The Long Way To Reno

by Mix, Michelle

  My mind was blown, watching this thing walk away. There were other shadows in the distance as big as it, but they were too far away for me to see individually. I could only imagine what they truly were. I could only think of how beautiful it was to see these alien robots, here to destroy Earth, actually existing in front of me. I wasn’t looking at them in fear or horror – I was admiring them from an anime-enthusiast’s point of view.

  I was totally geeking out, rather than freaking out. Like I said, I lacked a survival instinct.

  As hearing started to return, my mind processed the snarls, the barking words of creatures that were once human. I started to realize that I was still in danger. My mind so blown by the robots that I didn’t even think about why it had done what it did – I heard the noises of incoming Rabid and didn’t even process it as a danger. Good thing I wasn’t the only one there.

  The metal stairs nearby vibrated with the weight of many moving feet, and Harley knew they were running up to find us.

  “Let’s go!” Harley commanded, grabbing his own flashlight, activating it, and setting off at a run. I followed, already out of breath and scared witless, my flashlight bouncing on various surfaces while the Rabid barked and snarled. It sounded so freaky because they sounded like animals, not humans. We left the others quickly – I didn’t even see what had happened to them, but obviously we were in the clear because of what that robot did.

  We went running through a pathway in the conveyer belt, and into an alphabetized section that was Gold section’s last level. I assumed he was leading us to that back staircase, and anticipated going down the steep stairs. Instead, he made a hard left, taking us back along the aisle to the other staircase, across the floor. Bewildered, because then that would take us back towards the Rabid, I started to protest.

  We took the stairway down one level, the action preventing me from saying anything, and I didn’t want to stop or slow down for the Rabid to catch up while I complained. Instead, he jumped over the conveyor and headed for a connecting passageway to the packing section of the warehouse. Which scared me, as I clumsily climbed over the belt, because I didn’t know that part of the warehouse. I’d never been there.

  “C’mon!” he shouted at me from over his shoulder, and I rushed to keep up, unable to resist looking back. The Rabid were halted by the belt, and I was really startled that they were that close until I saw that some had managed to intercept the others, causing a brief blockage of snarling people in uniform. Momentarily relieved, I returned my attention to Harley’s back and struggled to take another set of stairs two at a time just to try and stay within five feet of him. But the fool had longer legs, and I’m so short - !

  I looked back again, speeding up, nearly colliding with fallen totes. I caught myself, looked back to see the Rabid figuring that they could crawl over the conveyer belt and were now booking it towards us. I must’ve screamed or squealed because then Harley had stopped and was running back to me. I got to my feet and caught up to him, willing my legs to move me faster. He continued leading us through this aisle of cardboard and totes atop of shelves, where the people that had been working there had abandoned tools, gloves, sweaters and water bottles in their haste to make the fire alarm call. He turned a sharp right, and we were then running onto the second floor of Green section. He was taking us to the wrecked section of the warehouse, I realized, huffing and puffing.

  Down another set of stairs, and we were on concrete floor. There were carts in our path, designed for the stowers – the people that filled bins with items – and he stumbled into one. I caught myself in time, and the Rabid were catching up. I looked back and realized there were people with flashlights behind them. People shouting at us to turn back, and when Harley caught wind of their voice, he did a double take. So those guys did survive, and they were still coming after us? Freaking insane.

  The Rabid heard them, and turned, half running towards the people catching up and half stumbling after us.

  Harley used “Jesus” and a creative curse together, pushing past me with his axe raised.

  Confused, I came to an abrupt stop and watched as he tucked his flashlight in a pocket on his backpack, and swung the axe with one hand. The blade embedded within a Rabid’s temple, and he jerked it back just in time to swing again with both hands at another that leapt at him.

  I pranced restlessly, breathing heavily and unsure of whether or not to help Harley or just keep running. I still didn’t know how to contribute to zombie slaughtering. The open air to the parking lot was beckoning me, but due to the wreckage of the building, it would take a lot of climbing just to get there. It had looked like an easy feat from above, but now it looked freaking impossible to scale.

  Harley jerked his axe out of the scalp of a lady he just felled, then looked at me. “Edith, go to the docks, and go out that exit near the trash can,” he said, lifting his voice to be heard over the snarling, yelling.

  I was confused, overwhelmed with everything happening – I thought he was gesturing towards the other end of the warehouse, 1st section. So I turned and began running in that direction. I was mindless, really. I didn’t know how to function. With everything that had happened, taking direction was impossible for me. I just ran wherever I thought he’d pointed without a second glance.

  He looked confused before he swung the axe, knocking a snarling guy in a gas station uniform aside before crushing his skull with the axe. He didn’t even get to say anything else because the Rabid just kept attacking him, and I was just running without thinking.

  I knew where I was – I turned right and booked it between rows of books. I made a sharp right, aiming for a wider aisle between rows. My flashlight bouncing all over the place, I ran for a conveyer, hearing the sounds of the Rabid behind me growing closer. In a flash of inspiration, I picked up speed towards the conveyer and threw myself in an awkward slide underneath it, sending a couple of empty totes flying away from me. I made it back to my feet and continued to run, willing myself to be fast.

