Survive (Day 2)

by Wise, A. R.

  Red ducked low to crawl between the fence’s boards.

  “If you two want to wash up, this is the best chance we’ve got,” said Porter.

  “Hey,” said Red as he neared his brother. “I’m sorry for how I acted back there. I was… I was wrong. You were right.”

  “Let’s not talk about this right now,” said Porter.

  “Did you make sure he was dead? I thought it’d take longer than…”

  “Can we please not…” Porter lowered his voice. “Not right now. Okay?” He breathed deep, his hairy, barrel chest glistening and wet. He locked eyes with Red, and then turned away to focus on washing.

  “All right,” said Red, sheepish.

  “Let me wash, and then you and June can. Tell her I won’t watch. I’ll sit in the truck and put the blanket up over the window. I got some clothes, but I don’t think they’ll fit me. Maybe you can use them.”

  “Abraham’s clothes?” asked Red.

  Porter nodded.

  “I got toothpaste, but no brushes. We’ll have to use our fingers for now.”

  Red stayed quiet for a while, watching as his brother did his best to clean himself. The pump continued to spit out water as the engine whirred. The cold water came in rhythmic spurts that splashed over the sides of the basin as the level rose.

  “You okay?” asked Red.

  Porter waited to say anything, as if a proper answer might materialize given time. “Ask me again when we get to Texas.”

  Porter finished, and then dried off as Red and June prepared to wash. He set up the blanket over the cab of the truck as promised, even though June told him not to worry about it. She trusted he wasn’t a pervert. He covered the cab anyhow, and then waited in the truck.

  As he sat alone, he took out his picture of Mary and the boys. He wept, and apologized to them for what he’d done.

  “I’m not a bad person,” he said, and clutched the photo close to his chest. “I promise.”

  Day Two – 2:37 pm

  Porter took a turn driving. He needed to focus on something other than Abraham. After examining the map, it became clear they’d have to head east, away from the mountains. They had to make it south without using main roads, which meant they needed to avoid the Air Force Academy and Colorado Springs, both of which sat up against the front range. The eastern half of Colorado was scantly populated, and if they could make it there then the trip to Texas could be made without passing through many large towns. The only thing standing in their way was I-25. The interstate drew a line through Colorado, and was impossible to avoid. They would have to cross it, which likely meant a long traffic delay.

  “I think there’s a Ren Faire out here somewhere,” said Red as he gazed out the window.

  “It’s a little south of here,” said Porter.

  Red looked at his older brother with a raised brow. “Did you go there?”

  “Does that shock you?”

  “Sort of, yeah. Doesn’t seem like your idea of a good time.”

  “Mary and I took the boys. We tried to get you to go, but that was back when you wouldn’t answer my calls.”

  “Ah, gotcha,” said Red with a wry look. “The good old days.”

  “Don’t you two start fighting again,” said June between them. “So help me God, I’ll smack you right out of the truck.”

  “Hush,” said Red with odd insistence.

  “Don’t tell me to…”

  “No, seriously, be quiet.” Red rolled down his window. “Do you hear…” He didn’t have to finish before the sound of an approaching jet silenced all three of them. They heard the plane far before they saw it. The roar was unnatural, as if the sky itself was being torn.

  Porter slowed and pointed out the windshield. “There, look.”

  A fighter jet was headed south, lowering altitude as it approached. It would pass a few miles ahead of them, near where Porter assumed I-25 was.

  “There’s another one,” said Red, pointing behind the first plane.

  “Whoa,” said June. “I’ve never seen fighter jets, except at air shows and things like that.”

  “The Air Force Academy is close by,” said Porter.

  “And do you think they’re running drills or…” Red didn’t finish the thought.

  “I hear a helicopter,” said Porter.

  “Yep, there it is. Three of them,” June pointed out the squadron, flying lower than the jets, with the same trajectory.

  Porter hit the brakes, bringing them to a screeching halt that nearly caused the truck to fishtail.

  Red pressed his hands to the dash to brace himself, and then asked, “What’s the matter?”

  Porter stared anxiously ahead. “Are they bombing the roads?”

  “What?” asked June in exasperation. “No, of course they’re not…”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “Think about it. We know they released some sort of disease that’s affecting people, and from what we’ve seen, it happened near major roads. Right?”

  “We don’t know…” Red started to protest, but Porter quickly shouted over him.

  “How would you stop it from spreading? Ask yourself that. Think about it. What better way to stop it from spreading than to take out the roads?”

  “The roads are packed with cars,” said June. “With people. They’re not going to blow up the highway.”

  “How would they get around?” asked Red. “They’re not going to…”

  “They’ll fly. The government knows this black out’s going to last a long time. They know we’re fucked if this disease spreads. What better way to contain it than taking out the roads? They can still fly wherever they need to. Meanwhile, we’re stuck. We’re contained. It’s like we’re being quarantined in the only way they can think to do it on a mass scale. You take out the major highways and bridges.”

  “That’s crazy,” said June.

  Porter answered, “That’s war.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Red. “You’re making a lot of assumptions.”

