by Todd Sprague
John looked around, carefully scanning the area before getting out of the Volvo. A pickup truck was filling up one pump over, and two tractor trailers were at the diesel pumps. Otherwise, the station appeared deserted.
Looking back in to the car, John stuck his hand out to Sara. “Babe, throw me the credit card. The one with the really high interest rate.”
“Seriously? I thought we agreed not to use that one except in an emergen...oh. Right.” Sara pulled the card out of the glove box and handed it to John. He chuckled at her as he swiped it in the pump.
“You are too easily amused, dear.” Sara said, shaking her head and reinserting her headphones as she watched her husband pump the gas.
Back on the road, the couple soon found themselves battling heavier traffic. Worcester appeared to be in a full on panic, with people in all sorts of vehicles clogging all lanes of traffic in all directions. John pulled out his cell phone and dialed his parents’ telephone number.
John’s mother, June, answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Mom, hey, it’s John. We’re on our way up to the cabin.”
“Oh dear, John. Be careful, the TV says Al-Qaeda (she pronunced it El Kayda) invaded us . Your Aunt Sally called but got cut off.” June said, sounding very worried.
“I know, Mom. We’ll be up there sometime tonight. It’s going to take us a while to get through all the traffic.” John said, pulling in and out of the lines of cars, making some headway despite the angry honking directed at him.
“Do me a favor, Mom. You and Dad just stay home, okay? This thing is bad and just getting worse.”
“We’re not going anywhere, son. Jesse called us an hour ago. He said Jen and the kids are coming over to stay with us.”
“Yeah, he already told me. He’s going to try to get to Uncle Walt’s house.”
“Oh goodness. Well, you come on up but be careful. I’ll be praying,” June said.
“Love you mom. Be there soon,” John said, closing his phone.
They eventually reached Route 2 well after dark. Traffic had thinned out considerably, though reports on the radio said the Mass Pike was completely stalled in both directions. Apparently a bus filled with evacuees and wounded had crashed, and violence had broken out.
With forty miles still to go before the Greenfield exit, John was driving at a pretty good pace, trying to make up some of the time they had lost in the heavier traffic. Sara had been on the phone with her parents for a while but finally got cut off due to bad reception. They were finally starting to pay attention to the news, but the Maxwells insisted they not turn around for them. John powered through a corner, slamming on the brakes as he rounded the bend. Ahead, a State Police cruiser sat off to the right of the road, behind a red Nissan Altima. The Altima appeared to have crashed into the guardrail. The blue lights from the cruiser illuminated the scene in eerie blue strobe light.
John pulled to a stop as he neared the police car. A booted leg stuck out from the driver’s side door. John didn’t see anyone else nearby.
“Sara, stay in the car, but keep me covered.” John said, opening the car door.
“John, maybe you should stay in...” Sara said, even as John shut the door behind him. “We are going to have a talk later, about this bravado thing,” she said, trying to cover up the fear in her voice. She lifted up the right side of her shirt and drew her Beretta 9000S, thumbing the safety off. She held it down below the level of the window, keeping it out of sight but ready. The night sights on the little 9mm glowed a bright green in the darkness.
John walked slowly over to the police car. As he got closer, he could tell the man inside was dead. Blood covered the uniformed trooper’s chest, and most of the inside of the front compartment of the car. His left hand and forearm were missing as well.
Reaching inside, John felt the trooper’s ankle. The flesh was already cold, with no hint of a pulse. John reached down on to the floor and picked up the trooper’s pistol. He could smell gunpowder. “Good for you, Trooper. At least you tried.” John said, nodding to the prostrate figure. Looking back at Sara, John gave a little wave, then a thumbs down signal. Sara nodded, keeping a good watch of the woods behind the two cars.
John reached in and pulled the spare magazines from the trooper’s belt, as well as the portable radio. He grabbed the keys from the ignition, and walked back to the trunk, tucking the trooper’s Glock into his belt as he walked. Popping the trunk, John reached inside and grabbed a duffel bag. Unzipping it, he rifled quickly through the contents, noting extra ammunition, gloves and a few other goodies. Zipping it back up, he reached back in and grabbed the tactical rifle case laying flat on the floor of the trunk. He nodded to himself as he opened the case, exposing a brand new Smith & Wesson M&P AR 15, complete with tactical light on the forearm grip. He closed the case and took it and the duffel bag to the Volvo. Opening the back door, he pushed a curious Princess over and stuffed the two items in to the already overcrowded car. Princess sighed in annoyance as her little kingdom was rudely invaded. Her annoyance was quickly forgotten as she found a zipper on one of the packed bags to chew on.
John walked towards the driver’s side door. As he reached for the handle, Sara yelled. “John!”
Turning, John saw what made his wife scream in horror. The dead trooper sat up and looked straight at him. John stared back at the officer, noting the eyes were cloudy, almost milky. The trooper’s mouth worked silently for a few seconds, before a low, angry moan escaped the lifeless lips. Princess was barking like mad in the back of the car, pawing at the window.
