The Great Wreck

by Stewart, Jack

  I peddled on for another hour, then took a break. I sat on the side of the road watching the empty space all around me as I pulled out my radio and turned it on. I put and ear bud in and listened to the Sandia broadcast.

  “…critical advisory.” I heard as I turned to channel ten. I felt my heart speed up and quickly looked around to ensure the dead weren’t sneaking up on me. What kind of critical advisory might Sandia be warning people about? I waited for five minutes for the broadcast to begin again.

  “This is Sandia Station. If you are in the vicinity of the following cities, take shelter immediately: Gallup, Grant, Albuquerque, Las Lunas, Socorro, Carrizozo, Tallulah, Hatch, Las Cruces, Alamogordo, or areas surrounding these cities. Massive migrations of dead are heading north into the Albuquerque area along the I-25 highway and both east and west along I-40. Get off the roads and take shelter immediately. This is Sandia Station. Please stay tuned for a critical advisory.”

  I quickly got to my feet and onto my bike. I was still thirty miles from Socorro. For all I knew the dead had already overran the city and I’d have to find another place to hide. I looked to the south and could see no dead coming up out of the desert so I pushed on.

  An hour later I crested a small rise and was able to see a mountains to the west and I-25 stretching far to the north and south. I could also see what looked like a long line of black snaking its way up the highway towards the south side of Socorro.

  I pulled out my binoculars and could see the tens of thousands of dead slowly walking north. The leading edge of the wave had already crossed into the city past where the highway I was on and I-25 connected. I could see the airport that was my destination for the day on the west side of the highway and could also see that many dead has drifted across the runways on their way north.

  But behind them and to the south was the real problem. In an hour or less the main body of dead would reach Socorro. I could stay here, out on the open with no shelter and hope the dead stayed along the highway, or I could pour it on and try to reach the airport before it was swamped.

  I looked around me: there was nothing for miles in every direction. I could camp out here but there was absolutely nothing to stop a wandering dead guy from stumbling across me in the middle of the night or worse, a sprinter locking on to me as I lay out in the open. No thanks, I’d take my chances trying to reach the airport.

  I put the binoculars away and pushed forward steadily increasing my speed until I was flying along and I could see the airport a few miles in front of me. I was going to make it. I’d have just enough time to get my gear up on the roof of the largest hanger, one designed for the larger interstate aircraft, and get set up before the wall of dead swamped the area.

  I drank from my pack while I peddled on and noticed a thin layer of dust stretching across the northern horizon. What could that be? I rolled to a stop and put my feet on the pavement and felt a very light vibration. An earthquake? Must be, I thought and got ready to roll forward.

  Then the dead began screaming.

  I looked to the south where the dead were still a few miles away and could see them starting to run north screaming at the top of their lungs. I pushed off and started peddling as fast as I could towards the airport. The dead already there were screaming as well and running with the others. Had they spotted another living person? It didn’t matter. What matter was making it to the hanger with enough time to get on the roof before the dead spotted me.

  I passed over I-25 and ate up the last mile to the airport. I passed through a broken down fence just as the dead hit the south boundary a half mile away. None of them had spotted me yet but they would be here in a few minutes as they pressed up against the fence and began breaking it down with the sheer weight of their bodies.

  I made it to the hanger just as the whole south fence came down and the dead poured in. As I rolled in, I could see a set of stairs that ran up the inside of the hanger all the way top the roof. At first I thought, Great! It would be easy for me to get my gear up on the roof instead of having to haul it up with ropes. Then I realized that the dead could just as easily make it to the roof. I quickly looked at the nearby hangers as the dead closed in on my spot. I couldn’t reach them in time. It was this building or nothing and I had only a minute or so to decide.

  I made a decision: I tied ropes onto the heaviest packs and set them at the bottom of the stair well. Then I tossed the ropes up as far as I could then I grabbed what I could carry and still move quickly heading up the stairs after covering the bike with my tarp. I hit the base of the stairs as the dead began to surround the building their screams sounding like the continuous roar of a jet engine. I made it up to the second landing then opened the outer pocket of my backpack and grabbed a claymore. I didn’t know if this would work. Maybe the explosion would knock down the first set of stairs or maybe it would take out the entire stairwell or maybe even knock down the entire wall of the hanger. I didn’t know but there was no way I was going to leave these stairs intact. With so many dead pushing into the surrounding hangers, eventually some of them would find their way up to the roof.

  I set the timer mode on the claymore and punched in thirty seconds. I hit the start button, grabbed my gear, and raced up the stairs as fast as I could counting down from thirty in my head.

  At twenty five the claymore went off. The concussion threw me off of my feet as the entire stairwell rocked back and forth. I felt the metal under my feet drop out from under me and I had just a second to wonder if I had killed myself when the smoke and heat billowed up from below. I grabbed onto the hand rail closing my eyes tightly and waited for the entire structure to fall to the floor of the hanger where the dead would arrive seconds later to find me, a fresh snack with my legs broken and unable to run.

  I guess I had counted too slowly in my head.

