Least Likely To Survive

by Lisa Biesiada

  Just as I was about to head for the door, I decided to grab the sword I had used to bring about Salvatore’s gruesome end; cautiously wiping the gore off the blade using his pant leg and slipped it into a sheath that had been displayed beneath the sword and secured it to my thigh, thinking it may come in handy later.

  I slowly approached the door, and looked out the glass to see if I had anything to worry about upon my exit. The parking lot still appeared empty, so I pulled open the door, cursing the tattle-tale little bell, and proceeded to the shop next door, which happened to be the grocer. Aside from the gun shop, this was another main reason I chose this particular strip mall: During any sort of catastrophe, where do most people head? Cosco and Cabella’s. Knowing both would be overrun with harried zombies, which also meant thieves, my spidey senses knew the ethnic grocery store would have a much better chance at being deserted. Low and behold I was right.

  I entered the store, took a swift look around, and discovered I was alone. Wasting no time, I grabbed some empty bags and got to work filling them with canned goods; smartly avoiding anything that may cause future digestive issues. No one really needs to come down with a bout of diarrhea while running from zombies.

  Unfortunately, my Spanish was not the best, and most of the food was unreadable to me. Yet each package had pictures, which made it a little easier to figure out what I might need. Loaded down with all I could carry; which would have surprised me had I not always been a firm believer in ‘breaking your arms is worth it in the name of making only one trip’, I ran behind the counter, pausing to seize some beef jerky; sure I would need the extra protein, and also snagged two cartons of Marlboro Lights and a few extra lighters. End of the world or not, I doubted now was the best time to give up smoking if I could help it. Besides, they were lights which are basically diet cigarettes so I felt somewhat justified.

  After stocking myself up, I again approached the door to leave and was hit with a moment of brilliance: In the parking lot stood Salvatore’s tricked out Hummer, complete with spare gas cans strapped to the back and I just happened to still have his keys on me. I had no idea what awaited me, but knew that 4-wheel drive would surely be a good thing, and started to formulate a plot. Somehow I had to reach the Hummer, throw all the food stuffs inside, go back to my car and grab my pack. I took a few extra minutes to study the parking lot, which was still deserted, and calculate the distance between the two vehicles. Thinking the whole production would probably take less than 60 seconds, I inhaled deeply, and ran.

  Just as I was getting through the doorway, ladled with my guns and shopping bags, I almost ran face first into a zombie that had been turning the corner during my assessment, effectively escaping my notice. I had thankfully been carrying all my bags in my left hand, freeing my right to open the door; so I used said hand to unsheathe the Smith & Wesson from under my left arm and in true cowboy fashion: aimed and fired.

  I felt the kickback shoot up my arm into my shoulder, and immediately regretted not grabbing something lighter in weight. I had been so concerned with choosing weapons of maximum damage it had escaped my attention to think about the repercussions of firing. Oh well, I would live, and maybe it would add to the cardio and address the weird underarm ‘chicken flap’ all women bemoan.

  I finished internally scolding myself in time to see that the zombie was only a couple of feet in front of me, and I had scored a direct hit between its eyes. Shooting someone in the head at point blank distance is messy. Brains and blood shot everywhere, spattering the window of the store, and the sidewalk. But it worked out nicely as the zombie collapsed to the ground in a motionless pile of grey matter and blood.

  Reholstering the gun, I hauled ass over to the Hummer. I hit the power locks, disabling the alarm, and threw my bags into the backseat. Leaving the door open, I then dodged around the back to the other side where my car sat. Opening the door, I leaned inside and grabbed my pack from the front passenger seat and not bothering to close the door behind me, turned and bolted back to the Hummer. I scurried into the vehicle as fast as my little legs would climb; closing and locking the door behind me. I shoved the key in the ignition, and felt the rumble of the engine coming to life. For a split second I mentally chided myself for being about to drive a car without an interlock, while considering the legal ramifications if I was caught. Then I remembered that it was the end of the world and none of that crap mattered anymore. What did matter was making it to the other side of this disaster in one piece; one way or another.

