The Long Way To Reno

by Mix, Michelle

  Sandy laughed while the other soldiers snorted, giving me skeptical looks. Only one of them laughed with her and came up to me, giving me a huge bear hug that took me right off the pavement.

  "Bad ass alien killer does it again! How does she work such skills outside the kitchen?" Benson asked, setting me aside with another laugh. I was very high with glee in that he was still alive, and couldn't help watching his ass as he turned away and signaled for the group to move with him – they were moving around the spreading fire.

  Sandy ruffled my hair with some affection, then beckoned for the others to move with us. As we walked, I wished Harley was there – I wanted him to see how capable I was in taking care of myself. These things I was doing, I learned from video games, not hiking in the sagebrush with my dad and his lover. I wanted to prove a point in that I was totally capable of surviving.

  Once I realized what I was thinking, I made a face and began dragging my feet after the group.

  : :

  We trekked back to the CVS at the corner of Prater and McCarren, to tend to the injured, and to take cover from another possible encounter. I grew nervous at their intentions, thinking about Lockwood, but the civilian guys with guns looked comfortable with the defectors that were trying hard to protect the people they'd found.

  "I'm surprised you made it on your own," Sandy was saying to me as we took shelter in the shampoo aisle, amidst the debris from the ceiling. The CVS looked as if it had been bombed from the inside – ransacked and destroyed by desperate survivors. "Miss Makeup, and her ridiculous clothing coordination. You look like a page out of a fashion magazine."

  "I'm flattered by your attention, but I love dick," I said easily. She chuckled, and I liked her even more, inwardly relieved she had a sense of humor despite all the things happening around us.

  “There were monsters out there, and that’s not counting the things from space,” I grumbled, pulling my jacket tight around me. Sandy exhaled heavily as she lowered herself across from me, slowly extending her legs. She looked exhausted, her face dirty and grimy, making me wince. I don’t know if that was blood dried on her hairline, or mud – I kinda didn’t want to ask, because I didn’t think it was any of my business. I stared at my fingernails, admiring the brilliant red polish.

  Around us, the families settled uncomfortably wherever they could. There were some kids crying softly, shell-shocked faces taking in the abandoned CVS with dread. It was growing cold with night falling – shelves were being ransacked for useful things, and I figured I should do the same. Just in case.

  But like many other places, this one had been stripped and destroyed; essentials already looted, the mess on the floor testament to hasty scavenging. The pharmacy had nothing more than bare shelves, blood splatters, and bullet holes. The guys in uniform were doing what they could to secure the perimeters at the windows, but I heard Benson radioing one of his guys as a few of them spread throughout the area, looking for a larger, more secure place to move everybody. I looked at Sandy as she struggled to relax – then I rose from the floor, and went looking for useful items in the areas that I could.

  I returned to Sandy with a small, one gallon trashcan full of plastic soda bottles, some dish rags, lantern oil, lighters, and other beauty items. She lifted her head to stare at me while I packed my beauty items away with a sense of satisfaction, then examined the other items I’d picked out, struggling to remember what I could do with them. I gathered the soda to me, and walked to the end of the aisle to pour out the liquid, regretting not taking a drink. I then returned with the empty bottles to cut up the dishrags, pouring oil on them liberally before carefully pouring the rest of it within the bottles themselves.

  I don’t care what people say about video games – the ones I’d played had been useful in helping me survive, in inspiring me to make weapons and make situations useful to me, helping me to get to my parents.

  “That science experiment is going to backfire on you,” Sandy said tiredly.

  “Precautions,” I said firmly. “Just a precaution.”

  “We usually handle precautions with these,” Sandy said, looking down at the automatic rifle she had slung across her lap.

  “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m too beautiful for a gun. Besides, the recoil might knock me out,” I added, wincing at the thought. Sandy just smiled at me, making me feel better. Despite her past crimes, Sandy was making her way into my defenses, and she didn’t even have to hit on me to do it.

  I capped the bottles, then stared at them with consternation – how was I going to light the fabric when I’d stuffed it all in the way that I did? Hastily, I found my matches, and stuffed a few of them at the top, figuring I’d use a lighter to light them. I then felt stupid because maybe my brilliant plan wasn’t going to work after all. The heat needed to light these things was only going to be drowned by the oil inside – I looked around and hoped no one saw that I’d just failed at this overly complicated task, stuffing the bottles into my bag. Maybe I could use them for later, for something else.

  “Here, I found these,” Benson said suddenly, popping up next to us, opening a popular diet pill container he must’ve found in the pharmacy. He dumped a handful into Sandy’s upraised palm, then capped it on his hasty walk away from us. I looked at Sandy with an expression, watching her wash down a couple of them with a bottle of water.

  “We used these to stay awake,” she said groggily. “Over there.”

  It was some secret military thing, I guess. I shrugged as I looked down at my bag, bloated with supplies and my newly created molotovs. With how crazy things were happening around me, I felt better knowing that I had a plan, and ‘options’. Not even a minute later, Sandy was snoring softly, so I don’t think those pills worked.