  “We have to make assumptions,” said Porter. “What else have we got?” He turned on the radio, and spun the dial. There was nothing but static. “We don’t have any other information. All we’ve got are educated guesses, and if I was forced to deal with bioterrorism like this, I’d start by containing people any way I could.”

  “Educated guess.” Red grimaced. “Come on, man. Your education in the apocalypse came from Professor Smitty Jay Law. I wouldn’t call that an education. More like a brainwashing.”

  “Dad was right about a lot,” said Porter, chagrined by the fact. It was an admission more than a defense.

  “So then what’re we going to do?” asked June. “Are we turning around and trying to find a different route, or are we going to try and get across I-25?”

  Porter looked at them both, and then said, “I don’t know. We can’t get south without either getting past I-25 or going back up into the mountains. And if we head into the mountains, we’ll have to get lucky and find some private roads that aren’t on my map. If we try to go south from here, we’ll have to get past the Air Force base and Colorado Springs. I don’t think that’ll happen.”

  “Then let’s try and get past I-25,” said Red.

  “And risk getting bombed?” asked Porter.

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” said Red.

  “What do you think, June?”

  “You’re asking me? Fuck if I know. I guess I’m with Red. Let’s take our chance getting to the other side of the highway, because I’m sure as hell not going back where we came from – back where we know people are infected.”

  “Okay then,” said Porter. “Majority rules. I-25 it is.” He started driving again, slower this time.

  It took another fifteen minutes before they crested a hill that gave them a view of I-25 and the wall-to-wall traffic. Worse than that, the road they were on was similarly packed with cars in their lane.

  “Holy shit,” said Red when he saw
the silent snake of traffic ahead. “There’s got to be a mile of traffic on this road. And look at the highway.”

  June muttered a curse.

  Porter squinted, and then asked, “Do you guys see any brake lights?”

  It took a second for them to answer as they stared ahead. Red finally said, “No, I don’t.”

  “That’s weird,” said June.

  “That’s not traffic,” said Porter. “It’s a parking lot.”

  “Maybe they’re saving gas,” said June.

  “People are sleeping on the side of the road,” said Red.

  Porter saw the bodies.

  “I don’t think they’re sleeping.”

  “Then what are they…” June came to a sudden, awful realization. “Oh my God. You think they’re dead?”

  Porter didn’t have to say anything. The answer quickly became obvious.

  They drove past a face down, blood soaked body, its back riddled with bullet holes. The man’s hands had been reaching for the ditch, a trail of blood behind him headed back towards the highway.

  “Stop, stop,” said June.

  “We can’t,” said Porter, and he crossed into the oncoming traffic lane as they neared the parked cars.

  “Why can’t we?” asked June, angered. “Turn around. Let’s find a different way! What are you doing?”

  “The helicopters just passed,” said Porter. “They’re probably patrolling. If we’re going to make it east, this is our best chance.”

  He could see the overpass ahead, but as they descended the winding road his view was blocked by hills. All he could see were parked cars and bodies. Most of the corpses were face down, like the last, having died while fleeing.

  “So what if they’re patrolling?” asked June. “They’re not patrolling for us. Shouldn’t we flag them down? Maybe they can help.”

  “Look around. They did this,” said Porter. “Do you really think they’re going to stop to check and see if we’re all right, or do you think they’ll just start shooting. They’re trying to quarantine whatever got loose out here. That means no survivors.”

  “You don’t know that,” said June.

  “Porter, Porter, watch out,” said Red as he pointed at a corpse in the road ahead.

  Porter tried to avoid the body, but the truck’s tires ran over the man’s legs, cracking bone and eliciting a scream of horror from June.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” asked Red.

  “We’ve got to get past the highway,” said Porter.

  They rounded a corner, allowing Porter to get a better view of the overpass ahead. A bridge spanned a small gap in the hill where I-25 sat, and the road they were driving on passed beneath the concrete canopy. There were cars parked on both sides of the road under the bridge, jamming their way forward.

  “It’s blocked,” said June. “We have to turn around.”

  “Look at all the bodies,” said Red.

  This was the epicenter of the massacre. The road was littered with corpses, and the grass on the hill beside I-25 was the color of burnt umber, stained by blood that’d run from the asphalt like rain and then dried in the sun. Clouds of flies swarmed, wavering like smoke above the dead. The truck’s recirculated air couldn’t keep out the stench of death. The sweet, noxious odor crept in, and sickened them as Porter continued driving, unabated by the scene.

  “You can’t go that way,” said June, desperate to flee. “What’re you doing?”

  “We’ll go up on the side,” said Porter as he steered the truck off the road, and towards the slanted side of the underpass, between the columns and the peak.

  “We’re not going to fit through there,” said Red.

  June started to curse over and over.

  “We’ll fit,” said Porter, less than certain.

  The truck continued to plow over the increasing number of bodies, which caused them to bounce in the cab. The wheels struggled with the task, and nearly forced Porter to turn sharply several times, as if some ghost was pulling at the wheel. He continued, slowing only once they neared the underpass. He feared Red was right, and that the truck would get stuck in the tight space he planned to drive through.

