by Brian Parker
Viewers could hear tires screeching and then the camera was thrown violently sideways. It tumbled onto the side of the van and broken glass filled the foreground close to the lens. Then static filled the network screens, but Carson and Billy’s screams could be heard for several more minutes.
The Hippie, 12:52 p.m.
“Aww yeah! This is just like The Walking Dead on TV, man!”
“Shut the fuck up and finish unpacking those boxes.”
“Way harsh, Mr. T. What did I do to you?”
The old man's lips thinned. “I'm sorry, Brandon,” he said. “You're right. I shouldn't have said that to you.”
“Rock on, man. I get it,” Brandon replied with his characteristic goofy smile. “It's a stressful time in the CenTex.”
“You bet your butt it is, young man. And we need to keep those shelves stocked until we run out of food. Once that happens, you're free to go do… whatever it is that you do.”
“Hey, by the way, my mom called. Can I set aside a box of food to take home? She has the twins and is afraid to leave the house.”
“Of course, Brandon. Set whatever you need aside and mark your box. I'll just deduct the total from your paycheck.”
“Oh…bummer. I thought maybe you'd let me have some stuff for free since I was the only employee that bothered to show up today besides Julie at the register.”
The owner of Thomas' Organics and Mideast Kabobs grimaced as he hefted a box of organic oranges onto the pallet jack. “It's not like I don't appreciate it, Brandon – I do. More than you could possibly imagine. But I've got a business to run and the way things are looking, this whole area is gonna go under. I've got to sell all this food and then get out of here while I still can.”
Brandon's face fell and he asked, “Do you really think it's that bad, Mr. Thomas? I was joking about the zombie apocalypse, that's some real scary shit. Y'know?”
“Yeah. I know, son. If this is really as bad as everyone's saying, we'll need to try and make it to the interstate and head north as soon as we can.”
“We're over ten miles from Belton. You really think it’s gonna make it this far? I heard that the National Guard was on the way to put up roadblocks and stuff.”
“They are, but think about it – hey, keep working! Think about it, Brandon. All that open country, there's no way the Army can completely circle the town. Something is gonna get through and then all hell is gonna break loose somewhere else. There's nothing that can be done to stop this once it starts spreading.”
The boy set his box of canned all-natural, dolphin-free, no nitrate tuna into the cart he used to stock the shelves and said, “Um, maybe I should knock off early today, Mr. T. What you said makes a lot of sense. My mom is at home alone with my brothers – she probably needs me there with her.”
Mr. Thomas set his box down in exasperation and snarled, “You listen here, you little wannabe hippy. You're gonna do your job and help me get this place emptied of food.”
Brandon looked at him in horror. Mr. Thomas had never talked to him like that before and it was totally against the man's character. “Uh, are you okay? That's not a very nice thing to say to your best employee.”
Once again, the owner relaxed. “Dammit, Brandon. I'm stressed the heck out. I'm sorry. Come on, help me out for another hour or so and I'll pay you cash… Plus, you can take that box of groceries home for free.”
The teen's face brightened and he said, “Sure thing, Mr. Thomas! I know you're stressed. We'll get this job done and everything will be alright.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it, son,” Mr. Thomas replied.
After a few minutes of working in silence, Brandon cleared his throat and said, “Hey, um… I'm really craving some nicotine, is it cool if I take a break?”
The older man regarded him for a moment. “Don't you smoke one of those electronic cigarette things?”
“Yeah, check it out,” Brandon replied with a flourish that brought his psychedelic-patterned metal e-cig from his pocket. “She's so sweet, and I have a special blueberry-mocha flavor cartridge loaded up. I haven't tried it yet, but my guy at the shop says it's to die for.”
Mr. Thomas harumpfed, “Maybe the wrong choice of words, son. Look, just light it up in here and keep working.”
“Are you for reals Mr. T.? That's totally cool.”
The store owner cracked open a bottle of Kombucha and said, “Didn't know the old man could party, huh?”
