She jabbed the rifle into the backseat, making contact with something. An eye? A nose? She couldn’t tell. The attacker hissed with each blow, but refused to let go.
The Chevy spun in circles, and she felt the contents of her stomach rushing upward into her esophagus. She needed to stop the car. She needed to find the brake. Her right foot found the pedal, and she stomped it hard. Then she whipped the rifle backwards one last time, as hard as she could. The butt-end of the gun connected with her attacker’s face, and she heard a sickening crunch.
One of the hands slipped off her neck, and she gasped for air. The blood rushed to her head in waves, and she fought the overwhelming urge to pass out.
The vehicle careened to a halt.
The figure in the backseat flew sideways, colliding with the passenger rear door. Delta sucked in short bursts of air, her neck aching. She threw the car into park, opened the door, and fell out of the car and onto the highway.
She aimed the rifle at the backdoor. The attacker thrashed against the interior, trying to get to her. One of its limbs smashed the dome light, and it tore at the seats. Finally it leapt into the front. When it located the open door, it stopped and stared out at Delta. Its red eyes blazed, and its mouth hung agape. She squeezed the trigger on the rifle.
Nothing.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
She swiveled the gun around, blocking her body with the butt end. The thing sprang at her, and suddenly its hot breath was against her face, its knees pinning her to the road. In the dim lighting, the thing was just a silhouette, but she saw a thick scar gleaming from its neck.
The thing clawed at her arm, breaking the skin. She pushed it back with the rifle, and when she’d gained clearance, she swung at its face. The first blow stunned it, and it fell backward. She sprang to her feet and began to pummel it with the rifle.
Before she knew it, she was screaming, bashing the weapon against its face.
She felt its face cave in, saw the eyes collapse into its sockets and the cheekbones shatter. She continued to beat into it until her arms were sore and the thing had lost any discernible features.
When she finally stopped, Delta was sobbing. The rifle clattered onto the highway, and she held her hands over her face.
Chapter 15
WHEN NOAH HEARD the gunshot from inside the Visitor’s Center, he bolted upright. He stared past the main room, down the corridor, but Sam and Kendall were nowhere in sight.
What the hell was going on?
Heart galloping, he felt for the driver’s side door handle and threw open the door. The last thing he wanted to do was leave the safety of the van, but his companions were in trouble.
He needed to help them.
He jumped out of the vehicle, his feet clapping the cement, and slammed the door shut behind him. He scanned the parking lot, but there was no sign of activity. The SUV was silent and still, holding vigil for an owner who might never return.
Noah raced across the walkway, the homemade shiv clenched in his hand. Despite being armed, he knew his weapon would be no match for a gun. He just hoped his companions were all right, and that he wouldn’t have to use it.
From what he could tell, the gunshot had originated from the men’s room. He sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him, keeping an eye on his surroundings.
The pavement felt foreign beneath his feet. It had been several hours—maybe more—since he’d gotten out of the van. His legs were stiff from lack of use, and his arms felt spongy from his post at the steering wheel.
As he stepped into the Visitor’s Center, he noticed some of the plastic trays—the ones containing tourist information—had been shattered, spilling into the corridor beyond. Dozens of colored pamphlets were scattered across the ground.
He stepped around the debris and made his way into the corridor.
He’d only gotten several steps when the men’s room door swung outward and crashed into the wall. Startled, he stopped short, raising his weapon in the air.
Sam and Kendall emerged in front of him, yelling and shouting.
“Noah! Back in the van!”
The two raced by him, tugging the sleeves of his shirt. Noah spun and followed them, his breathing ragged. He glanced behind him, but saw nothing but shadows.
Even so, he was sure they were running for a reason.
On the way back to the van, Noah noticed a jagged piece of plastic jutting out from beneath one of the flyers—a potential weapon. They could use all the help they could get. He bent down to pick it up, stepping on an opened newspaper.
The headline seemed to jump off the page.
