by G. D. Lang
“What the hell could’ve made those bite marks?” I asked. “I mean, they’re tiny.”
Jane was thinking now; really trying to come up with an explanation. She seemed like one of those people who didn’t give up until she had made sense of the situation. She looked in the back seat and found the answer to our question.
“Oh, Jesus,” she whispered. She was slowly backing away as if looking for a chair or wall or something that could hold her weight while the gravity of what she had just seen had a chance to sink in. “Well, there’s your answer” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.
I looked in the back to see two car seats. One was empty while the other contained a toddler – two years old or so based on its size – with the same size bite marks as mommy. I squinted to get a better look when the one-time occupant of the empty car seat slammed into the windshield, lazily biting at us, a meal it would never be able to enjoy. From its size, the two children looked to be twins. It was so covered with blood that it was hard to tell whether it was male or female. It reached for us, its bloody hands knocking into the windshield to reveal fingers that had been gnawed and eaten all the way to the bone; a clear indication that the whole undead thing didn’t come with any instruction manual. The “terrible twos” – that age that every parent dreads but dutifully suffers through – now had a new poster child. The child looked away quickly, its wavering attention span seemingly unchanged in the transition from toddler to terror. It focused its attention once again on mommy, settling on the immediacy of yesterday’s news instead of the work involved to even have a crack at the late breaking headlines. It plunged its face into her breasts, perhaps a bit of muscle memory holding on strong even in death. I could almost see the indecisiveness in its eyes as it pondered rooting around for mother’s milk or chewing its way through her spleen; each action exerting a pull on its undead psyche as it struggled to learn the rules of this new way of getting fed. The slowly shrinking angel on one shoulder quickly gave way to the undead devil on the other as it plunged its face into mommy’s right cheek with the same gusto as it probably had diving into a birthday cake a year earlier. I couldn’t seem to make myself look away.
“Soooo…. Where ya’ from originally?” Jane’s attempt at humor snapped me out of my slack-jawed stupor. She was now walking away from the vehicle, her eyes urging me to do the same.
“Shouldn’t we…” my voice trailed off as I gestured towards the SUV, a Price is Right model moment of fruitlessly pointing out the obvious.
“No, we should not.” Her voice was tinged with conviction as if this were a point that she would not waver on. “It’s not going to get out of there anyway and I’m already going to be having nightmares, so…” she gestured towards my car. It was early in the morning but she’d clearly met her daily quota for things she’ll never be able to un-see. Seeing as how I was about as enthused as she was at the thought of plunging an arrow through a two-year old’s face, I gladly focused my attention back on my car and the trunk, no doubt holding a grab bag full of drug-fueled excess in its spacious confines.
The walk was slow, quiet but by no means peaceful. I have a feeling serenity will be in short supply for the foreseeable future. Each quiet moment from now on would most likely be spent trying to process the things we’ve seen and avoid thinking about the things we haven’t.
“Sea-Tac, by the way.” The silence was too much for me to handle.
“What?”
“I grew up in Sea-Tac” I responded, blankly staring off into the distance.
“Oh, you mean like the airport?”
“Sort of. More like the crappy city that surrounds the airport and acts as a receptacle for jet fuel and a sounding chamber for the massive 747’s that seem to take off every 30 seconds.”
“Wow. Sounds luxurious”
“Yeah, it is. If your idea of luxurious involves constantly rattling windows, out-of-towners asking for directions on a daily basis, and an increased risk of every kind of cancer and human ailment known to man. On the plus side, the schools were horrible so I didn’t really have to try that hard.”
“Sounds amazing. You probably had a lot more to do though compared to where I grew up.”
“Oh yeah? So you grew up in the Yukon Territory then?” I smiled.
“I wish. No I grew up in a town called Vader. No Joke. The only reason it even exists is because it was a stop for the Northern Pacific Railway back in the early 1900’s.”
“Yeah, I see the sign for that on I-5 every time I drive to Portland. I always wanted to live there just for the geek cred.”
“Yeah, there was always a tiny little news story about us every time a new Star Wars movie came out as if the people in Vader somehow had a direct link to George Lucas and we could provide some insight into his methods. It gets old quick.”
