by A. Lopez, Jr
A scream from a car a few yards away, turned their attention to a man in a white Prius. Jumping from car to car with incredible speed were more of the infected. These were like the others, but this breed of undead were much faster and more vicious. A group of ten or more banged and clawed at the car, slowly cracking the front windshield.
Alex and Ian looked on in horror at this more violent group of the infected.
The man tried to fight them off, but the savages were in the car in no time. The screaming stopped and one of the faster zombies jumped on the hood of Alex’s BMW. They both yelled out and Alex stepped on the gas and took a sharp left around a truck, throwing the infected one to the ground.
They drove south along the Rosedale Cemetery and turned west on Washington Blvd. The road was surprisingly clear, but they could see the dead, scattered and walking in the street and front yards of the houses. Ian continued scanning the car radio for any news, but all he got was static.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked in frustration. “Think I could use your phone again?”
Alex nodded, handing him the phone. His eyes were on the road, but his mind was on Kellie and Meadow.
Nervous, Kellie walked circles in the front room. She had Meadow up, changed and ready. The news reports on TV went dark soon after she talked to Alex. She cracked open the balcony door to listen. At first, all she heard was the surf crashing into the shore, but soon sirens and screams were all she could hear. She shuddered and quickly slid the door closed.
“Mommy, can we eat now?” Meadow asked. She was getting restless, and Kellie couldn’t continue to lie to her and make her wait—kids were a lot smarter than we give them credit for.
“Yes, soon. We’re waiting on Daddy.” Kellie was mad at herself for not going to the store the day before. She walked to the kitchen to find something to make.
<> <> <>
Washington Boulevard resembled a ghost town. Ian didn’t have any luck getting through to his wife, and when they crossed under the I-10 overpass, Ian looked over at Alex.
“We need to get back over to the other side pretty soon, or we will be too far out-of-the-way.”
“I know, but for now we have a pretty clear road. I want to ride it out a bit,” Alex told him, remaining focused on the road and never looking his way. “I’ll take it to Overland and then turn right towards Pico. Hopefully it will be just as clear.”
“Okay, we can do that.” Ian reluctantly conceded to the new plan.
Things were smooth until they hit Culver City—more cars, more people, more of the infected. This area had a military and police presence. They fired tear gas into the crowd.
“Shit!” Alex said, as he slammed the brakes. “Look at that mess.”
“We have to go around.” Ian looked behind them. “There.” He pointed. “Back up and take that street, then we can work our way to Overland.”
Without another plan, Alex put the car in reverse and backed up as the military fired shots in the distance.
After a few twists and turns, and narrowly missing some of the undead, they were a block away from Ian’s neighborhood. In all that time on the road, neither one could fully comprehend what was happening. Their families were the only thing on their minds.
“Take a right, up here,” Ian said, pointing. “It’s a back-way to get to my house.”
Alex whipped the car right, but had to stop almost immediately. A police car blocked the road, parked sideways, its red and blue lights flashing. They looked in every direction before Ian got out, walking to the police car. The driver’s door was open—blood was smeared on the door and part of the hood. The cruiser’s radio came to life with sporadic chatter followed by white noise. The keys were not in the ignition, and the officer was nowhere to be found.
“I can’t get past it!” Alex yelled from the car. “What do you want to do?” He wanted to help Ian and his family, but the more he saw of the chaos, the more anxious he was to get home.
Ian, carrying only the pipe, leaned into the police car, and after one more look around, lifted the shotgun off of the passenger seat, and checked it.
“Loaded,” he said.
Standing up outside the car, he looked at Alex, and walked over.
“You go ahead. I know you need to get going. It’s not far from here, plus I have this.” He slapped the barrel of the gun in his right hand.
A gunshot rang out in the distance.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I really appreciate you helping me.” They shook hands. “Hopefully I’ll see you around,” Ian said.
Alex nodded. “Good luck, Ian.”
“You, too.”
And with that, Ian was off—nervous—shotgun at the ready.
Alex watched him for a minute as he disappeared around the bend in the street. Now alone, his focus was more clear.
At this point, seeing the walking dead was not a shock. There were two kinds—the slow, and the ones that scared him the most—the fast and vicious. He decided to go south on Pico. It was only a few more miles now and if the roads were clear enough, he’d be there in no time. He hit the gas, and aside from dodging a car or two, he made good time. Most people were staying inside and hiding.
There was a crowd of the slow-movers milling under the 405 overpass. He kept his speed, prepared to run over whatever got in his way. He looked at the clock and couldn’t believe it was almost eleven.
Pico Boulevard soon ran into The 10 and into another cluster of people. From that distance, he couldn’t make out if they were alive or dead. He gripped the wheel tighter and realized then how much he was sweating. To avoid the crowd, he slowed and turned right. The street was clear, except for a lime green taxi pulled over to the right. Someone moved inside, and as he passed, the driver’s door flew open and a large man jumped out. Alex pulled left to miss him, and saw his dead eyes as the man slapped at the passenger windows. He sped up looking at the freak in the rear-view mirror, the reality setting in once again.
