by Crae, Edward
Dan’s heart sank when he spotted his house. There was nothing left but the block foundation, the chimney, and a huge pile of rubble that was once his home. He stopped in his tracks, feeling the rage build within him. Mike was silent, letting Dan grieve on his own.
Dan’s memories came flooding back; memories of his dad, his drunken nights alone, and the good times he had spent with his little plague posse—if you could really call them good times.
“There are probably five Hummers sitting on the street,” Dan said, “and a propane truck if you want it. The Hummers should all be loaded up with weapons. Take what you want.”
They crossed the creek, and Dan pointed out the propane truck—which was still intact somehow—and the four Hummers that were left. In addition to the one that had been destroyed by Jake’s bomb, another one had bitten the dust.
“Hey,” Mike said, turning to Dan with his hand out. “Thanks for everything. I owe you big time.”
Dan took his hand, shaking it firmly. “No problem, man. Get away as fast as possible. I don’t know where we’re going after I get the guys out… if I do.”
Mike nodded, glancing at the marooned truck in the creek. “I guess I’ll take the propane truck.”
“Good luck, bro,” Dan said. “The keys are in it.”
He sprinted toward his house—what was left of it—and eyed the property, searching for anything that may have been left behind. He knew he would have to get away as quickly as possible, as the mutant killer would surely know that this would be the first place he would come.
He searched the area where he had been hiding after getting shot, hoping the sniper rifle was still there. He frantically sloshed through the water, kicking leaves and logs out of the way, growling with anger. The rifle was gone.
Who had taken it?
He heard the propane truck start up and glanced that way. Mike gave him a thumbs up as he drove it over the bank and through the yard. Dan returned the gesture, going to the Hummer to see if it had been damaged or looted. Everything seemed to be as he left it. He sighed with relief.
As Mike drove away, Dan leaped onto the porch and began sifting through the ruins. There were several items he wanted to fetch, and thankfully, he found them all with a little searching. Jake’s duffel bag, with the Apocalypse Compendium was still there, as well as the art bag full of prescription drugs, and his laptop.
He fetched his 870p, which was still lying on the floor, along with all the shells he could find. He then carried everything back to the Hummer, threw it in the back seat, and turned to look once more at his home.
There was a lump in his throat. He fought the urge to cry, without really knowing what difference it would make. No one else was around. Who would give a fuck?
“Fuck you, Gephardt,” he cursed.
Then, he saw something else he hadn’t thought about before. Over near the area where his friends had been captured, he could see the tell-tale cylinder of Jake’s flamethrower. He grinned, running over to it. It was intact.
“Fuck yeah,” he said.
He carried it back to the Hummer and tossed in the back seat with the rest of the shit. He reached back to retrieve the shotgun, put it in the passenger seat, and started up the Hummer. It purred like a kitten, and he easily backed it out of the creek.
He floored it, tearing through the yard and onto the gravel road. He would waste no more time here searching for anything else. There were plenty of places along the way to gather any more supplies he needed.
He just needed to get away before his captor knew he was missing.
The highway to Bloomington was littered with abandoned vehicles. There were lines of cars, frozen in time, indicative of a mass exodus that had been stalled by military interference. People had tried to escape the city, going north for some reason, and the presence of troop transports and tanks told Dan that the National Guard had at least tried to organize them or transport them to safety.
It wasn’t until a few minutes and several miles later that Dan realized there had been a huge firefight. Near a gas station about five miles south, the cars and landscape were in ruins. A bombing run and ground attack had occurred here. The military vehicles were destroyed, along with the cars, and the ground was littered with bodies; military, Gephardt, and civilian alike.
Strangely, there seemed to be a complete lack of infected.
Feeling his stomach churning with hunger, Dan pulled into the gas station, carefully navigating through the maze of burned out vehicles to reach the parking lot. The station was mostly destroyed, with broken out glass, crumbled cinder block walls, and gas pumps that were ripped from the ground. The large awning that covered the fuelling area had collapsed, and several semis that were parked in the lot had been overturned.
It was a fucking mess.
Dan pulled the Hummer up to the curb, glaring at the destruction. Though there was little of the station left, there would possibly be something leftover he could eat. He hoped so, anyway. His stomach was churning, and his mouth was bone dry.
He shut off the Hummer, grabbing his shotgun from the passenger seat and quietly stepping out. Everything was quiet; a little too quiet. He pushed the door closed, avoiding slamming it as he normally would. There was something in the air that told him to be discreet.
The full-length windows made an easy entrance into the station’s café area. Here, the machines and tables were broken and scattered; cream and sugar packets covering everything. There was a donut rack that was overturned with its contents spilled everywhere. No matter, day old donuts were bad enough; much less, month old.
Dan rounded the corner into the main area, aiming his shotgun in front of him. He swept it from side to side as he scanned the shadows, his heart racing for some reason. But there was nothing. All was quiet here. Still, he couldn’t help thinking that the mutant killer would pop out of the darkness at any time.
There were still cigarettes left behind the counter, he noticed. He grabbed a pack and tore it open with shaking, anticipating hands. He grabbed a lighter from the display and lit one, feeling the heavenly rush of nicotine as it entered his lungs.
