by Kirk Allmond
Before I could say anything else, Candi rushed over to Max and picked him up. "Oh my god, Tookes, he’s burning up!”
“I know. You can see the bite mark on his leg.” I said, “I gave him ibuprofen, the fever is down some. In an hour we can give him some Tylenol too, I believe that will knock it down even further. I think he's going to be Ok, Max is a tough kid."
“Candi, we’re getting out of here, we're going to moms. Check the closet and see if there is anything else you need. I think I got everything. The truck is packed; we need to leave in ten minutes. "
"We need to get Max to the doctor. I don't want to go to your mothers. We need to go to the hospital," she said.
“The hospital is the worst place we could go,” I explained. "That’s where everyone who’s been bitten will go. I watched a man get bit and then stand up. He had no guts, you could see all the way through him, but he was standing up!” I was almost yelling at this point, only worry of frightening Max keeping me from it. "We have to go to Moms. It’s in the country. It will be safe, there’s no one around. Now please, go get your things!”
Candi went off to the bedroom, I knew she was going to come back with a few things she couldn’t leave the house without, but I didn’t have much time to argue with her. We needed to move. Between Maryland and Virginia is the Potomac River. Where Route 15 crosses the river, is a five hundred yard two-lane bridge. The river is deep and fast. It’s an hour and a half south of my house, and I knew if that bridge was impassable we were in serious trouble. We had to get across that bridge before it got shut down, or worse, the National Guard put up a checkpoint there.
"Max, buddy, how are you feeling?” I asked walking back into the living room.
"I’m okay Daddy, why is Mommy mad? Is it because I got bit?”
"No duder, she’s not mad at you. She’s worried because you’re hurt. We don’t like to see you hurt, it makes us sad."
"Don’t be sad Daddy, it doesn’t hurt," he said.
Max’s verbal skills were always ahead of other kids his age, but he still had some trouble with words. Today he was speaking like an eight year old. I pushed that out of my mind, picked him up and yelled to Candi “Three minutes! Come out to the truck.”
I checked the windows to make sure there was no one around, and ran across the lawn to the 4runner with Max. "Max, this is going to be a long trip. What movie do you want to watch?" I’d primarily bought the truck for road trips; one of the first things I added was a DVD player in the passenger headrest so Max could watch movies while we drove. It was a moment of Daddy genius. I have no idea how parents did road trips before DVD players.
"Finding Memo!" Exclaimed Max.
I started the movie, and went around to the driver’s seat. For the fifth time that day I checked my rifle to make sure there were bullets in the magazine, and one in the chamber. I flicked the safety from "Safe" to "Fire" and back to "Safe".
Just inside the three minute window I'd given her, Candi came running out of the house. She’d changed into a pair of jeans and sneakers, and a hoodie. She was carrying a purse, and from the way it was swinging it looked heavy. She hopped into the truck and we were away, starting our three hour drive towards safety. I thought.
04. Frederick, MD
The roads were empty. We passed mile after mile of farmland, cows and other livestock grazing peacefully in the fields. Every few minutes we slowed down as we passed through some small town with a few dozen houses and a single traffic light. In Ladiesburg, Maryland, we saw a woman bent over a man in the middle of the street. She was chewing on his arm, ripping large hunks of flesh and gristle.
I think that's when Candi started to believe me. "Go, Go!" She said, firmly. "Drive around them, we have to get away."
Max was thankfully watching a movie, and Candi and I talked about the situation. She flipped out when I told her about the guy in the street this morning at work, and how close I'd gotten to him.
I explained about my run from the office, and the gang of zombies in the parking garage, all about chuck, and how his intestines were looped all the way down to the ground. I described the gore, and how he was still walking. I described them shaking the truck, and bending the brush guard.
Candi was always a realist. I was always the one thinking about zombies, or aliens or natural disaster. I don't think she would have ever believed me if she hadn't seen one with her own eyes.
