by Keary Taylor
40°16’16.11”N 77°5’27.83”W
I drive for another six hours before my eyes refuse to stay open. By now I’ve gotten to some fairly rural areas and I haven’t seen another moving being in at least three hours. I find an exit that looks safe enough and pull off. I’m so tired that I don’t even realize I won’t have enough gas to make it up the mountain pass I’m about to cross until I’ve gone past the last station. I’ll have to back track into town for gas when I wake up. But for now this small county road looks safe enough to rest on.
I pull a ways off the road into the brush. I grab my pack, sling it over my shoulder, then walk fifty yards from the busted up SUV. The vehicle feels like a beacon, announcing my location for anyone or anything that might come looking. It feels safer to sleep with some distance between us.
The sky is just starting to lighten. As much as I don’t dare sleep, I’m exhausted. I’d starved nearly to death for weeks and then had the most intense day I could conceive. My body is shutting down.
I rest my head on my pack, lying in the dirt, and close my eyes.
35°46’23.72”N 81°29’8.14”W
When I wake the sun is high. I can feel it burning my skin. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent any amount of time outside. I sit up gingerly and look at my arms. They’re already a healthy shade of pink.
I pick my pack up and start back toward the SUV. I’m trying to mentally calculate how far back it is to the town to get fuel. Shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes to get there.
I realize I probably should have fueled up when it was still dark. At least the one’s I had run into had been sleeping most of the time. If there are any human tendencies left in them, they probably may still more active during the daylight.
There is someone lying face down in the dirt right next to the driver’s side door. I pull out my new handgun and lock it in on the man. I debate with myself for just a moment.
I can shoot him right now.
I can simply walk away.
Or I can confront and investigate.
“Hey,” I say, my voice just loud enough for him to be able to hear me. “You need to get out of here. That vehicle belongs to me.”
The man doesn’t move.
“Something wrong with you?” I say. I take two steps closer. “Hey, can you hear me?”
He still doesn’t stir.
I cross the remaining space between us and kick his foot. He lies still as a fallen tree.
I’m not stupid enough to touch him with my bare hands, so I use my foot and roll him over.
The man must have been living in the wild the last few weeks. His skin is dirty, his hair tangled and filled with broken bits of leaves and twigs. And he looks half-starved. His cheekbones stick out in a gaunt way. His eyes are sunken.
He is definitely dead.
He’d been looking for food, I’m sure of it. I wonder why he didn’t just go inside the SUV. He would have found my box in the back of it if he’d just gone inside and looked. He must have collapsed before he got to that point.
I take a small stick, and with it, peel his eyelids open. The whites are still white, his irises brown. Still human. He hadn’t been infected before he died.
I still don’t want to touch him so I use my boots to push him out of the way of the SUV. I notice a pack ten yards from where he is lying. He must have dropped it.
Robbing the dead isn’t something I’d normally be okay with, but nothing about these past few days has been normal.
The zipper on the pack sticks and it takes me a few good tugs to get it to open. Inside I find a length of rope, a knife, and a thick book. I’m about to leave the book with the tattered pack when I realize what it is.
An atlas.
I take everything he had and put it in the SUV. I say a silent prayer for the man I could have helped if I had just found him a bit sooner, and pull back onto the road.
Re-entering the freeway, I start back toward the town.
I glance down at the gas gage. I’m a bit over a quarter of a tank, but I don’t know how far this mountain range is going to stretch, or if I can count on there being any gas stations on it.
When I look back up I slam on the breaks.
There are at least five of those things walking around on the road about three-quarters of a mile down from where I am. As I watch them a moment longer, I see two more walking up the on-ramp.
They don’t seem to know what they’re doing. They look confused almost. Like they know they’re supposed to be going somewhere or doing something, but they can’t think clearly to figure out what it is. Their movements are jerky, unorganized. But they’re still powerful looking.
Off in the distance I can see more of them stirring.
I turn the SUV around and start back toward the mountain pass.
I’m not going to make it very far up that mountain before I run out of gas. But there’s no way I’m going to survive going back into that town for fuel.
35°33’0.37”N 80°28’27.71”W
Maybe I should have taken Uncle Rich’s sports car. It probably would have gotten better gas and gotten me further up the mountain. But then again, it probably wouldn’t have survived the attack by the zombie robots.
I drive up the mountain for just over an hour before the gas light comes on and the car beeps at me. Thirty minutes later it shuts off and slowly rolls to a stop. I park it in the middle of the road and just sit there for a minute.
One week ago I thought I knew exactly how I was going to spend the rest of my life: looking at the gray walls of a prison cell. Figuring out how to survive the apocalypse wasn’t something I’d exactly planned for.
Yet here I was, getting the second chance to fight for my life at the end of the world.
35°45’51.63”N 83°5’22.58”W
It takes me a while to pick a place but I need some kind of destination or I’m just going to wander aimless and get myself killed. I stare at the map and try to recall old geography lessons from high school.
