She approaches the glass door of the convenience store quickly but cautiously, with the weapon raised above her head and poised to strike. She reaches the door, puts her right hand on the door handle and gives it a push. Upon opening, the door strikes a bell positioned at its top left corner and Brooke winces at the intrusive ting ting sound upon the silent night. ‘If I hear one more bell…’ she thinks to herself as she passes through the doorway. Instead of letting the door swing closed again and suffer another dinner bell she pushes it all of the way open until the hinges catch and lock it into the open position. This will also afford her a hasty retreat should the need arise.
Brooke understands that the most pressing need here is fuel for their bodies to run on so she shoves the tire iron into the waistband of her form fitting jeans and heads straight for the carbohydrate counter, stopping briefly for a hand basket on the way. She fills it with HoHos, Ding Dongs, Twinkies and cinnamon rolls. She throws in some high energy drinks for something with a little more kick and tops it off with bottled water to wash it all down.
Once satisfied with her loot she –out of habit- turns to the counter and pulls out Vinny’s card to pay. She instantly feels silly and slides Vinny’s card back into her front pocket. From her back pocket, she produces a twenty and leaves it on the counter. She hopes the twenty is enough to cover the snacks, as well as the hand basket, since no bags are in sight and she isn’t going to take the time to look for one. She heads for the door with the basket in one hand and tire iron back in the other.
A quick flash of movement -too fast to decipher- by the car startles her and makes her stumble slightly sideways bumping into the stores open door. She ducks behind a rack containing condoms, oil and various other late-night staples. Brooke tries to make herself as small as a mouse while praying that whatever was out there would go away without noticing her. Just then, the front door’s bell chimes and she realizes that she must have knocked the door loose when she bumped it. ‘Come and get it!’ the bell rings out to whoever is interested. She curses herself for being so clumsy. Whatever was out there must have heard the ringing and would be on top of her in a matter of seconds.
She peers around the end of the rack and through the bottom of the glass door that has swung shut. No movement… in fact, nothing at all but the Audi against the backdrop of a desolate night. Perhaps whatever it was has moved on. Or perhaps there had been nothing there to begin with. In any case, time was of the essence and she could spend no more of it in consternation. She grips the basket tightly, moves around the rack and toward the door. She’s met by an explosion of glass that sprays forth in every direction abrading her skin and imbedding itself in her hair.
The cause is a white haired man that has to be at least eighty-five but moves with all the grace of an Olympic gymnast. He is slightly over weight and dressed in blue oil-stained coveralls with the name ‘Steve’ stitched on his left breast pocket. His yellow-ringed eyes compliment his attire.
Steve had inexplicably dived through the unlocked door and sustained a few cuts of his own in the process, though he is apparently unfazed by it. His teeth appear red. He breathes through them like an asthmatic trying to catch his breath. His dive through the door has landed him about ten feet from it, where he now stands sniffing the air.
Upon sight of the obviously infected man, Brooke jumps like Flo’ Jo’ from the starting blocks and hits the door with her sincerest hopes that it swings both ways. For once, luck is on her side and after pushing through the door, she runs with such vigor that she is unaware of her feet ever actually touching the ground.
She clears the hood of the car and turns to the driver’s door before daring to look back at her pursuer. To her dismay, he is nowhere to be seen. She isn’t about to stop and look for him so she opens the door, tosses the hand basket into the passenger seat and she follows close behind. She connects the necessary wires and is relieved to hear the engine spring to life. She already has the car in drive with her foot off of the break before she realizes that she’s forgotten to remove the gas nozzle from the tank.
Sooner than she can consider the best course of action, she hears a loud crash overhead and the roof of the Audi creases lengthwise down the middle. The metallic crunch of the roof and desperate whine of the shocks as they rebound like pogo sticks from the concussion causes Brooke to duck her head and squint her eyes, but after a brief swerve, she manages to keep control of the car. The missing attendant had apparently returned, and in dramatic fashion. He kneels on top of the vehicle with one knee in the fold that he had just created and prepares to smash through the side window. With one mighty blow from his left fist, the front driver’s side window shatters, creating a kaleidoscope of jagged shards like deadly ice sickles. Brooke instinctively guns the engine and her assailer is sent tumbling backward off the roof of the car, across the trunk and crashing to the pavement. Simultaneously, the fuel hose is torn from its housing and gas sprays wildly from the amputated pump handle in the cars wake, wetting everything in its proximity, including Steve.
The fuel soaked attendant is instantly on his feet and running after the decrepit Audi with a deadly determination. Brooke fears that this old junker will soon serve as her coffin.
“You piece of shit, move!” she yells and slams the accelerator to the floor.
The car responds with an explosive backfire. Timely sparks from the Audi’s muffler set the infected and his surrounding area aflame. As if it had cleared the phlegm of old age with the boisterous backfire the Audi now digs in and squeals away down the street with the pump hose still whipping like an errant tail from its fuel door. In the rearview mirror, Steve can be seen thrashing about in agony and confusion but amazingly still on his feet as his fiery flesh drips from his body. Brooke squirms in her seat at the surreal visual and takes a mental note ‘fire seems to work’. She doesn’t stop to celebrate but does give the Audi silent thanks for saving her life. Fading into the increasingly distant background, she can see Steve on the ground and motionless, reduced to a campfire. The flames continue to spread closer to the pump and Brooke doesn’t want to be around when they finally reach it. She hopes that Max and Vinny will be outside and ok when she returns, because this town is going up in smoke. Literally.