  I chanced a look over my shoulder and couldn’t see Harley anymore. Movement to the right of me told me that one of the guys that had confronted us was running after me, alongside a conveyer belt. I wanted to scream, but that meant loss of precious air, and I needed it to run faster. I ran towards the open doorway that led into the 1st section, knowing that I was in the clear from here.

  I panicked because I didn’t know where I was going. How I was going to get there without direction. I forgot about the locked doors. I couldn’t remember where I’d parked my car. At this time, I’d totally forgotten that I hadn’t even found my car keys. All I could think of was getting to my car parked outside.

  I sprinted through the open doorway, overwhelmed by the lights above. I shoved my flashlight into the waistband of my jeans, pumping my arms furiously. Looking behind me once more, only one Rabid was after me. That guy in the white shirt was being ripped apart by the others. He was screaming hoarsely, arms flailing, but he wasn’t going to make it. I didn’t know what to do with this Rabid coming at me.

  I was out of breath and my legs weren’t going any faster. I was even slowing down by the time I reached the set of offices clear on the other side of the warehouse. I was dying. I was going to die anyway. But I’d rather die of sprinting than under the teeth of the thing behind me. I looked at it again, heart pumping hard, seemingly pulsing underneath my throat – it was wearing a police uniform, it was fat, and half of its face was missing. But I noticed it had a gun in its waist holster.

  Hey. I could use that.

  Struggling to breathe, I returned my attention forward and heard these weird sounds – women’s shouts and screams. One of the doors of the offices was being pound upon, and it was slightly open, allowing me to see them. I could see that the guys had locked it with a chain. I could just run past them and go outside but…but something inside of me made me stop for them. Maybe it was the way they screamed at me – giving me direction. I don’t know.

  The Rabid was com
ing closer, and I had to think of what to do. I wanted that gun.

  Suddenly I wasn’t scared. Suddenly I was inspired – I played enough zombie survival games to know what to do – I just had to apply it all to this life now. I needed that thing’s gun – he wasn’t going to need it anymore, and thanks to Dad, I knew what to do with it.

  Gulping air, I thought desperately. I did my awkward slide on the floor, and in doing so, effectively tripped up the sprinting Rabid. He somersaulted over me, hit the concrete floor with a splatter of grunting noise. The women screamed at me to kill it and help them. I was struggling to breathe, to think of what to do to kill it. I didn’t know how to. It wiggled and turned, snarling incoherent things that may have been words, and it looked at the women that were just barely visible within the small space they’d managed to create with pulling at the door.

  My mind went blank. I looked at the Rabid, then at them. Despite my earlier bravado, I just didn’t know what to do when it came to actually killing the thing. My knife wasn’t going to do shit – my Fubar -!

  I remembered my Fubar. I jerked it from my belt loop, breathed several times in this panicky fashion, then worked up enough nerve to charge. It looked away from the women to look at me with those red/black eyes, snarling something that could have been curse words or words of discovery. When it charged at me, I drew my arm back in a wide swing and connected with the thing’s face. It only knocked it off course. The heaviness of the tool and my own awkward momentum sent me spinning, and I lost my balance, landing hard on my knees. I’d connected, though, the thing’s face shifted to one side. It was so gross, I was absolutely disgusted. I retched as I rose, struggling to regain strength to hit it again.

  I missed horribly, but it stumbled. I brought the Fubar down on the back of its head, and it hit the concrete floor with a splatter of congealed blood and gore. I screamed as I brought my Fubar up and slammed the wrench side down against the back of its skull. It was so disgusting how easy this demolition tool shattered human bone and brain to make this really slippery, cracking sound.

  I retched again, tried to barf – but it was only the water I’d drank earlier that I let loose. It mixed with the gore splattered on the floor. My head was buzzing, my face was hot, and I was thisclose to passing out from the extreme grossness of it all. Until the ladies screaming at me caught my attention. Dizzily, I returned my attention to them, stumbled to them as I dragged my Fubar with me. My hair was a huge mess, I had watery vomit all over my face, probably snot dangling from my nose – I was not an awesome heroine. I would be self-conscious about it later.

  I realized I’d killed the zombie – it was motionless on the floor. And I had more than enough time to help the ladies that were screaming at me to hurry up. I used the pry side of my Fubar between the latch of the door and the chain that was hooked to a hastily drilled ‘eye’ that kept the chain in place. I told them to push the door while I used all my strength to pull the Fubar downwards, metal protesting as the ‘eye’ started to budge. Once they realized I was actually doing something, they all got into pushing at the door, grunting and straining as I was.