Urgent Recall On Ground Beef Products Per FDA
Contaminated Food Not Safe For Consumption
Noah snapped up the paper, still running, and scanned the text underneath the caption. The tainted product had been discovered in several southwestern states, including New Mexico and Arizona. Beneath the feature article was another, smaller headline.
Santa Fe Couple Murdered Along I-40
He thought of the single tractor-trailer they had seen in White Mist. ‘All-American Beef’. His head started to spin, but he couldn’t figure out how it was all connected. He fumbled with the newspaper, attempting to stuff it into his pocket, but it fell to the ground. He had no time to retrieve it. He needed to press onward. His friends were already several steps ahead of him.
“Come on, Noah!” Kendall shouted.
Noah picked up speed toward the parking lot, stopping only when he’d reached the van.
Chapter 16
SAM FELT THE ROAD WHIZZ beneath them as the van careened out of the Visitor’s Center parking lot. His nose was still clogged with the scent of ammonia from the men’s room. It clung to his nostrils and burned the inside of his throat, and he struggled to breathe. He’d since replaced his t-shirt with one of Kendall’s, and discarded the previous garment that had been drenched in the businessman’s blood. Now he was trying to forget what had just transpired.
He was still in shock that he’d shot the creature in the men’s room—a living being, as real as the passengers in the seats around him.
Sam counted the miles they had driven since leaving his home. He calculated it to be about twenty or so. Though it had been only a couple hours, he felt White Mist becoming a memory, fading in and out with the passing lights over the highway.
Since he left the gas station, he’d been running on pure adrenaline, which had kept him alert and aware—albeit confused. He felt like his body had reached a breaking point, and was demanding a reprieve from the intense mental and physical exertion.
Sam closed his eyes. The streetlights seemed to pierce his eyelids, flashing images like Rorschach cards into his subconscious.
Once again, he was in White Mist, watching the man with the scar cling onto the gas pumps with dagger-like fingernails. Then he was back in the Visitor’s Center, watching the thing loom over him in the bathroom stall, flesh hanging from its mutilated face.
He shook his head, trying to clear the visions that resided there. He needed to preserve his strength for when they found help. Explaining the past few hours would be difficult. Who would believe what they’d witnessed, or what they’d been through?
He turned his mind instead to his wife and daughter. Karen and Chloe. He envisioned the last picture he had taken of them, just hours before the fire. It was the one he had chosen to give to the New Mexico Herald. The reporter had asked for a picture of the victims. The request came only a few minutes after they were pronounced dead.
Sam remembered his anger towards the reporter. Sending over a photograph seemed like an acknowledgement of what had happened. He hadn’t been ready. It had been too soon.
Although he fought the urge to relive that day, the memories came flooding back.
+++
“KAREN, ARE YOU ALMOST READY? This boat is going to leave without you!” Sam called through the front door. They weren’t really driving a boat, or even towing one, but he liked to joke
that their minivan was better equipped for water than the road.
“Coming, dear!” his wife called from somewhere inside—probably the bathroom.
“No problem—just lock up behind you!!” he called back.
Sam went around to the back of the vehicle, inspecting their luggage. He had packed it neatly, with bags and boxes carefully lined up like a jigsaw puzzle. Satisfied, he slammed the door shut and headed for the front.
Chloe smiled at him from the passenger seat.
“You going to make Mom ride in the back?” He laughed. He was flattered that she wanted to ride up front with him. Although she was twenty-four, in his head she was still his little girl.
“She’ll get over it.” Chloe shrugged.
Sam was sure his wife wouldn’t mind. She was one of the most easy-going people he had ever met. In fact, it surprised him how little they had argued over the years. Sometimes, he wondered whether she was keeping a list of everything he had done wrong, waiting to pull it out when she had finally had enough.
Sam surveyed White Mist, trying to suppress his anxieties about leaving it behind for a week. It would be the first time his family had travelled as a unit since purchasing the property. His cousin, Joe—one of the few people he fully trusted— had agreed to look after the store while they were gone. Still, he was uneasy.
