The Great Wreck (Novella): Year of the Dead

by Jack Stewart

  Turns out that was going to be a problem. The aftershocks rolled through the city every few hours for the next two weeks. Those little tremors sent me scrambling for a door frame all the while knowing no doorframe was going to save me if the building collapsed. The tremors were never as strong as the Big One but they did have an alarming effect on the dead.

  As I packed to make my way out, the dead began to migrate back and forth across the city. Vast waves of them heading east or west, then south, then back again, like in the early days of the event. They would clog the streets for days on end until whatever it was that had gotten them all riled up stopped and they drifted off only to get at it again a few days later.

  There was no way I could go out on the streets with Mardi Gras in progress so I finished packing everything I’d need and waited. And waited. And waited. It got the point where I began wishing the next earthquake would bring down my building just to end the god awful boredom. And then I’d wait some more.

  And one day, it all stopped.

  I waited a whole week for another tremor to get the dead dancing again but nothing. The great tectonic plates had ground to a stop. At least for the time being.

  So I waited for the dead to disperse, grabbed my gear, the samples and journal the dead guy had left, and headed east. I was going, yes sir, I was finally getting out of town but I had two stops to make before I did. The first was at my parents apartment. I was not going to leave them to wander around our old apartment for eternity. Not if I could do something about it.

  So I made my way back to my old home. Way more difficult now that thousands of buildings had collapsed into the streets adding to the carnage and wreckage that people had wreaked upon the city at the height of the Event. But I made it and much to my surprise, the old apartment building that I had lived in was still there. I dropped my gear, pulled out my silenced AR-17 with lots of extra ammo and began to clear out the building on my way up to the sixth floor.

  At the end of the hallway, I could see the light pouring in through the front door of my old home, the door shattered in exactly as it had been the day my folks had died. I slowly walked towards our apartment not knowing if I could handle seeing my dead parents walking around but determined to see this through. I stepped over the debris and wreckage scattered in the hall and soon stood at the door of our apartment. It was almost as it was the day the dead broke in. Dust covered everything, all my mom’s knick knacks were scattered on the floor from the quake along with Dad’s books and all the photos of the family. What little that was left of Dad lay directly in front of the door where the dead had come it. They hadn’t left enough of him to come back.

  I walked in a few more feet and found what was left of Mom too. Neither ever had come back. I cried over their bodies. I gathered up what I could, wrapped them together in sheets, and placed them on their bed. Then I doused them both is gasoline and, before lighting the match that would start what the Wallers would call the Great Western Cook of ’25, took a picture from the bedside of us three that had managed to stay upright through all the recent quakes. Then I torched the place.

  Let me tell you what: that fire burned and burned for the entire time I walked out of the city. When I made my second stop outside of Burbank, I could see the folks up on the wall looking west and wondering if the fire was going to burn out the entire city. Then someone notice a small but well-armed girl standing at their east gate and thought I might be one of the dead.

  The speaker next to an abandon guard station came to life, “Are you dead? You have until the count of three to respond.”

  “Yes, I’m dead. I am the latest version of sprinter who, while quite dead, is capable of thought. Now let me in so I can eat you.”

  The owner of the voice on the other side of the line was not amused and I could hear him mumble something like “I’ll give you something to eat, you little smart ass…” but the great outer door slowly opened.

  I stepped in and waited for it to close behind me. Then the inner door began to open and out rushed five heavily armed Wallers all pointing their nasty weapons directly at me.

  “Kid, you’re going to have to put all those weapons down, then we’ll ensure you haven’t been bitten or otherwise infected, then you can come in,” the closest one said.

  “Nope. I’m not staying. I am dropping off this little present,” I said indicating the silver case at my feet, “And then you are going to let me out of here so I can be on my way.”

  “Not staying?”

  “Nope. Not staying.”

  “Where are you going to…?”

  “Does it matter? While I was out in the Wreck, I met one of your guys named Rutt. He said if I ever got here to look him up. Also, I think I have the cure to the virus in this suitcase.”

