The monstrosity that attacked me was climbing to its feet. I spied a broken wood pallet on the floor and pulled off a strip of the wood. Rusty nails sticking poked out of one end. I held the board like a baseball bat and charged at the beast. The plank whistled through the air as I swung. I made contact with the zombie’s shoulder and rounded back to gouge its chest. With each swipe, the nails snagged its flesh, slinging bits and pieces through the air.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jordan standing there looking as if he didn’t know what to do. I hoped he wasn’t losing it. He could take down a zombie like it was nothing, but if he allowed them to get in his head, he would be useless to us.
“Don’t just stand there Jordan!” I yelled. “Help us!” He looked back and forth as if awakening from a trance. Grabbing a commercial push broom that was leaning against a rack of boxes, he began hurling it at my zombie’s back like a pickaxe. It penetrated the monster’s back and pushed through the front of its chest, spraying black, gurgling sprays of blood into the air. Jordan raised the broom and struck it again and again until it fell onto the floor. We both turned toward Kyle. Kyle swung hard at the zombie’s face again, and it split open from the force of his fist. He shoved its body aside. “Grab the stuff and let’s go!” he yelled. He picked up his gun and grabbed a jug of water. I picked up another gallon and slung the jeans over my shoulder. We ran through the door and through the store. We boarded the bus and slammed the door closed. I looked down at my clothes. I was covered with rotting blood. Luckily the jeans were mostly clean. I moved to the back of the bus to change.
“Here,” Kyle said as he rummaged through his army backpack. He withdrew an olive-green t-shirt and threw it to me.
“Thanks,” I said.
Both Jordan and Kyle turned around as I undressed. I had zombie blood on my arms and legs. “Damn!” I said.
“What’s wrong?” Kyle asked, turning to look. Instantly, his face flushed red as he saw me standing there in my underwear. He turned back around. “Sorry, dude.”
“I’ve got zombie blood on my arm,” I said.
“I would, uh, check the first aid kit,” Jordan said. “Maybe there’s some, uh, some disinfectant.”
I grabbed the kit and opened it. Inside I found a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some gauze pads. I poured some alcohol onto a pad and wiped the blood off my arm and legs. I was lucky I had no broken skin. As long as I had no open wounds, I didn’t think the blood would infect me. “You okay, um dude?” Kyle asked with concern in his voice.
“Yeah,” I answered. “I don’t have any open cuts.” Relief washed over me, and I felt myself breathing again. I wadded up the bloody shorts and top I had taken off and threw them out the window of the bus. I pulled on the jeans and Kyle’s shirt. The clothes were a little big, but they worked. That was what mattered. I moved to the seat behind Kyle, and he looked up at me through the mirror above the driver’s console.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered, “but I’m not a dude.”
“Roger that,” he said, a renewed wave of red flushing across his cheeks. He looked down, and his reflected self smiled at the floor. “Let’s get moving,” Kyle said, his foot pushing down on the clutch. He shifted into first and pulled out of the lot.
“The interstate isn’t far,” Jordan said. “Go this way,” he directed.
We had just passed a sign indicating we were a mile from the interstate when the motor started missing, causing the bus to buck and jerk. “We can’t be out of gas,” I said. We just put some in.”
“It’s not the gas,” Kyle said. Something’s wrong with the engine. We’ve overheated,” he said, looking at the instrument panel. I looked over the steering console and saw steam coming from under the hood as Kyle steered off the shoulder, and we rolled to a stop.
Jordan cursed. “Now what can we do?”
“We’ll look for another vehicle or a shelter,” Kyle said calmly. “Grab what you can
carry.”
Reluctantly, we packed the water jugs into the duffle bags with the food. I also stuffed the first aid kit into my pack. We lifted our loads and stepped off the bus.
“Stay in the middle of the street,” Kyle advised. “That way we’ll see them coming.”
Fortunately, we were in a neighborhood, and the houses were set back from the road. There was room to run if need be. We started walking in the direction of the interstate. Ahead, I saw a child’s wagon abandoned in a yard. “I’m going to get that,” I said. I dropped my load and ran over to get the wagon. I pulled it into the street and stacked my bags on it. “You can put some of yours on too,” I said.
Kyle and Jordan loaded some of their loads onto the wagon. “We can take turns pulling it,” I said. “That way we’ll conserve our energy.”
“Good thinking,” Kyle said.
I felt myself smiling, but I turned away and stared at nothing in particular, feigning interest in anything but how Kyle’s compliment made me feel.
“What is it?” Jordan asked. “What are you looking at?”
I suddenly realized, with absolute terror that standing a few yards in front of me was a lingerie shop. “It’s nothing,” I answered, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I just thought I saw something move. Let’s get going.”
We continued walking down the street. By midday, my feet were starting to hurt. We had made it to the interstate. Unfortunately, we hadn’t found a viable means of transportation. “How far do you suppose we’ve walked?” I asked Kyle.
“I’d say about five miles,” he answered.
We weren’t making good time, and I worried we may not find shelter or another vehicle by nightfall.
