A Bad Day (Book 1): A Bad Day

by DiMauro, Thomas

His first shot went right through the eye socket of the closest one sending it flying backward onto the pavement. The second one seemed to be struggling to gain a foothold and from the pair of bloody streaks trailing off into the distance behind the truck Turnello could see why. Both creatures had the worst case of road rash he had ever seen.

  In fact the one that tried to climb into the truck bed couldn't climb in because it no longer had any feet. They had been ground away along with part of its lower legs. Turnello's reflexive gagging at the sight caused his first shot to hit the thing in the shoulder but the second caught it above the ear and sent it sprawling to the ground.

  "Are you okay?" Turnello asked looking into the truck bed at the trembling mess that was Rajeev. He put his hand up and nodded his head in a way that wasn't clearly yes or no. "Do you want to come into the front? We don't have that much further to go." Raj shook his head. "Okay, I promise to take it easy the rest of the way," Turnello said patting the edge of the truck bed in lieu of Raj's arm. Raj nodded and pulled himself into more of a sitting position. Turnello got back in the truck and let out a big long sigh. He reached for the door and pulled it closed and then headed for home.

  After he pulled into his driveway he jumped out and grabbed a small bucket with water in it in his small yard. He splashed water on the tailgate blood smears left by the zombies trying to get it clean. He then lowered the tailgate and Raj pushed himself to the edge and swung his legs over but remained seated there.

  "What the hell is going on, sahib?" Raj asked. His voice sounded dry and raspy.

  "I'm not really sure," Turnello said but that wasn't completely true. He knew this was caused by the asteroid and if he thought about it he remembered groups of strange looking people chasing him in his dreams. He had assumed they were after him for his supplies or other resources but he quickly realized that was wrong.

  Those people in the dreams were warning him of the zombies he encountered today and if the dreams were any indication there would be more. A whole lot more. Considering the amount of trouble they had with just a couple, even a dozen could quickly overwhelm them if they were in the open. He supposed that if they were inside and surrounded by a group of them their fate would not be much better. There were a dozen different scenarios he could think of and none of them were good.

  They needed to clear an escape route from his place over the bridge and a little way north on the other side. That would ensure a speedy exit free of obstructions, once the time came. Planting a few small caches would probably not be a bad idea either. One or two on this side and one or two on the other side of the river. Something like that could really save your bacon under the right circumstances. Speaking of bacon he suddenly realized how hungry he was.

  "Come on, Raj. Let's get something to eat. We have a lot to do and we need to talk." He led Raj inside and pulled open the fridge. Things were still slightly cool but he knew in a short time all of this food would go bad. Time to gorge on whatever they could.

  He was sober for only two days and right now he wished to god that he had a case of beer, any beer. Even Pabst Blue Ribbon would do. He had no idea how he would stay sober through the apocalypse. They had to have beer at Raj's cousin's gas station. It was only a few miles away. Maybe they could make a quick beer run. Raj could run in, grab a case and run back out. Turnello would drive around in circles shooting at the zombies and distracting them. It could work.

  "Focus, goddammit. Focus," Turnello grumbled as he kicked the fridge shut and dumped an armload of food on the table. The noise made Raj jump.

  "What did you say?"

  "Nothing. Just talking to myself. I...we need to focus," he said as he spread out cheese and olives and pickles on a plate. He began to tear up bread. "We can make something later. I have some stuff in the freezer that we should probably cook up because it's going to spoil soon."

  "What is your name?"

  "Oh...ah...it's Turnello. Turnello D'Angelo."

  "Tur...Turnello?" he said with a furrowed brow concentrating fully on the pronunciation.

  "Yeah, I know it's a little weird. It was my mother's maiden name. She wanted to name me after her father but my dad thought Pietroantonio had too many syllables or something. So they settled on his last name instead."

  "Now I remember why I call you sahib," he said tossing an olive into his mouth. They ate for a few minutes in silence.

  "Listen, I'm sorry about the truck door thing. I'm not used to having passengers so I always keep that door locked."

  Raj put his hand up to stop him. "You saved my life. You tried to save all of our lives," his voice broke and he cleared his throat. "You didn't have to do any of that."

  Turnello's face flushed and he was at a loss for words. He didn't set out to save anyone except himself. He just did what felt right at the time and what a cluster fuck that turned out to be. Saving only one out of four was a terrible job.

  "I don't know what to do about my cousins," Raj continued, "My parents will kill me if anything bad happens to them." He put his head down and a hand across his forehead shading his eyes from Turnello's view. A few large tears fell from behind his hand and splattered on the table. Turnello put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

  "I have to check on something," Turnello said softly, "be right back." He went outside and paced a few minutes by his truck to give Raj some space and at the same time consider what their next move should be.

  He looked over to Olga's house and thought about whether or not he should tell her that her daughter was gone. What would he say to her? The truth seemed out of the question. His mind raced. He put off that decision for a while longer. When he returned Raj had composed himself but hadn't really touched any more of the food.

  "I am not feeling very hungry," Raj said.

  Turnello sighed, pulled up a chair and sat down facing Raj. "Listen, Raj, I need to ask you something and I need a straight up answer, okay?"

