by Schafer, Jon
Steve freed one hand from the pistol then reached behind him and knocked on Ginny’s door. In the silence by the side of the building, his knuckles rapping against the metal door sounded to him like a ball bat hitting a bass drum.
Flinching at the sudden noise, he looked around wildly to see if his knock had attracted the wrong kind of attention. He was relieved when nothing stirred near him, and the sounds of violence and destruction remained distant.
Noticing, with no small bit of growing irritation, that nothing stirred inside the apartment either, Steve knocked again, this time louder and longer.
Damn it Ginny, answer the door, he thought furiously.
After a short time with no reply from inside, Steve dug in his pocket for his key chain on which he carried a spare to Ginny's apartment. Finding nothing but lint, he said, "Shit", as he looked back the way he had come. In the distance he could see his Jeep idling in the parking lot right where he'd left it. With the keys in the ignition of course. On top of his dismay at not having a key with him, another realization hit him. He still hadn't put gas in the Jeep. He hadn’t had time to ask Captain Sobloski for his fuel ration.
The fear that had been growing in him turned to anger in a flash. Anger at his own stupidity, anger at the trek through hell to get there, anger at Ginny's failure to answer the door and most of all, anger at the dead for rising and fucking up his life. Forgetting the danger, he turned his back on the hedge and pounded on the door with his fist as he yelled, "Ginny, get your ass up. We don't have time for this shit."
Steve could imagine her sitting inside, completely oblivious to all that was going on. Playing power games with him by not answering her phone or the door.
He was about to start kicking Ginny's door when the outside light from the next apartment came on, causing him to swing in that direction and bring his pistol up to fire. Squinting into the sudden illumination, he searched for a target.
Seeing that his hands holding the Glock in front of him were shaking like he had palsy, Steve took a breath and forced himself to be calm. Last time he checked, zombies didn't turn lights on, so this had to be a neighbor that he’d woken up with his little tirade.
The next door down from him opened up a few inches and a woman called out, "Who's there? Tell me who's there or I'm calling the police."
Memory came flooding in to replace his anger and fear as Steve recognized the voice. It was Edna Carlson, a retired English teacher, who lived next to Ginny.
"It's me, Miss Carlson, Steve Wendell, I'm looking for Ginny," he called out.
Sticking her head out the door and looking at him, Edna said, "Steve? What are you doing here at this time of night?" Then, in a slightly reprimanding tone, asked, "Did you and Virginia have a fight again?"
"No ma'am, I need to find her. We need to go into work right away."
"Well, she's not home," the older lady said as she stepped out her door.
"It might be a good idea if you stayed inside." Steve said, suddenly aware of the noise they were making and how it might attract the wrong attention.
Defiantly putting her hands on her hips, Edna Carlson said, "Oh bullshit, Steve. I'm too old to worry about zombies and creatures rising from the grave. Besides, I've got my late husband Edgar's gun, and if I do see one of those things, I'll shoot it in the head like they said to do on TV. In fact, I damn near shot you."
Ditto, Steve thought. As he turned his attention back to the hedge, he asked. "You mentioned that Ginny's not here, do you know where she went?" The light from the fixture over the door made the shadows recede and now Steve could see that the bushes were just that, bushes. Nothing ominous lurked there.
"No. I have no idea where she went. She and two of her friends left here hours ago. The three of them were all dressed up and laughing and giggling. I was coming back from the store, so I just waved to them when I saw them in the parking lot."
A string of gunshots sounded close by, followed by a scream that was abruptly cut off. A few more shots and a loud boom came to them over the ever-present siren.
"I wish they'd turn that damn thing off," Edna commented. "Everybody knows what's going on. All it's doing is scaring the crap out of people."