We made good time. The closer we got to the city, the more often we saw other cars. I passed several heading north, but saw no one else heading south. Just above Frederick Maryland, we'd been on the road for about an hour, I slowed the truck down. There was a wreck ahead, were cars across the road, but something didn't look right. The whole scene set my instinct to run.
As I got closer, I realized they'd been parked there, not wrecked. None of them were dented. I reached down beside me and pulled my rifle up on my lap, flicking the safety off. "Max, this is going to get loud buddy. Keep your headphones on, okay?"
"Yes Daddy," he said, "But Daddy, don't shoot the ones in the front, shoot the lady with red hair in the back, she has the most bugs."
With my rifle ready, I cranked the wheel to the left and gassed the truck quickly towards the median to get around the cars blocking the road. I knew the median would be muddy, but my truck was pretty tough, and it seemed better to risk the mud than try to push the cars off the road with my already damaged brush guard. I reached up and hit the sunroof button, and it slid open quickly as my tires hit the grassy median. As I passed the first row of cars, I heard the crack of a rifle, and a bullet hit the front of my truck. I floored the truck, as a spray of bullets riddles down the passenger side. The passenger side rear tire went flat, and I realized I did exactly what they wanted me to; I had driven into their trap. All four tires spun in the mud, slinging it everywhere, but we were slogging forward at a snail’s pace. Random thoughts ran through my head. I was calm, ticking off a situation assessment. My truck won't last through this. Max and Candi are on the side of the truck facing oncoming fire. Anger flares inside me as I saw the steering wheel back to the right, heading out of the median, back on the road facing directly into the incoming fire. "Get Down, Candi!" I yelled over the gunfire.
"Hold on!" I yell, as the front of the truck smashes into the corner of one of the cars. My headlight blinks out and the truck stalled, still taking fire. The passenger side window blew out, and Candi slumped forward. I felt a warm spray hit my face, and knew that she'd been hit.
"Mommy!" Max screamed, barely audible as the blood pumped through my ears. Time seemed to slow down, I ripped my seatbelt off, and stood up out of the sunroof, oblivious to the oncoming fire, and lined up the scope of my rifle. Center mass on the first target. Remembering the police officer pumping round after round into that man this morning, I adjusted my aim upwards and watched his head explode through the scope of my rifle. In the time between squeezing the trigger and the bullet hitting the target, I noticed he was unarmed. I raised my rifle, scanning behind the line of now approaching people, and spotted her.
She was tall, thin, with long red hair. She was holding an assault type rifle, long banana clip sticking out of the receiver, one of those thirty round types. I was vastly outgunned, if I was going to save my family this had to end quickly. I lined up the scope on her head, exhaled, this was a long shot, and I haven't shot in a while. Squeezed the trigger, I heard the rifle report, although it seemed muffled and distant. Through the scope, I watched her head move to the side, just as I squeezed, like she knew. Or saw the bullet coming, but how could anyone move that fast?
I levered the bolt forward and back, and squeezed off another shot, bolt forward, ejected the spent round, back, squeeze. I aimed at both sides of her head. She dodged back the other way, avoiding the second bullet, and my third round was low. Low, but it connected with her shoulder. She spun around with the bullets impact, and I levered back and forward again.
My last shot hit her center mass, right in the middle o
f her upper back. It shattered her spine, and I lept out of the truck through the sunroof. Three steps away from the truck I took aim at one of the closer zombies, and watched it crumple to the ground in my scope. I hadn't fired a shot.
Three more zombies fell in succession without me firing a shot. I ran through the line of zombies, up the embankment on the far side of the road, towards the red head. I remembered Max telling me to kill her first, and at this point, that was the only information I had. Scrambling up the hill, I saw her lying on her back, a very large hole in her chest. Except that the hole was getting smaller. She was healing in front of my eyes. I let out a guttural scream, and fired one more shot at very close range, decimating her head.
