by Wise, A. R.
“We need to go,” said Porter shortly after June’s second bout of vomiting.
“Give us a minute,” said Red, perturbed.
Porter glanced in the rearview at the highway. “We need to get out of here.”
June muttered, “Tell him to fuck off,” and then started to walk away.
Porter cursed in frustration, and then got out of the truck. He slammed the door, and stormed around the vehicle. “Would you two get back in the truck? Now. We can’t…”
“Could you please stop…” Red started a protest in defense of June, but Porter was quick to quell it.
“They’re killing people. Look around, dumbass. Who knows why? Who knows if they’ll come back? But we don’t want to be around to find out. You can be as pissed off at me as you want. That’s fine, but be pissed off at me on the way to somewhere safe. Not here!”
June spun away from Red’s embrace to face Porter. Her normally pale face blushed, both with illness and anger. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m trying to keep us alive.”
“You had to,” she motioned back at the underpass, and was lost for a term to describe what happened there, “do that? You had to plow over people? You had to… Jesus Christ. Don’t you see how fucked up that was?”
“Yes, of course I do. But what else were we supposed to do? How else were we…”
“I don’t know,” she screamed. “But we could’ve talked about it. We could’ve tried to figure out a better way, but you had to plow on ahead. Do you ever listen to anyone? Do you? Or do you always just do things your way? Fuck everyone else. Fuck ‘em. Porter knows best. Right? No wonder everyone fucking hates you.” She paused, conscious of the weight of her next attack. “No wonder your wife left.”
“Hey, hey,” said Red as he held June back. “Stop.”
Porter’s stance stiffened, and his jaw clenched. His brow twitched as he glared at her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know I’ve spent one day with you, and I’m already fed up,” she said as Red pulled her back. He lifted her up, and carried her a few feet away as if dealing with an angry dog who might lunge at any moment.
“Did Mary get pissed off at you for not listening to anything she said? Did she?”
Porter stormed around the truck to the driver’s side. “Red, let’s go. Bring her if you can. Otherwise…” he didn’t finish, and slammed the truck’s door when he got back in.
Red’s door was still open, forcing Porter to be an unwanted audience member to their conversation.
“He’s right,” said Red. “We need to go.”
“Fuck him,” said June.
“We can’t stay here. Get in the truck and we’ll sort all this out.”
“Sort it out how? By just doing what he says all the time? Is that how you sort things out with him?”
“He was just…”
“Let me guess,” she said, taking on a sarcastic tone. “Your version of sorting things out is to do whatever the hell he says. Right? Isn’t that how the two of you work?”
“June, come on,” said Red. “Don’t be like that. Not now. Just get in the truck, and we can…”
“I’ll get in, because I don’t have any other choice. But I’ll ride in the back.”
“No, don’t be ridiculous.”
She pushed him away, and headed to the back of the truck. “You want me to come? Fine. Then I’m riding in the back.”
“Let her ride back there if she wants,” said Porter. “That’s fine by me.”
“Shut up, Porter,” said Red as he neared the passenger side door.
June was already in the back of the truck, pushing aside the things they’d stolen from Maggie and Abraham. Red got to the truck’s door, and Porter expected him to get in. He didn’t, and instead closed the door and headed for the back of the truck.
Porter’s surprise morphed into frustration as he watched his brother through the rearview. Red got into the back of the truck, and made room for himself beside June.
“Fine,” said Porter with unbecoming petulance.
He wanted to accelerate quickly, and cause them to tumble in the back, but he resisted the urge. That would’ve been the sort of pettiness he’d chastise his children for.
The thought of his boys gave him renewed purpose. He took out their photo, and set it on the dash as a reminder of his goal.
They set off again, away from the massacre at the highway, and into the plains of east Colorado. He knew this was the right route to take, but had lost any certainty about their safety. He got increasingly anxious about their chances of making it all the way to southeastern Texas.
It didn’t take long before their biggest obstacle became clear. The plains of Colorado offered little shelter from prying eyes. The rippling landscape settled, giving way to wide-open views. The minor hills they crested allowed them to see huge stretches, and let others to see them as well.
There were several other vehicles on the road, but few of them were moving. Most of their owners were dead or gone. Porter saw only a few moving vehicles, far off, swerving through the slalom of cars left on the roads. He watched each of them cautiously, waiting for any sign of them changing direction to head his way.
The accident the night before had rattled him. As he drove, he considered the various ways to handle another confrontation. There were no easy answers, but he’d have to come up with one quick.
He spotted a car on the same road that he was driving on, far ahead, coming his way.
Porter pulled over and stopped on the side of the road. He quickly drew his pistol, and opened the door.
“What’s going on?” asked Red, now standing in the back.
“We’ve got company. Get the shotgun.”
“What shotgun?”
“There’s one in that orange bag, from Abraham’s house.”
Red pulled the blanket and clothes off the top of the bag, and found the weapon. He pulled it out, and looked less than confident with it.
“Trade me,” said Porter, offering the handgun up to his brother.
