by Bowie Ibarra
George loved her as a dear friend and did not want to argue with her over her conscious decision.
“You know it’s very dangerous right now in Austin, right?”
“You’ve told me about it already, remember?”
“Still, everything I said is true, Keri.”
The two stood in silence for a while, resting their foreheads on each other.
Keri whispered, “I’m going to miss your smile.”
“I’ll miss yours more,” George replied.
“You’ve always been a good friend. I want you to know that. I hope this isn’t a permanent goodbye.”
“It won’t be,” George said. “We’ll see each other again down the road.”
“Here’s hoping,” Keri said. She kissed him.
A click and the sound of a classroom door opening awakened their senses. They quietly followed the noise to its source down the hallway at the other end. The sight of a zombie, wearing the funk of a day’s worth of post-death decay as it shambled clumsily into the hallway, confirmed their fears. George had entered the school from a window in that exact room. A creature wearing a computer monitor on its head had been wedged into the open window, exposing it to zombies outside. George was uncertain if another would figure out that it could enter from there.
One did.
“Maybe its just one,” George said.
Another entered the hallway, dragging the gnawed stump of its foot behind it—another victim turned perpetrator. That was how the cycle worked.
“This is not good,” Keri said.
Yet another entered, followed by two more. The second zombie caught sight of Keri and George and advanced toward them. The others quickly followed suit, like soldiers following their leader into battle. Their moans echoed through the hallway.
“Listen, Keri. They just upped the ante. We gotta move. You ready?”
Keri bit her bottom lip, looking at the advancing gang of flesh eaters, second-guessing her chances.
Before she knew it, George had whipped her out the front doors and into the fray. Keri yelped with surprise as the two dashed down the concrete walkway to the parking lot amid a modest gathering of zombies. She kept her eyes focused on the back of George’s freshly washed red and black flannel shirt, not so much wondering why he was wearing it during these hot spring days, but mostly to keep from looking at the putrefied faces of the living dead, not unlike being afraid of heights and not looking down.
Zombies in the parking lot began focusing their pursuit at the living humans. Fortunately, Keri and George were able to negotiate most of the distance to the lot before any of the zombies near the school noticed. But it did not take long for every one of them to shift their random shuffling to direct pursuit of the two as the couple arrived at Keri’s car.
She pulled her keyring from her pocket and shuffled through the keys. She had their order memorized, so she found the correct one quickly, even through the panic.
George grabbed her for one last kiss before pushing her into the driver’s seat.
“Drive it like you stole it, babe,” he said. “Go.”
She tried to say, “Call me when you get to San Uvalde,” but George slammed the door shut before she could finish.
As she put the keys in the ignition and started it, she heard George say something, but it was too muffled through the glass and the noise of the engine. She tried to read his lips, but couldn’t.
She watched George dash across the parking lot, heading to his own car that he had parked on the other side of the street behind the sign of a local subdivision, mostly hidden from view. He scuffled briefly with a couple of the monsters before climbing in and driving away. It didn’t take long for his car to be just a tiny spot in the distance.
“Let him make it okay,” she whispered.
A creature tripped and fell on the hood of her vehicle, waking her from her thoughts. She shifted into reverse and hit the gas. If she was going to tally the number of zombies she was going to finish off on her journey, she officially bagged her first as she backed up her vehicle. The ghoul was violently knocked to the ground, bouncing its head off the pavement with enough force to put it out of commission. Keri provided a final slap in the flesh eater’s dead face by backing over its legs. She couldn’t hear the crunch they made, but she could certainly feel the bumps.
Though she was afraid, she girded herself with courage to face what stood before her in Austin and on the road to Houston.
She watched the batch of zombies around the school scramble to try to catch her, but it was no use. Flicking her blinker on out of habit, she turned out of the parking lot, then hit Koehler’s Crossing on the way to IH-35.
The sky was blue. The clouds were full and white. Birds flew across the sky.
It confused Keri that the end of the world was looking like just another day. Where was the blood moon? The boiling seas? The falling skies? The earthquakes and the fire and the brimstone?
But as she drove down Koehler’s Crossing, it did not take long for her to understand that, signs or no signs, the world was done for. The sight before her was confirmation that despite the natural world taking its course, her civilized world was out of order.
To her left sat a small car, wrecked and desolate in a ditch. Blood caked the windows and interior with death. On the road, a large gathering of vultures had picked apart a corpse right down to the bone. Only a cowardly few chose to give up their spot by the body as Keri drove by. The pungent stench of the vultures and rotting carrion they were eating drifted through the vents and went straight for Keri’s nose.
She passed the body and continued on, seeing two charred-black vehicles, wrecked and skeletal on the road. She felt as if they were two lonesome guards protecting the road to IH-35, granting permission to any that dared pass, like stone lions at the gates of an aristocratic estate. If this was a taste of how the crisis had affected the small town of Koehl, she could only imagine what Austin looked like, much less Houston.
The world was falling apart, just like her relationship with her now ex-boyfriend did.
