Damon’s foot hit the gas pedal. The roar of the engine seemed to startle the zombies, but they did not live long enough to mull it over in their mindless brains. They met steel as the bumper plowed into them. Blood splattered the windshield, but Damon could not have cared less at that moment. He laughed wildly as the old man zombie and his walker disappeared under the truck. He hardly felt the others thump against the bumper as they went down. Damon put the truck into reverse. Bones crunched and popped under the weight of the truck as he rolled over the bodies a second time. Damon’s wide eyes surveyed the damage he had done. Satisfied with his work he turned the truck to drive down the only way he could go.
Chapter 7
Damon was forced to exit onto Hwy 56 west to the town of McPherson. Damon learned in school that the town was founded in 1872 and was named after General James Birdseye McPherson. The man was a Union general who died on the Civil War battlefield in McPherson County. It was hard to imagine that America had lived to see a bloodier time than the Civil War. The highway gave way to a narrow road lined with small country houses as he entered the city limits. Damon watched for zombies but saw no sign of them.
Damon drove passed the bronze statue of General McPherson mounted on his motionless steed standing watch over the empty streets. Next to the statue was the courthouse, its tall stone structure cast a shadow over the empty street. He heard the bell toll seven o’clock. It was a forlorn sound that resonated in Damon’s ears. Damon pulled up to an intersection and stopped, analyzing his surroundings. The town looked untouched by the zombie outbreak. The maple trees stretched up towards the yellow and pink sky in the park. The sun filtered through the green leaves casting decorative shadows on the ground. Businesses still had all the windows intact, and the streets were not clogged with abandoned and broken vehicles. That was one of the unsettling characteristics about the town. Another one was that there were no signs of the some 14,000 residents that once called McPherson their home. It was as if they had vanished into thin air. There were no dead bodies lying in the street and not a zombie to be seen. For a split second he thought of parking his truck at the nearest home and starting a new life. The vision on Damon walking down the empty streets, going to the empty grocery store and sitting in the empty movie theater passed through his mind. It wouldn’t be long before utter loneliness gripped him, and he would begin to ponder hanging himself from the statue in the town square. Damon shook his head. He was going to Colorado, and something was off about the town. Like Momma always said ‘looks can be deceiving.’
Damon turned onto South Main Street. His truck’s exhaust echoed off the walls of the old Opera House. He was never one to like opera, but he admired the Romanesque style of the building. He kept driving around the maze of streets, attempting to find his way back to the interstate. There were no signs pointing the way to go. Damon kicked himself for not grabbing the Road Atlas back at home. Letting a curse slip from his mouth, Damon turned the truck at a small sandwich shop and continued down another vacant street. He did not expect something like this would happen. Where’s someone to ask for directions when you need them?
The courthouse bell tolled eight o’clock before he knew it. Damon looked down at his fuel gauge. He had not noticed the orange fuel light glowing. He cursed the fuel efficiency of his truck. Since he was in a small town and he had not seen a zombie since he entered the city Damon decided to stop at a Shell gas station. He pulled under the red and yellow canopy and up to the pump and parked it. Like last time Damon left the keys in the ignition. Damon tried the gas pump. It worked. First try. The mechanic smiled. Just as he finished filling the tank his stomach growled. He had finished what little food he had back in Oklahoma.
“Time to find food.” Damon said aloud. He opened the cab snatching his leather gloves off the dash. He grabbed the pistol, machete and a sack for food. He put the pistol in his belt but kept the machete in his hand. Damon crept into the gas station hoping not to re-enact his last experience. He walked passed the counter and stood absolutely still listening to his surroundings. The shelves were virtually empty. Wonderful. Damon scanned the interior. He continued to walk toward the shelves. He grabbed everything that was left. He picked up a few bags of Hershey’s Whoppers, a can of Pringles, two Honey Buns, and a bag of teriyaki beef jerky.
