The Longest Road (Book 1)

by Thompson, A. S.

  “You guys saw that right?” Collin asked, his voice shaking as much as his hands.

  It took Collin’s action for them to realize the magnitude of the situation. All hell was breaking loose. Something terrible, something sinister and completely unrealistic had turned their world upside down. Their family was killing each other. Tom had been right. These things, whatever they had become, were no longer their family. They would have to be taken out.

  Billy put his hand over Collin’s, lowering the gun. “Yeah, cuz. We all saw it.”

  “Guys, we have to keep moving, before more come,” Steve said, motioning toward the garage door.

  The coast was clear inside the garage, giving the cousins a chance to exchange their blunt instruments for the weapons on the shelves. They grabbed a couple crates of ammo and guns and tossed them inside the RV.

  “All right, guys, let’s form a perimeter. Make sure they are changed before you shoot,” Collin said, ordering the cousins to different locations.

  From down the street, more infected ran toward the Brason residence. Dozens of empty shells and casings covered the ground as the cousins unloaded on the incoming threats. Besides Collin, none had ever killed another human. The firefight lasted for what felt like an eternity until, out of nowhere, Tom burst through the side door of the garage.

  “Where is everyone?” he yelled.

  “They’re all dead, Uncle Tom. How about you?” Collin called back. But he took Tom’s solitude and lack of an answer to mean the worst.

  “Did you guys get the RV ready?”

  “Yeah, we grabbed what we could, but more started coming,” Steve said. “Are we going?"

  “All right, let’s pack it up. We are Oscar Mike.” The old military in Tom resurfaced. Everything about him changed.

  Collin shouted for the cousins to pile into the RV, then peeled off toward the driver’s door, taking out two incoming infected. He swung the door open and turned. Behind him, Tom had gone back for something, and what Collin saw made his heart drop.

  Coming through the side garage door, Alexandria staggered, white dress drenched in blood. She had not been changed, but was overwhelmed and crying hysterically.

  Halfway to the RV, Tom noticed her and made his way back. He was just steps away when she was tackled and bitten from behind by her mother.

  Tom skidded to a halt. “Lexi,” he said under his breath. There was nothing more he could do for her. Tom turned to run back, and Steve noticed the back door opening. It was in Tom’s blind-spot, leaving him oblivious to the threat. Steve yelled to his dad and tried to raise his gun, but his hands froze, locking in place.

  David knocked Tom to the ground. Luckily, Tom used his training to spin off the impact and brace himself for the fall. On the ground, David had a half mount, clawing and snapping his jaws at the veteran. From sheer panic, Steve stayed frozen, and time slowed all around him.

  Collin looked to Steve, then to Tom, then back at Steve. He ran back, grabbed Steve’s rifle, aimed it, and fired. The bullet tore through David’s skull, but it was a second too late. While trying to keep David’s mouth away from major areas, Tom sustained a bite to the wrist. The bullet woke Steve up, and he rushed toward his dad. Tom struggled to his feet and met Steve halfway.

  “Dad! Are you okay?” Steve asked, staring at his arm.

  “I’m fine, but he bit me on the wrist.”

  Steve stepped back in disbelief.

  “I need you to listen, Steve. Get in the RV with your cousins and go.”

  Steve reeled, his mind working faster than his mouth.

  “Don’t say anything, let me finish. Just start driving. I don’t know where you should go, but stay moving.”

  “You’re coming with us, right, Dad?” Steve asked, swallowing a dry throat. Tears formed in the pits of his eyes.

  “You know I can’t. Whatever this thing is, if you’re bit, you change.”

  “But Dad…”

  “I know it’s hard, son, but you have to go. I’m going to stay behind and see if I can save anyone else.”

  “No, Dad, maybe it doesn’t happen to everyone. Come with us. Maybe we can reverse it or something.”

  By now, Steve had rivers running down his cheeks. Even Tom fought back tears.

  “You have to go son, and now. Before more come!”

  “But, Dad,” Steve whimpered, stomach dropping with every second.

  “Go now, damnit!” Tom ordered, firing at an approaching infected.

