Five Roads To Texas: A Phalanx Press Collaboration

by Lundy, W. J.

  Of course, it made sense to have someone else around if things went bad. And she was sure things were going to go bad. Not one, but two videos showed the military firing on scores of people, or at least what used to be people. She’d been watching zombie movies since she was a kid, often wondering if she would have the intestinal fortitude to survive if something crazy like that were to happen. Now it looked like the damn outbreak was actually happening.

  So, for now, she’d stick with Lincoln. If something better came along, then she’d move on to that. As an added benefit, she wasn’t attached to him, so if something bad were to happen, it wouldn’t really tear her up emotionally. It was callous, sure, but Sidney was also a realist. If shit went down like it looked like it would, then her number-one priority was saving herself.

  The inside of REI was just like every other outdoor supply store that she’d ever been in…nothing special, other than the increased number of people inside. She grabbed a cart and went quickly to the camping section. The rest of that shit would be useless—except for the bicycle chain locks, which she grabbed two of as she walked by and tossed them into her cart.

  She had to edge her way into the camping section. There were at least ten people, all poring over the equipment diligently, but they were civil for now. Sidney wasn’t a dummy, so she used her sexuality to her advantage, sliding seductively between men, rubbing lower backs gently, and smiling freely to get to the area she wanted to go to. Of course, the men parted ways and stared at her openly.

  Two sleeping bags and a small tent were at the top of her list. The sleeping bags were already picked over for the ones that could withstand the coldest temperatures, so she settled on two that the packaging stated were good to eighteen degrees. Those went into her cart. As she was making her move toward the tents, she had to pass the picnic and camp cooking accessories. She haphazardly grabbed a box of cooking pans and a set of camping tableware that included a plate, a shallow bowl, a fork, and a spoon. The tableware went into her cart, and she pushed her way toward the end of the aisle. Then she remembered that she needed two sets of the tableware and went back to grab another before making her way to the tent section.

  This area was mostly empty, since everyone knew that the smartest thing to do was to shelter in place. Sidney selected an expensive, lightweight, four-person backpacking tent and tossed it into the cart.

  “That’s eight hundred and ninety-nine bucks the credit card company won’t ever see,” she mumbled.

  Turning around, she noticed the first aid section and pushed her way into there as well. The men weren’t quite as willing to allow her passage in this aisle like they had been in the other one. She grabbed a full-sized first aid kit—they could pare it down as needed—some magnesium matches, several long-handled lighters, two small squares that opened up to be limited-use rain ponchos, a crank flashlight, and a camp shower.

  The final items she wanted to get were two solid hiking backpacks that could hold all their gear. If shit went really bad, they’d need to be marginally comfortable in case they had to walk with everything they owned on their backs. She avoided the brightly colored pinks, oranges, and reds that were in fashion this year. Instead, she examined two dark-tan backpacks that said they were MILSPEC, whatever that meant. They weren’t quite as big as the others, but the numerous pockets on the outside of the bags where items could be reached without searching through the entire thing were beneficial in her mind, so she chose them.

  Sidney made her way up front, grabbing two Gerber multi-tools and two folding pocketknives with three-inch blades. She wanted longer ones, but a sign said that three inches was the legal limit in DC. She frowned and decided that they’d just have to make do with what was available.

  Once in line, she stood there for twenty-five minutes, adding a couple pairs of heavy-duty pants, a jacket, and a package of paracord, all of which were within arm’s reach of where she stood. Finally, she made it to the register, and while the frazzled employee rang up her purchases, she used the app on her cell phone to summon a car.

  The car and her exit from the store coincided almost perfectly, and she threw the four bags of gear into the seat beside her.

  “How do you feel about cats in your car?” she asked the driver.

  “Cats? You have a cat in the car?”

  “Not yet. I have a cat at my apartment. I can put him in a carrier and bring him down.”

  “Well, it’s not really my—”

  “I’ll give you a hundred bucks cash, plus the amount for the fare that’ll go on the app, if you wait for me for ten minutes outside my apartment while I pack a few things in a bag and grab my cat.”

  The driver stared at her in the rearview mirror, considering her offer. “Two hundred,” he countered, obviously sensing her urgent need.

  “Really, you greedy bastard? What if I was running from an abusive boyfriend?”

  “Then I’d say three hundred. I don’t need to get shot by a crazy man,” the driver replied. “Two hundred, and I’ll wait for you and your cat for ten minutes, but no more. Today’s been crazy-busy, and I’m not going to call myself out for much longer than that.”

  “Fine,” Sidney relented. “Just take me home and I’ll hurry.”

  The trip over took several minutes longer than it normally would have due to an unusually high volume of traffic for a Sunday afternoon. “What is this?” the driver shouted, honking his horn repeatedly.

  “Could you please stop doing that?”

  “What? It helps.”

  “No, it really doesn’t,” Sidney replied. “All it does is make other drivers get more frustrated.”

  “I think—” He stopped himself. “You know what I think? I think you are the customer, so we’ll take whatever time is needed.”

