The Great Wreck

by Stewart, Jack

  Why would the hazard light still be on after all of this time? Maybe running on a generator? A solar station? It didn’t matter. What did matter was that maybe there was a building nearby that I could hole up in.

  I peddled on and soon came upon my answer: stretching as far as I could see to the left and right in the fading light were rows and rows of solar panels. A quarter mile later I came to a small office complex, where behind it sat the radio tower. The sun was now down and the light was fading so it looked like this is where I was going to stay for the night. The sign outside said New Mexico State Solar Power Plant Prototype; Three Rivers Solar Station.

  I rode up to the small building at the base of the radio tower noting that the parking lot was empty of cars. On the building’s door I saw four industrial dead bolts, one for each side of the door. I thought that was strange. Why deadbolt the door from the outside? Then I saw there was a note neatly typed up and taped to the door that said:

  Survivors: this is a safe house. All of the dead have been cleared out. If the dead bolts are still locked, then no dead have gotten in. If the dead bolts are unlocked but the door won’t open, it is likely that survivors are inside. Knock and they will let you in. Please bolt the door shut on your way out when you leave. Good luck.

  A safe house! I looked carefully at all four deadbolts; they were locked. That meant that the facility was empty of dead people and any survivors! With a gush of relief, I unbolted the door and rolled my bike inside. I closed the door behind me and noticed that the emergency lights were still on. I reached for the switch expecting nothing and was surprised when the lights came on filling the small waiting area with bright fluorescent light. The solar farm! It was feeding the building with electricity. I noticed how cool it was and thought the AC must be on as well.

  There was another note on the counter that read:

  This safe house has been completely sealed. In the back you will find beds, food, water, medical supplies, and a radio where you can listen to and, if necessary, talk to Sandi Station, a major safe haven located in the mountains east of Albuquerque. Take what you need but leave what you can for others who may be behind you.

  I read the note and carefully checked each of the small rooms in the building. Satisfied no dead had managed to get it, I made my way to the back of the office. In one room was a control panel set in front of a wall size screen that showed the vast solar farm that stretched out in a great grid around the office complex. Some of the solar panels were highlighted in red telling the operator they were off line but the vast majority were lit up in green. I wondered how long it would run without anyone to taking care of it.

  I moved to the next room that had been converted into a set of barracks with beds and a shower area in the back corner. I’d hit the shower later as I set my back pack down on the bed farthest from the door.

  The last room was set up like a dispatch station with rows of electronic equipment. A desk had been set up in the middle of the room and on it, a small control box with a microphone. I sat down in the chair in front of the desk and took the microphone in my hand while switching the small set to the “on” position.

  Immediately a set of speakers mounted on the wall came to life and a deep, male voice said, “This is Sandia Station broadcasting every thirty minutes on the hour and half hour mark. This is a recorded message for anyone out there heading towards Sandia. Directions to any of the five Albuquerque safe houses can be found on channel eleven. Weather conditions in Albuquerque and the surrounding regions can be heard on channel twelve. Traffic conditions can be heard on channel thirteen with updates every fifteenth minutes,” it said.

  Traffic conditions? What the hell was that? I thought and continued to listen to the announcer.

  “Limited emergency services for those parties that have entered the Albuquerque area are available and can be found on channel fourteen. To speak with an operator directly, please turn to channel fifteen.”

  I switched over to channel thirteen wondering what kind of traffic they might be having. Had they kept the dead out of the city completely? Maybe this was a place where the dead hadn’t over run everything.

  I listed to the “traffic update” and was sorely disappointed, “Approximately three hundred dead moving east along Central Avenue. A group of over a thousand dead are currently located at Carlisle boulevard and Cooper Avenue. Survivors are cautioned not to approach this or surrounding neighborhoods. Recommend making your way to Wyoming boulevard and locating safe house at Eubank and Southern. Parties moving north on I-25 be advised that large numbers of dead are moving …” I switched channels if disgust. The “traffic” was the dead moving around the city. Well, I really didn’t expect anything else and turned to channel fifteen and listed for a minute to see if anyone else was talking. All I heard was silence so I pressed the send button and spoke, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  Out of the speakers, I heard the excited voice of a young girl as she transmitted and yelled at someone else with her at the same time, “Oh my god! Stan! Tell Georgie we have someone on the radio!” I waited for a minute more for the girl to say something to me. Finally she seemed to realize she hadn’t spoken to me yet, “Hello? This is Sandia Station. Over.”

  Sandia Station. Three months of traveling from Los Angeles, catching bits and pieces of their broadcast outside of Phoenix, and now I could actually talk to them. It was real. It was there. And I was going to make it.

  “Hi, uh, Sandia Station. My name is Thomas. Over.”

  “Hi, Thomas! This is Greer! I can’t tell you how exited we are to hear from you! Over.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, “Do you get many survivors calling in?”

  A long silence followed, then Greer spoke again, “Not too many anymore. Hank says that people are either dead or holed up somewhere like us and we won’t see but a few stragglers. Over.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t meet too many survivors outside of Los Angeles. Over.”