Before long the aromas of artificial blueberries and chocolate filled the small stock room while they finished their task. Brandon pushed his heavily-laden cart out through the thick plastic sheeting and entered a world of chaos.
People were shoving one another and running through the store with carts loaded down with foodstuffs. He hadn't even made it all the way out of the dividers before a lady began taking things from his stock cart. The whole scene was crazy and wasn't anywhere near the way that the customers of Thomas' Organics and Mideast Kabobs normally acted.
“Whoa, whoa!” he shouted as someone tried to grab the entire cart from him.
“I'll pay for it. It's already loaded, so you just saved me a whole bunch of time, give it here,” a tall guy who normally ordered a lamb, hummus and feta shawarma from the kabob counter said.
“Don't you even wanna know what's in here, dude?”
“Don't care, its food,” he replied and jerked the cart away from the boy.
“Okay, hey Mr. T., you need help over there in the produce?” he yelled across the store.
The old man was in the middle of a tongue-lashing from some lady who was shaking a bag full of apples in his face. He looked over to Brandon and walked away from her. The woman stared in anger for a moment and then began throwing fruit into her cart.
“It's a madhouse, Brandon. I don't think Julie is going to be able to keep up,” he said as he pointed towards the poor girl at the store’s one open register.
“You have insurance, right Mr. Thomas?”
“Yeah, why?”
“'Cause I just saw two carts of food go through the door without paying!”
“Goddammit!” the owner shouted and ran towards the front of the store. Brandon ran after him and burst through the sliding doors into the parking lot.
If he'd been surprised by what he saw inside, the parking lot was another matter altogether. Cars were parked wherever the driver had decided to get out, most of the time they were nowhere near a parking spot. Several fender-benders had people shouting and cursing at each other and he was pretty sure that over in the far end of the parking lot someone was in the process of getting jumped for their groceries.
“Mr. T.! Hey, come back, we can't do anything about it! It's not safe out here, man.”
The owner ignored him and grabbed the arm of the man who'd stolen one of the carts of food. Brandon couldn't tell what either of them said, but he watched in horror as the customer punched Mr. Thomas in the face. The old man crumpled like a rag doll and the man hurried off to his car.
“Oh, shit!” Brandon said and ran to aid the owner.
“Are you okay?” he asked when he got to Mr. Thomas. The older man sat on his rear in the middle of the parking lot holding a hand over his left eye.
“Yeah, I guess we need to close up shop and get everyone home,” he conceded.
“Good idea, Mr. T.,” the youth agreed.
Brandon knelt down to help him up and the old man's eyes went wide. “Look out!” he shouted.
Brandon started to turn around when pain exploded in his shoulder and he was knocked to the ground. “Ow! What the hell?”
A growl in his ear made him turn his head and the creature bit into his cheek. Brandon screamed in pain and was dimly aware of Mr. Thomas looming over him.
The old man kicked out hard into the side of the creature and sent it sprawling. Despite his age, he bent down and quickly pulled Brandon to his feet and they rushed inside the store.
Brandon ignored the pain and the blood and helped Mr. Thomas
pull down the metal cage over the doors. They'd barely gotten it locked in place when the zombie slammed into the gate, rattling the entire contraption.
“That'll keep that fucker out!” Mr. Thomas said. “Now, let’s see to your face. Julie, go get some bandages from the health section.”
Brandon turned towards the man who'd been his boss, and even his friend, for the past two years and promptly fell over. He began to twitch violently and Mr. Thomas thought that he was having a seizure. He grabbed the broom sitting beside the door and tried to cram it between the boy's jaws to keep him from biting through his tongue.
The remaining customers watched in horror as Brandon stopped moving. Mr. Thomas put two fingers on his neck beside his Adam’s apple. “He’s… He’s dead!”
Several customers gasped and one woman screamed. All of them stepped back and left the poor kid lying in front of the doors. Within minutes, he came back and attacked Mr. Thomas and everyone who was trapped inside the market behind the gate with him.