“Oh yeah,” he whispered as he exhaled. “That’s right.”
He grabbed several packs that were left over, stuffing them in his pockets, and headed toward the shelves. Though most of them overturned and empty, there were a few bags of jerky, some candy bars, and shit tons of gum and hard candy. He grabbed everything he could; filling his pockets with whatever would fit.
The coolers along the back wall caught his attention. Again, they were mostly empty, with the exception of random brands of bottled water, rotten bologna, and a few six packs of shitty beer. He immediately reached through the broken door and grabbed a bottle, cracking it open and guzzling it. Though it tasted like shit, it hit the spot.
“From the land of sky blue waters, waters,” he sang.
A sudden thump in the back room startled Dan as he finished the beer. He set the bottle on the floor, bringing up his shotgun and pointing it at the swinging doors by the counter. There was another thump, a dragging sound, and a moan.
Shit, he thought, ducking down and moving along the only standing shelf. He stopped at the end, crouching and peeking around the shelf’s edge, and waited. The shuffling continued, growing louder by the second, still followed by the dragging sound. Dan’s heart began thumping, and his skin crawled as he anticipated the inevitable. He would wait to cock the shotgun, though. There was no reason to put any zombies on alert.
The swinging doors flapped open, banged against the walls, and flapped closed again. Dan could see the withered hand of something behind them; something that had pushed them open. The thumping sounded again, and the doors flapped open a second time. Behind them stood a strange creature; a type he had never seen before.
It was rotted and covered in fungus; half of it, anyway. The flesh was torn midway through its chest, with the left half of its human skin hanging off and dragging on the floor behind it. The expo
sed flesh underneath was white and sinewy, appearing as hard as boiled leather. The creature’s face was split down the middle, and the open gash was lined on either side with hooked fangs that overlapped in a twisted and horrifying fashion. Dan gulped, slinking back behind the shelf, waiting for the creature to make the first move.
He heard the creature step forward, dragging its flesh behind it. He moved to the opposite end of the shelf, peeking around the other side as the creature stalked into the main area. Dan watched the dragging flesh in revulsion, seeing that the fingers of its flapping hand still clutched at the empty air, and the remaining veins that fed it still pumped an odd, black fluid as they searched around like feelers.
Jesus Christ, he thought.
This was definitely something new, and it was something that he would eliminate right now. He cocked his shotgun, rising up just as the creature turned in his direction. The face split open, exposing a long snake-like tongue that flicked around in the air. The maw opened wide, and the creature charged; gurgling and growling as it stumbled forward.
Dan fired, blasting the creature back in a spray of black goo. It slammed against the counter, knocking the displays over, and fell to the ground. Dan approached, coking his shotgun, pointing it down at the creature as it writhed and struggled to return to its feet. He fired again, exploding its head and splattering it against the counter.
But the creature still writhed.
Dan stepped back, cocking once more. The veins of the creature’s flesh began crawling toward him, snaking their way in his direction. He fired, splatting them against the tile floor. But as he cocked his shotgun again, he saw the unthinkable.
The creature’s human flesh seemed to take on a life of its own. It peeled its way off of the white, bony frame, slurping on the floor as its gelatinous mass crawled toward him.
“What the holy fuck!?” Dan said.
He backed away, reaching down to retrieve his five pack. The creature’s flesh continued its movement, rolling and flopping in his direction. Mortified, Dan ran away, ducking through the broken window and racing to the Hummer.
He floored it, tearing away from the gas station; his mind focused on the sight of the strange, fleshy blob. As he turned onto the highway, a lump rose in his throat. He swerved, narrowly missing a group of abandoned cars, just as a mouthful of bile spewed out and splattered on the passenger side.
“Fuck!” he cursed. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck.”
After catching his breath and wiping his mouth, he gunned it. He cracked open another beer, popping a few pieces of jerky. It felt like Vicodin time, too, so he reached in the back to fetch the art bag. The bottle was full and ready for consumption, and he did so happily.
As the landscape passed around him, he barely noticed the many columns of smoke that floated up from the city ahead. But, as he saw them, he knew it could only mean one thing.
Bloomington was a shit hole, and he would have to search like hell to find his friends.
If they were still alive.
Chapter Seven
The intersection at route 46 was blocked. Six fire trucks were parked together, having been attempting to put out a multicar fire when the shit hit the fan. Though they appeared to have been successful, the number of bodies on the ground told Dan that the aftermath brought a massive wave of Shamblers that had torn the living to pieces.
As he slowly drove through, he noticed the oddly advanced state of decomposition of the dead. They were dried husks, ripped apart and mostly rotted away. It was as if it had been months since the infection.
It couldn’t have been that long.
As far as Dan knew, he had only been held captive for a few weeks. Was it possible that it had been longer? It didn’t seem any colder out than it should be this time of year. It wasn’t even winter yet—technically—and it should only be sometime around Thanksgiving; even earlier.
“What the fuck,” he mumbled.
