Most folks who saw someone infected, or whatever you want to call it, tried to help them. Cops were bitten while arresting them, paramedics were bitten while rendering aid, and the vast majority of folks were too scared of going to jail for shooting the dead folks to shoot the dead folks. I know the first time I saw a dead guy up close, I knew I had to shoot him, but kid… shooting someone is scary business. No one wants to go to jail, and I am positive a whole lot of folks waited until the absolute last second to shoot a dead guy, and waited too long and got bit as a result. It's the whole… I'll shoot you to defend myself story, but when you're twenty feet away, I'm gonna wait until you're right up on top of me to do it.
It also didn't help that there was a riot in Dallas.
That's what made me realize I had to go out. Right around five in the evening the new blew up with all these reports out of South Dallas. South Oak Cliff to be specific. I guess a few of the locals took it upon themselves to liberate many of the local retail establishments of their goods. Now in retrospect, looking back on it, that's what that means kid, every single business in the whole wide world should've just opened their doors and let everything go for free, but nope folks put up a fight. They couldn't see the writing on the wall just yet. They couldn't just give it away like they should've. Not like their damned insurance wouldn't have covered 'em for it. Greed did a lot of folks in.
You remember those riots after those cops in Los Angeles got off for beating that poor black guy? It was like that. Only the police response was lot heavier handed. Oak Cliff ain't the best neighborhood on a good day, and that day was a lot worse than any day ever before. Dallas cops are Texas cops, and with folks dying all over the place, the law decided to play it safe, and shoot every motherfucker that seemed even a little dangerous. You could say it got ugly kid.
You know how the dead come back right? We know that as a rule now, but back then… they had no idea really what to expect when they gunned down about a hundred looters in the middle of one of the shittiest neighborhoods of South Dallas. I've no idea how many of them sat back up, but if just fifty did, then they bit just fifty folks more…
That’s how Dallas fell. Like a house of bloody cards my little friend. I remember watching the news for the next day or two, while it was still on, and then the radio after that for a few more days. Yeah, Dallas hit the fan. Fort Worth and everything in between went with it. Corpses everywhere, up and attacking. Back then we didn't know if it was viral, or fungal, or whatever, so yeah, it was a mess.
Anyway son, I sat there watching the riots break out in Oak Cliff, and I realized I needed to get my ass out of the house, and stock up on some more supplies. I'd been sitting there with my eyes stuck to the television set for a good long time, and when I saw all that shooting and fighting over food already, I knew I'd need to get me some stuff and fast.
I had good food. Lots of it. I poach deer kid, I won't lie. I am not the best person in the world, that's obvious. I put some salt licks out back the trailer and sit on my porch at dusk and dawn until a white tailed deer comes through and then I stock my freezer for some time. Back in… what was it, June? Late June? I'd bagged a deer just a week before, so I had meat. I also keep canned food on hand. Food wasn't the issue. Diesel wasn't either.
I needed my truck back, and I needed more ammo. You see kid, I had just driven my rig back to my house, and left my truck at work, at the distribution facility. I'm not the brightest fella, but I do keep a Polaris ATV on hand in my shed, and my Sportsman 550 was to be my ride for a few hours.
I was so damned worried about carrying my SKS out in the public that day that I left it at home. I was also still scared shitless to arrive at work on my four wheeler with my rifle like that. Again buddy, if this had all blown over, that's a recipe for not only unemployment, but a free ride to the loony bin. I played it a little safe, and left with my 1911, and the three mags I got for it.
The drive to the shop was about an hour, but I went pretty slow, and I kept to the trails. I wasn't entirely sure about the route to take to get there, but I made it safe.