***
Aware that time was now a short commodity Max reaches around the steering column and lets his fingers search the ignition. Nothing. Does he have time to search the car for the missing keys? He finds himself wishing he would have had the forethought to check Lisa’s dead body for the Mercedes keys and the mental image churns his stomach.
Hotwiring an old Audi was one thing but a new Mercedes is far beyond his casual knowledge. He would have to find another car or spend time searching this car far a spare key. After a quick check in a few obvious locations, Max decides the search for a key to be a lost cause and raises his head in order to locate more suitable transportation.
The cries are getting closer so whatever vehicle is nearest will have to do. He spots a Ford Taurus across the street and though it’s far, he determines it to be his best bet.
Max slings Vinny over his shoulder once again and using a little adrenaline of his own moves as fast as he can across the street. He is halfway to the car when he sees the first of the infected, a teenager dressed in baggy jeans. He is shirtless with his pants sagging -so low that they defy gravity- and checkered boxers clearly visible above his beltline. The teen is carrying something red and white in one hand that Max cannot quite make out at this distance.
Max hears another infected approaching him from behind and closing inhumanly fast. He spins in time to catch it with an off balance one-handed blast from the shotgun. The weight of the gun coupled with fatigue push his aim low but the shredder still manages to prune one leg from the wretch and it skids sideways on its face picking up pieces of asphalt in its eye and cheek as it slides. A geyser of blood streams from the deputy’s freshly amputated stump and Max stops wondering what happened in the sheriff’s station. With his
shotgun now empty, he turns back to the Taurus only to find yet another infected. This one is standing directly between Max and his salvation. Its head is cocked hard to one side, which leaves its neck at an incomprehensible ninety-degree angle. At the apex of its fracture is a bluish bulge about the size of an orange. Max is dumbfounded by how the creature continues to move. Someone had obviously hit it in the head or neck with great force in order to cause such damage, but still, here it stands between Max, Vinny and precious life.
The screeching is no longer in the distance. Max is surrounded by it. The teen and crooked-neck are both close enough to take him at any time. The example he’d made of the deputy is the only reason they haven’t torn he and Vinny to pieces already. These creatures may be a lot of things but mindless doesn’t seem to be one of them. Lucky for Max a shotgun gives no outward sign when empty. The bluff will probably only last him a few seconds but he will take all he can get right now.
Max wonders if he can get a shell out of his pocket and into the shotgun before the creatures can reach him. He’s almost positive that he can’t but sees no other recourse. After doing his best to balance Vinny on his shoulder Max lets go of him and jams his hand into the top left pocket of his cargo pants. Before his fingertips can even tickle a single shotgun shell, Crooked-neck begins his approach. It moves its entire body faster than Max can move his hand and Max knows that he is not long for this world.
The sound of a racing engine and blinding headlights draw Max’s attention to his left and moments later the infected is being dragged under the back wheels of Vinny’s Audi. Brooke skids to a halt between the Taurus and Max. She scrambles through the separation in the front seats, reaches into the backseat and pulls the door-handle while pushing the door open as best she can. Max takes over and swings the door open wide. He tosses Vinny into the back seat and dives in on top of him. The teen –still fixated on his original prey- has now arrived at the car and is reaching for Max’s leg still dangling precariously outside of the door. Brooke hits the accelerator just in time to prevent Max’s leg from being ripped off. As they speed away, the teen angrily flings the contents of his other hand at the car and a bloodied cat leaves its imprint on the rear windshield. Beyond the blood-smeared glass, flames can be seen rising in the distance.
“Damn, it’s good to see you!” Max cannot contain his joy over their narrow deliverance from the jaws of death.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, the car was out of gas and then Steve almost got me. I didn’t know…” Brooke’s stream of consciousness is interrupted by a muddy and weary voice.
“I love you too man, but could you get the hell off of my nuts?” Vinny was finally awake.
***
They reach the freeway in ten minutes, including a brief stop to remove the feline remnants and the gas pump nozzle from the vehicle. While Brooke drives, Max goes about the task of loading all weapons. He opts to alternate standard buckshot and shredders in the shotgun in an effort to conserve the few explosive rounds he has left. Once that job is complete, he begins instructing Brooke and Vinny on the use of each firearm. Brooke regards Max’s extensive knowledge on the subject with some trepidation.
“And you know all of this how?”
Max does not raise his head to reply but offers simply, “My father always told me to hope for the best but prepare for the worst. I believe this situation qualifies for the worst. Anyway, I wasn’t always a model student,” Max flourishes this remark with a sarcastic grin, “I got my early education in places that most people only go to die or get high.”
Max had always felt quietly ashamed of his past, but now for the first time he found himself thankful for it -at least the aspects that could help him and his friends to survive this most unlikely situation.