  “You came all the way from LA? Oh my god,” She whispered, “Anyone left alive there? Over.”

  “There’s nothing left there. We heard of a place called ‘Burbank’ but we were too far east to turn back. Over.”

  “Are there more with you? Where are you? Over.”

  “I’m alone and I’d rather not say where I am in case others are listening. Over.”

  “Crazies. Roger that. Over.”

  “There is a group of people in Las Cruces. They say you know about them. Over.”

  “Yeah. They have a real doctor and the bosses are planning to get them in the winter but these crazy migrations are fucking everything up,” she said, “Sorry about the F-bomb. Over.”

  I laughed and replied, “Foul language does not offend me anymore. It’s the only language appropriate for the Great Big Fuck-up,” I said, “Over.”

  I could hear Greer laugh as she replied, “Shit! Fuck! Ass crapper! Motherfucker! Who give a mother fucking, dick dripping, ass wipe, gigantic horse shit if I swear!?” she said then her laughter abruptly stopped, “Oh, hi Georgiana,” she said.

  I could hear a young woman reply to her in the background sounding less than amused, “Is he still on?”

  “Yes,” Greer said meekly.

  “Can I talk to him or are you still trying to use every bit of profanity and broadcast it over the entire southwest?”

  “I’m done,” Greer said and tried to whisper to me, “I’m in big trouble, Thomas and the Boss wants to talk to you. Over.”

  “Nice meeting you, Greer. Over”

  “You too, Thomas. Hope to see you soon. Over,” she and then the adult woman, Georgiana, came on.

  “This is Georgiana Clark. My friends call me Georgie. Who is this? Over.”

  “My name is Thomas Anthony Greenly. My friends called me Thomas. Over.”

  “Nice to meet you Thomas. How many are in your group? Over.”

  “Just me. Over.”

  I heard Georgie draw in a sharp breath and say, “And where are you coming fro
m? Over.”

  “Los Angeles. Over.”

  “My god. How did you get that far?” she said forgetting the “over” part.

  “Walking. Then biking after Phoenix. Los Angeles was bad. We didn’t really know where to go but we couldn’t stay where we were at. The whole city was burning and clogged with dead. We had to get out, Pix and me. We teamed up with and insane fucker named James and headed east just to get out of the city,” I said briefly living through those early days of the Event, “We lost Pix, James left me in Phoenix but caught up with me outside of Las Cruces. After that I had to ditch James so I am on my own now.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Understood. You are planning on coming up to Sandia?”

  “As soon as I can make it.”

  “OK, that’s good Thomas. So I want you to listen carefully,” Georgie said, “The dead are on the move again and are going to be clogging up the roads leading into the city. When you get close enough to use a hand radio, check in with us and we’ll direct you to a safe house. Then we’ll come and pick you up. Do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  “Good luck Thomas, and I’m glad to have met you. Over.” Georgie said and handed the mic over to Greer.

  “Georgie is giving me the stink eye for talking too long and swearing so I need to get off the air. Call me if you need anything, Thomas and it was nice meeting you. Over.”

  “And you, Greer. Hope to see you soon. Over,” I said and turned off the radio. I went and showered, then had some of my canned soup. The small kitchen actually had a microwave oven so I heated it up. It felt good just to sit at the table and eat the hot chicken noodle soup like a normal person. It felt good to have talked to Sandia and let them know I was coming. But most of all it felt good to be free from James.

  I finished my soup and checked to make sure the front door was securely locked. All the other doors and windows had been sealed up with sheets of metal so nothing was coming in any other way. I still locked the door to the barracks and pushed a set of bunk beds in front of it before I tuned out the lights and crawled into bed.

  The emergency lights cast a dim green glow over the room but I was OK with that since I could see into all the corners. I feel asleep thinking my journey would be over soon and I could try to rebuild some type of life in Sandia.

  The next day I was up early and felt as though I had been hit by a truck. I had way overdone it on yesterday’s ride. I showered again letting the hot water soak into my abused muscles and decided I might stay a day or two to recover before heading out on the road again.

  I spent most of the day listening to the “traffic” reports from Sandia while studying a map and marking the flow of the dead as the operator talked and talking with Greer in the evening.

  I tried to reach Marti, Birch, or Doc but they either were too far away to pick up the signal or couldn’t respond back because…well I didn’t want to think of what might have happened when James got back into Las Cruces.

  I found the various safe houses as well and it looked like the dead were light in the area around a safe house located in the south east corner of the city. That was where I would head to. Sandia would pick me up there in an adjacent open field and my journey would be over.

  I stayed another two full days and decided my first ride would be a short one just up to Carrizozo. I topped off my supplies, filled my water jugs and packs and prepared to leave the next morning. That evening I told Greer my plans leaving out the names and places and told her I’d contact them again when my hand held radio could reach them.

  “Good luck, Thomas and stay alive. There aren’t that many of us left,” she said, “Over.”

  “See you soon and I will be. Over.”

