“Shut the fuck up, Allison. Please. Shut the fuck up.”
She did. I felt bad. However, her voice was eating through me; frayed my nerve endings like scrapping a fork and knife on a dinner plate. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“You are not the only one who’s scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
Nevertheless, I was. I wanted my kids. I needed to protect them. I was scared for them. Not so much for me. I didn’t care what happened to me. Hadn’t in a while.
“We’re getting out of this, Alley. We’re going to snatch my kids,” which was how I’d now come to think of it, “and we’re outta here.”
“Out of here? Rochester? And where? Where are we going? I’ve seen zombie movies. I have. Once you get bit, or scratched, you become one.”
“That’s movies. We don’t know that’s what’s going on. Not for sure.” I didn’t even believe me. I still felt good saying it. That there was a chance. A way out.
“The city is infested, Chase. They’re everywhere.”
Not the expressways, I thought. By talking, she’d kept my mind sort of off the task of driving. I hadn’t noticed the other cars, until now. These might all be people who had no idea what was happening. Maybe coming home from work, or a movie, or from out of town.
And they don’t have their radio on.
No one listens to a radio anymore. Commercials suck. No. They Blue-tooth their phones, or IPods, or pay for commercial-free satellite service. They’re not hearing local news. They have no idea what they were headed toward.
Or they do. And they’re not headed home, but. . . west.
“Mexico.”
“Mexico, what?”
“It’s where we’re headed.”
“We’re going to drive to Mexico? Why in the hell are we going there?”
She must not have heard the broadcast back when we first left the 911 parking lot. “They don’t have the vaccination there. No one is sick.”
“Chase, look out!”
Three people stood in our lane, headlights freezing them in place. Like deer. I punched a fist onto the steering wheel. The horn blared.
I swerved.
A car in the center lane swerved. I heard its horn.
I missed the three people standing on the expressway. Fishtailed. I pulled on and spun the wheel, trying to correct the spin, to no avail. A tire blew—a loud pop and we crossed the center and far left lane into the median, the tires biting into the wet grass like teeth into flesh.
Smoke billowed from under the hood.
Shit.
I checked the rearview mirror. I must have banged my head. The bridge of my nose and just above my right eyebrow bled. “You okay, Allison? Alley?”
She sat back in the seat, looked asleep, if not for what resembled hair coloring washed off her scalp, dripping into her eyes . . .
“Alley? Alley?” I didn’t want to shake her. A small emergency medical bag was in the trunk. I climbed out of the car. Legs shook. I kept a hand on the roof, slid it along to steady myself as I made my way to the rear. If I didn’t have a concussion, I’d almost guarantee Allison did.
I could not see the creatures that caused the accident. They must have ambled off somewhere. Into the woods along the right lane? It didn’t matter. They were gone. For now.
I retrieved the red bag and hurried around to the passenger side. Pulled open Alley’s door. Her eyes were open. She stared straight ahead.
“Allison?” Folded hands in her lap did not move. “Alley?”
I unzipped the bag. Set it on the grass.
Something burned. Close. No mistaking the grainy scents of a house fire or fires. Everything crisping at once. Not just clapboard, but furniture, clothing. Plastics and carpeting. I looked up, around. It was too dark to see much, but could imagine billowing black clouds all around me, like smoke pillars holding up the sky.
“Allison?” I tried, again, put my hands on hers. Her head turned. She faced me. Her face streaked crimson in the yellow dome light. It was blood from the cut on her head. I shuddered just the same. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
Chapter Nine
I heard sirens before I saw the fast approaching police car. I squeezed Allison’s hand before I let go and stood up. Starting across the grass toward the road with both arms raised, I attempted to flag the officer down. “Hey,” I shouted. “Hey!”
It was R.P.D. The car slowed. The lights flashed, siren blared. Thank, God. I almost laughed. The expressway was well lit. Lampposts every so many feet on both sides of East and West bound traffic.
