on.
Our luck held until we reached a mess of wrecked cars just west of town. The tangle of twisted metal stretched from shoulder to shoulder with no room to squeeze by. Max got out of his bus and ran back to talk to our driver. It was decided we would back up and take a side road to get around the mess. We had to move fast, because scattered undead were already converging on us. Max got back to his bus just ahead of one. It charged and began hammering at the bus door. It's bellow seemed to quicken the pace of the other nearby ghouls. The other bus got turned around, moving backwards and forwards until facing the right way, then rocketed back the way we had come. Our driver elected to just drive in reverse for a bit, then began to turn our bus around. He misjudged, and put the back of the bus into a ditch on the right side of the road. The wheels spun helplessly. The other bus reached a maintenance road a few hundred yards behind us and pulled off the highway. As its profile cleared the road, it revealed a crowd of shambling death approaching from the city. More undead were appearing from around the wrecked cars.
“Get us moving!” someone yelled, as if the driver didn't understand the urgency of the situation. It was hopeless though; that bus was going nowhere soon, and the undead would be surrounding us in moments. The gunners on the roof kept taking out the ones that got closest, but they would run out of ammunition eventually. My eyes were locked on one particular zombie, a pre-teen girl in jeans and a Hana Montana t-shirt, her hair still pulled up by a purple scrunchy. She lurched toward the bus until a shotgun blast hit her, but the shot was wide and low; it simply took off her arm at the shoulder, and after spinning around and then wandering in a wide circle, she headed back toward the bus. Before I could witness the shot that would finish her, Kalee grabbed my arm.
“Isaac, look over there.” She pointed at the first bus, now driving toward us on the maintenance road on the other side of a ditch running parallel to the highway. It began slowing as it drew close. Kalee didn't hesitate. “Everyone out! Get to the other bus.” She was already up and heading to the front of the bus.
The gunners clued in to what was happening and began focusing on clearing a path between the two vehicles. People grabbed whatever supplies they could and took off running. Our driver picked up a length of pipe he had stored under his seat and stepped outside to defend the people as they filed out. The gunners mostly kept the way clear, but occasionally someone needed to stop and reload, and then the one of the fiends would get close. Twice I saw the driver brain a zombie with that pipe, knocking it down or slowing it and giving time for the gunners to finish it. Kalee and I had been toward the back of the bus and were some of the last ones out. I heard someone yelling. Hands pounding on metal. We ran to the ditch and began climbing up the other side before I realized what I had heard.
“The quarantined!” I shouted as I turned and looked back, “My god we've left them behind.” Several of the gunners had already jumped down from the roof, continuing to shoot as they retreated to the other bus. Milo and another gunner, a middle aged woman with close cut blond hair, remained on the roof . The driver was at the luggage compartment, heaving the door open. Then the blond woman's gun ran dry, and she disconnected her safety line and tried to climb down. She fell, had trouble getting up, and was set upon immediately. The horde began closing on the driver even as he was pulling the first of the sick out of the luggage compartment. Milo fired into the undead crowd, but it just wasn't enough. The bus was completely surrounded now, and some of them were heading toward us.
Kalee shook me. “MOVE, Isaac! We need to get out of here” She didn't need to tell me twice. The undead were in the ditch and heading toward us. We pushed our way onto the bus. It was packed beyond belief. People sat on top of one another, stood in the aisle, several children had even been hoisted into the luggage racks. The bus began moving as soon as Kalee and I crammed ourselves onto the stairs just inside the door. I pulled myself up the top step and looked out the window to the other bus as we pulled away. The last I saw of Milo, he was still standing on the roof, firing into a growing swarm of walking dead.
“Milo.” Kalee nearly whispered it, so I barely heard her over the engine noise and the din of our fellow passengers. She slumped down on the step, buried her head in her hands, and began to shake. I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. It's the best I could do in our cramped conditions. I felt helpless. We rode like that for a while, until the bus began to slow.
