Fallout

by Derek Shupert

  I lift the door and slip the brick underneath. Prone on my stomach, I peer outside.

  “Well? Are we screwed?”

  The coast looks clear. I don’t see any in or around the house. I can’t see off to the sides though, but figure with the noise the truck was making and me lifting up the door, if there are any lurking about, that would have drawn them in for sure.

  “I think we’re good.” I respond.

  I get back to my feet and lift the door. The wheels squeal as they race up the track and stop. I spot movement just ahead. Time to go.

  The door that leads into the garage from the house, pulsates violently, causing a lot of racket. The enraged creature on the other side continues its campaign to get through. Each dense crash against the obstacle causes me to cringe and flinch.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see numerous bodies barreling toward us from down his driveway. The door finally succumbs to the relentless aggression of our attacker and bursts open. The chaser stumbles down the few concrete steps and slams into the truck. Duke barks inside the cab. I keep the Remington shouldered and pick up the brick. I have to conserve my ammo.

  Moving around the bed of the truck to the driver’s side, I slam the brick into the side of the chaser’s head. Its deformed skull cracks from the impact as it topples over onto its side. It isn’t dead, just dazed. It stumbles aimlessly in circles with no particular direction to head.

  “Damn, bro,” Dawson exclaims as his eyes go wide. “That’s hardcore.”

  “Start the truck. There’s more coming!” I kick the brick out of the way and head around the front of the truck.

  “Ok, ok.” Dawson fires up the engine. His hands motion for me to hurry along. I swing the passenger side door open and hop inside the cab.

  “Dude, that was amazing. You totally creamed that thing’s head.”

  I give no reply as I peer into the side view mirror. I can see them charging this way. Their bodies have turned into some symbiotic creature full of rage and mindless aggression. It takes me a moment, but I recognize most of the faces within the horde.

  “No way,” I mutter. “Ms. Granger. Mr. Larkin. Danny Thompson!”

  “What are you rambling about, James?” Dawson glances into the rearview mirror and gasps. “Dude, my neighbors are chasers!”

  Dawson puts the truck into reverse and slams the gas. The engine revs up, but we do not move.

  “Why aren’t we moving!” I respond tersely.

  “I don’t know! Give me a second to think,” Dawson yells back in protest. He slaps the steering wheel. He glances down and reaches toward the floorboard. “Forgot the parking brake.”

  Multiple thuds resonate from the tailgate of the truck, sending both of our heads toward the back. There are three chasers staring right at us.

  Ms. Granger’s pale and wrinkled face is peppered with blood as her mouth chomps up and down. Mr. Larkin and Danny Thompson start around the back end of the truck, then down the sides.

  “Punch it, dude!” I urge as I move away from the door.

  Dawson releases the brake and hits the gas. Ms. Granger disappears under the truck as we roll over her body. We jet out of the garage, and onto his driveway. She clamors on the concrete floor with both legs broken and her body mangled. She twists her head in our direction and reaches for us.

  Mr. Larkin and Danny Thompson bolt out of the garage. Their arms claw at the air, mouths chomping up and down. Their eyes remain deadlocked on us. The chaser I smashed in the head gets to his feet and ambles after us as well.

  A chaser rams into my side of the truck. The impact sends a jolt of fear down my spine, causing me to tense up. It beats on my window with its bloody fists. It opens its hands and scrapes its fingernails down the glass as it looks at me.

  “Christ!” Dawson blurts out as he slams the brake.

  “Go, go, go!” I yell, motioning for him to hit the gas.

  Throwing it into drive, Dawson peels out in the gravel drive and heads toward the street. The back end of the truck fishtails, rocks firing from under the spinning tires like a machine gun.

  A handful of chasers rush headlong toward us from the street. The creatures are multiplying rapidly. They run right into the front of the truck without pause. Dawson keeps his foot mashed to the floor as the chasers quickly vanish from sight.

