Giving his digital signature on the agent’s pad then handing it over, he took the keys and thanked the man, trying his best to stay calm and not get overly excited. After all, he didn’t know for sure anything was going on; all of this could be for nothing. Though, if that were the case, his wife was right, he was digging them a hole they might not get out of.
Well, they could go without cable tv for a while, not like that was an essential need they couldn’t live without. His wife’s paychecks were enough to cover rent and utilities, and if he needed to go donate plasma to have extra spending money, then he would do that. Plus, he had his unemployment checks he could continue to draw from in the meantime. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
Starting the vehicle, he was careful not to hit the elderly couple that was passing by his rear bumper, their faces showing their discomfort at their current predicament. He sympathized with the husband, the man doing his best to placate his wife as they headed to the Ford Escape the agent was showing them. Shifting into drive, he pulled away with a bit of a lingering glance, then forgot them altogether as he merged onto the road out of the airport.
He put Show Low into his phone’s navigational system and grimaced at the eleven-hour drive ahead of him. There were three different routes, one of which went through Albuquerque, and he really didn’t want to go there. The twenty minute longer drive through Durango looked more isolated and promising, so he clicked on that and hit go.
Flipping on the radio, he flinched at the techno music blaring over the station it’d been tuned to and immediately hit search. It latched onto a country station, Brad Paisley singing about his Southern Comfort Zone, and he let the music relax him as he merged onto the freeway into town.
“Oh, Dixie Land,
I hope you understand
When I miss my Tennessee home
And I been away, way too long
I can’t see this world unless I go
outside my Southern Comfort zone.”
He didn’t want to see the world, all he wanted to do was go home.
Denver International was on the eastern border of the sprawling city, near what the locals called Tornado Alley, and he knew it would be at least thirty minutes before he started seeing heavier traffic. His foot wanted to floor it, but he resisted the urge the best he could. Instead, he flipped on the cruise control and let it handle the speed. The last thing he needed was to get pulled over by a cop, that would cost him far more time than obeying the speed limit.
Merging onto I-70, traffic began to increase, and he glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Morning traffic should be lightening up as most day people would have gotten to work, and he prayed he didn’t get caught in a traffic jam. He wanted to get through the other side of Denver as quickly as possible, the last time he’d gone through here—His sister lived in Denver. How had he not remembered that?
He tried to pair the phone to the vehicle’s system, but it refused to do it while driving. He wasn’t about to pull over, there was a clock ticking somewhere and he knew he was swiftly running out of time.
Leaving a voicemail, he had to fight the urge to change the navigation and run by her house. Hell, he didn’t even know for sure that she was there. They hadn’t talked in nearly a year, and she and his mother had a habit of running off to do things together without saying anything to him; she might not even be in town right now.
His mother’s number rang off the hook and he hit end, then flipped his phone over on the seat next to him. Obviously, no one was gonna pick up when he actually needed them to; that would be too easy.
Traffic was slowing ahead, and he winced at the brake lights indicating it had come to a complete stop. Terrific.
Looking at his map, he noticed that the interchange was ahead, that traffic was merging onto the 470, and it appeared to be green after that. Letting out a deep sigh, he tried not to think of other reasons traffic might have slowed, and trusted it was just a slight delay rather than a permanent stop.
Another song came on the radio and it gave him pause. He didn’t know how many that was in a row, but there hadn’t even been a break to announce the call sign of the radio station he was listening to, and that triggered something in his head akin to panic. Where were the traffic reports, the advertisements? He had never known even a satellite radio to just play music before. He reached out and hit scan, letting it go from station to station, music the only thing it was picking up, not a single commercial anywhere. Somehow that frightened him more than Jerry’s eyes had done, and he began to feel real fear start to settle in to his soul.
He doubted many others would assign a significance to it, but after what happened in Chicago, it was definitely a sign to him that something serious was going on.
Picking up his phone, he sent his wife a text, asking her if she had gotten on the road yet, hoping that she’d done as he asked and was already picking up the kids from school. That ticking clock was getting louder, and the fact that he was six-hundred miles from everything that mattered to him in this world, powerless to protect them, was going to drive him insane if they weren’t moving in his direction as well.
“Come on Carrie, answer your texts,” he growled, letting up on the brake as traffic began moving again, knowing in his heart that the world was going to shit and might just blow up at any second.
His mind kept coming back to this scene in the Stand, where this woman named Powers was manning a radio station, telling anyone that would listen about the mass graves, the military actions, and taking calls from people that had seen what was going on, right up to the point where the commandos broke into her studio and shot her.
Where was that? If something was going on, where were the DJ’s fighting the power, telling their listeners the truth of what was happening, why the fuck was everything on auto play? What sense did that make?
The notification on his phone went off, but he didn’t look right away, his eyes drawn to the Safeway on the left side of the highway and the growl in his gut. He might have to pull off and get something to eat, but he was passing by downtown Denver and really wanted to be further out than that. His eyes went to the sign announcing the Colorado Blvd exit, and that’s when he noticed someone standing on the edge of the freeway in the break down lane, their head tilted at a bad angle, their arms reaching in his direction.