Steve agreed and was about to take his leave so he could try to figure out what to do about Ginny. From the description Miss Carlson gave, it sounded like Ginny had gone clubbing in Tampa. If that were the case then she'd stay at one of her friends’ places across the bay and take a cab home in the morning. This also made sense since she couldn't be reached by cell. Whenever she went on a girl's on a night out, she would turn off the ringer and leave it in her purse, forgotten. Ginny always complained that it was her time away, and she didn't want anyone intruding.
A thought struck Steve as he considered his options for finding Ginny in Tampa. What should he do with Miss Carlson? He couldn't just leave her here alone, even if she did have a gun, but he didn't want to be burdened with her. He felt bad considering her a burden but in the new world order where human beings were hunted for food, a sixty something year old English teacher was just that, a burden.
He remembered laughing at a question he had been asked in a high school social studies class about the Captain of a sinking ship having to decide who got into the life boats and who he would pick, Steve saw no humor in the similarity to the situation he was in now.
I can't save everyone, he reasoned. I would if I could, but I can't. I also can’t risk myself or anyone else by bringing along someone who can't keep up. I can't bring her.
Seeing his hesitation, in a matter of fact tone, Edna said, "I thought you needed to go into work?"
Steve looked at the aging lady in front of him. In an instant he was sure she knew what he was thinking. His mind spun as he tried to find a way to rationalize his decision. How could he explain it?
"Miss Carlson -," he began, but she cut him off.
"I'll be fine Steve," she said in a quiet voice. "Go do what you need to do. I'm going to lock up and watch the TV. I already called the number they've been showing to let the National Guard know I need to be evacuated. They said they'd come pick me up."
Steve wanted to argue that there was no such pick up service. He knew most everything the National Guard was doing and though this was planned, it had never been put into effect. The Guard was too understaffed. Wondering why she lied, in an instant he knew. She realized she would slow him down and had given him a way to leave her.
Feeling miserable at taking the out she had given him, he mumbled a few words about how she'd be fine and to keep her door locked until someone came for her. He turned and walked back down the sidewalk, no longer worried that something would jump out at him, in fact hoping it would. He wanted to destroy the things that had brought him to the point that he would abandon an old lady.
Steve climbed into his Jeep then drove off without looking back.
Edna Carlson watched Steve pull out of the parking lot. With a sigh, she shut and locked the front door of her apartment before going into the tiny kitchen and pouring herself a large glass of red wine.
She had been following the news over the past few days, and at first, her hopes were that the St. Petersburg area would be spared from the worst of the disease. When the siren woke her earlier that night, Edna had turned on the television and had those hopes crushed. The dead were coming up from the sewers all over the city to attack the living. In fact, only a few minutes before Steve showed up, a live news broadcast showing thousands of zombies converging on the National Guard Headquarters at Tropicana Field helped her come to a decision about what course to take in this crisis.
Sitting on her couch, while watching live as mayhem broke out across the bay area, Edna let out another sigh and realized it was time to put her plan into action.
She went to the bathroom and took a bottle of oxycodone from the medicine cabinet then held it up. She had gotten the prescription months earlier for her back and had only taken five of the pills. With relief, she saw that the containe
r was three quarters full.
Next, she went into her bedroom and picked up a framed picture of her late husband from its place of prominence on her dresser. Looking at it longingly for a moment, she tucked it under her arm and returned to the living room.
Setting the photo on the coffee table so it faced her as she sat on the couch, she took two painkillers and washed them down with wine. Reaching over onto the seat next to her, she pressed 'play' on the remote control for the VCR. The opening credits from the Sound of Music came on as she swallowed two more pills.
That Steve is such a nice man, she thought. He deserves so much better than a girl like Virginia. He wanted so bad to rescue me, but we both know it's a little too late for that. He's going to have enough on his hands keeping himself alive in this hellish new world without me weighing him down.
Gunfire rattled outside the apartment, so she turned up the volume to mask the sounds of madness. Over the next hour, she managed to ingest twenty-two pills and two more glasses of wine before woozily picking up her late husband’s picture and kissing it. Lying back on the couch, Edna Carlson listened to Julie Andrews sing as she thought about her life. It had been a long, happy one, and she was grateful for the time given her here on Earth.