  Steve threw his arms around his dad and squeezed tight. Words couldn’t do justice. Both felt the love and squeezed back tighter. All their fights over Steve’s future had been washed clean. All of their hurtful words, gone. Right now the only thing that mattered was love. Their last goodbye.

  “I love you so much, Dad!”

  “I love you, Stephen. I am so proud of you. I always will be. You are going to make a fantastic writer someday. Now go.”

  Steve was speechless as Mike jumped from the RV and pulled him back.

  “Mike, get your brother out of here.”

  Mike nodded, exchanged his own “I love you,” and asked no questions. As Steve was dragged back, he didn’t blink. He saw his dad run over to the counter and grab a loaded Springfield rifle and blast at everything.

  Collin shouted a lonely goodbye to his uncle and hopped in the driver’s seat. The RV peeled out of the driveway and onto the road. Steve’s eyes stayed glued to the window, until the house was out of sight.

  They weren’t sure of what was happening or what to do or where to go. But onward they went, not stopping for anything.

  They left a gruesome battle scene behind them.

  They left their family.

  They left home.

  A Band of Brothers

  April 1, 2009

  1425 hours

  “Steve! Wake up!” Mike shouted, shaking his brother. “Wake up!”

  It took a second, but Steve awoke, heart pounding through his ribs. Panic-stricken and completely disoriented, it took him a few seconds to realize he was now awake.

  “Dude, if you weren’t talking, I’d have thought you were having a stroke or something,” Mike said, shaking his limbs to mock his brother. “Your arms and legs were twitching like crazy.”

  It was all just a dream, Steve thought, reliving the dream-turned-nightmare. “What, what was I saying?”

  “Hell if I know. You weren’t making any sense. Just a bunch of random words likeDad, please don’t,andI’m sorry. The Thanksgiving dream, huh?” Mike asked unsympathetically. He searched his inner jacket pockets for something. “Well, that sucks. Time for me to light up a quick J and pass the fuck out. You’re on watch.”

  Mike was two years older than Steve, and until recent years had been the epitome of everything a big brother should be. His blue eyes, shaved head, and a thin scar over his right eye were his most prominent features. Growing up, his natural smarts had allowed him to spend more time skateboarding and surfing than studying. Mike could have made something of himself, especially after graduating summa cum laude in Chemistry from the University of California, Berkeley. Instead, he had become reclusive and had fallen victim to his own poor decisions, namely his dependence on marijuana.

  “All right, just give me a sec, will ya?” Steve said, grabbing his chest with one hand and wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with the other. He continued to breathe heavily even as his heart rate lowered. He rolled out of the bunk, but stood up too quickly. A rush of blood shot straight to his head, causing him to stumble. “Whoa,” he mumbled, grabbing the wall next to him and waiting for his balance to return.

  “You all right, lil’ bro?” Mike asked while fumbling for his lighter.

  “Yeah, just a little lightheaded. I’ll be fine. Hey, use an ashtray this time. I found burn marks all over the sheets.”

  Mike took a deep hit and held it in with a smile. Finally the tickle in his throat made him expel the smoke. “Who says that was me? I plead the fifth.”

&n
bsp; “Because no one else sleeps in the bunk. That doesn’t even make sense. Whatever,” Steve said dryly. After the dizziness passed, he staggered through Mike’s cloud of smoke and headed toward the front of the RV.

  Mike crawled into the bunk and saw Steve’s open journal with a short entry on today’s date. A picture of their family—Mike, Steve, Barbara, and Tom—was used as a bookmark. On the back, an inscription was written in black ink: “I Miss You.”

  Mike stared at it for a long time. His eyes began to gloss over, and the sound of sniffle prompted him to close the book and set it aside. He wiped his nose with his forearm, then kissed the cross he wore around his neck, and tucked it under his shirt. He gave his pillow a quick fluff and took multiple hits from his joint until he passed into a deep sleep. He didn’t use an ashtray.