  The stair way swayed back and forth but didn’t collapse any further. I opened my eyes and looked below me at the heap of twisted and burnt metal. The claymore had worked. The bottom two landings had been reduced to a pile of twisted metal. It had almost worked too well and brought everything down. I comforted myself by telling myself that the fall would have killed me as I got to my feet, grabbed up my packs, and carefully made my way to the next landing. Here the platform felt solid and I could look down and the chaos I had created. A few small fires were already guttering out but the sound of the explosion had gotten the attention of the dead.

  They swarmed into the hanger and within minutes had covered the entire floor of the building. None had spotted me but my guess was that as soon as I moved, they would.

  I was right.

  As soon as I began to walk up the final flight of stairs, I head a scream and looked down to see three sprinters staring up at me frantically looking for a way to reach me. This was the first time I had seen a sprinter and not immediately ran in the opposite direction. I watched as they screamed and spit and ran in circles trying to reach me.

  I actually laughed and said, “Fuck you!” and flipped them the bird. Hearing my voice drove the entire crowd of dead into a frenzy scarring the shit out of me. I resolved not to yell at the dead again and made my way up the stairs and to the roof top.

  I opened the access door and closed it behind me cutting off the screaming from the inside of the hanger only to be nearly overwhelmed by the screaming coming from outside. I hoped the dead moved on. I didn’t know if I could handle the screaming for hours on end.

  I set my equipment down and walked to the edge of the hanger and peeked over the high wall: the dead stretched from the southern horizon to the north now and were spreading out far to the east and west. Had I stayed out of Socorro, eventually they would have ran over me as the spread across the valley. I shivered at the thought as I watched them running for all they were worth to the north. What the fuck were they doing? I looked a little further over the edge and saw the dead inside the hanger were starting to move north again having lost sight of me. In a few hours I’d go and get the last of my gear that
I had tied ropes to and tossed up to the third landing, but for now I just wanted to rest.

  But first I checked the roof for any other way the dead might get up. I found a water spigot that, to my surprise gushed out water when I turned the valve handle. I’d have to boil the water before I drank it but at least I wouldn’t die of thirst if I got stuck up here for long. I walked the entire edge of the roof and was satisfied that the only way up was through the door that I jammed shut with little wedges of metal that I hammered into the space between the door and the jamb. Then I set up my netting in a corner as far away from the door as I could to block out the heat, unrolled my sleeping bag, and stripped down to my shorts. I pulled out the radio and jammed the earbuds into my ears blocking out the worst of the screaming and listened to Sandia giving updates on the dead migration until finally, I switched it off. I didn’t need anyone telling me to take shelter or that there were a bazillion dead eighty feet or so below me. I could hear them and I could smell them. I drank my water and from time to time would poke my head up over the wall only to see more dead streaming in from the south. Eventually the stress and exhaustion took over and I fell asleep and the oceans of dead passed beneath me.

  I woke up sometime after the sun had gone down. A breeze blew the netting up and down in gusts and I actually felt cold as the sweat of the day evaporated off of my skin. I pulled the earbuds out of my ears as I got dressed and noticed the dead had stopped screaming. I looked over the edge of the building in the fading light and could see they were still there in all of their hundreds of thousands but now they were just walking north quietly grunting, groaning, and moaning.

  I briefly listened to the Sandia broadcast but nothing had changed: the dead were still migrating north and travelers were advised to seek shelter. I unsealed the doorway to the stairwell and made my way to the third landing. A large group of dead were still inside the hanger but the back hanger doors were open and they were slowly trickling out. I quietly moved down to the third landing and quickly pulled up the packs and water jugs that I had to leave behind when I had gotten here earlier in the day. I successfully got all my supplies up and onto the roof without attracting the attention of the dead and completed the setup of my camp. By the looks of it, I’d be here awhile.

  I broke out my night vision goggles and strapped them on. Looking out to the south I could see the dead moving around and walking north. To the east and west, the dead had spread out beyond the confines to the valley and over the ridge I had been on earlier in the day. To the north, I saw the same with tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of dead moving away from Socorro.

  I switched over to the infrared setting. I did not expect to see anything but the dim outline of the dead. I scanned the crowds looking back along I-25. I knew James wouldn’t be there. The dead were everywhere so, even if he had survived Las Cruces, he would be holed up somewhere just like I was. Even so, I scanned the highway back to the horizon and stopped cold when I spotted a heat signature moving among the crowds of dead. I switched over to the night vision setting and zoomed in but at this far away, all I could see was a group of indistinct figures moving among the crowds of dead.

  I switched back to the infrared setting and could see more figures moving north among the walkers. What the fuck? Who could be out there walking with the dead without being eaten? I spotted a few more figures moving north with the crowds and one really close to my location. I zoomed in as far as I could and was able to make out the form of a little girl. She was wearing jeans and a button up shirt holding the hand of one of the dead. She looked to be about eight and seemed to be alive. At least her body was giving off a heat signature. I felt my flesh crawl watching her walk amongst the eaten and badly decayed dead, holding their hands as they moved north. What could that mean? How was it even possible? I slid below the wall of the roof and pulled off my goggles.

