by Chelsea Luna
Rachel looked sad to leave, but Adam kissed her on the forehead and whispered something in her ear. She gave Adam a smile that pained Cage’s heart—he’d have to get used to seeing them together.
“Who’s driving?” Nicky yawned. “Not me, I’m beat.”
“Didn’t sleep well in the bed last night?” Cage asked.
Lindsay’s face turned red.
“I’ll drive,” Rachel volunteered.
Nicky tossed the keys to Rachel and they climbed into the van. Cage and Finn took their same seats in the middle captain chairs and Adam sat up front with Rachel. Lindsay and Nicky canoodled in the backseat bench.
They drove down the dirt driveway lined with cornstalks and glided back on Highway 80 West with Dean and Monica behind them. Adam found a binder with CDs and put on an old Stone Temple Pilots record.
Cage watched Adam and Rachel talk and interact effortlessly. He’d reacted badly to their relationship. Rachel had been right all along—Cage and she were too different. What claim did he really have on Rachel—a handful of days? Time was too short to be jealous or upset. From now on, he’d only worry about stuff he could control.
Nebraska sailed by—irrigation equipment resembling enormous white praying mantises were scattered over the cornfields. They passed Omaha and signs for the College World Series.
“How much longer are we on this highway?” Nicky asked. “Everything is so flat. It’s boring to look at.”
“You’d rather it be filled with destruction and zombies instead of tractors and corn?” Rachel raised an eyebrow in the rearview mirror.
“Anything is better than corn,” Nicky muttered.
Rachel drove for hours before they stopped at a gas station in some tiny town in Nebraska. Two zombies roamed the field behind a small, dilapidated building, but they were slow movers. Cage hopped out of the van and stretched his legs. "I'm going to search for supplies."
"Be careful." Adam lifted the lever on the gas pump. "And take someone with you."
"I'll go," Monica said. "If you don't mind?"
Nicky wiggled his eyebrows, but Cage ignored him.
"Sure," Cage said. "Do you have a weapon?"
"Here, you can borrow my pipe,” Adam said.
"Thanks." Monica tucked a strand of bright red hair behind her ear.
"Are you sure you want to go?" Dean asked. "I can go instead."
"No, I can do it," Monica smiled. "You can't always follow me around."
“Come on, Finn,” Nicky said. “Let’s take care of these slow poke deadheads.”
Nicky supervised as Finn killed the two slow-moving zombies. The kid had skills—the only problem was his height. He had to wait until the zombies were practically on top of him before he could reach them with his weapon. Maybe Cage could find something longer for him…like a golf club.
Monica and Cage approached the gas station. The windows and door were covered with grime. Stubborn weeds poked through the pavement in the sidewalk and the roof looked ready to cave in at any moment.
"Thanks for letting me come," Monica said. "Dean doesn't let me do anything."
Cage opened the door. It was dark, especially with the dirt covering the windows. "Hello?"
Blood pooled on the linoleum near the cash register. Two of the aisles were tipped over, but there were a few snacks left.
"Let's check the back." Cage stepped over a knocked-over display of motor oil. "Do you hear that?"
"It's coming from down there," Monica whispered.
Cage moved down the soda aisle and heard scratching—the same sound a dog made on the door when he wanted back inside. They passed the refrigerators emanating the stench of spoiled milk. "Stay behind me."
Monica made a noise that resembled a squeak.
"You can go back if you want," Cage said.
"No, I’m okay."
The scratching grew louder, but there was also a low hum—voices. Someone was talking. The hallway turned in an L shape, so Cage couldn't see what was making the sound. The farther they went into the building, the darker it became.
"Look." Monica pointed to the ground.
Blood splatter trailed on the tile floor. On the right side of the hallway, smeared bloody fingerprints covered the wall. The voices grew louder, but the monotonous scratching remained the same.
"It's a radio," Monica whispered.
Cage closed his eyes and listened. A female and male were debating something—Monica was right, it was a radio.
