Running To Escape: A Sam & JR Zombie Thriller

by Schobernd, Robert

  He loaded food from a refrigerator and a large chest type freezer in the garage into four large coolers, then loaded cases of canned meats and vegetables, toiletries, and hand tools. Finally everything else he owned was stowed inside the compact slide in camper unit or inside the trailer. Despite being tired and sweaty from the constant exertion in the elevated temperature, he tied or strapped it all securely. He hastily checked the ten by ten foot office attached to the garage where he’d lived the past months since selling his house. A single size bed, two chairs, a small table, and a desk holding a computer, a TV, and a microwave were his possessions. He didn’t bother taking the TV, microwave, or window air conditioner but did take his laptop computer; he guessed it might be useful for a week or so. He was sure the internet would fail soon if the zombies continued to devastate the country as they had all others. Seven books on wilderness survival and treatment of nonfatal injuries and three books on hand-to-hand fighting were the last items he stuffed in a cardboard box before closing the door. He stifled a strong urge to drive by the childhood home he’d sold and take one last look. With a harsh mental pinch, he discounted the unnecessary side trip as an emotional waste of time and plowed ahead. Time was against him, and he needed to stay focused and move fast instead of dillydallying like a weak minded wimp.

  JR Johns left work at seven that evening. Business was brisk at the Sav-Mart grocery store on the north side of Lawton where she clerked. A fellow clerk had reported off, so the manager asked her to stay over four hours. She wasn’t surprised because Marcella had a reputation for calling in sick most Saturday nights when scheduled to work. The store was even busier than normal. Several customers were stocking up as if a hurricane was blowing in. Some looked frightened and talked about undead monsters coming. She was a fan of The Living Dead TV show but was smart enough to know that crap wasn’t real, even though there’d been all those rumors escalating for the past month. The whole idea was funny if you stopped to think about it. Basically, the zombies were just a catalyst to cause good and evil actions among the apocalypse survivors. She wanted to say, “Get a grip people, act like you’re not brain dead.” She frowned but knew she’d be reprimanded or fired for saying something so brash to a paying customer. The store was three miles west of her apartment and a mile and a half from her parents’ house where she had been expected for supper with her family. She knew how her mom cooked and was sure there’d be plenty of delicious, piping hot leftovers when she arrived later than originally expected.

  In the employee’s lunchroom, she removed her stained apron, grabbed her backpack, and left the store with her friend Molly. At their cars, Molly said, “See you later at The Dance Hall for some serious boot scootin and flirtin.” JR laughed and said, “I bet Marcella will be recovered from her sick spell and join us there.” She waved as she got in her clunker. She was the third daughter to inherit the old beater. She was expected to soon buy her own car and pass the Malibu on. The heat was unbearable after leaving the air conditioned store, which was always kept too cold. She left the windows down because the AC compressor had shot craps two weeks earlier, and she didn’t have the money for a new one. That was the main reason she’d agreed to work the extra four hours. After next week’s paycheck was cashed, she and her dad could install a new compressor.

  While driving east on Cache Road, a traffic jam soon brought her to a standstill. Cars were lined up dead still as far ahead as she could see. Horns honked. Loud music played. People stood outside their rides staring east to see what the holdup was. Vague figures weaved in the far distance. Leaving the right lane, she drove on the right shoulder to the next exit. Several other impatient drivers ahead of her were doing the same thing.

  After exiting to head north under the highway, she took back streets through residential neighborhoods toward her parents’ house six blocks north of Cache Road. Three blocks from the house, groups of people stood near the street or milled aimlessly in large numbers in the mostly neatly mowed front yards. Several moved slowly with their arms extended and glassy, vacant stares on their faces toward her faded, beat-up Malibu. Several people had their mouths hanging open like baby birds chirping to be fed. Most had ripped clothing and large areas where blood covered portions of their bodies. Her first thought was, what the hell happened to them, was there an explosion? Her benevolent instinct was to stop and help. As she touched the brake pedal, she watched a young man run toward her from a house on her left; he waved franticly at her as he tried to zigzag between several of the Holocaust survivor looking people, but one snagged him and dragged him to the ground. Others quickly dropped to the ground and clawed at him and chewed flesh on his arms, legs, and torso in a feeding frenzy. Then fear abounded, and her primal survival instinct took over. She cranked her driver’s side window up as a barrier against the evil around her. As she watched the young man’s demise amid his struggles and nerve-racking screams, she mumbled, “Holy shit, it’s real. Those customers at the store knew what they were talking about.” Still more joined the attack until the man wasn’t visible.

