by Bryan Way
Again, I wonder when we will be forced to give up and go back, possibly because I never truly considered that we might not meet Alan and Jack. For the first time in the day, I’m concerned with time; it’s 12:08pm, so I know that the sun will set in five hours. Our journey is now five hours long, so though our trip back may be quicker due to our familiarity with the roads, we are now halfway into our daylight with conditions worsening and no Alan in sight.
“Jeff, you there, over?” Hearing Rich’s voice now frightens me. What if he’s about to suggest we turn back? In addition to having a fruitless venture that wasted fuel, we’d return empty-handed, condemn my friends to death, and owe the tunnel crew more supplies that hadn’t benefitted us. I mumble a response into the radio and await his reply.
“Your walkie on, over?”
“No… over.”
“Do they have a CB? Over.”
“Not that I know of, over.”
“But they do have a walkie-talkie, right? Over.”
“Yeah, what’s your point? Over.”
“They’re not gonna pick up our signal on the CB, doesn’t matter if we’re listening or talking. Over.”
“Good call. I’ll turn it on now. Over and out.”
I consider a welcome message as I switch my walkie-talkie on, but I decide against it. Instead, I listen to the slight static hum that accompanies the receiver. I catch myself sighing twice before Mel decides to pipe in. When she speaks, I’m so glad to hear another person speak that I don’t concern myself with what she says until it computes.
“What scares you, Jeff?”
“That’s… a surprisingly profound question.”
“Why? You don’t think I’m smart enough to challenge you?”
“Wha-no… I mean… it’s just harder to give an answer than you’d think… I don’t know what to say.”
“…yeah you do.”
She has me there.
“This does.”
“…what?” She asks.
“…I put the four of us at risk coming out here… and… I can’t be optimistic about it. I’m trying… but the further we go… the more I get the feeling we’re gonna come back without them. If at all.”
“You’re not scared of dying?”
“…aren’t we all?” I ask.
“But that’s not the first thing you’re scared of?”
“…no. I’m worried about everyone else.”
“Hmm…” She affirms indifferently.
“What about you?”
“At first… it was my mom… but now… I dunno… getting left behind?”
“What do you mean?”
“…it’s like… the rest of you are just so… tight, you know? It’s like, if anyone got left behind, it’d be me.”
“Well, I’m not gonna let that happen.”
“You can say that…”
“No. Mel… you know I’m not gonna let that happen.”
She nods. Time passes. I try to rationalize a point at which we call this off or at least stop to consider our options. Ahead and to the right, I can see another set of golden arches screaming above the treetops. Despite a relative dislike of junk food, I would kill for a cheeseburger and fries about now. The sign for exit 242 approaches ahead and subsides behind us as I hear static on the walkie-talkie. Mel and I look at each other before a voice becomes distinct. It’s a woman and a man.
“…is that noise…”
“Hello?”
“…someone else with…”
I immediately pick up the walkie-talkie, only to have squelching static bark out of the speaker. “Dammit!” I spit, holding it away from my face before continuing. For the first time, I’m glad Anderson taught me 10-code, since it’s probably the most viable option for engaging a stranger over the radio. “10-37, 10-37, over.” Silence follows, and then a few burbles and pops over the airwaves before a woman’s voice comes through clearly.
“Hello?”
“10-37, over.”
“What does that mean?”
“…10-37 means identify yourself. Over.”
“…what if we don’t?”
“…then I won’t know who you are. And please say ‘over’, or I won’t know you’re done talking. Over.”
“Why should we tell you?”
“What operation are you running? Over.”
A long silence follows. I slow down as we approach a bridge extending over the Susquehanna River, passing the onramp for exit 242 as well as a small complex of fast food restaurants and a gas station. We finally stop just before the guardrail transitions into concrete dividers, whereupon I roll down my window and listen to the silence. Mel grabs my arm, arresting my attention.
“Zombies…”
“Where?!” I ask.
“At the gas station back there… lots of ‘em.” She says.
“Headed for us?”
“Dunno, didn’t see.”
“What did you wanna know?” The woman’s voice cracks over the radio.
“What operation are you running, over?”
The silence extends another few seconds. “Prometheus.” I sigh. As Mel audibly smiles, I slam my fist into the dashboard and let out an unrestrained scream of ecstasy. Before they can speak again, Mel hugs me.
“Jeff?!” A male voice starts.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“Dude, it’s Jack!”
“Thank god… where’ve you been, over?”
“It was tough gettin’ out of Little Mountain… where are you?”
“On 80, nearly at the Susquehanna. You? Over.”
“We can’t get around the bridge…” Alan cuts in. “There’s about, uh… eight cop cars blocking it, over.”
“Oh… oh! Don’t worry about that… you don’t need your cars… we’ll just pull up and collect you guys… Rich, you still with us? Over.”
“Yeah… I’m not gettin’ this hog across without turnin’, so I’m gonna have to back it up, over.”
I shift the Humvee out of park and gun it across the bridge.
“Do what you gotta do. Alan, Jack, you guys at the bridge? Over.”
