The Longest Road (Book 1)

by Thompson, A. S.

  They had dodged a huge bullet.

  Seconds after they left, forty infected approached the loading dock, with dozens more behind. Had the cousins left a minute later, they would not have been able to plow through a crowd that size. They all knew it, but didn’t address the issue.

  Alex ripped open the boxes of candy and tossed them around. “Consolation prizes, heads up!”

  Collin and Steve exchanged exasperated glances as a bag of skittles hit the front glass.

  “My bad,” Alex chuckled.

  Billy opened up a bottle of whiskey and toasted to their successful evasion. He took a swig from the bottle and passed it around. Everyone couldn’t help but laugh. Ironic, how strangely comforting laughter was in hindsight of near-death situations.

  Alex was the first to speak up. “So guys, where we headin’ now?”

  “I vote for someplace cold,” Billy suggested.

  “No big cities, that’s for sure. It’s got to be either California, central coast, or north, into the Sierra Mountains,” Collin said.

  “It’s nothing but desert to California and we’d have to take main roads. We can head up north on back highways, check out the scene, and if we don’t like it, cut back to California. Plus, we’d avoid southern Cali,” Steve snickered, looking at a map of the US.

  “Hey, watch yourself, Steve. My Angels are from there!” Alex said, giving his cousin a dead arm.

  “I’m kidding, man. I got nothing against them. It’s just so damn crowded there and the people suck ass,” Steve responded, rubbing his arm. He knew that little comment would upset Alex. It was worth the momentary pain.

  “Okay. It’s settled. We head north, and if we don’t like it, then California sunshine, here we come,” Collin concluded.

  With that, Collin hopped on the next northbound highway. The cousins weren’t sure of their exact destination, but they didn’t care. They were alive.

  Sweet Tooth

  April 3, 2009

  1203 hours

  As a lifer in the military, Tom Brason could have gone on to become Sergeant Major in the Marines, but instead, he retired shortly after his wife, Barbara, died. To keep himself busy, Tom opened up Brason’s World, a nationwide chain of outdoor stores. With his connections, he not only got the latest gear, but at huge discounts.

  Tom spent his lavish income on everything from houses to traveling, but his most precious toy was his RV. He treated it like a third child. The forty-eight-foot recreational vehicle was powered by a gas-electric hybrid engine, funneling energy through solar panels on the roof, which also helped power the electrical system. Under ideal conditions, the RV could get around the same gas mileage as second-generation sedan hybrids.

  The interior looked like a small model home. A loft hung above the two bucket front seats, allowing room for two to sleep comfortably. Next came a full functioning kitchen with electric stoves and a small table bolted to the ground on the passenger side. Then came a bathroom, and a section of bunk beds across from it. A sliding door separated the last room, and opened to reveal a small home-theatre section that also doubled as a bedroom. If desired, a queen-sized bed could be folded down from the back. A forty-inch LCD TV hung in the back corner adjacent to a custom-fit L-shaped La-Z-Boy leather couch. For longer trips, Tom had installed a DVD rack and video game consoles.

  Life on the road was simple and routine. The cousins’ actions were like clockwork. Mike would wake up, smoke, eat, cultivate his plants, read random books, smoke some more, check out what everyone else was doing, drive when it was his turn, then repeat.

  Billy and Alex spent most of their time in the back playing video games and horsing around. Every so often they would do workout competitions, seeing who could do the most push-ups or sit-ups. After months on the road, workouts became less and less frequent. The only lifting they did was a bottle of alcohol to their mouths; their idea of cardio exercises was who could hold in the longest hit of pot.

  As the most responsible, Collin took the role of unofficial leader. For the most part, he enjoyed driving; it helped clear his mind. On occasion, he indulged in pot and drinking, but rarely. He stayed up front, always thinking, allowing his strategic mind to take over and calculate.

  Steve spent his time cleaning, checking, and maintaining their weapons and equipment, mainly because he knew Collin was preoccupied and the others simply didn’t care. When he wasn’t busy, he would drink and play games, but he really enjoyed writing, everything from funny stories to daily incidents.