Things had gone out of control in the last hour. Seemed longer. Couldn’t have been though. Just so much happening. The sight of a police car, responding to someone in need, that was reassuring. I felt it. Things were going to go back to normal. Whatever all of … this was, it was over. Ending.
It’s what I thought. It’s how I felt. The smile had to show it.
But the cop? He didn’t stop. He slowed. Sure. He maneuvered his vehicle close to where I was on the grass. His windows up. Blood spilled from what looked like a bite wound on his cheek. We made eye contact. I saw him see me. I know I did, before his head faced front, eyes on the road, and before his foot must have stamped down hard on the accelerator. The engine whined in protest, but surged forward regardless. Instinctively, my middle finger sprang up, the fist shot forward. I am sure I called him an asshole, too. An asshole, or shithead or something. Right now, I can’t recall anything, anything other than the fact that the squad car’s siren must have acted like a fucking mating call.
Two of those things came out of the woods. They weren’t slow. No dragging feet, and lifeless limp arms like you see in zombie movies. Each of them looked alert. Crazed and ready to launch an attack.
I backed up a step. Another. The two approached the expressway. The shoulder.
I turned, ran for the car and as I reached the trunk, I heard brakes squealing. Something tha-thumped. I spun around. One of the two creatures was behind a stopped car. Not moving. Head smashed. The vehicle’s front windshield shattered.
The woman driving didn’t keep going. While I’d been mad at the cop for fleeing, I prayed this woman didn’t do something stupid. Prayers rarely get answered.
The car door opened. She jumped out of the car. “He came out of nowhere,” she said. “Out of nowhere!”
“Get back in your car,” I shouted. “Lady! Get back in your car!”
She stared at me like I spoke in tongues. Like my words made no sense to her. She was so desperate to plead her case, she turned instead to the monster’s companion. “He ran right in front of me,” I heard her saying.
I stood there. None of this really made sense. Nothing seemed real. It all just kept unfolding. Unraveling. The second thing just ran at her. It just darted into the road, around the front of the car, and tackled her.
The thunk had to be her head hitting the pavement.
“Chase.”
It pulled me away. Allison’s voice. Thankfully, I only saw the thing lower its head, mouth open, teeth bared – and I looked away before it bit into her face. “Alley,” I said, “we have to get out of here.”
The tire iron was in the trunk. Best thing I could think of as a weapon. For now. I removed it. It felt heavy in my hand, solid, it should suffice. It would have to. I didn’t feel like using it to change a flat tire. I didn’t like the idea of being out in the open, exposed. One of the three creatures was down and out. The other feasting on the motorist. Where was the third? Still in the woods?
I did a three-sixty of the area. There were more cars just stopped, crashed, or simply abandoned on and alongside the road. Don’t think I noticed it before. Not all of them. I’d been preoccupied with getting the hell away from 911. With getting Alley and myself to somewhere safe. With saving my ...
I dug a hand into my pocket. My phone. I had missed calls. A ton of texts. It had been on silent. Because of work. Even though getting to my kids was the goal, there
hadn’t been a second to call them. Not a fucking second.
There wasn’t now. No time at all. We weren’t safe here.
These things were so hungry. Just biting the shit out of people. Fucking zombies. I could hardly believe it. So much easier to refuse to believe it. The creature devouring the now dead woman proved otherwise. Proved beyond a reasonable doubt.
This shit was real. It was happening. We were in the middle of a zombie fucking apocalypse.
That professor, the guy I’d taken a call from, he’d said they’ll always be hungry. That we have to destroy the brain to stop them. Destroy the brain.
Could I do that? Could I. . .
“Chase!”
I turned to face Allison. The third zombie. Don’t know where it had come from. Hadn’t seen it emerge from the woods like the other two. Didn’t matter. It was right there. In front of me. Mere feet from Allison.
Feet.
I raised the tire iron and came at it. The thing never looked at me.
Not once. It was focused with tunnel vision. Allison was its planned dinner. When I brought down the iron, I gained the thing’s attention. With a cracked skull, flattened temple – it looked up.
