by Shana Festa
With one final little peck on the lips, he turned and left the showroom with his brother. Meg and I pulled a couple chairs from the cubicles and sat next to the truck. I couldn't get behind calling the Armada an SUV. It was way too massive.
Meg sighed loudly, one of those sighs that wasn't just meant for breathing, but indicated there was something on her mind. I don't know how much longer I can do this," she confessed.
"What do you mean?"
"The constant state of panic, never having a sense of safety, always on the run. It's overwhelming. My heart is always racing, and I don't know. Whatever."
I sympathized with her. Regardless of the time on the boat, and the month on Sanibel, I felt the same way. "You know," I said, "we have to keep it together. I still have hope. I have to, because if I lose that hope, I'll stop trying. If I stop trying, Jake will too. I can't go through it again, Meg. Thinking he was dead almost broke me."
"So, what do you think it's like everywhere else?" She changed the subject, noticing me about to spiral into an abyss.
"I don't know," I said, a curios lilt to my voice. "Based on the little information we got from other survivor camps when we were on the island, it sounds like the power is still on nearly everywhere else."
"Do you think the storm is the reason we lost power?"
"Yeah, actually, I think when it went out during the hurricane that there were no crews sent out to restore the grid. At least that's what I hope."
We'd spoken with a camp just north of Bradenton and they still had power. Shortly after we arrived on Sanibel, we lost contact with them, and Seth told us it had been happening a lot. There was a big map of Florida pinned to the wall in the building the officers occupied. Colored tacks marked various locations of other survivor camps. Green meant they were still responsive, and red meant they'd gone dark and were presumed overrun. The Bradenton green tack had been replaced by a red one.
Jake and Vinny returned with the first load of fuel. I began pouring the precious liquid into the Armada's tank and ordered them to sit and relax while I transferred it. Daphne jumped up onto Jake's lap and nudged his hand with her nose, sneezing when she got a whiff of his gas-stained hands.
"How did it go?" I asked, not looking up from my task.
Vinny answered, "Only a few noticed us. We took them out so it would be clear for the next trip."
A few minutes later, they left for their second run, and my anxiety shot up to a ten again, as it did each time Jake left my line of sight. This time, Meg and I sat in silence waiting for them to return. When they did, Meg took over the task of transferring the gas. The boys looked a little worse for wear and eyed each other conspiratorially.
"Spill it," I insisted, standing with my hands on my hips to punctuate my authoritative demand.
They exchanged glances again, having one of those silent conversations that were starting to grate on my nerves.
Jake answered me. "Let's just say we got a lot more attention that time."
"We have a full tank, plus another twelve gallons. Let's just go," I said.
He looked dejected. "We can't. We need every drop we can get. Without knowing what condition the roads will be in, there's no telling how far a tank will get us. We'll be okay. We cleared the close ones."
"I'll come with you this time," I offered. "I can pump while you two play defense."
"No," he snapped at me. "And it's not up for discussion. So just drop it."
I flinched at his tone and looked away, trying to decide if I wanted to cry or throat punch him for barking at me. Meg and Vinny just looked between us, not wanting to get in the middle of whatever weird domestic spat we were about to have. For the sake of the group and Jake's balls—which I currently wanted to kick—I said nothing to him.
"Asshole!" I muttered under my breath as he walked away.
"Seriously," agreed Meg. Her validation of his being a dick actually helped lessen the rage I was feeling, and it dissipated altogether when we started giggling like schoolgirls.
This time, when they came back, they looked haggard. Vinny had blood splatter on his clothes and face, and his hands were covered in the dark, sticky, stuff. They only carried three plastic containers with them.
"Load it. We need to go, now," said Jake, the veins in his neck and forehead bulging.
"Do we even want to know?" I asked.
"No, but you'll find out if we don't get moving."
We closed the cargo door and got into the truck. I rummaged in my bag and handed Vinny a pack of wipes. He immediately went to work, scrubbing his hands clean of the goop and inspecting his fingers for open wounds. Finding none, he reopened the door and dropped the handful of dirty wipes to the ground.
Jake pressed the ignition button and the engine roared. I mean, really roared. I don't know if it was because we were inside the showroom or if it was normal, but this truck was loud. The sound startled us, and Vinny laughed.
"I love the sound of a V8," he said, curling his fists together with anticipation.
"Ah," I said, understanding that V8 was a type of engine. The only thing I knew about them was that they gave a car more power and sounded like a diesel with the low grumbling.
"Time to go," said Jake, looking through the rearview mirror and putting the gear shift in drive.
I turned to see what he was looking at and immediately wished I hadn't. The hall connecting the service area to the showroom was packed with zombies, and they were headed straight toward us.
Jake's foot punched the gas and I was flattened to my seat. The tires squealed on the linoleum, and I covered my face with my hands as we sped toward the huge plate-glass window. We shot through it, shattering the glass, and the truck suspended in air for a split second before the front tires met the sidewalk and we were jostled around from the bumpy exit. The momentum abruptly changed directions as the tail end landed and we bounced off the sidewalk and onto the flat pavement of the lot. Our bodies were thrown forward as Jake's foot slammed on the brake pedal and Meg and I found ourselves kissing the carpet.