“So can I blame you for the whole Jar Jar Binks anomaly?”
“Hey! I like Jar Jar!” She playfully punched me on the shoulder with a little more force than I was expecting. I tried not to wince.
“Of course you do. You’re a girl.” I rolled my eyes.
“I even have a stuffed Jar Jar that I slept with for years. Even practiced kissing on him.” She smiled at me, looking for a reaction.
“Suddenly I’m a little jealous of Jar Jar.”
We had reached the car, the crescendo of our flirtation now dissipating as I reached for my keys, struggling to find the right words to continue whatever this little courtship was. Instead, silence. Momentum shifted, the moment lost.
I simply smiled at her as I opened the trunk. “Here goes nothing.” The sound of creaking metal slowly receded as it opened fully to reveal the remnants of a night I would probably never fully remember. “Try not to judge me too much based on whatever you see in here.”
“Oh, I’m gonna judge the crap out of you. That’s what people do isn’t it? At least I’m being honest about it.”
“You know, sometimes honesty isn’t always the best policy” I joked.
With the contents now seeing the light of day, it was hard to determine what to focus on first. The checklist of contents was both shocking and somewhat impressive:
A case of small-engine motor oil, which unless there was a lawnmower stuffed in the back somewhere, was completely useless
A pogo stick missing one of its foot holds
A pair of cast iron weights that looked like small bowling balls with handles attached to them
A 2-gallon gas can that judging by the smell and array of empty fast food drink cups, was filled with an embarrassing amount of orange soda
All the makings of a proper fiesta: A half-full bottle of what looked like really expensive tequila, a small squirt gun filled with lime juice, a mostly empty salt shaker that looked like it came from a diner, and a quesadilla machine inside of a taped up box that told anyone with half a brain that it had been returned and there would inevitably be pieces missing
A camelback backpack with the bladder removed and replaced with a bunch of long gas station style pepperoni sticks
An automatic paper towel dispenser that had clearly been ripped from the walls of a public restroom – I had always wanted one of those
At least a dozen packages of water balloons that were meant to look like grenades when filled
Costco-sized packs of Snickers and Milky Way Midnight bars and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos that had been opened and dumped all over, seemingly without a single chip actually being eaten
A croquet set with all of the balls missing
A ski jacket that was two sizes too big for me and also had the sleeves clumsily cut off
A bottle of Vicodin prescribed to a name I didn’t recognize, inexplicably filled to the brim with Skittles
“Woooow” Jane exhaled. “You clearly have A LOT more fun than me. What’s your secret?”
“Substance abuse and an overall lack of self respect mostly” I joked.
“That’ll do it, I suppose.” Jane picked up one of the funny looking d
umbbells and slapped it into her other palm. “Well, these we can definitely use.”
“Yeah” I responded as I picked up one of the cheaply made croquet mallets. “I think this thing is made out of balsa wood.” I threw it back in the trunk and grabbed all of the food and tequila. “I guess I don’t really need to close it” I said as I threw my keys in the trunk and said my goodbyes. We began the walk back trying to avoid the overturned SUV with the undead baby on board when we heard a blood-curdling scream coming from the Jeep. Zoe was in trouble.
Chapter 8
I dropped everything, grabbed the odd-shaped dumbbell from Jane’s hands and leapt into a full out sprint, dodging debris just as adeptly as any Olympic hurdler. The walk to the car had been a slow one so the distance didn’t seem like much until right now as I struggled desperately to close the gap like a parent who has just witnessed their child’s first fall from a jungle gym. I could hear crying now. My grip tightened around the handle of this piece of exercise equipment that could easily pass for a medieval weapon. Its weight had slowed me down but that same weight could slow down a zombie permanently. I pictured all of the ways I could utilize it, mentally nutting up for what could be yet another blood bath. I tried to slow down as I reached the rear driver’s side but my legs seemed to be unwilling to put on the brakes with such little warning. I grabbed onto the chrome taillight guard on the passenger side and used my momentum to swing myself around to Zoe’s location, ready to bludgeon whatever it was that made her cry out in agony. I turned the corner to see Ricky kneeling down and attempting to bite Zoe’s hand or wrist. Zoe turned to me and screamed all over again as Ricky looked up and fell backwards onto his butt, his hands in a defensive position.
