by Wise, A. R.
“Run away,” said the boy between screams of pain as he tried to pull the knife out of his shoulder.
Porter ran down the aisle, but the boy’s strike had worsened the already serious wound on his calf. He stumbled, and fell against the glass freezer doors before hopping down the rest of the aisle. The raven-haired girl passed as Porter reached the end of the aisle. He leapt for her, but missed and fell against a pharmacy counter, knocking over a display of homeopathic medicine that no looters deemed worth stealing.
The girl was headed for a double door leading to the back room.
“I can help,” said Porter as he recovered from his fall and chased her.
She reached the doors, and tried to push them open only to discover the way had been barred. She turned, terrified at Porter’s approach.
He held out his arms, ready to catch her no matter which direction she fled.
“I can help.”
He didn’t have his knife anymore. There had to be another way to help her – to infect her. He bit his lip hard, drawing hot blood, and then lunged with his mouth wide, aiming for her neck.
Day Three – 10:23 am
Gracie drove while Hosta and Daniel sat in the back. Porter was in the passenger seat of the Mazda, eagerly looking for signs of life as they traversed the long stretch of empty road that’d lead back to the highway.
“Denver,” said Hosta, his voice little more than a gurgling whisper. Blood continued to seep from his belly, pooling in the seat. “If we can get to Denver…” his thought trailed off. He leaned his head back while gasping for air.
“Castle Rock’s closer,” said Daniel.
Gracie agreed. “There’s gotta be people there.”
“They’re all hiding,” said Daniel. “Remember, Gracie? They told us to hide too. Good thing we didn’t.”
“Who told you to hide?” asked Porter.
“The cops,” said Gracie as she fidgeted in her seat. She looked like a tweaking meth addict headed to her dealer, antsy and desperate. “The Army dudes. The radio.” The bite mark on her neck had turned purple, and tears fell down her cheeks.
“The radio?” asked Porter.
“Yeah,” she said, and turned on the car’s radio. She clicked on the button to scan through the static.
Porter watched the digital display search the stations, but none of the numbers made sense to him. They looked like nothing more than random dashes and lines, rapidly changing. Finally, they caught a signal.
“…for help. Please ask us for help.” It was a male voice. He pleaded with anyone who would listen. “All you have to do is yell out for us. Keep yelling and we’ll hear you. We’ll come and help. All you have…”
Gracie clicked on the button to scan the stations again. “That was one of us,” she said.
“They stopped talking,” said Daniel. “Maybe they got helped.”
“Who stopped talking?” asked Porter.
“The Army guys. They were on one of the stations telling people where to go, but they stopped talking.”
Another station came through. “…people in desperate need of help in Castle Rock.”
Gracie’s posture straightened in excitement. “This is them, this is them. Listen.” She turned up the radio.
“I repeat, there are many people who need help in Castle Rock. Please head there immediately to help in any way you can. Head for the flashing red and blue lights. If you are uninfected, please read the signs. I repeat, there are many uninfected…” he continued, saying the same thing over and over.
Daniel whooped, clapped, and bounced in his seat, causing Hosta’s blood to splash. Porter looked at his two companions in the back, and saw that Hosta was barely alive. His once beady eyes were slits, and his mouth drooped wide, allowing the shallowest of breaths to escape nearly unheard. His eyeballs turned in Porter’s direction, his pupils as small as pinpricks in a sea of bloodshot red.
“Castle Rock’s not far,” said Gracie.
“We don’t even have to take the highway,” said Daniel. “Go that way, yeah that way.” He was pointing and laughing, excited beyond measure and still bouncing in his seat.
“I know where Castle Rock is,” said Gracie, annoyed by her boyfriend.
Porter sat in quiet contemplation as Gracie drove fast down the country road, swerving around the occasional wrecks. They passed several large, orange signs placed on the side of the road, their words meaningless to Porter now. Some of them featured red octagons that Porter recognized as ‘Stop’ signs, although the white letters were a jumble. He wondered why someone had placed these bizarre signs everywhere.
Porter was eager to get to Castle Rock as well, but something about the radio message concerned him. Finally, he voiced his thoughts, “Was that message real?”
“Of course it was real,” said Daniel as if Porter’s question was remarkably silly.
“They need help?” asked Porter.
“That’s what it said.” Gracie turned the radio back on, and the same message played.
Porter clicked off the radio and asked, “Are you sure it’s real?”
“What’s wrong with this guy?” asked Daniel. He leaned forward to speak directly into Porter’s ear. “Yes, it’s real, dummy. It’s real.”
“Something seems weird.”
“The only thing weird is this guy,” said Daniel while motioning to Hosta.
“Is he dead?” asked Porter, callous and nonchalant.
Daniel shrugged, and then reached over to shake the fat man.
Hosta’s eyes opened. He closed his mouth, looked around, and asked, “What?”
“He’s alive,” said Daniel, surprised.
“You okay?” asked Porter.
Hosta nodded weakly, and then closed his eyes again.
“He won’t make it to Castle Rock,” said Daniel.
Hosta’s arm had fallen away from his wound, revealing how serious it was. The length of intestine that’d been bulging earlier had now burst free, hanging like the lower half of a noose from his gut, dripping blood.