Her last thought before it slipped away was, I'm coming Edgar, my darling.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Clearwater, Florida:
Steve felt relief wash over him as he turned north onto Belcher Road. He had been detoured twice by National Guard roadblocks since leaving Ginny's apartment and after the last bypass, had gotten lost in a maze of back streets, which he just found his way out of. Thankful that his station I.D. had gotten him free passage so far with the armed troops, he hoped his luck held out for the rest of the trip to downtown Clearwater.
One thing he had learned on the first leg of his journey through the chaos of the city was to ignore stop signs and red lights. Besides it being ridiculous to come to a complete halt when there was no other traffic on the road, there was a better reason for making his “California” stops.
Earlier, while sitting at an intersection wondering how he could find Ginny and worrying about the old lady he had thrown out of the lifeboat, Steve was brought out of his reverie by the sight of two groups of dead converging on his Jeep from the right and from behind.
He lifted the Glock but saw that there were too many to take on with only his handgun, so he floored the accelerator. Racing away, he looked into his rearview mirror and saw the separate groups of zombies converge into one large mass before stumbling off in a different direction. He guessed there were around thirty total in the new gang, and that might be a low estimate.
Rolling north on Belcher, Steve could see two Pinellas County Sheriff’s cruisers parked by the side of the road. Both had their flashers on and driver's doors wide open. With an irrational hope that one of them might be Heather, he slowed down to see if he could spot her. Maybe he could convince her to go with him to the radio station. As he glided slowly up to the squad cars, he didn't see any cops in the area. As he looked around, he noticed that the entire area seemed deserted.
He stopped abreast of the cruiser in the rear where he could hear the radio inside it squawk and then a voice call out a series of numbers and an address. As he looked into the police car, he saw a shape lying across the front seat. He felt his heart speed up and his mouth go dry. Looking closer, he could see that the body was wearing the tattered remains of a Pinellas County Sheriff’s uniform.
His hope at maybe finding Heather quickly turned to despair as he thought, not like this. Not Heather. I wanted to find her, but not like this.
With pistol in hand, Steve stepped from the Jeep and cautiously approached the cruiser. The overhead light was on in the car, revealing a torn up body on the seat lying with its head facing toward him. Most of the carcass from the waist down was gone.
Looking closely through the splattered blood and viscera and seeing short gray hair on a male cadaver, Steve let out a sigh of relief. It definitely wasn't Heather.
When Steve moved toward the second vehicle, he saw it was empty, but blood was pooled on the road next to the open driver's door. A small sports car sped past and honked its horn, causing him to decide that it might be a good idea to haul ass while he had a chance. If the National Guard or more cops came by, they might think he had something to do with the missing deputies and detain him, or worse. Hoping that the second police car hadn't contained Heather, he got back into the Jeep and took off.
Glancing at his fuel gauge, he calculated that he would be cutting it close even trying to drive to the station. He’d originally considered going into Tampa in search of Ginny but had vetoed the idea, estimating he would run out of gas somewhere on the bridge and be stuck. Not stuck, he realized, but trapped. He also had the feeling his AAA roadside assistance was null and void.
Every few minutes, he would call Ginny's cell phone. Initially, he had been sent to voice mail, but the last two calls had been answered by an automated voice telling him that, due to heavy volume, his call could not be put through and to try back later. Giving up on getting through to her, he racked his brain as he tried to remember Ginny's friends’ names and numbers but came up blank. Steve decided that his best course of action would be to head for the safety of the radio station, so he steered in that direction. He could check the rolodex on Ginny's desk for her friends when he got there.
