The ghastly shape of a chaser lingers in the early morning light. His head tilts forward slightly. His chest heaves in and out. He pants and grunts. His fists are clenched so tight that they tremor.
Those bloodshot eyes burrow into my soul as he groans and bears his teeth. He releases a pent up wail and comes for me.
The demon has me dead to rights. I reach for the barrel to my rifle, and grab the chilled steel. My skin crawls with a tingling sensation that sends a shockwave of panic surging throughout my body.
Then, as if the thunder god himself came down from the heavens above, a single loud clap of fire explodes to his right.
My body tenses. Fingers latch onto the barrel of the rifle as I bring it to bear. The left side of the chaser’s head erupts in a volcanic blowout of brain and bone.
His lifeless body stumbles a single step more before crashing to the wooden planks. The bedlam of the impact is jarring. The world falls silent once more.
“You good, James?” Lucas asks from my right.
Startled, I jerk, and turn to face him.
Lucas holds up his hands in protest of the barrel of the rifle that is pointed at him.
“Whoa. Easy there.”
I expel a sigh of relief and tension through clenched teeth, lower the rifle, and lean against the doorjamb.
“Christ. They’re coming out of the woodworks now.” Lucas lowers the shotgun he has clutched in his right hand. He glances back over his shoulder.
“What’s wrong? Where’s Duke?” I demand more than ask.
Lucas grabs my arm. He pulls me from the cabin, and over the dead chaser that lays sprawled out between us.
His tense and worried posture causes concern to wash over me. I still haven’t seen or heard Duke yet, which amplifies my rattled demeanor.
A wail echoes in the distance. Then... another.
We stop cold. Our attention focuses out into the vastness of the grass and trees that encompass the cabin. A dense fog looms in the air, making it difficult to spot any movement. The weather is like this at times, but generally clears out by mid-day. Lucas keeps a tight grip on my arm. He glances to the left, then the right in search of the incoming threat.
“We have to leave, now.” Lucas sternly orders.
I look over to the cab, and spot Duke in the back seat. He barks and paws at the window. His pleas are muffled as he continues to beg to be released.
We dash over to the truck. Branches snap to my right. The clomping of heavy footsteps rushing toward us hastens my pace and spurs me to get inside.
We toss open the doors and pile in. Duke tries to jump over the seat, but I halt him with a restrictive hand. He groans and continues to bark.
We slam our doors as the chasers emerge from the gloom. Lucas anxiously slips the key into the ignition. I plead with him to hurry.
The engine grumbles and back fires. A look of surprise floods his face. The discord of the harsh motor draws the chasers’ attention.
They alter their direction, and charge the truck at full speed. Their mouths clamor up and down rapidly, savoring the meal to come.
Lucas pumps the gas pedal three to four times. His hand sits ready on the ignition. He glances over at me, and speaks as calmly as he can. “Don’t worry. We got this.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Second time’s a charm. I know, generally speaking, the saying is third time’s a charm, but I’m hoping to break that mold. I doubt we’ll get another shot at this if the engine doesn’t kick over. We’re sitting ducks here, ripe for the picking.
The chasers have locked onto us. Rage and fury, in the form of contorted faces, and a virus enriched fueling system, is about to rain down upon us. Their arms are stretched out in front of them. Their fingers tickle the air. The hunger festering deep inside their rotting stomachs compels them to seek and destroy untainted flesh and blood. Now, we’re on the menu.
They show no signs of slowing their quick, famished pace. The chasers don’t see a vehicle. It is a large, steel container that houses their food.
Lucas turns the key just as the chasers slam into the driver’s side of the truck. The engine rattles and refuses to comply with the order given. It’s throaty, congested muffle does little to gain my confidence. Lucas pumps the gas pedal a few more times, trying to breathe life into the monster he has created.
The chasers, dazed and disoriented from the raucous collision with the two-ton vehicle, stumble about, shaking their bloody heads as they focus back on the task at hand. Spying our edible faces, their mission becomes evident once more.
One charges the driver’s side window, while the other leaps on top of the hood. Lucas maintains his intense focus. He nurses the engine, like a newborn baby, while the dead pummel the window next to his head.
The chaser crawls toward the windshield. He presses his hands firmly to the grimy glass. His lust-filled gaze looks at Lucas first, then me.
Fluids drip from his cracked and torn lips. His teeth clench together as he draws his arm back. I fumble with the rifle between my legs. I bring it to bear as the demon wails and strikes the glass.
Lucas reaches up and grabs the barrel. He forces it down toward the floorboard. “Don’t shoot the glass. It’ll make it easier for them to get inside if you do.”
Duke growls and barks. He fights to jump over the bench seat. I hold him back with my left arm as he groans in protest. His ears are folded back, fur on end as he presents his glistening fangs to the hostile threat that is determined to gain entry.
The truck finally jumps to life. I release a breath of air in response to the grumbling noise.
Lucas smiles and claps his hands in a breath of satisfaction and relief. “Told you. We’re good.”
The chaser next to Lucas slams his head against the glass—repeatedly. Cracks fan out from the point of impact, blood smeared across them. My eyes go wide with fear as I look at the fractured glass.