Monday night after work had been miserable. She suspected Chris was cheating on her after spending too many nights alone. The queen-sized bed they slept in together never seemed so vast, so lonely than on the nights he said he was working late. When she confronted him about a curious list of phone numbers she found hidden in Dr. Phil’s Family First book, he was belligerent.
“Keri, after all I do for you, you treat me like this?”
“Who are these numbers for, Chris?”
“No one, Keri. No one.”
“Then who’s Laurie?”
Chris flinched.
Keri caught him.
“Get out of my house,” she groaned, sad and defeated.
Chris picked up his jacket and walked out. Keri cried herself to sleep in her bed, the light from the television danced across her body and against the wall behind her as she sulked. Drowning in sadness, she ignored the first televised reports of the dead rising from the graves.
The next morning at work, she remembered seeing George Zaragosa making copies before class.
“How are you, Miss Lawrence?” George asked courteously.
“Mr. Zaragosa, I’m great. How are you?” She offered a brief and casual hug that George readily accepted. Their hearts resonated with positive energy.
“I’m doing okay now,” he said. “A hug is a near cure-all, even for bad mornings.”
“You’re too sweet, Mr. Zaragosa,” she said. In an effort to keep their attraction as ambiguous as possible to their old, stuffy co-workers, she moved to her office mailbox, pulled out her mail, and proceeded back to her room. She passed her hand along George’s lower back as she walked by. “Bye,” she said, lacing each letter with appreciation.
“Take it easy,” he said, charged by her energy. Her fingers pulsed with electricity as it passed across his back.
And suddenly, the last words he mouthed to her just moments before in the school
parking lot became perfectly clear.
Take it easy.
These were always George’s parting words, no matter what the conversation or circumstances.
Take it easy.
For the rest of that final, fateful day at school, she followed his advice. Even when several children in her class fell ill with a severe fever, she found a happy place. And when she heard one of the coaches had bashed in the head of one of the monsters that morning with a football helmet, she tried to take it easy.
On her return home, her now ex-boyfriend had left a cruel message on her cell phone.
“Hi, Keri. It’s Chris. Thank you for making my life much better by dumping me. I was tired of your dumb shit anyway. There’s no money in teaching. Yeah, you might be young and pretty now, but just wait. One day you’ll wake up just another gray-haired crone, bitter and angry. You’re a loser, Keri. I don’t want to waste the rest of my life with a loser. So thanks for the dump. See ya’.”
She tried to take it easy.
She tried.
But everywhere she looked in the sacred space of her home provided a painful memory: The dining room table where Chris made a candlelit dinner. The couch in the living room where every Friday night was movie night, where they drank, shared a jay, and had sex.
All that seemed like yesterday, but things had not been the same for the past three months. No candlelit dinners. No movie night. No sex.
She tried to take it easy.
She tried.
But she couldn’t.
She was realizing how scared she was of being alone, but even when she wasn’t alone she still felt lonely. Had it always been this way?
The news reports on TV didn’t help her depression any: Economic decline, perpetual war, allegations of the dead rising from the grave and attacking the living.
She could think of only one distraction: Go back to work and catch up on her grading.
And so she drove, ignoring the ambulances, the police sirens, and the sporadic scenes of chaos. Everything would soon be under control, surely.
And so she went to class and she worked.
And worked.
And worked some more.
She entered grades. She worked on lesson plans. She prepped her room for the spring months. She swept. She wiped boards. She sanitized desks. Anything to pull her away from Chris’ memory.
Then something did.
As twilight fell across Branton Junior High, a movement outside caught her eye. She moved to the window to get a closer look.
She could not run away anymore. Not from Chris. Not from work. And not from the mysterious plague. The sunset—the twilight of the dead—was shifting quickly to night, and it would be hours before daylight would arrive. Hours before she would even dare try to run. She had to face two realities:
One: Chris was gone. He was not going to return to save her.
Two: The crisis was real. It was right outside her classroom.
She tried to “take it easy,” but couldn’t.
Stuck and alone, she fell asleep the same way she had the night before. Only this time, a cold floor and howls of undead pain were the solace that kissed her tears away.
It wasn’t until the next morning that the two creatures found the door she had unwittingly left slightly ajar. That afternoon, they found her. Good thing George did, too.
Sometimes the universe provides what you need when you need it most, she decided.
The momentary solace provided at the school now at its end, she sat in her car at the bridge that led to the access road leading to IH-35 north. It was the quickest way back to Austin. The Burger King at one corner was now itself being flamebroiled and the Conoco across the bridge at the adjacent corner was abuzz with activity. The road she was about to travel looked more like a demolition derby than a freeway.
Taking a deep breath, she crossed the bridge to face her destiny somewhere up the road on north IH-35.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
11:35 AM
Travis County Jail
“We’ve contained everyone considered dangerous in Cell Block 3, but we’re not sure now how many others might be sick with whatever it is they’re going crazy with,” Nick Lopez reported to his nemesis, Deputy Officer Jeanette Coleman.