"Seat-belts would probably be a good idea," she noted, and we helped each other up and back into our seats. I grabbed Daphne, who had rolled under the driver's seat, and put her back on my lap.
What looked like a never-ending horde of undead tumbled out of the broken window behind us. My husband hit the gas pedal again, and we started on the access road that ran parallel to 41.
Chapter 08: Are We There Yet?
Vinny was snickering in the front seat. "I've been dying to do that since I saw it in a movie. It looked awesome."
"I'm glad you got to live out your idiotic fantasy," quipped Meg, kicking the back of his seat and making him bounce forward.
"Hey!" He bellowed. "Cut the shit!"
Jake smiled, evidently getting a kick out of his siblings squabbling with each other. "Settle down, kids. Meg, stop kicking your brother. Don't make me turn this car around," he threatened, mocking every parent to ever take a road trip with their family. "I'll do it!"
"Are we there yet?" I joined in.
"No."
"How about now? Are we there yet?"
"Daaaaaaaaaad," whined Meg. "I have to pee."
"Then you should have gone before we left the house."
We continued on like that for a while. Daphne sat quietly on my lap, turning her head to each person as they spoke like she was a spectator at a tennis match.
"Keep your eyes open for someplace to stop and pickup supplies," Jake instructed us.
The access road ended after two miles, and we were forced to use the sidewalk and parking lots of the various strip malls that had popped up a few years back. We passed a Dunkin Donuts and my mouth watered just thinking of a hazelnut iced coffee with extra cream and a box of munchkins.
We pulled up to every convenience store we came across. Each had busted front windows and looked like they'd been looted already. I was torn over how I felt about the discovery. On one hand I was disappointed that the goods had already
been taken, but on the other hand I was excited at the thought that others had survived.
Turning off onto Colonial Boulevard, we headed east to connect with 75. The highway spanned the entire length of Florida and north into Georgia and beyond. Colonial was bumper to bumper, much like 41, but the sidewalk was clear and we had a straight shot to the highway without having to worry about obstructions.
Our luck ran out when we hit the on-ramp. A compact car was blocking the median.
"Dammit," snapped Jake.
"It looks clear other than that one, bro. Should we try ramming it?" Vinny asked.
"No," Jake replied, "I don't want to risk it."
"Think if we stick it in neutral we can push it out of the way? It looks like there's enough space to get it out of the median, and with the steep incline it should roll easily."
I watched their exchange, stunned by the suggestion.
"Didn't you learn anything from Meg's near-death experience?" I asked. "Jesus, it's like watching Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels. I don't know which one of you is dumb and which is dumber."
"We're out of options, babe. This is it."
"Okay, you're obviously dumber."
"Emma," said Jake, his tone implying he was all business, "get in the driver's seat. As soon as we're clear, pick us up. I'm guessing things may get hairy. Meg, keep your eyes peeled and your safety off."
"God, I hate this shit," I complained to Meg as I watched the Rossi men approach the tangled mess of cars, methodically checking inside windows and undercarriages for zombies.
They reached the small car that blocked our path and climbed over the hood. I inched the truck forward, trying to pay attention to anything approaching the driver's side of the car and also any indication the boys were in trouble. Jake opened the door, smart enough to check the backseat for lurkers, and whatever he did inside worked, because Vinny didn't even start pushing before the tires started to roll backwards. Once they both put their backs into it, the car built up some speed and fell into line with a crunch as the rear bumper impacted with the headlights of another car.
I'd forgotten to pay attention to the cars on my left, and when Daphne started to bark, I turned in my seat to find her standing on her hind legs, front paws on the ledge of the window and the snarling face of a female zombie staring back at her.
"Oh, shit!" I said and stepped on the gas. I considered beeping the horn to warn the others, but decided against ringing the dinner bell. The zombie got smaller in the rearview mirror as I got further away, and I was relieved when Jake and Vinny jumped in and closed the doors behind them.
Metal screeched when I passed the other car. Calling it a tight squeeze would be an understatement. Once clear, I was able to pass the rest of the stalled cars and get onto the highway.
Jake climbed over the center console, situating himself in the passenger seat beside me. Meg's head popped through the gap when I rolled to a stop on the grass off to the side.
"So many cars," she marveled.
The sight was mind blowing. The highway was a never-ending sea of vehicles that went on as far as the eye could see in either direction. On both sides, the grass gave way to dense foliage, overgrown by months of neglect. Pulling myself out of my reverie, I took my foot off the brake pedal and let the car coast along while the others continued to gawk at the captivating scenery.
"I always wondered where cars went to die," joked Vinny. "This must be it."
"Either that," said Jake, "or we missed one hell of a tailgate party."
* * *
If you've ever spent any length of time in rush-hour traffic, you've probably fantasized about breaking free from the pack and shooting past all those chumps sitting idle. I can tell you this: it isn't as liberating as one would think. In fact, it pretty much sucks ass. Without the benefit of flat asphalt beneath the tires, the ride is bumpy. Try to exert any speed, and you end up slamming your head against the roof of the car.