“Put it in gear, and punch it!” I demand.
The chaser on the hood strikes the windshield two more times. His fists bleed more with each blow. I cringe.
The abuse his knuckles are taking seems to be lost on him. Regardless of how hard and often he strikes the glass, he perseveres without any signs of distress or fatigue. His mission is simple, and he is hell bound to complete it.
Lucas shifts the truck into drive. He smashes his foot to the floorboard. The back tires spin wildly in the dead grass before finding traction.
The truck lunges forward. Momentum grabs the chaser’s body and slams his face into the windshield. Blood ejects from his mouth as Lucas twists the steering wheel hard to the left. The chaser’s body flings from the hood. He hits the ground with a dull, lifeless thud. He rolls over the rigid earth, only halted by the ends of the unforgiving slats of the aged porch.
The back end of the truck fishtails. The tailgate flies open, and narrowly misses one of the support beams on the porch. Dirt and rocks fire like shotgun blasts in every direction. The cabin’s exterior and windows are pelted relentlessly.
Glass shatters.
Wood splinters in our desperate attempt to gain some distance.
Duke shifts his attention to the large, back window of the truck. He barks and growls at the infected who give pursuit.
I brace my right hand against the top left portion of the door, and my left plants firmly to the dash. Lucas keeps the gas pedal pressed to the floorboard as the truck bulldozes through the stream.
Water splashes up and fans out in both directions. Our bodies are jostled from side to side. The gear he has stuffed in the back rattles and shifts with each bump.
Lucas has a steady hand on the steering wheel. Ten and two. His gaze sneaks back over his shoulder at the chasers, who lag behind the runaway truck.
I cut my eyes to the right, and watch their outstretched arms reach for us through the side view mirror. The backdrop of the cabin being swallowed by the dense fog brings a sense of loss that compounds what I’m already dealing with. It is just another piece
of my childhood that has been ripped away from me. Taken without care or remorse. And once more, I am unable to stop it from happening.
Silence drapes over the cab. Words are held within our trembling mouths. Well, at least mine, anyways. The engine whines as the grogginess of the gears seem to smooth out. So far, Lucas’ Frankenstein machine is alive and thriving.
Lucas eases up some on the gas. The dirt trail we traverse is unforgiving. The front tires plummet into the bottomless pits of the road. The truck bounces in, then out as the undercarriage touches earth. My body lifts off the bench seat for a mere second before coming down hard.
I don’t recall it ever being this bad. Granted, Mom and Dad knew this makeshift road like the back of their hands. Every depression within the ground was ingrained into their memories and navigated with precision.
That, and they were more cautious. They took it slow and easy to minimize the stress on the vehicles. They didn’t want to damage anything and be out in the deep woods with a busted ride. Lucas doesn’t seem to share this approach.
Perhaps it’s the adrenaline in his veins. After all, having ravenous fiends hot on your tail can frazzle one’s mind.
I peer into the side view mirror. The chasers are nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they have given up and decided to search for an easier meal.
“I think we’re in the clear,” I offer.
Lucas shifts his attention to the rearview mirror. He lowers his head slightly. His eyes narrow as he licks his lips. “Yeah. I don’t see them back there anymore.”
Duke has ceased his incessant barking. He leans over the bench seat and licks the left side of my face. The rigid bumps of his sticky tongue slither up my flushed skin. I don’t push him away, or thwart his loving gesture.
In that moment, I actually welcome it. It eases my runaway mind—the ever-persistent voice, lingering in the back of my brain, telling me that hope is nothing more than a myth. That, regardless of what I do, I am destined to repeat failure, and suffer heartbreak over and over again.
My gaze fixes out the window to the thick jungle of trees and brush that encompass us on both sides. A heavy, gray haze hangs in the air like a damp sheet. Light from above struggles to penetrate the canopy of leaves that shield the floor of the forest from its rejuvenating rays.
The trunks of the trees are partially hidden within the dense fog. The farther back my sight tries to penetrate, the less I am able to clearly make out.
What is that?
Did I spy some movement within the haze? Could it be a chaser darting between each tree as it advances toward us? I close my eyes briefly, then open them once more. It is gone, but was it ever really there?
“You ok over there?” Lucas inquires.
I pull myself from the haze, expel a sigh of frustration, and glance over to him. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He shakes his head slightly. His hands twist the steering wheel from left to right, trying to avoid the cavernous trenches that lay like land mines on a battlefield.
“Glad that vehicle was there. Without it, this would’ve been a much different story.”
I agree with a single nod, but give no reply.
Lucas places his palm on my shoulder. He gives it a pat or two, which says more than his words could.
We finally reach the end of the trail. Dirt and grass morph into concrete and tar. The rutted earth gives way to solid, even ground. The tires gain traction, and squeal as they cling to the damp road.
Lucas cuts the steering wheel to the left. The truck turns on a dime as he brings the steel beast under submission. He pushes the truck past sixty, and our journey to the safe zone has begun.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The long desolate road.
The highways seem so much emptier now that the world is sinking further and further into oblivion. Despite the abandoned vehicles that randomly litter the highway, the absence of the non-infected brings the current state of affairs into perspective.