I heard Jack say, “I think we should turn north here.” I finally noticed that Jack was driving. Max folded over the AAA map he was looking at and answered, “I don't know, these farm roads don't show up on the map.”
“It should be fine.” Jack reassured, “They make a big grid. We can get almost anywhere on them. It'll be a good way to avoid the populated areas.” Max seemed convinced, and we headed north.
After placing enough distance between us and the zombie infested highway, Jack stopped the bus and let everyone get out. Two of the gunners scanned the distance with binoculars while people took restroom breaks, repacked supplies, and looked for a more comfortable seating arrangement. A single walking dead was seen in the distance, but we were loaded up and moving again before it got close.
It was decided we would head north a bit longer, then west until we reached Interstate 35, follow that for a bit before heading farther west on more farm roads, then north into Kansas. One of our group was certain there was a FEMA facility in northwestern Kansas, so that seemed as good a direction to head as any. We headed north until the next crossroads, then turned west toward I35. We reached a point where the farm road was washed out and impassable. A tractor might have made it over but our bus would likely not. Jack carefully drove backwards to the previous crossroads, then headed north and took the next western road. It was slow going on those dirt roads, but we eventually saw I35 in the distance, as well as a farm house, barn, and related structures. It was rather picturesque actually, a modest white painted house, faded red barn, a pair of grain silos, and a windmill. Like something off a postcard. The dirt road we were on would take us right past it.
Jack slowed and stopped as we approached the turn-off that could take us directly to the farm. “What do you think?” he asked Max.
“It's fairly secluded, and we need to stop somewhere before it turns dark.” Max replied. “I say we check it out.” We drove right up to the house and parked next to an old Chevy Impala station wagon. Max told everyone to stay on board while he and a couple of the gunners checked it out. Max stepped right up to the front door, knocked and shouted hello. Nobody came out, but something crashed noisily within, and I thought I could hear a now familiar moaning sound. The gunners walked around the house, peaking in the windows, eventually confirming the presence of at least two undead. Max and the two gunners conferred for a bit, then walked out of sight behind the house. A minute later a couple of gunshots was heard. A few minutes later Max came out the front door. He waved at us to exit the bus. As soon as Jack got out, Max walked over and filled him in.
“Just the two of them. We lured 'em out back and took care of it. The rest of the house is clean, but we should inspect the barn and other buildings and make sure there are no surprises waiting.” Jack nodded, and relayed the instructions to the other gunners. They broke up into pairs and went to work. The rest of us filed into the house and began to settle in for the night.
April 27 - The Farmhouse, Oklahoma
This farm has been a godsend. There wasn't much in the kitchen, but the basement was filled with canned food. Not the store bought kind, but glass mason jars of jams, jellies, fruit, and every conceivable vegetable one might grow in a home garden. Those farmers might have survived a year on it, had they not joined the undead. We can stretch it and feed our group for a few days at least. We also found guns and ammunition; a shotgun with plenty of shells, two .22 caliber pistols also with lots of ammo, an old .303 bolt action rifle that unfortunately had only a few rounds
with it. The barn contains an old flatbed farm truck, a tractor, and a hay wagon. Out back we found fuel tanks for both diesel and regular gas, though the diesel is nearly empty and the gas is completely so. There is no electricity to run the house well pump, but the windmill works just fine, so there is no shortage of water. Jack also found a gasoline generator while poking around in the machine shop back of the barn. He thinks he can siphon gas from the station wagon to get it running. Right now, though, he is checking on the farm truck to see if it runs. All in all, this place is paradise compared to what we've been through the last few days.
The loss of Milo hit Kalee pretty hard. She stopped crying rather quickly, but she has been rather quiet and withdrawn. I tried to talk to her for a while, but I'm just no good with this sort of thing. Miguel is sitting with her now. I expect he knows better how to help people dealing with loss, being a medical professional. Unfortunately, he can't stay with her long. Plenty of people were injured during our escape, though none seriously. He has been doing rounds and looking after every medical problem, not
The Bolachek Journals - Part 1 Page 3