Where is going to be secluded? What place is going to have the most natural resources? Where do I stand a chance of not freezing to death when winter comes?
Unfortunately the last two considerations war with each other.
I finally pick a green place on the map and started plotting my route.
I’ll travel parallel to the main highways that would lead to it, but stay away from the busy freeways that would cut too close to the cities, and therefore the zombiebots.
Packing takes careful consideration. I can’t fit everything in my pack. The thing would weigh well over one hundred fifty pounds. And I have a long way to walk.
In the end I pack enough food to last me a week and enough water to last me five days. I’ll have to rely on the land after that, or dare raiding a house or whatever place I might find. I pack two handguns and the better shotgun, and as much of the ammunition I can carry. And then I tuck in the atlas.
Patting the hood of the SUV once, I start down the road.
35°45’51.63”N 83°5’22.58”W
I walk.
And I walk.
And I hide and sleep during the day.
Then I keep walking when it’s dark.
I walk for a very long time.
32°30’1.78”N 91°20’25.19”W
I have too much time to think.
But I can’t make sense of what’s happened to our world.
Whatever this company is, NovaTor Biotics, I can only assume they did something that caused all of this. Aunt Stella was getting a new heart or something. An upgrade. And then she turned into one of those things. It must have spread, taken over her body.
And they’re aggressive. But not so much like they’re trying to kill me. More like they’re trying to just get a hold of me.
That must be how it spreads.
It must be deadly effective if it spread this fast.
And something about the city must draw them. There are thousands of them there.
But none of them out here on the back roads.
35°7’11.67”N 95°4’32.46”W
There’s mud caked on my boots, two inches thick on the tops of my toe. My clothes are soaked through but I feel like I’m burning on the inside. And the water just keeps coming down.
I survived the mountain. I’ve started across the level ground. I’ve kept out of sight of the zombiebots for weeks now.
And it’s the rain that threatens to kill me.
You never think you’ll forget what it feels like to be dry. But after being in the rain for four days straight, I have forgotten.
My feet falter. I stumble and let myself fall to my hands and knees on the pavement. My insides feel stiff and hot. My arms shake, not wanting to support my weight any longer. Suddenly my stomach is touching the ground and my left cheek hurts from the rough surface of the road.
I don’t think I can get up. But I’m afraid I may drown if I don’t.
But I don’t think I can get up.
37°9’5.61”N 97°53’17.46”W
I hear something in the distance. Thunder? A lawn mower? A helicopter? A plane?
I open my eyes just slightly, blinking drops of rain from my eyelashes. I push myself up from the ground just slightly. As I turn my head, I feel a stream of water run from my ear. I really did nearly drown. It was also the reason I couldn’t really hear.
Shifting my weight back, I now know the sound is a car. Or more like a truck. It sounds big. And it is coming my way.
My insides don’t feel so hot and I don’t ache as badly. My fever must have broken. But my body still protests as I climb to my feet and look down the road. I then realize that it has finally stopped raining.
There is a truck driving toward me, about a half a mile away.
I consider darting back off the road, but there is no way they wouldn’t have seen me and there is nothing to hide behind out here in flat-country USA. So I move to the side of the road, watching as they drive toward me.
The truck slows as it approaches. Like the SUV I had to leave behind, most of its windows are busted out. Its sides are dented and beaten. I can actually see the form of a handprint in the driver’s side door.
The vehicle has barely stopped moving when two men jump out. They’ve got shotguns leveled on my chest. There’s a wild look in their eyes. One of them has a long scar running down the left side of his face. It cuts across his eye. The eye doesn’t look quite right, like it was damaged pretty bad. The other walks with a serious limp.
“Just hand over the pack and we’ll let you live,” Scarface says. He takes quick, jerky steps toward me. Gimpy takes one step forward. He’s hurt pretty bad is my guess.
“How do you know I’ve got anything you want?” I say, raising my hands at my sides. I wouldn’t have done that if not for the handgun I can feel weighing my left side pocket down.
Scarface laughs in a crazy way that matches his eyes. “I ain’t playing games with you. Just hand it over and we’ll let you walk away.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. I take a step toward him.
“Hold it right there!” Scarface shouts. “Don’t take another step. You just toss that pack over.”
Never losing his eyes, I take another step forward, moving to his left, bad side, just a bit.
“I said stop movin’!” he yells, spit flying from his mouth.
“You hungry?” I ask as I take another step toward them. We’re only five yards apart now.
“Course we’re hungry,” he growls. “There’s no food left anywhere. Not after the territory wars.”
I’ve never heard anything about the territory wars but I can guess what it means. Guys like this will fight over anything.
“I can spare one can of beans but I can’t let you take anything else,” I say, taking another step.
He does that crazy laugh again, but I see something flash across his eyes.
I’m close enough to confirm what I speculated.
His safety isn’t pulled back. The gun isn’t loaded.
My eyes flick over to Gimpy. His is though.
