by David Smith
He shook it off and got to his knees, reaching in to pull the woman out just as her fuel tank ruptured and flames shot up around the car in another whoosh. He dropped her, throwing his arms up in front of his face. She panicked more intensely and climbed back over the front seat to escape the flames. He looked at us through the flames then down into the car. The dead were on fire now, still reaching for him but all of them jammed between the wreckage and each other. He looked like he was standing in Hell, trying to find a way out for himself and still find a way to save her. When he realized that the entire care was on fire, including the interior, he had no choice but to run. I could hear her screaming over the roar of the fire as he limped quickly over the roof, climbed on top of the van and made his way back to the truck. He threw the ax in ahead of him and I grabbed his hand as he climbed up the steps, good leg first. A stray grabbed his shirt as he pulled himself up and he kicked it in the face with his wounded leg and let out an angry groan. Slamming the door, he threw his head back against the back window and gritted his teeth in pain.
His sweat mingled with their blood and ran down his face as he pulled his belt out of the loops and handed it too me. "Put it above the knee and pull it tight as you can." Then he put the truck in reverse and started driving as I worked to get the belt around his thigh.
"You get any of that things blood in the wound?" Daddy asked him.
"I don't think so, trajectory put me out of the splatter I think. If I have a fever by the time we get where we're going you won't have to shoot me. I'll do it myself." He grunted.
The thought of losing him this way hit me so hard, I stopped what I was doing. "Pull it tight!" He barked. His face was red and little blisters were raising up all over his cheeks and forehead. I looked at his hands on the wheel and the backs of his forearms. They skin was already streaked white with bursting blisters, third degree burns.
He ran the truck like a quarter horse for the first mile, angry, more than angry. "Son, take a breath and slow down." Daddy suggested slowly and calmly. Your Dad rung the steering wheel with his hand, the blisters tearing open and oozing.
"I should have hung on to her." He grunted through his teeth.
"Don't start that. Don't do that to yourself. We all know you did everything you could, including yourself. Now, do you want me to drive?"
He didn't answer and we sat in silence the rest of the way here. We got on the interstate and followed it only a few miles before turning off the Nicholson exit. We drove for a few miles, past a lot of trees and a long cemetery with a brick wall between it and the road, before the reaching the guard shack for Stennis Space Center. We drove through on the main road, a big four lane that was completely empty but for just a few dead wandering here and there. The road to the bunker was empty though, as was the area around it, no sign of the dead or the living.
You were born a little over couple years later. A little over two years after that we had your sister and your grandpa delivered both of you. I'm surprised you don't remember him. He didn't die till you were about four, brain cancer. He always believed things would get back to normal one day, that the government would get things under control and the military would come save us. That was always a point of contention between your Dad and him.
Chapter 3: Basic Training
I guess I've just always had an inquisitive mind because every time someone has given me answers, my mind takes them, processes them and brings forth more questions from each. For this reason and for a few others, I decided it was time to leave the bunker.
I had to know more about how it all happened and if we could survive in the bunker, couldn't there be others somewhere? Also, I had found a magazine once in the bottom of one of the containers. It was my favorite book, other than the history textbook, until my Mom found me up in the chute, holding the steel trap door up with my shoulder, neck bent, trying to catch a beam of sunlight at the right angle to illuminate the images without throwing a glare off the glossy pages. She hid it until Dad got back and they decided that, 'especially with these living arrangements it wasn't good to let him be exposed to such literature. There was no sense in letting him get my hopes up.' I had no idea what they meant by that but it didn't matter because Dad kept the magazine in his possession until the next supply run when it disappeared for good.
I knew it was time to leave and I made no secret about it. I knew that when I left, I might not come back and even if I did, they might be gone so I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. Besides, the thought of leaving that way just felt deceitful and cowardly. When I told them my plans, all Hell broke loose at first. Dad yelled, Mom cried and I even thought he would hit me a couple times as I stood at attention in front of him, but he never did. After they calmed down, we all decided that I would go but not before going on a few supply runs with Dad first.
#
For three weeks, Dad was harder on me than he had ever been. I saw a different side of him. He treated me not like a son, but like a soldier in training. He made me run laps inside the bunker until there were puke strings connecting my chin to my shirt. Then he made me do push-up, sit-ups, chin-ups, and roll left and right in it till I was covered. The smell and the exhaustion would make me puke till I dry heaved.
"If you're going to go with me," He would yell in a voice not like his own. "you've got to get use to it. If you think this is bad, it's nothing like out there. In here, you're safe." I didn't know if he was trying to convince me to stay or push me out even faster.
One day, I was struggling to do the last push-up, arms shaking, back giving out and bowing to the ground, and I fell, face bouncing off the concrete. My nose started bleeding and mixing with the sweat and puke on the floor. He dropped down next to me, his hand splashing in the soup.
