by Todd Sprague
John picked up his cup of coffee and headed to the basement door. “Alright sweetheart, come give me a kiss before you leave. I’ll be down in the basement.”
* * *
Sara pulled out of the driveway at 7:10. Three hours later, John was still in the basement loading supplies into duffel bags and backpacks. His phone chimed, signifying that he had a new email. Flipping open his phone, he read the new message.
M, this just came in to the NEC office, meant for officers only. Shit, I don’t know what to do. I’m taking the family to Maine, tonight. You know the place. You can get me on the shortwave if you need to. Same frequency we practiced on. Good luck. -Jcon14
Forwarded message: We have lost all contact with the compound. Something terrible has happened. We believe the virus was released too early, or incorrectly, or it may have caused a reaction none of us anticipated. All FSC members are ordered to secondary positions. Any and all that can give shelter and aid to core members are ordered to do so. Secondary compounds are to be locked up and defended with deadly force.
John rubbed his head thoughtfully. He quickly deleted the email and closed his phone. Muttering to himself, he zipped up the large green duffel bag he had been working on, boxes of ammunition and packets of food visible as the zipper began to close.
John sat in front of the TV. The clock on the cable box said 1:19 pm. He glared at it, willing it to go faster, to hit 4:00. It stayed where it was, probably out of spite, he thought to himself.
The news from Texas was bad. Outbreaks of enraged, murderous people had been confirmed in Dallas, Houston, and Galveston. All three cities held major populations of evacuees and wounded from El Paso.
There was no news from El Paso at all. News helicopters flying over the city were showing mobs of bloody people flowing through the streets like a river of corpses. Every once in a while, the camera would zoom in on the crowd as it pulled a person from a stalled car, or broke into a store, dragging people out into the chaos, and eating them. John did a double take, making sure he had actually heard the newscaster say “eating them”. He stared at the television, horrified. Every zombie movie he’d ever watched came crashing back in to his thoughts as he stared.
Of course, no one on TV had called them zombies yet. They’d called them everything from ‘infected’ to ‘drug addicts’ to ‘angry Mexican mobs.’
John flipped the TV to a channel showing news from California. A pretty Latina woman was speaking into the camera.
“…no communication at all with San Diego. The last evacuation buses left the city three hours ago, headed for Anaheim. Many buses were filled to overflowing with wounded. Military cargo planes also assisted in the evacuation, heading to bases in California and Nevada. Wait...it seems that we have just received word that Anaheim is under attack from mobs of violent illegal aliens. We are receiving reports of mass casualties...”
John turned the channel back to the station monitoring Texas. His cell phone began to chime.
“Hello.” John said on the first ring.
“John? Hey man, it’s Jesse.” The deep baritone on the other end sounded tired.
“Jesse? Where are you? Uncle Walt said you were headed to Texas.”
“I was. They stopped the flight in Dallas, loaded up all the empty seats with evacuees and sent us back to Logan. When was the last time you talked to Dad?” Jesse asked.
“Sometime early this morning. Around 6:30, I think. I haven’t heard anything from him since. I’ve tried, but it keeps saying that all the circuits are busy.” John said.
“Dammit, I couldn’t get to him. I’m headed back to New Hampshire now. I’m going to send Jen and the kids over to your parents house, and I’m going to try to make it to him in my truck.” Jesse said.
“That’s not a good idea, Jesse. But I’d do the same thing in your position.” John said. “Do you still have that rifle?”
“Yeah, I’ll bring it. Never thought that old Mini 14 would come in handy but now I’m glad I have it.” Jesse said. Sirens could be heard in the background.
“Hey John, something’s going on back at the airport, I think. Tons of cops headed in that direction. Looks like I missed whatever it was. I’ll call you if I hear anything from Dad.”
“Good luck, Jesse. I’ll let my parents know you’re sending them over.”
John flipped his phone closed. He looked at the clock again counting the minutes until Sara would get home.