  After assuring myself that all doors and windows; including the back hatch were securely closed and locked, I stopped to take stock of my new getaway car and supplies. Glancing around the dash, I couldn’t help but thank Salvatore for his good sense to customize the beast with everything a girl could possibly need. Black, brushed chrome finish, tinted windows, blue lights on the under carriage, which was a fun concept, but completely useless. Gas tank was full, and to my delight, I also noted this was also a hybrid. The stereo had an IPod adapter/charger, GPS, (which I highly doubted would be of any use) and various other accoutrements only a car-savvy person would be able to tell me about. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that in the far back sat a generator, power plug for the engine, another box of dried goods, and of course, a case of Corona. Apparently Salvatore had an apocalypse plan too, although his obviously didn’t go as well as he’d hoped.

  Out of curiosity, I reached over to the passenger side and peeked into the glove box, where to my surprise and delight sat an ounce of what looked like Sour Diesel. Damn, I was really going to miss civilization but at least I was giving myself a pretty decent send off so far.

  Chapter 2: On My Way.

  I began to remove the gun harness and the sword, so as to not accidently shoot myself while driving, and proceeded to buckle my seatbelt. Just as it clicked into place, I looked up, and to my right, I saw a woman running with a herd of zombies on her tail. She saw the Hummer with me inside and made us her new destination.

  I sat and stared as she was still a good 50 yards out; trying to decide if it was worth the risk to take on a passenger, when her shoe caught on a loose piece of concrete and she flew head over heels into the gravel. Unfortunately for her, it gave the group of zombies chasing her just enough time to close in, and I couldn’t help but gape as they began to rip hungrily into her flesh.

  Never in all my 29 years had I ever seen something so horrific. They descended upon her as a group of angry lions would a gazelle, and I watched open mouthed as they pulled back with chunks of flesh and pieces of organs. It was about the time I saw a little girl wearing a Hello Kitty jacket and light up sneakers pull up with a strand of the woman’s intestine that I decided to get the fuck out of there. It was also about that time one of them noticed the noise from the engine and was starting to advance in my direction. I put the car into gear and backed out of the spot, tires squealing as I made a left back onto 88th.

  I was headed west, towards I-25, where I already knew I would be heading south. While cruising towards Washington Street I rummaged through my pack and unearthed my hot pink, bedazzled IPod, and plugged it into the stereo, scrolling through my playlists while keeping one eye on the road. I stopped at my favorite one, and hit play; immediately relaxing as Mumford and Sons filled the speakers. Damn, they would never make another album, never play another show, and were probably dead by now. Fuck, that’s a depressing realization.

  Now that I was driving, I was free to truly assess what was happening to the world. Everyone I knew, all my friends and coworkers; all gone. I would never get to see any of the people I knew again. This was a small list, as I had no siblings and both my parents were victims of their own self-abuse.

  Needless to say, mine was not a happy childhood, but I suppose living through the fucked up shit I had prepared me for this nonsense. Although, who actually thought we would need to be prepared for zombies? I certainly didn’t, and yet was grateful for all the Call of Duty I had spent so much time playing. Something
told me it would make picking up a gun and taking down strangers a little easier. I was young, (well, youngish) and knew that cowering in my tiny apartment waiting for help that probably wouldn’t ever arrive was not how I wanted to go out. I had spent my entire life just trying to survive, and avoid disaster when I could. I had made it out of the hell that had been my adolescence, and was bound and determined to live through this fucking mess.

  I didn’t really mourn, as there wasn’t much for me to feel sorry about. No one had ever done me any favors and I had always felt that humanity in general was fucked up. As much as I knew I should be, I just couldn’t manage to muster any sorrow for all the carnage.

