fate.
“I thought you’d be a bit happier,” Miranda said, giving me an almost playful elbow in the ribs.
“What?” I snapped out of the depression that was trying to gain a foothold in my head. “No…this is great.”
“Umm, okay,” she replied with a shrug before taking off her helmet with a grunt. She scanned the ones on the shelf and settled on one that went on much easier.
“How about we see if we can locate a set of keys that might start up that police car in the back lot?”
I exited the closet and went over to a window that looked out onto the rear of the building. Only one police car was left. I imagine it had to most likely have been the one driven by the officer that lie dead just a few feet away. I also saw a lone zombie emerging from the trees on the far side of the field that stretched out behind the building.
Just over thirty minutes and a dozen dead zombies later, we had everything loaded into the police car. The keys had been on the belt of the dead policeman just as I’d suspected.
“Next stop…Happy Valley Veterinary Hospital,” I said as I pulled out of the police station’s parking lot and turned left on Southeast King Road.
“Say what?” Miranda asked with a laugh, obviously thinking that she had not heard me right.
9
A Ray of Hope
The raid on the veterinary hospital was much easier the second time. One reason was because the zombies that had been wandering the parking lot last time appeared to have wandered away. My guess was that they followed Ariel and I when we made our escape from this place right before we picked up Joan and Franklin.
We had the police car loaded in no time at all. Miranda was a whirling dervish when it came to tossing the bags of dog food. Twice I almost ended up on my ass when the bag came hurling at me and I did my best to catch it and throw it in the trunk. By the time we were done, I was actually feeling pretty good.
“Since we have a bit more room, why not give that walk-in clinic a look?” she suggested as I placed the last case of canned dog food on the floor behind the driver’s seat.
I shot a look across the expanse of this shopping center’s lot. The permanently darkened red neon sign that read “URGENT CARE” beckoned from across the way. I’d been so fixated on doing what I could for Chewie that I’d completely ignored the fact that a clinic was within striking distance. To my credit, things had been a lot more dicey the last time I’d been here. Not to mention the fact that I’d entrusted Ariel, whom I’d only met a few minutes prior, to drive my car as a diversion. That was a risk I had to take, although I hadn’t been sure if she would stick around or drive off with my vehicle.
“I don’t see why not,” I replied with a shrug.
We drove over to the entrance of the clinic, rolling up onto the sidewalk to park within feet of the glass fronted entrance. I was about to stave in the bottom of the entry door when Miranda stepped up and grabbed my arm. She pulled yet another of her big knives and showed me a little pointy knob at the base of the handle.
“Glass breaker,” she said as she gave the pane a solid rap. It went white with a myriad of spider web-like cracks. A push with her booted foot sent the entire bottom section of the glass door collapsing to the floor just inside the clinic.
We crawled inside and did a visual sweep, but it was pretty obvious that the place was surprisingly empty. Miranda hopped the counter and we searched for some sort of dispensary. What we ended up finding was a lot of basic first aid gear. Antiseptics, bandages, and basic generic pain reliever in foil packets. Just like the veterinary hospital, we brought everything we found up to the doors until we were confident that we could not fit much more into the car.
“Can I ask you something?” Miranda said as we took a break in the waiting area’s seats. With the lot still clear of any undead, and nothing in here to bother us, there was nothing preventing us from catching our breath for a moment or two.
“Sure,” I replied as my eyes continued to scan the lot outside.
“What are you doing out here all by yourself? I mean, I know why I am out here alone. I didn’t start off by myself, but after I lost the rest of my friends, I made the choice.”
She paused and examined me to the point where it was becoming uncomfortable. I was about to suggest we get moving when she continued.
“You’ve been out here on your own for at least a few days, but you are gathering up all these supplies for your group. I get that part. What doesn’t make sense is why you are alone. Unless you guys are all idiots, and I don’t think that is the case, then you should have at least one other person with you. Also, you don’t really talk about getting back to your people. You keep saying you just want to make this last run.”
I hadn’t really thought about how it would look to a stranger. She was exactly right. I guessed that it wouldn’t hurt to let her know what was up.
“I got scratched during a run on a small medical center near where my group is staying. I decided that I didn’t want them to have to be burdened with putting me down when I turn.” That was probably a much shorter explanation than was merited, but I saw no reason to give all the details.
“But your eyes are still clear.”