  There were crying women in the aisle across from us. I couldn’t help but glance over, watching as their kids crowded around their rescuers. Some of them clearly didn’t belong to the woman they sat next to – all of them looked hungry, dirty, and lost. Others had hasty band-aids placed on grimy wounds, their clothing torn or stained. They looked like pictures you’d see from war zones – I had to swallow hard, looking away quickly because a part of me started to feel…funny.

  I never really looked at kids, before. Sure, they were in my line of vision wherever I went – but I never really looked at them. It had never occurred to me that there would be a day when I’d find myself seeing them, and it was only in one of the worst ways possible. They were so small, so little, so…important. Because if they were gone, how else was the human race going to continue on?

  It suddenly hit me that this shit was real. It was real because what was left of us was left huddling in destroyed ruins of a city that once breathed life into our self-absorbed lives, and suddenly we were all looking at each other with shell-shocked faces.

  Was this what Harley saw when he looked at Alex and Emmy? Why he put them before himself? Why couldn’t I think that way?

  I thought about my mom and dad, having to swallow hard once more. I looked over at Sandy as she slept heavily, the sounds of muffled crying, the military guys’ voices in the background and felt so…alone. It made me realize just how alone I was.

  It suddenly made me question myself as a valuable human being.

  My eyes burned, and I didn’t want to ruin my makeup, so I hastily looked down at my nails. I had to think about other things. I had to make myself prepare for whatever else could happen. I needed time to escape quickly, but this line of thinking made me feel guilty because there was only ‘I’ in escape. I glanced back at the groups once more, and looked up because a Marine was speaking hastily into his radio, signaling towards the other military dudes looking at the back exit door.

  “Get up, get up, we’ve got incoming,” he said harshly, Sandy jolting awake and moving so fast to her feet that it was almost as if she hadn’t been sleeping at all. The way the guys were moving made me panic – they were scooping up kids, while civilians struggled to move. The other civilian guys
with guns were speaking hastily to each other, mapping out a safe route away from the store and looking panicked as they cast startled expressions towards the front of the store. The women and children were being pushed towards the back as I jerked about, pulling my items to my chest as orders were given with rising alarm.

  It happened, literally, in seconds – one moment we were being told to get up and move, and the next, there were shouts and gunfire coming in from the front. Not the screams of monsters, but the hasty, desperate shouts of men that wanted what the armed guys had – their weapons.

  It was chaotic – I didn’t understand why these new guys were trying to take over on the military supply – the guys on our side were screaming that they were friendly, but they were being fired upon. Bullets rained through the shelves, and I hit the floor with a squeak as my eardrums felt the explosions. Sandy was crouched against one of the shelves, trying to make herself as small as possible – I didn’t know when she’d slipped back into her helmet.

  The people that had been sitting in the aisle across from us had left some things – jackets with cartoon characters, a stuffed dog, a backpack bulging with clothes. I heard the guys from the front crashing through glass, their voices bouncing off the walls of the CVS as they grew closer to our positions, shouting at the guys in uniforms to surrender.

  I hurriedly pulled out one of my newly constructed bottles of death, and fumbled for my lighter. The harsh smell made me cough as I lit the match, as heat quickly overtook the bottle. I was shocked that it actually worked. Sandy looked over and screamed at me to leave, but, in a crouched position, I waddled away from her, heading for the end of the aisle with my flaming bottle. It burned my hand.

  Once I was at the end of the aisle, I peered down the empty area and saw some guys scrambling to get closer to our position. They were desperate and fierce, carrying shotguns, handguns, and shouting orders to each other. They wanted the military guys’ gear – that was their intentions.

  They were so focused on Sandy’s position that they didn’t see me until I stood and threw the flaming bottle in their direction. The melting plastic bottle full of hot oil splattered over a couple of guys, causing them to scream in alarm, shifting into those that hadn't noticed what had happened. As a result, people stumbled, fell against beauty shelves, splattering more of the flaming oil amongst each other. Once guys started to realize they were on fire, they had to stop firing at the soldiers, and this gave me time to race for the back of the store, fumbling for another bottle. Sandy followed, laying down some fire as the other military guys moved hastily towards the back.

  I rummaged with shaky hands into my bag, and pulled out two more soda bottles. As I paused to light them, Sandy gave a weird laugh, jerking them from my hands as soon as I had them lit. She threw them towards the front, where the guys were moving away from the effects of my earlier attack. As firey oil splattered and connected against those unfortunate to be in her path, she pushed me to run. The screams of those being burned by the oil splatter left me feeling surprisingly content – like I contributed to something.

  Everyone was running towards the Marina apartments directly behind the outlet mall. But it felt wrong to be exposed the way we were – I felt like I didn't have enough eyes to keep a watch out for anymore dangers. The guys and the soldiers were urging the women and children to keep a narrow line, running through the apartment grounds. I followed, feeling every bit of soreness and pain in my feet and body. My legs and hips were stiff – my back ached from the weight of my bag, from sleeping weird in the Hummer. Everything hurt.

