After much grunting and shivering he toweled off and got dressed. By the time he was done Raj sat up on the couch and rubbed his eyes. The espresso maker's gurgling stopped signaling it was done.
"How did you sleep?" he asked.
"It was okay," he said sounding exhausted.
"Want some coffee?"
"Yes, that would be great."
Turnello half filled two mugs with the steaming black liquid and then quickly warmed up some of the milk he had left. He made two lattes, putting a little sugar in each, and handed one to Raj. He stared into his mug savoring the smell. This might be one of the last times he would have milk for a very long time.
It was sort of hard to fathom, the idea of stuff running out. The thing he held in his hand was a simple mug of coffee. Something millions of people, all over, start their day with, yet, each of the ingredients came from different parts of the world with thousands of people involved in producing, packaging and transporting them to within your reach. Take away any part of that equation and it disappeared.
That held true for almost everything in modern life. It's easier to see with the bigger things like gasoline or medicine, for example, but there are thousands of little things that make up our everyday lives that would be sorely missed. Without gasoline you could walk or ride a bike. Inconvenient certainly but, what about shoes, for instance? What would you do without shoes? Where would they be made if the giant factories in Asia were shut down? Were there any local cobblers still around? What would you do without plastic bags? Or toothbrushes?
This line of thinking would send him into a mental tailspin. It became overwhelming and completely outside of the realm of things he had control over. He had to stop it now. Distract himself. Find a small thing that needed to be done that would shift his focus.
"Help yourself to whatever food you like. I want to get some things together for our little excursion today."
Raj got up and began to rummage through his pantry looking for something that appealed to him. Turnello got his pistol and three magazines and made sure they were topped off. Then he field stripped the pistol and quickly cleaned it. After assembling it he dropped a round into the chamber, slid the slide home and put in a fresh magazine. The pistol went into the holster on his belt along with the two spare magazines into their carriers. Next he would load the shotgun and by the time that was done any thoughts he had about the grim reality they were facing receded into the background.
"So what is your plan for today?" Raj asked as he crunched on an apple.
"I wanted to see if the bridge was passable and if so I wanted to find a spot to cache some things in case we get stuck on the other side for some reason or have some sort of emergency on our way up to Cherry Ridge if we wind up going that way."
"Do you want to stop at the gas station?"
"Yeah, I would love to fill up a couple of gas cans and grab a cart full of food and drinks," Turnello said but imagined cases of beer.
"Okay, but what about my cousins?"
"I am hoping that with no one around they wandered off."
Raj seemed skeptical of that but he didn't want to press the issue because short of shooting them he really wasn't sure what to do either. That reality was a tough pill to swallow. "Okay, then after that what do we do?"
"Assuming that goes well, we try and get across the bridge and then head north a little way until we get to a spot that looks like a good place to bury or hide a small pile of stuff."
Raj gave him one of those little Indian head nods that always seemed somewhat obscure in meaning. It wasn't quite a yes or no. Maybe it was a maybe. "Since I have no other plan, except to go to my apartment and hide under my bed until this is over, I guess that sounds good."
Turnello laughed. "Well there's a vote of confidence if I ever heard one."
Raj shrugged and gave him one of those head nods again.
"Finish your breakfast. I'm going to load up the truck." Turnello downed the rest of his coffee and grabbed the shotgun on his way out. Figuring out what to put in the cache became a delicate balance. It had to be stuff he could afford to lose but at the same time, in case he ever needed it, it had to be useful and enough to make a difference.
He went into the storage shed and grabbed a large plastic storage tub he had been using to store winter clothes and dumped the contents into a plastic garbage bag. He cut open a case of MREs and dumped them into the tub and then arranged them in three piles. Then he grabbed two gallons of water and put those in as well.
A weapon would be an obvious choice to include but those were in limited supply and the only ones that would fit in the tub would be either of his pistols or the pistol grip shotgun. Giving up his pistols was out of the question and though he had initially intended to let Raj use the shotgun. He began to think that probably wasn't such a good idea anyway. So he went back in and grabbed a silicone impregnated gun sock and slid the shotgun into it. Then taking another plastic garbage bag he wrapped up the gun and put it in the tub.
What else could be useful? There wasn't a lot of room left. He had to choose wisely. A fleece jacket. A pair of socks. A knife. A lighter. A small first aid kit. A box of shells for the shotgun. A box of 9mm ammo. That was all he could fit in and all he could afford to give up. He found a spray can of matte black primer and did his best to dull the blue plastic with the paint he had left. He left it to dry and went back in to check on Raj who just came out of the bathroom.
"I borrowed a clean pair of socks from you," he said.
"No problem," Turnello said, "You ready to go?" Raj nodded. They went out to the storage shed and Raj helped him load the plastic tub into the truck along with a shovel for burying the tub if they could find no other place to conceal it. He found only one half full five gallon gas can. He poured the contents into the truck's tank and then placed it in the bed as well. When they got into the truck Turnello leaned over, opened the glove box and took out the Walther PPK he had put in there the other day.
