Bad Day For A Road Trip

by Jason Offutt

  Andi hated going to Walmart before the world came to an end; she sure didn’t like it now that this building was potentially filled with undead shoppers. Darkness filled the interior of the store as she stepped toward the sign that read “Enter” and right into the sliding glass doors. Her weapon clacked on the glass, followed by her forehead. No electricity. The electric eye didn’t work. Doofus. She managed a smile. When’s the last time that happened? She stared through the glass into the store. At least three of the human monsters milled around the cash registers; she couldn’t see much farther. Freaking great. There had to be more. Andi wedged her fingers on either side of the sliding doors and pulled; the doors wouldn’t be hard to open all the way, but she just tugged until they opened a few inches; only a few. Andi didn’t want to do this, to step into a dark Walmart store, but she needed things to survive, to hide, and they were all inside this store. She exhaled slowly. Showtime.

  “Hey,” Andi shouted through the crack. “It’s dinner time. Come and get it.” The three creatures at the cash register, two wearing blue Walmart smocks, looked toward the door, their eyes milk white. A chill ran through Andi. “Come on. I don’t have all day.” They moved toward her and two more joined them from around the $5 movie bin. Andi clicked on the flashlight and shone it into the store, the powerful beam cut through the darkness. Six, seven, eight. At least twelve of the drooling monsters wandered out of the aisles and started toward her. “Oh, come on. Come on.” She waved the flashlight beam in the glass of the door. One woman in a flowery dress, her face crusted with dried blood, followed the light around like a cat. More came pouring from the back of the store. Andi’s stomach clenched, her legs grew suddenly weak. Oh, no. There were at least twenty-five of them now and coming fast. She backed away from the door, pocketing the flashlight and raising her weapon, the heavy automatic rifle comfortable in her hands. The first creature slammed into the door, its twisted face smeared drool and mucus across the glass.

  “Come on,” Andi whispered. “Come on.” She took another step back as more monsters leaned into the door. Their growls grew louder the closer they got to her; the morning now sounded like Muskogee. The taste of stale beer and Army-issue pizza hit the back of her throat. No. No, no. She steadied herself, pressed the stock of the weapon hard onto her shoulder and swallowed. One creature’s hand pushed through the crack Andi had opened, forcing the doors a little wider. No. Not yet. More of the monsters pawed at the glass, obscuring the rest of the store; they were all massed under the sign that read “Enter,” pushing toward her with one thought process in their mostly dead brains. Food. Andi was nothing but food. The doors slid open a few more inches. Andi took a steadying breath, slowly squeezed the trigger (“Squeeze it like you’re hugging your teddy bear, honey,” Big Andy had once told her) and fired the rifle on full automatic.

  Bullets tore through the glass, shards crashed to the ground and glass dust filled the air like a mist under the pounding of fully automatic gunfire, 16 reports every second. The NATO rounds thumped into the monsters, their once-human bodies jerked like this was a dance contest instead of a massacre. Blood and gore splattered the front of the store, the white tiled floor slick with it. Andi released the trigger and the morning was suddenly still.

  She waited for ten seconds, then twenty. A minute, then two. “Anybody else coming to the party?” she screamed into the huge, dark building. Nothing. Not a moan, not a growl, not a fat woman knocking over a rack of Junior Miss slacks on its way to rip open her throat. Andi popped in a new clip before she pulled open the second set of sliding doors, the ones under the “Exit” sign and stepped through, her weapon pressed into her shoulder. She clipped the flashlight to her belt and clicked it on; the torn bodies of the monsters lay a couple feet away. There was no way she was walking through that mess. No way.

  ***

  The store smelled. Bad. Not just from the twenty-five or so creatures she mowed down in a spray of gunfire, although the smell of coppery rot was strongest; she could make out the underlying odor of decaying meat and produce from the grocery section and must from the unused store. The still darkness, hot in the Kansas morning, brought Andi’s nerves to Alert Level Holy Shit. She knew there were no more creatures in the store; they would have all flocked to the noise. Even the noise of the silenced machine gun (can’t make it completely silent. Science ain’t magic), would have brought any one of them straggling near the back. She was alone, but there were things in this world more frightening than the monsters. She grabbed two shopping carts and moved back toward Women’s Clothes, pushing one in front, pulling the other. The feeling of claustrophobia gnawed at the back of her mind; Andi wanted to get out of there faster than if it were Black Friday in Bentonville.