A crash came from the front of the car. He slammed his brakes just as a body rolled up the hood and crashed into his windshield.
“Fuck!” he yelled, frightened, with his hands choking the wheel. The body slowly slid off the hood, smearing blood before falling in a heap to the ground. He looked through the window to see if it was moving. “Tell me it wasn’t a human. Tell me it wasn’t,” he said to himself. The crumpled body moved, its arm flinching. Alex opened the door and stepped out, his eyes locked on the body. It moved again, this time it suddenly sat upright and reached out for Alex’s leg.
Alex jumped back, then squeezed between the door and car and closed it just as the zombie stood and slammed its bloody hand on his window. Alex put the car in drive and hit the gas. Two more of the fast zombies ran straight at him as he picked up speed. He had his mind made up to plow right over them, but at the last second he tried to miss them. They were too quick and crashed into the front fenders.
The road ahead was clear.
Looking at himself in the mirror, Alex hadn’t realized how emotional and spent he was. Tears fell from his red, tired eyes. Everything happened so fast and there was no time to try to evaluate what was happening—no radio reports and the only police he saw were trying to survive, just like him.
“What the hell is happening?” he said out loud.
Santa Monica Boulevard was coming up, and after he made a left, he would be close to home.
It was now noon.
As Alex turned his blood-splattered BMW up Santa Monica Boulevard, he swerved to miss another one of the infected, as he fought to keep his sweaty hands on the wheel. He punched the gas, seeing a clear strip of road ahead. He was less than a mile from his home, but based on his journey thus far, it might as well be a hundred miles. Every twist and turn was a test of will and survival. There was no time to think about what caused it, or why it happened—the only thing on everyone’s mind, was surviving.
The car picked up speed, his condo in view in the distance.
The speed of the moment, along with his state of mind, made it hard to tell which ones were infected and which ones were still human. His only goal now was to get to his family. Wrecked cars blocked the intersection ahead. He slowed the car, as more of the infected were milling around the blocked intersection, with a couple of them gnawing on another poor soul pinned to the street. As much as he wanted to help, there was nothing he could do.
Looking for a way around the mangled mess of cars, he pulled to the right, and just as he looked over his shoulder to complete the turn, a fast-moving FedEx truck plowed into the side of his BMW. Air bags exploded from every angle, as he was pushed sideways, pinning his car in the mess. The last thing Alex saw was the FedEx driver desperately fighting off one of the infected. The driver’s screaming voice was the last thing he heard as he passed out…
Kellie was getting cabin fever and filled with worry. Trying Alex’s cell was a lost cause and with no TV reports, she felt closed in and helpless. Looking out for Meadow kept her level-headed, but she had no idea what was going on or if Alex was okay. She opened the balcony door and walked out, desperate to get a signal. After a couple of failed attempts, she just stared out over the beach and took in one of the things she loved about where they lived—the smell of the ocean. The breeze blew her long blond hair up above her shoulders, but the peaceful moment was brief, as Meadow came to the door.
“Mommy, when are we leaving?”
Kellie turned. “Soon, baby. Soon. Go back inside. I’ll be right back in.” Now she could see the worry in Meadow’s eyes.
Meadow lowered her head and walked back inside.
Kellie called Alex again. After a few rings, the call went to voicemail. She tried once more before leaving a message. She walked back inside, worried, her hands shaking as she clenched the phone tighter.
…Alex woke up from the accident an hour later, his head hurting and vision blurred. He shook his head to get his bearings, but that only made the pain worse. White smoke rose up outside the car. He looked up through the smashed windshield and remembered the FedEx driver’s last call for help. A pain shot through his left shoulder as he unbuckled the seatbelt and shifted his weight. His legs felt fine and he sat up and had a better look around. The truck and another car pinned him in the pile up. The only way out was the sunroof. Raising his hand, he pushed the button and the motor came to life, sliding the window open. He raised his head to have a look, and milling around the cars were a couple of zombies, moving slow. Looking south, he saw his condo building. Thinking of his phone made him drop back into the car to find it on the floorboard. The red light flashed, instantly giving him a burst of adrenaline. When he saw he had a missed call from Kellie, he went numb. He tried to play the voice message, but he again had no service. Frustrated, he lifted himself out, noticing his blood soaked shirt, and saw that a piece of the door had cut him in the crash. He grabbed the pipe and climbed out.
Outside the car, he again heard the same familiar sounds—the chaos, destruction, and mayhem—the world gone to shit. He quickly slipped away towards his condo.
His phone rang, stopping him in his tracks. He dropped the pipe and fumbled for the phone in his pocket, and answered.
“Kellie?”
“Alex, thank God. Oh my God, where are you?” The static almost drowning out her voice.
“Are you still in the condo?” He could hear a lot of noise in the background.
“No! No, we’re not. We had to leave. There was smoke, then a fire. We had to run out. It’s crazy out here! I’m scared.”
“What? How did it—” He looked at his building in the distance, but saw no smoke.
She cut him off. “Just get to us. Please!”
“Where are you? Is Meadow okay?”
“Let me think. We’re, we’re near 7th and Broadway. We are hiding in a closet. Meadow is okay, just very scared.”
