Fallout

by Derek Shupert

  “I get it. I’m scared too, but right now we need to stick together if we hope to make it through this,” I sneer. Dawson is my best friend, but right now, he’s just getting on my last nerve.

  Tony moves off on the side of the road, giving us a little space. He pets Duke and plays fetch with him.

  “Looks like he’s warmed up to him rather quickly,” Dawson comments as Duke runs after a stick that Tony threw.

  “He’s different with everybody. Some he gets comfortable with faster than others,” I reply with a smirk, nudging Dawson in the side.

  “Whatever, dude,” Dawson scoffs.

  I ask, “So, we good?”

  Dawson nods. “Yeah, we’re good.”

  “Good. Now stop being a prick,” I say, playfully slapping Dawson in the face. I catch his wounded ear by accident.

  “Christ, man.” Dawson clutches his ear with a grimace of pain. “Thanks a lot. It was starting to feel better.”

  My hand covers my mouth as I grab his shoulder. “Sorry man, didn’t mean to get the ear, just your face.”

  “Whatever. Can we get going now?” Dawson responds, his face contorted with discomfort.

  “Sure. Let me get Tony and Duke real quick.”

  Holding his black and blue ear, that is slightly puffy and caked with a thin layer of blood, Dawson heads back to the truck.

  “Is everything ok?” Tony inquires as he kneels down.

  I glance back to Dawson who is heading for the truck. “Yeah, we got everything straightened out.”

  Tony rubs the top of Duke’s head, Duke’s tongue lashing out and trying to get his hand.

  “Looks like you and Duke are getting along better,” I observe.

  “He’s a pretty good pup. You’re lucky to have him.” Tony scratches underneath Duke’s snout.

  “He can be a pain at times, but I don’t know what I would do without him,” I respond while looking down at him.

  Duke gives a single bark and sits down on his hind legs. He flips around and digs into his backside, his teeth chomping through his thick fur.

  “Come on, Duke, let’s get going.” I pat my leg which ceases his festering itch. He gets to his feet and runs over to the truck. Tony and I follow suit, watching Duke as he hops inside the cab next to Dawson who has his head resting against the seat, his eyes barely open.

  I load up into the backseat and slam the door. “The keys are in the ignition.”

  Tony gets in and shuts his door. He glances over at Dawson and holds out his hand. “Thanks for letting me tag along with you two.”

  “Yeah, no problem. Sorry for being an ass and all. Someone shot me in the ear.” Dawson replies, elevating his eyebrows.

  Tony snickers. “Man, what kind of person would do that?”

  We all chuckle. The mood changes from a storm of tension to that of a subtle breeze of easement.

  “So where are we heading?” Tony adjusts the rear-view mirror, and moves his seat back some as he gets situated.

  “Keep heading down this road. We’ll be on it for a while,” Dawson says.

  “Sounds good.” Tony fires up the engine and puts it into drive. We take off, leaving the plume of black smoke behind us.

  CHAPTER SEVETEEN

  Deafening is the silence inside our heads.

  That’s what my English teacher, Mrs. Pritchet, used to say to her students who didn’t pay attention, or who seemed lost in space. At the time, I never grasped what she really meant. Not until now.

  Sitting here in the backseat, with my head resting against the narrow glass and my feet propped up on the seat, I try to relax and enjoy the first bit of peace we’ve had in the last twelve hours.

  Dawson’s snoring up a storm. Duke is doing much the same. Tony’s got his window down and the radio scanning for any stations that come in clearly. Most are filled with static, or the crackle of a voice here and there.

  My thoughts start to drift about, bouncing from the past to the present. Like a recap of my life, the good and the awful play inside my head.

  I see Mom and Dad outside, standing together and looking out to the mountains off in the distance, while Cindy is on the couch next to me playing with her dolls. She’s so happy, singing some little kid song from one of those Disney channel cartoons.

  “James,” a faint voice beckons.

  I look to my left and find Dad trapped back in the Bronco. He has this blank stare in his wide eyes, full of the infection or virus or whatever it is taking hold of him. He reaches for me, clawing at the seat one minute and the next pleading for my help.