"Look, Raj, I know you aren't comfortable with guns but I want you to hang onto this." Raj stared at it reluctantly. "Just put it in your pocket so you have it in case of an emergency." Raj took it from him, the weight of it causing his hand to drop to his lap, and put it in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He avoided Turnello's gaze.
They sat in silence for a moment and then Turnello took a deep breath and started the engine. He drove more slowly than he needed to taking in the landscape and sky. The wind told of a storm brewing. The strong gusts made the leaves of the trees quake and turn over. He felt strangely distant from the whole scene as if he were viewing it from some remote location.
They passed the bodies of the two zombies Turnello had killed the other day. The air was thick with the smell of decay that even the gusty wind couldn't alleviate for long. Crows pecked at them. Turnello looked away but Raj stared with fascinated horror.
As they got closer to the gas station, Turnello slowed the truck. There were several cars parked at the pumps. Two men were peering into the store through the glass doors while one of them pounded on the door with his fist. A couple in another car appeared to be arguing.
"Maybe we should stop for gas on the way back. I don't want to get involved in any kind of confrontation right now."
"Yes, that is probably smart," Raj said.
Turnello sped up and looked for a way to get onto the bridge.
Trapped on the bridge - Morning Wed Sep 4
There were too many cars blocking the entrance ramp to the bridge with no real way to get by them. Instead Turnello went around to the exit side and drove carefully down that ramp. It felt weird driving in the opposite direction traffic would normally flow but he forced himself to ignore that and instead pay attention to the roadway itself.
The portion of the bridge on land seemed to be in good enough shape but the bridge itself looked alarming. The eastern part leaned to the left while the western end leaned to the right. This beginning part of the roadway lacked a physical median, bein
g painted with white lines instead. Because of that he was able to drive to the other side of the road where he would be driving in the proper direction. Old habits died hard.
When he got onto the roadway of the bridge itself things changed. The road was in much rougher shape. He had to drive slowly to avoid pot holes, debris and other vehicles. The wind gusts were incredible and making the process of trying to get across the bridge even more unnerving.
In the distance, at the other end of the roadway, it looked as if there were at least two large highway maintenance trucks blocking the way. Perhaps it was on purpose or perhaps the bridge leaning caused them to roll into the road that way. He kept driving slowly until they reached the midway point where the roadway twisted in two different directions. Here it looked as if several large sections of the roadway had collapsed into the river below. Turnello stopped the truck.
"Raj, would you mind getting out and guiding me through this? It's tough to really see how bad the damage is from in here."
"Okay," Raj replied. When he opened the door a gust of wind whipped into the truck. Turnello looked up from the roadway and at the horizon. He saw a flash of lightning in the distance. A large rain drop hit the windshield sounding like a pebble. Raj walked in front of the truck and studied the ground surface carefully. He walked over to a few spots and got down on one knee and peered into them. Then he stood and began directing Turnello through a safe pathway around the more dangerous areas.
When they got past the worst of it Raj got back in the truck. He put his hand on the door handle and turned his gaze backward as he opened the door. He froze in place squinting at the roadway behind them. Turnello, noticing his gaze, looked into the rear view mirror. In it he saw six figures walking toward them with distinctive drunken gait.
"Oh no," Raj said.
"Shit, I'm getting the feeling this wasn't such a good idea." Raj got in the truck. A few more large drops struck the windshield hard. "We can't really speed by them on this roadway so I think we should get off this damn bridge and either turn around and go back on the other side or wait out the storm on the other bank of the river if the rain gets really bad." Raj nodded in agreement. His face looked grave.
Turnello drove as quickly as he dared to the point where the trucks appeared to be blocking the road. It became apparent, as they got close, the trucks had been put there on purpose to block traffic. But that didn't really make any sense. Blocking traffic on this end would mean people would drive onto the bridge and then be stuck with no way to turn around. He parked his truck about twenty-five yards away so they would have room to maneuver the maintenance trucks out of the way.
"Come on let's see if we can get one of these things out of the way," Turnello said as he got out. Raj followed. The wind whipped at their hair and clothes. "Have you ever driven a truck?"
"Actually I have," Raj replied, "Back in my country."
"Good, because I have no idea how."
"Do you think we should?"
"Well, unless you want to fight your way through those guys behind us," Turnello said peering over his shoulder to keep an eye on the steadily approaching group. Raj shook his head and then climb on board one. "Damn, why the hell did they park these things so close together?" Raj shrugged and hauled himself into the cab. After a short time the engine started. He rolled down the window.
"Would you guide me, please?" he called down to Turnello who gave him a thumbs up. The truck began to beep as he put in reverse and slowly backed up. Turnello watched the back of the truck and didn't notice the shuffling bodies that poured through the opening at the front. By the time he did perhaps a dozen or more made it through.
"Stop, stop," Turnello shouted. Raj jammed on the brake and gave him an inquisitive look for a brief moment until he realized what happened. He put the truck into gear just as a zombie had climb up the passenger's side of the truck and began smashing into the glass trying to get in. In his panic he jammed the accelerator down and crashed into the other truck.