The Quitter, 2:16 p.m.
What's the point? We're all dead anyways; I'm just choosing to do it my way, Cooper thought as he looked along the slide of his 9mm towards the hammer, which was cocked back putting the pistol in a single action mode. Five simple pounds of pressure on the trigger and all of his troubles would be over.
Cooper had always had fleeting thoughts about suicide. Never serious, but he'd often thought about how easy it would be to end it. He didn't have a particularly hard life, it was just one of those things that he'd always been obsessed with. Over the last several years he'd fantasized about every conceivable way to end your life. Recently, he'd even begun to imagine pulling out his gun in the most random public places and blowing his brains all over everything. The Statue of Liberty, a crowded bus, in a board meeting at his crappy job – things that made no sense, but would make a spectacular internet story.
Two things had always kept him from doing it though. First off – and probably most important to him before the events of the last two days had shattered his belief in God – was that he was born and raised a Catholic. He'd always been taught that it didn't matter what type of person that you'd been in life, if you committed suicide, then God would send you to Hell.
The second reason he hadn't killed himself was more of a personal reason. He'd known a man who'd done it a few years ago and the only thing that anyone talked about was how selfish it was of him. His friend had a wife and kids, mountains of debt; but nobody discussed his pain or what he must have been going through in his life, everyone just said that he was a quitter and a coward who wouldn't face his problems. Even though he was single, that's certainly not how Cooper wanted to leave his legacy on this earth.
But now, there were zombies, real life undead creatures wandering the streets of his hometown and beyond. The social stigma with suicide would be gone because his friends and family wouldn't ever know if he was alive; hell, they lived in Arizona now, but they'd probably be dead in a couple of days anyways. Plus, the fact that there were zombies clearly indicated that there wasn't a god. The caring, loving “God” figure that he'd grown up with would never allow something this horrendous to occur. He did believe in Hell though. Its inhabitants had broken free of the underworld and roamed the streets of Texas.
So now, here he was. He'd made up his mind to just blow his brains out all over the back window of his truck. He'd seen a lot of zombie movies, no way was he gonna go out like that; eaten alive until he finally succumbed to his injuries and then came back from the dead to go around killing people. Fuck that.
The rounded metal of the pistol sat heavily on his lower teeth and the square of the slide made funny noises as he bit down hard on it. His eyes followed the length of the barrel and crossed as they settled on the hammer only eight inches away. It wouldn't take much; just a simple squeeze and he'd never know what happened. He squeezed his eyes shut and started to depress the trigger.
Then Cooper Hicks jerked the gun out of his mouth. “What the fuck are you doing?” he muttered aloud. “This isn't the way, man.”
Well, fuck. Where does that leave me?
He couldn't stay here; he had to get away from this town – away from Texas altogether. He brought up a mental map of Belton and thought he could still make a run for it down Sparta Road to the north of town. He could take that until he hit Killeen and then hop back onto the highway and just drive. Drive west where there weren't a lot of people who would turn. He could even find a ranch house with a wide field of view and convince the owners to let him stay with them until the worst of this passed.
“That's what I'll do,” he told his reflection in the rearview mirror and started his truck. He didn't have anything but the clothes on his back and his pistol, but it would have to do. He'd wasted precious time debating whether he should kill himself. Now he'd have to rush to get away.
He backed out of his drive and peeled out in his haste to leave the town. Maybe I'm a coward too – in a different way. I'm afraid to die.
As he sped down Main Street towards the north end of town he decided that it was okay to be afraid. Death was one of the great unknowns to human beings and he'd have to face it one day. But not today. This day was for survival.
Right as he thought about surviving, a little girl ran out into the road and he swerved his truck to miss her. He hit the zombie that had been chasing her before momentum took over and the truck flipped. It rolled several times and finally came to rest upside down.