Struggling, the officer began to slide out of the car. He stumbled out and began running toward the Volvo. Sara brought her gun up even as John was pulling his from his shoulder holster. Sara fired twice as the trooper closed on them, hitting him in the chest with both shots.
Either the man was wearing a vest, or the shots didn’t affect him, John noted to himself as he took careful aim at the trooper’s head. His first shot hit low, right under its chin. The officer staggered for a second, but then resumed its violent run at the Volvo. Sara watched in horror as the creature made it almost to her door before the top of its head exploded with the force of John’s .45 hollow point bullet. The dead trooper dropped in its tracks.
John jumped in the Volvo, slammed the car into drive and stomped on the gas.
* * *
The next forty-five minutes passed in near silence as the two tried, each in their own way, to make sense of what had just happened. Neither wanted to think that they may have just killed a man. But both knew that what they had killed had not, in fact, been a man any longer.
Finally Sara broke the silence. “John, that guy was already dead.”
“I know,” John replied, taking his wife’s hand and gently squeezing. “But that was some shootin’ there, Tex.”
Princess chose that moment to break the tension by sneezing. Fine brown powder exploded from the back seat. Sara looked in the back, eyes going wide. “John! She’s in the coffee!”
Princess began chasing her tail in the crowded back seat, her snout covered in coffee grounds. She quickly became little more than a black and brown streak in John’s rear view mirror.
John pulled the Volvo onto Interstate 91. A few minutes later, he knew he’d made a mistake. A big yellow school bus lay across both northbound lanes. John pulled the Volvo in to the median and worked his way around the yellow behemoth. Sara looked inside as they drove past. Red smears streaked the windshield. Something moved inside.
“John, something’s moving in there.”
John slowed as they passed the windshield. Suddenly, a small face appeared, pressed against the glass. The entire bottom portion of the child’s face was missing. John stepped on the gas, leaving the bus behind.
After Greenfield, traffic north on the interstate grew heavier. Sara and John both noticed there was no traffic heading south. As they drew closer to the Vermont border, they saw cars pulled off to the side of the road. Steam rolled from the
hoods of some, while others just appeared to be abandoned. People were walking along the side of the highway heading north. Single people as well as families carried what belongings they could, some struggling under ridiculous burdens, including one old man carrying what appeared to be a box spring and a mattress.
John turned on the hand held radio he’d taken from the dead trooper. A female dispatcher was speaking. “...apprehend anyone trying to cross the border. All subjects attempting to flee the Commonwealth are to be detained and checked for symptoms or abnormal behavior. Anyone displaying such behavior must be isolated and transferred to the nearest detention facility. Use of deadly force is authorized. Vermont State Police are not cooperating, expect no back up from VSP.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would they do that?” Sara asked John.
John shook his head. “I don’t know babe. Let’s see what the deal is at the border. There must be a mistake. Either way, we’re going through.”
Finally they approached the border. Traffic stalled completely. Just ahead, John saw a police roadblock, with four blue Massachusetts State Police cruisers blocking both lanes, illuminating the scene with two portable, generator powered spotlights. There appeared to be no way across the border.
Rolling down his window, John could hear a male voice over a loud speaker up ahead at the roadblock.
“Get out of your vehicles and step to the right of the road. You are being detained by order of the Governor. No one is allowed across the border until the state of emergency has been cleared. I repeat, get out of your vehicle and step to the right of the road!”
Up ahead, John could see people stepping off to the right of the road. Uniformed troopers as well as National Guard personnel were walking down the line, some with rifles pointed at the civilians.
“John, this isn’t right. Why won’t they just let the people pass?” Sara asked, fear and anger fighting for control of her voice.
“I don’t know, babe, but we are not sticking around to find out.” John backed the car up as much as he could, turned off to the right of the road, and drove until he saw an old path through the woods. A rusty chain link fence blocked the way. John turned the car around and rammed the fence in reverse. The commotion drew the attention of the troops manning the roadblock. A blue cruiser raced down the side of the road right for them. John turned the Volvo around quickly and followed the old logging trail as fast as he could, the Cross Country handling the rough dirt trail as well as any off road vehicle.
Having grown up not far from where they were, John new the logging trail was headed in the right general direction. They ran a parallel course beside the interstate. As they passed the roadblock, John looked over through the trees and saw a National Guard soldier pull a woman out of the crowd standing beside the road. He dragged her out in to the middle of the road, threw her to the ground, and fired his rifle at her.
John turned back to the path, not saying anything to Sara about what he had just seen. The path curved back toward the highway. No fence blocked the way this time, and John knew they had crossed over in to Vermont. He pointed the Cross Country at the highway, breaking out of the forest. The blue cruiser was right behind them.
As they pulled onto the interstate, John looked back. Beside the driver of the cruiser, John saw a second trooper aiming a rifle out of the passenger side window right at them.
“Get down!” John yelled.
As Sara ducked down in her seat, reaching backwards to hold a shaking Princess down too, a green and yellow Crown Victoria pulled between the Volvo and the blue cruiser, cutting them off. John looked in his rear view mirror just as a second Vermont State Police car joined the first one in blocking the blue cruiser.