  "All right."

  "Do you want to live?"

  "Do I want--"

  "Do you want to live? Because I want to live. There was a time when that wasn't the case. A long time ago I lost someone who meant a lot to me and after they died I had no idea how I could go on. Somehow I managed. But it was more like going through the motions of living without really being there. Eventually, though, I managed to feel like I got my soul back and even be happy sometimes. I will be damned if I just let it all go without even really trying."

  Raj was silent and couldn't meet Turnello's gaze. They sat in silence for a while. Turnello picked at the food. He had been famished but the stress began to affect him.

  "What do you think we should do?" Raj asked breaking the tense silence.

  "There is a small town north and west of here I thought would make a good location to get to in case things here started to get really bad. The trouble is it's on the other side of the river and getting across that bridge might be a problem. So we will have to look and see if it's still possible to drive across. The other thing I think we should do is set up a few caches both around here and on the other side of the river just in case we get stuck somewhere and start to run out of food or ammo or whatever."

  "Okay."

  "Is there any way we could get gas and other supplies from the gas station?"

  "Yes, I have a hand pump that can get gas out of the tanks. It's a little slow but it works without electricity."

  "Good. Do you have any gas cans there? I only have a five gallon one here."

  "Yes, I believe we have a few small ones. One or two gallon."

  "What about food?"

  "We have mostly junk food. Candy. Soda. Chips. Beer."

  "Tomorrow we should take a trip over there and load up my truck with gas and any non-perishable food and then see if we can get over the bridge. We will get up at first light and get going."

  "Why would you not go now? It's only a few miles away?"

  "Well, there's probably only about two hours of daylight left and since we don't know w
hat we might run into, I don't want to chance getting caught in the dark."

  "Ah, yes, of course. No street lights. I am not used to thinking like this yet."

  "More than no street lights. No lights at all. Plus those things running around and who knows what else."

  Raj involuntarily shuddered at the frightening scene his imagination created.

  "Before we turn in for the night we should discuss a couple of things. First would be weapons. What do you know how to use?"

  "I am a man of peace, sahib. I have never used any kind of weapon," Raj replied in apologetic tone.

  "I'm a man of peace too, but everyone has the right to defend themselves," Turnello said.

  "I don't like guns."

  "I'm not asking you to like guns," he paused. "Raj, guns are a tool. Nothing more. We aren't doing this for shits and giggles. We are trying to save our own lives and thereby preserve what is left of humanity."

  "What is left of humanity?" Raj said looking bewildered and far away.

  A wave of intense sadness washed over Turnello as his own words sunk in. To preserve what is left of humanity. Was this grandiose? Perhaps it was, but for all he knew they really were just two of a handful left.

  How many had perished in the impact? How many had turned into what looked like zombies? How many more would die in the coming days and weeks from starvation, exposure, or disease?

  The fragility of the veneer of civilization astonished him. Yet we take it for granted because, being born into it, we have no other frame of reference. The paradigm shift required for this would be like waking up after a catastrophic accident being unable to move one's limbs. Impossible to imagine accurately beforehand and difficult to accept afterward.

  "Come on, Raj. Let's get some sleep. We need to get as much rest as we can. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

  Jim and the Road Queens - Early Evening Tue Sep 3

  Daylight began to fade as the sun, hidden behind steel gray storm clouds, made its way to the western horizon. Over the course of the entire afternoon Jim had only gone thirty nine and eight tenths miles. At least that was what the odometer said. He hadn't actually counted mile markers. He was slipping. Compared to how far he used to travel in a given amount of time that was pathetically slow. Given the current circumstances, however, he was extremely lucky. On foot that distance would have taken him three days.

  Beyond the horizon, still out of sight, was a large highway rest stop complete with all the amenities. At least that was what the signs said. However since the power was out, he doubted much would be available. What he did need was a safe place to stay for the night and this rest stop option seemed safer than exiting into an unknown town or sleeping on the highway itself.

  The trip, so far, astonished him. Though he had traveled this highway many times in the past it had always been at seven or eight times the speed. This time, driving an average of ten miles per hour, on highway sections that were mostly elevated, he had a bird's eye view of the destruction.

  The landscape looked like a dozen angry Godzillas had been let loose. In the more urban areas buildings had partly or completely collapsed. In a few cases there were entire structures that were mostly intact but leaning at strange, precarious angles. There was debris everywhere. Every street looked like a ticker tape parade had been down it. In the more rural locales the damage was less obvious but in one place deep fissures had opened to swallow whatever was above them.

  The highway itself was badly damaged in places with large cracks and pot holes. Often parts of the roadway had fallen off and a few times entire sections of the road had collapsed to the earth below. Because of this he had to backtrack and exit the highway and then get back on at the next exit.

  The rain that had been falling for hours made those side trips more harrowing because the river that the highway paralleled began to flood. When he came to the place where the roadway made a right turn and came to a bridge that crossed the river he thought for sure it would not be standing. To his amazement it was, although the road looked more like gravel than blacktop. He wondered if this was due to the fact the bridge was a suspension design that was capable of swaying under stress.