  Reaching Washington, I made a left, and headed south towards 84th Avenue, where I hung a right. For being a relatively populated area, the roads were somewhat clear; other than the cars already smashed into each other and buildings, and of course the crowds of infected wandering around and climbing in and out of cars. I was the lone vehicle still on the road and moving in any sort of direction. I reached the I-25 exit and made a left, turning down the onramp and merging onto the interstate.

  More cars were wrecked and abandoned, which didn’t surprise me, but what made it harrowing was that they all were still blocking the road, which made it slow going for me. Also unsettling was the little snatches of zombies huddled close to the ground, apparently feasting on the unlucky motorists who were dumb enough to get out of the car. Who the fuck gets out of the car in a crowd of zombies? Those illfated bastards; that was who. The sight of all this made me think of Jurassic Park, and of being in one of those SUVs, peering out the windows and watching dinosaurs tearing through goats. I was well aware that I had a sick and slightly warped mind, but the end of the world didn’t feel like the best time to be stoic and thoughtful.

  I was moving slow but steady as I made my way down the highway, headed towards downtown Denver. Just as I passed the exit for 20th Street was when shit started to get hairy. The road narrowed, cutting down on the amount of lanes and was blocked in by medians on both sides, so there was no way to exit in an emergency. I felt like I was playing Burnout; with the amount of cars I stealthily avoided.

  Looking at the city around me was what really caught my breath. To the left, you could still see the CenturyLink building, Elitch’s, and the new glass condos that had just gone up. But the fucked up thing was that everything was on fire. Smoke was rising from pretty much every other high rise, and the flames reflected in the glass turned the entire skyline orange. There weren’t any sounds save for the crackle of the fires, which was the most unsettling part. No traffic, no horns, no people. It really did look like the end of the fucking world. I could only stare and continue down the road as the world fell apart around me in a deafening silence.

  I reached the end of the southern Denver suburbs after what felt like an eternity, and began to ease a little as the road gave way to open fields and rolling hills on either side. I was making pretty good time, although the thought of time really made no difference now, what with the world ending and all.

  Except for the occasional car abandoned on the interstate here and there, I was essentially alone. I continued south, passing a few small towns, and eventually passed through Colorado Springs; which also looked as devastating as Denver had, although on a smaller scale. I thought about going by the Air Force or the Army base, and seeing if there was anywhere safe to camp out, but quickly decided against it as it would serve no real purpose for me.

  I kept on the road, while also keeping a wary eye on the sun in the horizon, gauging the distance to nightfall. This was something that concerned me; what was I to do about nightfall? I knew I couldn’t keep driving forever, and would eventually have to stop for sleep, and even sooner, a bathroom.

  “Ah fuck.” Just thinking about a bathroom gave me the urge to pee. I considered just pissing my pants, but cast that idea aside just as soon as it arose, and measured out my options. I could look for a gas station with a bathroom, but it was very likely to be overrun by zombies, and I didn’t fancy the idea of being caught with my pants down.

  I could pull over to the side of the road and hang my ass out the door, but again, not ideal. It was a crapshoot. As I was in the middle of nowhere, and hadn’t seen a car or a person for miles, I opted for the latter.

  I guided the car over to the shoulder, and idled for a minute, while surveying the area for any sign of a possible threat. Once I determined the coast to be clear, I opened the door, with the engine still running and proceeded to climb down the side. I stood there for a second, taking another look around and hurriedly unfastened my cargos, sliding them down to my ankles. I grabbed hold of the door handle and aimed my ass away from me, assuming the ‘crouching tiger’ hover all women have ingrained into our psyche in the happenstance we have to pee outside, or at a particularly unpleasant toilet.

  Finishing my business, I realized quickly I had no toilet paper, and grumbled to myself as I kind of shook dry. I pulled my pants back up just as fast as they came down and hauled myself back into the Hummer. “Mission Accomplished,” I told myself out loud with a large amount of satisfaction as I buckled my seat belt and steered the beast back onto the road.