It is grim. The sight of humanity crumbling is such a terrifying and gut-wrenching thought to process, even for a fifteen-year-old. How many non-infected people are left? What sort of future do I have to look forward to? Such thoughts hurt my brain. As long as I have Duke, and some sort of human connection in this new world that is taking shape around me, I may have a chance at surviving this. That last one seems like a long shot, though.
Aside from Lucas, I haven’t seen another person who didn’t want to eat me. Not since Dawson perished on that bridge.
It has been a month, perhaps more, since I arrived at the cabin. A part of me wonders if Lucas was sent my way to help save me from myself.
I’m not religious, nor was my mom and dad. They just believed that when you do good, it will come back to you in your moment of need. And for me, I was there.
My mind was in a dark place. I was living inside my head. Sitting in the familiarity of the cabin drudged up so many happy memories that I feared I would never have again. To be fair, I kind of still am in a dark place. But having that connection with another human has drawn me back from the darkness that was beckoning me into the vast ether of madness.
Granted, I have only known Lucas for a short period of time. I have run the gambit of coming across decent people in this deprived world, as well as vile individuals. Those who seek nothing more than to add to the destruction that the chasers are already causing.
Despite being content and relieved with his presence, though, I’m still being cautious. At the end of the day, my goal is still the same. Get to Mom and Cindy however I need to. If he manages to stay along for the ride, so be it.
Lucas stretches his arms out in front of him. He gives a big yawn as he rubs his hand up and down his face. He blinks and opens his eyes wide.
He looks tired. Purple and black bags rest under each eye. His face hangs with a spent expression. I have been so out of it, I‘m not sure how much rest he got before we were forced to flee the cabin.
I sit up straight, and ask, “When’s the last time you had some sleep?”
Lucas shrugs. “Depends.”
“Depends on what?” I reply.
“Your definition of sleep.” He adjusts the temperature on the dash. It’s warm and toasty, which probably compounds the sluggishness he’s coping with. He twists the control knob more to the cold blue side, cracks his window, and places his left elbow on the door’s armrest.
The cool crisp air whistles inside the cab. I draw my arms tighter across my chest. The drop in temperature doesn’t seem to faze Lucas all that much.
“How about I take over for a while? Let you get some rest.”
Lucas gives me a precarious stare. He then looks out to the road ahead. He rubs his chin, then the back of his neck. He seems hesitant about relinquishing control of the truck to a kid. “I’m good. The warm air is just working on me. Get some of that cool refreshing air in my face, and I’ll be good.”
I scoff, and shake my head.
“What?” he asks.
“I have driven before.” Not sure why his dismissal of the notion chaps me so bad, but it does. “My dad would let me drive his Bronco up through the woods on our hunting trips. By his standards, which were strict to say the least, I did fairly well.”
Lucas nods. “I imagine you did, but this is a tad bit different than being out in the middle of the woods.”
Whatever. “I’m just trying to be helpful. The last thing either of us want, or need, is for you to black out while behind the wheel. You’re obviously tired and need some rest. But hey, what do I know? I’m just a kid, after all.”
It’s hard to tell if Lucas is angry at my sarcastic and derogative tone, or if he is just so tired that his face appears agitated.
His furrowed frown turns into a smirk as he chuckles. “All right, James.” He slows the truck down and pulls off to the side of the road. He puts it into park, but keeps the engine idling. “You sure about this?”
“Yeah. It’s not that hard. Stay on the road, and watch out for the abandone
d cars. If I see a chaser, I’ll mow it down. That’s ten points, right?”
Lucas presents me with that all too familiar stare that Dad would when I’d tried to be funny in a serious moment. He tilts his head slightly forward and to the right. His lips purse together as his eyes narrow at me. It makes me wonder if Lucas has kids or not.
“Funny, James.” He kicks open his door and hops out. The hinges of the door squeaking brings Duke to life in the back seat. He sits up, yawns, and gives his coat a good shake before leaning forward and licking my left ear.
“Did you sleep well, boy?”
Duke answers with a groan and an additional lick to the face.
Lucas makes his way around the front of the truck.
I slide across the bench seat, and settle in front of the steering wheel. My foot reaches for the gas pedal. It makes it about halfway up the floorboard before I have to stretch my leg out further. The seat needs to be adjusted some.
My hand searches just below me. Moving from side to side, my fingers discover a bar. Lucas opens the passenger side door and slides in.
“Grab that bar, and move it to the right. Should allow you to adjust the seat if you need to.” His door closes with a dull, hollow thud.
I work the handle to the right, and pull the seat forward. It moves up slightly before locking back into place. My foot is now able to reach the pedal with ease.
I check the mirrors first. Adjusting each as needed. I fasten my safety belt.
Lucas leans back into the seat and watches my every move. He doesn’t say a word as I finish my pre-driving checklist. “Everything in order?”
“Yeah. Just trying to get familiar with where everything is at first.” I’m a bit nervous. That much is obvious. To me, it is anyways. I don’t want to come across as some overly helpless child. I have survived through so much so far, and I want to show that I can handle myself. I think Lucas can see that, or at least, I hope he can.
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