At 4:14 pm. John heard Sara’s car pull in to the driveway. He went to the door and walked outside. Sara watched him scanning the woods surrounding the house. She glanced at his shoulder holster, the snap covering the Sig Sauer P220 unfastened. She raised her eyebrows at him.
“Hi honey, strappin’ the big guns, huh? Something wrong? Did you hear from Uncle Walt?” Sara asked, reaching for her tote bag as she got out of the Volvo.
“They’re in Boston, baby. I just heard it on the scanner.” John said, hurrying his wife inside.
“Whoa, where’s the fire? More importantly, where’s my kiss? And who’s in Boston?” she asked.
“Sara, I think they’re zombies.”
Chapter 3
September 21, Zed Year One
Millbury Massachusetts
“John, I don’t think that’s very funny.” Sara said, slightly pissed off.
“Sara, I’m not kidding. I’ve been watching the news all damned day. They’re spreading like wildfire. From Texas and California to Boston in less than a day!” John said, raising his voice.
“Stop it, John! It’s not funny!” Sara yelled, pushing past John.
“Fine, you turn on the TV and tell me what you see!” John said. He hadn’t meant to yell at her. He could tell she was scared. “Sara...” But he didn’t know what else to say.
Sara stalked angrily towards the television set in the living room and brutally stabbed the power button with her finger. The TV turned on to the channel John had been watching before she got home, it was showing scenes from a news helicopter over the Zakim Bridge. It looked like a beautiful afternoon, the sun setting over the Boston skyline, if it weren’t for what Sara saw as she glued her eyes to the television screen.
Two distinct crowds of people were running between stopped or crashed cars on the bridge. Smoke from burning vehicles momentarily obscured the scene. Then, the wind blew, and Sara watched in horror as the pursuing crowd overtook the fleeing crowd. The camera operator zoomed in just as the crowds began to mingle, on to a fleeing family. The father was wearing a very nice gray business suit and carrying a briefcase in his left hand. In his right he clutched a terrified young girl, complete with a doll and pigtails. A hysterical dark-haired young woman followed, the jewelry on her left hand gaudily sparkling in the afternoon sun. Sara watched as three blood covered savages, one of them wearing a FedEx jumpsuit, grabbed the woman, pulled her down to the ground, and began to eat her.
Sara stumbled backward, as speechless as the news crew in the helicopter. She felt sick to her stomach, but couldn’t focus long enough to decide what to do next. John shut the TV off and wrapped his arms around her. She fought for a second, but then relented. She held onto him without speaking for several minutes. Finally, she pulled back, wiping her eyes.
“Fuck,” was the only word she could get out.
* * *
Once he knew Sara couldn’t hear or see it, about half an hour later, John turned the television back on. She was in the bedroom packing some clothes. A local announcer interrupted the constant scenes of carnage coming from Boston.
“The Governor has just declared a state of emergency for the entire state of Massachusetts. Both the National Guard and the State Guard have been mobilized and ordered into Boston to help contain the...er...rioters. All citizens have been ordered to remain where they are. I repeat, all citizens have been ordered to remain where they are.”
John muted the television. He carried several large duffel bags to the Volvo, tossing them one after the other in the back. He hadn’t r
ealized how many supplies he had packed in the canvas bags; even with the back seats folded down, it was a tight squeeze.
“So much for the company’s season tickets for the Pats,” John muttered ruefully to himself. He doubted he would get to take Sara to Foxboro for the next game.
Sara and John spent the next hour making sure everything important to them, everything irreplaceable, every photo and document, was packed and in the car. He was thankful Sara had made copies of their birth and marriage certificates, stockpiled their favorite wedding and family pictures, and he was glad she knew just where their passports were. Finally, after everything was tucked into the bags, John locked down every window, made sure all the other exits were locked up tight, and walked to the car. He had a long item in a brown wool sock over one shoulder, and his keys in his hand. He looked at Sara.
“Do you have your pistol, sweetheart?”