"Fuck my life," muttered Meg. "Are we there yet?"
"I think I'm going to be sick," I heard my brother-in-law say. Looking back at him through the rearview mirror, there was no question that he was dead serious. His face was a sickly shade of green and both hands were clamped over his mouth. I knew exactly what would happen if he threw up like that.
Jake picked up on it, too. "Stop the car. We don't want a replay of the Chili's night."
Vinny was out of the car before it had come to a complete stop and was on all fours, violently expelling his nutritious vending machine meal. After a few tenuous minutes, he returned to his seat and leaned his head back.
"I just want it on record that I hate this shit," he reported.
"Duly noted, bro," said Jake.
Meg leaned away from her brother and crinkled her nose. "Oh, God, you stink. Crack the windows."
I complied.
The Welcome Wagon was headed our way, and with an apologetic look back at Vinny, I began driving again. He answered the action with a miserable groan.
"Think anyone's broadcasting still?" Jake asked no one in particular while he hit buttons on the radio. The answer was no, and each time he progressed the numbers he was met with static. Finally frustrated, he slapped at the power button and turned it off. Three full passes through every AM and FM channel yielded the same results.
"There's something up ahead," I said, alerting the others to what looked like a military roadblock. Considering the state of decay surrounding it, I didn't hold out much confidence of being met by a group of soldiers; at least, not a group of breathing ones.
I slowed to five miles-per-hour and tried to find anything to bolster my hope. A zombie stepped from behind the line of trucks wearing the telltale green and gray tattered remains of an army uniform. As the sound of the truck got closer, more followed, some wearing the same uniform, and others dressed in civilian clothes.
Increasing speed again, I peeled my gaze away and looked forward, huffing in frustration. Even though I expected as much, I was still disappointed.
The only good thing to come from passing the roadblock was that the highway beyond it was significantly less congested and we were able to drive on the actual road. Even better, we could go a lot faster now that we didn't have to worry about getting a concussion from repeated hits to the head from bouncing around.
The monotonous drone of the tires cruising along the open road was something I hadn't heard in a long time. Who would have thought I'd miss something so innocuous? It was a liberating feeling.
"What does that sign say?" asked Jake, squinting to read a highway marker as we passed.
"Sarasota. Fruitville Road."
"Let's turn off there and find a place to stay the night. I don't want to have to sleep in the car."
Saying goodbye to the highway, I exited onto Fruitville Road. At first, the road was clear, but after a short distance it became difficult to navigate.
"Take a right," instructed Vinny. "That road looks passable."
We turned onto Honore Ave, a heavily wooded residential street with homes set back amidst the greenery. A long, winding driveway on the right came into view, and I turned in.
"What are you doing?" asked Jake.
"Seeing where this leads. You said we needed to find a place to stay, right? I didn't see any undead on the road, and this is set far enough back that we may get lucky."
At the end of the drive, two houses faced each other. One was large and palatial, the other small and quaint. I pulled to a stop in front of the smaller home, and noticed the others looking at me for an explanation.
"Less to clear," I answered.
Waiting in the car to see if our arrival would bring us any unwanted attention, we went over the plan for clearing the house. After fifteen minutes had passed without so much as a peep, we cracked the windows and left Daphne in the car. Ten seconds later, I went back and snatched up the barking dog, stuffing her into the carrier. Just because nothing had come a-knocking yet, didn't mean I was under any illusions that the area was
safe enough to leave her outside advertising our visit.
"Satisfied?" I hissed down at her. "Now zip it!"
Things were looking up for us it seemed. Not only was the front door unlocked, but the house was completely empty. The backyard was a slightly different story. Two undead were wading through the shallow end of the grimy pool—one very rotund woman in a swimsuit, and a man in regular clothes. My guess? The owner of this lovely house was taking a dip when the other one stumbled in. It wasn't worth opening the door to go outside, they couldn't get out of the pool, and I didn't feel like bothering with them.
"It's freezing in here," said Meg, rubbing her arms.
I stopped in mid stride and stood in utter disbelief. My family went on the defensive, misunderstanding my reaction for fear.
"What is it?" asked Jake, turning in a three-sixty to find the source of my attention. Seeing nothing, he looked at me expectantly.
"It's cold in here," I repeated.
"And?"
I turned to face him, my hands in the air to call attention to the room.
"Seriously?" I asked, getting annoyed with being the only one with half a brain cell left. "Listen. What do you hear?"
"He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sound."
"Air conditioning," he replied matter-of-factly. The light bulb went off, and his expression of disbelief mirrored mine. "Air conditioning! They have power!"
"Dibs on the shower!" shouted Vinny as he ran for the bathroom.
"Save some hot water for us," Meg said to his fleeing form.
The hum of a working refrigerator was quite possibly the most glorious thing I had ever heard. I pulled open the doors to reveal fully stocked shelves. I didn't trust much of what was in the fridge side, but the freezer turned out to be the Mecca of food. Neatly stacked packages of steak, chicken, and ground beef made me so happy that I almost cried. When I discovered the shelf full of Popsicles and ice cream, I went into crazy mode, giggling maniacally and grabbing for a container of chunky monkey.