Destiny Nowhere

by Matthew Hollis Damon

  I’m slightly touched by her words, and more bummed that my friends don’t want to go with me, but really everything hinges on Doyle, and I need to get to the fire station, whether or not these two are in.

  Marsha and Vance go out each morning to forage a house or two and clean up the zombies in our neighborhood.

  On the tenth morning of my captivity, I finally manage to wrench the metal spindle free that my foot cuff is locked to; nothing can stop the colossal strength of Sam Bland!

  I head downstairs, the handcuffs clinking against the steps as each step shoots mini heart attacks through my chest. I have no idea where Marsha hid the key; it’s probably on her keychain. After checking a few drawers, I decide that I just need to get out of there before they recapture me.

  I look around for a gun, and I can’t find one, so I grab the big chef knife out of the kitchen cutting block. It’s a lame weapon, and knives don’t work as easily as The Walking Dead, where they just jab zombie after zombie in the temple like their heads are made of butter. In real life, blades always get stuck. Anything you stab deep enough into flesh or bone gets stuck. And it’s not an insta-kill; sometimes you have to stab them a bunch of times. But it’s something, anyway, and mostly I just plan on dodging and weaving until I get to our truck.

  I’m out the back door within ten minutes of their departure. I wish I left them a note, but I know there wasn’t time because their morning excursions last about a half hour.

  I dash across the backyard into a hedgerow behind the shed. I feel naked, my eyes darting around everywhere. It’s getting cold out, so winter must be coming, and I didn’t bring a coat.

  I’m not even afraid of zombies now. There really aren’t any left in this neighborhood, thanks to Marsha’s morning runs. I’m afraid of Marsha seeing me. In my weakened state, they could drag me right back to the house. My injury won’t help me free Charisse, but I’m hoping for a brain-over-brawns rescue, and the most important thing is finding Doyle. Making my way through the backyards, I dart from hedge to shrub to bush, wincing with each step.

  I move through a copse of trees about the size of a block, then a farmer’s field, and then a parking lot for Costco.

  I know Costco has to be mobbed right now with either zombies or some kind of gang. Everyone formed gangs, even dweebs like Mav, and fuck-ups like Doyle. I don’t want to meet them, so I crab crawl across the field, staying in the tractor wheel trenches and cringing as the spiny dirt tread rakes across my chest.

  Over the highway, and back in Camillus, I’m safe again. I know I’m not actually safe. My chest burns and my heart explodes, so I begin thinking about the medical complications of leaving my hospital bed early.

  Still, I juggle my own stamina and strength and pain threshold, creeping through one ruined landscape after another. Everything looks “almost normal,” except for the burned-out house here, the wrecked car strewn across a road, and the occasional dead body.

  Kasson Road takes me to our abandoned rig, and I still haven’t seen a single zombie after crossing about a mile and a half of terrain!

  I grab ammo, an AR-15 semi-automatic, and a pistol. I also grab two knives, sheathing one on my belt. The other I strap to my calf upside down, under my pant leg, because this bullet wound taught me the value of having a concealed weapon.

  I’m too nervous to shoot the cuff off my ankle, but I shoot the chain off the handcuffs so all that’s left is a shiny steel ankle bracelet. Then I try to raise Doyle on a walkie-talkie.

  “Sam?” Doyle’s voice replies.

  “Doyle! Thank God. I’m headed to the base now.”

  “Roger that, Sam. I’ll see you there.”

  The trek is nerve wracking, and most of it is uphill. My heart feels like it’s dangling out of the bullet wound in my chest, and I’m having palpitations and shortness of breath. No one’s coming to save me; there’s no 911, no paramedics, just my badass will to live and save Charisse. Climbing fences is pure myocardial agony.

  I only saw one actual living zombie on the way, and I dodged him easily using the backyards. Most zombies stay on or near the roads, for some reason; very few of them are out strolling in the backyards.

  We’d hidden a key to the station underneath a rock in the sparse flower garden beside the fire truck lot at Howlett Hill. I grab the key, and a familiar voice says, “It’s ‘bout goddamn time you got here.”

