Inception_The Bern Project_Volume One

by M James Conway

  Russell looked at Sims and gestured for him to keep quiet.

  “Anyways…where was I?”

  “About halfway to an ass kicking…” Sims said.

  “Sims! Please!” Russell protested. He could see Steve, standing next to Sims, smiling. To the Asian man, he said, “You were watching that woman attack that kid…”

  The guy looked back at Sims staring at him and noticed the others staring at him as well. He turned back to Russell and said, “Seriously, what, are you guys some sort of PC police? Safe spaces and shit? You know what, why don’t you all go to hell! In case you haven’t noticed, the world isn’t the same anymore. So take that ‘I’m offended’ pansy bullshit and stick it up your asses!”

  He picked up his pace and walked over the median separating the two directions of the freeway. Most cars on the other side were also heading in the eastbound direction. The man found an abandoned newer Ford pickup truck, pulled the tailgate down, sat down on it, and started crying into his hands.

  Russell looked back to the others and said, “Well. You all happy?”

  “Ah, forget him, Russell. Guy was just describing what we also saw on TV at the station,” Sims said.

  “He’s just tired and scared. And alone. I guess we’re lucky we have a group,” Kat said.

  As they walked, they passed several small groups of people, mostly numbering around three or four. Whether they knew each other or not was anyone’s guess. Most had nothing with them, having not planned to walk to their destination while abandoning their cars on the freeway. As they walked, Russell and Sims peered into windows, hoping to find an unlocked door and bottles of water or snacks left inside. Some people were still sitting in their vehicles, willing the freeway to open and allow traffic through.

  The freeway’s ascent into the Cascades increased and they were starting an uphill climb. Each step took energy that wasn’t being replaced and caused them all to breathe a little harder, their mouths parched.

  “I have to pee.” Christina climbed over the railing. She looked to the left, then the right, then walked away into the trees.

  While they waited, Russell pointed his bottle to the east. “Have any of you been out this far?”

  Steve said, “I’ve been out here before.” He nodded to the east. “My boyfriend and I would go hiking up at Mount Si a lot. His best friend lives somewhere out here.” Russell stared at him, waiting for him to continue. “What I mean is, I think we’re close to North Bend. I’d say maybe five miles or so.”

  Russell nodded. “That’s about two hours of walking, give or take. Should be fine.”

  Christina came back and sat down.

  “My turn.” Kat got up and walked into the tree line.

  Russell stood up, stretched and looked down the way they had come. The sky was clear and the sun had just peaked and was heading to the west. Amongst the sea of vehicles, he saw several people walking in between rows as far back as a half mile. Some people were moving at a fast pace while others were hardly able to stand. Everyone was walking in the same direction, to anywhere but Seattle.

  “We should continue, Dad.”

  Russell agreed.

  They all got up and started walking.

  “We should break up a bit, look into windows of cars, see if there’s any water. No sense in all of us walking in a tight group. We need to scavenge,” Steve said.

  “Good idea. Kat, Christina, why don’t you girls stay on this side? I’ll take middle. Steve, you and Sims can take the left-hand side. Try and find windows that are down or at least doors that are unlocked. I don’t want us breaking windows…If we find anything.”

  They spread out and slowed a bit, making sure to check windows. Kat and Christina would walk, look into windows, and then their faces would have a dejected look on them. Sims and Steve seemed to be more involved. Sims rummaged around the inside of a late eighties Honda Civic, but came up empty. Russell saw Steve get up on his tiptoes and check the beds of pickup trucks that they passed along the way.

  Russell came up on the driver’s side of what looked like an older Subaru station wagon. There was an older man with a fishing hat sitting in the driver’s seat. He didn’t want to scare the guy, so he walked out a bit, increasing the distance with which he would approach him.

  Russell was about five yards away when the man all of a sudden jumped out of his vehicle and stared at him. In his hand he held a portable radio with static and noise emanating from the small speaker. Russell stopped and stood face-to-face with the man.