“Now you see me, motherfucker?” I brought the iron down again. It crumpled to its knees. The thing’s hands still shot forward, fingertips brushing over Allison’s pants.
She screamed. Loud. Like it burned.
I smacked the thing in the head again, and once more. The skull was in halves. The third and fourth strike was crushing through brain.
Lifeless, the body sprawled on the grass.
“We need a car. One of these other cars,” I said, and smiled. An SUV was not far ahead, headlights on. Keys had to be in the ignition. “Grab the First Aid kit.”
She did not move.
“Allison, I am not fucking around. Grab the First Aid kit. We’re out of here.” I didn’t take her hand. I didn’t reach for the kit. Instead, I moved around the dead zombie and ran for the SUV.
She was either coming, or she wasn’t.
It was now that simple.
“Chase!” I didn’t turn around. Love was important. Getting to my kids, and surviving . . . essential.
I slowed when I reached the front of the SUV. Didn’t look like anyone was inside. I wasn’t just going to jump in, though.
A hand on my shoulder. I should have jumped. I knew the touch. “Be careful,” she said.
“Stand back,” I said, and did a walk-around, checking inside the windows. Vacant. I tried the driver side door. Unlocked.
I said, “Get in.”
Chapter Ten
The SUV cut across the median, surged back onto I-490. Thankfully, the streetlights made it seem like daytime. More and more vehicles clogged the road. Best I could guess, we’d get stuck on a shoulder not far ahead. All I could see were disabled cars. “We’re gonna need to get off the expressway. Take the main roads. We don’t, we’re going to get—”
My cell vibrated in my pants pocket. “Stuck. We’ll get stuck.”
“Chase?”
“My kids, Allison.” I used a knee to steer, shoved a hand into my pocket and pulled out the phone. A quick look at the screen: my daughter. “Hello? Char? Charlene?”
“Daddy?” I’d gotten both Charlene and Cash cells when their mother and I divorced; wanted direct access to my kids. Didn’t need Julie acting like she had more control over my kids than she actually did. She had no clue how lucky she was, how easy I’d let her have it. Always told her if we divorced, the kids were mine. Turned out I loved my kids more than that. They didn’t need courtroom custody hearings, being pulled and torn between choosing. Fuck her. Fuck her.
“Charlene! You okay? Where’s Cash? Where’s your brother?”
“Daddy, mom’s sick. Something’s wrong with mom. And Don too, they—they’re sick, really sick. I tried calling you. I kept calling you.” She was yelling. Crying. Sounded hysterical.
“Where are your Mom, and Donald? Where are you? I’m on my way there. Right now. Driving there right now. Where are they, Char?”
“Daddy? Dad?”
I looked at the phone. Still connected. “Char?”
“Watch it!” Allison reached for the steering wheel.
Instinct, I stamped the brakes, spun the wheel right, swerved around an accident scene, three cars, two bumper-to-bumper and the third t-boned. Shattered glass and a muffler covered two of three lanes. Dark . . . wetness clearly visible. Could be gas or oil. Could be anti-freeze. In all the vehicles, not one person. Not one body. Fire department wasn’t coming to cut anyone out, and flush the scene. Police weren’t going to issue tickets and call for a hook to clear the jam caused.
“You’re right. We have to get off the expressway,” Allison said.
“Charlene?” She wasn’t hearing me. I couldn’t hear her. I looked at the phone again. Call disconnected. I gave it to Allison. “Please, keep calling my daughter back.”
Once on I-390 North, I stayed in the far right lane. Took Exit 21, Lyell Avenue. And stopped.
“Phone’s dead,” Allison said.
“Keep trying.”
“There’s no signal.” She held the phone out.
“Alley, keep trying.”
“Keep trying what? There’s nothing. No signal. No bars. Nothing.”
I climbed out of the SUV.
“Where are you going, Chase?” Allison’s door opened. She stayed inside the vehicle. Couldn’t blame her. There was no way I was getting this thing off the expressway. Ramp was completely blocked.
Charlene had been screaming for me. For her Daddy.