  “You might want to try to avoid hitting every single one of them. We don’t need the truck damaged to the point where it doesn’t run. Just a thought,” I offer as I glance back over my shoulder.

  “I’ll tell you what. Next time, I’ll politely ask them to move out of the way. How does that sound?” Dawson counters in a condescending tone.

  Dawson swerves and misses one chaser as we hit the two-lane street that runs along the front of his house. The truck gains traction and stops fishtailing. More of the creatures emerge from the wooded area to our left. They dash through the tall, swaying grass after us. The homes to our right show much of the same chaos, with the chasers in pursuit of any of Dawson’s neighbors that are trying to flee. There aren’t many, perhaps a handful who decided to brave it. Leaving his house and the chasers to fade off in the distance, we both exhale a sign of relief.

  I glance at Duke who is laying in the back seat with his head draped over his front paws.

  “You doing ok, boy?” I reach back and give his head a rub. He rises up to meet my hand. His coarse tongue gently licks my palm. He looks tired and worn out. I feel the same way.

  “Okay, so I figure the closest gas station is roughly twenty or so minutes up the road. If it looks clear, we can stop and fuel up,” Dawson mentions as he points straight out of the windshield.

  “And if it’s not? How far is the next one?” I pose.

  “Not sure, but I know it’s a ways away.” Dawson shrugs his shoulders.

  “Then let’s hope it’s not crawling with those things.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sitting there, watching the trees and displaced vehicles flash by, I run my fingers through Duke’s coat. All I can think about is Mom and Cindy, and how much I miss them. I know they made it to the cabin. They had to.

  Although, seeing all of the abandoned cars sprawled over the roads here, causes me to doubt they did. I try and not let it get to me, but it’s hard. If I could just hear their voices for a minute, or even a few seconds, then I think that would ease my mind some.

  “You ok?” Dawson inquires.

  “Yeah, just wishing I could get a hold of my mom.” My eyes won’t leave the screen of my phone as I cradle it in my palm.

  “Have you tried calling again?”

  “Not yet. The cell signal has been up and down for some reason the past day. Not sure what is going on.”

  I show Dawson the screen and point to the zero with a line through it. It suddenly changes to having a single bar of service available. Not sure if it’ll be enough to get through.

  “It’s probably because of all this mess going on,” Dawson replies as we pass a car with a few chasers trapped inside. They strike the dingy windows, their large eyes looming at us as we pass by. “Why don’t you try again? We’ll be at the gas station here shortly.”

  “Yeah, I guess it couldn’t hurt to try once more. I’m just getting tired of being let down. It’s wearing me out.” Reluctant, I pull up Mom’s number. A few bars of service appear on the screen. Hopefully, this time I’ll get through. Dialing her number, I say to myself, Please pickup, please pickup. It clicks, but doesn’t hang up. I’m connected.

  “Mom?” A feeling of joy surges through me and I sit up straight. “Mom, are you ok? How’s Cindy?”

  There’s no response. My phone dies. I lost the signal or something, but at least it connected.

  “Well?” Dawson inquires as he adjusts the temperature controls on the dash.

  “I got through this time, but she didn’t say anything. It could’ve been a bad connection or something, but at least it didn’t go directly to voicemail,” I respond.

  “Oh,
great,” Dawson mutters.

  “What’s wrong?” I look up from my phone and see the gas station ahead on my right. There are cars all over the place, blocking us from getting to the pumps. Looks like I’ll have to try Mom again later.

  Dawson stops the truck in the middle of the road. We both just stare at the congested parking lot before us without saying anything. I don’t see any movement, but the gas station is big. With all the cars scattered all over, it’s hard to get a good idea if it’s empty or not.

  “What do you think, James?” Dawson asks as he puts the truck into park.

  “Not sure, but I really don’t like the idea of leaving here without getting some gas and possibly coasting in on fumes to the next station. If we even make it that far,” I reply as I glance over at him.