“He won’t be much help,” said Gracie.
Eventually the empty hills were broken by civilization. The creeping sprawl of neighborhoods reaching out into the land, like a cancer spreading through the terrain. The empty, brown plains gave way to green, manicured lawns and houses placed close together. The craggy asphalt of the lonely stretch of road was replaced by newly patched roads, black and smooth, with sidewalks and fire hydrants and telephone poles. Castle Rock emerged from the surrounding emptiness like an oasis of civilization in the desert. The neighborhoods were set away from the road, and each of them looked like a promising place to investigate, but Gracie was focused on continuing straight into the center of town.
Castle Rock’s namesake was a castle-shaped mountain near the center of town, but it wasn’t visible from where they were. Instead, their focus was drawn to flashing red and blue lights straight ahead. It was as if there was a beacon pulling them forward, bringing out a lust to help. The sign of life was maddening to them.
“Let’s go there,” said Daniel.
“That’s where I’m headed,” said Gracie.
As they drove, Porter started to see bodies in the fields.
“There’s going to be so many people,” said Daniel. He excitedly pulled out a set of brand new kitchen knives that he’d taken from the grocery store. He ripped the plastic off the front of the package, and then started to pry the knives free of the twist ties that held them in place. He got a steak knife out first, inspected its clean, sharp edge, and then slit his own arm. The deep wound immediately gushed blood, wetting his blade and then dripping to the floor.
“What’re you doing?” asked Porter as he turned in his seat to watch the young man.
“Getting ready.”
“Why’d you cut yourself?”
Porter’s question went unnoticed as Gracie yelled at her boyfriend, “Hey, I need one too.”
Daniel handed up a clean knife, and Gracie took it
with the intention of cutting herself.
“Wait, stop,” said Porter as he snatched the blade away.
“What’re you doing?” she asked.
“Don’t cut yourself.” Porter pointed the knife at Hosta. “Stick it in him.”
“Why?” asked Daniel.
“Because he’s going to die anyways.”
“All right,” said Gracie. “Stick him for me.”
Porter leaned through the space between the front seats, and jammed both knives into Hosta’s gut. The little fat man didn’t move, but his eyes were open, watching Porter stab him yet again. Porter pulled the knives out, and handed one to Gracie.
“Thanks,” she said, accepting the gift.
The street was littered with corpses. A metallic stench wafted in as Gracie drove through puddles of blood, splattering droplets onto the sides of the car as high as the windows. Ahead, red and blue lights pulsed, beckoning them forward, intensifying their zeal. Daniel bounced in his seat, humming and laughing and smacking his knife against the ceiling. When his fervor reached its zenith, he opened his window and leaned out, screaming, “We’re here to help.”
Porter’s attention was drawn to a wreck on the side of the road. Bullet holes riddled the windshield, and there were bodies inside, their faces wrecked.
A tow truck was parked in the field, another wreck tied to its bed. The tow truck’s load had a similarly demolished windshield, replete with bullet holes.
They neared the epicenter of the attraction. Lights and noise regaled them, stirring an unquenchable lust to help others. A line of police cars blocked the road ahead, and there were military transport vehicles behind them.
“I see people,” said Gracie.
Porter saw them too, rising from behind the blockade, weapons drawn.
“Stop,” yelled Porter.
Gracie looked perplexed, but hit the brakes enough to start to slow down.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“It’s a trap,” said Porter as he ducked in his seat.
Gracie didn’t comprehend what was happening, and only stared down at Porter instead of following his lead. Seconds later she paid the price.
Gunfire was instantly followed by the crash of impact as bullets pierced the windshield and tore through Gracie. Her body shook as her head and chest were assaulted. Daniel screamed something, and started to open his door, but he never made it out. The assault was too intense, and he was dead before his foot touched the pavement.
Hosta only shuddered as the bullets struck him, already a corpse.
Porter waited for the gunfire to stop before moving. The car was still rolling forward, leaning right. He reached across the center console, awkwardly crawling across Gracie’s lap, and pressed her foot down on the brake. Then he shifted into reverse, pushed Gracie’s foot aside, and pressed his hand on the gas, seeking escape in the only way he could.
It was impossible to steer, and soon the car fell off the side of the road and into the field. All he was focused on doing was getting as much distance between him and the military as possible before attempting to replace Gracie and drive away.
More gunshots rang out, but they died off, as if the military had lost interest in executing him. Porter thought he might be safe, but his momentary relief was ended as the backend of the car slammed down into a divot of some sort, ceasing his escape as the engine roared uselessly.
Porter knew he didn’t have much time, and shifted the car into drive, hoping the front tires could pull the vehicle free of whatever it’d fallen into. He pressed the gas again, but to no avail. The tires tore into the dirt, but did little more than dig two holes.
Military vehicles were on their way, chasing him down to finish the job. Porter opened his door and crawled out, staying low to avoid gunfire.
The back end of the car had fallen in a deep, cement ditch that preceded a fenced neighborhood. He scurried to the ditch.
“Stop, we can help,” called out a male voice from a megaphone.