  Steve slid the bathroom door shut behind him. He leaned on the sink, gripping the sides. Wearily, he grabbed a bottle of water from the counter and splashed a handful inhis face. Droplets of water flew everywhere, but he didn’t care. He stared at himself in the mirror.You’ve got to let go, man, he thought to himself. It wasn’t your fault.

  He shuddered at the memory, desperately trying to convince himself. He dried his face with a towel on the door and sat on the toilet lid.

  Steve was a young man, although through his older cousins’ eyes, he was a kid. He had a good athletic build, due in part to a healthy diet, consistent conditioning, and genetics. Most in the family agreed that Steve looked shockingly like his father, Tom.

  His calloused fingers rubbed over his hazel eyes, then swept through his light-brown wavy hair. He hadn’t cut it for a few months; life on the road had more pertinent issues than a well-groomed head of hair. He massaged a scar on his right shoulder, an old hunting wound that felt like the only connection he still had to his past life. The scar was a gift he had received from an amateur hunter’s buck shot five years ago. To this day, Steve still played off the injury, saying it wasn’t as serious as others made it out to be. But at the time, it was serious. Another few inches to the left and he could have died. The culprit fled the scene and Tom swore he would kill the man if he ever found him. He wasn’t joking.

  After a few minutes of sulking, Steve slid the door open and headed to the driver’s cab. Collin sat in the driver’s seat, staring at a map. The cabin was double the size of a normal SUV. The two enormous seats looked as if they belonged in the first class section of an airplane. The soft, cushioned leather made long-distance drives much more enjoyable and easier on the back.

  The RV hadn’t been properly cleaned in some time. A thick layer of mud and dust surrounded the parts of the windshield the wipers couldn’t extend to. Boxes of candy and cans of beer lay empty on the ground inside, undoubtedly the remains of Mike’s midnight munchies. Empty handgun magazines lay mixed in with the trash.

  Steve swept a bag of Sour Skittles and a box of Charleston Chews off the seat before sitting down.

  “Good, you’re here. Your dumb-ass brother was supposed to reload those,” Collin said, tossing some of the empty magazines from the dash into a pile on the ground. “I swear, if your brother put half as much effort into surviving as he does with his plants and getting stoned…”

  Steve could sense a long speech coming on, but was surprised when it ended a few seconds later.

  “Look, I can’t even imagine how much it hurt him when your mom, well, you know, left. But he’s got to move on. There’s coping, and then there’s outright dependency. For his sake and for all our sakes, he’s got to get his shit together—”

  “I know, I know,” Steve said holding up his hand in agreement. “I’ll talk to him. You just got to give him a little more time.”

  Collin was twenty-six and a veteran of the United States Marine Corp. Following Tom’s advice, Collin had enlisted at eighteen and served five years before calling it quits. He had enjoyed the military life, a life that had kept all 210 pounds of him in shape, but after multiple tours and months away, he had longed for stability. And he’d found it, before this all began—five months ago, he had a steady girlfriend and was working as a freelance specialist in the private military sector in Washington D.C.

  Steve still wondered why Collin kept a shaved head and cleanly shaven face in a world where looks meant less than nothing. Even his clothing was surprisingly clean, at least comparatively. He could only guess that it must have been a military thing.

  “Anyways, I can’t figure out where we are,” Collin said, shifting his eyes from the road to the map. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Slept okay, whatever,” Steve answered, grabbing the map. He scanned the paper and the road signs outside. In less than a minute, he found the answer. “That’s because you’re looking at a map of New Mexico still. We’re in Arizona now, it looks like.”

  “Your brother is useless,” Collin scowled. “Check the glove compartment or behind the seat, there’s got to be an Arizona map somewhere there. I think I remember grabbing one from the last gas station.”

  Throwing aside various maps of Texas and Oklahoma, Steve finally found it. The map read “Arizona: Welcome to our beautiful state.” Looking out at a lifeless sea of desert, Steve passionately shook his head in disagreement.

  “There,” Collin said, pointing out to a highway sign.

  Danton 50 mi.

  “Danton, Danton, Danton, where are you?” Steve mumbled to himself. He slid his finger across the map, finally stopping on a small circle on the bottom right. “Cully, Danton looks like a pretty small town. We should probably stop there.”