He was beginning to feel the Vicodin kick in, and it was a comforting feeling. The beer tasted like shit, but that didn’t matter. He probably shouldn’t be drinking anyway. He had a job to do. On the other hand, there weren’t many hours of daylight left. His first priority would be finding a place to hide out for the night. It would do no good stumbling around in the dark. He had to find shelter.
There were plenty of hotels in this area; mostly crumbled or burned out. It seemed like the city of Bloomington had dealt pretty poorly with the chaos. Looting and rioting, coupled with the rampant destruction and violence of the infected had taken its toll. B-town was an utter Saigon clone.
Even the asphalt was crumbled, telephone poles were toppled, and a not a single power cable was still intact. Dan hadn’t remembered hearing any explosions before, but it really looked like Bloomington had been bombed out. Again, Saigon came to mind as he watched the destruction go by.
There was only one explanation; Gephardt had destroyed everything, gathered up the remaining people, and bombed the shit out of what was left. The only question was where the mercs were keeping the people.
Thinking that the best place to get a good view of the city was right downtown, Dan did a U-turn and headed down Walnut Street. There were plenty of multi-story parking garages around Fountain Square where he could scout around, and possibly even find shelter. It was as good an idea as any.
Fortunately for Dan, the southbound lanes were mostly clear. The traffic had clogged only the northbound lanes—which were actually a different street—presumably due to a massive exodus of people trying to get the hell out of Dodge. Still, there were cars here and there, abandoned or overturned, or both. The townhouses and businesses were sacked and crumbling. Even the trees along the road had been burned or toppled.
Dan felt odd as he drove. Usually, this section of town was literally clogged with traffic, making any attempts at getting downtown last twice as long as the distance should require. But now, the dead silence and utter stillness was overwhelming.
To the left, the Indian guy’s liquor store stood out. Its red canopy was still there; red as could be, and it brick walls were still intact. However, the store front was demolished, and its windows were gone.
He wouldn’t even bother stopping. Indian guy was probably dead, anyway.
Ahead, the taller buildings began to come into view. Dan could see the parking garages, corporate offices, and the old town hall. It was a disaster area, as he completely expected it to be. Here, cars were piled up into a maze of steel. Many of them were crashed into the sides of the surrounding buildings. There was an overturned bus lying diagonally across an intersection, and another fire truck halfway down the block that had somehow ramped up over top of a garbage truck.
He wondered how many people were huddled up, frightened, in the loft apartments above. Were any of them watching him?
He pulled the Hummer into the entrance of a five story parking garage, breaking through the flimsy barrier arm that blocked the way. No ticket for him today. Sorry. He had shit to do and no parking money.
The garage itself was dark and damp. The tires of the Hummer squealed slightly as he turned, making eerie echoes throughout. He climbed up the ramps, corkscrewing all the way up to the roof, where there was a helicopter sprawled out in pieces. The bodies of six people hung out of it, or lie around it. It had apparently crashed while attempting to land, or take off—it wasn’t obvious.
Dan pulled the Hummer into a parking place and sat for a moment listening to the silence and contemplating his next move. The roof seemed as safe a place as any. From up here, he could probably see a fairly good distance, and take note of any movements or gatherings of Gephardt vehicles. Any large concentrations of them would probably indicate some kind of base. But, he would need something to look through.
He stepped out, going around to the back of the Hummer, and opened the doors. There were plenty of rifles stacked in their places; two of them having good scopes that he could use. He took one and climbed onto the Hummer’s roof, perching himself near the sunro
of, and began scanning.
The entire city was pretty much the same. Buildings were crumbled, the streets were clogged with abandoned cars, and numerous bodies lie rotting in the open. He kept picturing Saigon for some reason. He wasn’t sure why. But he picture attractive little Vietnamese girls riding around on bicycles, posing as prostitutes so they get to enemy troops and blow the shit out of them as they gathered around for a piece of nummuh one fucky.
He chuckled to himself. Full Metal Jacket.
To the east, he saw the university. Its buildings were pretty much the same as the rest of the town, but some of them seemed to be fairly intact. They were those just on the edge of town; the tech buildings, he knew. There, students ran server farms, and learned all of the fun stuff that would eventually turn most of them into hackers and basement-dwelling, liberal dipshits.
But now, it seemed, they had a new use.
What a perfect place for a base, he thought. The surrounding dorms could be converted into prisons, and the technology departments would be good places to set up communication centers. They could be rigged up using the nearby solar arrays—arrays that were meant for education purposes.
The university was definitely his goal. Now, he wondered, how could he get there? There would no doubt be cameras, patrols, and probably thermal imaging UAVs in the area. Gephardt didn’t fuck around, and they had a higher budget than the actual military—thanks to bleeding heart dipshits.
He lowered the rifle, sadly thinking of Drew, Jake, and Vincent locked up in some shit hole. He hoped that Jake was at least being given the meds he needed to live. If not, then the poor guy was probably in a diabetic coma; if they were even feeding them.
Helpless, he slid back into the sunroof and sat quietly in the back seat. He opened another beer, popped another Vicodin, and munched on some jerky. There were still plenty of daylight hours left for him to do a little scavenging, and some real food was in order. He could leave the Hummer here and go down on foot—that was probably the safest bet.