“Nah…” Alan responds. “We’re trying to go around… there’s another bridge up north, but it’s infested. Over.”
“With what, over?”
“Zombies.”
“Shit… got some here as well. Double back, over.”
“On our way… over.”
They weren’t kidding about the cop cars; at least eight police vehicles are pinned up against the opposing side of the bridge, and nearly all of them have flat tires and open doors, assuring that they’ve been looted. I stop just short of the barricade, and fortunately, there’s just enough space to enable a three-point turn. I step out of the Humvee, trying to listen for our approaching comrades. While I scan the surrounding area, I can hear Mel light up a cigarette. “Weren’t you trying to cut back?” I ask listlessly. “Old habits, right?” She replies.
I look up at the thick blanket of pale gray clouds to see a steady stream of snowflakes rushing toward me. “Hopefully that won’t pick up.” I say with the wind ripping at my trench coat. I put my gloves on and hop up on the hood of one of the cars to survey the road, finding a set of tire tracks in the snow that apparently skidded to a stop just a few feet from the police vehicles. That’d have to be Alan, who never distinguished himself as a particularly safe driver.
I pivot toward the other side of the bridge, squinting to get a look at the bus as it backs up silently. Just beyond, three of the undead have begun working their way up the hill toward the highway. We can handle this cluster, certainly twice that at the very least, but if they continue adding more, we’re gonna have one hell of a time clearing them out. Nevertheless, panicking would seem preemptive at this point. We have plenty of time to do this.
Finally, I spot Alan’s Escort and Jack’s Malibu curling around the on-ramp beyond the trees to our right, accompanied by the sound of clanging tire chains. They approach deliberately u
ntil finally stopping a few feet from the police barricade. As they turn off their engines, the fact that we’ve successfully navigated almost half the state to rescue our friends hits me. The feeling that the worst is behind us is so all-encompassing that I don’t even concern myself over the potential shit storm that awaits us in the Lehigh Tunnel, leaping off the hood to greet Alan as he pulls himself out of the driver’s seat. For a moment, this deceptively thick-set nerd with matted blond hair and cold gray eyes seems unsure of what to do, so I take away his choice and hug him.
“Jesus Christ, it’s good to see you.” I start.
“Likewise…”
“So, Little Mountain?” I continue.
“Uh, yeah… it wasn’t a cakewalk… but we managed.”
“…man of few words… Jack!”
I know that Jack is uncomfortable with hugging, but I embrace this gangly, pale, nervous geek with gusto.
“How the hell are you?”
“Better now, man…” He grins.
“Got some supplies to hand over?”
“Yeah, uh…”
He looks past me to see Mel sliding over the hood of the car I just negotiated. “Where are my manners? Jack, Alan… Mel Landon.” She hugs Jack warmly, something that pleases me greatly. Jack’s eyes ask if we’re together as she hugs Alan, but I shake my head. As Mel pulls away from Alan, our new complement finishes pooling up behind Jack. “You know Nick Wilborn…” I shake hands with the chubby, dark-haired, bespectacled psychopath I’ve never met. “This is Heather Chapman…” A tall, slender, fair-skinned girl with sharp eyebrows and an ebullient, seductive grin engages me next.
“Lada Dragomirov…” A short, compact young woman with shadowy eyes, dark features, and a vaguely Slavic face takes my hand. “…Andy Kremens…” A tentative wave accompanies the distrusting brown eyes and sloped shoulders of this doughy-featured nerd. “… Levi Hazen…” He’s black, fit, and just shorter than I am with a trim goatee, firm grip, and probing eyes. “And Nancy Candler-Hollowell…” Her chiseled countenance and demure ‘it girl’ good looks are belied by a loose handshake and absent stare.
“Pleasure to meet you.” I start, recognizing the value of first impressions before I continue. “I’m Jeff Grey, this is Mel Landon… we’ll be your guides on the Eastern tour of our fair state… you’re welcome to take pictures of the wilderness, but I don’t see the point, since every goddamn tree looks the same.” The cathartic chuckle confirms that my joke is lame, but welcome.
“Now, if everyone could gather their gear to load up, we can get underway… roads are pretty clear, so we should make it back before dark…” I turn back to the bus to find Rich waiting in the doorway. “Right in here…” He interrupts. He leaps down to reveal Ally standing behind him. “Wonderful… everyone, this is Rich McKnight, on the bus there is Ally Luangrath.” A brief chorus of hellos bubbles up. “Okay… so, get everything you can together and listen up…” Alan’s group returns to their vehicles to begin offloading luggage and supplies.
“…I’ll keep this brief.” I continue, insuring I have their attention. “We’re settled in Newtown Square, about ten miles outside Philadelphia, holed up…”
“Wait, what?” Heather asks.
“…yes?”
“I thought we were goin’ to the Philly citadel?”
“…no…? Who told you that?”
“No one told me… I just figgered…”
“Why?”
“It’s the army, right? So why not?”
“Well, there might be a hundred thousand people downtown. How many of them want out? How many are depressed, crazy… suicidal? Who collects the garbage, and where does it go? What does it smell like? What happens when the power goes out, or they lose water?”