  Collin nervously looked down at the gas gauge, which was less than a quarter away from empty. “That’ll have to do, ‘cause we need to refill soon. Get hold of the other car and let them know,” he said despairingly.

  Steve reached up and pulled down the CB mic. “Hey, pick up. Hello? Hello? Is anybody there?”

  No response.

  “Maybe they broke down?” Steve asked, sounding hopeful.

  Collin checked his mirrors. Nothing but an empty road lay behind them. “Where the hell are they?” he asked.

  He applied light pressure to the brakes, expecting to turn around. Suddenly, a raised Ford F-150 with off-road tires launched off a dirt bank and landed on the highway twenty feet behind them. A thick layer of crusted mud lined the exterior of the truck. Sections of the black paint were scraped off from rocks and other off-road debris.

  Collin clutched the CB mic and scowled. “Where have you guys been? We’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “Sorry, Pop. Tha’ dirt back der was fuck’n sweet. You done see how much air we caught?” The driver answered in a hillbilly accent, completely ignoring Collin’s question.

  “That’s great, but I don’t give a shit,” Collin replied. “Listen up; we are going to stop at the next town, Danton. It’s about an hour away. Just stay on the highway. No more off-road detours, okay?”

  “Yessir!” the CB radio squawked before going silent.

  Collin set the transmitter back in its holster and shook his head. “If that group doesn’t get serious, they’re going to get themselves killed, or worse,” Collin said, gripping the steering wheel tighter out of frustration. “Mark my words; it’s going to cost them.”

  Steve propped his legs up on the dash. “Believe me, I know. Why can’t we just split up? They’re sloppy, reckless, and unpredictable. I mean, it’s not like one of them is the weak link. It’sallof them.They’re dead weight. We’d be so much better off.”

  “I wish,” Collin replied, massaging his temples. “The living need to stick together. No matter how bad the company. Plus, they have a generator. Last thing I want is to be stranded on the side of a road unable to pump up a flat or something.”

  Steve nodded and put on a pair of polarized sunglasses to shade his eyes from the bright desert sun. Neither liked the idea, but they were stuck with the other car, at least for the time being.

  For the next forty-three miles, Collin and Steve strategized, exchanging vari
ous scenarios. Steve plotted a course on the map with a pen, and double-checked it with Collin.

  Outside, the temperature was blistering. Vibrating lines from the desert heat rose from the scorched earth. The endless sea of Arizona desert was occupied by nothing more than sand dunes and scattered indigenous cacti. Nothing alive was visible, but as far as they could tell, nothing dead was lurking, either. Every few miles, they came across an abandoned vehicle on the side of the road. Most of them were vacant, except for an old station wagon. Sitting in the back left seat, the passenger’s skull was thrown through the window. Dried blood lines streamed down the door to a crusted puddle on the asphalt. The driver’s hand was laying on the dash, detached from its body. The cloth seats were stained a dark red.

  As Steve looked through the window, an infected female raised her head from the entrails of the driver’s body. Blood and guts dangled and dripped from her mouth as she stared back.

  Those eyes, Steve thought.

  Steve could only guess that the car’s occupants had been traveling survivors who tried nursing an infected friend back to health. But like everyone who’s bitten, that woman had turned; no amount of “I love you” or “Please don’t, it’s me!” or any other plea withthemwould change their blood-thirsty minds. They weren’t human, and any remnants of a soul vanished after they changed.

  Steve’s eyes left the gruesome sight and returned to the road ahead. There was nothing he could do for them, and any bullets would be a waste.

  As the RV passed, the woman in the station wagon looked back down and continued her lunch.

  ###

  Harry Jones, entrepreneur and real estate mogul, was a self-made multimillionaire and a true rags-to-riches story. He made the cover ofForbes twice. Somehow, he always found the direst communities in the Unites States and transformed them into hotspots and vacation destinations. He was famous for giving his invested cities a celebrity-style makeover, adding hotels, upscale restaurants, golf courses, and huge malls. Some critics and writers joked about his successes, saying, “Harry can see the future.”