Mom – 11:45AM
It doesn’t ducking matter!
Mom – 11:45AM
*fucking
Mom – 11:46AM
Parking now. Go to your door but don’t open the trucker until we get there!
Mom – 11:46AM
*fucker
Me – 11:46AM
Did you bring the soup?
Mom – 11:47AM
No
Me – 11:47AM
K
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dave eases their Rogue into the nearly empty parking lot of Joe’s apartment. There are only a few cars in the lot so he’s able to grab one of the three closest spots to Joe’s door and quickly turns the engine off. Keeping the doors locked, they wait, scanning the parking lot for any signs of movement. Their attention is immediately drawn to a plastic grocery bag drifting away from the apartment garbage dumpster, moving like a slow-motion tumbleweed across the empty stalls.
During the drive over, they’d seen at least three packs of dogs roaming the streets and dozens of people on foot, trying to avoid them. There was more than one person they saw, limping along the streets with a blood-coated leg or arm and pale complexions. The first one was in the park, just a block from their apartment. He looked like he might have been a mid to late twenty-something, but it was hard to tell. They saw him slowly walking in a large circle on the grass, his arms held out slightly from his sides. His eyes looked sunken and dazed like he was going into deep shock. At first, they slowed to a near stop, planning to help him, or at least take him someplace safe. That was until the guy completed more of his loop, and his rear came into view. The entire back of his jogging outfit was covered in sticky crimson, caused by whatever had ravaged the flesh at the base of his neck. As he came farther along his arc, they saw the remains of the broken leash, still dangling from his right wrist. The guy turned his head their direction and his blood-filmed eyes locked onto Pam. He started stumbling straight toward them in an awkward shuffle. It was then, they could see the streams of mucus flowing from his nose. His lips are pulled back in a snarl as foam dripped from his mouth.
“Just go!” Pam had shouted as Dave was already easing his foot down onto the accelerator pedal.
The man compensated, obviously more limber than he’d first appeared, because he started running at them with a more controlled stride. He was rapidly closing the distance, so Dave pressed harder on the gas. The man adjusted again, changing from his straight-line approach to an intercept course, and shifting gears into an all-out sprint.
“The son of a bitch was playing opossum!” Dave shouted, stomping on the pedal. An instant later, a short scream escaped Pam when the guy slammed against the rear portion of their car. The vehicle rocked from the impact. The human-shaped creature had just enough time to howl in frustration and bash his fist against the rear door window before being spun onto his ass behind them. Dave glanced in the rearview mirror as a chill went down his spine. In that moment, Dave knew if he’d waited any longer to hit the gas, the monster would have crashed into Pam’s door, and from the speed he was moving, he’d have come through her window. His mind played the scene out in his head. The thing smashing through the safety glass, gore-covered teeth tearing into Pam’s throat, her blood spraying onto the inside of the windshield. Dave shook his head to dislodge the vision and refocused on the road.
“We can’t stop to help anyone,” he’d told Pam as he reached for her hand and squeezed it, reassuring himself she was still alive. “It’s too risky.”
“No way,” she’d agreed, and squeezed his hand in return.
The other run-in they had during the drive was from a rabid Schnauzer. The beast had tried to intimidate them into stopping their car by standing in the road and baring its teeth. Dave avoided the confrontation by dispatching the canine with the front tires and a satisfying thump.
“Do you see anything?” Pam asks Dave as they continue searching the parking lot for any signs of a threat.
“The grocery bag almost made me piss myself,” Dave confesses as he stares out through the windshield.
“My brave hero,” Pam says.
“Pissing myself might have been an exaggeration, but it did startle me, a little.”
“Uh-huh,” Pam replies.
“Okay. I don’t see anyone,” Dave says a moment later. “Do you see Joe?”
“No. But, I told him not to open the door until we got to it,” she reminds him.
“Have you tried texting him again?”
“Not after the frowny face,” Pam says.
“Right. The fucking tot casserole recipe again. We’ve given it to him over a half-dozen times,” Dave says.