  Doyle’s shit-eating grin feels better than being the next contestant on The Price is Right.

  Chapter 47: Then

  Our best medical volunteer turned out to be a doctor named Avipsa (Aveepsa). She was Indian, as in, from India, and her English was a broken pile of nearly unrecognizable gibberish. I literally made her repeat everything she said to me.

  “She needs her leg amputated. Can you do that?”

  “Eet veel be deevecult bot yez I con do eet.”

  (It will be difficult but yes I can do it).

  “What kind of tools do you need?”

  “Pen kellers. El kohol. A vety sarp sah. Lope. Lods ov vawter. Klen baneeges.”

  (Pain killers. Alcohol. A very sharp saw. Rope. Lots of water. Clean bandages).

  How did she even pass med school? How could anyone understand her? Where did she practice? Was she really a doctor or was she one of those ladies who drugged people and sold their kidneys on the black market?

  “You’re a medical doctor, right?” I pressed.

  “Yez, medeekal,” she said.

  I turned to Hasbro and muttered, “I know she meant rubbing alcohol, but we should bring some whiskey for Shea.”

  “Oh I got her covered,” he said. “She not gonna feel nothin’.”

  Within ten minutes, Hasbro had gotten his people to assemble Avipsa’s grocery list. During that time, he’d hand-picked the crew that would fight our way back Bruce Campbell-style.

  I was the only white guy on that team. I was so used to brown people at this point that I’d kind of forgotten I was white, or that race used to be this huge issue. I’d seen a total of four other white guys since I’d joined Hasbro’s group, but I hadn’t met them. And I didn’t care to. It didn’t matter that we shared pigment.

  Our plan was to exit through the back garage of the church, and then make our way through whatever the path of least resistance appeared to be. Hasbro and the others thought the best route was through a construction zone where the land had been razed for new building.

  We huddled quietly in the garage attached to the church, all of us armed with at least two guns and a knife. Our fear was palpable, and we were sweating it from our pores. Avipsa looked paralyzed, her eyes huge and wide and wishing she could be anywhere else.

  It was hard to distinguish where sounds were coming from on the other side of the door. Distant sirens or car alarms ringing. Maybe some shuffling, or it was just our nerves.

  “Okay,” Hasbro whispered. “Time to go.” He slowly lifted the garage, and it squealed so loudly the hinges must not have been oiled since Jesus rose from the dead. Hasbro held up his hand in the dim light of the candle we were using. “We gotta crawl out. I can’t risk opening this door and attracting their attention.”

  Chapter 48: Now

  “Doyle, I never thought I’d be so glad to see you!” I blurt. “Can’t believe you got away.”

  Doyle laughs. “You can’t believe I got away? How the fuck did your dumb ass escape? Those idiots didn’t notice the turret on the truck.”

  “No shit they didn’t.”

  “What took you so long? I’ve scouted the Infinity Mall, even been inside it. I just keep heading back here, tryin’ the radio, and no sign of you for two weeks. I’d given up on you, figured you chickened out or got killed.”

  I tell him how I got shot and recovered. “Look at my wound!” I proudly lift my shirt to snow him the knot of bandages strapping my chest.

  Doyle laughs from his belly. “My boy’s got scars to prove it! Alright, Sam. I’m proud of you.”

  It’s hilarious a guy like him
is proud of me for getting shot, but that’s Doyle for you, and I know that in actuality he’s proud of me for surviving.

  “So, did you see Charisse inside?”

  He laughs again. “Fuckin’ hell, kid. You just ain’t givin’ up on that little piece of ass. I don’t know if she’s there. They got the mall cleared out, and there’s at least a thousand people living there, maybe more.”

  “A thousand?” I’m stunned. “How’d that happen?”

  “No idea. But guess who’s running the show like his own private strip club?”

  “Mav,” I growl. “Why didn’t you just shoot that fuck?”

  “Oh I didn’t even get to see him or I woulda torn his throat out. I just talked to some of the folks there and got the run of things. Couldn’t stick around ‘cuz I was afraid someone would recognize me.”