  “James, please help me. Get me out of here.” Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Two different persona’s fighting for control.

  I divert my gaze, wrestling with myself on what I should. I want to help him, but I’m scared. Dad keeps on, his voice carrying over the growls and moans that are reeling me in. I turn back around and find him standing right there with his mouth open. He lunges at me with a burning rage in the pits of his eyes.

  “You all right back there?” Tony inquires.

  Breathing heavy and disoriented, I run my hand over my face, and try to calm myself down. I’m looking for Dad, peering through the back window and into the bed of the truck.

  I grumble. “Yeah. Guess I drifted off.”

  Tony probes further. “Didn’t sound like it was too relaxing. Want to talk about it?”

  “It wasn’t. And not really. Thanks anyways.”

  I move to the center of the seat. The heals of my palms rub my eyes as Duke reaches up. He gives me a lick across the face. Thanks.

  His breath smells like feet and butt, which is nothing new. Every morning I get woken up by that god-awful stench.

  “All right, Duke, that’s enough.” I push Duke’s head back down and pat him on the back as Dawson looks back at me. His ear still looks nasty, but it’s stopped bleeding, which is good.

  “How’s the ear?” I skim it over some more, leaning in closer for a better look.

  “I imagine it doesn’t look pretty, but it’s not hurting as much anymore,” Dawson responds. He sits up and leans to his right. He tilts his head to the side and examines his ear in the side-view mirror. “You were out for a while back there.”

  “It doesn’t look that bad,” Tony says. He glances back at me, his face slathered in guilt.

  “Yeah, so says the man who shot me,” Dawson states.

  “Would you rather that have happened or one of those chasers make a meal out of you?” Tony poses, slightly raising his right brow.

  Dawson gets silent for a moment, pondering Tony’s rebuttal. He dismisses the question with a huff. “Whatever, dude.”

  “Thought so,” Tony responds.

  “Anyways, how far have we gone?” I ask, not recognizing the scenery.

  “Oh, about thirty miles or so,” Tony informs.

  I check the speedometer. He’s only going fifty.

  “Fifty miles? That’s not too bad? Why are you going so slow?”

  “We passed through a roadblock a few miles back when the traffic started to get heavy. I had to slow it down to get through the mess. The last thing we need is to wreck the one vehicle we know is working right now. Don’t need to chance it,” Tony says as he points to the deserted cars we pass by.

  “Have you spotted any more chasers?” My gaze trains out the window, inspecting the stagnant cars as we drive past them.

  “Not really. There were some bodies inside the cars, but it was hard to tell whether they were infected or not.,” Tony replies.

  “It was creepy, dude. Some just stared at us while we drove by. Couldn’t tell if they were alive or if they died that way. Gave me the chills for sure,” Dawson quickly adds.

  I lean back in my seat and retrieve my phone. I pull up Mom’s cell and dial her number. I know that her and Cindy made it to the cabin and that they’re safe and sound and waiting for me to get there, but seeing all of these cars and hearing about the chasers that are trapped inside brings a cringe of doubt to
my assumption.

  “Who you calling?” Tony asks.

  “Probably his mom. That’s where we’re heading. They have a cabin up in the woods that is pretty badass. His dad was like a doom’s day prepper and all. Last time I was up there, place was stocked to the gills with all sorts of rations and supplies.”

  No service, not even a single bar. Crap! I power off the phone to conserve the battery, and lean my head back against the glass window.

  “Any luck on reaching your mom, dude?” Dawson probes.

  “Hell no,” I hiss. My body slumps back into the seat.

  “I bet they’re all right, James,” Tony offers in a reassuring tone.

  I peer out the window and watch the trees as we drive past them. “I’ll just feel much better when I see them in person.”

  “Great,” Tony says.

  I lean forward. “What?”

  “Well, this sucks. How are we supposed to get around this cluster flop of cars in our way?” Dawson groans.

  Tony throws the truck into park and kills the engine. Slinging the door open, he hops out with Duke following close behind.