  “Move, man, move!” The man was gesturing for Russell to get out of his way.

  Russell did.

  The man kept his glare intact, looking down the freeway to the west. Russell realized he was staring past him and not at him. The man’s face went from a look of intense concentration to a look of horror. He threw the radio up to his ear and listened intently.

  “Shhh!” the man said, but Russell wasn’t talking.

  He looked over to his left and saw Sims and Steve looking at him with curious glances. He looked to his right and saw that Kat and Christina were doing the same.

  Russell faced back towards the man. The man threw open his door, reached into the back, and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He slammed the door closed and jumped up on the hood, the metal groaning as he did.

  He was a heavyset man in his fifties with bushy gray hair hanging below the brim of his hat. He had fishing gear hanging from a khaki fishing vest that made small chiming noises.

  “What is it? What are you doing?” Russell didn’t like the man’s furtive and nervous movements.

  “Quiet, god damn it! I have to check something!” The man made it to the top of the car and the roof buckled, the metal giving in as he stood there. He put the binoculars to his eyes, adjusted several times, and then kept them still.

  Russell looked in the direction the man was facing. They had a good vantage point, being up higher, but all he saw were the same people working their way up the freeway.

  “Dear god. Oh, dear god.” The man jumped down and let the binoculars fall to his chest. He hurriedly opened the door, reached in the back, and pulled out a large backpack. He was breathing rapidly. Then he started shaking, almost to the point of hyperventilating.

  Something had spooked him.

  “What did you see?” Russell yelled at him. Now other people were slowing as they passed the man. Sims, Steve, Kat and Christina had worked their way over.

  “Dad?”

  The man put his backpack on and started running east. He turned and yelled, “They’re coming!”

  “Is he mad?” Sims said.

  Other people that were walking by decided to take the guy’s advice and pick up the pace.

  “Hold on. I’m not one for mob mentality. Guy could just be mad.” Russell climbed up onto the roof of the guy’s car and stood in the dented area where the owner had just been. He didn’t have the luxury of binoculars. He cupped his hands over his eyes. He saw people in the distance walking, some of them sprinting while looking back.

  “Here, use this.” A Hispanic man who had stopped was holding up a rifle scope sans rifle.

  Russell took it and held it to his right eye. The scope was familiar to him. It was a Leupold 10x scope with sunshade. The glass was tinted a copper color to keep glare off the scope.

  He worked his view back toward the west. After one mile, the freeway curved to the south and disappeared behind a thick copse of tall evergreens. He saw several people bust out of the tree line onto the freeway. They started running, arms out, and, though he couldn’t see it, Russell could tell that they had panic on their faces by the way they were running on the freeway, eastbound. Their arms were pumping wildly and their legs struggled to keep them up, a testament to their lack of sprinting skills.

  Russell couldn’t tell what they were running from. Five seconds later, his answer came in the form of hundreds of zombies pouring through the tree line onto the freeway, occupying both sides of the road. Peopl
e who had been walking eastbound and unaware of the danger behind them were swallowed up by the group.

  Russell threw the scope to the Hispanic man, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Everyone, run!”

  There was a chorus of screams as the stragglers turned their heads west, saw the dust cloud and heard sounds of distant screams and glass breaking. Everyone took off at a run, some running on the shoulder, some in the middle of the freeway, some zig-zagging between cars. Others decided to run off the freeway into the trees, while a few decided to sit down and cry.

  Russell ran toward the shoulder to run with Kat and Christina. He looked over and saw Sims and Steve running in the median, knocking down those that got in their way and others doing the same to them. Varying speeds and levels of panic caused everyone to have to watch out for other runners more than they did the horde that was coming their way about a mile down the road. Russell saw some women running with babies or toddlers in one arm, holding onto their husband’s hand with the other. Some elderly people were running as fast as they could and Russell even saw a guy hauling ass with a walker.