Now let me set the scene for you properly son. I think it was about eight at night when I got there, so the sun was heading downwards like a sinking stone in a pond, and the sun's heat was relaxing a bit. Just a bit though. This is Texas in June remember. You can fry eggs on the hood of my truck at midnight some nights. The facility, hell, you've seen it already, has that big double fence around it, and has all those gates and stuff, and when I got there Greg, the geezer who sits in the security booth, you've met him too kid, was still there, but instead of being inside his little air conditioned hut, he was standing outside, scattergun in his mitts, and the hair on the back of his fat neck standing on edge. Hells, you ain't seen him big, have you? He was a regular heffer before all this happened. Grits and gravy instead of blood and guts I suspect. End of the world makes for a great diet plan kid.
So Greg hears my Polaris coming down the road and he gets his gun all ready and I slow down, and start hollering to him that it's me, and he and I have played poker before, so after a few seconds he lowers his gun, and I putt-putt up to him and he fills me in. The shop is long since empty. You remember Greg is from south Louisiana right? And he's got that New Orleans drawl to him? So he tells me all about how everyone up and left, and half the folks left real early to get their kids out of school, and how none of the drivers have returned with their trucks yet, and he's surprised to even see me.
I told him about the car accident I saw, and the news, and he already knows all about all of it. He's had the radio all day. He may have been a lazy man, but you gotta credit that Greg. He was there all that day and night, and stayed there until we returned a few days later. But that's another story. So I tell him about how I left my truck in the lot, and he says he knew already, so he buzzed me in, and I drove over to it. I drive a Ford Super Duty in diesel, and I keep two loading ramps in the back for my four wheeler, and I drove it right up in the bed, easy as pie.
When I left there and said good day and good luck to Greg, he said good luck to me, and I drove off to North Texas Firearms, where I do all my gun shopping. NTF is two miles as the crow flies from work on the edge of the industrial park in Longview's outskirts. NTF is ran by my good pals Rob and Carline Pastell. Rob and Carline have been friends of mine for about five years now, and they and their two sons run the shop. They've got an indoor shooting range and they sell a lot of stuff to the local hunters, and they're good people.
When I pulled in, the two Pastell boys, Rob Junior and Carl were in the parking lot with some heavy gear. Full on AR guns and body armor, and ballistic glasses and camo. They both looked like the end of the world had hit, and they were right. I think they recognized my truck, and then waved me in. I talked to them before I went inside to see their mom, and they told some tales of crazy folks coming to stock up on guns and ammo, so their dad left to go get more from their home, and to get more of the family's gun collection. They had plans to ride it all out in their shop, which was a great idea. They made it, still alive as far as I know.
Carline was as sweet as ever, though she looked like a long tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Nervous in the service. I picked up about five hundred worth of ammo and she wouldn't let me pay for it. I told her if she needed some fuel, to come see me, and I'd let her into the distribution facility for work, and that's a deal we made good on several times. Kid, barter is where it's at now. Have something good to trade for something good, and life is very achievable. Listen to me. I'm your damn elder. And wake up, I haven't even gotten to the good part yet.
I keep a CB in my pickup, and I was jamming with a few of my local chums. I'd kept off the radio almost all day, just listening really. The radio was almost dead now though. A few folks calling out the same accidents over and over, and all the dead folks now wandering the highway and city streets. Mostly in the areas toward Dallas, and right downtown in Longview where that accident had taken place. Well kid, let's be honest, it was st
arting to get real bad everywhere.
As I was heading home, truck full of 7.62 for my SKS and .45 cal, I heard a radio come out that stopped me cold on the side of the road. It was a guy I'd never heard before, and I could hear pain in his voice kid. You ever hear someone try and talk after they smash a fingernail with a hammer? Or right after they get something real heavy dropped on a toe? How they talk through their teeth instead of with their mouth?
This guy. He sounded like that.
He says, "Is anyone out there not driving that can help me? I can't drive anymore and I need help."
Then he says, "I've been bitten, I'm hurt awful and I've got a box filled with people that need some help. Someone's gotta get them out of here."
Now kid I ain't no coward, but I was afraid to respond. I sat there on the side of the road for a good two minutes waiting for someone else to give him a thumbs up, but no one did. Finally, I nutted up and talked back to him. I said to him, "Where you at dog bite?"