Karen finally emerged from the trailer home, carrying a small handbag. Her long dark hair fell to shoulder-length across her back, and her tan arms flexed as she locked the door behind her. At forty-six, she was four years his junior, but she appeared even younger. Her body was in great shape. She sported some of the best legs he had ever seen: long and brown, a product of both consistent exercise and her Native American ancestry. He was surprised when she had agreed to marry him.
“The backseat, huh? I’ve been demoted!” She wrinkled her nose.
Sam pulled out of the parking lot. Although he didn’t know it at the time, it would be their last family trip.
+++
After driving for half a day, Sam, Karen, and Chloe had been exhausted. They had decided to spend the night in a motel in Oklahoma City. They had already driven halfway to their destination, and the place seemed as good a place as any to find cheap residence for the night.
The motel looked clean—or at least had the appearance of tidiness. Sam had definitely stayed in worse places in his younger years. He left Karen and Chloe in the minivan and paid the front clerk in cash.
“Checkout is at 11AM. The pool is in the back. You’ll need to sign in and use your key card to get inside,” the front desk clerk instructed.
The clerk was clean cut. His hair was parted to the side, and he was wearing a tucked in shirt and black pants. Behind him, a row of wooden knobs lined the wall with numbered key cards for each of the rooms. Sam noticed that only a few slots were empty.
“Thank you, sir!” Sam said. He replaced his wallet and tucked the key cards in his pocket.
“Excuse me,” a voice piped up from behind him. “You dropped your spare key.”
“Oh damn—I can’t lose that! I appreciate it!”
Sam bent down to pick it up.
Behind him, the Good Samaritan smiled. His bottom teeth were crooked, and his lips curved upwards over them, catching some of the flesh in his gums. A patch of freckles adorned his cheeks, and his hair was a mop of blond. His eyes seemed to protrude from their sockets.
Sam thanked him again and headed out the door, to where his wife and daughter were waiting. A rusty Ford Bronco sat behind them in the waiting area. It was dark outside, but the vehicle sat directly underneath the hotel’s overhead lights. He noticed the license plate: DMONROE. He supposed it belonged to the peculiar man inside.
David Monroe.
The man who would alter Sam’s life forever.
+++
The hotel room smelled of cleaning products and stale cigarettes, but everything seemed to be intact. Sam had secured a room with two double beds—one for him and his wife, and one for his daughter. He felt one of the mattresses, which seemed stiff and unyielding. They would only be there for one night. He supposed they could make do.
Chloe threw her suitcase on the bed closest to the window.
“I’ll take this one,” she said. “That way I can keep watch on the car.”
Sam laughed. “Come on, it’s not that bad, is it?”
“Nah, I’m just kidding, Dad. It’s fine! Once we get to Memphis, I’m sure I’ll forget all about it!”
The bulk of their vacation fund would be used on a hotel in downtown Tennessee. An avid Elvis Presley fan, his daughter had talked about visiting Graceland since she was a little girl. Although Sam had never been able to afford it during her childhood, he was glad they could finally fulfill her wish.
He looked at Chloe, who was still grinning. She had been looking forward to the trip for almost a year.
Karen walked in from outside. She was carrying a small cooler.
“Anyone want a drink?” she asked.
Sam accepted her offer, and retrieved a bottle of water from the cooler.
“So what should we do for dinner?”
Sam looked at the digital clock between the beds. 9:00 PM. It had been a long day. Chloe was already lying in bed. She had put her headphones in and was shaking her feet along to the music.
“Listen, I can run and pick something up. We should probably save our money. I’m sure we’ll be eating out a lot in Memphis,” Sam suggested.
“Are you sure?” His wife’s eyes beamed at him from across the room. “You’ve been driving this whole trip.”
“I’m sure,” he said. “Make sure you latch the door behind me. I’ll be back soon.”