“Well, it doesn’t matter now, Lopez,” she said, looking distressed and distracted. “I just got a call from Homeland Security. We are to release all prisoners.”
“Do what?”
“You heard me. I’m initiating a Code 26 call in five minutes. All staff needs to evacuate before the cells are opened. Get your gear and get ready to leave. You’re relieved of your duties.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
His heart began pounding nervously. As soon as he exited the office he moved into the hallway to call his wife on his cell phone. After two rings, she answered.
“Nick?” she said, as if his cell number popping up on their caller ID wasn’t sufficient proof it was him.
“Theresa?”
“Oh, Nick,” she sighed, a fair maiden answering the call of her knight in the parlance of their time. “Nick, there’s some strange shit going on.”
“Baby, I know all about it—and then some. Are you and L.J. okay?”
“We’re fine. Just get to us, please.”
“Listen, I need you to lock the doors and stay in place. I’ll be there soon, okay? I promise.”
She started sobbing, happy to hear him, yet detecting the urgency in his voice. “Nick, what’s going on?”
He wasn’t going to bullshit her. “Theresa, baby, things are about to get crazy around here. Just trust me. I’ll get to you as soon as I can.”
Her love for her man was resonating in her being, reaching out for him, dreaming of his return. “You’d better get here, goddammit. You’d better. You promised.”
“I promise you, baby.” He added one last comment. “Kiss L.J. for me, okay?”
They said their goodbyes.
His heart continued to pound in his chest. His plan was sinister, but he knew it might be the only way he could guarantee his escape. He could not do it alone.
* * *
Nick Lopez was Hector ‘Sleepy’ Arana’s outside man, and if Nick could get to him before the Code 26 call, he would have a distinct advantage over the others. In his first full day of incarceration, Sleepy had already assumed control within his cell block. Alliances were quickly switched and a power struggle was now ensuing, with several factions vying for control.
Walking along the hallway, Nick could hear CB’s spring to life, signaling the beginning of the Code 26 call. It was giving all Travis County employees (the ones that decided to show up to work, anyway,) a chance to evacuate the building before all the prisoners were released.
—Every solitary one.
Nick entered the munitions room and grabbed two shotguns. He exited the room and broke the key off in the lock. Now the only access was a keypad near the door, and he knew the number.
The prison hummed with the scurrying feet of evacuating employees, who were more than ready and willing to flee. Nick was moving against their current, the only one attempting to go deeper into the prison.
He was not sure what the problem was, but knew the sick people being released could be a definite X-factor in the escape. They were going to have a lot to deal with along the way; they didn’t need crazy biting people to hinder their progress.
He had hatched a simple plan. Moving close to the cell block holding the sick inmates, Nick attached eight handcuffs he took from the ammunition room to the bars of several cells to prevent the door to the cell block from opening. He wasn’t sure if it would work. But it was the only plan he had at the moment. No one passing by questioned him, despite their suspicions.
Nick then moved toward Sleepy’s cell block. No one was at their post, and Nick entered the code to enter the cell block.
Sensing the urgency, the prisoners were getting restless. From every cell came screaming voices and the clattering of tin cups
. A thin paper arrow whizzed past his head. Several flaming rolls of toilet paper had already been tossed and were rolling around on the prison floor.
He found Sleepy’s cell, and saw the thug reclining in his bottom bunk.
“Nick Lopez,” he said. “What brings you here?”
“They’re letting ya’ll out. Travis County is going their own way. I need your help.”
“My help?”
“I’ll let you out now. Get a jump on the escape if you’ll help me. I know a place we can go.”
Sleepy looked around at the panic surrounding them. Then he looked at the two shotguns Nick was holding. Then Sleepy looked into Nick’s eyes and nodded his head.
“I’ll help you.”
Nick handed him a shotgun.
Sleepy immediately turned around in his cell and blasted his cell mate directly in the chest. The fellow had barely stepped down from the top bunk, curious as to why a prison guard was visiting. His mortally wounded heart pumped its last few streams of life force in all directions, his face forever frozen in painful surprise.
Nick was equally taken by surprise when Sleepy cocked the gun and pointed it at him. He put up his hands.
“What makes you think I won’t kill you?” Sleepy asked, lightly tapping his finger on the trigger.
“Hey Lopez!” someone shouted. “What are you doing?!”
It was one of the security guards, an acquaintance to Nick, but nowhere close to a friend.
Rule change.
Sensing an opportunity to prove his allegiance, Nick turned to the guard and blasted him in the belly.
Nick turned back to Sleepy. “You wanna keep talkin’ or do you wanna get the fuck out of here?”
Sleepy laughed his approval as Nick manually unlocked his cell. Another fiery roll of toilet paper bounced against Sleepy’s cell bars as the two raced away.
On the way down, Sleepy moved to a locked cell and opened fire on the imprisoned. He then crossed to another and shared his metal load with two more inmates, bathing their cell in an abstract painting of murder.