I needed to move cars. I absently banged the tire iron against my thigh. I walked to the front of the SUV and surveyed as much as I could see.
Get the cars out of the way was one option. I liked the SUV, wanted to keep it. But it would take too long. We’d have to cautiously check each car for keys, creatures, and bodies, move ‘em, get back to the ramp, move another, and so on and so forth until a path was cleared. Then the SUV would have a shot. But for how far, for how long? Until the next roadblock. That was it. That’s what we could count on. This, the mess here, it was impassable. With the SUV, in the future, maybe we could take it up onto the shoulder, across a field, through some uncertain terrain. I know it would last longer, stand up stronger to challenges than a Focus, or some small, compact hybrid piece of shit.
We’d have to find another SUV later. My kids were in trouble. I had no doubt. My fucking ex and her husband were monsters, zombies and, apparently, Julie didn’t know enough not to attack and eat her fucking children.
“We have to move.” I waved Allison out of the SUV. I kept looking in all directions. Too many cars left abandoned without people. Where were the people, the zombies? They had to be close. “You know what? Hold on.”
I went to the rear of the SUV. “You have the First Aid kit?”
She held it up. “Right here.”
I opened the back door, lifted the false floor and fished around for the SUV’s tire iron. I handed it to Allison. “There ya go.”
She took it, held it; eyes snaked over it like it was filled with poison. “I don’t know, Chase. I’m not sure giving me this is going to make much of a difference. I don’t know that I could kill a person.”
“Allison, Alley, you see these things? You see anything that’s happened since we left work? While we were at work, honey? Anything?” I didn’t have time for this. At every turn, she was a problem. Uncertain, and wishy-washy. “Allison, take the fucking thing. And if I get into trouble, bash its head in. It’s pretty simple. You love me, right? A couple. I’d do anything for you. Hope you’d do anything for me. See how this is—how it looks? So if I’m in trouble, you see one of those things on me, maybe about to bite my throat off of my neck—what are you going to do?” I pointed at her. This wasn’t rhetorical. I didn’t want an answer, I expected one. We were definitely at a pivotal point in our relationship. “Dear?”
“Bash its
head in,” she said. Barely above a whisper. But I heard it. I heard her. I could be a dick about it, have her say it again, only louder. Didn’t matter. She’d said it.
“You better mean it, okay? That’s all I’m saying. You better mean it. One of those zombie’s gets anywhere near you, know what I’m doing? Honey, do you know what I’m going to do?” Again, I pointed at her.
“Bash its head in.”
I smiled. Snapped my fingers. “Now you got it. Now you get it.” I gave her a kiss, a quick hug. “We’re going to figure something out. I just need my kids,” I spoke softly. I knew, regardless, that I’d been a dick. “Okay? I need your help to get there, to get them. And then we’re out of here.”
“To Mexico?”
“Right. As of now, it’s what I’m thinking.”
“And we’re going to be okay?”
I squeezed her hand. “We have to be strong. Right now, we’ve got to be like, I don’t know, warriors. Can you do that?”
She nodded. “I can.”
“Us. Together,” I said, used the back of my hand to brush the tears off her cheeks.
“We got this. Let’s get your . . . What was that?”
I’d heard it. From off the shoulder. Something climbing up the sloped embankment. Street lights lit the road. Anything off the road was shrouded in darkness. Mostly.
I saw it. Them. Faces.
“Allison, run! Run, Allison!”
Chapter Eleven
The keys were in the ignition. It was no SUV, but the Chrysler at least looked like it had balls. Big tires and a solid frame. It was better than walking. Except, it didn’t start. Key turned; something spun and churned, but failed to connect. I need that something to kick over and the engine to rev into life.
“They’re getting closer.” Allison sat next to me, on her knees. She stared out windows—not just one, all of them—looking for zombies. Since ditching the SUV at the start of the expressway ramp, we’d been stuck, working to find a vehicle ahead of the disabled and abandoned cars that clogged the road leading toward Lyell Avenue.
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