Damon continued to rummage through the gas station keeping very quiet. He knew he was risking his life by being out of the truck, but he had to stretch his legs. He was going crazy in the truck anyway. He came to a storage closet in the back corner. That’s when he smelled it…that all too familiar smell. It was time to go. Damon turned to leave. He half expected something to be behind him waiting to pounce, but nothing was there. He got closer to the exit when he heard little footsteps behind him. Damon gripped the machete and whirled around. He stood staring, not at a zombie, but a little girl dressed in dirty jeans and a Hannah Montana tee.
“Please Mister…Take me with you.” She whimpered. Her mousey voice was low and squeaky. Her voice startled Damon. It was almost alien to him. This was it. Sanity was finally gone. He still was considering if he was just seeing things, so he did not respond right away. After a few minutes of mental war he started to speak. “Where did you come from?” His voice was gruff and awkward.
“I’ve been living in the bathroom since they came.” She bowed her head. “My parents are dead. Please take me with you.” She used the back of her little hand to wipe her nose.
Damon was undergoing an internal struggle. He was still reeling. He did not want the responsibility of another life, but he was dying to spend time with someone other than a flesh eating type. What if she slowed him down? What if she’s been infected? “There aren’t any zombies here. Why don’t you just live in one of the houses?” Damon knew he sounded like a jerk, but he was hesitant to take the girl.
The little girl snapped to attention. There was fear in her emerald green eyes. “Oh! They are here!” She tiptoed closer, causing Damon to take a step back. “They’re everywhere.”
“Why haven’t I seen any?” “They are in the mines. Some get out now and then, but it’s only a matter of time. I think it has something to do with their eyes. I don’t see them really during the day.” Her squeaky voice got louder as she talked. “Please…I don’t want to be alone anymore…Please.” Her face sagged. “I’m just so hungry…”
Damon was starting to get a little freaked out now. What did she mean, down in the mines? And what about the daylight? Back home they were always out no matter what time of the day it was. He brushed his big hands through his shaggy hair. “Fine.” He said finally. “…but just for a little while.”
With that her attitude changed. She jumped up and down with excitement. She grabbed her purple school bag and hopping merrily, she followed Damon out of the station. She pushed passed him and ran for the truck with her blonde ponytail bouncing. She jumped into the cab.
Damon rounded the front of the truck, “What happened to you being meek and--” He did not get a chance to finish his sentence. A towering zombie came around the back of the truck and launched itself at Damon. The weight of the zombie knocked him to the ground. The machete clattered to the concrete and was lost in the scuffle. Damon tried desperately to keep the snapping jaws away from his neck. His forearm was wedged under the zombie’s chin to keep its jaws back. The smell was almost too much to bear, and if he had not had a zombie on his chest he would have thrown up. It was hard to breathe. Damon felt something wet fall on his forehead that leaked from the zombie’s mouth. The zombie’s gray and bleeding hands grabbed for Damon’s eyes and made an inhuman snarl like a rabid dog. Damon tried rocking the zombie off him. He heard the moans of more zombies, and the sound of shuffling feet scraping across the pavement. Damon pushed harder getting one leg up under the zombie and then kicked out hard. He felt the pressure release off his chest and slid out from under the hulking monster.
Damon was on his feet in a split second. His hand went to the shining black pistol. CLACK! A
shot exploded next to Damon’s ear causing him to look behind him. Lying at his feet was a female zombie dressed in a ragged sundress decorated with daisies. She had a bullet hole in the side of her head. Damon looked up from the body to see his newfound companion wielding a small handgun. Before he could say anything she turned away from him to fire at another zombie. It crumpled to the ground with a bullet lodged in its brain.
