No Direction Home: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series

by Mike Sheridan

  Finally, the heavy metal door abruptly swung open. This time, only one CO appeared. He wasn’t wearing a HazMat either, though he carried a pistol at his waist. Ralph recognized him right away. It was Johnson. As COs went, he wasn’t the worst.

  “All right, Chambers, stand up. You’re being released.”

  “Governor’s orders?” Ralph asked sarcastically.

  “The governor is dead.”

  Ralph grinned. “Don’t say I didn’t tell you.”

  Johnson took him through a series of corridors to one of the facility’s interview rooms. Inside were three cons, busily getting dressed into their civilian clothes. One was a black gangbanger, another a guy named Karl Lutz that Ralph didn’t care much for. A month ago in the shower room, Lutz tried to bury a five-inch shank in Ralph’s back over an earlier dispute. Luckily for Ralph, another con shouted out a warning just in time. That man was Clete Marsden.

  “Ralph, you handsome devil!” Clete exclaimed with a goofy grin, giving his scraggly beard a tug. “Damn pox didn’t get you neither? What the fuck!”

  Ralph ran a hand over the tangle of scars that decorated most of his face. “Looks like I’m pox proof. Goes for you too, you crazy hillbilly.” He addressed the CO. “And you, Johnson. You quit wearing the HazMat.”

  Wordlessly, the CO handed him a plastic bag containing his civilian clothes, then left the room.

  Stripping off his prison uniform, Ralph stepped into a pair of old blue jeans, shrugged on his Motorhead T-shirt followed by his biker jacket, then wriggled into a pair of dusty leather boots. Fishing out his wallet, he stuck it in his back pocket, unsure if it would be any use to him anymore. Last, he took out his silver skull ring, kissed its ruby eyes, and stuck it back on his right index finger. Where it belonged.

  He stood up from the chair and patted himself down. Six foot four, jet black cropped hair, lean yet bone hard, Ralph “The Face” cut an imposing figure. And he was back in play again.

  A few minutes later, Johnson came back. By now, the men were all dressed. He took them out of the room and escorted them down to the release gate.

  “How many COs are left?” Ralph asked, strolling alongside Johnson. The boundaries between prisoner and guard had been disappearing every minute since Johnson had let him out of his cell. Four inmates walking through the facility with only the one correctional officer. One who allowed Ralph to walk alongside him.

  Johnson hesitated. “There’s only two of us. We figured it wasn’t fair to keep you guys locked up anymore. Didn’t seem any point.” Raising a hand up to the CCTV camera, he gave a signal. Ralph heard a loud click and the electronic lock on the release gate opened in front of them.

  “What’s it like out there?” he asked.

  “It’s bad. Smells like hell. The dogs are loving it.”

  “Dangerous?”

  Johnson shrugged. “Maybe. Not for someone like you, though.” He turned around and pulled the metal door open.

  “Still, you can’t be too careful, can you?” From behind, Ralph grappled Johnson around the waist and deftly whipped the Glock out of his holster. Pushing him away, Ralph stepped back again.

  “What the hell!” Johnson stared in alarm at the pistol now pointed at his chest.

  Ralph grinned. “Don’t worry, Johnson, you’re okay. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be in my cell starving to death.” He examined his new toy. “Glock 17? Nice. Built like a friggin’ tank, the way a gun ought to be made.”

  He swiveled the pistol across to Lutz. “As for you, fuckhead…you’re definitely not okay.”

  Lutz took a couple of steps back. “Now…now l-look, Chambers,” he stuttered, “there’s only a few of us lucky enough to survive this damned pox. Come on, cut me a break.”

  Ralph shook his head. “Can’t do that. I’m a man who holds a grudge forever. Besides, you can’t expect me to watch my back the whole time I’m out there. I mean, literally watch my back.” He squeezed the trigger twice and double-tapped Lutz in the chest. With a grunt, the con collapsed onto the floor in a heap.

  Giving Johnson a last nod, Ralph stepped out onto Memorial Drive to the stench of garbage and rotting bodies. It didn’t bother him. Not one bit. It beat serving a ten year stretch any day of the week.

  Ralph was pox proof, and loving it.