“Stay there and stay out of sight. I’m not far away, I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay, please hurry,” she said, her eyes big with fear as she held Meadow in the corner of the small closet.
“Listen…”
Static filled Alex’s ear, followed by silence. He almost made the mistake of yelling out loud and attracting unwanted attention. The zombies, as be began to call them, were all over the street. He dropped the phone in his pocket and leaned out to look around the corner of the building before heading for his family.
In the short time he started his trek on foot, Alex looked in almost every car for keys. The only cars on the road were intermittent and always moving fast—too fast—the drivers, scared, and trying to make it to a home that may no longer exist.
Alex stayed on the sidewalk, the summer heat taking its toll, as the sweat poured down his back and arms, the sting of it reminding him of his wound. His sweaty palms made it hard to get a good grip on the thin pipe, but he kept it ready. He looked at his watch, surprised it was still working. It was a little after two.
He was only three blocks from them, but had no idea how long it would take to get to there. He loved his family so much, and being separated from them like this really tore at his heart and soul. He was growing more desperate by the minute—he had to see them, hold them, and protect them.
Distracted by his thoughts as he walked up Broadway, he was caught off guard by a young man dressed in surfer shorts and a torn shirt, running out of the Zumiez store. He was holding his right arm, blood running down, the look in his eyes was sheer terror. He stopped, almost running into Alex, and looked him eye-to-eye, realizing he was not one of the infected.
“Dude,” tears ran down his face and his shoulder length, curly blond hair shook as he began to cry. “Shit, they got me,” he said, looking down at his forearm, then up at Alex. “They got me, they’re everywhere.”
Alex reached out, trying to console him, wishing there was something more he could do.
“Where did they—”
“When it started, I was near the pier, but I ran away and made it to this store. Now there’s some in there.” He looked over his shoulder. “But I locked them in the dressing room.”
“How long ago did they bite you?”
“Just now. I’m not gonna turn into one of those things, am I?” he asked, looking more like a scared boy rather than a fearless surfer. “The dude just bit me, can you believe it?”
“Look, it’s dangerous out here, and I’m not sure if there are any hospitals still in service, but you need to get that cleaned and bandaged.” Despite the injury, Alex felt they would be safer together. “You can stick with me, I’m heading to find my family.”
Just as he made the offer, the store door flew open and one of the savages sprung out.
The surfer turned and looked.
“Shit!”
He bolted down the block, never saying another word.
The zombie sprinted right at Alex. The only thing he could do was raise the pipe, step to the side and with both hands, swing as hard as he could. The pipe crushed the zombie’s face, sending the savage flying feet first in the air. He watched, almost in slow motion, as its body floated, perfectly horizontal, before crashing to the ground.
Alex never knew he was capable of reacting and defending himself like that, but for the first time in this day from hell, he tasted satisfaction.
But the moment was brief. The zombie rolled over and began to rise. Alex didn’t wait and ran up the block.
As he moved past Broadway and 5th, people and smoke, filled the road ahead. A small fire was burning in a store to his right. The crowd festered around something in the middle of the intersection, and he couldn’t tell if they were the living or the undead. He moved to his left to cross the street.
Once across, he saw that the mob was the undead. If there were any living souls in there, they didn’t have a chance. He ducked into the foyer of a barber shop, looking left and right. His eyes grew wide seeing a cop’s dead body on the floor—gun still gripped tight in his hand—his face shredded. Alex looked around and k
nelt. He could feel the tight grip the officer had on the gun, as he pried his fingers from it. Holding the gun gave him a sense of power and security. Familiar with guns, the Glock felt good in his hands. The clip was only half-full and the safety was off. At least poor bastard got off some rounds before they got him.
Alex was ready. He stood and looked through the broken glass, dropping the pipe.
“They won’t die,” he said to himself, his demeanor changed, his confidence growing. He grabbed his cell and dialed Kellie. The phone rang four times before she answered.
“Alex?” The connection was bad. Her voice cutting in and out. “Where are you?”
“I’m close, a couple blocks away. Are you in a store?”
“We were, but…” The signal cut out. “…then we had to run up an alley…near 7th.”
“Stay out of sight. I’ll find you. My battery is low, I’ll call you right back.”
“Okay. Okay. Please, Alex, hurry!”
She was now sobbing, unable to keep her emotions in check for Meadow, who cried out, scared and wanting her daddy. They huddled in the alley near a dumpster, afraid to go anywhere else.
Alex couldn’t waste anymore time. He walked out of the store, the gun down at his side. The infected were still huddled around something in the street and aside from a stray or two, he made it past 6th street without a problem.
Half a block up, there was more carnage, this time he could see some of the military spread out with police officers. A surge of hope rushed through him. But he soon noticed that they were fighting for their own lives. Shots rang out and he could hear yelling, the men trying to communicate with each other.
As he moved further, he could see they were trapped by more of the undead. Any ideas he had of helping were erased when he saw one of the zombies move at frightening speed, and before the officer could react, it was on top of him, eating away like a cannibal. Alex dropped back in the shadows of an awning, afraid and breathing heavy.