Multiple vehicles stopped in a half-circle around him, the occupants brandishing assault rifles pointed directly at him. Intense, yellow spotlights pained his eyes, causing him to turn away.
“Stay where you are,” said the amplified voice.
Another man yelled with a gruff, commanding voice that didn’t require a megaphone to be heard far and wide, “Drop the knife or we shoot.”
“No, no,” said the megaphoned man.
“Drop the knife!”
Porter hadn’t realized he still held the weapon. He refused to relinquish it. Instead, he placed the blade to his palm, and began to cut into himself.
‘How many steps,’ he asked himself. ‘Ten? Maybe less. At most ten steps before I can help one of them.’
The man with the megaphone yelled without the assistance of his device, “Use this. Shoot him with this first. Don’t kill him. We need ones like him.”
‘Ten steps.’ Porter started to run, but only made it a couple steps before he was struck hard in the chest and knocked backward. Electricity jolted him, stealing control of his limbs and causing him to quake violently in the dirt. He was helpless as soldiers surrounded him, pressed their boots to his hands, and pointed weapons at his head.
“Hold him, hold him,” said his excited savior.
A thin, older man materialized through the veil of yellow light, bearded and bespectacled, with an unfortunately large nose and craggy skin. His grey eyes peered down, wide and excited as he came at Porter with a needle.
Moments later the yellow light grew hazy, then dark.
Day Three – 2:58 pm
True to form, Red slept just fine. Despite everything that haunted him, he still managed to fall asleep while curled up in the backseat of the Subaru Outback. When he woke up, they ate a meager lunch of pears and beef jerky before heading back out on the road, hoping to get to the edge of Colorado before nightfall.
Red and June hadn’t made it far before their trip was stalled. A collision between a white van and a station wagon had caused a minor traffic jam that’d since been abandoned.
“I’ve got a feeling we’re going to see a lot of this,” said June.
“There’s a body.” Red pointed to a corpse on the side of the road.
Brown fields stretched on either side of the road, loping like frozen ripples in a lake, the road carving a grey line through the otherwise empty canvas. There wasn’t a tree, or stone, or house in sight. Nowhere to hide.
The road was elevated slightly, with ditches on either side that preceded a fence that only had two strands of wire stretched between posts. The corpse of a woman in a blue dress was laying halfway into the ditch, her naked feet pointed up, stiff and grey.
“The ditch is too deep here,” said June. “Let’s turn around and try to find a spot where we can get down into the field and drive.
“Wait, look.” Red leaned forward, peering at the cars ahead. “There’s something in that car. The one behind the wreck. I think it’s a dog. See it?”
The animal paced in the back seat, then jumped to the front, and then back again. It had short brown and white fur, and was panting as it moved frantically around.
“I see it,” she said.
Red took off his seatbelt, and reached for the door handle.
“What’re you doing?”
“I’m going to check on it.”
“The dog?” she asked, astounded.
“Yeah, what else?”
She grabbed his shirt to hold him back. “No you’re not.”
He looked genuinely confused. “Why not?”
“Are you kidding? How do you know there aren’t infected people out there?”
“Every other time we’ve seen infected, they’ve come running at us immediately. It’s like they can’t help themselves.” He looked around at the calm scene. “No one’s here.”
“Let’s not tempt fate. All right? Let’s go back and see if…”
“I’m not leaving that dog in there to starve to d
eath.”
She stared at him, uncertain how to respond.
He assumed her silence was meant to chastise him. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to just let him starve. At the very least we’ve got to get him out of the car. It’s hot outside. He’s got to be baking in there.”
“For all we know, dogs can carry the disease too.”
He sneered as if she’d said something preposterous. “Come on.”
“What? I’m being serious.”
“Then I’ll just break a window or something.”
“Why are we… Look, Red, I like dogs too. Okay? I’m not trying to be a monster here, but the whole world’s blowing up around us. This isn’t exactly the time to start worrying about someone else’s dog.”
“I’m not saying you’re being a monster, but…” He gestured towards the helpless, frightened dog as if the sight of it should be all the convincing she needed. “Look at him. He’s freaking out in there. His owner’s probably dead, and he’s stuck in there. I’m sorry, but I’m not leaving without helping him.” He opened his door.
“Wait,” she said, holding onto his shirt again. “Fine, we can save the dog, but let’s be smart about it.”
“I told you; I’ll just break a window and then come back to the car. That way, if he’s a crazy zombie-dog he won’t get me. And if he’s a normal, nice dog, he’ll be able to get out of the car before he bakes in there.”
“Let’s be careful,” said June. “That’s all I ask.” She let go of Red and started to open her door.
“You don’t have to come with.”
“I’m going to help check out the area before you start breaking windows and letting the whole world know we’re here.”
“You’re paranoid.”
“Yep, and my paranoia’s going to keep us alive.”
They got out of the car and started to search the area. There were six cars stopped, two of which had been involved in the wreck. Three unwrecked cars were on the north side, and one on the south, all of them empty except for the one with the dog. Blood splattered the ground near the wreckage, and a trail led to the woman in the grass. There weren’t any other corpses to be seen.