  CHAPTER 7

  Jonah and Colleen walked north up Kirkman Road. They were on their way back to the Sun Ray after spending the past hour in the Publix supermarket. Each wheeled a large trolley in front of them, laden with the provisions they would need for their journey.

  Many of the stores they passed had been looted, though most still looked to have plenty of stock left inside. It indicated to Jonah just how few survivors there must be. Earlier, he’d glimpsed a few of them scurrying across the deserted streets. Most appeared to be on their own, a few in pairs. Some wore surgical masks, who Colleen surmised mightn’t be immune to the disease but rather had barricaded themselves in their homes to avoid it.

  On the way to the supermarket, however, he’d spotted a group of four men that had turned down a side street and disappeared from view. Something about the way they’d strutted down the middle of the road made him wary. Jonah could recognize a skanger a mile away, and he was thankful that, with their backs to him and Colleen, they hadn’t spotted the couple. Colleen was right. Tomorrow, their top priority would be to get to a gun shop and arm themselves. In the meantime, in his shopping cart was a baseball bat he’d grabbed from a sports store along the way. A Louisville Slugger, the label said. Sounded good to him.

  “Another thing, love,” he said, their trolleys rattling noisily down the street. “When we leave town, let’s head north. I want to get someplace where I’m not sweating like a pig twenty-four hours a day. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Colleen replied. “There’s only so much of this heat I can take too.”

  “At least you turn brown. I only turn red, then back to white again,” Jonah grumbled. “This climate doesn’t suit me delicate skin.”

  Colleen smiled. “We’ll leave the day after tomorrow. We should have everything ready by then.” She glanced over at him. “When we get back to the hotel, let’s find Susan and Klaus, see if they want to come with us too. Is that okay with you?”

  Jonah nodded. “All right, though to be honest, I’d be happy to leave Klaus behind. He’s a real downer.”

  Colleen looked at him sharply. “Jonah, that’s not nice!”

  “He’s not exactly a barrel of laughs, is he? I had more fun with the undertaker at Uncle Paddy’s funeral. What’s with the Krauts? They’re always so bleedin’ serious. I’m mean, did yeh ever watch a German having fun?” Jonah stiffened his shoulders and walked down the street like a robot. “Ja, vee are having so much fun…Ich bin ein Berliner…haw, haw, haw!”

  Colleen tried to maintain a serious face, but couldn’t. “Jonah, that’s so mean of you,” she said after gaining her composure. “Klaus’s wife just died. He’s absolutely devastated.”

  “Ah, true, love,” Jonah reflected soberly. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it, just having a bit of a laugh. It’s not like we couldn’t do with a giggle, now is it?”

  Above the rattle of their trolleys, behind him, Jonah heard the sound of a can being kicked down the street. He turned his head to see four men following them. They were about fifty yards away and strolled down the middle of the street, shoulders slouched in an exaggerated fashion that exuded menace. He immediately recognized them as the same group he’d seen on their way up to the supermarket earlier.

  He thought fast. Ahead was the turn for the Sun Ray, another two hundred yards up the street. There was no way they would make it back to the hotel before the group caught up with them. Anyhow, he didn’t want these people to know where they were staying. If they meant trouble, he and Colleen would have to deal with it now.

  “Let’s take a breather,” he said, coming to a stop.

  “What? We’re almost home. The hotel is just around the corner
,” Colleen said, pulling up beside him, a frown on her face.

  “Exactly.” Jonah swiveled his head and indicated back up the street. The men had closed the gap and were now only thirty yards away, marching quickly toward them.

  “Oh,” Colleen said when she saw them. “What do you think?”

  “I think we wait and let them pass.”

  “What if they don’t pass?” she asked nervously.

  “Then we deal with it.” Jonah mightn’t have been the most educated man in the world, but he was good in a tight spot. He’d been getting in and out of scrapes since he was six years old.

  Moments later, the group reached them. Without a word, they fanned out around the couple. There was a skinny white guy, two Hispanics and a black dude. Jonah suspected that before the outbreak they hadn’t exactly palled together like this. Times had changed.

