by Jay Brenham
“Look out!” Gloria yelled, as roughly a dozen infected came into sight.
Grim-faced, Sam cut the wheel back to the right, heading down an unfamiliar street. Train tracks lay in front of them, bracketed by a curb that looked like it could do some damage if they hit it straight on. He turned left, driving parallel to the tracks on a gravel road that dead-ended a short distance away. He’d planned to turn left again at the next alleyway, but a glance revealed a small mob of infected charging the truck.
That left him with two choices: drive through the infected or possible damage his car by driving onto the tracks.
Sam chose the latter, hitting the curb at an angle and driving up onto the gravel bed that underlaid the train track. He could see until the tracks turned, which was good, but the truck was vibrating from driving along the rails, which wasn’t. He wished he had a road-rail vehicle, the kind that could drive on train tracks and on the road. He didn’t know how much more of this the truck could take and he didn’t dare accelerate too much. Who knew what would rattle loose.
Infected poured onto the tracks behind him, quickly gaining on the truck due to its slow speed. A second wave of infected rushed at them as they passed the corner of a red brick building.
“Shit,” Sam muttered. “They must’ve heard the vibrations of the truck.”
Gloria didn’t reply, just gripped the armrest as the infected crashed into the side of the truck. It groaned under the pressure of human bodies and slid right, losing some traction. Sam pressed harder on the gas and the Tacoma shuddered as it tried to accelerate over the bodies that fell beneath it.
A man wearing digital blue camouflage—a Navy uniform—punched through the driver’s side window with one hit and grabbed Sam’s arm. Sam jerked back but the Navy man held firm. Sam reached for the Glock and rammed the barrel into the Navy man’s mouth, breaking his front teeth. When he pulled the trigger the bullet burst through the back of the man’s head, spewing brain matter as it went and striking a second infected who was running alongside the truck. A third infected grabbed over the dead sailor at the window opening. Sam shot the last two rounds into him.
The wheels gained traction on the gravel suddenly and the truck leaped forward. The body of the dead sailor hung half inside the window, blocking the other infected as they rushed the car.
The truck was surrounded on three sides now. Sam veered left into an alley just after Colley Ave. The tires complained loudly as they exited the tracks and Gloria’s seatbelt caught her before she slid across the seat, the infected who’d been hanging onto the left side of the truck were pinched against the cement alley wall and ripped away. So was the Navy man hanging inside the driver’s side window. His head flopped inside the car and left behind a cascade of blood that ran down Sam’s arm and onto the seat. The force of the turn also ejected the contents of the truck bed: two infected men and the bags of supplies Gloria had packed.
The swarm of infected behind them grew. Sam accelerated into an empty pocket of road. Some of the infected ran up the ramp of an approaching overpass, jumping and falling onto the asphalt below in a bid to get in front of the truck. The first few lay still after they fell, providing a cushioned landing for the laggards, who tumbled to the road and immediately resumed their sprint after the truck.
“Are you scratched or bitten?” asked Gloria, her voice thick with worry.
Sam glanced down at the blood on his shirt. He pulled his sleeve up where he’d been grabbed by the infected sailor and looked down.
“Grab a water bottle,” he said, in a tight voice.
Gloria wordlessly opened a water bottle and poured it over Sam’s left arm when he extended it toward her. Water and infected blood ran off of his skin, soaking the floor of the truck.
She sighed. Sam glanced down. The sailor had left red hand-shaped marks on Sam’s arms but nothing had broken the skin. He hoped that was enough to protect him; the truth was he didn’t know how easily the virus spread.
“Nothing broke the skin,” Sam said, half to himself. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to being infected, to losing everything. How long would Jill and Grant have waited for him, before they’d given up hope?
He pushed the thought away; this was not the time to dwell on hypothetical scenarios, no matter how horrifying. The dubious protection of the window was gone. There were no bullets left in the Glock. He tucked the 9mm between the seats regretfully. If he was infected, he’d have to think of another way to end his life.