  “How are we going to get the truck fueled up, then? I don’t see any way to get close to the pumps. And us trying to move these cars out of the way isn’t an option.” Dawson motions with his right hand, pointing out all of the deserted vehicles blocking our way.

  “Does your dad have a gas can or anything in the back?” I point back to the truck bed.

  Dawson’s lips purse together, brows slanted in as he strokes his chin. “No, I don’t think he does. Besides, do you know how long that would take running gas back and forth from the pump to the truck? That is, barring any run-ins with those things.”

  “Yeah, I know it’ll eat up some time, but we really don’t have a choice in the matter right now, do we?” I turn in my seat to face Dawson. He’s leaning forward now with both forearms resting on the steering wheel.

  “So, where are we going to find some gas cans at?” Dawson poses.

  I glance to my right toward all the cars and the gas station itself. It should have one or more, right?

  “So, we’re going to just go from car to car and search that building in hopes that there might be a gas can or two just lying around?” Dawson doesn’t seem to be on board with my plan. That much is evident from his large eyes and hand gestures.

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “All right, screw it. Let’s do it.” Dawson removes the keys from the ignition and slides out of the truck. I give Duke’s back one last good deep rub and pat his head. “You ready to get out for a bit and stretch those legs?”

  Looking up at me, Duke licks around his mouth and sits up. He hops up into the front of the cab and rests his body in my lap.

  I open my door, allowing the mid-afternoon breeze to blow into the cab. Duke stands up and leaps from my lap to the ground.

  “Stay close and don’t wander too far.”

  Sniffing the air, and trailing his nose along the road, Duke runs over to a small patch of grass to handle his business. I slip out of the cab with only the Remington slung over my shoulder.

  “No gas can back here,” Dawson informs from the bed of the truck. “And are we sure we want to walk through all of that?” he inquires one last time as he points to the jungle of abandoned cars.

  “Right now, the only thing I’m sure of is getting to that cabin by any means necessary,” I retort as my hand grips the strap to the Remington.

  “All right, bro, just thought I would ask one final time seeing that we’re more than likely going to get eaten alive. Remember when a chaser is cleaning the skin from your bones, that I told you so.” Dawson doesn’t crack a smile or anything suggesting he is being facetious. Even with the terse response, I know he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Regardless of how much he may despise my plan.

  “Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” I nudge him with my elbow.

  “Just keeping it real, James.” Dawson walks past, stern face and all.

  I remove the Remington from my shoulder and take the safety off. Dawson removes a handgun from behind his back and grips it with both hands.

  “I didn’t know you had a handgun?”

  “I don’t. This is my Dad’s. It’s a 9mm Berretta. He keeps it in his room next to his bed. I found it one day and so he showed me how to use it. I figured it would be better to have something a little smaller to carry around in case we get caught in tight quarters. I don’t plan on being made a meal by those things.” Dawson ejects the magazine and looks down over the ammo. He slaps it back in and cocks the gun then shoots me an irritated glance. “You ready to do this?”

  “I’m ready to get the gas and get out of here,” I respond. “Do you want to take the lead?”

  “I’ll let you take this one. I’ll get the next one.”

  I whistle for Duke who weaves in through the cars to my side. I give him a pat on the side and rub his head. “Stay close, boy.”

  He gives a good shake and trots ahead of me. His nose instinctively trains to the ground. I follow close behind him with Dawson bringing up the rear.

  As we pass the abandoned vehicles, I peer into each one, looking for anything of value. Right now, I’m more concerned with finding gas cans and stuff of that nature than anything else. So far, we’re coming up empty.

  Dawson stops and cracks open a door to a dingy white Nissan Altima. He leans inside and grabs a necklace that is hanging from the rear-view mirror.

  I pause and turn toward him. “What are you doing?”

  “You never know when we might need something to barter with out here,” Dawson retorts as he pushes the jewelry into his pant pocket.

  I roll my eyes and keep going.

  “What?” he asks with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “Nothing.”