As he approached Gulf to Bay Boulevard, he noticed the traffic was getting heavier and more dangerous. Vehicles driven with no regard to the traffic laws continuously cut each other off. To his surprise, there were only a few major accidents, but due to the large amount of cars and trucks on the road, and the slow speed that everyone was forced to go, there were quite a few fender benders. He noticed that none of the drivers even bothered to stop after they ran into each other. Instead, there would be a heated exchange involving curses and hand signals, heavy on the middle finger, before the cars would be separated to go in different directions. Every four-way intersection now became a logjam, with vehicles slowly weaving around each other and no one giving a shit as to who had the right of way.
There was little sign of the police or the National Guard. With the exception of the two initial roadblocks, where the soldiers had told him that he had to detour further east, the only troops in sight were those riding in the occasional Humvee that roared past. These soldiers seemed to be heading in no particular direction but still honked at the traffic around them and occasionally brandished weapons to prove they had the authority to by-pass traffic. Other than the two abandoned Sheriff’s cars, Steve had only spotted one Largo City police car after he crossed Ulmerton Road. It was parked with its driver's side wheels up on the median, while the officer sat on its hood staring insolently at the traffic going by.
Even from a distance, he could see that while Belcher was a mess, Gulf to Bay was a parking lot. Before reaching it, he cut off on a road that paralleled the thoroughfare three blocks to the south. Although running the entire distance to the business district, the shortcut was only a two-lane street that cut through a mostly residential area. Because it wasn't a main street, it was usually sparsely traveled and he hoped to make better time by taking it.
Too many times to count, after making the turn from Belcher, he passed groups of the walking dead. From what he could see, they seemed to be wandering around in search of food. As he drove by, they would reach out their hands to grasp at the Jeep while making the same high whining noise as the one he had shot on Gulf Boulevard.
Although the creatures were revolting, the initial rage to destroy them that he felt after abandoning Miss Carlson had disappeared, leaving only a feeling of disgust when he saw the dead. He still wanted to exterminate each and every one of them but to do that; he knew that first he had to survive.
Nearing Clearwater High School, he had to slow down because smoke from a house burning on the side of the road cut visibility down to only a few feet. As he crept along, squint
ing to see ahead of him, a figure suddenly appeared only feet away from his front bumper. Reaction took over and he hit the brakes, even as his mind told him to step on the gas.
Looking closer, he saw that standing in the middle of the street was a woman of about fifty, wearing a bright neon pink sweat suit. She looked immaculate in her appearance, with her hair done up and makeup on her face, so he relaxed.
Then he noticed her eyes, feral, hungry, predator eyes that looked at him with longing. The thing took a stumbling step forward and threw itself onto the hood of the Jeep as he floored the accelerator to run it over. It grabbed onto the hood latch with one hand and kneeled on the front bumper, clinging to his vehicle like a lamprey.
Stomping on the brake, Steve caused the Jeep to nose dive. He watched with triumph as the unwanted hitchhiker was propelled off the hood as if jerked by an invisible leash, to land on the road directly in front of him. Without hesitating, his foot jabbed down on the gas.
The Jeep roared forward before the front bounced up like it had hit a speed bump too fast, and a second later the rear end did the same. Stepping on the brake again, Steve looked into his mirror and saw that he had broken the things back. It lay on the ground writhing like a pink snake. Mesmerized by the sight, he watched as the dead thing got its hands up underneath it and began to drag its useless legs behind as it came after him again.
With a roar of disgust, he threw the Jeep into reverse and aimed his right rear wheel so it would roll down the entire length of the thing's body. The Jeep bounced again, throwing him against the door. Braking, he looked at the crushed thing that now lay in the road.
Smoke from the burning house drifted over the twisted, pink, sack of rags, slightly obscuring the view, but Steve could see enough to know that he had done a job on the Mary Kay bitch from hell.
Glancing through the windshield, Steve noticed dozens of figures coming toward him through the smoky haze. He wanted to make sure that the thing wouldn’t crawl after anyone again, so he quickly threw the Jeep in reverse and drove back over the body again, this time with substantially less bounce. Satisfied the job was done, Steve jammed the Jeep in gear and fled the oncoming horde.
