by Jeff Olah
“Sorry guys,” Ben said. “I’m not seeing anything out there, but the ones up front are starting to turn back.”
“No kidding,” Cora said as she got to her knees and again held tight to the door handle. “Feels like we’re driving through World War Three.”
Griffin looked back. “We are.”
Off the sidewalk and into the street, Ben began to let off the gas as the crowd was now too dense to drive straight through at their current speed. He was able to stay at an even pace and slowly push through, although as he scanned the streets beyond where Second Street dead ended into Bridge, there was still no sign of Ethan.
“You guys see anything?”
“I see us getting stuck,” Carly said. “Is there any way you can—”
“Wait,” Griffin said. “There’s something goin’ on out there, straight ahead down on the right.”
The others left their respective doors and slid in behind the cab. Cora and Shannon held tight to the passenger seat as Carly remained at Ben’s side. They squinted into the night, but were all just as confused as Ben. “What is it? What are you talking about? I don’t see anything, just that other group coming in off Bridge Street.”
“That’s it,” Griffin said. “They were already coming this way and don’t even seem to have noticed us. They’re filtering into this group, but also seem to be focused on something further down the street.”
“Like Ethan?” Cora said.
“That’s what I’m thinking. It could be anything or it could be nothing, but there’s a reason why both of those crowds are moving that way.”
Ben slowly pressed the gas pedal, increased their speed to just above a fast walk, and glided back toward the curb. “But I thought Ethan was headed back to the bank? Wouldn’t that put him on the opposite side of town?”
“Don’t know. If this is him, we need to get over there. If it’s not and he’s back at the station or the bank, at least we can assume he’s safe.”
Carly leaned in. “Why would you think—”
“Because it looks like every single one of those things found their way here. Right out there on that street. I mean, if there are more than a handful left anywhere else in this town, I’m buying you all dinner.”
“Dinner?” Cora said.
“Well, this thing has to end at some point. And when it does, I’m buying the biggest, juiciest steak I can find. And you’re all welcome to join me.”
“Somehow,” Shannon said. “I don’t see that happening anytime soon. We need to get comfortable with this new reality.”
“Wow,” Ben said, “what a buzzkill.”
“Just being realistic. There’s no point dreaming about stuff that’s never going to happen.”
“Never?” Carly asked.
“Well, not anytime soon.”
“Yeah right, how on earth would you know—”
“Wait,” Ben said. “Oh my God—it’s him.”
53
Sitting alone in silence for days at a time had his mind again playing tricks on him. Frank closed his eyes and listened for the truck to return. Even imagined it did. But ten minutes after hearing it pull away, it was quiet. More quiet than it had been since the first night. Since he first realized that this is where he may take his last breath.
Rolling onto his side, Frank reached for the bars and pulled himself up. He stood and walked back to the front of the cell. Light now poured in through the crack in the lobby doors and partially illuminated the hall. If his calculations were right, tonight would be a full moon. And his calculations were never wrong.
Squinting, he slowly scanned the hall from one end to the other and then looked back around the cell. He was searching for something—something he could use to grab the small office trashcan ten feet away. The contents of which would get him out of his self-imposed prison. He may die the second he walked out the front door, but at least it would be on his own terms.
He could fight. He wasn’t twenty years old anymore, but he also wasn’t the typical fifty-eight year old. Now he just wanted something he didn’t think he’d need five days ago. Tonight he only wanted a chance.
The coat rack in the corner. Standing a few feet from the door, he hadn’t figured it would be of any use. But now, looking at it in a different light, he found that it may just be helpful after all. Two feet from the lobby doors, he wasn’t going to reach it without some luck and it would most likely take a good bit of time. But what else did he have to do?
Removing his belt and his coat, he looped the sleeve of the coat around the end of the belt and tied a knot. Up against the cell door, Frank leaned in and reached between the vertical bars. He held the opposite arm of the jacket in his left hand and grabbed the weighty belt buckle with the other.
Pulling it tight, he made sure there was no chance they’d come apart. He checked the distance, held the buckle up high and tossed it toward the six-foot coat rack.
“Damn.” His makeshift tether smacked into the ground eighteen inches from its intended target. He needed more distance. But it looked doable. This wasn’t over. He wasn’t giving up—not yet.
Frank pulled it back and this time pushed his left arm through the bars up past his shoulder. Taking the buckle in his right hand, he mimicked the movement a half dozen times. Throw with the right, shift his weight to the left and stretch out as far as he could.
“Here goes nothin’.” As the moonlight through the crack in the doors glinted off the buckle, he watched it glide past the leg of the rack and hook itself ever so gently around the lower support.
“YES!” Victory. He pumped his fist and smiled, but was a bit surprised. He had expected this to take much more time. He figured he’d wear out his arm and give up without actually making this work. Or his back would tighten and he’d go back to sitting against the block wall listening to whatever the night outside had to offer.
Carefully, Frank moved to his knees and switched the sleeve of the jacket into his right hand. He took a deep breath, held tight to the cell door with his left and began pulling. Before the rack had moved three inches, he sensed a problem. He stopped pulling and laid the end of the jacket on the floor. He then stood, walked to the far left corner of the cell, and found the issue.
