by Wimer, Kevin
“What about old Route Eleven?” Chris asked as he limped up to the map and placed a finger on the road, “It would bring us to the backside of Broadway,” tracing his finger to the road that they would have to turn onto after leaving the highway, “Timberville is here,” tapping his finger on the spot that showed the other town that somewhat connected to Broadway, “I’m not sure what the road is like or if Timberville is overrun with walkers but it might be our best bet to get to Graceland.”
Tex looked at Cubbie and then at Chris.
“Timberville is a shit show,” letting out a sigh, “Both roads leading to Broadway are a risk. One maybe more so than the other,” looking at the two men, “It might be best if we—”
Gunfire stopped Tex in mid-sentence. The three men looked up from the map and saw about thirty walkers coming up from behind them. Chris had never thought to watch the rear of the convoy. He was thankful someone had. He had been focused on what was right in front of them and the map spread across the truck’s hood.
“Hold the line!” Tex yelled as he brought his rifle up and into the fight.
Chris watched as Cubbie began firing his rifle. Lailah was now hanging out of the passenger side window firing her rifle. The sound was deafening. Something had to be done. Someone needed to step in and make a quick decision on what their next step would be. The road that they were on lead right to Graceland, but the walkers had cut them off. The only way to get down this road was to drive right through the walkers. The pack was quickly turning into a herd. The distance between the walkers in front of them had closed to within sixty yard and shrinking by the second. The sound of gunfire echoed as the men and women of the group unloaded their weapons into the advancing walkers.
“Tex, we need to do something!” Cubbie shouted.
Tex was down to using his six shooters. His rifle had run dry. Chris began taking well aimed shots—making sure to not waste a bullet. It was like shooting fish in a barrel—a barrel filled with animals that lusted for brains.
“Roger that!” Tex said as he fired and began advancing on the approaching walkers to the rear of the convoy, “Turn this convoy around,” his voice booming over the sounds of gunfire, “and head over to old Route Eleven!”
The men and women heard Tex orders and began running to their designated trucks—shooting and killer walkers as they ran. Cubbie leaped into the driver’s seat and pulled Lailah back inside the truck—firing a few more rounds before complying. Chris fired a few rounds and then turned and began limping his way to the rear of the truck. He was in mid stride when something hit him from behind. Chris hit the ground with a thud—knocking the air from his lungs. He turned over and onto his back and began gulping in air. It was then he came face to face with the walker that had just hit him. The walker looked to be six feet tall and nearly three hundred pounds. He was a big bastard. The man leaped on top of Chris and began thrashing around. Chris had barely gotten his hands up and around the dead man’s throat—squeezing it for all that he was worth. He looked into the walker’s eye—his one eye was hanging from its socket while the other one was a bloodshot mess. Chris grunted out a scream for help as the two began wrestling. The man gnashed his teeth together with each lunge. It was only a matter of time before the bastard bit Chris. His mind had already told him to give up. It was his body that kept him in the fight. Chris could feel his arms burning—weakening—as the walker atop of him thrashed harder. He could feel his body being lifted from the pavement of the road and then crashing back down onto it. Chris was being tossed around like a rag doll. His body was just about to give up and go with what his mind had been telling him. It was in that split second the walkers head exploded—raining blood and bits of brain down onto Chris. The weight of the man’s lifeless body fell on top of him. Chris grunted as he pushed the body off him and got to his knees and gulped in a lung full of air.
“Get your ass up and into the truck!”
Chris looked up. It was Tex who had saved him. Again. He leaped to his feet and this time he ran to the bed of the truck—pushing through the pain of his injured ankle. One of the men inside the bed of the truck leaned out and grabbed ahold of him and pulled him inside. Chris tumbled to the bed floor and began gasping for air. His lungs burned and the taste of rotted blood clung to the inside of his mouth. He felt the truck lurch forward and then swerve to the side as it began making a U-turn. The contents of his stomach sloshed around and made him a bit sicker. The urge to throw up consumed him as the truck began fishtailing. The sound of loose gravel hitting the underbelly of the truck echoed. One by one the other trucks in the convoy got turned around and followed Cubbie’s lead as they raced back down the road and towards the area they had just come from. Chris finally able to get to his hands and knees crawled to the cab of the truck. He leaned his head through the open rear window.
