by Wise, A. R.
‘Maybe around back,’ he thought before walking further up the street to reach the corner. As he did, he noticed something odd ahead. The road led to a courthouse that was placed in the center of town, interrupting the flow of traffic and forcing it to go around the largest building Boise City had to offer. The area was smeared with red dust, thicker than the street.
There were multiple cars parked around the building, and it was clear that the military’s caravan had struggled to move through here. There were several cars pushed aside, some tipped over. The courthouse had been packed before the residents of the town had mysteriously vanished. But it wasn’t merely the wreckage that caught Red’s eye. In among the cars were two white trucks. He’d seen unmarked trucks like those before, back at the start of the apocalypse. A similar truck had dropped off an infected person at a gas station near June’s house – near the convergence of two highways in Colorado.
Similarly, this quiet town in the center of Oklahoma’s panhandle was the meeting point of two major arteries, US Route 285 and US Route 412.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. What did you get yourself into, Red?”
Suddenly, the quiet town felt significantly deadlier.
Red rounded the corner and went to the back of the pharmacy. The door in the alley was locked as well, but there was an air conditioner in one of the windows. He wiggled the box to test how sturdy it was, and then tried to give it a push. The unit screeched as it slid forward. Red was able to raise the window, and then awkwardly lift the air conditioner so that he could push it into the building without causing the awful noise of metal scraping against metal. He had no choice but to let the unit fall to the floor within, causing a tremendous crash in the process.
Red tossed his gun and duffle bag inside, and then climbed into the building as quickly as possible. He shut the window, hoping to hide his entrance. The air conditioner had broken a table, scattering papers and breaking a potted plant. He left the back office in search of medicine for June. He plundered the pharmacy, loading his duffle bag with a variety of antibiotics. After that, he went to the sales floor to pilfer over-the-counter medicine. Finally, he explored the meager snacks and drinks, and finished filling his bag until he could barely get the zipper closed.
“That should do it,” he said before going to the front door and unlatching the locks. He hurried out, ready to run all the way back to the squad car on the north side of town where June and Allie waited. He didn’t bother closing the door behind him.
He hadn’t run more than ten steps when the pharmacy door slammed shut. A gruff, male voice yelled at him, “Stop right there, or so help me God I’ll blow a hole right through you. Don’t turn around. Put your hands up, and drop that shotgun. We got eyes on you all over, pal. Don’t try nothing crazy.”
Red was staring down Main Street, away from the courthouse. He saw a child in the second story window of a nearby home with a rifle pointed at him. The boy wasn’t more than ten, with a shaved head and thick, black framed glasses.
“Don’t make me shoot you, stranger,” said the man.
“I’m not a helper,” said Red as he complied and slowly placed the duffle bag and gun on the sidewalk. “I’m not infected.”
“I figured,” said the man. He didn’t seem to care. “Now back up five steps and get on your knees.”
“I’m guessing you’re not infected either,” said Red.
“Shut up and do what you’re told.”
“Why’re you doing this? I told you, I’m not infected.”
“You dumb mother fucker.” Red had raised the man’s ire. He angrily commanded, “Do what you’re told.”
Red started to move backwards while asking, “Do you own that pharmacy? Is that why you’re so pissed?”
“I’ve got the gun. I ask the questions. Where’d you get that uniform? Cause I’m damn sure you’re no cop.”
“I found a squad car, and there was a uniform in the trunk.”
“And you thought it’d be a good idea to pose as a cop?”
“My other clothes were soaking wet. I needed dry clothes. That’s it.”
“What’d you steal from the store?”
“Antibiotics, painkillers, and some food.”
“Yeah, well I’m taking it,” said the man behind him. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna get up, and leave that bag and that gun where they are, and you’re gonna walk away. And you’re gonna feel damn lucky you made it out of here alive.”
“Wait,” said Red, his hands still in the air. “I need the medicine in there. It’s for my…”
“You don’t need shit.”