“Okay, this is still a go. I hope.”
The third leg of the weighty coat rack was caught behind an extension cord that disappeared behind the door. He could continue pulling it forward, although with the awkward angle it now sat, failure was almost certain.
Stepping back, he surveyed the hall and the placement of the trashcan. He didn’t necessarily need the coat rack to cover the entire distance, but he did need it much closer than it was now. Six feet, just another six feet. If he could somehow figure out how to move the heavy rack another six feet, the rest would be easy.
Back to the cell door, Frank groaned as he squatted to the floor. His knees cracked and his back reminded him of the past five days. Reaching for the jacket, he clutched the sleeve and again began to pull.
For every three inches the top portion of the rack traveled, the legs moved less than one. As he continued to pull, the rack moved up onto two legs and rocked to the right under its own weight. He paused momentarily as it settled and then scanned the white linoleum floor. He was estimating where the rack would finally come to rest once gravity finally took over.
Holding tight to the coat sleeve, he gently pulled back and to the left. The rack pitched up onto one leg and then twisted awkwardly to the right, sending it into the wall directly across from the cell door.
As the rack detached from his makeshift tether, it slid down the wall and pitched forward. Frank held his breath as it moved away from him, striking and overturning the small plastic trashcan. As the rack rebounded off the floor and rolled to within a few feet the cell, he watched the keys shoot out across the slick floor and slide into the darkened corner fifteen feet away. Out of reach for good.
Slumping to the floor, Frank released the jacket. He turned his back to
the cell door and sat in silence. Other than the distant sounds of the night and the sighing of the brick and mortar as it settled, nothing moved.
After ten minutes, Frank again moved to his feet. He stared through the hall toward the doors to the lobby. “Why?”
Gripping the bars, he squeezed down tight. Rocking back and forth, he shook the door as arthritic flares shot through his joints. His knuckles turned from white to red as explosions of pain raced up his hands and forced him to release his grip.
Leaning in, Frank pulled his jacket back through the door and untied the knot. He slipped his belt back on, moved to the cot, and sat down. Breathing a sigh of defeat, he folded his arms into his chest and dropped his head.
“Okay, I give up. You win. I’m done.”
His stomach now taunted him as it growled. He was hungry. Beyond hungry and he was tired. Out of the corner of his eye, the two cans of tuna and what was left of the saltines sat alongside the empty grocery bags. Without a can opener and not much in the way of energy, he dreaded the thought of attempting to open another one by hand. Hell, he wasn’t even sure his sore fingers were up for the task.
At slightly less than one hundred calories per can, was it worth the effort? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think. He just wanted to sleep.
Closing his eyes, Frank tried to clear his mind. He thought of his wife and tried to picture her face. She smiled at him. She began to talk to him, but her face quickly disappeared. It was replaced by the shattering of glass and then the familiar groans he’d been trying to block out for the last five days.
Frank didn’t have to see it to know what had happened. It was obvious. The building that had protected him from those things since the first morning had been breached. They were in and they were coming for him.
54
By the time Ben had steered back toward the less crowded sidewalk, the others had already seen what he’d seen. Fifty yards away, running in the opposite direction, Ethan was being chased by two different groups. The first, and much more massive crowd moving toward the end of Bridge Street, had already begun merging with the second group. They appeared to be coming in from the north end of town. He had less than thirty seconds to get to his friend.
“Everyone hold on, I’m going to push through and come out on the right side near the big gate.”
Griffin gripped the door handle and nodded. “Okay, then what? You planning on pulling alongside Ethan? Don’t think that’s gonna work.”
“No, I’m going straight through. Taking out the gate and giving Ethan a bit of breathing room. When we get close, you’ll need to get out.”
“Come again?” Griffin said.
Ten seconds from the corner of Bridge Street, Ben picked his spot. “You’re gonna have to get out. Get Ethan moving off the street and into the parking lot.”
“Boy,” Griffin said. “You’re as lost as last year’s Easter egg.”
Ben kept his gaze out the windshield. He clipped three Feeders, sending them back into the street and chuckled. “Wait, what did you just say?”
“Kid, you’re crazy. I’m not getting out, just get us close enough and I’ll handle the rest.”
Cora, Shannon, and Carly held tight to the seatbacks and rocked from side to side as the armored vehicle bounced along the crowded sidewalk.
Looking away, Cora flinched as they plowed into a group of six head-on. Three of the smaller bodies were hit first. They were thrown out away from the front of the truck and slammed as one unit into the brick storefront. Continuing forward, the next three were knocked to the ground and crushed into the stained sidewalk as the massive armored vehicle rolled over them.
Without the ability to roll down the window, Griffin looked at Ben and pointed out through the windshield. “Over there. Just get us right over there. I’ll make sure Ethan goes the right way. But don’t slow down—not at all. Once we get past the gates, I’ll hop out and bring him back.” Turning to the others, he said, “Everyone else stays put… got it?”