Cooper looked around, but the windshield was smashed and the safety glass held, effectively blocking his view of everything out the front of his truck. Off to the side, the little girl continued to run away in terror, but at least she survived – for now.
“Ugh,” he moaned. “I feel like shit.” The seatbelt held him firmly in place against the seat, upside down. The pressure across his lap as all 240 pounds of his body was suspended, held in place by that little strap, was unbearable. His hand drifted upwards until he found where the seatbelt connected to the latch and he pushed it.
Cooper had done okay in high school, but the Texas State Education that he received didn't require Physics as a class. The moment that the belt was released, he was victim to gravity and fell hard onto his head against the roof of the truck. “Ow, fuck! Goddammit! Mother fucker! Oh, why am I so stupid?”
A second moan drifted through the broken passenger window. This one definitely did not come from him. “Oh fuck!” he shouted and scrambled towards the driver's door. He tried the handle, but the door had been wedged into place by the multiple flips that the vehicle had done. He wiggled his way downward and pulled himself through the shattered driver's door window until he rested on the pavement of Main Street.
The moans of the dead filled the air and he dove back into the truck to find his pistol. “There you are!” he rejoiced and snatched the weapon from the roof of the ruined vehicle. He had to scoot backwards on hands and knees to get back out and by the time he was free, two of the creatures had already begun to turn the corner of his pickup truck. Cooper took aim and fired directly into the forehead of the nearest one and then adrenaline made him jerk the gun, causing the round to impact ineffectually against the second zombie's chest.
He aimed carefully and fired once more. This time a fine red mist filled the early afternoon air. “Yes!”
Another zombie came around the corner and he aimed to fire at this one as well. “Freeze! Drop the gun!”
“Huh?” he mumbled as he turned around with the pistol still firmly in his grasp and now pointing at the Army squad that had snuck up behind him.
“Hostile!” someone shouted and then Cooper went flying backwards. The back of his head impacted against the bottom lip of his door. He slid slowly down onto his ass and his chin dropped to his chest.
Huh, I'm bleeding. Fuck, I'm bleeding bad, he observed with detached curiosity as gunfire erupted all around him. A sharp pain in his lower back made him turn to see what caused it. The damned zombie that he'd hit whe
n he swerved to miss the little girl had crawled through the inside of the passenger compartment taken a bite of his back.
“Well, isn't that fucking hilarious?” he mumbled and brought his pistol up to kill himself before he changed.
He didn't stand a chance as the National Guard squad members filled him full of lead. They'd finally arrived. Cooper Hicks was killed instantly, a misunderstanding between stressed-out and scared members of the state's disaster response force.
Shooting an emotionally unstable man who was actually helping their cause wasn't the worst of their ills. Not a single round found its way into Cooper's head and he wasn’t able to finish the job himself. Within minutes the zombie bite spread the infection and he lurched to his feet and began hunting down the National Guard, who now had their backs to him and couldn't hear anything over the sound of their own gunfire.
The Bible Thumper, 3:19 p.m.
Luanne Marie closed her worn leather bible and knelt beside her couch. She'd watched the news broadcast from just down the street in horror. What was happening in her small, God-fearing Christian community? The way the news described it, the dead were walking. That was just like in the Book of Revelation chapter twenty, verse thirteen when it said the dead would rise!
Was it finally time? After all these years – more than two thousand years – that the faithful had waited and prayed for, was the Rapture at hand? As a little girl, Luanne had been frightened of the prospect that one day every Christian would simply disappear and the heathens would be left to their own devices until the Good Lord destroyed the universe forever. But then when she was twelve, she'd heard that small voice tickling the back of her mind and she'd went forward to the preacher in front of everyone and confessed that Jesus Christ was her Lord and Savior.
Since then, she hadn't been afraid of the end times. She knew that she'd be one of the ones taken to Heaven and then all those bad things that the Prophet John said would happen to the sinners would come to pass. She'd spent the morning rereading Revelation and when she got to chapter twenty, her blood chilled.