  I woke up, showered again (three times in as many days!), and ate a full breakfast of sausage and reconstituted eggs. They were horrible but if felt good to have a full belly. I turned off the lights and locked up the office carefully bolting each of the front door’s locks. I said a silent prayer of thanks to whomever had set this safe house up and rolled out onto the empty road. It was cool and clear in the still morning but the sun would soon crest the mountains in the east and the Great Thomas Bake would begin again.

  But it would be a short day. I had located a small commuter airport just west of Carrizozo and would be there in three hours or so. I’d spend the night there then the following day make a huge push to Socorro. I’d rest in Socorro, contact Sandia, and make my final push to Albuquerque! I could be there in four days at most.

  After Three Rivers Solar Station, I would focus on getting as far as I could each day. The little distance tracker that the bike had on it told me I was easily making 60 miles per day so I should reach Socorro in about two days. After that Albuquerque was only 80 miles and a good, hard day’s ride. But I didn’t take into account the dead.

  I found the Carrizozo airport with no problem and set up camp on the top of a flat hanger. The heat was nearly unbearable and sleeping on the hard roof after a few nights of a soft bed was a painful adjustment but I kept telling myself that this long nightmare journey was almost over. The next day I was up and heading west in the early morning light. And finally I began to close in on Socorro.

  At the speed I was going, I figured I reach town before sunset and find a suitable place to hole up. I stopped on the side of the road and drank deeply from my water pack. I glanced back at my trailer and saw that I had only two full gallons of water left plus whatever was in my water pack. It would be tight, but I’d be able to refill in town.

  I pulled out my binoculars and scanned the nearly empty road all the way to the horizon and spotted a small building on the left hand side of the highway and in front of it, a figure standing by the side of the road. It was probably one of the dead since the living tended to be moving in one direction or the other or hiding inside buildings. I checked that my pistols were loaded and ready, then pushed off and head towards the figure. If it was just one, I could handle it and move on. If there were more, I’d just move on.

  As I approached, the figure remained stock still. It had to be one of the dead. Any living person would have spotted me coming and either ducked back in the building or waved at me. This one, though, just stood there facing north, not moving an inch.

  I stopped peddling about a hundred yards from the person and the building. The building was a small roadside shop that sold rocks and minerals. The person standing in front of it, maybe the owner, was clearly dead. He looked like he was an older man when he had been bite as he stood there legs slightly apart, hands shoved in his front pocket. He was wearing a tatter cowboy hat and shirt, filthy blood splattered jeans, and boots that were just about to fall apart. I could see that his right forearm had been eaten down to the bone but he had somehow managed to stick the remains his boney hand in his front pocket. He looked like he was just waiting for the bus or admiring the view.

  I un-holstered my pistol as he turned his head towards me. He looked at me for a moment, then turned his head back north. I thought of the dead guy who had told me to get a move on outside of Demining and decided to peddle a bit closer to him. I got to about ten feet and stopped again. The dead guy pulled out his uneaten hand and tipped his hat to me. Definitely one of the strange dead.

  I closed in to within five feet and stopped. If he didn’t try to attack me now, I’d move to the other side of the road and get on my way. He looked at me for a full minute as though trying to figure out who I was. And then he spoke.

  “Strange days, mister,” he said.

  He didn’t move towards me and I didn’t see any other dead around so I replied, “Yep. You going to give me trouble?”

  “No trouble. World of trouble out there already,” he said indicating with his boney forearm and hand waving it all around us and then shoving it back into his front pocket.

  “Sure is.”

  He fell quiet for a minute or so and I thought he might have forgotten I
was there. Then he spoke again, “Am I dead?”

  “Yes,” I said simply.

  “Fuckers got me,” he said looking at his eaten arm, “Thought I might be immune. Guess not.”

  I stayed silent. What do you tell a person who had just realized they are no longer among the living but inhabit a decaying corpse?

  “Something in my head,” he said looking north again, “Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. Pulling and buzzing. Think it will ever stop?”

  I had no idea what he was talking about but before I could answer, he was talking again,

  “Can you feel it? Wants me in the north. Don’t think I’ll go, though.” Then he looked directly at me and said, “Can you help me?” he said looking directly at me with his faded out eyes.

  “Help you?” I said wondering what he could need from me.

  “Help me, yes,” he said then drifted off again.

  I was about to push on when he held up his good arm and pointed towards my guns, “Help me die,” he said as though finally completing his thoughts.

  I knew what he wanted so I said, “Yes, I can help you,” and before he could move I pulled out my pistol and put two bullets in his head. He dropped to the side of the road as I stood there looking at his now completely dead body.

  How many of the living dead where like this guy? Or the other one outside of Deming who knew they were dead, who knew they were no longer alive but somehow were still trapped inside their decaying body? I didn’t want to know but I could think of no worse hell than that.

  I got off my bike and took out a small spade from one of my side bags. I walked around the back of the sad little shop, and seeing no other dead around, quickly dug a small grave. I pulled on a set of gloves, grabbed the old man by his shoulders, and dragged his body into the grave quickly covering it with dirt. Satisfied that I had seen him off into the next life, I climbed back on my bike and pushed off leaving the man his shop behind.