The engine purred as the truck finally reached a straightaway. A sign for the Virginia Zoo flashed by on Sam’s right as he headed down Granby Street in the direction of Little Creek. Trees obstructed the view of the zoo but Sam knew from experience that it housed some interesting animals. His parents had given their family a season pass and he remembered how Grant’s face had lit up when he looked at the little red panda and alien-looking tapirs.
“I wonder if the animals are okay,” Gloria said, echoing his thoughts.
“Maybe the ones that can run or climb well.” Sam thought again of the red panda. It had looked like a little red raccoon and, much to Grant’s delight, had climbed incessantly the entire time they’d watched it.
“Maybe animals don’t get sick.”
Sam smiled grimly. “At least something will be left when this is over.”
A few miles later they passed Bon Secour hospital, and Sam was again reminded of the life he’d once had in Norfolk. This was where Grant had been born, the place Sam had found a purpose more important than himself. The reason he had to get out of the Seven Cities alive.
The once proud hospital that helped so many sick, injured, and dying people was a shell of its former self. The doctors and nurses who had helped during Grant’s delivery were probably dead. Bodies were strewn haphazardly across the lawn, some motionless and others still twitching. From the street he could see shattered windows all along the second floor. Smoke poured from broken windows, blackening the exterior brickwork. One of the infected could be seen slinking along the top floor. Far below in the grass lay a wheelchair and the crumpled body of an older woman. Did she wheel herself out to avoid the fire or the infected? Had someone pushed her? He would never know.
Sam glimpsed people moving in some of the windows. He identified the infected quickly by their erratic motion. Some of them threw themselves through the lower-level windows to pursue him.
The truck was moving fast enough that these infected were not a worry. Sam no longer drove slowly to avoid wrecks. Moving at a higher speed made it less likely that the infected would realize he was approaching. As long as he kept his eyes on the road they would be okay.
At the shopping center in Ward’s Corner, Sam turned right on Little Creek Road. The shopping center was just down the street from his house; they’d almost made a complete circle. The nearby grocery store had a burned out look, similar to that of the hospital. The infected now swarmed anywhere people had once gathered, savagely attacking anyone who was not already infected. How many people had succumbed to their injuries and how many survived to join the ranks of the infected, Sam wondered.
Little Creek Road led straight to Sam’s former place of employment: the Little Creek Amphibious Base, called Little Creek for short. On the Navy base was a marina for service members who owned boats. Just outside of the base was a marina for civilians.
The infected did not seem to linger in the road, preferring instead to skulk through the neighborhoods along either side. For Sam and Gloria it was luck, but for the people hiding in their houses it meant the end. Most infected that he saw were off to the sides of the road or in houses. It was almost as if some ingrained trait was still present in their thinking that prevented them from standing in the middle of the roadway.
He’d widened the gap between the pursuing horde. The road curved in a long, slow arc and Sam saw a fire engine parked next to the burned remains of a building.
“I remember seeing a fire ax strapped to the sides of one of these big fire engines b
efore,” Gloria said. “We might need a weapon if this marina is anything like the yacht club.”
“Good thinking.” Sam automatically checked behind them. There were no infected close by.
He pulled into the parking lot, idling beneath a sign that read “Clancy’s Go-go.” He kept his distance from the fire truck, his foot still poised over the accelerator in case any infected materialized unexpectedly. Dozens of bodies were scattered throughout the parking lot but none of them moved. He was not willing to fight empty-handed after nearly being bitten at the train tracks.
Sam inched the pickup around the far side of the fire truck. A wrecked police car was on the other side, its hood partially wrapped around a telephone pole. The driver had been partly ejected through the windshield. There were other dents in the Crown Victoria; it had hit a few things before reaching its final resting place against the light pole. Bodies of the infected were strewn in a halo around the dead police cruiser.