  We finish going through the rest of the vehicles as we near the pumps. Dawson has managed to pilfer some not so useful items. I keep quiet and let him do whatever.

  “You know, I just noticed something, James.”

  “And what’s that?” I lift up a blue tarp from the bed of a gray truck and skim over the contents.

  “There’s a ton of cars here, and we haven’t seen a single body, dead or alive.”

  I lower the tarp, not finding anything of real use. “Maybe things got so congested here and they didn’t have time to wait for it to thin out and they left on foot. Who knows?”

  “Yeah, but it’s just kind of weird. Makes you wonder how long ago all this happened. The government must have moved quickly to keep the media quiet.” Dawson stops. He leans forward to probe the inside of a white sedan. He suddenly yelps and jumps back. Shaken, he trains his pistol at the chaser who has her face pressed against the window.

  “Don’t fire. She’s trapped inside and no threat. The sound could attract more that are close by,” I urge.

  “I really hate this,” Dawson mutters as he lowers the pistol to his side.

  Duke runs over to the store and sniffs around the front of the building. I check the pumps, which seem to be operational. The lights on all three are lit up, indicating they have power.

  “Okay. So, looks like we need to head inside the store,” I say, pointing over to where Duke is.

  Dawson doesn’t want to go inside. That much is certain from the concerned expression flooding his sweaty face. “Do we have to? I bet if we keep looking out here, we’ll come across a gas can or something.”

  I retrieve one of the handles from the pump and squeeze the silver handle. Nothing happens.

  “It’s not just the gas can. I think we have to turn on the pumps to get the gas.”

  Dawson points to the green hue of numbers.

  “The pumps are already on.”

  “I know they’re on, but it’s like when you get gas, you have to let the guy inside know what pump you want and how much. He then does whatever and sets the pump where you can start pumping the gas. Have you never seen your parents get gas before?” I ask while setting the handle back in its resting place.

  “Yeah, I have, but never paid attention to every single step the person was doing,” Dawson retorts. He removes one of the hoses from the pump station and squeezes the trigger, acting as though he doesn’t believe me.

  Nothing happens.

  He puts it back and gives me a look t
hat says it all. “You know, for once I would really like to catch a break,” Dawson croaks with a heavy sigh.

  “Hey, we’re alive, aren’t we?” I respond.

  “True, but taking risks like this may shorten our lifespan.”

  “Do you want to wait out here while Duke and I check out the store, or are you coming with us?” I point in the direction of the store.

  Dawson shudders at the thought of going inside the building. “No, I would rather be out here in the open than in there.”

  “Ok. Keep an eye out for any chasers, and look around for some gas cans while you’re at it. If you see anything, let me know, all right?” I start toward the building as Dawson agrees with a tilt of his head.

  “All right. Be careful in there.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I walk away from the pump, and head for the front door of the store. Duke’s nose is still trained to the ground, until he sees me. He rushes over to my side and rubs against my leg.

  I’m super nervous and scared, but I focus on what needs to be done. I take a deep breath. If I’m going to get to Mom and Cindy, I have to do this. That’s all that matters.

  I test the door. It budges, but barely. I continue to tug, but it doesn’t open. Guess it’s jammed? Who knows. Either way, we’re not going in through the front. Damn it.

  I sigh, and peer inside the dimly lit space. Most of the lights are out. Great. I press my face to the cool glass and try to look around to see if I can spot any movement.

  Most of the store looks to have been tossed. Food and other odds and ends cover the floors. The shelves appear to be bare, ransacked of anything edible.

  “Come on, boy. Let’s go around the side here, and see if we can get in.”

  We leave the front door and head to the right. Duke trots ahead of me and stops at the corner of the building, waiting for me to catch up. He’s not growling or giving any signs that a chaser or some stranger is lurking about, which stays my nerves.

  I cautiously poke my head out and take a look. The coast looks clear. We move on, keeping close to the wall. We make it around to the backside of the building and find a lone door.