Sara patted a slight bulge behind her right hip. “Of course.” She attempted a smile, and John could tell she was trying to be brave for him, but it didn’t seem like the right moment to tell her everything would be alright.
“Looks like that’s it, then. Let’s hit the road.” John stopped at the door and turned around, looking back in to the house. “Princess!” he called, “Come on girl! Time to go.”
Princess stuck her head out of the den and looked down the hall at John. She ducked back in to the room. A few seconds later, she came back into the hall, dragging her scruffy bed behind her. John just looked at her, shaking his head slowly. “That’s your dog, Sara. I don’t even know her.” He thought he saw a bit of a real smile trace her lips.
* * *
John drove the Volvo as fast as he dared on the old back roads. They’d decided not to try chancing Route 146. John didn’t know how serious the local police would be about enforcing the stay at home rule, and he didn’t really want to test it. The roads appeared mostly deserted, with only the occasional vehicle passing by. Some appeared completely oblivious to what was going on, but a few vehicles looked to be filled with families and their belongings, heading to who knew where. After thirty minutes, they arrived at their location, a cozy little house on the main street in Uxbridge with a sign on the mailbox with the word ‘Maxwell’ in bright gold letters. They pulled into the driveway behind Jose’s pickup.
John got out first, scanning the area. He motioned to Sara that it was safe. The couple, followed by a bounding Princess, walked quickly to the side door of Sara’s parents’ home. John carried the sock-covered object and a small canvas bag. The door opened as they approached.
“Dude, did you see? Zombies!” Jose stood in the doorway, barefoot, with only a pair of blue jeans on.
John and Sara quickly entered, pushing past Jose. Princess darted inside the house. Happy growls could be heard from inside the house as Princess found Fish, the Maxwells’ big yellow Labrador Retriever.
“Hey, little brother. Close the door.” Sara said as she hugged Jose. “Where’s Mom?”
“In the basement folding laundry. Dad’s in his office playing World of Warcraft.” Sara headed through the kitchen to find her mother in the basement. “Did you see the news, John?” Jose was practically vibrating with energy as he stood there, bouncing from foot to foot.
“Yeah, we saw. We’re heading up to Vermont. We want you guys to come with us,” John said.
“Why, what’s in Vermont? Trees?”
“And food, and weapons, and more importantly, less people.” John answered. He had never understood how his in-laws thought trees were the only thing that existed in his home state.
“Dad’ll never go for it. You know him.” Jose remarked, shaking his head.
Sara walked down the stairs into her parent’s basement. She saw her mom bent over a stack of laundry, Ipod earbuds in each ear. She smiled at her mom shaking her butt to whatever song was playing.
She walked up and tapped Dierdre Maxwell on the shoulder. Dierdre turned around, smiling as she saw Sara. She pulled the headphones out and hugged her daughter. “Sara, I didn’t know you were coming over. You never tell me. The house is a mess.” The house was immaculate, but Dierdre always insisted it wasn’t.
“Mom, have you seen what’s going on in the city?”
“Oh, the riots? I heard something about it. People were stocking up on groceries today at the market.” Her mother made a dismissive gesture with her hands and turned back to her pile of clothes.
“Mom, it’s way more serious than that. They’re not riots. They’re something much worse, and it’s happening all over the country.” Sara said, exasperation clear in her voice. “We came to get you. I don’t think just having some extra water in the house is going to cut it this time. We want you to come to Vermont with us for a little while. You can stay in our cabin. We have plenty of room.”
“Oh dear, no sweetie, I have work in the morning, and your father has a big job over in Webster.” Deirdre said as she continued to fold someone’s underpants.
“Mom, come on, this is serious!” She could feel herself losing patience with her mother. “How can you not be paying attention?”
“Oh calm down, Sara. Go say hi to your father. Did he see Princess yet? Then I’ll put some chicken in the oven. You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?”