  Christina started crying, realizing she wasn’t as fast as everyone else. Kat kept pace with her father, which, in a sense, made Russell feel better, even though fate was footsteps away.

  He kept running, opting to alternate his route between the shoulder and cars in the first lane, and passed two teenagers who were running as fast as they could in skinny jeans. Several of those who had decided to sit it out in their vehicles saw the people running for their lives in their rear view mirrors. They threw their doors open and joined the chase. He saw several people kneeling on the hoods of their cars, praying, some with their rosary beads, tears in their eyes. An older couple smiled into each other’s eyes as they held each other, resigned to their fate.

  Kat kept pace with Russell while Christina was falling behind. Sims and Steve started working their way towards the middle of the freeway to join up with Russell and the girls.

  “Sims, shoulder!”

  “Copy that!”

  Sims and Steve worked their way over and took up point, running ahead of Russell and the girls, calling out obstacles that were in their path. Last thing they wanted was for one of them to trip, hurt themselves, or do something that could be avoided and thus become a victim.

  Russell kept looking back, trying to run calculations in his head. Four or five miles to go, running low on energy, no water and nothing but uphill freeway all the way. The horde was getting closer.

  Screams were increasing from behind them, glass breaking on both sides of the freeway. A chorus of bloodthirsty yells crept up the hillside, getting louder. They turned the bend in the freeway and Russell saw to his disappointment, but not surprise, nothing but freeway and trees on the side and no exits.

  Abandoned cars littered the road and stragglers were walking, unaware of the hell that was coming behind them.

  Thick trees on both sides of the freeway cast shadows across the abandoned cars, creating a tunnel with no escape.

  They kept running.

  Chapter 24

  John drove the Scout along Mount Si Road while Morgan stood up on the passenger side, the AR-15 up and scanning.

  “Coming up on the bridge.” Morgan aimed his AR-15 that way and continued, “Looks clear. And covered in hay.”

  As he drove up, John passed the thick tree line that separated his property from the road. No movement was seen, nor was there any noise, which was to be expected.

  John dropped the speed to about ten miles per hour and crept up to the entrance as the road curved to the left. “Christ, he wasn’t kidding. I think he used all the hay.”

  “Hold it here. Let me check it out.” Morgan got out and walked in a semi-circle to the southern edge of the road while keeping the rifle up. He paused for a few seconds then signaled for John to drive over. The Scout drove through the new opening with maybe a foot of room on each side. Once he pulled past the end of the hay stack, John stopped and got out.

  “See? I told you that Texas boy was good for something.”

  “We’ll still have the opening here, but yeah…only one car can get through. We’ll need a gate or blockade or something to close it off as time goes on, but for now, it works pretty well, I think.”

  John walked back to the Scout and got in with Morgan following. “I have all that equipment in my workshop. Maybe we could get him to build some sort of gate.”

  Morgan nodded. “Take it slow. We’re in no hurry.”

  John kept the speed around fifteen miles per hour, paying more attention to their surroundings than the road. They came up to North Bend Way and headed west, driving the two miles into town, passing nothing but a few trailer parks, some long driveways, and not one person seen.

  “This place is a ghost town. Not a soul around.”

  “Really no reason for anyone to be down here. You’d expect to see some kids out causing trouble, but…nothing. Something’s not right. Turn left here.” Morgan pointed up ahead at Bendigo Boulevard, the main north-south road in North Bend. It had the typical small-town America feel to it, several mom and pop shops, restaurants, a library, Chamber of Commerce, and gas stations. There was a Shell station on the left-hand side about halfway down. John pulled into the parking lot, drove up to the gas pumps and got out. Morgan did the same, bringing the AR-15 up for security.

  John walked to the gas pump and noticed the usually lit screen was dark. He pulled the pump out and flipped the lever up and down several times. Nothing.