They turned the corner. The trail of blood led to the end of the hallway where two bloody handprints were smeared across the men's bathroom door.
"Are we going to open it?" Monica asked.
"We could really use that radio," Cage said.
"Is there a zombie in there with it?"
Cage stepped forward. "Sounds like it."
"Should we get the others?"
"No," Cage said. "I can handle one. Stand back." He leaned forward, careful not to touch the blood, and tugged the door handle.
Locked.
"I'll see if the key is by the cash register," Monica said.
"Be careful."
Monica disappeared around the corner and Cage listened quietly at the door. The creature's nails scraped against the metal. Cage banged his hand against it and the clawing quickened—like a dog burying a bone. The zombie growled.
Cage listened to the broadcast, but the words were muffled. He had this crazy hope that someone, somewhere, knew what was going on.
"Here." Monica came around the corner with a giant plastic key.
"Step back." Cage inserted the key into the lock and the zombie's snarls deepened. The teeth-chattering clawing made the hair on Cage’s neck rise. He twisted the knob and pulled open the door.
The creature was an old man with long greasy white hair. A giant bloody bite was taken out of the man's shoulder. Blood covered his gray uniform, where the name Ed was written above his heart. There were no other bites or scratches. He was perfectly intact, but for the shoulder wound. His skin was pasty white with dark circles under ice-blue eyes. Chapped lips peeled back into a bloody snarl.
Ed raised his hands. His fingertips were bloody nubs—the nails completely torn off from clawing at the door. He stumbled out of the bathroom.
Monica backpedaled against the wall.
Cage whacked his tire iron against Ed's temple. The old man crashed against the doorframe and slid to the floor.
A small handheld satellite radio sat in the sink. Cage snatched it and held it up to Monica.
The two radio voices were clear: “—assume the casualties are well into the millions. The virus has spread throughout America. No town is safe."
"Georgina," the male voice said. "Don’t forget Camp Freedom Two in Vegas.”
"We're broadcasting from Tampa. The moon is closer to us than Las Vegas. Nashville was safe, too, and we all know what happened there."
The man sighed. "If anyone is out there, let us know. It's been days since we’ve seen another human. Stay hidden. Stay indoors and do not go out at night. This is Bobby and Georgina signing off from WXRS satellite radio. We will be back on at ten Eastern time. Good luck to all of you out there listening. If anyone is listening…."
Cage clicked off the radio. "Let's get back to the van."
Rachel was right all along—the country was going to shit.
~ ~ ~
Back on the highway they passed North Platte, Nebraska, and signs for the Buffalo Bill Museum. Despite pleadings from Nicky to stop, they continued on and merged onto Highway 76 toward Denver.
They drove all day until they found the perfect place to stop.
Wild Ridge, Colorado, was an old mining town in the middle of nowhere a hundred and fifty miles north of Denver. Nicky pressed his face against the van’s window and had to swallow down the urge to jump out and explore. Wild Ridge was the perfect replica of an old Wild West town.
A two-lane dirt road ran through the extremely small town—there were only six bui
ldings total—with none of the commercial staples like McDonald’s or Starbucks. By the looks of it, Wild Ridge, Colorado had a saloon, a post office, a courthouse/jail, a grocery store, an antique store and a taxidermist. Nicky’s knee bobbed in anticipation.
Rachel drove down the town’s main strip. “Where are all the other cars?”
“There aren’t any.” Adam pointed. “Park at the end there by that saloon.”
“Where are all the people?” Cage asked.
“I’m confused.” Lindsay looked at Nicky. “Why does this look like the Wild West town from Back to the Future III?”
Nicky’s eyes lit up. “I could kiss you!”
“What?”
“It’s a tourist town, Lindsay,” Cage said. “People vacation here to get a sense of what it was like to live back in the 1800s.”
Lindsay made a face. “People vacation here? Why?”
Rachel parked the van and waited for Dean to pull the Mustang beside them. The mountain range to the west blocked the sun, but it wasn’t officially night yet. Nicky couldn’t wait any longer. He yanked open the van’s sliding door.