“Yeah, best I can figure, the scratches might take longer. I’ve seen people who were bitten start to show it in their eyes within minutes, but the last reports I heard on one of the emergency broadcasts was that the infection could be transferred through bite or scratch.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Miranda hadn’t made any move to put distance between us. I’d seen an almost involuntary reaction from people when I revealed my condition. Granted, there hadn’t been many, but it was like back when somebody used to show up at work and say that they had a cold or something. People always did stupid stuff like cover their mouth and nose with their hands…like that would block any germs that might be swirling in the air.
“You ever consider maybe that scratch came from something else? Maybe during your little raid, perhaps you snagged yourself on something,” Miranda suggested.
I hiked my sleeve up to reveal the ugly scratch. The skin around it was still inflamed and it looked much nastier than any little scratch I’d ever received before. Working in construction, I’d had my share of snags. It was part of the job. After a while, you could go days and not notice until perhaps you were taking a shower or something and your hand brushed over a flaking scab. I could say without a doubt that this was not just some ordinary snag. It wasn’t as definitive as…say…teeth marks. But I was certain.
“I’m
sure,” I finally answered with a cold finality. I didn’t like this topic.
“What about…” Miranda began, but her voice trailed off. She appeared to wrestle with something as a flurry of emotions crossed her face. Finally, she seemed resolute and turned to me with the softest gaze I’d ever seen from her in our brief time together. “Have you considered that maybe you won’t turn? Like perhaps you have some sort of immunity?”
I had, but it was like going to the store and grabbing a lottery ticket when the jackpot would reach some unthinkable amount. Stephanie used to crack me up when she would make all these plans for what we were going to do when we won a half a billion dollars. At first I used to just tune her out. After all, I knew damn good and well that we were not going to win, but eventually I didn’t see the harm in playing along for a day until we would log in and confirm that we had not won.
“Yeah, I gave it a thought, but it is hard to start getting your hopes up. I just know that the moment I do, those damn tracers will show up in my eyes.”
We sat in silence again for another moment. I was starting to believe that this dreadful conversation was over. As with many of my life’s assumptions when it came to women, I would be wrong.
“You ever read that book, The Stand? It was one of the earlier books by Stephen King,” she said in a voice that was barely a whisper, like maybe she didn’t want to travel down the road of hope any more than I did.
“Read it a few times,” I admitted. “It’s one of my favorites. What does that have to do with this situation? I’m not having weird dreams or anything like that.”
“Maybe not, but there was a point made early on about how lots of people have natural immunities. Not everybody is hit the same way.” She turned to face me again, looking deep into my eyes like she was trying to penetrate the surface and burrow in to see what might be hiding underneath.
I considered her words. I weighed it with some of the facts that I had collected over the past several days. Chewie had been bitten way back when this all began for me. She’d lost over half of her tail. She still showed no signs of turning. I’d encountered a few dogs that had not fared nearly as well. I knew for a fact that dogs suffered the same fate as humans when it came to this infection, virus, or whatever was turning people into zombies.
The supposed turn time was reported to be as fast as just a few minutes, but up to seventy-two hours. I’d passed that mark at some point. Could it really be possible that a person could endure a scratch and not turn? Could I allow myself this small glimmer, this ray of hope?
“I suppose anything is possible, but it is really tough to grab onto something like that. It is like a nightmare where you know the big, bad monster is right on your heels. You manage to stay just ahead of it…but you can almost feel it breathing down your neck,” I admitted.
“How about if I promise to stick right by your side for the next several days. We go back to your people…if your dog is still there, then maybe you and your group are some of the good guys.”
I thought it was interesting that she would equate a dog’s presence as possible proof that Carl and the others were the so-called good guys. I considered her offer. What did I have to lose? Besides, I could not deny that I was curious as to how Natasha’s group had been repelled and her entire force wiped out.
“Just do me a favor,” I finally agreed as I climbed to my feet.
“Kill you quick?” Miranda offered.
“Okay…two favors. The other is that I want you to say something the moment you notice the change…if it comes.” It felt strange saying the word “if” when talking about the possibility that I might turn.
“Cross my heart.” She made the physical gesture and I nodded.
We crept out of the clinic and loaded what we had gathered into the back of the squad car until it was so full there would be no way that I could use the rearview mirror. That entire time, not one single zombie shambled our way.
I should’ve known it would be too good to last.
***
“This was a stupid idea,” I grunted as I jerked the wheel hard to the left and we rumbled up onto the curb, barely making it to where the driveway was flush with the road.