  She jumped and gasped when a male monster slapped its palm against the glass near her head and groaned pitifully. Its bloodshot eyes stared blankly as bloody, pink slobbers dripped from its maw. The zombie’s claw-like fingers scratched at the glass inches from her head. Frightened out of her mind, she floored the gas pedal and pushed the tired six-cylinder engine to speed away and leave the frightening apparition behind. The engine coughed but slowly increased speed. She leaned across the bench seat while driving with her left hand and rolled the passenger window up as she sped off weaving down the street. As she straightened, she jerked the steering wheel to the right to barely avoid sideswiping a car parked next to the curb.

  She had to warn her parents and younger sister. A dark though entered her mind, but she instantly buried it. No, they’d be safe, they had to be. Please God, let them be all right; she couldn’t face the evil danger alone.

  Undead monsters on both sides of the street stumbled toward the roadway to intercept her. The car weaved left and right through the stumbling dead obstacle course as she fled to escape. Running fifty MPH down the residential street, she approached her parent’s house. She cried out as her foot left the gas pedal and the car coasted. Her family stood in their front yard like bloody, broken vagrants until they and other neighbors she’d known since early childhood saw the approaching car. Her family had changed. They were no longer the caring people she respected and loved. The crowd staggered en masse in unsteady lurches to intercept her. She was too late. She wanted to help her loved ones but knew she couldn’t. Tears welled in her eyes as she accepted they were all lost. She wanted to stop and take them with her but knew they would have wanted her to escape alive. She threw them a kiss as tears welled and dribbled down her cheeks. The horror of the scene was slowly seeping into her brain. She’d have to dismiss this last image of them from her memory and retain thoughts of pleasant, joyous times. Three of the undead stood in the street near the corner directly in front of her. She hoped there was room to shoot between two of them without wrecking her car. At forty MPH, a loud thump told her she misjudged the distance. The right front fender hit fat, old Mrs. Rinaldi and slung the body to the side in one sickening thud that jolted the car. She finally noticed there was no other vehicle traffic on the streets; she was alone among bodies that refused to rest peacefully in a graveyard.

  In a confused rush she sped northeast toward her apartment. Tears blurred her vision and she wiped at them with the backs of her hands. After two blocks the undead were absent from view. Up and down her street, a few neighbors she didn’t know rushed from cars to houses and back again. The car slid to a stop in her driveway, and the engine died as she jammed the gearshift to park. She couldn’t get the mental picture of Carol and her parents out of her mind. Their loss left her all alone and with no one to turn to. Nervous and afraid, she fumbled her backpack and dropped her keys at the entrance before the door was unlocked, then flung open. She flew t
hrough the three-room efficiency apartment grabbing clothes, makeup, and snack food. Hastily she jammed the items haphazardly in cloth shopping bags. In a daze, she held a photo of her and her parents and three siblings; it was the last item she claimed. A sudden urge to check on her older siblings caused her to stop and sit on a wood chair in the kitchen. She found their numbers in her contacts list and punched Crystal’s number. It rang a bunch of time before she left a message. The same lack of a response happened when she called Mavis. She deflated and cried. A coldness enveloped her spirit and her body. She stood and stumbled toward the front door in a stupor.

  The backpack and two large cloth bags with handles bulged as she lugged them through the door, then tossed them onto the Malibu’s passenger’s seat and footwell. She started back to lock the door but thought, what the hell; it’s shut, and she’d likely never return. The engine cranked and cranked before it finally started. She said a silent thank you God. As she backed from the driveway, she glanced between the brick fronted, two-story buildings and noticed soldiers and equipment stationed along the fence in the distance at the Army base behind the apartment complex. It was apparent why they were there. Surely the army could stop the zombies from spreading. Maybe she was wrong; surely in a day or two the crisis would be over, and she could return home then.