  They were a tight knit family, surviving through routine, cooperation and understanding.

  Not including a few stops for bathroom breaks and stretching, the drive from Danton was uneventful. They rested during the days, especially in the desert, where the high temperatures could easily overheat their car. They went two days without a single encounter, until they reached El Sol, a small city fifty miles north of Flagstaff, Arizona. According to their map, it was supposed to be relatively small. It wasn’t.

  While navigating around the wreckage of the former commerce town, a group of two dozen rushed them. Lucky for them, the RV had a roof hatch, so Steve and Alex went topside and sniped the most immediate threats. Within minutes, they neutralized the threats and continued through El Sol.

  It was midday when they passed across the Arizona border into Utah. Mike, Steve, and Billy were asleep in the back, leaving Collin driving and Alex riding shotgun.

  Collin cast a nervous glance down at the fuel gauges. “We’re running low on gas.”

  “Don’t we have some in the containers in the back?” Alex asked.

  “No, I poured the last of it in yesterday when we stopped.”

  “Okay, give me a sec and I’ll check the map.”

  Alex unfolded a map of Utah and began to drag his finger over the southern section. “Any idea where we are?”

  “Good question. Well, we just got into Utah and I’m guessing somewhere in the middle.”

  Alex noticed a sign on the highway and slid his finger over the map, searching for it. “Aha! Here we are. We’re near Half Moon Lake.”

  “Okay, try to find something on this road, but small.”

  “No can do,” Alex said, throwing the map behind him. “This map’s scale is too big. It’s only showing main cities.”

  “Damn. Well, I guess we can’t be that picky. Keep an eye out for anything. We’ll have to stop soon. No more than an hour, two tops. After that, we’re walking,” Collin replied with a weary smile.

  After forty-five minutes, they both noticed the white lettered words on a weathered green sign on the shoulder of the highway:Fueling Station 10 mi.

  “Ten miles, Sweetie,” Alex said, petting the dashboard like a puppy. “Hang in there.”

  “You’re still calling the RV that?” Collin asked.

  “Hell yeah, I am,” Alex replied. “And don’t single me out. I might have thought of the name, but everyone else agreed on it.”

  After a month on the road, the chaos around them had begun to die down. Cities had fallen fast and people even faster. Hell on Earth had become a very depressing reality and the cousins had done their best to stay positive.

  One day, after coming back from a rest stop bathroom in the Appalachians, Alex had had an epiphany. In his eyes, the RV’s unwashed and beat-up exterior had looked surprisingly similar to the car Sweet Tooth in video gameTwisted Metal. Alex had brought the others outside to see for themselves, and they had all agreed without hesitation—everyone but Collin. From then on, the RV had become known as Sweet Tooth, or Sweetie.

  Collin laughed. “Yeah, everyone but me. But I tell you what, if we make it there, I’ll start calling it that, too.”

  Alex extended his hand for the bet. “Deal!”

  1220 hours

  A layer of mist gradually thickened as they drove up the lonely mountain road. Mean looking rain clouds took over the entire sky, but offered no precipitation. A massive river surged to the right of the road, until dropping off fifty fe
et down. The power of the water and beauty of the falls made it seem like a miniature Niagara Falls.

  Alex pushed his head to the window and the glass fogged with his breath. “Wow…” he muttered to himself.

  As they neared, they could see that Barrel City was, at best, a community; calling it a city was overly generous. A light dusting of snow covered the branches of the Douglas firs lining the road. To motorists, Barrel City offered four services: a fueling station, a mom-and-pop diner, an auto mechanic garage, and a cheap motel. The full-time citizens lived in a cluster of houses that fell in the shadows.

  Easily the largest and most profitable of the businesses, the fueling station sat near the end of the strip. It consisted of six lanes, each one long enough to fit two eighteen-wheelers end-to-end.

  “I think this is as good as it’s going to get,” Alex said with a shrug after checking the map.