"You done?" he asked quietly but menacingly. "I can save you in here. You can quit and I can pick you up and wash you off and your momma can tuck you into bed." He waited for a response but I just kept trying to push. "Out there, you lay here like this and they're not gonna pick you up. They're not gonna give you the chance to say, 'I quit, I can't take it anymore.'" He said in a whiny, mocking tone. "Say it in here and I'll back off. Say it out there and they're gonna rip you apart. That's the only way it ends out there." He waited as I kept trying to push up then he stood. "You lay there and think about it till you can get up." He said, then walked away.
I tried to deduce what the point of this was. Was he just trying to change my mind? I couldn't let myself believe that this man, who had always taught me to be straight forward and honest, could me so manipulative. In my mind I wanted to believe that he wanted what I wanted, for me to leave, be my own man, make a life of my own. But another part of me believed that he just wanted to protect me, or keep me there because he needed the extra set of hands and I almost resented him for that but realized that maybe it was necessary and he had no choice. Mostly, I hoped he knew I would pass this test and he would be proud that I hadn't given up.
He wasn't watching so I knew I could just get up from the floor, walk up to him and tell him I did the last push-up properly, but that would be a lie. He would never know but I still, I would know that I wasn't strong enough. So I just lay there, my hands planted flat on the ground, picturing the outside world; the trees and the sunlight, mountains and oceans. I pictured my favorite woman from that magazine, walking next to me through the desert in boots and short shorts and a button-down shirt, the tails tied up in front, her hips swaying back and forth with every step, stopping to take a break and her dropping her pack and arching her back to take a deep breath, her chest rising and her ribs and hips moving under her smooth skin, exhaling through softly pursed lips.
I lifted my head off the floor, tightened up every muscle in my body and pushed against the floor, raising myself up, arms fully extended. I put one leg under me and stood only to be tackled by Dad. He jumped on top of me, his knees on my elbows and started slapping me hard across the face.
"Throw me off! Throw me off!" He repeated
as he kept hitting me. "What are you gonna do?" I struggled to free my arms. "Where do you find water?" He slapped me again as I tried to answer. "How do you build a snare?" He said and slapped me again. "How are you gonna get up? What's your plan?"
I finally wiggled one arm free by pushing his knee up onto my chest then turned underneath him. His full weight went to the other knee, crushing that arm. It hurt but I ignored it and and brought my knee up as hard as I could into his kidney. He fell forward and I used his momentum to throw him past me, flat out on the floor. I jumped up and got onto his back before he could get to his hands and knees. I couldn't get him into a full choke hold but I managed to keep him from getting up for a moment.
He spun underneath me quickly but didn't spin me off and I was now looking down at him. Before he knew it I had punched him across the chin, turning his head. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me down close to him. He wasn't hurting me but had gone on the defense. I fought to get posted back up but couldn't free myself so I pushed against him hard enough to raise my head just a little then dropped it hard into his nose.
"Alright!" He said and squeezed me tighter, me struggling against him again. "That's enough!" He shouted and released me. I jumped up, pushing him down, and stepped back, ready for a stand-up fight.
He just put his hand up for me to take it, blood running from his nose down both sides of his face. "You gonna help me up or kill me?" He chuckled.
He spent the next three days teaching me how to shoot; sight picture, breathing, trigger squeeze, follow through. I heard those four phrases more times than I heard, 'I love you.' Or 'I'm proud of you.' in my entire life. I never got to fire a live round because there was no place to do it and practice was just wasting the limited bullets we had, but I got to where I could fire without dropping a dime off the barrel 9 out of 10 times.
The night before the first run, Dad gave me one last pep talk as we packed up a little food and a lot of guns and ammo. "We're gonna be moving faster and further than you've run in the bunker. We've got to move fast enough to keep a good distance between us and the ones behind us because they'll be chasing, but slow enough to watch out ahead so we don't run right up in the middle of a herd. Just stay right on my heels and I'll set the pace. Another thing, it's a scary feeling being out there in the open with 'em. Don't get excited and waste your ammo on those who don't pose a threat. For one, you gotta save it for when you really need it and second, if they haven't noticed us, it's best not to draw their attention. If there's one in the way, sneak up on it, bust it in the back of the head and keep hitting it till it quits moving."
I lay down that night on my mattress on the floor, far more excited than scared or worried. I knew that somewhere out there was something better than what I had. Even if it was certain death, at least it would be something different. I knew there had to be others, like us, somewhere.
From the books I had read, I knew the world had become an awful place full of awful and stupid people before the outbreak had occurred. Perhaps now, somewhere far from this place, there were entire cities that had been scrubbed clean by the virus like a fire cleans the woods of weeds and rotten logs. Maybe men like my father had cleaned up the mess like the wind and the rain washes away the ashes and they had rebuilt. Maybe somewhere beyond the woods surrounding us and the dead that filled them, were all the good people who had survived.
Ever since I could remember, it had been hard to fall asleep. I was just too bored and knew that sleep would only bring another day of the same. But that night, even with all the excitement and anticipation, I fell asleep in moments because I was just that physically exhausted.