Red raised his voice, “It’s for my girlfriend. She got shot, and she needs antibiotics.”
“Are you dumb or what? I’ve got a gun pointed at you right now, shit for brains.”
“I’ll split some of the medicine with you, but I’m not leaving without it.”
“Dad,” said the child from the second story window of the house across the street. “We got a car coming.”
“Fuck,” said the father from behind Red. “Get the bag and go back in the store. Leave that gun where it is.” He yelled out to his son, “Ronnie, get back inside. Shut the window.”
The child did as he was told. Red slowly retrieved the duffle bag, careful not to give the impression he might go for the shotgun.
“Get in there,” said the man as he pushed Red aside.
Red got his first glance at the man. He was tall and thin, with a trucker cap hiding a balding head, and salt-and-pepper stubble that hadn’t been shaved since the CME hit. He had deep wrinkles on either side of his frown, and crow’s feet that stretched nearly to his temples. His hands were greyed by dirt, and his lips looked painfully chapped.
The man retrieved Red’s shotgun, and perched his rifle’s butt awkwardly on his hip to allow him to keep the weapon pointed at Red as they went into the pharmacy.
“Get over there by the counter and sit down.”
Red did as he was told as the stranger lurked by the door.
“Get down,” said Red. “They’ll see you through the windows.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re going to get us both caught.”
The angry Oklahoman continued to peek through the door, ignoring the danger. A car crept down the street, as if searching for something.
“I knew there’d be more of them,” said the man. “We might have a fight on our hands.”
Day Five – 11:08 am
“How many of them are there?” asked Red.
“Just one car for now, but there’ll be more. Those fuckers are everywhere. They scattered after the military blew through here. At least the ones that didn’t get put down.”
“They scattered?” asked Red.
The man nodded, more interested in the activity outside than the conversation. He hushed Red for a moment as a car passed. “Let’s stick here for a minute. These fuckers like to travel in groups.”
Red agreed, not that he had much choice. After a moment he said, “I’ve never seen them scatter before. They usually run at danger.”
“Yeah, the military fucked them up something fierce.”
“How?” asked Red.
“I’m not totally sure. They came in, and next thing I knew the infected were fighting each other.” He pointed to his left, towards the courthouse. “They were out that way, to the south.”
“The town looks fine,” said Red. “You should see what it looks like back towards Denver.”
“It happened quick here.”
“What did?”
“The infection. There was a meeting at the courthouse to talk about the blackout. Most of the town went there for it, and that’s how it started.” He continued to peer out to the street as he talked.
“I stayed home, but my sister went. She came back sick, stabbed. Out of her goddamned head. That’s how it happened. All the people went back home and infected the rest of their families. It happened just like that,”
he snapped his fingers. “And then they started searching the rest of the houses. I had to kill my sister, and then Ronnie and me hid. Ronnie cried and cried. I had to keep my hand over his mouth. He freaked out – hated me for a bit. Kept saying I killed his mom, but that ain’t true. Kid’s a crier.”
“Is he your nephew?” asked Red.
“That kid? No. No, uh-uh.” He sounded oddly conflicted. “I mean, I got a nephew named Ronnie, but that ain’t him. That’s some other kid. I don’t know where he came from, but he was in my sister’s house. Fucking little rat thief, probably. You know, at first he had me fooled. I thought it was Ronnie. It was dark, and what-not. I guess that’s how he fooled me. But that ain’t Ronnie. I figured that out after the military blew through here. He’s not my Ronnie, he’s that Ronnie.”
Red’s concern grew. There was something wrong with the stranger. He seemed manic, uncertain, and confused.