  There was a notable lack of people on the road though every few miles or so he did come across a car, most often abandoned. Sometimes there was a person or two in the car but he never stopped. He could not afford to take any chances. He supposed that was due to the time when this all went down most people were in their homes. He felt certain that many had died and then ones that hadn't could not or would not leave, at least not yet.

  The rain began to lighten to a drizzle. As they came close enough to see the rest stop buildings in the distance, Tiny, who sat in the passenger seat, began to growl. Jim narrowed his eyes and glanced at the dog. Then he tried to discern if anything was obviously amiss up ahead. Without binoculars, that verged on impossible. He slowed the car unsure what to do.

  He was starving and exhausted, yet his new found little friend seemed to be incredibly perceptive. Ignoring his unease would be stupid. He decided he would drive by and if it looked okay he could easily turn around and go back.

  As he came upon the rest stop a tractor trailer sat on the shoulder adjacent to the entrance. Though it wasn't entirely clear at first, he noticed a man at the cab end of the box with some kind of scope looking out on the highway. If he had any doubt before, Tiny's barking confirmed the man was not to be trusted.

  He drove by and scanned the parking area. He saw a few cars, twice as many trucks and a group of about twenty motorcycles. There was very little visible movement.

  He noticed only one or two other people. He continued to drive until he was out of sight and then pulled onto the shoulder. Tiny pawed at the door and Jim came around and let him out. He jumped to the ground and sniffed around, looking for a suitable place to do his business.

  "What about you, B.A.?" he asked as he pulled open the rear door. The German shepherd stepped out and stretched and then ran to a stand of trees and sniffed. Tiny followed after him. Jim stretched his back and legs and contemplated his options while he waited for the dogs to finish.

  He had a just under a quarter of a tank of gas. That could get him another forty or fifty miles, maybe more and then he could just abandon the car and continue along on foot. That would leave another forty or fifty miles to go and without any gear that would be a tough haul. He could go a farther down the road to the next exit and see if getting gas or food was a possibility. There was no guarantee that would work out but it did seem better than walking.

  He could simply come back to the rest stop and see what he could manage to get from there. Even if the gas pumps weren't working, with all those cars, there was a good chance he would be able to hitch a ride with someone.

  A deep thrum became audible in the distance and got louder and louder. His instinct was to get back into the car but when he looked around for the dogs they were gone.

  "Tiny," he called out, "B.A." No response. No sound at all from them. He began to feel panicked at the thought of losing them in the fading light. Just as quickly as they had come into his life, they were gone. Before he could even think of searching for them a group of motorcycles appeared on the horizon. They were driving full out with a sense of purpose like they were running from or to something. That something looked more and more like him.

  The sense of panic he felt at the dogs suddenly disappearing was now directed at what looked like a heap of trouble coming his way. He thought about running but there really wasn't much of anywhere to go. So he just closed the car doors on the passenger side and waited.

  They swarmed around him in seconds. Some coming around front to cut him off in case he tried to make a run for it. One on a dirt bike even drove off the road and right to the edge of the woods. They were mostly all middle aged and overweight with unkempt salt and pepper beards. They each wore the same black leather vest of some motorcycle club and worst of all they were heavily armed. Six of them got off their bike
s and approached him with weapons drawn.

  "Nice of you gentlemen to stop and help a fellow out," he said doing his best to hide the terror he felt while thinking he would never pull over near a rest stop in New Jersey ever again.

  "Gentlemen, my ass," said one of the men, drawing out the 's' in a mincing manner at odds with his motorcycle gang appearance.

  "At least this one is sorta good looking," said the man next to him in a nasal effeminate way as he tipped his head to the side and sized Jim up.

  "Shut the fuck up, Donner, and cuff him."

  "Don't yell at me, bitch, or I'm going to tell Vincent."

  "Or I'm going to tell Vincent," he mocked, "Cuff him, goddammit!" The other members of the group bristled uncomfortably and glanced at each other.

  Donner holstered his weapon, pulled out a pair of cuffs and walked over to Jim. For a brief moment Jim thought about trying for the man's gun and using him as a shield as he took out the rest of the group. It was something he had seen in movies but the reality of the situation was he would likely wind up shot in the head before he could do much. He had no choice but to go along with this and bide his time. When the man got close to cuff him Jim caught the whiff of shampoo and cologne and minty fresh breath.

  "Get in the car," the man said to Jim waving him over with muzzle of his gun, "Donner, you drive him back. We'll meet you there. The rest of you ladies follow me."

  As Jim moved to get in the car he caught a glance of the back of one of their leather vests. In the center it had a flaming skull with a tiara. Above which it said ROAD QUEENS and below it there was a MC and USA. Because of the cuffs, climbing into the car was an awkward process and he was forced to sit leaning forward somewhat so he didn't put a lot of pressure on his arms.

  "What about my bike?" Donner asked.

  "We can send someone back for it."

  "I don't want anyone touching my hog."

  "That's not what I heard, Donner. I hear you let everyone touch it." Everyone laughed and Donner's face became red and angry. He glared at the other men but said nothing. He came around the other side of the car and got in. He started the car and pulled onto the highway and then made a U-turn and headed back to the rest stop. The motorcycles zoomed past them.