Parts of the officer’s face and neck had been torn away, as if a pack of wolves had descended upon the body. Sam shuddered. The officer must have been alive when the infected got to him. From what he’d seen, he doubted the infected would have bothered with the officer if he was already dead.
Sam put the vehicle into park and exited at a run, though he was still careful not to slam the door. Gloria did the same. He pulled the fire ax from the mounting bracket on the side of the fire truck. He turned back to the pickup, pausing as his eyes moved across the wrecked cruiser.
Police usually carry guns. The officer who’d gone through the windshield would still have a gun belt and probably some ammunition on him. Sam felt a moment of guilt and then pushed it aside. He didn’t like the idea of grave robbing but there was no way he could pass up this opportunity.
Sam turned to Gloria and spoke softly in case any infected were close by. “I’m gonna see if there’s a gun or ammo in the police car.”
Gloria nodded in agreement. “If I see any infected I’ll yell to you to get back to the truck.”
Sam held the ax up, poised to strike and approached the vehicle. The driver’s side of the police car was locked, so he went to the other side. It was locked too. The handle snapped back as Sam let go of it, making a loud clank. Before the infection, he wouldn’t have thought twice at a sound that small. But now he flinched. It was loud enough to make one of the infected spring into action.
A man had been lying in the backseat of the cruiser—so still that Sam had taken him for dead—and at the noise from the door handle, he lunged at the closed window. He was wearing a Norfolk Police uniform.
Sam stepped back instinctively, but he couldn’t get back in the pickup. Not when there could be ammunition right in front of him. Ammunition that might save their lives.
Sam smashed the head of the ax through the window and into the infected man’s face. Glass and steel collided with soft human flesh and flattened the officer’s nose. He recoiled from the force of the impact, then lunged forward once more. Sam struck again, slightly higher this time, and crushed the area between the infected man’s eyes, blinding the officer with his own blood and shredded skin.
Thinking the job was done, Sam stepped back. At the same moment the infected officer lunged through the broken window. His head and shoulders made it through the glass but his arms remained inside, apparently restrained by something. Sam flipped the ax over, intending to strike the infected officer in the skull. He missed the skull, instead hitting the officer’s neck with the pick end. Blood spurted from the man’s carotid artery onto the side of the car, painting it red. Sam swung again. This time he struck the officer’s temple and the officer went limp.
With the end of the ax, Sam pushed the man back into the car, then leaned forward to look for ammunition and a gun on his belt. He had none. Now he could see that both of the man’s hands had been handcuffed to the cage which separated the front of the car from the back. Sticking out of his left breast pocket was a rolled piece of paper. Sam reached carefully through the broken glass and pulled the note from the shirt pocket.
He looked around before unrolling it. Gloria nodded the okay.
To whoever finds this,
My partner, Nick, swerved to miss a child and we hit this light pole. He was not wearing his seat belt. Luckily, I was. I tried to escape but I was bitten. I love my wife and children. I did not have the strength to take my own life but I knew that I could not live like the others. I shot as many as I could before running out of ammunition. For whoever finds me, I’m sorry if you had to take my life for me. I never wanted to burden a person with that but I didn’t have the strength. I left the shotgun in the front seat. The emergency release button is under the passenger seat. I hope this helps you.
S. Nelson
P.S. If you can track down my wife, Trisha Nelson, tell her that I love her.
Outside of the car, a body lay next to the officer’s baton: a female infected who’d been savagely beaten, her face left unrecognizable. The savagery of her wounds compared to the others made Sam think that the officer must have been bitten by this infected and then locked himself inside after killing it. The ground was littered with expended casings, evidence of the man’s last stand. No, not the man, Sam corrected himself. He’d had a name. Nelson.
Sam took the ax and broke the passenger side window. The glass shattered and he reached inside and pulled the door handle.
“They’re coming!” Gloria shouted, as three infected rounded the corner of Clancy’s Go Go.