  It had worked out in my favor that I had decided to hit the road early on in the day and being April, it was starting to get darker later although the chance of snow was still a real possibility. There weren’t any clouds on the horizon so I figured I still had a few good daylight hours to burn.

  I was somewhere between Colorado Springs and Pueblo when I noticed the gas gauge was starting a slow decline. I still had a good amount of gas, but decided this would be an excellent time to find a po-dunk station somewhere and refuel. Plus, I hadn’t been able to check to see if the gas cans on the back were full or not. I was pondering this dilemma as fate intervened, and placed just such a gas station off in the distance.

  I was driving through what might be a town, as I could see houses off in the distance with what looked like a gas station/general store just off the road. I reasoned this was as good a place as any to stop.

  I started to slow the Hummer, while peering around, attempting to gauge the situation. As I got closer, I noticed there was a black Lincoln Navigator already parked at the pumps, but didn’t see anyone else around. I pulled in and stopped at the pump right in front of the Navigator, and proceeded to rearm myself. I strapped into my amazingly bad-ass gun harness, and strapped my short sword back to my thigh. Suddenly it occurred to me I had no idea how I was actually going to procure the gasoline.

  In today’s world, gone are the days when you can just pull up and fill up, then go in and pay. Now you have to prepay with either a card outside, or from the attendant inside. I didn’t really want to go inside unless I absolutely had to, so I grabbed my debit card from my wallet and stuck it in my bra strap; as a pocket would take too much time. I left the keys in the ignition, but turned the car off, opened the door, and hopped down. I shut the door, and crept cautiously around the front of Hummer, so as to not be trapped between it and the Navigator. For safe measure I removed a handgun from under my arm, making sure the safety was off, and aimed it in front of me; just like cops do on TV when entering a place of possible danger.

  Humming the ‘Mission Impossible’ theme quietly, I approached the pump and slid my card. To my complete shock and amazement, it fucking worked! I grabbed the hose and jammed it into the Hummer and let it fill up. While the pump was working its magic, I rounded to the back to investigate the gas cans. I briefly glanced in and around the Navigator, but the coast was still clear, so I unlatched one of the cans and discovered one to be full, but the other bone dry. I hauled the empty over to the pump, and after the latch released indicating the Hummer was full, shoved the nozzle into the gas can and repeated the process.

  It didn’t take long, as the cans only held about 5 gallons each, but that was still 10 extra gallons of gas I wouldn’t have to look for a gas station to obtain later. Just as I was pulling the hose out of th
e can to place back on the pump, I heard shouting and gunshots coming from the gas station.

  Apparently the people from the Navigator had run into a spot of trouble. I watched as two men came tearing out the front door, with three zombies hot on their trail. Okay, I really just wanted to get back into my Hummer, and get the hell out of there, but since I was already outside, and armed to the teeth, I thought perhaps I would be a Good Samaritan and give them a hand. I reached behind me, and pulled out the Mossberg; eager to try it out anyway, and started to head in their direction.

  It was apparent that they had run out of ammo as one guy was using a tire iron to fight off a zombie, and the other some sort of crow bar to fend off the other two. I aimed at one of the zombies once I got close enough to be confident I wouldn’t miss, and fired.

  “Heads!” was all I had time to yell before I pulled the trigger and let a shell fly. Let’s remember for a second, I’m not a large woman, and I’d never fired a shotgun before, so yet again the kickback took me by surprise and sent my ass staggering backwards a few feet. As I regained my composure, I saw that I had blown a hole in the zombie’s face, and it had fallen to the ground. I could even see the ground through the gaping wound.

  “Fucking legit!” I couldn’t contain my glee at the damage inflicted by my newly acquired weapon. I then turned and ‘rinsed and repeated’ on the other zombie, taking it down just as nicely.

  After dispatching those two, the guy I had just saved and I started to run over to his buddy to lend a hand, except his buddy hadn’t fared as well as we had. The tire iron was on the ground and the zombie had a firm grip on the guy’s jugular, as he let out what can only be described as a ‘blood-curdling’ scream.