“We’ve been hiding ever since. Me and that Ronnie. At first, it was chaos. They chased people down and stabbed them, but then it changed. They got smarter. They started setting up traps. No shit, they started cleaning up the town - making it look presentable. They moved all the cars off the road, and parked them so that it looked like everything was quiet here. That’s why, if you look around you’ll see most of the cars still got the damn keys in the ignition. The infected would lure people in, and then infect them. That Ronnie and me saw it happen. There wasn’t a damn thing we could do. I thought we’d end up starving to death, ‘cause we couldn’t get out. That Ronnie and me been hiding in the crawlspace, praying and waiting.” He looked at Red and asked, “You said it was bad up north?” He blinked and twitched when he looked at Red.
“Yeah. They started burning down towns, and attacking the military,” said Red. “We were following behind the caravan that came through here, because we thought it’d be safer than staying where we were.”
“Why’d you think that?”
Red shrugged. “Because we weren’t sure if the disease was everywhere, or if it was just by us. I’ve got family in Texas, and plus I wanted to get as close to the border as possible. We figured the best thing to do was get out of the country if we could, and the closest way out was to head south.”
“To Mexico?” he asked, amused by the thought. “You think it’d be better there? Are you kidding me?”
“Why? You think it’d be bad there?”
“It’s always been bad there. Shit, it’s got to be hell on earth now.”
“I figured whoever launched this attack was aiming at the states,” said Red. “Better to get out if possible.”
“You’d cut and run? You wouldn’t stay and fight?” asked the Oklahoman.
“Fight for what?”
“For America.” It was an obstinate response.
Red chuckled.
The man glared.
“I’m fighting to stay alive at this point,” said Red.
“If someone’s planning on taking down America, they’re going to have to go through me and a whole mess of people like me first.”
Red could’ve argued with him, and pointed out that even the military was fighting to survive now, but he thought it better to let the man win this debate.
“Hey, what’s that red shit the military dusted the place with?” asked the stranger.
“What red stuff?” asked Red.
“The powder. The dust. The shit that’s all over the place outside.”
Red shrugged. “I figured it was normal around here.
“Red shit?”
Red shrugged again.
“Nah, it ain’t normal. The military came through, this red shit appeared, and next thing we knew there were mother fuckers going nuts.”
“I don’t have any idea,” said Red.
“Aw shit, there’s another,” said the stranger when he spied a second vehicle. He pressed himself into the corner again.
Red held the overstuffed duffle bag close to his chest. Shelves stood between him and the window, blocking his view of the street.
“They’re parking. Son of a bitch.”
“Are you sure they’re infected?”
The Oklahoman ignored Red. “They’re fucking parking. I think they’re coming in here.”
“Let’s get out through the back,” said Red.
“Ronnie, what the hell are you doing?” asked the Oklahoman. “Get your ass back inside. Don’t… Oh shit.”
“What?” asked Red. “What’s going on?”
“Ronnie’s gonna shoot them. Don’t do it, Ronnie. Don’t…”
The Oklahoman set his rifle down, and swiftly opened Red’s shotgun to make sure it was loaded. He looked back at Red, a lustful zeal in his eyes. “Time to fight, boy. Take the rifle.”
“Wait, wait!” Red tried to stop him, but the Oklahoman pushed open the pharmacy door and screamed out a threat that was cut off by the blast of his shotgun.
Red considered rushing for the rifle, but that thought was dashed as the Oklahoman was violently thrown backward. He crashed against the wall, twisted, dropped the shotgun, and reached for his throat. Blood gushed, and he stared at Red as if hoping for a savior.
Ronnie screamed out, “No!” Then there were more gunshots.
Red took the duffle bag and crouched as he ran around the pharmacy counter, and back to the office where he’d broken in. Helpers were screaming, “We don’t want trouble. We’re here to help. Put down your gun.”
Red slid open the window, and then threw the duffle bag into the alley. He hastily climbed out, and fell to his side. He heard more cars arriving, their brakes whined as tires streaked the pavement.