No one answered.
Ben pointed the front of the vehicle toward the center of the twenty-foot-wide gates and for the first time was noticed by Ethan. Out into the intersection, he sped toward the parking lot as Ethan slowed to a jog and then to a walk.
Looking tired and confused, Ethan stopped at the center of the intersection and watched as they rushed by. Turning, he yelled out and began following as the truck drove up into the driveway and hurtled through the locked gates.
As they slid to a stop, Griffin opened the door and jumped out. Before closing the door, he said, “Get this thing turned around. We’re out in ten seconds.”
Ben shifted into reverse and backed up over the first row of parking blocks. He briefly looked back at the women and then grinding the gears, slammed the truck back into drive. Looking out the passenger window, he watched as Griffin and Ethan connected near the driveway and fought off a small group of advancing Feeders.
Stepping on the gas, Ben maneuvered the truck around to the right and away from a group of four abandoned cars. Angling back toward the drive, he could see the larger horde splitting off into two groups. The closer of the two turned in off Bridge Street and were entering through the downed gates.
Moving to the passenger side rear window, Carly noticed the same thing. She gasped as Ethan and Griffin ran away from the horde and were chased toward the truck. “Ben hurry, they aren’t going to make it.”
Pushing the pedal to the floor yet again, the armored vehicle lurched forward. Glancing off the late model sedan to his left, they moved out into the center of the lot and drove straight toward their friends.
With thirty yards to go, Cora jumped into the passenger seat and grabbed the pistol from the dash. She dropped the magazine out, shook her head and slammed it back. Reaching for the door handle, she turned to Ben. “Slow down.
“Why?”
“Slow down, they need help.”
“No, there isn’t time, you can’t help them.”
“Oh yeah?” Cora opened the door and began to step out. Ben slammed his foot down on the brake and Cora leapt out away from the truck. Closing the door, she ran to a spot twenty feet away and leveled the weapon.
“Two shots,” she said. “Make them count.”
Ethan and Griffin were running when she lined up the first shot. At least three dozen Feeders were in close pursuit and she choose the heavyset man out in front. Her internal debate of where to place the bullet lasted less than a fraction of a second.
Breathing out slowly, she sighted the injured left leg of the pursuer as it appeared to move with a shorter range of motion. She pulled back on the trigger and watched as the bullet penetrated the beast’s kneecap and then exploded in a red mist out through the back of its leg.
Before she lined up her next shot, the obese Feeder fell to the left and took down four others. A domino effect ended up taking out six more as they piled in from behind and dropped to the asphalt.
Ethan and Griffin had now pulled away and would make it to the truck untouched. As they continued to run and nodded in approval, Cora moved back to the truck and climbed in through the passenger door. Placing the weapon back on the dash, she smiled at Ben. “Next time you drive a little better and I won’t have to save your ass… cool?”
He didn’t answer.
Ethan moved quickly to the open rear door and climbed in. Griffin followed. They were both out of breath as they closed the door and sat in the rear cargo area. “Thank you,” Ethan began. “You guys really saved my—”
Carly leaned in toward the men, reached back, and slapped Ethan. “What the hell was that?”
Standing over him, Carly was furious. Madder than he’d ever seen her and he knew why. He looked up at her, but didn’t immediately respond.
Her face was bright red and she was breathing harder than he was. “Explain yourself,” she said. “Right now.”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t think. Not at all, you
not only put yourself in danger, but the rest of us too. So, the next time you have some idiotic plan to go out on your own… don’t.”
Ethan paused form a moment.
“Well?”
“I went to bury David.”
“I can’t believe—” She stopped herself and took a deep breath, allowing what he’d said to wash over her. She waited a few seconds and then attempted to start again. “David would have been proud of you, Ethan, but he would have also told you to ask for help.”
“It was something I needed to do by myself.”
Carly shook her head. “Thank you, but no one here is on their own. So please don’t ever do that again, okay?”
Ethan simply nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Again on the move, Ben guided the truck back through the downed gates and crept out into the street. “Hey guys, we’re starting to draw a crowd. What are we doing?”
Ethan leaned away from the rear door and held Carly’s hand. Craning his neck, he looked toward the cab. “Ben, take us back to Main and Third. And go the long way, we need to get away from this crowd.”
“Okay, where to?”
“Let’s go back to the station. We’re getting into that building tonight, and then we’re driving the hell out of this town.”
55
Light slipped in through the slender void between the lobby doors. It did little to illuminate much beyond a three-foot arc, although Frank’s eyes had become accustomed to the growing darkness. Moving into the far corner, he figured he’d be hidden from anyone or anything that entered the hall. At least for a minute or two. He just hoped that whoever or whatever had entered the building would come and go without catching a glimpse of him huddled against the rear wall of the cell.
He estimated that three of those crazed individuals were now inside. He’d yet to see them, although as they crashed one by one through the large picture window in the chief’s office, their sound was unmistakable. The low monotonous growling that had been muffled by the walls of the station over the last several days was now filling the interior of the building.