“Make a left up here!”
Cubbie flinched as Chris yelled into his ear. The man damn near scared him to death. Cubbie nodded his head and made damn sure not to miss the turn. He yelled for everyone in the back to hold on. He looked into his rearview mirror as he flipped his turn signal on, alerting those in the trucks behind him that he was about to make a hard-left hand turn. Chris hunkered back down in the bed of the truck—holding onto whatever he could find. He looked around at the group that was with him. He noticed their eyes were wide with fear. Chris wondered if his face showed that same fear. He could have shit himself right about now. Cubbie jerked the steering wheel to the left—the tires barked as they broke loose from the pavement. He smashed the gas pedal to floor as soon as the tires gripped the road. Chris felt the power of the truck as it lurched forward and raced down the road.
“Where to now?” Cubbie shouted through the window at Chris.
Chris watched as the rest of the convoy made the turn. He got to his knees and leaned his head through the rear window and into the truck’s cab.
“Stay on this road until you come to a stop sign,” Chris was holding on for dear life as Cubbie swerved to miss the cars that were abandoned alongside of the road, “When you get to the stop sign make a left and haul ass to the red lights.”
“Red lights. Got it.”
Cubbie knew the set of red lights Chris was talking about. It was right off the interstate. I-81. He knew the mile marker by heart. It was mile marker 257. Cubbie had taken this exit for years on his daily commute to work. He knew there was a rather large gas station at this set of red lights. Liberty Gas. He and a few others from the group had raided the gas station a few months ago. The group had taken all the perishable items they could carry and had killed all the infected that dwelled within the station. Cubbie could picture the gas station and the roads leading away from it. The one road led to an area that he and the others had yet to explore. It was a small town much like Broadway—only a bit more historical. The town was that of New Market Virginia.
“The red lights will be across from the Liberty gas station,” Chris said as he looked back at the convoy behind him, “When you get there make a left. That road leads home.”
Cubbie nodded his head and started to answer when he slammed on the breaks—skidding sixty or so feet down the road before coming to a complete stop. The sudden stop caused Chris to fly through the open rear window of the truck’s cab and into the dashboard in front of him. He hit dash and crumpled to the floor—groaning out in pain. The world around him faded in and out. He could see tiny little dots flashing as they filled his vision. If he hadn’t had a concussion from the roll over in the Jeep, he sure as hell had one now.
“Holy shit!” Cubbie yelled, “Walkers . . . A lot of damn walkers!”
Chris heard the words Cubbie spoke. It took a second or two for the words to sink in. His heart began to pound in the center of his chest.
“Just kill me now . . . Kill me now and get it over with.”
Chris didn’t more than get out his words when the sound of gunfire erupted all around them. He blinked his eyes and looked through the rear window�
��the same window he had just flown through. He looked at the men and women who were now firing their weapons into the walkers in front of them. Chris turned his head and looked at Lailah. She was crying. She was damn near hysterical. He then slowly turned his head and looked at Cubbie who was trying to think of what to do next. Chris couldn’t see how many of the infected were in front of them but by the sound of gunfire he knew there had to be a hell of a lot of them.
“Drive through them,” Chris shouted over the ringing in his ears and the sound of gunfire that accompanied the church bells inside his head, “Tell everyone in the back to get down and drive through the bastards!”
Cubbie shouted for everyone to stop firing and to hold on. He gripped the steering wheel and smashed the pedal to the floor. The engine roared as the tires spun beneath them. It wasn’t but a tick of a second until the tires gripped the pavement and they began moving down the road. Chris was trying to get up to have a look. He struggled to move. He had just gotten off the floorboard of the truck when they made impact. It sent him flying into Lailah and then into Cubbie. Chris quickly turned around to see the herd of walkers that they were now driving through.
“Holy shit!” Chris yelled.
“Told you!” Cubbie replied.
Chris looked over his shoulder at the men and women in the bed of the truck. He could see them being tossed around as they ran over the walkers. The thudding sound of the bodies hitting the front of the truck drowned out the screams of those in the truck’s bed. He looked at the truck’s behind them and at the carnage in the road—blood and guts strewn everywhere.