  “Go check inside, see if anyone is there.” John watched as Morgan tactically made his way over, scanning the area for danger. Seeming satisfied, Morgan tried the door, but stepped back and shook his head. He walked back to the truck.

  “Should we try another one? I think you guys have that Chevron down the road a bit.”

  “I have a feeling if this one isn’t working, then none of them are.”

  John and Morgan got back into the Scout and headed south, leaving the downtown area. On the left-hand side there was a Bartell Drug store which had a few vehicles parked randomly in the parking lot. They slowed as they passed and John thought he saw movement inside.

  “There.” John pointed to the Bartell Drug.

  “I see it. Pull to the side behind that row of trees. Let’s see who it is.”

  John looked at the front of the store and noticed the leftmost window was spider-webbed with a large hole in the center of it.

  “Looks like looters. Probably looking for drugs.”

  “Probably. Should we shoot them?” Morgan asked.

  “Not unless we have to. You know, getting a stockpile of drugs might not be a bad idea. Grab some antibiotics, pain meds, first aid stuff.” He checked both directions of the road and saw no other vehicles.

  John drove the Scout into the parking lot, turned, and backed into a spot next to the broken window. If they needed to make an escape, throwing it in drive and hauling ass would save them more time than putting it in reverse, backing out and turning.

  He grabbed the AR-15 from the back seat, put the sling around himself, and let the rifle hang while holding the grip with his left hand. He stepped inside and tried to minimize the noise of walking on broken glass. A faint sound of whispering and rummaging came from the back near the pharmacy.

  Morgan motioned that he would walk to the right and for John to walk to the left. John nodded and they moved. They wanted to meet at the back, each of them coming from the opposite side to meet in the middle, hopefully trapping whoever was back there.

  John moved carefully so as not to drag his boots across the floor. He passed the cosmetics sections and came to the end of the aisle next to automotive supplies, where several products had been thrown onto the floor, evidently not good enough for the looters.

  With his back to the aisle, he saw a concave mirror hanging up in the corner and its distorted reflection. There was movement on Morgan’s side of the store but he couldn
’t make out who or how many there were. John brought the AR-15 up and turned to his right, crouched, and moved down the back aisle. He noticed someone bent over the pharmacy counter, half hanging over. He heard small moans coming from the man while he struggled to get to the other side.

  John was about fifteen feet away when he saw movement ahead of him.

  Morgan.

  He put his fingers to his lips, indicating silence.

  Morgan nodded and they both moved toward the man. Morgan went to John’s right and brought up the AR-15 to cover.

  John spoke. “Let me see your hands!”

  “Argh!” The man started and jumped back, throwing his hands up. He was an older man in his late fifties. He had a bald top with salt and pepper hair surrounding his head. He was about five and one half foot tall, but well over two hundred pounds. His beady eyes were bloodshot and he was out of breath.

  “Easy there, friend. We’re not going to hurt you. What are you doing?”

  “My wife. She’s out of insulin. I mean, she’s diabetic and we ran out. Nobody is here, and…and…I can’t wait, you see? She needs her medicine, but I can’t figure out where it’s at.” The man’s bottom lip started to quiver and tears welled up in his eyes.

  “That’s great acting, old timer. I call it bullshit.” Morgan moved the tip of the barrel more in line with the man’s forehead.

  “So you say,” John said. To Morgan, he said, “Cover him.” Morgan did, so he continued, “I want your back to me, hands behind your head, fingers interlaced. You so much as fart wrong and I turn your fat head into a tunnel.”

  “Okay! Okay! Shit, sorry!” The man hurried up and did as John said, shaking the entire time.

  “What are you so nervous about, huh, friend?” The man seemed more pensive than he was scared. It made John think the guy was hiding something and coming up with a story as he went along.

  “You got a damned gun on me and you both look like you enjoy this shit. What, am I supposed to automatically just trust a dude with a pink Mohawk and his brawny friend?”