  Traffic was still sparse and neighborhood people either stood in yards in a muddle or hurriedly stuffed their cars as she had. She stopped and rolled down the glass. “It’s real, they’re only a block or two from here. Hurry and leave.” Some people stared at her with slack jawed expressions while others showed fear and hurried faster.

  In the distance, she heard a myriad of sirens as lights flashed on police and emergency response vehicles. Her car flew up the Interstate’s north access before she pumped the brakes hard and they squealed to a stop.

  Traffic on Interstate 44 North was heavy and both north lanes slowed to sporadic stop and go spurts as she forced her way between cars. The car she cut off honked loud and incessantly. She ignored the arrogant driver; she wanted to live too. As she approached the main entrance to Fort Sill, the stoplights continually flashed red and southbound vehicles were being diverted to the northbound lanes. Traffic was backed up as far as she could see. The military police looked grim and businesslike. Their battle uniforms were drenched in sweat and combat rifles were slung in the carry position. There were no smiles or flirty comments from the soldiers, which was totally unusual.

  Each highway entrance had a string of vehicles entering the interstate and her progress slowed even more. At the Route 62 North exit, she impatiently forced her way to the right exit lane to leave the interstate and head north on the two-lane secondary highway. Another car followed her. Traffic flowed there, but it was more dense than usual. North of the Army Base, she approached a string of sleazy bars. Several young women, obviously hookers by the way they dressed, stood beside the road thumbing rides. Most had suitcases at their feet. Holding her speed steady, she considered stopping to give them a lift. A lift to where? A car ahead of her driven by an older man pulled over to pick them up. She told herself to slowdown, be patient, and don’t do anything stupid out of fear and the deep-seated feeling of impending doom. Her sensible side said, this can’t be real; it’s got to be a horrible nightmare she’d soon wake from.

  JR’s thoughts were convoluted. She wanted to go back to her dad, mom, and younger sister for one last hug. This weird crap couldn’t be happening. Zombies were impossible; they’re just some silliness created by Hollywood. But she’d seen them up close and in her face; a bloody palm print remained on the glass only inches from her head, and their victim’s screams still haunted her. She followed the car in front of her like a robot without the power to think. A flash of fear consumed her, where was she going? She had nowhere to go. What would she do? Was anyplace safe? All she knew for certain was the undead were in Lawton, and she was driving away from there, running to escape. Escape! Escape to where and what? Brake lights flashed. The car in front of her suddenly slammed on its brakes and stopped. She looked through flowing tears and was late stomping on the brakes. The tires squalled to a stop inches from the bumper of a big, new Lexus sedan. A damned dog emerged to the side of the roadway in a cowering gait after almost causing a fender bender. She cursed the cur as she wiped tears from both eyes and pounded the steering wheel in frustration. She cranked the radio volume louder. A news broadcast told her a disturbance in Lawton was being dealt with and was under control. She couldn’t believe the bullshit report; nothing was under control. The situation was dire and getting shittier. A few miles later, the traffic thinned as other cars left the highway. The temperature in the car was sweltering, so she lowered both front windows a few inches.

  Nightfall was imminent when she entered Carnegie and stopped for gas and food. As she ate a brisket sandwich at the Wildcat Bar-B-Que and Deli, a TV special bulletin repeated a large disturbance was occurring at Lawton, but the local authorities and Army personnel from Fort Sill had the situation under control. She thought it strange no video or live shots of the disturbance was shown. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She knew the reports were crocks of bullshit. Her only hope was to get as far away as possible as fast as possible. A frightening though again froze her. Get away to where? Where would be safe? Were zombies all over the country? Or were they like a huge tidal wave pushing from one end of the country to the other? Where was she in relation to what was happening? Why the hell weren’t the TV announcers telling the truth about what was happening? No one was mentioning that zombies were real and killing people; they had killed her family. She saw them up close.