  I heard shouts from the other end of the warehouse, and looked over to see a couple of guys booking it towards us. They were bloodstained and furious looking. The ‘eye’ stopped moving, and my pry bar slipped. I stumbled as I lost my balance, and then jammed the bar back into the space I’d created between door and metal and tried again. They were able to open the door enough for one skinny chick to crawl out. Then another. The chain loosened. There were three of them left, and one of them was trying to wedge herself between that narrow space we’d made available. The guys grew closer, and the two that had freed themselves had just discovered what had happened to the Exit door. The one that was stuck was crying and straining to get her hips unstuck.

  Panicked, I dropped my hold on my Fubar, slammed down atop of the killed zombie, and found the handgun I’d seen. I remembered the safety button – I flicked it, and lifted it, familiar with the weight and feel of such a weapon in my hands. I aimed at the men that were coming to complete stops, looking stunned to see me armed. The women were screaming again. Metal creaked and protested, and from the corner of my eye, that girl managed to emerge from where she was caught.

  I heard the heavy sound of a metal bar hitting the concrete floor, and looked over to see that the other two had managed to get the door open. They disappeared into the night, and movement at the corner of my eye told me the men were sprinting forward again. The remaining women behind the previously unlocked door managed to get out, and the men shouted angrily. They weren’t going to stop. I guess from the shaking and awkward positioning of my hands, they knew I would miss shooting them. They were chancing that to get to me.

  So I depressed the trigger, still unprepared for the recoil. It bounced in my hands, and in my haste to rebalance it, grip it properly, I didn’t see one of the chicks crawling up from the floor, totally focused on the open door. When I fired again, I shot her point blank in the temple as she rose to run for freedom.

  I was stunned. Stunned. I dropped the gun, losing focus of the world as I looked down at the chick I’d accidently killed. She dropped down into the concrete floor with a stiff motion. I heard my own short breath, my own thudding heartbeat – my hands were curled, as if they still held the gun. She lay in an awkward position, bleeding horrendously onto the floor. Her mascara’d eyes were wide open, but her mouth was set to one side. Bonelessly. She had been a pretty blond with a loud voice, and now she was dead by my own hands. This situation was different from those I’d left behind – this was by my own hand.

  I felt force against my cheek like some blinding power, and I went flying. I hit the concrete completely unprepared to catch myself, vision momentarily graying. Someone hit me. Hit me hard enough to send me onto the floor, and, for a moment, I wondered if I’d been somehow shot as well. Tears built and spilled, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I hadn’t ever been hit like that before. I looked up as the two guys looked over the zombie – one of them had the gun – and the other kicked the woman onto her back. Her arms were stiff as they resettled over her own chest and stomach, and they were bewildered as to how this had happened.

  Dazedly, I looked around. The Exit door was open, and the other ladies had left without a second look back. Bitches.

  I looked up when one of the men marched over and kicked me hard in the stomach. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t make a sound as my body did its own thing; curling in on itself, turning away from the infliction. My face throbbed and my stomach felt as if it had met my spine. It felt broken. They were saying stuff, but I didn’t even know what – my head was in such a jumble. For some desperate and unknown reason, I tried to crawl away. As if they’d let me go. Fingers entangled into my hair and yanked me back so hard that my neck felt broken. I didn’t even want to stretch out because my stomach felt so weird, but my body did it anyway as they yanked me to my feet. I couldn’t catch my balance, and they were yelling and screaming at me, as if I would get what they were saying.

  I get that they were pissed about the ladies being let go, but c’mon.

  I hit the floor on my knees while they cursed and hollered, kicked the bodies of the two nearby. Spittle dripped to the floor while my mouth opened, my body trying to retch – sound or breath, it couldn’t decide. I looked at them through my bangs – I recognized one as a stower, another as a forklift operator. I’d smiled and exchanged pleasantries with these men only hours earlier.

  How much time had passed since the fire alarms had been set off to chaos?

  One of my hands rested upon my cheek – it was throbbing and already swelling. I was shocked that someone would lay their fists on me the way that they had. I hadn’t expected or experienced this type of violence on me. I only saw it on tv. I think I was bawling – or trying to. I wasn’t even sure if I was still breathing.

  “What’d you do that for?” one of them hollered at me, arms spread. “We’re trying to help you!
”

  Even in the midst of my shattered coherency, I knew that was a lie.

  They shouted some expletives and curses, until one raced to the Exit. He looked out, gave a disgusted shake of his head, kicked the metal. “She’s the only one!” he exclaimed angrily.

  The one with my gun shoved it into the back of his jeans and hollered something over his shoulder. Jeff and another man were walking back, and they looked pissed. The other guy strode away from the door, gesturing wildly and saying something. Words were exchanged – shouts, because of the distance. I wondered if Harley had somehow survived.

  Something screamed outside the open Exit door, and I was the only one to hear it. It didn’t sound human. It was because of that sound that I stilled, tensed as I wondered what would come through that doorway. Seeing that men were busy shouting at each other, I searched the floor for my Fubar. I could breathe a little, now, tight gulps that weren’t satisfying. I found my weapon nearby. I stretched and pulled it to me, slowly rising to my knees, struggling for bigger gulps of air. That scream was closer, this time. A weird combination of vibration and yodeling. It wasn’t human. An alien?