“I’m not giving you my pack,” I say, keeping my voice calm. I come to a stop. “Like I said, I’ll give you one can.”
“I don’t think so,” Scarface’s eyes harden. “Now hand it over or I’ll make a crater in your chest.”
“No deal,” I say.
And I don’t wait for him to react. I drop my shoulder and run at him full speed. I knock him flat on his back, swinging my elbow up as he goes down to connect with his jaw.
I turn toward Gimpy and duck as he pulls the trigger. The shot grazes my left arm, splitting the skin open but not causing major damage. I ram into him and knock him to the ground as well. I grab his shotgun before either of them can recover and fling it far off the road.
Leveling my handgun on Scarface since he seems to be the one in charge, I tug my other gun from the side pocket of the pack. Gimpy gets a good view of the inside of the barrel next.
“I’m going to let you get up, get back in your truck, and drive back the way you came,” I say, my voice quiet. My insides are quivering from fatigue. Whatever sickness that has been burning me from the inside isn’t ready to let me go just yet.
They look at each other, uncertain of what to do.
“I’m going to say this again,” I growl. “Get up, get back in the truck, and go back the way you came.”
They share another look, then slowly start to get to their feet. They raise their hands, and both take a step away from me.
And then their eyes flicker toward each other once more. With a loud yell, they both rush at me.
I fire two shots and one takes Gimpy to the ground. Scarface knocks me to the road.
With the pack on my back it’s difficult to maneuver. Scarface locks a hand around my throat and lands a blow with his right fist to my cheekbone.
I jerk a knee up between his legs and he hunches over at the same time I connect my forehead with the bridge of his nose. I flip over, pinning him down and landing one blow to his eye to return the favor.
Grabbing my fallen handgun from the pavement, I place the barrel right between his eyes.
“This one really is loaded,” I say, trying to steady my breathing. “And I’ll shoot you if you try something like that again. So you’re going to get your bleeding friend over there and leave. Now.”
I can’t tell if the guy looks afraid or mad. His eyes are five different kinds of crazy. But he gives the smallest of nods.
Slowly, I shift off of him and we both get to our feet. He walks over to Gimpy, who’s cradling a bleeding shoulder. Scarface looks back at me once again. I nod, and they slowly make their way back to the truck.
Scarface gets Gimpy into the passenger seat and walks around to the other side. He opens the door and looks back toward me.
“I ever see you again, you’re a dead man,” he says with venom in his voice.
“Trust me, I don’t plan on ever seeing you again,” I reply, giving a flicking motion with the gun in my right hand, indicating that it’s time for him to leave.
He climbs in the truck and flips around. A minute later I can’t see him anymore.
Calming my shaking breathing, I turn and start back down the road.
37°9’5.61”N 97°53’17.46”W
Everywhere seems the same. Cars are abandoned, beaten and trashed. Cities are to be avoided. People are best to be avoided too if possible.
I keep walking.
I check the map.
I move toward the green area.
37°44’17.3”N 107°23’36.92”W
There is something comfortable about the trees that surround me. They feel protective. At first I didn’t like feeling blinded by them, but now they feel almost as if they’re guarding me.
I’m not sure about much these days, but I’m pretty sure none of those robotic freaks are going to find me out here.
Setting my pack down on the mossy ground, I pull out my sharpest knife. I look at my re
flection as I lean over the water. My hair hangs down to my shoulders and my beard brushes my chest.
I don’t even recognize the man I’m seeing.
That isn’t the man that accidently got all those people killed. That isn’t the man who was sentenced to finish out the rest of his days behind bars. It isn’t the man who was so angry and violent behind bars that he got stuffed in the SHU to live out his life in isolation.
But that man is a man who has survived. That is a man that is still alive and still human. That is a man who has gotten the chance to rise out of the ashes to be reborn again.
I hack off as much of the hair on my head as I can. I look wild and beast-like. After soaking my head in the water, I take my blade to my scalp and carefully shave away every bit of hair. My skin doesn’t come out undamaged but I don’t look like a caveman anymore.
The beard is next.
It’s a relief to be rid of the excess hair. It itches when it gets hot and frequently makes it difficult to eat.
There’s shouting behind me, maybe one hundred yards away. My pulse instantly races. I strap the knife to my belt and pull out my shotgun. The pack is on my back and I’m moving through the woods a few seconds later.
It’s been weeks since I’ve seen anyone, bot or human. I have no problem with solitude, but I am curious. My instincts tell me I’m not going to run into any of those things out here so it must be other people.
They’ve taken care to hide themselves well. It took me at least two weeks just to hike into these mountains. I want to see who’s been as persistent as myself.
I can’t help every little noise my boots make as I close the distance between us, but I’m as quiet as possible. I can hear voices talking as I get closer. They seem relaxed. Comfortable. I wonder if I mistook laughter as shouting earlier. As I get closer I can hear them talking about what I assume is some kind of garden.
The idea interests me. A garden is something I would have never thought about.