  Dawson leans forward. He scans the parking lot of vehicles before us. “Dude, I’m not seeing any way through.”

  I get out and walk up next to Tony. He’s got another cigarette burning between his dingy fingers. Duke roams around, sniffing the ground, and then darting off into the trees to our right.

  “You see anything?” I ask. I skim over the abundance of stagnant steel blocking the road.

  Tony takes a deep drag, slowly exhaling the smoke through his nose and mouth. “No. Might need to get a closer look up there, though.”

  “Okay. Be right back.” I hurry back to the truck and retrieve the Remington from the back seat.

  “What’s going on?” Dawson asks.

  “Not sure yet. Tony thinks we should see what’s going on. You coming?” I respond.

  Dawson slumps back into his seat. He has no desire to get out of the truck. “I’ll hang here. I’m still feeling out of it and all.”

  “All right. Keep an eye out for any trouble. If you spot something, honk the horn or whatever. We shouldn’t be too long,” I advise.

  “Just hurry up,” Dawson sharply retorts.

  I shut the door and hear the locks engage. I get back to Tony who’s got his handgun in his hand. His cigarette is nearly out. I double check my ammo. I’m good to go.

  “Stay close.” Tony takes point with me shadowing his every move. Duke barrels out of the tall weeds, giving a quick shake, then races to my side. I wish I had some treats for him. He’s been doing very well with obeying and I would like to reward him. Next time we come across a store or something, I’ll hook him up.

  My stomach growls and cramps. I’m also feeling a little lightheaded. It’s probably because I haven’t eaten well since all this has gone down. I’m really craving Mom’s cooking right now. Well, maybe not her meatloaf, but anything else would do.

  Instead of going through the thick of the cars, we veer off to the left and get in the grass. I peer into each vehicle, looking for something dead lurking inside.

  The wind picks up, rustling the trees about. The branches creak and scrape against one another in an unsettling manner.

  Not sure as to why, but these vehicles have bullet holes all over them. Why would that be? Who would’ve been firing at these people?

  “You seeing this?” I ask, stopping at a dark blue Chevy Avalanche. The windshield has numerous holes with two dead men inside. They don’t appear to be chasers, but regular normal people.

  Tony inspects the vehicle, leaning in close, and probing the holes with his finger. He looks out over the others with a concerned stare. He grips his handgun a little tighter.

  My hands grip the Remington tighter as well, if that is even possible. I whisper to Tony. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Thought I heard something. Come on.”

  We get back on the move and head toward the bridge.

  Duke runs up in front of us. He stops just shy of where the bridge would’ve started. It’s nothing more now than a pile of rubble resting in the raging waters below.

  Mangled pieces of rebar protrude from the ground on both sides. Chunks of concrete cling to the ends.

  I rest the barrel of the Remington against my shoulder and point to the vacant space. “What happened to the bridge?”

  I move closer to the edge, peering over the busted rubble and to the water below. Duke does the same, his front paws clutching the jagged edge. I grab his collar and pull him back, making sure he doesn’t go too far.

  There are a few cars resting at the bottom, submerged as the swift moving current flows over the contorted vehicles.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to backtrack and find another way around.” Tony discards the remnants of his cigarette with a flick of his fingers to the water below.

  Honk! Honk!

  “What’s that?” Tony spins about on his heels and brings his pistol up.

  My head snaps back over my shoulder as I bring the rifle to bear. “It’s Dawson. I told him to let us know if there was any trouble.”

  “Great!” Tony mumbles.

  We book it back to the truck, sprinting as the horn continues to blare. Off to my left, I spot some movement within the cars. Something stirs within the trees.

  Duke runs ahead of us and cuts to the left. He darts behind a red Dodge Ram pickup. He growls and attacks something, struggling with whatever it is.

  “Duke!” I yell. I catch the sound of an engine revving up and tires squealing.

  “Go check on Dawson. I’ll get Duke,” Tony instructs as he moves around the truck.