June grabbed the rifle.
“Come down from there,” said Porter.
“Why?” asked Red, prepared to make a stand there in the truck.
“Because they might ram us,” said Porter. “We need to move as far from the truck as we can.”
Red and June must’ve agreed, because they did as they were told. The three of them jogged ahead to a parked sedan. The side of the sedan had been badly damaged, as if someone had collided with it to knock it off the road. There was no one inside.
“Are we hiding?” asked June.
“No, they saw us,” said Porter. “No point in hiding.”
“Are you sure they’re infected?” asked Red.
“No clue,” said Porter. “But we’re about to find out.”
The car headed their way was an older model sedan, muted red with black strips of plastic along the side. It had a sport rack container on its roof missing its lid, a cracked windshield, and a severe dent in its hood and bumper. Blood stained the window. There were multiple people in the car. One of them was leaning out of a rear window, a machete held high in the air like a knight charging into battle.
“Go, run,” said Porter as he pointed towards the large field of shorn wheat beside them. “Now! It’s one of them.”
“Are you sure?” asked Red, but June was already pulling at his arm to get him away from danger.
“Run!” Porter pumped the shotgun, and then headed around the car they hid behind. He had to get their attacker’s attention.
“What’re you doing?” Red screamed.
Porter dashed across the road as nimbly as his wounded leg would allow. He had to draw their attacker’s attention away from his brother at any cost. There was a Dodge Neon parked on the other side of the road, and he feigned as if hoping to hide behind it. The red sedan sped towards him, weaving between wrecked cars in the road, its tires squealing. Porter reached the Neon, and then leapt ba
ckward. He fell to his side and rolled, hoping the speeding car would crash in an attempt to crush him behind the Neon, but his ruse failed. The red car swerved fast enough to miss the Neon, but only barely. The red car’s side mirror scraped along the side of the Neon until it hit its mirror, causing them both to crack and break free.
Porter kept rolling, and felt the suction created by the speeding car. He stopped rolling while on his stomach, and pointed the shotgun towards the car. He took a shot despite his awkward position. The butt slammed into his shoulder and immediately pained him. His aim had been good enough to at least partially hit the screaming occupant of the car who was still hanging out of the back-seat window. The man jerked forward and dropped his machete. The weapon bounced off the pavement and went careening into the front of their parked truck where it smashed into the windshield. The wielder of the weapon went partially limp, and Porter thought he was dead. Then he reared back up, screaming in lustful rage, his face bleeding from a grievous wound that’d ripped apart his cheek and jaw.
Porter got to his knees as the car’s brakes squealed, leaving dark black streaks on the road. They began a haphazard three-point turn, bashing into the side of Porter’s truck in the process.
Their maneuver afforded a view of the driver. She was young, in her twenties, with short blonde hair and a split in her flesh that went from the part in her hair down across her nose, over her lips, and to her chin. The wound was deep, and fresh.
Porter aimed again, but there was a gunshot from somewhere else. He glanced to his left, and saw June near the side of the road, staggering back from the force of her rifle’s recoil. Porter aimed at their attackers, and strafed towards the Neon, away from June, forcing the driver to pick a direction.
The driver slowed the car down, and ducked low. The passenger beside her did the same, but the one in back was too excited and angry to hide. He screamed out, “Let’s get them,” and then opened his door. The car was still rolling as he jumped out, tripped, and then rolled on the pavement. The wound on his face looked far worse now. Bits of flesh hung by strands, and his bloody teeth were exposed and loose.
Porter focused his aim on the bloody one, and fired. The running man was thrown off his feet. His forward momentum caused his legs to fly forward as his shattered head went back. He crashed to the pavement with a sickening thud as bits and pieces of his face spread out behind him.
The car, which Porter now recognized as a Renault, was inching closer as the occupants hid behind the dash. Soon its tires were nearing their felled friend, but they only halted momentarily as the car struggled to mount the corpse. The driver revved the engine, giving the Renault the strength to overcome the body, crushing it further in the process like a bag of garbage left in the road.
Porter didn’t have any shells to reload with, and began to walk backwards as the car approached. He glanced at June, and saw Red running along the side of the road behind her, heading towards their attacker.
June fired a second time. She tried to hit the Renault’s passenger as he peeked over the dash. She missed, and left a hole and flower of cracks in the windshield.
Porter kept his eyes on Red, cursing in fearful anticipation of what his brother was planning. Red dashed towards the car, headed for the passenger side door.
The next few seconds were a chaotic blur of action and terror that slowed to a crawl as Porter leapt to action. He knew his brother was attempting to surprise the occupants of the car, and Porter decided to provide a distraction.
He stopped moving backward, and instead charged, his empty shotgun pointed at the windshield. He momentarily considered leaping onto the hood, but his wounded leg prevented such heroics. Instead he moved to his right, hoping to draw their attention away from his brother.
Red reached the car, and started firing haphazardly into the passenger side window. The assault was brief, but successful. Porter saw the man in the passenger side hit at least once before the driver sped up to escape. The Renault’s tires squealed, and the sedan raced away, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake.