  This put a damper on things. My plan had basically been to help Doyle get in and kill Mav, or at least get Charisse out. But it sounds like this would be a lot more complicated than I thought.

  Doyle can almost see my thoughts, and he claps a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. It’s easy enough to get in. And I know where Mav keeps the girls.”

  Chapter 49: Then

  Raeshawn scurried out from under the garage first, and I was close behind him. I could’ve waited, but the tension was too much. The minute he was clear, I scrambled under the garage door.

  My spine was still scraping along the garage door when Raeshawn screamed. I scurried out the rest of the way as more zombies descended on us and shot the zombie that was biting Rae’s head. That one dropped just as another grabbed me. Seconds before it bit me, I brought my gun up and unloaded in its heart.

  A strong, young guy named Eddie scurried out from under the door next.

  “Don’t come out, they’re everywhere,” I tried to warn him, but zombies fell on him and started biting him.

  Eddie’s screams filled the night, attracting more of them.

  Raeshawn stumbled away, clutching the side of his head, which was leaking blood all over his ear. Someone fired from inside and Eddie’s screams stopped then the garage door slammed shut with the most deafening finality. I was trapped out there with Raeshawn!

  He was squealing like a lobster in boiling water, and I shot at three more zombies. Two dead, one miss. Then I grabbed Rae and yanked him across the street into the darkness.

  A lot of the zombies were clawing at the garage door, but a good number followed us.

  “Aggghhh fuck, man, they got me,” Raeshawn said.

  “Come on,” I said, yanking him off balance as I dragged him in the other direction. “You’re still okay, right?”

  “Naw, man, I’m not okay,” he yelled.

  “Fuckin’ come on!” I yelled, pulling him as more of them lurched towards us. They were still twenty feet away, but his noise had brought the mob.

  We stumbled across an empty dirt lot, and I shot four zombies while Raeshawn blew up our spot with his yelling.

  This mission was fucked, and I wanted to shoot Raeshawn, but I needed him. The darkness ahead was terrifying, even though it was basically an empty construction lot.

  “Hey, man, get yourself together, we’re going to make it. All of us.”

  “I’m done, man, it fucking bit my head!” he yelled back.

  “Shut up, I need you!”

  “You fuckin’ need me!” he yelled. “I need to get back!”

  “For what? Doctor Avipsa to cut your head off and see if they can save your body? Get over it man, the door is closed, and you’re already fucked. Come on and help someone else out!”

  Rae was definitely doomed. Even if a cure appeared now, his infection had reached his brain. But some people have to sacrifice, and that’s how it had to be. I needed him. Ma’Sheea needed him.

  We fought our way across the construction lot, full of dirt and bulldozers. Not too many zombies creeping around here, and I was so alert I dispatched them all easily. I watched where I stepped, and where Raeshawn stepped, and before long, we reached the boulevard.

  I knew this stretch of road, I’d walked it before. It’s where I was when Ma’Sheea got bit. Arby’s was in our view across the road, and the gas station was down the street, beyond a copse of trees.

  “I think I can feel it inside me,” Raeshawn whispered. “It’s burning in my head…this fuckin’ poison. It wants me to turn.”

  “Just fight it,” I said. “You can fight it. Your body is full of white blood cells that want to destroy infection. So fuckin’ fight it.”

  I didn’t believe my own words at all, but I needed him with me.

  “Okay, man,” he said. “Okaay, I can do this.”

  It’s crazy when you know someone is going to die, and you give them false hope. I felt like a horrible person. But that dying man will grab onto anything, and I needed him.

  “Owww fuck!” Raeshawn yelled. Some inert body lying in the bushes grabbed him and started gnawing his ankle. He shot it in the head.

  “I’m goin’, man, I can feel it. I don’t wanna be one of them.” He tilted his head back, stuck his barrel under his chin and pulled the trigger in one quick motion before I knew what was happening.

  BOOM! Raeshawn’s body dropped to the ground.

  I stared in stunned awe.

  “Nnnnngh,” a voice said, choking on blood.