We skidded just a bit as the tires fought for traction in the grass. Just as I managed to straighten us out, I had to jerk the wheel to the left and then back to the right as I made it past a tree sitting in the middle of the front yard. I heard as well as felt the crunch as the right rear of the police car clipped the trunk of the tree.
“I told you we should’ve taken 152nd Avenue. It would’ve brought us down to Highway 224. We could’ve followed it back to the interstate and avoided these damn residential areas,” Miranda snapped as she grabbed the little handle just above the door that I’d always called the “Oh shit!” handle.
“We still would’ve had to drive through residential areas,” I shot back as I swerved in order to avoid slamming into a zombie woman that had suffered the misfortune of turning while she was naked.
“Yeah, but that road goes through the more urban parts of town. It is a lot of farms and stuff. Not this postage stamp yard microcosm of houses that all look alike and are stuffed in tighter than Vienna sausages.”
The police car launched off the curb and hit the pavement with a nasty jolt. I hooked left to put us back on the road and shot a glance into the side view mirror. The mob was wheeling around to re-orient itself on the only major sound source in the area: us. I saw a few of them pinball off each other as some made the turn easier and sooner than others.
Up ahead, I saw a dozen more zombies come staggering out from the right-hand side of the four-way intersection. They would be too spread out by the time I reached them and there would be no way past without hitting at least a couple. I tapped the brakes to slow us down in hopes that it would lessen the impact, and thus, the damage to the car. There was simply no way that I was going to lose this vehicle and its cargo. I would not start over. Period.
I edged over to the right-hand side of the street at the last moment since the zombies had mostly migrated to the middle. Rolling up with the passenger side coming up onto the curb that ran alongside the road, I made it by, only hitting one of the zombies before emerging in the clear. As soon as I could, I stomped the gas and smiled as the police cruiser’s powerful engine sent us speeding away.
“If you turn right at the next street, it will take you out of this subdivision and towards 152nd Street. Hook a left and just follow it until you reach the highway where you take a right. From there, it is a straight shot to I-205.”
I grunted in acknowledgement and eventually came to a stop at the Highway 224 junction. I heard Miranda gasp just before my own breath caught in my throat. Dangling from the powerlines right across from us were four bodies. Each was riddled with bullets, but they continued to struggle. They’d obviously heard our approach and their hands were reaching impotently for us.
“Why?” was all Miranda could finally manage.
“I got nothing,” I said as I eased onto the mostly empty highway.
With two lanes on each side, and no barrier separating the lanes, it would be easy enough to travel this road even with the occasional abandoned vehicle or multi-car accident.
We headed up the road, my eyes scanning the area ahead of us. Off to either side were open areas of undeveloped land, many of them with signs declaring that they were for sale or lease as a business zoned lot.
We were just passing a trucking weigh station when a figure darted out from behind a big rig that was parked alongside the weighmaster’s building. I slammed on the brakes and the figure adjusted its course, coming right for us. At first I thought that it was a child. As he got closer, I was able to make out a considerable amount of facial hair growth casting its shadow on his dark face.
Miranda had a blade in her hand faster than I thought possible from the seated position. As the guy got closer, I could see that he was also an absolute mess. His left arm was wrapped in filthy rags that were dar
k with dried blood. Was it possible that some of the undead could run?
“Help,” the man gasped as he skidded to a stop at the nose of our commandeered police car. “About forty of them biters are coming through the woods. I just can’t run anymore.”
I glanced at Miranda. She was staring at the man. If she had an opinion on the matter, she wasn’t letting it show. I decided that it was just not in me to leave somebody behind that needed help. If I wasn’t infected and dying, then being too damn nice was going to be the death of me.
I opened my door and edged out of the driver’s seat. “We are pretty packed in there.” I hiked a thumb to indicate the back of the car’s bounty of supplies.
“He can squeeze in with me,” Miranda called. “But he needs to do it now.”
I heard the tightness in her voice. Both the diminutive man standing in front of us and I turned to the right to see the undead pouring from the brush that ran several feet in either direction along the edge of the weigh station.
“You heard her.” I stepped back and the man scurried around the car and practically dove into the front seat. As I followed him, I heard an eruption of gunfire coming from the left.
“Really?” I yelped as I was in and popping the car into drive before our newest occupant was situated or my door was even shut.
“Shit,” the man groaned as he squirmed to try and get his body around to a position that was closer to seated than sprawled.
“Friends of yours?” Miranda snarled as she manhandled the guy around so that they were now sharing the passenger side of the vehicle.