“I know.”
“I mean, all he has to do is scroll back on your message thread to get it!”
“I know. But maybe he deletes his messages after he gets them,” Pam replies.
“Oh, give me a break!” he says, turning to reach into the back seat.
“He might. You don’t know!”
“I know he’s fucking lazy,” Dave says, pulling the short, pistol-grip shotgun from the back. He sets it on his lap, pointing the business end toward his door instead of at Pam.
“He has a full-time job and a part-time one, and he takes a few classes at night. He’s not lazy!” Pam says.
“I know he’s not! But he’s just…” Dave says, pausing to take a deep breath. “Look. I’m just a little worked up right now with everything and I may be overreacting a little. All I want to do is get Joe…”
“And Dakota,” Pam interrupts.
“And Dakota,” Dave nods. “Then I want to know Zack has Ben and for all of us to be a few hundred miles west of Ohio by dark.” Looking at his wristwatch, he sees it’s almost noon and knows it will be dark in less than five hours.
“Okay,” he continues. “Joe’s door is about thirty yards from us.”
“More like a hundred feet,” Pam says.
“What, the fuck, ever,” he replies.
“I’m just saying, I think it’s more than thirty yards!”
“By ten feet, maybe! What difference does it make?”
“About four steps, and remember the guy from the park,” Pam replies.
“Good point,” Dave says, checking the safety on the shotgun before continuing. “It’s a hundred feet to Joe’s door. We can cover that in a few seconds, but we do not run unless we see someone.”
“Or something,” Pam adds.
“Or something,” he agrees. “Are you ready?”
“Wait until I close my door before you open yours. By that time, I’ll be coming around the back of the car and we’ll move together. But make sure and stay behind me!” Dave says, pushing the gun’s safety button to the off position and reaching for his door handle.
“On three,” he says. “One… Two… Three,” he almost shouts before bouncing his head off the inside of the window and slamming his shoulder into the door.
“It’s still locked,” Pam reminds him as he rubs the side of his head.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Dave replies before pushing the button on the armrest that controls the door locks. “On three,” he says again.
“Just go,” Pam tells him.
“You don’t want a countdown?”
“I’ve already had one and they’re not as cool as I’d hoped. Just go and I’ll follow once you’re around the car.”
“Good plan,” Dave says, pulling on the handle and feeling the door unlatch.
Without another word, Dave slips out of their vehicle and quietly closes his door. He moves around the back of the car, the shotgun tracking left and right for any threatening targets. When he gets to the other side, Pam is already out and waiting for him. He gives her a nod to tell her to start moving, right before she swings the door closed, he knows he’s too late to stop her. In the quiet of the parking lot, the car door sounds like a cannon going off when it makes contact with the frame, his fingers clenching the grip of the twelve-gauge as the door latches.<
br />
“Go!” Dave whispers urgently.
“Sorry,” Pam whispers back, her expression showing real regret.
“It’s okay. Just go!” he tells her.
They move quickly, their eyes constantly scanning the parking lot and the connecting street. Dave keeps the gun moving in unison with his line of sight. Wherever he looks, the barrel points that way. He makes certain to keep Pam behind him and out of his field of fire, should the need present itself. They make it to Joe’s door in less than thirty seconds, to find it’s locked.
“Where is he?” Dave whispers, trying the knob a second time.
“I told him to wait at the door,” Pam replies.
Dave quietly knocks on the door to let Joe know they’re outside, but there’s no answer. He knocks harder and listens again.
“Be right there!” Joe shouts from somewhere in the apartment.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me!” Dave hisses, turning to face the parking lot with the gun while they wait for Joe to open the door. He hears the lock being turned from the inside and presses his back to Pam’s, keeping himself between her and the lot.
“Hi Mom. Hi Dave,” Joe says in a cheerful tone.
He turns without ever actually making eye contact with his parents. His thoughts temporarily preoccupied as he turns to head back down the short entry hall leading to his living room. Pam follows him in, and Dave backs up through the open door, quickly closing and locking it behind them.