  None of those figures could be James. He wasn’t immune from the dead. They chased after him as fast as they did me. James wasn’t out there. That was all that mattered. I quickly walked over to the door and poked my head inside. The dead had mostly cleared out and the few figures I could see moving around in the gloom far below me were not giving off any heat signatures. I closed and sealed the door back up and made my way back to my camp,

  Fucking creepy, I thought as I crawled into my sleeping bag and tried to block out the sight of the girl holding the dead person’s hand. I fell asleep, finally, and was happy to not dream of the dead, the strange dead, the immune children, or sprinters.

  I was jolted out of my sleep just before the sun rose the next day by the subtle vibration passing through the roof of the hanger, through my sleeping bag, and into my bones. Another quake? I wondered as I rolled over to go back to sleep. Why get up? The dead would still be everywhere so I might as well sleep the day away as much as I could.

  But the dead had other plans and began screaming at the top of their lungs. I sprung up out of my sleeping back grabbing my pistols and raced to the edge of the roof. Looking down, I could see the dead were all running and screaming for all they were worth northward again. I slid down with my back against the wall breathing heavily and waiting for my heart to slow down. It looked like it would be another long day of listening to the dead as they moved on by.

  * * *

  It was exactly that: another long bake on top of the hanger as the sun cranked up the heat and the dead moved north. I busied myself setting out my solar charger and hooking up all my electronic gear to it. I listened to Sandia warn others to take shelter, and scanned the horizon expecting James, against all odds to be out there, walking among the dead like those freaky kids, without a care in the world.

  It was like that the next day as well.

  And the next.

  And the next.

  And the one after that.

  And the one after that I began losing my mind.

  After a week of sitting up on that roof, I thought I might just jump in and head north with the dead. The pain would be excruciating but it would be over in a few minutes tops whereas the boredom of sitting up here day in and day out was driving me insane and showed no signs of letting up.

  I started to see James everywhere. First, just in my dreams but at least then I’d wake up with a start and he’d be gone. Then I started seeing him when I was awake, scanning the crowds of dead on I-25. I see him walking along in his cowboy boots and he wave at me. The shock would jolt me out of my reverie and I’d see that it was just some dead guy who vaguely looked like James.

  Then I’d see him again a few hours later. Sometime heading over the northern horizon, sometimes just standing at the edge of the airport. I’d close my eyes and when I opened them, he’d be gone. Or I’d see him at night boogying towards Albuquerque just as happy as a pig in shit. It would take all of my control not to scream at him, tell him to get the fuck out of here, take a hike, piss off, and leave me alone. That would just attract the dead and they’d get all worked up for an hour or so until they forgot again that I was there.

  The last time I thought I saw him, he was trekking along with a pack on and everything. I swear it looked just like him: same hat, same boots, same cloths, and same pack. I watched him come up over the southern horizon. I watched him all day as he walked along with the dead. Every time I saw him, I’d rub my eyes but when I opened them this time, I could still see him. Eventually he moved on north and passed out of site.

  I had to keep telling myself that it wasn’t James, just some corpse that looked like him. Had it been James, then he was well and truly dead. Otherwise the walkers would have been on him in a flash.

  The next day the wave broke. I awoke and looked to the south and saw only a few stragglers. I waited all that day and saw the last few pass the airport and watched them until they passed over the horizon. A few hours later I turned on my radio and heard Sandia state that survivors could begin heading towards the Sandia access gate at the I-25 Exit 234 or, if they had a medical emergency, arrange for ret
rieval. They cautioned however that more dead were gathering outside of Las Cruces, Grant, and Santa Rosa and could begin migrating again at any time.

  I got moving.

  I packed up my gear in no time and made my way down the stairs. When I reached the portion that I had blown off a week before, I dropped my gear down then tied a rope onto a strut and lowered myself down after. I packed up my bike and rolled out onto the tarmac, past the airport’s fence, and onto the highway, happy to be free at last of the hanger rooftop.

  I made it to the edge of Las Lunas just outside of Albuquerque late that day and spotted a large group of water tanks to hide on top of. I was thinking I was home free, that I would be in an Albuquerque safe house the next night. In just a day or two I’d be at Sandia. My journey was nearing its end. But The Shit, ever present and always willing to hit the fan, got rolling again the very next day.

  Albuquerque I could see was another Phoenix, another Los Angeles but on a smaller scale. The clouds of rot blew down on me as I entered the town of Las Lunas. I climbed to the top of the water tank and began setting up for the night. I scanned south along the I-25 freeway looking for any sign of James and like every night, saw nothing.

  That didn’t stop me from setting up my camouflage netting around me. The tank was a beige color so I pulled out my desert colored netting, moved to the far side of the tank away from the highway, away from anyone who might be passing by and see me, and set up my little nest.

  After I was done, I climbed down the tank and hiked back a mile south down the highway carefully dodging the dead that had begun to increase in numbers again. I walked up a small ridge on the west side of the highway and scanned my hiding spot and could see nothing. I scanned south again looking for the telltale black figure on the horizon watching for him waiting for him to show up and say “Well hodeee do, motherfucker! Didn’t get very far before I found you, did you?” Then he’d start to beat the shit out of me again, and then we’d have to kill each other.