  It wasn’t until they were within ten yards of the underpass that Porter saw the horror waiting there. Bodies had piled up at the bottom of the slanted concrete wall, pressed against the columns. The sides were covered with so much blood that hardly any grey concrete still showed. The wall was peppered with holes, and near the apex were bloody handprints, as if the victims had tried to crawl up and away, only to slide back down to gather in a heap.

  Red pulled June to him. They cowered from the sight, their faces buried against one another.

  Porter was shocked and appalled, but undeterred. He slowed down as he ascended the hill, and then took the truck into the tight gap. The stench of death permeated the truck, and became sharper, nearly metallic. The roof of the truck on Porter’s side scraped against a steel girder that supported the interstate above.

  “We’re making it,” said Porter when he saw they could fit through. “We can do this.”

  “Fuck you,” said June, her voice muffled against Red’s chest.

  The tires screeched unexpectedly, and the truck jerked forward before pulling to the right. Porter turned the wheel to steer them left, but the tires lost their grip. The blood had started to coagulate, but there was enough that it hadn’t hardened. They were sliding. The bodies clumped at the bottom grew closer, and then the side of the truck hit them, pinning it. The vehicle stopped. Porter looked through the passenger window, afraid he’d see bodies, but was spared the sight by their angle. However, he knew the truck’s tires had collided with the mass of dead, and when he revved the engine it was bones and flesh he heard being shredded.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Red. “Why’d we stop?”

  “Keep your eyes closed,” said Porter, afraid of what his brother would see if he looked out the window.

  “Why?” asked Red as he disobeyed. He looked out his window, and got a full view of the corpses. He was aghast when he turned back to Porter, his eyes wide and fearful, his expression blank, as if the horror of the moment had stolen all sense from him. He held June close, wrapping his hands around the back of her head to keep her safe from the sight he’d seen.

  Porter steered left, and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The truck’s left tires screamed on the pavement, while the right spun through clothes, flesh, and bone, finally breaking free of the mass that’d hampered them. The truck burst forward, sending shards of humanity spitting back. They shot forth from the underpass into the shallow ditch beyond.

  “We’re okay,” said Porter as if it’d been a victory. “We made it.”

  The disturbing trial wasn’t over yet. The east side of the highway was replete with bodies, same as the west. They were forced to stay on the edge of the road and the ditch, blocked by a line of parked cars on the road.

  Red watched, but kept June safe against his chest as she sobbed. He glared at his brother.

  Porter saw Red’s anger, but didn’t entertain it. He said, “We made it,” as if to allay any retribution.

  They still had to drive over bodies, and each time it was hard to stomach. The truck would bounce, June would gasp, and Red’s anger would intensify.

  Finally, Red spoke. “You shouldn’t have made us do that.” His anger was contained, forced into submission by the need for calm in the face of tragedy. His tone seethed like steam from a pot, hinting at boiling rage. “That was stupid.”

  “It wasn’t,” said Porter, confident. “We did what we had to do.”

  They reached the end of the line of cars. Porter guided the truck back to the road, but the suspension had been affected. The truck no longer drove smoothly. It clattered and bounced more than before, as if every crack in the road would jar them from this point forward. The engine sounded angry, hissing and screeching as a belt within strained.

  Red struggled to contain his anger. He had to turn awa
y, but his window was stained with splattered blood now, stealing a chance for a contemplative escape.

  “Sometimes…” Red fumed. “God damn it, Porter. Sometimes you just don’t know…”

  “We had to get to the other side of the highway,” said Porter, loud and with authority. “You both said this is the route you wanted to take. I’m sorry if it was rough, but it’s what we had to…”

  “Fuck you,” said Red. “Would you shut up for a second? Just shut up and listen to me for once in your life.”

  “I didn’t want to have to do that,” said Porter, his frustration rising. “But there was no other choice. I did what I had to do because…”

  “You did it without listening to us first,” said Red. “That’s my point. It’s not that you did it. I mean, fuck, dude. Maybe we did have to do that. Maybe you’re right, but that doesn’t mean you get to just charge ahead and make those sorts of decisions. You have to talk to us first. You have to listen to what we think too!"

  “I made a decision,” said Porter. “And it was the right decision. End of story.”

  “Fuck man,” said Red, exasperated. “Talking to you is like… I don’t know, it’s like talking at a damn idiot wall.”

  “An idiot wall?”

  “Yeah. Fuck you. Just shut up and… Just shut up for a while.”

  June pushed her way free of Red’s grasp and said, “Pull over.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Porter.

  “Pull over,” she said again.

  Red demanded, “Pull over!”

  “Let’s get farther from the highway before we…”

  “I’m going to throw up,” said June. “Pull over!”

  Porter complied, and June was crawling across Red’s lap before the truck came to a complete stop. Red opened his door, but held June back until they were fully parked. Once able, she launched out of the cab. She made it two steps before vomiting. Red got out as well, and held her hair as she threw up a second time.

  Porter stayed in the driver’s seat. He watched them through Red’s open door.

  Day Two – 3:39 pm