“Where’s Dakota?” Pam asks Joe.
“He’s in the shower,” he replies as Dave enters the living room.
Dave stops and takes a deep breath when he sees Joe is safe but becomes instantly angry when he takes a second look. Standing in his living room, Joe is holding the cordless game controller to his Xbox version what-the-fuck-ever in one hand, and his cell phone in the other as he scrolls through something with his thumb.
“Sorry I missed your phone calls,” Joe says to his mother, finally looking up from his phone with a puzzled expression. “What’s with the shotgun, Dave?” he asks.
Instead of answering his son, Dave marches across the living room and slaps the electronic devices from Joe’s hands, sending them clattering to the carpeted floor.
“Hey! Asshole!” Joe shouts.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dave shouts over him.
“The same thing that was wrong with us, two hours ago, before we knew anything was wrong! He was busy living his life!” Pam adds, glaring first at Dave and then Joe, before continuing in a low growl. “Now, everyone, stop fighting, and keep, your fucking, voices down!”
“Sorry, Mom,” Joe says quietly, as he and Dave look down at their feet.
“She’s your mother,” Dave whispers to him.
“You married her,” he replies.
“Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Richter,” Dakota says, coming down the stairs that lead to the two bedrooms and second bathroom upstairs. He must’ve heard the shouting because he hasn’t bothered to fully dress after his shower. He’s wearing a thick, terrycloth robe and still has a towel wrapped around his neck, using one end to dry his wet hair.
“I told you, you could call me Mom,” Pam tells him in the same, low tone she used with Dave and Joe.
Feeling the waves of tension in the room, he comes to a stop on the bottom step. “Right,” Dakota replies, easing down the last step to the apartment-sized living room. “Hi, Mom. Hi…”
“Dave,” he fills in for him with a nod.
“Yeah. Hi Dave,” Dakota says. His eyes are drawn to the shotgun in Dave’s hands, so he avoids any sudden movements and speaks slowly. “If we’d known you guys were planning on coming over, we’d have cleaned up a little more and made snacks.”
“If you’d known we were coming over?” Pam hisses, glaring at Joe again.
“Am I, missing something?” Dakota asks, realizing he’s started off by saying the wrong thing.
“Let’s try this again,” Dave says. “Do you two know what’s going on?”
“Not a clue. I just heard the shouting and came down,” he replies, his eyes still focused on the twelve-gauge.
“Oh! Shit,” Dave says, realizing he’s aiming the gun at Dakota before lowering the barrel to point at the floor.
“Thanks,” Dakota says, visibly relaxing.
“I meant, out there,” Dave says, gesturing back toward the front door.
“Same answer. Not a clue,” Joe says. “I just bought the new, Dead Army video game and we’ve been playing it since last night.”
“You mean, Ghost Team’s Reckoning! How is it?” Dave asks.
“It’s super cool,” Joe says. “Like I said, we’ve been playing since last night and we’re only through like, the third campaign. I think there’s supposed to be ten and the graphics are incredible! Wanna see?” he asks, leaning down to retrieve the controller and his phone from the floor.
“Maybe some other time,” Pam interrupts before her husband can get sucked in. She enjoys a good, survival-horror game more than most, but now’s probably not the time for Dave to start a long-term commitment with a game console. “You both need to sit down while we fill you in,” she says, speaking to Joe and Dakota.
“So, is that what all the sirens have been about?” Dakota asks after the couple finished with their rundown of events. “I thought it was just, you know, a home game weekend.”
“What are we doing?” Joe asks.
“To start, Dakota should probably get dressed,” Pam answers.
“Then you guys are going to grab some of your stuff and we’re getting out of here,” Dave says.
“Where are we going?” Joe asks.
“We’re meeting up with your brothers once we’re out of Ohio, and we’re all going to Amy’s,” Dave replies. “Pam, try to call Zack and see if they have Ben with them while I help the boys get their shit together.”