  Duke’s fighting with a chaser, biting at its legs as it tries to grab a hold of him. It stops for a moment and looks in our direction with its one eye. Bullet holes riddle its body, carving out large amounts of flesh. It starts to come for us with Duke pulling on its leg. Each step is labored and sluggish, but it still moves slightly forward.

  Fire spews from the end of Tony’s handgun, nailing it in the middle of its forehead.

  “I got this, James, now move,” Tony barks.

  Two more chasers appear a few cars ahead and head our way. They’re just as disfigured as the one Tony just took down.

  I leave Duke with Tony and make a mad dash to see what’s going on with Dawson. He’s still inside the truck, positioned in the driver’s seat. More chasers claw and batter at the windows, trying to get in. One moves around to the front of the truck and Dawson guns it. He rams it into the vehicle ahead of him. The force nearly cuts it in half. Dawson throws it in reverse and backs up.

  “Stop before you mess up the truck!” I yell while waving my arms frantically in his direction.

  Dawson stops and guns it again as the chaser struggles to get its feet under it. I can’t tell if he can hear me or not.

  Going full throttle, he mows the chaser over and crashes into the car in front of him once more. Smoke billows out from under the hood. The remaining chaser turns its attention to me. Without pause, I bring the Remington up and fire, connecting right between its eyes. It crumbles to the ground in mid stride.

  Dawson slings open the door and steps out as I race over to the truck.

  I lower the Remington and place my hand on his shoulder. “Are you ok?”

  “Yeah, they came out of nowhere and I panicked,” Dawson replies as he struggles to catch his breath. He’s got a small gash above his right eye now.

  “Is everyone ok?” Tony asks as he and Duke rush up to us.

  “We’re good.” I love on Duke for a moment as Tony peers at the truck.

  “What the hell happened?” He inspects the truck closer, running his hand over the crumpled-up metal.

  “Dawson took out a chaser,” I say.

  “I’d say so.” Tony drops his hands to his sides.

  A slight moan comes from the wreckage. The chaser leans to the left, and grabs the hood with the bloodied tips of its finger
s. It pulls and growls, but doesn’t budge. Tony holsters his pistol and checks the back of the truck. He pulls out a crowbar.

  “Come here, let’s sit down for a minute,” I say to Dawson.

  I lead him over to the side of the road and take a seat in the grass. Some thunder crackles to the south of us. Thick clouds roll in, blotting out the sun and casting some shade over us.

  “Come here, you ugly piece of crap,” Tony growls.

  Grabbing what little hair it has on its scalp, Tony yanks its head back and rams the crow bar through its skull. It stops moving and drops its head to the hood of the truck.

  “That’s one tough bastard,” Tony says as he walks over to us.

  “Man, what I wouldn’t give right now to be in my room with the door closed, some metal playing, and an ice-cold cola next to me. Laid back in my chair and playing some video games,” Dawson dreams.

  “No kidding. I wouldn’t mind playing a zombie game instead of being in a real-life version of it,” I add.

  Dawson cuts his gaze toward me and nods in agreement. “I know, right? But think of the stories we’ll have to tell. There will be so many girls throwing themselves at us that we won’t know what to do.”

  “That might be a stretch. Besides, what if everyone we know is a chaser by the time this is over with?” I pose.

  “Please. Like you still wouldn’t want to get with undead Kimberly if she came chasing after you, looking for a meal. You’d be all over that. Come here Kimberly, give me some of that infectious tongue.” Dawson sticks his tongue out and wags it about.

  “Dude, you are truly a sick individual,” I reply.

  “Yeah, well, the truth can be sick sometimes, bro,” Dawson adds with a wink.

  “Whatever, dill hole.” I punch Dawson in the arm and quickly get to my feet.

  “Damn, dude, that hurt, you ass.” He grabs his arm and tries to kick my legs. I move out of the way.

  Tony gets inside the truck and turns it over. The engine sounds pitiful, but comes to life. Spitting and sputtering, he backs it up. The dead chaser slides off the front of the truck and plops to the ground in a heap of contorted flesh and busted bone.