“Whoa, whoa!” he yelled, his voice crackling with fear. “She just cut her hand, that’s all. I was just tearing off some medical tape to keep the gauze secure.” His legs defied him as he attempted to get to his feet, wobbling like a punch-drunk boxer looking for the ropes. I think I had scared him twice as much as Zoe’s scream had scared me.
I dropped the weight and bent over, my hands resting on my knees as I tried to catch my breath. “Jesus Christ” I said gasping. I took a few more whooping breaths before I glanced over to the open rear door, the sight of blood demanding my attention. There was a significant amount of it covering the door jam and soaking into the faded carpeting. I nodded towards it, “Is that all Zoe’s blood?”
Ricky glanced at it, “No, thank God. That was there already. Zoe’s blood is on the ground.” He pointed to a relatively small blotch of dark red dotting the pavement. He looked at me now trying to massage a stitch out of my ribcage. “You ok? You look like hell.”
“Yeah…” I said, still struggling to steady my breathing. “It’s been a while since I ran like that. Good practice I guess.”
Ricky chuckled, “ain’t that the truth.”
Jane finally made her way to the Jeep, sporting a limp and jeans with a hole in the knee that was about twice the size it was just a few minutes ago. A minute amount of blood dotted the area just below her kneecap. She was looking at her palms, no doubt scraped up from attempting to brace herself for a fall.
“I’m fine” she blurted out before any of us could say anything. “I just tripped over a bumper trying to keep up with Speed Racer over there” she said, pointing a thumb in my direction as she jokingly rolled her eyes. She looked at Zoe and the brand new bandage now covering her hand, “Zoe, are you…” before she could finish Zoe had bounded into her, needing reassurance from the only mother figure she had left.
Jane winced – her wounds so fresh that she hadn’t gotten used to the pain yet – but said nothing, letting Zoe hug her for as long as it took. “Well, you’ve still got your strength so I guess you’re gonna be alright.”
Zoe loosened her grip long enough for Jane to inspect her hand. “What happened sweetie? Are you ok?” Zoe lowered her head, a mixture of embarrassment and shyness blanketing her face. The telltale look of kids the world over who either don’t want to talk about it or haven’t yet learned the words to express how they feel.
Ricky grabbed at a thin piece of metal protruding from the door, “Here’s your culprit” he said attempting and failing to rip it out. “This old beast has seen better days.” He took a Leatherman tool out of his pocket and used the pliers to bend and fold the thin piece of metal into itself, reducing the risk of a repeat occurrence.
I’d finally managed to catch my breath now, still surprised at how quickly I took action without even thinking about it. “Well, if we weren’t awake before, we definitely are now” I said resting my hands on my hips and trying my hardest not to look like a man in dire need of rest and pain meds. I could feel a sharp knot in my ribcage from how hard I had been breathing, my lungs expanding to maximum capacity with each breath, pushing against my ribs to allow for more air intake. My mind wandered to the treadmill sitting idle in my bedroom, a stupid way to waste my tax return. It had become a huge clothes hanger and shoe rack the first week I put it together, which was sadly 3 months after I initially bought it. Another in a long line of regretful purchases ending most recently with the potpourri of semi-useless junk I had found in my trunk.
The mood was quiet now. We hadn’t even had breakfast and already our nerves were jolted into consciousness once again after a night in which a combination of fear and excitement at the thought of leaving this place kept any of us from getting much sleep. It was clear that we all needed to get out of here as soon as possible. Stagnation was setting in and cabin fever was not something we could afford right now. It looks like we’ll be eating our breakfast on the road. I just wish it consisted of a Sausage McMuffin and a latte rather than beef jerky, candy bars, and Vitamin Water but beggars can’t be choosers in times like these.