#
Images began to materialize, fuzzy at first but slowly becoming clear as I walked through the bunker. The bunker was full of people; some cleaning guns, some cooking, some sweeping the floor, some washing clothes in a tub but all were happy, talking and laughing. I looked around for Mom and Dad or Beth but couldn't find them. They could have been anyone because they all had their backs to me but as I walked through them and turned to see their faces, they were always facing the other way.
When I reached the big, metal door, I looked up and it was slid wide open. I could see the dead out in the woods, just outside the fence. They were walking along it, making their way slowly to the gate at the other end of the compound and I knew I needed to close the door but I looked to my right and there was girl, standing next to me and watching them.
The sun was rising just in front of her and it was so bright that I couldn't see her face, just her silhouette but I could tell she was smiling a very peaceful, reassuring smile. She was so pretty, I forgot about the dead for the moment. I moved to the left, to try to get a view of her without the sun behind her but face went dark, like a shadow fell over it.
"Why can't I see you?" I asked.
"Because I'm not here." She replied.
"But you're standing right in front of me."
She put her hand on my chest and I could feel that she cared for me, deeply. "Because you're not here either." She said then started walked slowly out into the open field between the bunker and the fence.
I ran out to stop her, looking over my shoulder to see if they were at the gate yet and they were gone. "Where are you going?" The sun was still blinding me.
"I'll go with you wherever you go." She said and although I couldn't see her face, I guess you could say, I could feel her smiling. "Will you take me with you?"
"Of course I will." I said then looked around and we were outside of the fence and the dead were everywhere around us, closing in quickly. I grabbed her hand and ran back toward the fence and suddenly, we were inside the door again. "We've got to get this door closed!" I said, fearfully. I looked up and it wasn't her hand, but my sister's.
"Let go of my hand, dork." She said and I slung it away from me.
"Where's that girl?" I asked.
"She's out there." She replied
I looked out the door and the dead were through the gate and getting closer. I didn't see her. "Where?"
"You gonna close the door or let us all get killed?" Beth asked, sarcastically.
I looked around and they were all gone. "All who?"
"The ones out there." She replied, pointing up and over the tops of the trees.
"But, where's the girl?"
"There is no girl. Now close the door."
I pulled the chains and the door closed but left a gap a foot wide at the righg side. 'They're going to get in.' I thought. Suddenly, I was frozen and they were right outside and stared squeezing through. That's when I woke up.
I never saw her face in the dream but I remembered her voice being so audibly vivid. Now, I couldn't remember the sound of it. In my half-awake foggy headedness, it was like losing the love of my life, then getting Alzheimer's and losing the memory of her as well.
Chapter 4: Out of the Darkness
I had never seen Mom so nervous. She wouldn't smile, wouldn't say a word, just kept twirling a bit of hair between her fingers with her other arm holding the elbow and her eyes on the floor.
"Don't worry." He said to her as he touched her arm. "Just like any other run." She nodded. "We'll be back before dark."
"Let's just get this over with. I'm ready for y'all to be back already."
There was no long goodbye hug or any other ritual performed. To do so would have made it feel too much like goodbye. Instead, we just behaved like we were walking into the next room and back. This kept the very real possibility of not making it back, out of the front of our minds.
We went through the process of getting out safely; Mom shooting out of the front door with Beth hold the prop for her while Dad and I waited at the top hatch. I looked at Dad's face and for the first time in my life I saw something more than a cold, hard sense of duty. There was pride, a little fear and something reassuring as he looked at me and smiled shakily.
He pushed the hatch open and went first. I climbed out, letting the trap door slam behind me, jumpe
d out of the hole and unslung the rifle from my shoulder as soon as I got my footing.
It was slightly overcast but the morning sun was still blinding to my virgin eyes. When they adjusted, I was overcome with a sense of vertigo as, for the first time, I could see further than fifty feet. The thin, low ceiling of gray clouds actually helped this feeling and gave me a sense of distance, being the only thing that made it feel like there was something to save me if gravity suddenly failed. There was a light fog that allowed for a distant view but also gave a false sense of security, like we were standing in a sectioned off piece of the world, an artificial nature inside a hazy sphere.
We were standing on a grassy mound that sloped down steeply on three sides, about twenty feet to the ground. There were about three other mounds, identical to ours, lined up beside each other with the same sloping sides making a valley in between each one. What used to be a gravel road encircled them all in one big rectangular loop. Twenty years worth of grass had sprouted up through the gravel making it more of a grass road with rocks in the roots. The entire compound was surrounded by tall, straight pines rising from thick underbrush on a very flat landscape except for the far side where there was a guard tower of sorts and a high fence. The gravel road turned to concrete just before going out through a gate and coming to a T then following parallel to the outside of the fence. There was another road that turned off from that one just about even with the guard tower and was so straight that I could see so far down that it disappeared through the foggy sphere. The old military truck was sitting just where Mom had described, grass growing tall around and under it and a small pine tree growing up through the fender well.