  But I couldn't take my eyes off the women that ran while carrying small children in their arms, and that somehow motivated me to keep going.

  There were a few guys that lead the way past the apartment grounds, and we entered a small neighborhood – it was silent, with cars crashed at the mouth of it. There were dead people on the nearby lawn – we were moving too fast to see how they'd died. As I sucked wind, struggling to keep up with the others, more firecrackers rang out. Amidst the screams of the women and children, I saw one of the soldiers drop. Sandy immediately stopped with him, and tugged him to his feet – slowing both of them down. Two guys in black hoodies, dirty jeans and submachine guns were catching up fast with hard shouts and clear intentions – it felt frightening just looking at their faces and seeing how focused they were on the two that slowed down.

  Before anything could happen then, their heads jerked sideways with hard pulses, the loud crack of another rifle echoing through the neighborhood. I helped Sandy pull the injured guy with a stiff leg into a slow jog, a fast civilian racing to pilfer the dead guys' weapons from their hands. Then we were all moving fast after the others, and I was terrible help because I was too short for both Sandy and the other guy.

  As I struggled, someone relieved me of my efforts, and I realized it was Alex shoving me away, his sweaty smell making me wince.

  "Go, go, go! There's more comin'!" he shouted at me, and it was Emmy tugging me along behind her, breathing hard. Her makeup was running, her cheeks and forehead were red, and it was obvious she'd been moving faster, for longer, than us. Alex was winded as well, but he was faster than me helping Sandy.

  "MOVE!" Benson bellowed, before lifting his shotgun and blasting beyond us. I was startled to seeing more guys from the CVS chasing after us, as well as what looked to be a souped up Ford fishtailing from the nearby side street.

  It looked like these guys were going to overwhelm the group – it moved slow because of all the vulnerables that struggled to stay moving. Even with the guys holding onto the kids, that was still a loss of weaponry – a woman holding onto a toddler fell, and both of them rolled as her kids stopped along with her, causing a domino effect with those around them.

  We're all going to die, was my horrid thought as I reached into my bag once more. Benson was reloading, suddenly distracted by the Ford racing our way with a squeal of tires. Sandy screamed something incoherent as she pushed herself to continue running with her injured buddy, Alex struggling to keep pace. I yanked away from Emmy, lighting my last Molotov.

  Benson snatched it from me as soon as it caught fire, lunged off to a side angle and hurled it with all the grace of a freaking Olympian – the flaming bottle splattered over the driver's window, but Benson is a superhero because as soon as that bottle splat, he was firing off his shotgun – seriously, it was like poetry, the way he moved.

  The truck veered off course – the five of us ended up diving out of its path anyway, before it slammed hard into an abandoned electronics repair van. Glass shattered, metal bent, fiberglass sprayed the street. Before it even had a chance to settle, Benson was clamoring back to his feet, and pumping the shotgun towards the guys catching up to us.

  Their desperation was more evident, because they weren't even armed – they swarmed onto him with fists swinging. Some of Benson's buddies returned, shooting when they could, then engaging into battle with knives, with their own fists. It was a street rumble with grunts, shouts and frantic bodies moving wildly as they struggled to dominate each other.

  But it was clear – there were no other guys racing over. Sandy abandoned her buddy and raced over to help Benson. The way she swung made me think she was Cyborg, relentless with her manly dominance over a weaker opponent. I tried not to fall in love with the redheaded lesbian, even as she bodyslammed a guy into the pavement like he was a rag doll.

  Two more shots rang out, and two guys dropped dead.

  Emmy had just grabbed my arm when the roar of voices caught our attention. Almost as one, everyone just froze.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Almost comically, the attackers took off without another glance in our direction. The soldiers rounded everyone up with hasty action and we were moving again. Benson bellowed for everyone to separate – immediately, his buddies were taking charge, splitting up into groups with women and children and armed civies, and everyone was racing for cover.

  Emmy and I ran for a plain white house
, both of us breathing hard. Took me a few moments to realize Harley himself was ushering us to move with breathless action, and two other armed civilians were moving with us. By the time we got into the house, the Rabid were flocking into the street, scrambling for movement.

  Their howls, barks and screams, followed by the Usher's yodeling roars penetrated the still, empty house. Nobody could talk – I think all of us were too scared, too winded to even say anything. Hand motions and shoves were used instead, and Emmy and I crammed ourselves into a nearby hall closet while the other guys spread out for bigger hiding areas.

  Emmy and I struggled to catch our breath, the enclosed space making it impossible to hear anything more. The slits in the closet door made it possible to see each other, and we stared at the other's red, sweaty face, unable to do anything else. She was shaking, holding onto my jacket with both hands.

  The windows rattled, shattered noisily, and she clapped a hand to stifle her own cry of surprise. Scratching, slapping sounds suggested they were trying to enter the house. The Usher sounded as if it were directing them towards another direction. The sounds of their fading voices encouraged someone to leave their hiding spot. Not even a moment later, the crack of a gun told me one of the guys had taken aim for the Usher.