He reached under the passenger seat, feeling for the release button as the infected sprinted at him.
He couldn’t find the release.
“Hurry, Sam!”
Sam stood up with the fire ax as three infected women bore down on him. They were fast enough that he didn’t have time to get back to the truck. If only he had that shotgun. He could only fight hand-to-hand for so long. Luck had been with him so far, but the shotgun could be the difference between living and dying.
“Gloria,” he yelled. “Pull up here and get ready to go!”
The three infected women had zeroed in on his position. An overweight woman wearing a brown muumuu was the closest, moving with the speed of someone half her age and half her size. At the last moment, Sam sidestepped and swung, sending the blade into her thigh. She fell hard, the muscle in her left quad muscle severed from the impact.
A second infected woman slipped on the spent shells, falling momentarily. Sam took the moment’s reprieve to chop at her chest. She fell forward, the momentum ripping the ax from his hands. She clawed at Sam, but he dodged, dashing forward to pick up the baton that was next to Officer Nelson.
As the last infected woman lunged towards him, Sam drove the tip of the baton into her skull over and over. Blood spatter covered the ground around him. Her face caved in from the force of the blows. Only when she stopped moving did Sam stop hitting.
The woman in the brown muumuu lay on the ground, blood pooling in a wide circle around her. He must have cut her femoral artery, which was akin to making her body lose hydraulic pressure. There was simply nothing left for her heart to pump.
More infected sprinted around the corner of the fire truck. Sam reached into the police car in one last bid for the shotgun, fumbling until he found the release button. He jerked the gun from its holding place between the seats, already spinning toward the truck, which Gloria was pulling up next to him. Sam jumped onto the bumper as it pulled past and threw himself over the tailgate into the bed. He landed hard, though he was partially cushioned by his small day pack, which had somehow stayed in the truck when the other bags had gone flying.
An infected man dressed in black motorcycle leather grabbed onto the tailgate right behind Sam and tried to pull himself into the bed. Still lying on his back, Sam leveled the shotgun and racked a shell into the chamber. The trigger of the shotgun moved back fluidly, and a round of buckshot took off the biker’s head just above the nose. Sam had a moment’s view of the man’s cratered skull,
gaping like a half-eaten watermelon, before the biker fell onto the street in a lifeless pile.
Sam ejected the spent shell and grabbed another from the side saddle on the stock, which held six spares. The magazine tube had six rounds inside; there were five more spares left on the side saddle. Eleven rounds. He needed to make them count. The officer’s gun, a black police model Remington, was pretty beat up but it still worked.
Gloria slid open the back window of the cab.
“You know where we’re headed?” Sam shouted.
“Yeah. A left before the base. Marina is on the right. There are a lot of docks there. Maybe we can spot something from the road.”
Sam nodded, even though Gloria couldn’t see him. “Don’t stop until we see something.”
“Not even to let you get up front?”
“I’ll be fine.”
They passed an elementary school on the left side of the road. They were close to base now. Sam had driven this road every day for the past few years. The crowd of infected had fallen far behind them now. Even their speed and savage zeal was no match for the pickup on a relatively open road.
Abruptly, one of the tires began to bump rhythmically. The truck swerved slightly, but Gloria straightened it out quickly.
Sam swore.
“Pretty sure we have a flat,” Gloria called back to him.
“Fuck. We don’t have time to change that now. We gotta push through. Don’t slow down.”
Gloria nodded in agreement.
It was actually a wonder they hadn’t gotten a flat before now, he thought. They’d been driving through all sorts of shit. Maybe the train tracks had started the problem. Or maybe it was the glass around the police car that Gloria had driven over when she picked him up. Regardless, they needed to get as far as they could, broken tire or not.
Just as the base appeared, the tire flipped off, rolling down the road behind them. This was accompanied by a sudden screech as sparks shot from behind the truck.
Not now, Sam thought. They were close. So damn close.