  Collin made a quick pass to makesure all was safe, then made a U-turn. At first glance, the town, like most others, appeared to be desolate. Dozens of cars filled the road on both sides, some crashed, others presumably out of gas. Three big rigs and a pair of trucks sat unattended at the pumps. The diner window displayed a classicCLOSED sign, and the motel vacancy light was powered off.

  Alex went to wake up the other cousins and Collin took his foot off the gas and let the slope carry him back to the station. He turned off the main highway and parked the RV in an aisle of open pumps. A lone fuel truck sat in the next aisle over.

  Collin cut the engine and huddled the cousins around the kitchen table like a football team. “Okay, guys, I’m sure you’re tired, but you know the drill. Billy, you check the pumps to see if you can get anything working. If you need power, we’ll wheel out the generator as a last resort.”

  Billy yawned. “Yeah, yeah,” he replied.

  Alex lifted his rifle off from the gun rack and swung it over his shoulder. “I’ll cover Bill.”

  Collin bypassed Alex and pointed to Steve. “Okay, Steve you are up—”

  “On the roof,” Steve said, cracking his neck.

  “Of the overhang above us,” Collin finished with a slight grin. “I saw a ladder next to the pillar. I want you to have the best view for us.”

  “Oh, mixing things up are we, Cully?” Steve replied.

  After months on the road, Collin had become more and more predictable. Nine times out of ten, the others knew what he was going to say.

  Out of nowhere, Alex chimed in. “You’re saying you don’t want Steve on top of Sweetie?”

  “Yes, Alex, I don’t want him on top of Sweetie,” Collin answered, emphasizing the name. He knew that Alex just wanted to hear him start calling the RV by its adopted name. After all, he was the one who had made the terms of the bet.

  “So you’re finally coming around, huh?” Steve teased. “Finally gave in to the peer pressure?”

  “I mean, you have to admit, the RV does look like a longer, more modern version of Sweet Tooth,” Billy added, pumping his shotgun.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. From now on, the RV is Sweetie to me. Anyway, Mike, you and I are scouting and looking for anything useful,” Collin ordered, stressing the last word. “We’ll keep on com and report anything. If there’s danger, meet back here ASAP. Got it?”

  Steve grabbed his rifle off the wall mount and checked his ammo, and the others did likewise with their weapons of choice. Collin led them out the side door. Moving cautiously, they split up and followed their assignments.

  “No power, no gas,” Billy concluded after checking the last of the pumps.

  “Let’s check out the AMPM,” Alex joked, pointing to the gas station’s general shop.

  Billy and Alex took off and reached the station store. Alex stopped Billy from pulling the door open. “Look,” he said, pointing up to an entrance bell on the door. Billy nodded and opened it slowly to avoid the unnecessary ring. Inside, the lights were off, and a foul smell saturated the air.

  “Dead body for sure,” Alex whispered.

  “No way. It’s something else,” Billy rebutted, sniffing the air like a dog. “I say food.”

  They clicked on their flashlights, illuminating the store. Most of the supplies were gone; stolen or used, they couldn’t tell.

  Billy pointed his light to a section of rotting perishables. “Looks like someone is pouring the first drink,” he whispered back to Alex.

  They enjoyed playing games like that. It helped pass time and keep up morale. Previous ones had included “most kills in a day” and “kill of the week.” One time, Alex had bet that he could take out two infected with one bullet. During a routine supply run, he claimed to have accomplished it, but no one was present to confirm it. No one had believed him, but Billy had poured him a shot anyway.

  Alex scanned the room and pointed at the refrigerators in the back. “Good call. Remind me to check them for beer on our way back.”

  “Definitely. All right, keep an eye out,” Billy said. He led them through the store and into the back, stopping at doormarkedEmployees Only. He turned the handle, and then used the end of his shotgun to nudge it open. Brown wooden fences smeared with bloody handprints enclosed the store’s backyard. In front of them rested four bulky generators. The muddy grass squished under their boots as they trekked onward.

  Billy leaned his shotgun against the fence and bent down to inspect the generators. “Collin, you read me? We found the generators,” he called over the walkie. “Going to check the status and get back to you.”