Another zombie was approaching Damon. He aimed the pistol and pulled the trigger. It missed. Damon steadied himself and fired again, this time hitting his mark. “Get in the truck!” He hollered at the girl. She sprinted to the truck after dropping another zombie. Damon snatched the machete off the ground as he ran, and in one swift movement took the towering zombie’s head off before it could get off the ground. He jumped into the cab, but just as the door was about closed a zombie made a grab for Damon. The door shut on the thing’s arm and bounced open allowing it full access to the cab. He forced the zombie back with his strong arms. Somehow it was able to latch onto Damon’s right hand with a strong bite. The little girl screamed, and Damon kicked the zombie. It would not let go of its pray. Damon spied one of baseball bats in the backseat and without any hesitation he grabbed it with his free hand. The closed in area of the truck made it hard to get a full swing, but Damon brought the bat down on the zombie’s head hard enough that it fell backwards. It released its grip on his hand and allowing Damon to slam the door.
They did not waste any time leaving McPherson, Kansas. By chance Damon had found the way to the highway. Once they were back on the road he pulled over to examine his right hand. The glove he was wearing was lost to the zombie. It was probably still in its bloodthirsty mouth somewhere. Damon wondered. There was no break in the skin. A huge sigh of relief washed over him, and he started driving again.
Chapter 8
After a few miles down an endless highway that split the plains into two honey-tinged halves. The young girl started to speak. “My name is Chloe…by the way.” The tween said while smoothing out her pony tail in the mirror. “What’s yours?” She clicked up the visor when she was finished.
Damon sighed again. “I don’t really want to start this…”
“Start what?” The words practically exploded from Chloe’s mouth. “I save your life and you don’t want to tell me your name.”
“Saved my life? I think it was you who asked me to take you away from that place. Plus didn’t you say they were in the mines?” Chloe crossed her little arms and huffed. “I guess that means we’re even.” After another second she added. “Plus I said some got out.”
They drove in silence for nearly an hour before Damon spoke. “How did you learn to shoot like that?” He took his eyes off the highway to stare at the pre-teen.
“I learned pretty quick when I ended up by myself stuck in a gas station bathroom with those things out there.” Hurt filled her voice. He could tell there was a lot more to the story, but he didn’t push.
Damon stared back at the windshield when he saw a sign for Hwy 281 North. That would take him back to the interstate. “How old are you, Chloe?” He had been curious about the girl’s age since they met.
“Twelve. Almost thirteen.” Chloe twiddled her thumbs. “My birthday’s next month.” There was a slight smile.
“Well you’re the most mature twelve year old I ever met. And you shoot as good as any hunter.” The tween’s smile was ear to ear. “Thanks.” She clicked on the CD player, and the voice of Kenny Chesney sang through the speakers. “I wonder if he’s still alive.” She pondered. Damon did not respond. He was lost in thought. He let the music seep into his brain, and soon he was humming the tune.
Hours went by as the two drove. For miles Chloe’s striking eyes stared out the passenger window across the Kansas plains. She let the warm air hit her face as she leaned up against the door frame. Soon she was fast asleep. Damon chuckled when the bumps made her head bob forward and back like a rag doll. Her mouth hung open. The snores started shortly after. At that moment she reminded Damon of his son, his eyes started to sting, and it felt as if a lump was stuck in his throat like he swallowed a rock. Damon quickly wiped his eyes before a tear fell.
Damon saw a service station on the side of the road, since they still had a ways to go in Kansas he figured he should stop for gas again, even though, his gas station experiences were getting progressively worse and more action packed. Reluctantly, he pulled the truck in.
The reduction in speed caused Chloe to wake up with a snort. Through groggy eyes she peered up at Damon’s rough face. “What…” YAWN. “…are we doing here?”
“Getting some more gas, and since we lost our only food back at the last stop I’m gonna try to find some more.” Damon went to get out of the truck when he heard the passenger door handle click. “You are staying in the truck.”
Chloe frowned. “You would be one of those things if it weren’t for me.”
True. “My truck, my rules. Now stay.” Damon’s voice was stern. The tween slammed the passenger door and crawled into the back seat. Chloe did not look at him. He heard her sniff, and he shrugged his shoulders and sighed. Once outside the truck he tried to pump the gas. No luck. He opened the door and grabbed his pistol and machete. Silently he walked into the gas station. The hairs on Damon’s arms were sticking straight up, and he could feel a shiver run down his spine. He was really starting to hate gas stations.