“There’s an exit up ahead,” Jordan pointed out. Some distance away, a large blue sign indicated there were some businesses off the ramp to the right. Gas station and hospital symbols appeared in reflective white across the bottom. “Maybe we could stop there.”
It would be great to have a break. We continued on, and about thirty minutes later, we found ourselves at a truck stop about half a mile from the exit ramp. We approached it with caution. It looked promising because there were several abandoned vehicles parked outside. We moved to the door and looked through the glass. There were people inside! Kyle pulled at the door. It was locked. A burly, rough-looking man came toward the door. He looked us over cautiously. “Any of you sick?” he asked through the glass.
“No,” Kyle answered. “Nobody’s infected. Can we come in?”
Chapter 8
The man unlatched the door, opened it, and stood back to allow us inside. I pulled the wagon inside as well. He closed the door behind us, locking it back. “What are you doing out there?” he asked. “Are you crazy?”
“We were trying to make it to the safe zone,” Kyle said. “We broke down in Ransdell, and we’ve walked from there.” “Safe zone?” the man asked.
“Yeah,” Kyle said. “The military has set up a safe zone to the west of here. I estimate it is less than two hours from here.”
“My name’s Darrell,” the man said, extending his huge hand.
Kyle shook his hand. “I’m Kyle, this is Casey and Jordan,” he said, gesturing toward the both of us.
“Come on in and rest,” Darrell invited. “You’re welcome to stay here if you want.
We’re hoping for a rescue soon. We’ve got plenty of supplies, and the building is secure,” he said. He led us into a large dining area where about twenty other people sat around tables watching us. Off to the side of the dining area were a gift shop and a convenience store that were disturbingly quiet.
I looked around at all the glass windows and questioned just how ‘secure’ the place was.
“Can’t the zombies break those windows?” I whispered to Jordan. He cast me an uneasy glance.
“Enough of them probably could,” he whispered back.
Kyle shot us an annoyed look. “Don’t talk like that. You’ll upset these people,” he said quietly.
“Oh my gosh!” I said. I took a drink from the carbonated beverage. “This is amazing.” It was the best thing I had ever tasted.
“You have electricity?” Kyle asked, looking hopeful.
“Yes,” one of the women said. “We use it to power the refrigerators only.”
“There’s a propane generator in the garage,” Darrell explained. “We’ve been conserving it by only using it for the refrigerator to keep our food supply cold.
A garage! They had a garage. Maybe we could get one of those abandoned vehicles outside running. Kyle could probably fix one for us. I smiled at him, and he smiled back, probably thinking the same thing. “Is one of you a mechanic?” Kyle asked.
“No,” Darrell responded. “The owner and his two technicians were killed.” His eyes grew serious. “They were friends of mine.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I offered.
Another woman entered the room from the kitchen, carrying a tray of sandwiches. From the size of her very swollen belly, it looked like she would be giving birth soon. “That’s my wife, Susan,” Darrell said. He got up, took the tray from her and ushered her to a seat. “Here, let me get that,” he said. “You don’t need to be on your feet so much.” It was cute watching such a big, somewhat intimidating looking man so thoughtfully doting on his wife.
“I’ve got to do something to keep busy,” Susan protested as she sat down.
“Yes, but if you keep on moving around, you’ll start having contractions again,” Darrell
warned.
“They were just Braxton-Hicks contractions,” Susan said, looking at us. “Nothing to worry about.”
Darrell set the tray he carried onto an empty table. “Have a seat,” he said, inviting us to take a sandwich. We sat down and ate. It was a tasty chicken salad with grapes and pecans in it. I couldn’t believe how good it was. But then, anything other than beans was good. Darrell sat down near us and waited patiently for us to finish. I could tell he had questions for us.
“Where did you come from?” he asked.
“We were in Ft. Wayne,” I said. “We had been staying in my high school building there when we found Kyle.”
“We left there to find the safe zone,” Kyle added.
“Tell me more about that,” Darrell said.
“Just before I lost communications with my unit,” he explained, “Our orders were to pull out to a safe zone in the western part of the state. It was supposed to be outside the area that was contaminated by the gas cloud.”
“Gas cloud?” one of the women asked.
“You haven’t heard?” Jordan asked. There were blank looks around the tables.
Obviously, they didn’t know.
“There was an explosion at the army depot. They had chemical and biological weapons there. A gas cloud carrying a genetically engineered virus caused the infections,” Kyle explained.
Nobody spoke for a moment, apparently letting the meaning of Kyle’s words settle in. “I knew it!” an old man blurted out. “You can’t trust the government. This is all part of their plan to take over.”
“Settle down Mr. Jenkins,” Darrell said to him as he grabbed a newspaper and handed it to the old man. “Here, read today’s news.”
“Wait,” I said. “You have today’s newspaper?”
Darrell leaned closer to us and lowered his voice. “No. It’s an outdated paper, but old man Jenkins won’t know any different even though he’s read it every day. He’s not all there,” he winked.