  He eyed them warily. “All right, headerball,” he said to the fellow standing in the middle who’d taken another step forward, a squat, well-built Latino with heavily tattooed arms. “What yis looking at? Go on, get on yer way.”

  The man leered at Jonah. “That’s a funny accent you got there. Outrageous I’d call it.” He spat on the ground in front of him. “Something tells me you’re not from these parts.” He turned his head to either side and grinned at his companions like he’d said the funniest thing in the world.

  “That's right, Einstein. I thought I’d bring the missus over and show her the apocalypse, drop in and see Donald Duck while we were at it too.” If it came to humor, no skanger was ever going to get the better of Jonah Murphy.

  One of the other men sniggered. It was the white guy. “Looks like we got a comedian here, and he got a sexy lady with him too.” He glanced over at his companion. “What you say, Marco, we take her home with us?”

  Jonah plucked the Slugger from out of the trolley and raised it over his shoulder. “Here, enough of that!” he growled. "Go on, scat. Before I bate the head off yeh.”

  With a grin, Marco reached behind his back and drew out a pistol. “Dude, you’re shit out of luck. Looks like you brought a baseball bat to a gunfight.”

  Jonah’s eyes widened, though he continued to keep the bat raised above his head.

  “Drop it, or you’re a dead man,” said the gang leader, aiming his weapon at Jonah’s chest.

  Jonah wondered whether if he lunged forward, he could smack the guy across the head. He wouldn’t survive, but it might give Colleen a chance to make a run for it. A slim chance. Close to zero. Still…it was something.

  The white guy stepped in closer to Colleen and made to grab her. Instantly acquiring his new target, Jonah leaned forward and with all his might, swung the bat. He'd crack this bastard’s skull open before he died.

  Two things happened within a nanosecond of each other. To the sound of a gunshot, the bat made contact with the side of the white guy’s head. Staggering back, he collapsed to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

  By then, Jonah already knew something was odd. A pistol had fired at point blank range, yet he felt no pain. He turned around to see Marco crouched down on one knee, clutching his side where a trickle of blood dribbled between his fingers.

  What the hell was going on?

  Another shot sounded, and Jonah realized it was coming from up the street. He looked over to see a gray SUV at the next cross street, sixty yards away. A man leaned out the window holding a rifle.

  Crack!

  Yet another bullet whined past him.

  The two uninjured gang members whipped out their pistols, firing back at the vehicle.

  Jonah needed no further prompting. Dropping the Slugger, he seized Colleen’s arm. “Come on!” he yelled.

  The two raced down the street in the opposite direction to the SUV as the gunfire intensified. Any second, Jonah expected a stray bullet to hit one of them. Reaching the corner of the block, he glanced back to see the SUV swerve away from the curb and roar off.

  “Keep going!” he yelled at Colleen. “Leg it!”

  The two continued to run at full pelt. A hundred yards farther, they reached a narrow side street. Jonah ushered Colleen around the corner and out of sight, and the two came to a halt. Leaning over, hands on their knees, they caught their breaths.

  “Jonah…” Colleen gasped between breaths. “Who the hell was that?"

  “Haven’t a breeze,” Jonah replied, his lungs heaving. “Guess not everyone out there is a complete skanger. That geezer just saved our lives.”

  He peeked around the corner. There was no one on the street. “We’ll give it another few minutes, then I’ll sneak back up there, see what’s going on.”

  “Jonah, are you crazy?” Colleen cried out in alarm. “What you want to do that for?”

  “We still got our shopping back there. Maybe the skangers left it behind. I don’t want to be fetching all that stuff again. Do you?”

  Three minutes later, leaving Colleen out of sight, Jonah stealthily headed back up to the corner of the block. Peering cautiously around, he saw that only one gang member remained. It was Marco. He sat on the ground, leaning up against the wall. There was no sign of his pistol. Behind him, standing where they’d left them, were the two supermarket trolleys.

  Jonah stepped around the corner. “Yo, gobshite!” he called out.

  Marco jerked his head toward him, a look of surprise on his face. The lower portion of his T-shirt and his jeans were soaked in blood. It had spilled onto the sidewalk too.

  “What the fuck you doing here?” he said, his voice weak.