“Are we staying here tonight?” Finn asked.
“I hope so,” Nicky replied.
Everyone turned to Adam. Nicky was glad Adam was the leader—he didn’t want to make the hard decisions. Responsibility wasn’t one of Nicky’s strong suits. Adam walked down the middle of the narrow street searching for signs of life. It was literally a ghost town.
“What do you think?” Rachel asked.
“We should stay the night in one of these buildings,” Adam said. “And then see if we can find more supplies before we head out in the morning.” He grinned. “We may break a record.”
“What record is that?” Nicky asked.
“Two peaceful nights of sleep in a row.”
“Sign me up,” Nicky said.
“Which building do you want to stay in?” Dean asked.
There was a chorus of “saloon” but Nicky shouted out “taxidermist” to get a reaction. Lindsay slapped his arm.
“I was joking.”
“You’re hilarious,” she said.
“It feels like I’ve stepped back in time,” Monica said.
“Let’s do a sweep of the saloon and then bring in our supplies,” Adam said. “We’ll need to board up that swing door.”
“Swing door?” Rachel turned to the look at the saloon. “Oh.”
The bar had one of those half doors that swung in both directions—just like the Wild West. Nicky slung his backpack on his shoulder and followed the others up the rotted wooden platform and into the darkened saloon.
“There’s one stuck behind the bar,” Cage said.
A zombie with part of its head caved in—apparently not the part of the brain that would kill it—leaned over the tall, polished wooden bar. The creature stretched his arms out as they entered the saloon.
Cage edged around the bar corner. His eyes flickered to the ground before his face scrunched in distaste. “This one should not still be hungry.”
Rachel moved toward the zombie.
“Stay there,” Cage said. “It’s really gross.”
“What is it?” Finn stretched his neck.
“Yeah?” Nicky said. “What is it?”
“It’s what used to be a person.” Cage stared down at the floor. “But apparently, half-brain zombie-man here has been snacking on him for the better part of a day or so.”
“Gross,” Lindsay said.
“Cool.” Finn’s eyes widened.
Cage moved behind the bar. Strings of drool pooled from the zombie’s chin. Cage stepped over something—probably the half-chewed body—and then whacked the zombie in the head with his tire iron. The snarls went silent.
Adam poked his head in a door behind the bar. “Looks clear. Let’s board up the front door and get that mess behind the bar cleaned up.”
Nicky found the hammer and nails from the farmhouse in the back of the Mustang. He didn’t want to be on cleanup duty. Mopping up brains and tissue? No, thank you. He’d deal with the hammer and nails.
He was excited to explore the town tomorrow. They might be able to find weapons at the jail or some food at the little grocery store. He carried the rest of their belongings into the saloon. Thousands of bright, twinkling stars filled the black sky and Nicky breathed in a breath of fresh country air. He’d never smelt anything cleaner.
“We’ll get a good night’s sleep and a good hangover, if we want,” Dean said.
“Dean.” Monica made a face.
Adam helped Nicky hold the wood over the door. Nicky put three nails in his mouth and hammered the other two in the wall.
“You can’t get drunk.” Monica tied her curly red hair into a ponytail. “What if zombies show up or one of those gangs? How are you going to deal with that if you’re wasted?”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere.” Dean poured a shot of whiskey. “No one is around.”
Nicky pounded in the last of the nails. They’d covered the front door and the two adjoining windows. Nicky was with Monica—there was no way he was getting wasted, not unless he was in a secure box somewhere where a zombie couldn’t munch on his intoxicated, passed-out head. He’d have a sip or two, but that was it.
“Gross,” Lindsay whined. She scooped up the bits of leftover human from behind the bar with Cage and Rachel. She had a bandana tied around her nose and mouth, making her look like a bank robber.
Nicky smiled. She looked cute when she was grossed out—which was always. It was like he’d hit the lottery with Lindsay. Sure, she was sometimes annoying, but what hot girl wasn’t?