  The cart quickly filled with clothes. Three pair of jeans (practical), a handful of T-shirts, underwear, socks, two pair of Nikes, some nice pumps and a green dress because you never know. She’d need a winter coat eventually, but the Piper hit at the beginning of the summer, winter coats weren’t on the shelves. A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. Winter coats would never be on the shelves. Screw it. She’d find a coat when she needed one. Andi grabbed a Kansas City Royals baseball cap to cover her hair, then moved on to drugs and cosmetics. Acetaminophen, Tums, vitamins, antibiotics, Valium, lotion, ChapStick, isopropyl alcohol, bandages, soap, deodorant, boxes of pads and a package of condoms just in case she met that special someone. It was the hair dye that made her linger. She had always been blond, the kind of blond that almost looked white after a summer in a chlorine swimming pool. Any color would take, it was just— Eff it. It’s not like she had to weigh her purchase against a budget. She grabbed a box of auburn, brown and jet black and dropped them into the front cart. She jogged through the rest of the store, picking up anything she thought she’d need on the road. Camp stove and fuel, canned, powdered and boxed food, beef jerky and power bars. Now this is the shopping list for the apocalypse. I should probably write this down. If the human race lives past this year, maybe my grandkids will think it’s funny.

  In and out. Her entire shopping experience for maybe the rest of her life took twenty minutes. “No, thank you. I think I can make it out to my car myself,” Andi said to the pile of wet, dismembered bodies splayed across the floor near the exit. “And you have a pleasant day yourself.”

  She packed the car quickly. Andi now wore a pair of new blue Wranglers, bright white tennis shoes and a red T-shirt featuring Old Glory and the word ‘Merica. Somewhere to the north a dog barked; it was close. Too close. Andi knew she had to be careful. Stray dogs might be friendly in end of the world movies, but she knew dogs and left alone they didn’t get friendly, they got hungry. She grabbed a bottle of water, a stick of beef jerky, a fist full of Led Zeppelin CDs and slowly lowered the Outback’s hatch. It secured with a click.

  A movement in her periphery swung Andi’s head toward the Humvee. Oh, shit. A dog, a big mutt, at least part Rottweiler, stood at the edge of the parking lot, its coat matted, its teeth bared. Another joined it, a collie mostly and another and another, both mutts and all big. “Shit,” she hissed. The Outback was loaded with enough supplies for weeks, including two cases of Bud Light in the front seat. She already had her pack and weapons, but there were five gallons of water in the Humvee, plus MREs, ammunition, explosives and the gasoline pump. She needed those, all of those.

  She slapped the roof of the cab, the “whop” unnaturally loud in the Kansas morning. Damn it. She had a weapon, she needed her supplies, she didn’t have a choice.

  Andi threw herself into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition with the screwdriver; the Outback came to life. The door slammed at the car’s forward motion when Andi shifted to drive and shoved her foot onto the accelerator, the little car squealing tires toward the Humvee. The dogs ran toward the moving vehicle, teeth bared. She would get to the Humvee before the dogs, but she couldn’t get out of the car before they tore her into so much Spam. She glanced at the weapon in the seat next to her. No.
She had enough ammo in the Humvee to rule the entire state of Kansas, but it would run out sometime. Save it. Save it Andi. The lead dog, the big, black alpha male, foam flecking from its lips, bared down on the oncoming Outback. Andi had another weapon, she floored the Subaru.

  The lead dog hit the bumper with a bigger thud than she had expected. She’d only run over armadillos and opossums, nothing as big as that dog. She pulled the car to the right, smashing the driver’s side door into the collie. The thing went down with a yelp and thumped under the rear tire. Andi turned the car straight and clipped the next dog, a German shepherd and screeched the Outback to a stop. The shepherd trotted away in a limp, a terrier close behind. Andi gave them the finger.