We loaded the remaining gear into the Jeep, almost forgetting the two large gas cans that Ricky had filled this morning, taking one for the team and siphoning gas out of whatever he could and accidentally singing his gums with industrial strength mouthwash on several occasions. Jane and I remembered at the last second to get the stuff we had dropped before rushing to Zoe’s aid. As we gathered up everything of use, minus the now broken tequila bottle, we noticed an unfamiliar sound coming from the north of us. It reminded me of when someone pushes down on a piano key but doesn’t remove their finger; a reverberation that slowly dissipates into silence. Only this sound was distinctly human-like and kept repeating, wave after wave like some kind of undead roll call. Jane and I looked at each other, unable to speak, our expressions saying all that needed to be said. It was time to go. And thank God we weren’t planning on heading north.
Chapter 9
On the road once again. It’s what needed to be done but I suspect I’m the only one who doesn’t have second thoughts about it. I suggested that Ricky drive given that he grew up and lived his whole life in this area but the real reason is that I felt I was the best person to keep lookout. I’m confident I can pick up things that others don’t – it sort of comes with the territory for a lifelong introvert. Instead of filling the air with useless noise we sit back and observe. The silence allows us to see things that others miss. There would be no thinking out loud – something I truly despised. If I chose to say something, you can bet it would be pertinent to the situation, especially in a time like this. With Jane keeping Zoe occupied in the back I was unburdened from feeling as though I had to make small talk. I could just look, listen, and foolishly hope that what we’ve seen is just an anomaly.
Ricky didn’t bother with the on-ramp to the highway. I guess there are certain perks to an apocalypse that make things a little easier to handle. There’s a certain exhilarating freedom in just wheeling through the manicured grass and shrubs directly onto the largest highway on the West Coast knowing there will be no repercussions, at least not from the law anyway. I suspect it would be fun to break the rules at first but after a while the high would dissipate into the unavoidable feeling that nothing mattered anymore. That surviv
ing was the real curse. And before long, that picturesque snapshot of our society – the one we recognized and trusted – would be lost. And the ones that were still breathing after the dust settled? They would most likely devolve into packs of survivalists and cold-blooded killers who presented a danger far greater than a roving pack of undead morons who couldn’t even manage to climb a flight of stairs.
Within the first few minutes of weaving in and out of debris, I was glad that Ricky had the foresight to find a vehicle with a wench just in case we got into a jam. I’m ashamed to say I wouldn’t have thought of it. Without Ricky, I wouldn’t have thought of a lot of things. I’ve been so singularly focused on just getting to the coast that I wasn’t thinking straight. I know it’s not rational but nothing that’s happened over the last few days has much of a rational bent to it.
The four southbound lanes were littered with the remnants of panic, confusion, and death; the detritus of a sudden shift in the order of the food chain that no one could have ever predicted. Overturned vehicles, shattered glass, and sheens of oil and gasoline instantly turned a section of this once-bustling thoroughfare into a mile-long roadblock. We weaved in and out of cars, SUVs, and delivery trucks. Even from inside the Jeep, rivulets of blood were clearly visible as they snaked their way through every unnoticeable crack and incomplete weld in an array of otherwise well-built automobiles. A pristine luxury car sat on the side of the road somehow unblemished by the devastation that surrounded it. As Ricky attempted to wedge in between it on the right side and an overturned moving truck on the left, I noticed a person in the driver’s seat, attempting to free himself from his seatbelt. The car’s engine was revving hard and the car was slowly inching down a slight decline that led to a row of trees. Not accustomed to red-lining while in neutral, the engine was clearly putting up a fight, the high pitched whining sounds emanating from it a warning sign that it was about to blow. As our vehicles came side by side, I was hardly surprised to see a heavy-set man with a perfectly manicured beard and expensive but tasteful sunglasses struggling to adapt to this new undead state that brought with it an uncontrollable hunger and a complete lack of control over his extremities. As he lazily looked over at us, his look changed from confusion to madness as he struggled to free himself from the driver’s seat. We all looked on as he contorted his body to attempt an impossible escape through the driver’s side window, all the while his foot still planted firmly on the gas pedal. As he turned his body, his arm nudged the gear shift, grinding the transmission into reverse and sending the car flying backwards as if sucked up by a black hole. It managed to go 50 feet or so before blasting into a tree. Jane comforted Zoe as I craned my neck to witness the disintegration of 50 grand worth of metal as it crumpled into nothing; its modern technology no match for nature.