  It was him. Raeshawn reached weakly toward me. His mouth gurgled, but his body twitched, like he had missed the kill shot. He stared up at me confused and suffering. His life was slipping away, but not fast enough. What a mess. I couldn’t stop to care; the best I could give him was a quick end.

  I stepped up, his fingers spasmed against my shoe, and I shot him in the head, feeling somehow pissed at him for making me do that. I took his gun, clicked the safety on, and stuck it in my belt.

  Rounding the copse of trees, I saw the Hess parking lot. A few zombies wandered around between me and the doors. Not many. I knew what I had to do, and I felt like a machine right now. A killing machine. Blam. Blam. Blam. Methodically picking off zombies, I walked to the front windows, knocked and waved to my friends.

  Ezekiel’s face lit up as he waved, and I pointed around to the back entrance.

  “Come out back!” I shouted, wondering if they could hear me through the glass.

  I walked to the back door I had exited from an hour ago. Time didn’t exist, but it wasn’t too long ago that I was the one creeping out that door.

  Juan opened the door. “Get everybody ready,” I told him. “We need to take Ma’Sheea to the doctor at the church.”

  “We’re pretty much ready,” he said, ducking back inside and calling for everyone to saddle up.

  Ornell came through first, leading the frightened band of people in my charge. Ma’Sheea limped out, face pale, her arm around Seena for comfort.

  “Come with me,” I told her. “There’s a doctor at the church who can help you.”

  Ma’Sheea grimaced in pain, but then smiled at me like I was a hero.

  Chapter 50: Now

  Doyle takes me on his motorcycle from Camillus to Hiawatha Boulevard. I hold onto his waist, and it’s like riding a rollercoaster through gentle hills and dips as we cleave through the night. Shadowy figures lurch out of the darkness, into the headlights, and Doyle swerves a couple times to avoid them. Mostly the streets are empty, and I wonder where all the zombies went.

  As we pass beneath the 690 bridge, I get my first glimpse of the sickly green glow of Infinity USA Mall reflecting on the low clouds like some infected Emerald City. Doyle pulls to the shoulder just past the highway bridge, then turns off his headlight, plunging us into near blackness, except for the distant light pollution. I can’t see anything. We could be standing in the middle of a zombie convention for all I know.

  Doyle’s nonchalant when he steps off the bike; meanwhile I’m skittering around like Leslie Nielson, swinging my gun every which way.

  “Cut it out; you’re making me nervous,” he says.

&n
bsp; I feign a laugh, following Doyle down the road. The night is unfathomably dark, except the mall ahead. The empty road stretches ahead, crossing a bridge. Beyond that, the glow of the mall must attract every zombie in sight. I can see my breath in the crisp air, and I’m glad I grabbed a coat from the fire station.

  Doyle walks faster than me, so I jog to keep up with him. There’s no zombies anywhere, as far as I can see.

  “Where are their sentries?” I ask.

  “It don’t matter. They can see we’re human and ain’t gonna shoot us.”

  “Aren’t we trying to sneak up?”

  “Naw,” Doyle says.

  “Why won’t they shoot us?”

  Doyle barks a laugh. “They aren’t psychopaths. The sentries are just trying to kill zombies. Just act normal, man.”

  I’m trying to figure out what is normal anymore as we cross the river and see the entire mall rising into view like a fortress. The store signs are all dark, but the parking lot halides are glaring down upon thousands of empty parking spaces, and there’s no sign of even a single zombie. The place is like Mavmart times twenty, and we are two dudes without any women.

  “We don’t have any women,” I hiss, as if someone might hear me.

  “Seriously, Sam, it isn’t like that. They’re used to people coming and going. Act like a zombie and you’ll get shot. Otherwise, we’ll walk right in through Dick’s entrance.”

  “Like a couple of dicks!” I say.

  Doyle snuffles a laugh.

  But he’s right: we walk across the creek bridge, unhindered, then turn left into the parking lot and head straight up to the doors. There are four guards on duty, and one steps forward to confront us.

  Doyle shows him a badge of some kind clipped to his chest.

  “Good evening, sir,” the guard says.