When Max is done giving his seminar on modern weaponry, he turns his attention back to Vinny’s shoulder.
“How are you holding up?” he asks.
“I’ll survive,” Vinny turns to Max with a raised eyebrow and continues, “Hey man, I don’t know how but you saved my ass. I was sure as shit that I was going to die alone in that cell.”
Max replies, “You wouldn’t have died alone. Lisa was there with you.”
This draws a chuckle from Vinny that is quickly abbreviated by Max’s elbow in his side. Max instantly feels like an insensitive ass. In the rearview mirror, he can see Brooke’s eyes filling with tears. In all of the commotion, he had neglected to mention that the perpetrator of Vinny’s crippled shoulder had been the infected Lisa. And that he had splattered her about the cell walls with no hesitation and surprisingly little remorse.
He often wondered, if Brooke knew the things he was capable of would she even want to know him. This thought was partly to blame for the distance he kept between them. Max was good at reading people and had indeed known for some time how Brooke felt about him, but between his past and Vinny’s crush on her he saw no alternative to just remaining friends.
Noticing an overturned hand basket in the front passenger seat and judging that now was not the time for an explanation to Vinny or Brooke about what transpired in the cell, Max deftly switches topics, “What’s for dinner?”
Brooke wipes away her tears with the back of her hand and tosses an assortment of junk foods and energy drinks into the back seat along with an apology.
“That was all they had, sorry.”
Vinny ate what he could but had little appetite. More than anything, he was physically and mentally exhausted.
“Can someone tell me please what the hell is going on?” asks Vinny with obvious frustration.
The energy drink is apparently kicking in and he is beginning to think straight again.
Brooke regards Vinny in the rearview mirror but says nothing.
“Hey, if you know what’s going on someone damn well better clue me in,” his words begin angry but trail off in a flush of pain.
Max speaks up, “Calm down, the first thing we need to do is find you a hospital. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
“My shoulder will be fine. Let’s get home,” Vinny says, doing his best to put on a game face and mask the pain.
“Vinny, it’s extremely important that you tell me the truth now. Did Lisa bite you?” Max asks trying to mediate the level of concern in his voice.
“No man, I never gave that bitch a chance. I unloaded my magnum in her gut after she fucked up my shoulder, and the next thing I knew I was in the car with you grinding on me.”
“That’s good news!” Brooke can’t suppress her relief.
“That is good news.” Max is a bit more reserved.
“I’m glad everyone’s happy that my shoulder’s broken, but who gives a dry hump if she bit me? And while you’re explaining that could you please tell me how Lisa went bat-shit like Vanessa?”
A hard expression comes over Max’s face, “This won’t be easy for you to believe but…”
***
After some time on a surprisingly ghostly freeway, the road signs indicate that they are approaching Ventura. The only other cars they’ve seen on the road were pulled over to the shoulder or stopped dead in the lanes. Twice they past full-on accident scenes where the possibility of survivors was damn near impossible. In the unlikely event that anyone had survived, Max, Brooke and Vinny could only hope that the lucky party still possessed the ability to walk –or run as the case may be- since they had no intention of stopping to investigate. The risk was just too high.
After a short debate about what to do next, Brooke convinces them that since they have no familiarity with this area the best thing to do is find a phonebook and look up hospitals, clinics or anyplace that might be able to help Vinny -despite his pleadings to the contrary. The front of every phonebook contains the address of every major hospital nearby and the back usually contains a simple map of the area. Given the situation all such places were probably overrun but they had to do something for him, at least for his pain. No one could argue with this logic, but the prospect of facing more biters
makes Max uneasy. He and Vinny narrowly escaped last time, and though she hasn’t filled them in on the details –judging by the condition of the car and flames in the sky behind them as they fled- Brooke had encountered her own fair share of trouble. Truth be told Max didn’t argue this course of action because after almost writing Vinny off and taking his life back in the holding cell –even if no one knew but him- he was in need of a little redemption. Getting Vinny some help would ease that burden.
They begin to check exits, looking for the most industrialized area they can find and hoping to avoid densely populated neighborhoods that could be teaming with the infected. They pass the next exit-ramp. A brief survey of the surrounding area revealed too many houses. As they approach the onramp from the same street, they’re surprised to see another car coming to join them on the freeway.
It’s a red convertible, with an attractive thirty-something brunette behind the wheel. Her hair is up and being held by a seashell comb. She’s wearing a three-button yellow crew neck top. On her left wrist, she’s sporting what looks to be a diamond tennis bracelet. Being near an exit-ramp affords them some light from tall amber colored streetlamps and a look of concern can be seen on the brunette’s face but comes as no surprise given the situation. Her expression softens when she notices them coming up beside her. She is obviously pleased to see someone else free of infection. This reaction tells Max more than he wants to know about how wide spread the infection is.
She begins to yell something at them, but at their current speeds, she may as well be a mime. Brooke motions to her to slow down and Max rolls his window down hoping to inquire about the nearest hospital. If she is a local then she could save them precious time.
Now traveling at about thirty mph they can finally hear what the brunette is saying, “Do you know where the hospital is? My husband needs a doctor.”
Max answers, “We were hoping you were going to tell us.”
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