  Jonah pointed over at the two trolleys.

  The Latino shook his head. “Crazy mofo.”

  “You still got that pistol?”

  “No, man. They took it off me and left me here to die.”

  Jonah walked cautiously over and stared down at the Latino. “Sorry to hear that, bud. But see, this here is the apocalypse. It’s not easy making real friends.” He looked around for his bat. Spotting it by the far side of the trolleys, he strolled over and picked it up.

  “Hey, what you doing?” Marco asked warily as Jonah walked back over to him.

  Jonah raised the bat high in the air. “I’m putting you out of your misery, headerball, that’s what.”

  Swinging the bat, he smashed it across the side of Marco’s head. Soundlessly, he toppled over and slumped onto the sidewalk.

  Jonah chucked the Slugger into one of the trolleys, then grasped both of them, one in each hand, and began hauling them back toward where he’d left Colleen. That was one dead skanger the world was better off without. He was sure it wouldn’t be the last one he’d run into.

  CHAPTER 8

  At 4:05 p.m. Cody left the house. This time he drove Joe’s car, an old Chevy Malibu. It was a real beater, but still had a half tank of gas in it. It had been a busy day and he was running late. He had plenty of news for Walter and Pete, and was excited to tell them about it.

  He drove south on Interstate 75 and took the I-640 loop heading east, then swung around the back of the city. Twenty minutes later, he reached Magnolia Avenue.

  Approaching the gas station, he immediately saw something was up. Several vehicles sat parked across all three entrances, blocking them. He drove slowly by and spotted Walter. He stood in the middle of the forecourt, a group of men standing around him. They carried rifles and wore pistols by their waists.

  One of the men was huge, about six foot six, with massive shoulders, and completely bald apart from some long, straggly hair at the back. Standing beside him was a young woman who in comparison looked tiny. She had short bottle-blonde hair, and wore a tight-fitting white T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and high heels.

  Walter stared at Cody grimly as he passed by. He made no attempt to show he recognized him. Cody took that as a warning.

  At that moment, one of the men turned around. Leering, he waved him on. Cody didn’t need any further encouragement. Jamming his foot on the pedal, he picked up speed and continued down Magnolia in the direction of the city.r />
  In a state of shock, he drove several blocks until the Chevron station was out of sight, then took a right onto Cherry Street and pulled up at the curb. He cut the engine and took a deep breath. Looking around, he remembered that Walter lived on one of the streets nearby, though he could no longer remember its name. That wasn’t the reason he’d stopped here though. He stopped because he needed to think.

  In the days and months to come, fuel would become an increasingly valuable resource. With no police or army to maintain order, it appeared that one of the newly-formed gangs Walter had warned about the other night had commandeered the gas station. In this new world, everyone found themselves in, possession had quickly become ten/tenths of the law.

  Reluctantly, Cody decided it would be best to head home. Returning to the station would not only be dangerous for him, but might endanger Walter too. Left undisturbed, hopefully the gang wouldn’t harm him. His mind made up, he started the engine and drove north up Cherry, where at the top of the street he could pick up the westbound entrance to I-40.

  A few blocks up, he reached Woodbine Avenue. Without making a conscious decision, he swung onto it and headed east. Woodbine ran all the way to the Knoxville Zoo. It also led to the back of the Chevron station. No matter what the logical part of his mind told him, leaving Walter to the whims of a street gang just didn’t sit right with Cody.

  When he reached Castle Street, the road that ran along the east side of the station, he turned right and headed down toward Magnolia. Soon the red sign of the AutoZone across the street from the Chevron loomed in front of him. Cutting the Chevy’s engine, he coasted another fifty yards before turning into the parking lot of a small two-story apartment block.

  He reached over and grabbed his newly-acquired Ruger SR-556 carbine from off the passenger seat. Earlier that day, following Walter’s instructions, he’d picked it up at the Guardian Armory at the Seven Oaks Mall fifteen miles west of Knoxville. Behind the counter, he’d found the 5.56 NATO rounds for it, just where Walter described they would be. After a little more searching, he found plenty of .45 ACP ammunition for the Kimber 1911 too.