He sprinted down the alley, convinced it was only a matter of time before he was seen. Dogs barked, incensed by his panicked flight and the chaos that’d suddenly infected the formerly quiet town. A Mastiff crashed against a wire fence, causing the length to shake and Red to cower. He was certain the animal would push down the obstruction to get to him.
He neared some parked cars in the alley, and started checking inside for keys. It didn’t take long to find a set inside of a white Chevy Lumina. The driver’s side door was a different shade of white than the rest, and a good portion of the front end was sculpted from Bondo. The passenger side window had been broken, and replaced by duct-taped plastic. It wasn’t the ideal getaway car, but it’d have to do. The car’s interior stank of smoke, and the fabric ceiling was loping loose, dipping like a curtain held up in the center by the dome light.
There was no time to waste, and he turned the keys while pleading quietly, “Please start, please start.”
The engine gave signs of life, but didn’t turn over. Then, on his second attempt, the starter clicked.
“No, no, no. Come on you piece of shit.”
He tried again, but to no avail. He looked in the rearview and saw a helper come into the alley. The man pointed Red’s way.
Red gave it one more try, and this time the starter caught. The engine lazily rumbled to a start, causing the whole vehicle to shake. The shaking subsided, but didn’t stop completely. The engine was far less than reliable, but all Red needed was for it to get him out of town. He hit the gas, and rocks spewed out behind him as he took off.
Boise City was an oasis of civilization in an otherwise barren landscape. That presented a new problem. Once out of the city, Red would be an obvious target for the helpers, and if he wasn’t careful he’d lead them right to June and Allie.
He got out of the alley, and onto a side street he hoped would lead out of town. The helpers were already on his trail. A massive pick-up truck was behind him, purple with white bolts of lightning on the hood. It flashed its lights as it roared along on tires nearly as tall as Red’s Chevy. The houses were spaced far apart, and the town seemed devoid of vegetation, as if it would be a miracle for a single tree to thrive in this arid climate. There was no hiding.
Another car left the main thoroughfare of town to come after Red in the neighborhood. The streets were designed to hamper fast
driving, with deep dips at every intersection that caused the Chevy to bounce violently. The four-wheel drive behemoth on his tail had no problem overcoming the minor obstructions, and its cab barely shuddered as its shocks absorbed the brunt each time.
Drastic action was Red’s only option. He turned down a street headed back to the main artery, and faced off with the sedan full of helpers who’d joined the chase. The passenger was sitting on the sill of his window, waving a gun in the air.
Red screamed a curse as loud as his lungs would allow, and played chicken with the helpers. The oncoming driver saw his intent, and swerved to avoid the charging Chevy. The helpers began to turn around to chase Red, but their maneuver put them in the path of the truck. There was a sudden, loud scream from the passenger, and then the crash of metal and breaking glass.
Red spared a fraction of a second to glance in the rearview, and saw that the truck had mounted the sedan, and was stuck with its front end high in the air.
“Take that, you mother...” Red’s elation was short lived. He was broadsided by a van, sending him careening into a vacant lot as shards of glass exploded in his face. He didn’t have a seatbelt on, and the collision sent him tumbling around the cabin as the car spun in the dirt. The van’s radiator was stuck in his door, smoking as the horn blared. The duffle bag was on top of him, and he held it like a drowning victim clinging to a life preserver.
“Get him out of there,” yelled a nearby helper.
Red was dazed. He knew he was in trouble, but couldn’t comprehend exactly what was going on. All he knew was that his head hurt, and that the bag in his hands was vitally important. Beyond that, his recollection of the past few minutes were a jumbled mess. He sat up, and pieces of broken glass fell from his shirt. The tiny fragments littered the car, and threatened to cut his hand as he pushed himself up. The already struggling engine had started to vibrate horrendously, causing the glass on the dash to hop.
Red opened the passenger side door and fell out. His balance was off, but he didn’t have time to worry about what injuries he’d sustained. While his understanding of the situation was still murky, he knew for certain that the people coming at him and promising to help were dangerous.