Turnello drew his gun and began to fire into the group as they moved toward him more quickly than he had anticipated. Because of his panic he only managed to drop three with his first ten shots. He ran back toward his truck while he swapped out magazines. With the second magazine he had more luck and managed to double tap five in the head.
"Feel free to help out at any time," Turnello shouted to Raj who remained frozen in shock in the truck. The sound of the passenger window cracking jarred him out of it. He took the pistol out of his sweatshirt pocket and shot the thing point blank in the head sending it crashing to the pavement.
He jumped out of the truck and because the remaining zombies were focused on Turnello, Raj flanked them and shot the last four almost point blank in the head. Turnello swapped out magazines again as he got back to his pickup. Raj fired two shots and struck a zombie in the head that tried to squeeze around the back of the truck to get to them. It collapsed, jamming itself into the opening and blocked the way buying them a few seconds.
The locked back slide on Raj's gun told Turnello all he needed to know. Raj stared at the pistol in disbelief and then at Turnello with a look of panic. Some of the zombies on the other side of the trucks figured out that they could crawl underneath and once they began, others followed suit. Raj ran for the pickup and got in. Turnello turned the key and nothing happened. His heart hammered in his chest. He looked at Raj and turned the key again. Nothing. His mind raced and his mouth so dry that it burned.
There were dozens of zombies in front of them. Turnello jumped out of the truck.
"Run for it," he cried. Raj followed. Turnello tried to move and fire at the six that had come after them onto the bridge. Soon his magazine was empty but only three were down. He swapped out magazines again and turned to fire on the closest ones to buy time but when he pulled the trigger there was nothing but a click. He pulled the slide back on his Glock and peered into an empty chamber. His worst fear was confirmed. He was out of ammo.
Normally, carrying thirty rounds of ammo would be way into the realm of overkill but these times were anything but normal. They were officially screwed. Turnello looked at the damaged roadway near them and his eyes fell upon a depression in the blacktop. He holstered his pistol and ran for it not exactly sure what he was doing. Raj trailed close behind and when they got there Turnello knelt and looked over the edge of it hoping to find an opening into the bridge's understructure. Instead he saw an opening with a clear view of the river at least a hundred feet below.
He recoiled from the opening instinctively while getting a sinking feeling that started in his throat and ended with his balls. He looked up at Raj who stared at him wide eyed and blank. Looking around he tried to find a pathway out of this situation but they had inadvertently cornered themselves in.
He caught a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye and he turned just in time to see a zombie tackling Raj off the edge and into the river below. Several in a row followed completely unaware that they plummeted to their destruction. The choice was now between being torn apart and eaten alive or to end things on his own terms. The choice became clear.
He thought back to all the times as a teen he thought about ending his life. How ironic to be faced with this now. With hands and teeth and vicious hungry faces just steps away, and wanting to live now more than ever, Turnello took a deep breath and stepped off the edge.
He pressed his arms against his body and his legs tightly together with his toes pointed down. It took less than three seconds to hit the water. His life never flashed before his eyes. Instead his mind was completely empty.
The impact on the water was shockingly hard and loud. Then there was silence. It was nothing like he had ever experienced. If it weren't for the fact he felt wet he would have sworn he hit the ground. His feet, ankles, knees and spine all ached. His limbs seemed paralyzed. He couldn't move them at all. He could not breathe. He sank unimaginably deep. He sank into darkness. This is where it would end. He relaxed. Nothing to fight for an
ymore. Weightless with light above him he floated toward it.
Jim heads for home - Morning Wed Sep 4
Jim decided to head east for a few different reasons. First he figured if the Road Queens were coming after him they would most likely head north because they had found him heading in that direction. Second, he thought about what Harry said, about wishing he had a boat so he could avoid the whole mess. Heading home on the ocean there wouldn't likely be much to get in the way. At least he didn't think there would be. He liked that idea. He liked it a lot and so heading east toward the ocean seemed like a smart idea. "Borrowing" a boat seemed to be the fastest, simplest way to get home.
He glanced down at the sidecar and could see Tiny curled up on the floor fast asleep. He felt exhausted. He wished he could curl up somewhere and sleep too. B.A. sat there like it was the most natural thing in the world for a German shepherd to ride in a sidecar. He really seemed to be enjoying the wind in his face in that strange way dogs do. A pair of goggles and a scarf around his neck would have completed the image.
Considering all he had been through, these two canines always managed to bring a smile to his face. They eased the pain and loneliness in a way few things could and quite frankly he would probably be dead now if it weren't for them.
Looking up again at the road, the landscape ahead seemed peculiar. He let off the throttle and the motorcycle began to slow. As what he saw became clear, his stomach clenched into a knot and a wave of despair washed over him. Something very, very bad had happened here.
He brought the motorcycle to a stop, put his feet on the ground and turned off the engine. He stared at the scene ahead, incredulous. He felt fairly certain at this point the ocean should still be five to ten miles away. Yet what he saw could only have been caused by a tsunami.
A Bad Day Part 1 Page 11