Seconds later, the man stepped into traffic and all hell broke loose.
II
Swerving, he heard the horn on the car behind him blare as he nearly side-swapped them, their speed picking up as they shifted right and into the lane he just exited. There was the sound of an impact, the crunch of metal, and something slashed into his rear window, causing it to splinter. He hit the gas on reflex, his mind filling in what had just happened, unable to help himself as he looked in the passenger side mirror and saw the crumpled mess the tan Kia had just become.
Trying not to think of the car’s occupants, or what might be left of the person they just hit, he picked up speed, leaving his Humanity behind as terror began to take hold. He heard horns coming from the opposite side of the freeway on the east bound traffic, and he could feel the multiple collisions that followed through his gritted teeth.
A fireball thundered into the air, a mini-nuke looking explosion flowering outward as it swiftly rose higher with the wind.
A big rig truck had slammed on their brakes, the trailer fish-tailing as it tried to avoid adding to the already large pile up before him; it was going too fast and there wasn’t enough time. The truck plowed into a mini-van, the trailer coming around and slamming into the concrete barrier between sections. Sliding forward, it pulled the cab of the truck free and brought it along. Sparks flew through the air as it finally broke loose of the truck and ground its way over the divided highway until it was far enough over to clip an RV that had been passing by on his left. The front of the RV was immediately crushed, the backend lifting as opposing forces met and expended their energy. A small convertible had been riding the
ass of the RV, trying to get the driver to move right, and was crushed as the rear tires slammed back down, pancaking the tailgater with a loud crunch.
Eyes widening, he got into the furthest lane to the right and felt a slight tug on the wheel; a hand had reached for his front fender and the man it belonged to was pinwheeling off the side of the interstate and out of sight. “Holy fucking shit. I’m so fucked. Oh God,” he plead, not really believing in a higher being, but what the fuck else did you say at a moment like this?
His phone began to ring but he ignored it. Texting and driving was bad, talking on the phone nearly as much, but trying to navigate a highway full of people trying to run in front of your car while talking on the phone? Yeah, forget that shit. Not happening.
The Denver Coliseum was coming up on his left, and true horror filled his soul as he watched a crowd of people crest the southern part of the interstate, plowing straight into the east bound traffic. Between the impacted cars and the flying bodies, it was nightmarish bowling gone completely wrong. His stomach wanted to lurch with the revulsion wracking his body, his throat burning with bile.
Had he just been hungry? Well, not anymore! Right now, he’d settle for not throwing up what he did have all over the dashboard; regurgitated airplane peanuts would be gross as hell. Slowing his speed, he kept his eyes focused on the road ahead, his hands gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles had gone completely white. “Please don’t die, please don’t die, please don’t die.”
“Alternate route available.” he heard his phone say.
One time, he had ignored his phone while driving to Gainesville from Dallas and had ended up getting stuck in a traffic jam because he hadn’t taken the Frontage Rd as suggested. Right now, he wanted to listen to it, to automatically do what it said, but if those things were coming up from the streets below, he really didn’t want to drive down into it either. Google Maps kept track of a lot of things, wandering hordes of suicidal idiots wasn’t one of them.
Hey, there’s an app idea for when this is all over!
“If it’s ever over,” he growled, noticing that the traffic behind him was becoming sparse while the eastbound traffic on his left was quickly starting to back up. Emergency vehicles were responding, the sirens blaring, the lights pulsing, but he truly felt that there was nothing they could do for anyone back there and wished he could warn them off, tell them to turn tail and get the fuck out themselves. “This shit is bad.”
A sign showed up announcing the 287, and he noticed that his phone was pointing him in that direction. It wasn’t lost on him that he was entering the residential part of the city, and as bad as downtown had been, that had to be worse.
Still, it had to have a reason to divert, did it not?
He took a second to scroll forward on the route and noticed that it had gone completely red a few miles further on. He made a split decision; he was getting the fuck off. Pulling into the exit ramp at the last second, he felt the curb lift the left side of his SUV; he slammed on the brakes and tried to keep the steering wheel straight to prevent flying into the wall on the right. He jerked it to the left and his car straightened back out.
Breathing heavy, he applied the gas once more and shot down the ramp towards the street beyond. He didn’t know if this was the right thing to do, if he’d live through it, but Google did keep track of traffic patterns, and if it was showing a clear route south, then it had to be clear of accidents caused by flying human bowling pins, right?
Coming to a red light, he frantically searched the road for any signs of activity, but it seemed overly quiet, even traffic wise. He picked up his phone and noticed that his wife had texted.
Carrie: Got the kids, omw
She had called too, and as much as he wanted to immediately call her back, he didn’t feel safe enough to divide his attention at the moment. The light turned green and he cautiously made a left turn, going slower than he usually would, unable to relax as things had a habit of just jumping out of him today.