“Did I get him?” asked Red as he joined Porter in the middle of the road.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I tried to get the driver too.”
The Renault had driven about a half mile away, but slowed to a stop.
“Do you think I got her too?” asked Red.
“I don’t know,” said Porter.
“Why’d they stop?” asked June as she joined them.
“I think I must’ve killed them both,” said Red.
“Maybe,” said Porter. “But they came to a deliberate stop. They didn’t crash. You might’ve hit the driver, but you didn’t kill her.”
“What should we do?” asked June, and she looked to Porter.
He looked back at her, but she turned away, as if ashamed and angry with herself for asking him at all. She looked to Red, who had no opinion to offer.
Porter looked at the Renault in the distance, and saw its red brake lights. Either the driver was dead with her foot on the brake, or she was still alive and waiting for an opportunity to launch another attack.
Porter considered their few options.
“We need to get off the roads for now. It’s too dangerous,” said Porter. It felt like an admission of defeat.
Day Two – 5:03 pm
“Wait, what?” asked Red.
“We can’t be out here on the plains in broad daylight,” said Porter. “Not if they’re driving around like that. Last night, the crash, I hoped it was just a one-time thing – that we got unlucky and ran into some of them on the road. Now I’m not so sure. From the way it looks, they’re everywhere.”
“What about getting to Texas? What about Mary and the boys?” asked Red.
“I’ll still get there, but it’s not going to do them any good if I get myself killed first. I’m sure they’re safe. They’re probably in the bunker with Dad.”
“Talk about a fate worse than death,” said Red. Porter shot him a disapproving look. “Sorry. You know what I mean.”
“Let’s cut across this field, and head out that way.” Porter pointed to a connecting road that headed east. “If our new friends don’t follow us, then we’ll try to find a farm house to hide out in for now.”
“For how long?” asked June.
“I don’t know.” Porter looked down at her. “We can talk about it when we get there.”
She didn’t appreciate the jab at her request from earlier, but didn’t offer a rebuttal either. Instead, she stared out at the Renault parked ahead, the rifle cradled in her arms.
“The truck’s already in bad shape,” said Red. “I’m not sure it can take much more abuse. We might get stuck in the field.”
“The truck’s got a better shot at making it than their Renault,” said Porter.
“Then what’re we waiting for?” asked June. “Let’s go.”
Porter walked towards the truck and asked, “Are you guys riding in the back still?”
Red looked to June. She answered, “No, we’ll ride with you. Just try not to be an asshole.”
“I’ll do my best, but no promises.”
Porter held Red back as they neared the truck. He waited for June to get in, and then asked, “You okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
Porter looked down at the pistol in his brother’s hand. “You just shot someone. That’s why.”
“I’m okay.” Red’s eyes were wide, as if he’d spent the morning downing gallons of coffee. His tan had paled, and his breath was quick and sharp. “I mean, I guess I am. I did what I had to. I don’t feel… I guess I feel bad, but not really. Know what I mean? I haven’t had much time to think about it. They would’ve killed us. I did what I had to.”
“I know. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t messing with you.”
“It hasn’t had a chance to mess with me yet.”
Porter reached around his brother’s shoulder and clasped the side of his head. He pulled him close and kissed hi
s temple. “I love you, Red. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry about what happened at the highway. I was just trying to get us someplace safe. I honestly didn’t think it was going to be a problem.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Red. “I don’t think June does either. She might now, but when things calm down I’m sure she’ll be fine. It was just,” he shook his head while recalling the nightmare, “a shock. This whole thing’s been a hell of a shock.”
Porter looked out at the Renault to assure himself it was still parked. Red started to leave, but Porter held him back again.
“Hey, if something happens to me, I don’t want you going to Texas.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Like I said, if something happens to me, if I don’t make it, then I want you to stay with June. Hide out. Stay safe. Don’t go looking for Mary and the boys. They’ll be fine. It might be a nightmare for them to live in Dad’s bunker, but at least they’re safe. I don’t want you risking your life trying to get to them when they’re already safe.”
“Don’t talk like that. Nothing can take you down, big guy. The apocalypse doesn’t stand a chance against Porter Law.” Red slapped his brother’s chest a couple times.
“I’m serious, Red. I don’t want you risking your life. If something happens to me, I want you to stay low and wait this out.”
“Dude, stop. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“Promise me you won’t go to Texas.”
“Stop it.”
“Promise me, Red.”
“No, I’m not going to promise you shit because nothing’s going to happen to you. Now let’s get going before that bitch turns around and tries to play bumper cars with our asses.” He broke free of Porter’s grip and headed to the truck.
Porter followed, annoyed and concerned.
They started driving slowly across the field, testing the truck’s stability on the rows. They jostled around, and the stolen loot in the back banged as it hopped, but the truck was doing an admirable job of navigating the field. Porter kept an eye on the Renault, but it never moved. He hoped Red was right, and that he’d managed to kill both passengers, though it seemed unlikely.