  “Okay, Bill. I’m at the diner. Keep your eyes peeled. We still don’t know if it’s safe or not,” Collin responded.

  “Will do. Holler back in a few. Billy-out.”

  ###

  “Locked,” Collin said under his breath as he checked the front door of Helen’s House of Pancakes.

  From the outside, Helen’s diner looked like a classic mountain restaurant. Long, stacked logs gave the establishment a cozy log-cabin feel. The white paint over the logs was chipped and long overdue for a new coat. The neon-lit banner on the roof that displayed the diner’s name reminded Collin of the tacky “Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas” sign, only second-rate.

  “Don’t want to wake the neighbors,” he said, opting not to break the window; loud noises tended to attract unwanted attention. Instead, he wandered around the right side, passing through a trough of withered plants and pair of knocked-over mountain bikes. On the side of the diner, he found a door slightly ajar, a broken plate blocking it from closing all the way. He cocked the trigger back on his Colt, slowly pulled the door open, and kicked away the plate.

  As Collin entered, the door automatically closed, startling him.Hold yourself together, he thought, shaking off the nerves. He stepped forward and observed the restaurant.

  The blinds dangling over the frost bitten windows were closed, offering little light. Collin widened his eyes to adjust. Then he remembered his flashlight. He pulled it from his inner jacket pocket and clicked the LED on.

  “That’s better,” he said as the light exposed the diner, revealing an array of booths and seats. Pots, bowls, and broken plates made a mess of the floor. The strange scent reminded him of his grandmother’s house; not disgusting, but certainly not pleasant. He knelt and examined a set of muddy footprints that led away and into the back.

  Either a woman or child, and a few months old, Collin deduced from the size and dryness.

  He carefully navigated around the mess and followed the footprints. He stopped in front of a large stainless steel door and set the light on the counter in front. Using his free hand, he unlatched the door.

  It’s gotime, he thought, taking in multiple shallow breaths. In one fluid motion, he flung the steel door open and jumped back in a defensive position, weapon at the ready. The door creaked open and revealed a large walk-in refrigerator. In the back corner, a body sat curled in a seated fetal position. Whoever she was, she was already dead, by what appeared to have been natural causes.

  Shaken, Collin exhaled a sigh o
f relief and depressed the hammer on his Colt. He grabbed the light off the counter and walked in. The shelves were completely cleared out; nothing except the woman’s body occupied the chamber.

  Her body, it appeared, was incredibly malnourished; her stomach had been sucked into nothing, and most of her bones pressed against her skin, giving her a skeleton appearance. The cold temperatures strengthened the rigor mortis, but slowed the onset of decomposition. Even postmortem, her eyes held a frightened look, and her hands still grasped tightly to a kitchen knife. Seeing no apparent wounds or bites, Collin concluded she must have died of starvation or dehydration.

  Why did she trap herself in here? He thought. Then it clicked.Infected!

  He sprang up and held the transmit button on his radio.

  “I don’t like this, guys,” Collin announced over the open frequency. “I got a dead woman here and all signs point to undead.”

  “Yeah, I hear ya. I’m about three-quarters through the motel, and I got blood and shit all over the place,” Mike answered. “Well, not shit, but you know what I mean.”

  “No motion from up here,” Steve said. “But I have seen some broken windows and other signs of resistance.”

  Alex came on last. “Yeah, we have some dried blood here behind the store. And not to give you more bad news, but there’s no way to get the pumps back on without these generators, and they are drier than a seventy-year-old lady. Can we try to use some of our fuel?”

  “I thought about that,” Collin said, coming on next. “But it’s still assuming there’s fuel left. For all we know, we donate the last of our fuel only to find there’s none underground. Too risky. Here’s how we’ll play this one. Mike, I want you to check the cars on your way back to the RV— sorry, back to Sweetie. Bill, you guys check the tankers. Steve, keep your eyes peeled for anything. Let’s hurry this up, ’cause I don’t have a good feeling about Barrel City. Oh, and if anyone finds a map of Utah, grab it.”