  Her cash was minimal, and both credit cards would soon be maxed out. She wiped the tears away and hurried to her car. In the parking lot, she turned the headlights switch to on and discovered the light on the right side shattered when she crashed into the gray haired zombie back in Lawton. “Shit and double shit, nothing’s right, everything’s going wrong.”

  At seven forty, more than four and a half hours after arriving at the garage, Sam stood looking down the road in the direction of Charlie and Ilene’s house. They made their decision; now he had to accept it. He shook his head at the absurdity of it all, entered the truck, left the driveway and then was on his way north where he would turn west on Rt. 9.

  He’d gradually drifted away from his high school and college friends; they derided his talk of the approaching zombies and treated his views as if he’d lost his mind. He’d tried to understand their reluctance to accept his news of happenings around the world; but they didn’t see it on the evening news, and none made the effort to chase the hard to locate websites he frequented. He wanted to warn them but soon grew tired, aggravated, and short tempered at their condescending and demeaning attitudes. He wondered if any of them would now remember his talk of impending doom and give him credit for trying to warn them. Probably not.

  A half hour later, he stopped at a gas station in Carnegie and topped off the truck’s dual diesel fuel tanks. Two five gallon plastic fuel cans took fresh premium gasoline for the motorcycle, and four more cans were filled with diesel. Eight large bags of ice, a cold drink, and two hot beef and American cheese sandwiches completed his purchases before he dumped the ice in the coolers. Then he was back on the road. To save time he ate while he drove and pondered the day’s happenings while ignoring the disc music playing softly in the background.

  Away from Carnegie JR’s fear ran rampant in the dark abyss ahead of her. Traffic on Route 9 was sparse compared to the number of cars she’d left on Route 62. Images of humans attacked by zombies flooded her mind and invoked terror she’d never dreamed possible. Everyone considered her tough, and here she was sniveling like a spanked three-year-old kid. She pushed the car too fast for visibility and squalled around curves in the dark with a single headlight beam guiding her. Her mind focused on what she’d seen instead of where she was. The horror wouldn’t leave her thoughts and totally consumed her. The radio announcer reminded
her it was eight thirty-two and then played a fresh country western song. She glanced at the speedometer; it sat on eighty plus a bit.

  She’d barely driven five minutes when a huge, full-grown, black bull lumbered onto the roadway right in front of her. It stood in the center of her lane and stared as if mesmerized by the approaching single light. JR stood on the brakes, and the car slowed perceptively as the tires squalled and front end nosed down. She jerked the steering wheel to the right, but the left front fender hit the rear quarter of the huge animal. The car bounced to the right, and the airbag exploded from the steering wheel into her face; white powder fogged the interior. Her car skidded off the road and plowed a trough along the bottom of the roadside drain ditch while the radio blared. The left side of her head hurt; moisture wetted her finger when she touched it. She didn’t remember her head banging against the trim above the window, but it must have. Both headlights were out, and the engine was dead. She tried in vain to restart it, but the battery was soon too weak to crank the engine. With the window down, she leaned out and saw under the dim glow of a quarter moon that the left front end was crumpled almost halfway back to the windshield. Setting in the dark with a disabled car, she cursed herself for being scared stupid, wrapped her arms around her torso, and cried.

  Leaving Carnegie, Sam turned west and drove at 55 MPH. The evening temperature was still warm but much cooler than the heat of late afternoon. A beautiful, clear sky filled with bright, shining stars belied the atrocious events on Earth in Oklahoma. He kept the window glasses up for safety from roaming zombies. Traffic was surprisingly sparse. He thought more people would be using that route to escape the area. Perhaps most were still not aware of the danger or were in a muddle deciding what action to take or were busy making preparations to leave. After a few minutes, a pair of red taillights glowed dimly ahead and off the right side of the road. He glanced at the clock, it was eight thirty-eight as he slowed for the wreck, turned the c/d off, lowered the window several inches, and heard a bull bellowing loudly and mournfully. He flipped the headlights to high beams and saw a mutilated and crippled bull blocking the edge of the left lane and the shoulder.