“Hey, Linds,” Nicky said. “Are you done?”
“Yeah. What’s up?” She untied the rag from her face. Her little nose was still wrinkled.
“Finn, can I borrow your pipe?” Nicky asked. “And why don’t you come over here, too.”
“Sure.”
Lindsay and Finn stood in front of Nicky. He stretched his injured arm—it still ached, but it was getting better.
“What are we doing?” Finn asked.
“Lessons,” Nicky said.
“What?”
“I’m going to teach you how to fight.”
“I already know how to fight,” Finn said stubbornly.
The kid didn’t like being lumped in with Lindsay. He was good with his weapon, but there was always room for improvement—especially because Finn was so short.
“True, you are a little badass-in-training,” Nicky said. “But I have a couple of sweet moves I can teach you.”
The kid bought it. “Okay.”
Lindsay crossed her arms over her chest. “This is dumb.”
Adam walked over. “No, it’s not. This is probably the most important lesson you’ll ever learn in your life, Lindsay. I’d pay close attention.”
Lindsay sighed. “Okay, Nicky, show me what you’ve got.”
“Oh, I can show you what I’ve got.”
“Nicky—” Adam nodded at Finn.
“Right. Sorry. I always forget Finn’s a kid.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“Simmer down.”
Nicky demonstrated the most effective areas to stop an oncoming zombie. He showed them how to hold the pipe and where to effectively bash on the head to kill the zombie.
The others gathered around to watch the demonstration. Once Lindsay could effectively swing the pipe, Nicky borrowed Rachel’s knife. He wanted to show Finn how to use it—the kid was short and he’d have to swing up to kill an oncoming zombie.
“Do you hear that?” Rachel tilted her head.
Adam hopped off the barstool and peeked out one of the cracks from the overlay of boards on the window. “It’s too dark. I can’t see anything.”
Nicky didn’t hear anything. Well, maybe, like, a far-off…humming? What was that?
“It sounds like—” Lindsay’s eyes widened.
“What?” Nicky said.
“Growling,” Rache
l finished.
“No, no, no,” Lindsay whispered.
Nicky closed his eyes and focused. Then he heard it, faintly at first, but the humming grew stronger. Closer. A snarling, growling mass.
Adam looked out the window again.
“Why does it sound so strange?” Rachel asked.
Adam’s face went white.
“What is it?” Lindsay was in almost-breakdown mode. Any minute, she’d lose it.
“It’s a horde,” Adam said.
“A horde of zombies?” Monica turned to her brother. “What does that even mean?”
“Hundreds of them?” Rachel asked.
“I think more,” Adam said.
“And they’re coming this way?” Lindsay’s breathing accelerated to short, quick gasps. “Down that little street? In between these shitty-built houses?”
Adam grimaced. “Yes.”
Chapter Ten
The snarling and growling mixed together like an earsplitting death song.
Rachel closed her eyes and concentrated. It didn’t sound like they were chasing after a live meal; it was just the noise they made as they shuffled along. How many zombies were there? Was Adam right—could there be thousands? Where were they coming from?
“Cut the lights!” Adam whispered. “Quick!”
Finn hit the switch and the room plummeted into darkness. Rachel crouched near the window beside Adam. The strong smell of cedar filled her nose.
“Oh, my God,” Lindsay sobbed. “What are we going to do?”
“Should we make a run for it?” Cage asked. “Get the cars and drive the hell out of here?”
“I don’t think we can,” Adam said. “The road is a dead end. There’s no other way out of this town.”
“Maybe they’re not headed this way?” Monica said. “The sound could be echoing off the mountains.”
“It’s possible,” Adam said.
“I doubt it,” Nicky said. “We’re not that lucky.”
Rachel agreed with Nicky—their luck wasn’t that good.
“We need to reinforce the doors.” Nicky’s flashlight eerily lit up his face like he was telling ghost stories.