Sure enough, the old man took the paper, stopped ranting, and started reading. I let out a snicker, and Jordan poked me in the side. I bit my lip to control myself. I thought about the homeless man back at Carver and wondered if he was still ranting about rich men, their tricks and cahoots with religious figures. He and Mr. Jenkins would probably get along well. It wouldn’t be polite to laugh about it, but it felt good to actually find something funny. It had been a long time since I felt like laughing. Sitting and talking with the people settled my nerves. Kyle and Jordan looked less stressed too.
“So,” Kyle said, looking at Darrell. “Is there a CB radio anywhere around here?”
Darrell scratched his face and thought for a minute. “There’s a broken down rig in the garage. It has one, but it won’t work. We tried it.”
“Let’s take a look at it,” Kyle said. “I’m handy with electronics. I might be able to get it working.”
“That would be great!” Jordan said.
Darrell took us through a rear door and into a hallway that went past some shower rooms and into the garage area. The service station was larger than a typical garage, as it was designed to accommodate big rigs. Skylights overhead allowed enough daylight in to see well. There were four bays. Three were empty, and the fourth bay held the truck part of a semi.
“There she is,” Darrell said. “Have at it.”
Kyle climbed up, opened the door, and stepped into the cab. His head disappeared for a few minutes. I peered in and could see he was turning the ignition key. There was no sound in response to his effort to start the truck, and he turned to work with the radio. He loosened some wingnuts on each side and eventually freed the radio from the dashboard. He climbed back out, holding the unit in his hand. “I think it probably didn’t work because the truck battery seems to be dead,” he said. “I should be able to fix it though.”
“Are there any good batteries here?” he asked Darrell.
Darrell shook his head. “No, we tried them.”
Kyle carried the radio over to the long workbench that lined the back wall. He grabbed a Phillips head screwdriver and began loosening the screws that held the cover on the back of the radio. Shortly, he had the back panel off and was examining the circuitry inside. He looked around the workbench and then grabbed a drill that sat nearby. He began taking it apart. “What are you doing?” I asked, curious.
“I’m going to take the power cord off this drill and wire it into the radio. We should be able to plug it into the wall outlet and get it going,” he said as he removed the cord from the tool. He began stripping the vinyl coating off the cord, exposing two thin twists of copper wire.
“Is that safe?” Jordan asked.
“Not really,” he said, “but it’s worth the risk.” He smiled mischievously. He caught my eye and held my gaze.
Again, I felt my face warming, and I looked away. Now wasn’t the time for something like feelings to get in the way of our mission. I turned my attention to looking through the various tools on the workbench while Kyle worked. He began searching through boxes of electrical equipment on a shelf and withdrew something. “What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a DC adapter,” he said, attaching the device to the radio. He took the cord and attached also it to the adapter. “These outlets live?” he asked Darrell.
“Hang on a second,” Darrell said. He walked over to a metal box mounted on the wall and opened the door. There were two rows of switches inside. He stood looking at them for a moment before flipping one. “Try it now,” he called out.
Kyle plugged the cord into the wall, and I think we all held our breath when he flipped the power switch on the front of the radio. The sound of static filled the air, and the channel indicator on the front panel lit up. Kyle pushed the scan button, and numbers started flashing in a digital display as the radio automatically searched for a signal. We watched with anticipation, but nothing happened. The numbers continued to cycle through from 01 to 99. Kyle turned a dial on the right side of the unit, and the automatic scanning stopped. He rotated the knob until the display showed a red number nine. He picked up the microphone, pressed the key, and began to speak.
“Break 9. Break 9. Anyone monitoring this channel?”
We anxiously waited for a
response that didn’t come. Undaunted, Kyle looked up. “This is the FCC designated emergency channel. We’ll try it every hour, and hopefully, we’ll get a response.”
“What if it doesn’t work?” Jordan asked skeptically. “What if no one answers?” “Eventually we will get someone,” Kyle said confidently. “In the meanwhile, let’s get one of those cars in here to work on. Darrell, can you get a couple of guys to help us get a car in here?”
“Sure,” he said, “I’ll be right back.”
Kyle went with him. “I’ll get the gun,” he said.
Jordan and I continued working with the radio calling out for a response until Darrell and Kyle returned with three other men. “There’s a Volvo station wagon right outside the door of the second bay,” Darrell said.
“Then that’s the one we want,” Kyle said. “Jordan, you open the door, and the rest of us will push the car inside. I’ll cover us with the gun.” “I’m helping,” I told Kyle.
“We’ve got all the help we need, Casey,” he said. “Just stay here and help Jordan.” “You know I’m not going to do that, don’t you?” I asked.
“Yeah, I know,” he said, looking into my eyes. “But I had to try.
I found a section of pipe on the floor and picked it up to use as a weapon. The men gathered around the door, and Jordan pushed the green button on the wall by the door. The door began to rise. The men looked around and then ran outside. They moved around the car. Kyle opened the driver side door and grabbed the steering wheel. With one hand on his gun and the other on the wheel, Kyle steered the station wagon toward the open door. The rest of the men pushed, and the car rolled forward. I went outside and got behind them, watching for zombies. They got the car inside, and we went in. Jordan pushed the red button on the wall, and the door closed.
Viral Series (Book 1): Viral Dawn [Extended Edition] Page 20