Karen blew him a kiss, and he stared into her brown eyes for a few seconds before exiting. He felt a warm feeling come over him, as if all was right in the world.
When he returned, the hotel was engulfed in black smoke.
Chapter 17
SAM AWOKE TO THE FEELING of his body being thrown to the side.
“What the—?” he yelled.
“Sorry, Sam. Potholes. This stretch of road has been awful,” Noah explained from the front. “Were you asleep?”
“I must have been. Dammit. Not sure how I could’ve slept after all this.”
“Well, you definitely deserve some rest. You know, it’s the strangest thing. I don’t think I’ve seen a single car since the Visitor’s Center. I’ve been watching. It looks like the next exit is in eight miles.”
Sam rubbed his eyes. Ahead, I-40 offered more of the same Arizona scenery. Short, green shrubs flecked the brown landscape, with miles of straight road serving as a backdrop. He had been to the coasts before, and the highways were very different. There, one could find curves, hills, and a variety of settings.
Kendall sat in the front passenger seat. He held the baseball bat between his legs, wiping down the wood with a used napkin he must have found on the floor. Although Sam couldn’t see the results, he imagined the thin napkin was stained with pieces of the creature.
Lying next to Sam was the pistol he had taken from the dead businessman. He grabbed hold of it in the dark and twisted it in his hands. There were only two bullets left. He’d checked once they were clear of the Visitor’s Center. He wished they had had time to search the former owner’s pockets, or even the SUV that had been sitting in the parking lot, but the area hadn’t been safe.
The pistol was a Glock G23. At only a few pounds, it was easily concealed in a pair of pants, or suit jacket. Sam wondered what the man in the SUV had been doing before stopping at the rest area. Given that the man had been armed and in a vehicle sporting government plates, he could only imagine that he had been on some kind of official business. He pictured the black briefcases that had been stowed on the seats. Presumably, the men had all arrived in the same vehicle.
But what could have happened to them?
He glanced behind them, expecting to see a vehicle on their tail, but the road was empty.
&
nbsp; Sam knew they had been lucky enough to escape death twice in one night. It would be unwise to assume that their luck would continue. If they wanted to survive, they’d need to tread even more carefully than before.
“Those things must have all shown up in the same SUV,” Kendall piped up, as if reading his train of thought. “There were three briefcases inside it. But somehow, the guy in the stall was the only normal one. Those fuckers killed him.”
Kendall wiped his nose. Sam wondered if the kid’s initial bravery was starting to wear off.
“What troubles me most is how deserted everything seems,” Sam said quietly. “It’s as if everyone has disappeared.”
The three hung on that note in silence for a few minutes.
“All I know is that we need some heavy duty firepower. I’m not fucking around with bats anymore,” Kendall shook his head. “I don’t want to get close enough to fuck around with bats.”
“Keep your eyes peeled for the next stop,” Sam said.
The road conditions worsened, and the trailer took a few hard bumps. Sam hoped the thin trailer tires didn’t give out. He wasn’t sure if his companions were carrying a spare. He was afraid to ask.
Noah began to rub his eyes.
“Are you still ok to drive?” Sam asked him.
“Yea, I’m doing ok.”
“Just wanted to make sure. If you want, I can take over.”
“I’m used to driving long distances,” Noah said. “This is nothing.”
Kendall sat forward in the seat. “I’ve been trying to convince him the whole trip. He’s a road warrior.”
Noah opened his mouth, but then stopped short. His right foot flew upwards, transferring from gas pedal to brake, and the tires began to screech with resistance. Sam heard the couch sliding around in the trailer.
The van groaned with the pressure.
“Noah, what’s going on?” Kendall shouted.
Sam looked up. About fifty feet ahead of them, a car was parked sideways across the two lanes of the highway. Its headlights beamed across the median and into the opposite lane of traffic. Two figures were on the ground next to it.
The Last Days: Six Post-Apocalyptic Thrillers Page 101