He laughed back at me, and said, "I ain't been bitten by no dog, driver. I had one of them crazy people bite my hand, and my leg too, and I can feel the fever already. I can't see good, and I can't drive no more." Then he says, "I'm on the side of the street heading to Spring Hill Junior High."
Now kid, that was about a mile from where I sat. It was like Jesus himself had reached down and given me the opportunity to deliver people from danger. I can't say what came over me, but I hit my CB again, and I told him I'd be right over. As I pulled back onto the road and turned around, he told me he was driving a short haul trailer, and he'd just left the Dallas area with a load full of people. He was bringing them to the Junior High because he'd heard it was open as a shelter and he lived in the area. No one had driven by since he'd pulled over, and the trailer still had all the folks in it. If I could just get there, and switch out with him for a few minutes, I could drive the truck up the rest of the way to the school, open up the back of the truck, and be off. Folks rescued, driver aided, and I'm the hero. Eddie Smith, hero of Longview right?
Heh.
Well you see kid I had to take a bit of a detour around some Longview cruisers that had been parked to block the road. No one in the cruisers of course, but they were parked there to stop through traffic, clear as day. I looped around the neighborhood, and made my way to the street the driver said his truck was parked on. There it was kid. Unmarked 24 foot pup trailer, no sleeper.
I parked my truck on the side of the road behind his trailer and walked up to the cab of his truck. I was nervous kid, scared. I ain't afraid to admit it friend. I'd seen too many abandoned police cruisers, car accidents, and dead bodies on the news for any normal person to deal with and not be afraid. I could hear the people inside hooting and hollering for help, and I told them, yelled into the trailer to them that I was there to help. They simmered down. Right when I got to the distance where I could holler out to him, my better brain kicked in, not the one in my rick you smartass, and I stopped walking. Two things hit me like a prize fighter from Mexico beating folks up for a green card: one, I'd left my pistol in my truck's cup holder, and two, this guy had said he'd been bitten.
Now kid, by then I knew that the bites were the end of the road, and I knew they killed right quickly. I hadn't even considered that I'd have to plug this guy yet, so while I was thinking about needing to do the deed, I ran back and grabbed my 1911. I thumbed that safety selector down to the kill people setting, and I walked back to the truck's cab again.
I didn’t need long to realize the driver had died. I grabbed the door handle of the cab and pulled myself up to the window to look in, and he reached out at me like I was a damned happy meal at the drive through. He was dripping blood, and biting at the air, and I jumped backwards off the truck, and I tell you kid, seatbelts save lives. If it weren't for his, you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.
I landed on my asshole hard enough to split my tailbone and lose the air in my lungs. I damn near dropped my piece too, but I held onto it like I was jerking my gherkin. As I got the air back into my lungs I steadied myself on the ground and watched as that poor dead driver tried his level best to get at me. He couldn't get loose of that seatbelt though, and that's about when I knew how smart they were. Kid you already know they ain't that bright. But that night, when it all started, we knew nothing.
As I watched him, I leveled the .45 on him, and I put one through his chest. Gun was loud as a motherfucker I tell you. Shooting a heavy handgun like that in a residential neighborhood is the strangest thing. Normally you shoot at the range, or on your property, or in the middle of the woods hunting, not in someone's front yard, or on the side of the road like this. Plus you usually got plugs in 'yer ears.
Kid you already know the bullet didn't take him out. They're dead. Shooting them in the heart doesn't stop them any more than asking them to does. I shot him again, this time in the head, and that did him in. What was left of his skull flopped forward near the wheel, and as the folks in the back started screaming again, I opened the door and got him out as best I could. I put his body in the grass of the yard right nearby, wiped the blood and sweat off my forehead, and yelled to the folks in the back of the truck that we were on the move.