  The collie lay in a bloody lump, whimpering when Andi pulled the Outback next to the Humvee and got out. She never heard it.

  The ammo and food fit in the Outback, the water jug and pump she bungeed to the roof. Andi slid back into the Subaru and pulled out of the parking lot toward U.S. 69. She knew where she was going. Cotton had mentioned an emergency shelter at an amusement park in Kansas City, Missouri. Worlds of Fun. Big Andy and Momma had taken her there when she was eight. She rode the Finnish Fling six times in a row, a god-awful Centrifugal force ride and threw up her lunch. Andi hoped to God things were better up north.

  July 29: I-80, Western Nebraska, just outside of Julesburg, Colorado

  Chapter 7

  Terry would have crossed his arms if he hadn’t been eating; the plate got in the way. “And, we’re doing what now?” he asked, holding a plastic fork with a fist, his new-found hammer friend tucked into his belt like a sword.

  Doug sat in one of the canvas chairs looking at Terry, his friend’s face pinched and as close to angry as Doug had ever seen it. And he’d seen it drunk and talking shit about alien conspiracies with Mike down at The Corner Bar back home in Paola. This idea was going to be a hard sell, Doug understood that; convincing his friends to go backward, into the arms of the men who sentenced them to death in a concentration camp full of lepers (zombie lepers). They weren’t even infected with the Piper, the HG-17 fungus delivered with a seemingly harmless anti-depressant; Col. Corson had to know that. Still, that bastard sent them to the Community anyway. “You’ll be relocated,” Corson said to them in the bowels of the Nebraska Medical Center the Army unit had barricaded itself inside, surrounded by snipers and a tall chain-link fence. “There are thousands of survivors like yourself living in these safe, comfortable communities until we get this mess cleaned up.” Safe and comfortable, sure. Only Corson didn’t say he considered them part of the mess. They’d trusted Corson. He was an authority figure. The only authority figure they’d found in this world of the dead and Col. Corson was a goddamned liar. They had all faced unknown enemies since the world had gone to shit; Doug preferred to face the one he knew – and that asshole was in Omaha.

  The morning sun sat high enough in the sky it was probably 8 or 9 a.m., Doug didn’t know exactly. Although he had only a couple hours of sleep after his vigil, he felt better, much better than yesterday, but he still had a way to go before he was ready to do anything on his own. Like deal with the light. The light in the little town bothered him; it shouldn’t have been there. The lone light in the darkness wasn’t for some insomniac reading late at night; it was a beacon. And since whoever lit that beacon wouldn’t have enough fuel to light it every night in the two months since the Piper started turning people into zombie incubators, it was meant for them. Someone in the little Colorado town just over the Nebraska border knew they had made camp on that country road and that person wanted them to come down and play. If he were still driving the Marstens H3, armed with those survivalist’s SX3 shotguns and several M27 light machine guns, he would have taken his friends down there, but all that was gone, taken by the Army in Omaha. Now, with a Toyota Prius and a hammer, Doug didn’t much feel like playing.

  “We’re going back there,” he said. A feeling of terror, like feeling something crawly in the arm of a long-unused coat, ran through him. Whoever was down in that little town might be watching them right now.

  Terry nodded. He shoveled in another plastic forkful of reconstituted eggs from the Styrofoam bowl and swallowed. “That’s what I thought you said.” He scooped out another forkful of eggs. “You’re crazy,” he said, pointing his fork at Doug, a mound of scrambled eggs barely on the tines jiggled, then fell into the dirt.

  “It’s the only way.”

  Terry threw the bowl and rest of his eggs into the weeds. “To what? The only way to what, Doug? Die? We did a pretty good job not dying while you were unconscious, but ever since you woke up you’ve been begging us to let you die. ‘Leave me. You’ll be faster.’ Aaaaahhhhhh.” Terry grabbed the back of his head with both hands and walked around the car.

  “I’m with Terry.” Jenna sat in the other canvas chair, pulled next to Doug’s, an empty bowl in her lap. “We escaped from that awful place. The Community. I know it knocked you out, Doug, but don’t you remember the bombs? The airplane trying to kill us? Those people in Omaha sent us there.” She paused to still her trembling voice. “Don’t you remember what they locked us in there with? The bodies, with that fungus growing from their chests? And that man, that thing with the white eyes?”