He passed a lot of mobile home parks and auto parts stores, unable to believe that there weren’t more than one or two cars passing by as he made his way south. It was Tuesday morning, nearly eleven, and there should have been a lot more people out and about, waiting on buses, strolling down the sidewalks, driving to their various destinations. If the world was going to shit as he suspected it was, they should be rushing to get out of town, not disappearing into their homes like cockroaches in daylight.
A low flying plane blasted overhead, his vehicle rocking with its passing, and he felt a bit of urine escape and moisten his thighs. “Holy shit!”
Looking out the window, he watched as it disappeared over the top of the buildings on his left and wondered why the hell it was flying so low. It had literally scared the shit out of him. Well—almost.
Shaking, and deciding that he needed a second to calm down, he pulled into a McDonald’s drive thru and waited for the attendant to notice he was there.
“Thank you for choosing McDonald’s, how may I take your order?”
“Yeah, number four, no onion, large, with a Coke,” he answered on instinct. “Actually, make that two.” Just in case.
“I’ll have your total ready at the window.”
He drove around the side of the building, the normalcy of what he’d just done settling his nerves somewhat after that disaster on the interstate. You could almost believe it was a dream, then images of what’d just happened would flash through his mind once more and he was back into the nightmare.
Pulling up to the window, he took the card out of his wallet and handed it to the attendant, flashing a fake smile and pretending that nothing was wrong. That was completely false, but the young man seemed oblivious to what was going on, and he didn’t feel the need to take away what little time the man had left to be happy in his ignorance.
Besides, he was hungry.
Retrieving his card, he pulled up to the next window and took the extended bag of food with grateful hands and a rumbling stomach. Setting the Cokes in the cupholders, he gave another fake smile and nodded as he was wished a nice day.
Yeah right.
Pulling down the last bit of driveway, he had to hit the brakes hard as a woman came flying out of nowhere and slammed her hands onto the hood. “Please, help me.”
She was young, in her twenties, with long brown hair and blue eyes. Her make up was smeared, her clothes looking to be hastily thrown on; her shirt buttoned one too high on the right. Her eyes were full of fear, face full of panic, and he heard the thundering of feet close behind her; she had a mob right on her heels, bringing the nightmare straight to his doorstep. So much for a quieter part of town.
He nodded and hit the unlock button as she whipped around the front of the hood and ran to the passenger door. Yanking it open, she jumped inside and hollered, “go!”
Not having to be told twice, he hit the gas just as a crowd of gore covered people broke from the front of the building and hit the left front panel of the SUV.
Crap, that’s going on my card.
It was a normal thought, but it was completely irrelevant as the SUV rocked to the right with the weight of bodies pressing against it; obviously the more pressing matter than damage to the vehicle itself. His foot slammed into the gas pedal and he bucked over something hard, then fish-tailed into the street, ten to fourteen people hitting the side of the vehicle and following after, heedless of the traffic veering around him.
Someone had come to a stop, meaning to see if help was needed, and the attention of the monsters chasing his new passenger shifted. He watched in horror as the group of crazy people swarmed the older lady standing on the side of the road, ripping into her as if they were a pack of starving dogs being served a dead pig.
“Friends of yours?” he managed, speeding away from the grisly scene. He had said it on instinct and instantly regretted it; the scene was far too grisly to make light of. Yet, there were multiple ways to handle a stressful situation, and what it came down to was
, you could laugh or cry; he was not going to cry. Not yet, anyways.
“Fuck no,” the youth stated, half out of the seat as she looked out through the back window, unable to keep from looking.
“Seatbelt,” he stated, trying to keep his eyes on the road and not the attack he’d only narrowly missed. She gave him a “really?” look, and he nodded his head. “Been in nearly three accidents since leaving the airport, and there’s no telling what is going to come at us next. Now, if you want to end up through the windshield and on the street, that’s up to you, but I won’t be sticking around afterwards to see if you’re okay. There’s some seriously fucked up shit going on, and I don’t think the paramedics will be taking my call.”
She sat facing forward and went about putting her seatbelt on. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Coke? Looks like I was planning on having a guest all along,” he joked, motioning towards the second soda.
She looked like she wanted to crack a smile, but it faded instantly. “Maybe later. Right now, I just want to throw up.”
“Name’s Kyle,” he offered, slowly coming to a stop at a red light. There was no traffic, and with all that was going on, it felt stupid to stop, but old habits were hard to break. If there was a cop on duty, he didn’t need to be hung up with that while that pack of insane cannibals chased after them.
“Jessica.”
“So, live in this direction?” he asked casually, wondering what he was going to do with her now that he’d picked her up. He really didn’t think she’d be wanting to go to Arizona, and had to have family somewhere. He was not looking forward to having to detour and take her home, but he’d let her hop in and now she was his responsibility.
The Rotting Souls Series (Book 5): Charon's Vengeance Page 5