Sara turned away from her mother, tears of frustration threatening to spill down her cheeks. She blinked furiously as she stomped up the stairs. A few moments later she stood in her father’s office. A blue skinned Night Elf was attacking the short hairy Dwarf on the big computer monitor.
“Hi Daddy.” Sara said, coming up behind her father.
“Hey baby girl. Can’t talk now, I’m in a fight.” Dutch Maxwell said, rapidly clicking away at his mouse button.
“Dad, we need to talk about something serious. We want you and mom to come stay with us for a few days in Vermont.”
“Sure kiddo, whatever you say. Maybe next weekend?” The Night Elf appeared to be winning the fight.
“Dad, right now. Have you seen what’s going on in Boston? In California?” Sara said, raising her voice.
“Yeah I heard some kind of riots. Half of my guild didn’t show up for the war. I am really pissed off!” Dutch pressed the attack, making the hairy little Dwarf swing his ax at the Night Elf’s knees. “Hah! Weren’t ready for that, were you? Friggin’ Elves!”
“Oh you have got to be kidding me! DADDY! Pause the god damned game!” Sara screamed, right in her father’s ear. She had never sworn at her father. She felt her cheeks redden.
“Jesus H. Christ, Sara, what the hell is wrong with you? You know I can’t pause this, and it’s not a game,” Dutch said, not entirely looking away from his monitor.
“Dad..” Sara had avoided crying in front of her mother, but her dad was a whole other story. Tears began to stream down her face. “Dad, you have to come with us right now.”
“Sara, calm down. Go help your mom fix dinner.”
* * *
“John, they don’t even know what’s going on. I don’t know what to do. They’re not getting it.” Sara stood in Jose’s room next to John. Jose sat on his bed, a long silver samurai sword resting across his knees.
“Damn. Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do.” John took the sock off the long object he’d been carrying, revealing a black pump action shotgun with a pistol grip. He handed it to Jose. “Here, take this. Just keep it out of sight so your parents don’t flip out.” He handed the canvas bag to Jose. “There’s some ammo in here and about a week’s worth of protein bars. Stay in the house, do whatever you have to do to make your parents stay home tomorrow. By then, they should know that something serious is going on.”
“I can do that!” Jose said, eyes gleaming as he held the shotgun in his hands.
“If things get worse, come to Vermont. You know where my parents’ house is, and it’s in your dad’s GPS. Our cabin is behind that, can’t miss it.”
Sara spent a few minutes hugging Jose, then her dad, and finally her mom. “I do
n’t know why you won’t stay for dinner, Sara,” her mom said. Sara didn’t even have the heart to argue.
They walked out to the car. John opened the back door for Princess. She bounded up in to the station wagon, tail wagging for whatever adventure they were about to embark upon. John reached in past her, to one of the duffel bags. He unzipped it and pulled out a black AR 15 carbine. He checked the magazine, making sure it was loaded. Slipping the carbine up between the front seats, John got in to the driver’s seat.
He backed the maroon Cross Country out of the driveway and headed north.
Chapter 4
September 21, Zed Year One
En Route to Brattleboro, Vermont
John and Sara, along with a snoring Princess in the back, headed north. They’d spoken about the route before, on the way to the Maxwells’ house, and decided to head north on Route 146, through Worcester, towards Route 2. They’d take Route 2 to Greenfield, then either get on Interstate 91 north, to Vermont, or go through back roads either through Bernardston or Leyden, and cross the state line, depending on traffic or other hazards.
John looked down at the gas gauge as they approached a filling station. “A little over half. We better stop and fill up now, while we still can.” John said, pulling in to the station.
The radio had been reporting over and over that people were to remain in place. National Guard units were clashing with the “infected”, as they were being called on some of the radio stations. Violence had spread out from Boston into the outlying towns already, with incidents being reported less than twenty miles from their current location. The radio station also said numerous wounded were being evacuated by bus to Worcester and further west to Springfield. Sara had listened to too much of the broadcast, and turned down the radio and put her iPod headphones in her ears.