Ten minutes later, Joe, Dave, and Pam are standing at the front door. Joe’s carrying two small duffle bags filled with the things he and Dakota gathered together.
“Zack and Brigette aren’t answering their phones,” Pam tells Dave after her fifth attempt. “Do you think something’s happened?”
“Either that, or they’re just our children,” he replies.
“Did you try texting them?” Joe asks.
“Stop it,” Dave says. “Where’s Dakota?”
“He’s grabbing Bongo from upstairs.”
“The dog can’t come with us,” Dave says firmly.
“Well, we’re not leaving him. He’ll starve,” Joe replies.
“Better than him taking a bite out of any of us when he gets peakish,” Dave tells him.
“I’m not leaving Bongo,” Joe says.
“He can’t come. What if he’s infected and goes all Cujo in the car?” Dave asks.
“He won’t,” Joe says.
“You don’t know that!” Dave counters. “He stays!”
“Then so do I,” Joe replies, dropping the duffel bags in the entryway.
“Don’t be stupid!”
“We’re ready,” Dakota announces as he comes down the stairs, carrying the squirming time bomb in his arms. The dog’s tail starts beating against Dakota’s ribs like it’s trying to break the bones when he sees Pam and Dave.
“Take him back upstairs and lock him in a room!” Dave demands as he fingers the safety button the twelve-gauge.
“Why?” Dakota asks as Bongo wriggles free, leaps to the floor and makes a beeline for Pam.
“Goddamn it!” Dave says, frantically clicking the safety off and leveling the barrel of the twelve-gauge on the dog. A few feet before the furry demon gets to Pam, Dave pulls the trigger, trying to cut the dog in half before it can sink its infected teeth into his wife.
“Don’t!” Joe yells, drowning out the disappointing click from the guns firing pin hitting dead space that only Dave hears.
“Get back!” Dave bellows to Pam as he pumps a round into the chamber and takes aim.
“Wait
!” Joe shouts, stepping into Dave’s line of fire as the dog leaps.
“Move!” Dave demands.
“David!” Pam yells.
“Move, goddamn it!” he tells Joe again.
“David! Don’t shoot!” Pam says, vigorously petting an apparently uninfected Bongo.
“I told you so,” Joe says, moving out of the way so Dave can see the dog only attacking Pam with a wagging tail and whimpers of elation. Dave stares, seeing the dog release a few drops of urine onto the carpet from its excitement.
“Do you want to stop pointing that thing at me?” Pam asks as she scratches behind Bongo’s ears with both hands. “Who’s a good boy?” she coos to the dog as its butt wriggles back and forth. Dave quickly points the barrel at the ceiling and pushes the safety button back into place.
“Jerk,” Joe mutters, moving over to his mother to lavish some affection on the dog Dave was preparing to shoot.
“Fine,” Dave concedes. “He might not be infected now, but he’s still not coming with us. The reports say dogs have turned on the owners all over the state. We can’t take the chance.”
“He’s obviously a threat,” Pam says, getting in one last pet before Bongo escapes her ministrations and runs to Dave. The happy fur-ball rubs against his legs before jumping up and setting its front paws on Dave’s thighs, begging for his attention.
“Stop it,” Dave says without much force as he moves his leg.
“He doesn’t look infected,” Pam says with a smirk.
“That doesn’t mean he won’t be,” Dave replies. He takes another step back and separates himself from the dog. Realizing Dave’s not playing along, Bongo returns to Pam for more cuddles.
“But he’s not now,” Joe says. “And if he does get infected, or whatever, I’ll put him down myself.”
“And if he doesn’t, I will,” Dakota adds.
“It looks like you’re outvoted, three to one,” Pam says.
“I’m not sure when this became a fucking democracy,” Dave says, finally lowering the shotgun to point it at the floor, looking from Joe to Dakota. “Fine. He’s your responsibility. But if he goes crazy and anything happens to Pam, I’m holding you both responsible.”
“Why not me?” she asks.
The F*cked Series (Book 1): Uppercase Page 6