  Cataract Man. Doug was suddenly cold.

  “Those people in Omaha did that to us,” Jenna said, her eyes starting to tear. “I don’t want to go back.”

  Doug reached over the chair arm and wrapped his hand around hers. “I remember all that, honey. I’m still going. It’s the only way we can find out.”

  “Find out what, dude?” Terry spat, coming around the other side of the car, holding his first beer of the day. There’d be more; Terry made sure they had plenty. “Find out what it feels like to get shot? Or hung?”

  “Hanged,” Nikki corrected.

  “Because I’m sure that’s what’s waiting for us back in Omaha.”

  Terry was right. Of course he was right. Any sane person would understand that. Run. Run, run, run. Just run away. Find someplace safe. Doug wasn’t sure there was a Someplace Safe anymore, but the closest thing they had to someone knowing that was Col. Corson. “Don’t you want to know?” he asked.

  “Know what, boss?”

  A slight breeze caught Jenna’s hair, her auburn curls flowing like a field of flowers. Doug squeezed her hand and smiled. “If there’s any hope. I need to know if the trains are going to run again, Terry. I need to know if there’s going to be hospitals and grocery stores and a new season of ‘Game of Thrones.’ I need to know if we should give up hope and just barricade ourselves behind walls somewhere and say ‘fuck it.’”

  “I’m all for saying ‘fuck it.’”

  The morning grew silent, the breeze carrying only the buzz of insects.

  Nikki spoke, her voice steady. “I think we should go.”

  “No, baby. No,” Terry moaned.

  “Look, we don’t know what’s out there. We’re going to run into zombies, but there are things worse than zombies.” Preacherman. “I’ve seen them. We have to go back. I’ll take my chances with people. The doctor at the hospital, the nurses, even that asshole Corson. They’re at least people.”

  Jenna threw her bowl to the ground and stood. “I don’t like this.” Her voice shook; tears ran down her face. “Goddamnit. I don’t like this at all. I don’t want to fight zombies. I don’t want to fight Army men. I’m tired of sleeping on the fucking ground.” Her knees started to buckle. Doug pushed himself from the canvas chair, putting most of his weight on his right leg. He caught Jenna, her body melted into his. “I’m tired, Doug. I’m just tired.”

  Terry tossed his empty beer can into the ditch. “Fuck it,” he said. “When are we going?”

  Doug kissed Jenna’s forehead. “Now.”

  ***

  The silver Prius cruised east on I-80 in silence. Terry occasionally swerved around an abandoned car or truck, but the interstate was relatively clean. Nobody was driving in the
last days; they were too busy dying.

  “So, what do you ladies want to listen to?” Doug asked, pulling down the sun visor, a row of CDs tucked into a sleeve on the back. “We have Pete Yorn.”

  Terry shook his head. “No.”

  “Do you even know who that is?” Nikki asked from the back seat.

  “Nope, but I bet he sings about being in love and losing love and finding love.”

  “How can you tell that from a name?”

  “Simple, honey. I haven’t heard of him. If I haven’t heard of him, he sings about shit I don’t care about.”

  Nikki slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Ben Folds,” Doug continued.

  “No,” Terry said.

  “Maroon 5.”

  “No.”

  “Dave Matthews.”

  “No way in hell, dude.”

  “Are you going to like anything I say?”

  Terry frowned. “Depends. Got any Judas Priest?”

  Doug fingered his way through the CDs. “Nope. I don’t think Judas Priest was one of the owners’ favorites.”

  “Led Zeppelin?”

  “In my truck, but it’s in Omaha. We’ll have Zeppelin when we get there.”

  Jenna moaned. “Just pick something, will you.”

  “John Mayer.”

  “No.”

  “Abba Gold.”

  Terry slowly exhaled. “Okay, we’ve got about five hours to whatever in the fuck we’re going to do in Omaha. We might as well enjoy the trip.” He held out his right hand. “Boss, would you let me see those CDs?”