  That got their attention. They talked and talked and talked some more to other people on the other end of the radio. Finally I got bored and sat down while they figured out what to do with the information I had just given them.

  “Kid, some people are going to come down here and talk with you. If you’re bullshitting us, you’re going to be in big trouble.”

  I shrugged and mumbled, “What are you going to do ground me?”

  A short while later, a familiar face broke through the crowd, “Hi Cerra. Nice to see you’re still alive.”

  “Hi Rutt,” I replied getting to my feet and dusting my ass off.

  “You are still alive, right?”

  “Ha, ha. As far as I know. Unless I died and this is hell? I don’t feel the need to eat anyone, so I’m guessing I’m alive.”

  “Some of the Specials are on their way down to talk with you about what you say you have. We have a room that we can talk in if you don’t want to go through decontamination, blood sampling, and three days or so of isolation.”

  “I’ll take the special room. And Rutt?”

  “Yep, kiddo?”

  “When I’m done, I’m leaving.”

  “Headed east?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sandia?”

  “You’ve heard of it too?”

  “Rumors, mostly. Sometimes we pick up signals from someplace calling themselves ‘Sandia Station’ on the radio. Can’t tell you what it is though.”

  “It’s a place far away from the Wreck of Los Angeles. And that’s enough for me.”

  “Well, Cerra. Good luck getting there. And here are the eggheads,” he said as a group of people walked up behind Rutt. I almost laughed. They were all nearly bald white men wearing funny white lab coats and ties. Oh, brother.

  We walked over to a small compound that was separated from Burbank proper into a conference room where everyone sat down nervously.

  “My name is Doctor Hobbes,” the oldest of the eggheads said.

  “I’m Cerra.”

  “Nice to meet you Cerra. The Wallers you met said you have something in that case there.”

  I told them what I had in the case. They sat there in stunned silence. I slid the case over to the nearest egghead along with the dead guy’s journal and my notes, “Maybe you can figure out how to wipe out the virus or a way to cure the dead out there. Either way, I don’t care. I am leaving now,” I said and stood.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, little kitten,” one of the dumber Wallers said, “You’re not going anywhere. The Specials here might need to talk to you some more.”

  Again with the little kitten? Did I have a tail on my ass or something? And Specials? Oh hell no. I casually reached into my pack and said, “Let me show you something,” as I pulled out a grenade and pulled the pin. The reaction was well worth the effort. The eggheads and Wallers all scrambled back away from me in a rush except Rutt who just smiled and shook his head, “I don’t care what you do with the samples. I am leaving. And if the next words out of someone’s mouth are not ‘Open the door and let her leave,’ then I will drop this big old grenade and we will all see what’s on the other side.”

  For a split second there was complete silence, then Dr. Hobbes sa
id, “Open the door and let her leave you dumb ass mother fucker! Right now!”

  “A little more than I needed, but thank you and good day,” I said as I backed out of the room, out of the compound and, after the huge outer door slowly opened, out into the Wreck.

  “Hey, Cerra,” Rutt said as the vast door slowly closed back up, “You could stay with us. Food, shelter, hot water most of the time. People, well you know, living people. You’d make a hell of a Waller.”

  “Thanks Rutt, but I have to head out into the wild and get way the fuck away from the Wreck,” I said.

  “It’s all a wreck out there little girl but good luck. If anyone can make it, it will be you. And when you get to Sandia, let them know we’re here.”

  “I will Rutt. And good luck to you too,” I said as the doors sealed themselves up. I’d never see Rutt again. I hope he made it.

  With that I kicked the dust of Burbank off of my shoes, hitched up my pack, and headed east out of the vast graveyard the was Los Angeles and into the great big, wide open graveyard that was the American Southwest.

  ɸ

  Seventeen. I stood atop the world’s largest car wreck and faced west. According to my watch, I turned seventeen today. Happy birthday to me. Goodbye Los Angeles! Goodbye California! Goodbye Mom and Dad. I love you! I thought as I turned away from everything I knew and headed east humming “Today is your birthday! Da na na na na na na na! It’s my birthday too…!”

  Oh, and a big old fuck you Darwin!