From the truck, Chloe watched Damon disappear into the dark gas station. Even though she had only known the man for a few hours, she was extremely concerned for his safety. She somehow felt connected to him. The tween wiped her eyes and moved to the front seat. She felt something fall. It was a photo album. The black leather was soft under her small fingers. She opened the cover to see a wedding couple, she knew the tangled-headed man in the photo. She flipped through the thick pages seeing a beautiful blonde woman in a flowing wedding gown. The woman had bright pink lilies in her hair that matched the flowers in her bouquet. Her blue eyes bore into Chloe’s. She was so pretty.
Chloe shut the book before she got to the reception and noticed another album. This one had blue monkeys and elephants on it, a baby book. She knew before she opened it, but before she could open it she heard the driver’s door pop open. Startled, Chloe dropped the blue album and photographs spilled onto the floor. “What are you doing going through my stuff?” Damon did not wait for an answer. “Those are my things. Mine!” He leaned over the center console and tore the books off her lap.
Tears welled up in Chloe’s green eyes. “I’m sorry.” She whimpered. “I just wanted to look.”
“I don’t care what you wanted to do!” “It’s been so long since I got to look at any kind of book.” She was crying now. “I-I-lived in a bathroom for two months with nothing to read but old newspapers. I hate the newspaper!” She said as he snatched loose photographs out of her hands.
Damon was picking up the pictures and making sure each one was undamaged. He put the albums under his seat and started the truck. Chloe sobbed while Damon tore out of the parking lot throwing her back into the cloth seat
After a few long minutes, Damon opened his mouth to speak but then shut it. A second later he opened it again. “I’m…uhh…sorry.” He looked over at Chloe who stared back at him with swollen blotchy cheeks and red eyes. “I shouldn’t of reacted like that.” He sighed. “It’s just been hard without them.”
“They’re dead…” Chloe whispered. Damon could feel the sting in his eyes again. “Yes.” He choked. “They’re dead.” He said simply. God these feelings were going to kill him.
Chloe hiccupped and dried her eyes with her sleeve. “I’m sorry…uhhh…” “It’s Damon.” He finished her sentence. “Damon Marshall, auto mechanic from Dalville, Arkansas.” Damon started to tell Chloe about the night he swore he would never think about again. It ended with his the journey to Colorado up until he met her. After he was finished both Damon and Chloe were crying. They both had lost their loved ones. Both had been forced to l
ive a life of solitude and dread. No longer would they have to be alone. They had each other. He showed her the picture that was taken on the Fourth of July. “They were so beautiful. You have hair just like my Amy.”
The tween grabbed his big calloused hand in her small pale hands. “So are we almost to Colorado?” She squeaked changing the subject.
“We are getting close.” His voice was hoarse from all the tears. “Hopefully, we’re passed the worst of it.” Damon and Chloe drove on. They made it through Kansas in good time, and soon they saw the sign. “The People of Colorado Welcome You.” Chloe cheered letting out a loud Whoohoo! Damon tried to smile, but could not make himself do it. Soon he would know if his brother had survived. His brother was a paranoid prepper that moved to the mountains long before the zombies came. If anyone survived it would be him. More interstate disappeared in the rearview. Damon passed over the Arikaree River. Chloe gazed at the flowing water underneath her. Soon she went back to watching the changing scenery. The dusty rocky plains transformed into rocky cliffs. The trees got taller and pricklier. When they finally saw the mountains rise up from the Earth in the distance even Damon could not hide his awe. So close. It seemed as if his whole life depended on what he would find in the mountains.
“Watch out!” He heard Chloe scream. On impulse Damon slammed on the brakes. His eyes switched off the mountains in the distance to a torched pile of cars in front of him. The sound of crunching metal erupted from the pile when the Silverado slid into it. Thankfully Damon was able to react fast enough so they did not hit the pile at 75 miles per hour. The truck stopped. The screaming stopped. Everything stopped. His knuckles were white from holding onto the steering wheel so tightly.
Zombie Revolution Page 4