  They finally reached her apartment, and she grabbed her bags, then decided to set them down. She’d need both hands if she was going to get everything she needed as quickly as possible. “You’re not going to leave with my stuff, are you?”

  “No. I would never do that.”

  “Give me your keys then.”

  “What? No. You cannot have my keys.”

  “Deal’s off then,” Sidney hissed. “I don’t need you leaving with the stuff I just bought.”

  The driver rocked back and forth for a moment, then said. “Fine. I give you my keys, you give me your cell phone. We both have something of the other’s, and we won’t abandon each other.”

  “All right,” Sidney said, locking her phone and handing it to the driver. “It’s password protected. Won’t do you any good to try and unlock it.”

  “No problem. I know a guy…”

  “Give me your keys.”

  He handed them between the seats, and she accepted them. “I’ll only be ten minutes. Promise.”

  Sidney dashed inside and up the stairs to her second-floor apartment. Rick James went crazy when she opened the door. He wasn’t used to being left alone overnight.

  “I’m sorry, buddy,” she cooed as she rushed to her room and pulled down the comically oversized duffel bag that her gym gave her when she joined.

  From her closet, she threw in underwear and socks, jeans, practical t-shirts without a lot of sequins and shit on them, a few pairs of yoga pants, some tank tops, a zip-up jacket, two sweatshirts, and a pair of tennis shoes. From the bathroom, all the tampons and pads that she had went into the bag, along with several bars of soap, an unopened bottle of shampoo, her brush, deodorant, and her toothbrush. Finally, she dumped her jewelry box into one of the bag’s side pockets. She crammed the bag closed, working the zipper back and forth until it remained shut.

  Then she changed out of the tight jeans and flats that she’d worn the night before. She stripped naked, put on clean undergarments and a pair of cargo pants with dried paint on them from the few times she’d gone paintballing as part of a team-building exercise at work. She finished off the ensemble with a pair of hiking boots and a t-shirt. She considered the weather and put a light jac
ket over the top of everything. Out of habit, she reached toward her dresser for her cell phone but remembered that the driver had it downstairs. Instead, she pushed his car keys deep down into her front pocket, where the metal pushed uncomfortably into her thigh.

  Next, she dug around in the back of her closet until she found her pet carrier, which looked like a smaller version of the bigger duffel bag. Rick James, who’d jumped onto the bed to watch what she was doing, hissed and ran into the next room. He didn’t like the carrier. Inside was a pair of thick gardening gloves left over from the last time she had to put her cat in the carrier. She wisely slipped those on and went hunting for the beast.

  Sidney set her duffel bag down on the living room floor and closed the door behind her. That’s all she needed, was for the cat to get under the bed. “Come on, Ricky,” she cooed. “You want a treat-treat?”

  The cat mewled piteously, seemingly torn between getting a treat and getting in the carrier. Sidney tossed one of his treats in the carrier and set it on the kitchen floor. She busied herself with grabbing a few food items from the pantry and putting them in the reusable grocery bag that she took to the market at the end of her block.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rick James enter the carrier. She crouched down and zipped up the opening, locking the cat inside. Then she picked up her oversized duffel and slung it across her body. She grabbed the carrier in one hand, the bag of food in the other, and left her apartment behind.

  The street was a scene of pandemonium. By the sights, the sounds, even the smells, Sidney knew immediately what had happened, and she ducked back inside the glass doorway of her apartment building. She shouted for the desk employee to lock the doors, and the man came around, fussing about being quiet in the lobby. But when he saw what was happening, his hands fumbled with the keys, and he locked the doors as she’d directed.

  Outside, people ran in every direction, fleeing from others covered in blood and screaming their hatred of everyone who wasn’t already bloodied and, presumably, infected with the virus that had struck out west. It was horrible to see in real life.

  All across her line of view, the infected weaved around obstacles, some careening off of cars that sped away from the Circle. Several of them were dragged underneath the vehicles. Others leapt onto the hoods, trying to reach the occupants.

  The situation was much more horrifying for the pedestrians as the infected tackled their prey, biting and tearing at their flesh. They ripped open great gashes in the flesh, vomiting a pink, frothy mixture of bile and blood into the wounds. Then they would rise and seek another victim, leaving the injured to suffer their fate.

  Transmission, Sidney thought. “It’s blood borne, like Ebola or Marburg,” she murmured aloud. “That doctor was right.”

  “What?” the dark man beside her hissed. “Ebola?”

  She tore her eyes away from the events outside. The desk attendant was African. Ivory Coast, if she remembered right. She’d talked to him occasionally about her time in the Peace Corps in Senegal. He’d actually been a refugee that her old non-profit had assisted in immigrating to America after the last major Senegalese revolution had forced out Christians.

  “The disease,” she said, pointing to the street. “It’s passed by whatever they’re throwing up.”

  One of the infected slammed into the glass, leaving a smear of blood and filth along its surface. The man outside, if he could still be called that, bellowed in rage, slamming his hands into the glass and biting ineffectually at the smooth surface. Deep, red blood completely obscured the whites of his eyes and his gums bled profusely, covering his teeth with a mixture of bodily fluids. Then he began to head-butt the windows. A thin spider web of cracks appeared after the third time he rammed his head into the doors.