I turned to see that the remaining four zombies were heading my way. I slid the bolt forward, and back, lined up on the closest one, and once again it crumpled to the ground. Looking away from the scope, I saw that all four had fallen mid-step. Their heads appeared intact, there was no obvious reason, but I wasn't going to go inspect too closely. I grabbed the redhead’s rifle, and one more magazine from her back pocket. An automatic would come in handy. I hadn't seen any other armed zombies, and it dawned on me that I hadn't checked on Max and Candi. I leaped off the embankment, falling nearly fifteen feet to the road surface, and took off running for the truck.
05. Purpose
When I got to the truck, I looked in the back seat to see Max crying but otherwise Ok, and yanked open the passenger door. Candi’s lifeless body rolled out of the truck onto the ground. I fell to my knees; she had been hit by two bullets, one to the abdomen and one to the right temple.
I sobbed, I screamed, I raged, I yelled at god or the trees or whatever was listening. I wept for what seemed like hours, tears streaming down my cheeks, wondering what I was going to do without her. Imagining trying to survive in this life without my partner, without my team mate. Ultimately, it was Max’s small voice that brought me back to reality.
“Daddy,” he said calmly, “We have to go.” Gathering myself, I kissed her on the forehead, stood and walked around to the front of my wrecked truck. There were bullet holes right through the passenger front fender, front passenger door, and rear quarter panel, but not a single bullet in the rear passenger door. The window was even still intact.
I looked down at the rifle in my hands, an American version of an AK47, 7.62mm bullets; the same size as my rifle, but not quite as powerful. They wouldn’t pass through the engine block, but they’d do a number on all the stuff around it. I jumped inside the truck, turned the key, and miraculously the truck roared to life. From the sound, it had taken a shot to the exhaust manifold. I wouldn’t be sneaking up on anyone, but it would run. I checked on Max, his fever seemed down, but not out, and the bite mark on his leg was closed up. It didn’t look all that bad actually, maybe he didn’t get infected. I handed him the whole box of cereal bars, and he unwrapped one and started eating.
The tire was easy enough, I knew there was a benefit to keeping the spare in the roof basket, even if all my off-roading buddies complained about raising the center of gravity and called me silly for liking the look.
‘Who’s the mall crawler now?’ I thought to myself, thinking back to the derogatory term real “Rock Crawlers” used to describe guys like me. I left the old wheel on the side of the road, a bullet had passed through the tire and out the wheel, and it was useless now. In the back of the truck I pulled a blanket out of one of the plastic storage tubs, and wrapped Candi’s body up in it. I would bury her in the garden at Mom’s, there is a beautiful spot in the formal garden we’ve often talked of having our ashes spread there. Right now I didn’t have time to think about all that; I had to get us across the bridge fifteen miles south.
Heading south at around sixty-five miles per hour along the deserted highway, the wind blowing in Candi’s window was bothering Max, who was trying to sleep after eating four breakfast bars. I had about an hour of daylight left, and I was facing a decision. If this outbreak was in both in both York and Frederick, there was a good chance Leesburg, Virginia was going to be infected as well, and I had to pass through the most heavily populated section. The town of Leesburg was the part of the trip I was most dreading. If I could get across the river tonight, there were miles and miles of undeveloped national forest between the bridge and the town.
My first option was to find a deserted fire lane leading a few miles into the national forest, pull off and camp for the night in the truck, with Candi. My second option was to continue on, with one headlight, one fog light, and the two KC style running lights mounted to the roof basket. It was an hour and a half further to my family home-place after Leesburg. I’d been making pretty good time, and the whole incident at Frederick had only taken about forty minutes total. I was going to have to take it much slower from now on, and Max wouldn’t be able to stay in his seat much longer. At the very least he was going to need to get out to go to the bathroom, and the thought of getting him out of the truck frightened me the most. I can’t afford to make any more mistakes. My heart can’t take any more mistakes like Frederick.
Still pondering, I slowed down and stopped at the last curve in the road before the bridge. I whispered to Max that I was going to get out, but that I wouldn’t go far. I was stopped about a mile from the bridge. I wish I had some high powered binoculars, but my rifle scope would have to do.