His truck drove fine, which was good. Though it weren't far. Mile, maybe two. When I pulled up to the Junior High I could tell things were bad there. Something had gone very wrong outside the joint. I saw the bodies of two of the local cops on the ground right at the entrance of the school parking lot. I had to stop or I'd drive over them.
I hopped out the truck to check on 'em, but they was dead. Both shot in the head. I took their service handguns, and their cuffs, and their spare magazines too. Most of which were on the ground. Judging by the direction the spent brass was in, they were shooting down the road away from the school at someone coming up the road. I never did figure out what had happened.
No dead folks around though and I saw a parking lot filled with cars, but no people. There was no one in the windows of the school, or the hallways. It was empty, deserted, and not safe at all. I won't lie. I was worried and a little panicked, so I got the hell back in the truck, and I turned it around. I couldn't stomach leaving those folks there at the school. As I turned the truck around, and drove back, I started thinking about a place I could leave these people. There was no way in hell I was bringing them back to my place right? Not enough food, and the last thing I wanted was twenty strangers in my trailer.
If the Junior High was shitcanned, then the High School would be the same. I ran through about thirty places in town that I might be able to leave them at, when I got back to the spot my truck was. I pulled over to think about what I was doing. Finally, as I stared at my truck, I realized I should ask these people where they wanted to go. Mighty kind of me, don't you think kid?
I hopped out of the truck and went to the rear of the trailer. I banged on it real hard to let them know I was about to open up, and just as I was turning the handle, I heard some folks screaming on the inside. They was yelling help! Help! Loud as they could.
I stopped and hollered again, "What's going on in there?" I asked loud. I heard about ten folks yelling and screaming at the same time, but they all kept saying the same thing over and over again, as loud as they could;
"He's biting us."
I listened to them scream for a second or two more, then I took my hand off the trailer lock. Kid, I couldn't let them out. If they were all being bitten, or had already been bitten, there was no way letting them out was a good idea. I listened to them fight and scream for a solid minute or two before the last of them stopped. I sat there, scared as can be for a bit, but then I went back to my truck, and grabbed a padlock out of the glove box.
I locked the trailer shut with my lock, and wrote in the road dust on the back of the trailer "DO NOT OPEN, INFECTED ARE INSIDE."
I think I spelled inside wrong though. Spelling was never my strong suit kid.
I left in my truck and drove home, straight to the my trailer where
I turned off the lights, and stayed up all night long worried to death over whether or not I'd condemned those people to death because I didn't let them out when I first got there.
But you know what kid? I can't ever know for sure. I did what I thought was best at the time, and the price I pay is in my darkest nightmares of the dead, every single night.
Life is about tough decisions kid. Doing what needs to be done, even when it's the hardest thing you can imagine doing. That's why we're on the road right now. That's why we're heading east. Heading towards a few people that I truly believe can lead us out of this nightmare.
What? Where are we heading?
Why we're heading to a place called Bastion son. The last truly safe place for us, we believe. We'll tell you more about why we believe that as we go I'm sure. Tell you more about a man I'd like to meet.
Maybe I'll tell you another story tomorrow night. Sleep if you can. Rest well, you'll be safe.
I'll be up all night.
No rest for the wicked.
Uncle Martin
Steve Gonzales
Jesse Garcia studied the aging farmhouse. Obviously it had been abandoned long before June 23rd. Haunted by ghosts maybe, but Jesse was pretty sure there were no zombies around. The old home was grayed and weather-beaten, fraying around its edges like a rough sketch in pencil. Several small outbuildings leaned in the overgrown yard like gravestones huddled around a tomb. A single crow stood like a shadow on the roof and plucked a fat grub from a gutter stuffed with dead leaves. It swallowed the meal whole and stared at Jesse before fluttering off with a screech.
"I think it's okay." said Jesse hopefully, ignoring the crow. He had circled the house twice and found it sealed up tight. But was it a fortress or a prison?
Unhappy Endings: Tales from the world of Adrian's Undead Diary Page 5