John and Sara looked at each other as they sped on, a mere twenty miles from their destination. Somewhere behind them, gunshots rang out.
Chapter 5
September 21, Zed Year One
Brattleboro, Vermont
Interstate 91 northbound was completely deserted due to the border closing fiasco on the Massachusetts line. John and Sara both breathed little sighs of relief as they put the harrowing border crossing behind them. John felt a strong sense of pride in his home state, even as he knew Sara felt anger at hers.
John tuned the radio to Sara’s favorite independent local station. “Don’t worry....about a thing....cause every little thing....is going to be alright” John looked at Sara as the laid back reggae tune poured out of the speakers.
“Seriously? What are the odds?” John asked Sara.
“What do you mean?” Sara said, looking puzzled.
“This song...you know, from that I Am Legend scene?
Sara chuckled. “What’s worse, them playing this song right now, or you bringing that movie up at this particular moment in time?” John jokingly mouthed a sorry and returned his focus on the road.
The song ended, and a local disc jockey began speaking. “Alright, we’re getting some news from Boston now, the National Guard is in full retreat. They’re apparently falling back to regroup. Helicopters from the Air National Guard have moved in and are destroying bridges and tunnels, trying to limit escape routes of the so called ‘infected’. Our own Governor has issued the following statement.”
The voice of Vermont Governor Gary Bradford began speaking.
“The State of Vermont, at the recommendation of the Center for Disease Control, is encouraging everyone to stay away from public areas. Stay at home, lock your doors, and let no one in. If you or a family member become infected by this disease, whatever it may be, immediately isolate yourself or them from any other family members. It is imperative that you do not attempt to go to a hospital, as all hospitals are either full at this time, or are not equipped to handle this outbreak. As a precaution, your state government, including myself, will be sequestering ourselves in a safe facility so as to continue to keep vital services within the state operating at peak efficiency.
At this time, we have very little knowledge of the disease that is wreaking so much havoc across the country. Outbreaks have now been reported in Canada, Mexico, Central and South America. The EU is sending a special team of scientists and doctors to study the disease as we speak.
We also do not recommend trying to enter Massachusetts or New York at this time as both states are under martial law. Boston is a battle zone, and Manhattan is burning to the ground at this very moment. We will continue to do our best to safeguard the good citizens of this state. Both the National Guard and the State Guard have been mobilized and are now setting up relief and aid stations that will be stocked with food and water, as well as medical units. We will announce the locations of these stations as soon as possible. Good luck, and God bless.”
The radio announcer came back on as soon as the recording ended.
“That was a message from Governor Gary Bradford. Wel,l at least we know Montpelier hasn’t forgotten about us. Good news, since we have just learned that Burlington International Airport has reported two cases of the ‘infected’ and has been quarantined.”
John continued to drive as the announcer kept speaking. Sara looked out her window, watching the beautiful greens and yellows of late summer pass by. The moon shone down, bright enough to see the fields of tall grass and darker green shrubbery as they drove past them at over 80 miles an hour. She rolled her window down a little, despite the air conditioning, just so she could breath in the fresh Vermont air.
Sara had always heard John say how he always seemed to let out a big sigh whenever they crossed over into Vermont. She’d just thought he was imagining it, but this time she felt it herself. She looked at John, his face silhouetted by the lights from the cluster. He was staring ahead, watching the road intently, but for the first time since they began their journey, he seemed relaxed. The little lines in the corners of his eyes were less pronounced. Sara smiled.
They passed the first exit to Brattleboro without slowing. At exit two, John pulled the Volvo off the highway, and turned right toward
s West Brattleboro. The streets were deserted.
After several minutes, they turned up Green Pond road, and drove until the pavement ended. At last, they passed through the tight pass through the ledges that had been blasted in the rock decades ago to allow passage in to the small valley the Masons lived in. As they passed through the ledges, the valley opened up and John could see the little pond down on the valley floor glittering in the moonlight, along with the few little houses surrounding the pond and the fields beside it. John looked across to the other end of the valley, where the road wound up and out of sight through the only other entrance, through another set of ledges, before joining with another paved road and heading south. The two houses on the other side of the valley, where the Masons’ neighbors, the Culicos and the Kensingtons lived, were both lit up. Down at the pond, both John’s parents and his aunt and uncle, May and Patrick Mason’s house were lit up as well. The little cabin behind them was dark except for the small porch light.
“Dad must have turned the light on for us.” John mused aloud.
“Nice of him. I’m kind of sick of the dark right now.”
“I know, babe. We’ll be inside and cozy in a few minutes.”
They pulled in to the driveway a few minutes later. John’s father, Harold Mason was standing on the little porch of the cabin as they got out of the car.
“You’re mother put some coffee on and made a pie. Don’t look at me like that, just come eat some and pretend to like it. She’s worried.” He nodded to them as John opened up the back door of the Volvo and let Princess out. She ran excitedly over to the elder Mason, flopping down on her back as she reached him. The old man bent down and gave the pup the obligatory scratch on the belly before walking off toward his own house. John noted in passing the old man was wearing his old Ruger Blackhawk on his hip.