I scrambled up the embankment, and a couple hundred feet up the side of the hill into the woods. I couldn’t get too far from the truck, but I needed the elevation and cover of the trees up here. There was enough light to see the old blue-green iron bridge, and see that there was another set of cars blocking both ends. I watched through the scope as zombies walked up and down. I watched for as long as I could, not wanting to leave Max alone for too long. I counted five zombies, four of them walking fairly normally, and one who was stumbling. The four were armed with various assault rifles; I was too far away and not knowledgeable enough in firearms to tell what exactly they were from this distance. They were all pacing back and forth, about half the length of the bridge. I watched the road leading towards me, and saw nothing, I looked in the woods on either side of the river and they seemed likewise clear.
I began to formulate a plan as I headed down to the truck, back to Max, back to my reason for surviving.
06. Twin Peaks
By the time I made it back to Max, I had a pretty solid plan in place for clearing the zombies on the bridge, but I had to find a couple of things first. About halfway around the curve ahead of me, there was a downhill road off to the left. It went through a small group of houses, a strip club/biker bar named “Twin Peaks”, and a small shabby looking mom-and-pop hardware store.
I struggled to push the silver SUV to the top of the hill, but with one final heave I managed to start it down the other side and hopped in the driver’s seat to steer us into the bar parking lot. I felt really naked without a handgun, and I was thinking a biker bar might be my best bet for finding one in this general location. The gravel crunched under the heavy weight of my overloaded SUV seemed louder than gunfire, and I immediately wished I’d left it on the pavement
I pulled my truck right up beside the building, as close as I could get Max’s side to the wall without hitting it. He could probably wiggle out, but there was no way anything was getting in his door. Of course, they could come in the driver’s side of the truck, but having the one side blocked made me feel better.
‘Focus, Tookes’, I said to myself, ‘There’s going to be a mess in there, check yourself.’
“Don’t forget your hatchet,” Max reminded me from the back seat, forcing me to look down and see that it had fallen out of its loop on my belt, and beside the center console of the truck.
“Max, I’ll be right back buddy. You stay here, but undo your buckles, just in case we need to run.”
“We’ll be fine Daddy, you can handle these two.”
I’m learning to trust the little guy’s offhand comments, so I prepared mysel
f for two or more. It was imperative that I remain silent, I’m under a mile from the bride now, and it’s very likely that the zombies up there would hear any gunshots. There was no way I was going in there without a gun though, so I took the black nylon strap off of my 30.06 and tied it to the AK47, and slung the whole thing over my shoulder before walking over to the door of the bar.
Gingerly I tried the knob on the solid steel doors, and in what might have been my first stroke of good luck, I found they were unlocked. I nudged the heavy doors inward, and quickly let them swing closed with a clang. Once closed, I banged on one with the back of the hatchet a couple of times, and stepped a few feet back. This was a twofold test, could they open doors, and were they attracted to sound. As an experiment, I was ecstatic with the results. I heard at least two banging on the doors, but they were unable to open them.
From about five feet away, I got a running start and hit the doors low. The doors flew open from the center, sweeping the two zombies apart and throwing them back into the room. My momentum carried me, hatchet in hand, right by one who was struggling to get up when the blade sunk deep into his forehead. With one final convulsion, he was dead again, and my hatchet was free of his head. The other zombie was down and not moving. Was there any chance I was this lucky? I kicked her head, and saw that the back of her head was smashed in, making a mess of her platinum blonde hair. I think her back was turned when I hit the door, and the edge of it split her skull. She was wearing a fluorescent g-string, and a garter with pretty good stack of bills rubber banded around it.
‘She won’t need this’; I thought to myself as I unwrapped the rubber-band and pocketed the thick wad of bills. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever need it, but a wad of cash might still have some trade value. The room smelled horrible. Even after just one day, the corpses smelled terrible, like thirty pounds of rotten hamburger.