“I don’t know…”
“Me either. No force on earth could control that. So we focus on what we can control. Our group is small and manageable, that’s why we’re still alive. With us, you’re one in twenty. You think you’d get better odds with the hundred thousand?”
The group dispassionately mumbles in agreement, which gets my kettle boiling. Did Alan and Jack lie about explaining how we would absorb their group, or did they just neglect to make it clear? If one of them brings up electing new leaders, I’ll strangle Alan. While the newcomers create a line to pass their gear into the bus, I take note of Jack and Alan bickering at the back of the Malibu, so I approach to mediate.
“Guys, what’s up?”
“Uh… our DVDs and computers…” Alan starts. “Do we have room?”
“…it’s a school bus. Take whatever.”
“Told ya.” Jack says to Alan.
“Let’s pick it up, guys…” Rich orders from the back of the bus. “Get everything, but get it fast, okay? We’ve got incoming.”
I wave Rich away as he retreats inside the bus. “Don’t say anything to him about the computers.” I whisper to Jack and Alan, their quizzical looks suggesting that they don’t understand. They sling their computer equipment bags over their shoulders and head toward the bus carting their towers underhand. On the way back, Alan awkwardly nods toward me, walking toward the snow covered grass of the median. I follow, glancing down the gently sloping hill to a road parallel with the icy river beyond.
“What’s up?” I start, sensing his reticence.
“Uh… can I… is there any way to… y’know… bring my car?”
“Oh… I don’t think so, dude…”
“I just… I don’t wanna ditch it…”
“I know, man… it sucks. Sometimes to move forward… you gotta leave something behind.”
He nods ruefully, glancing back at me as he starts toward the bus. As he reaches the pavement, he catches a look from Heather, and when she smiles, he looks away. When I pass the guardrail, I catch a few of the Penn State group standing around the empty cars listlessly. “Is that it?” I get no objections. “Alright, everyone… stop your grinnin’ and drop your linen… we’re moving out!” As I approach the bus, I hear some squabbling inside. I step to the back hatch to find Rich clapping his hands on the tops of the seats as he makes his way toward me.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Two girls are arguing over who gets to sit closer to the front.”
“You’re… seriously?”
My dismissive laugh is met with a hard stare that gives me a cold sensation in my stomach.
“Is it a problem?”
“Not yet.” Rich replies.
“Look… they’ve had a shitty week, and I’m sure being packed into a sedan hasn’t helped… we about ready?”
Rich bows in abeyance, allowing me to start back toward the Humvee with Mel. Once I have it started, I pull ahead of the bus and stop to activate the CB so Rich can inform me when he’s ready. I reach for my walkie-talkie, but it’s not on my belt. I check my pockets, the floor, and the dashboard.
“Mel… have you seen my walkie?”
“Huh?”
“My walkie, is it on the bus?”
“I… don’t think so… Jeff?”
“I don’t remember putting it down…”
“…Jeff?”
“Christ, I hope I didn’t drop it…”
“Jeff!”
My head snaps toward the highway; it takes my eyes a moment to focus through the increasingly heavy precipitation and developing fog, but I clearly spot two dozen dark bodies blowing up dusty patches of snow as they jaunt up the westbound lanes, followed by a few more wrenching themselves free of the undergrowth a few feet from the shoulder.
“Yeah, I saw ‘em before, shouldn’t be a problem.”
“They have friends, Jeff…”
“We’re in cars…”
“On a bridge.”
I consider retorting, but she’s right. A heavy slam on the window nearly instigates a heart attack, but I sigh in relief when I see Alan holding my walkie-talkie, opening the door to accept it. “Thanks… make sure Rich has the CB on.” I watch Alan trot back in the rearview
mirror as Mel picks up the receiver and calls out to Rich.
“Right here, over.”
“See the other side of the bridge? Over.” Mel offers.
“I do now… what’s the plan, over?”
“Go now.” I say, taking the mic. “Over and out.”
I pop the Humvee out of park and rev toward the far side of the bridge as the undead assemble to face us. At first, I assume we can use the diminutive shoulder to pull around the first of the corpses, but the closer we get the more certain I am that we’ll have to plow through them. It worked before, so there’s no reason to assume it won’t now. Mel puts both arms in front of her face, emitting an escalating whine as we draw nearer to the bald man in flannel whose withered intestines are wrapped around his legs. “Hang on…”
We strike him and he disappears in a puff of snow, his mangled body jettisoned to the shoulder by the right-angled snowplow faster than a whack-a-mole. We bowl over two more and they similarly tumble toward the k-rails as the sound of bones snapping into speeding metal echoes across the river basin, ringing the dinner bell for the upright stiffs awaiting at the other side.
“Jeff, get in the left lane, over…” Rich intones over the radio. Why bother? We hit an undead teenager and the plow flops up a bit, trapping one of his legs between the metal and the pavement. The scraping sound of flesh being rent by the highway is bad enough, but the smell of roasted rubber and cooked rot are even worse, especially when the pavement begins sanding through this unfortunate soul’s femur.