  “Quick!” Sidney shouted. “Pull those potted plants in front of the door.” She had an idea.

  “What?”

  “Just do it! I don’t think he can see very well.”

  They maneuvered the four big plants in front of the doors as the man continued to batter them with his forehead, which was now split open, revealing the mottled skull beneath.

  “Now, hide,” Sidney ordered.

  The attendant complied, crouching behind his desk. Sidney went around the corner and peeked at the door. After a moment, the man stopped head-butting the failing glass and stared at the plants inside. Then he turned and stumbled away.

  “Son of a bitch,” she exhaled. “It worked.”

  “Lady, what do you know?” the attendant demanded loudly.

  “Nothing,” she replied. “I just had a hunch that he couldn’t see very well. His eyes were covered in blood, but they look like they hunt by sight. Now be quiet. We don’t know how well they can hear.”

  She slid down the wall, sitting on her duffel bag, and positioned the cat carrier in front of her. Rick James seemed unconcerned with the action. “Good boy,” she whispered. “Good boy.”

  Her position allowed her to see between the bases of the potted plants. For several minutes, the chaos outside continued unabated, then it began to ebb. As she observed, she thought about the direction of travel the mob had taken. They seemed to be coming from the south, from the direction of the White House and the…the airport.

  No, that didn’t make sense, she decided. Reagan was several miles away and across the Potomac. If they’d somehow sprouted at the airport, they would have probably gone more into Virginia than up into the District. But there were several hospitals just a few blocks to the south of Dupont Circle. Her eyes drifted to the street again, where people lay in various states of injury. Some of them appeared dead, while others held cell phones to their ears in shaky hands. Not many people appeared to be trying to help one another.

  And she had her answer. The first group had been in the hospital. There were probably a few victims of a similar attack somewhere else out west who returned home to DC, then were taken to the hospital by friends or family. Given what she’d witnessed, a couple of infected could tear through a closed hospital ward quickly, creating dozens more infected. Of course, that begged the question of the disease’s incubation period, but if it were several hours, that would have been sufficient time for additional medical personnel and patients to filter into the hospital, where the newly infected were undergoing treatment.

  Then, with a few dozen infected, they could decimate an entire hospital.

  She cursed under her breath at the government’s stupidity for keeping the information about the disease secret. There could have been security measures in place if the hospital knew what to look for. Instead, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of infected in the city now. Those people outside would likely turn and begin another wave.

  “Shit!” Sidney coughed. This was her small window of opportunity to get out of here. She stood and walked quickly to the doors. Peering down the block to where the car was supposed to be waiting for her, she saw the open driver’s door and no sign of the man behind the wheel.

  Just to be sure, she watched for a few more moments, looking up and down the street to ensure that there weren’t any mobile infected, then she called to the attendant. “Can you unlock the door for me? My car is right there. I’m going to try to get out.”

  “No way,” he replied. “I ain’t unlocking those doors.”

  “They’re all gone,” she offered. “All of them went north. This is probably my only chance to get to my car before the police block off the street.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. It could have been the truth; she didn’t know.

  His head popped up over the desk. “Why are you trying to leave? Shouldn’t you stay as a witness for the police?”

  She pointed back at her duffel bag. “I’m heading back to Africa this morning for a few months. I’m supposed to go out there to help with another Ebola crisis.” That was definitely a lie.

  The man gestured with his head toward the street. “Is that what this is? Is that Ebola?”

  “No,” Sidney answered. “To b
e honest, I don’t know what that is out there, but if it is related to Ebola, the research team I’m on is the best chance of finding a cure.”

  He considered her words for a moment and then nodded. “You go quick,” he directed. “As soon as you’re out of here, I’m locking the doors and not opening them again.”

  “Deal,” she replied as she rushed back to the bags and picked up Rick James.

  The attendant pulled one of the plants away from the door and put his key into the lock. “You ready?” he asked, looking back at her.

  She walked up behind him, pulled the handles of the fabric grocery bag over her shoulder, and fished the keys from her pocket. She selected the car key from the ring and held that between her thumb and forefinger as she closed her fist around the remainder of the keys.

  Sidney glanced back at the car. The driver had been stuck because of her, but she hadn’t made him open the car door. Had he fled ahead of the mob? she wondered. Worse, if she took the car, would she leave him stranded here in Dupont Circle, where the infected would surely rise again soon?

  “Yeah, I’m ready,” she answered the attendant with a curt nod. There wasn’t anything she could do about the driver. If he took off, that wasn’t her fault.

  The attendant twisted the key in the lock and pulled the door inward. As Sidney rushed out, her duffel bag hit the doorframe, and she spun wildly in almost a full one-eighty before catching herself. She turned around and ran at a crouch toward the car. The lock slammed home behind her.

  Outside, the sounds of the injured were everywhere. It took a considerable effort to pass by the battered and bleeding victims. They were goners at this point, and there was nothing she could do, she told herself. Emergency response sirens wailed from every direction in the city, as well as some type of announcement system blaring out incomprehensible instructions from somewhere in the direction of the National Mall down south.