“We are not going to make it!” Cubbie shouted.
Chris turned his attention back to the road in front of them—back to the horde of infected that were trying to stop their forward momentum. He could feel the truck starting to slow down. Cubbie was letting off the gas. Chris moved closer to Cubbie and placed his foot atop of the young man’s—smashing it to the floorboard as they both gave the truck a bit more gas. The truck fishtailed from the blood and guts beneath the wheels and the bodies that they now ran over. The thud against the grill of the truck was maddening loud. It was like someone slamming a sledge hammer against the sheet metal—only a thousand times louder. Cubbie was gripping the steering wheel for all that he was worth. Lailah was holding on and crying—screaming for it all to stop. Chris knew the only way to make it stop was to keep pressing on. If the truck stalled or Cubbie stopped, they would all die. The walkers would have a field day with them and their flesh.
Chris was tossed from one side of the truck’s cab to the other. Cubbie wasn’t letting off the gas. Lailah had moved from the passenger seat to the floorboard. She was curled up and balling. Chris could do nothing to help her. He looked over his shoulder at the group in the bed of the truck and then at the other trucks as they too were swerving from one side of the road to the other. The blood and brain matter that now covered the road had made it slick as ice. Chris turned back around just as the they broke through the horde of walkers. It had all stopped. It stopped as quickly as it had started. Chris felt himself taking a breath. He wasn’t sure how long he had been holding it.
“Stop sign!” Cubbie shouted.
Chris blinked his eyes and held on as Cubbie jerked the steering wheel and made a hard left turn. The tires broke loose from the pavement—howling as the truck fishtailed and then surged forward. The passengers in the bed of the truck were all screaming as they tried to hold on for dear life. The roar of the engine echoed as they headed towards the set of red lights a few miles down the road. Chris wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but knew he couldn’t let himself do so. He couldn’t allow himself to relax—letting his guard down would get him killed. The nagging thought of Deacon seeking revenge clung to the back of his mind. He knew Deacon well and he knew the man’s wrath. He knew there would be hell to pay.
Chris looked at Lailah who was still on the floorboard of the truck. She had her knees tucked into her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs—rocking back and forth while sobbing uncontrollably and mumbling something he couldn’t make out. Chris narrowed his eyes while looking at the young woman. He had never seen anyone lose their shit the way Lailah just had. Lailah no longer appeared to be the same woman he had met just an hour ago. She had been fearless while killing walkers—fearless while firing into the tree line at Hawkeye’s men. Maybe this is her breaking point. Chris thought as he focused his attention from Lailah to the road that lay in front of them.
CHAPTER 10
Lailah had stopped sobbing but was still on the floorboard of the truck’s cabin—mumbling something as she rocked back and forth. Chris looked at her and wished there was something he could say or do to help her. He knew there was nothing he could say or do to give her the peace of mind that she needed. The world they now found themselves living in would never be one of peace. The walking dead and the living that were pure evil now ruled this world. It was a wickedness of biblical proportion. Chris looked at the road in front of them. He could see Cubbie out of the corner of his eye looking at Lailah. The young man was more than just a little worried about her. Cubbie knew the reason as to why Lailah had lost it and had gone completely out of her mind with fear. Lailah had been trapped inside a department store by a horde of walkers the day after she killed her father who had been infected. She had told Cubbie about the distinct sounds the walkers made as their bodies thudded and thrashed against the entrance doors of the building. The echoing thuds went on for hours—maybe a day if not two. Lailah had lost all sense of time while trapped inside that store. It was the sounds of the walkers hitting the front of the truck that caused Lailah to flash back to that time of being trapped and without hope of surviving. Cubbie wanted to stop the truck and hold her but knew darkness would soon be upon them and they were in no man’s land. It wasn’t safe out here after dark.
“There’s the lights,” Chris said as he pointed toward the intersection.
Cubbie cleared his throat and nodded.
“Won’t be long now,” taking his eyes off the road as he looked at Chris and then at Lailah, “We are almost home,” he said, hoping that his words would ease Lailah’s fears and help calm her, “A few more miles and we will be home safe and sound.”
Chris looked at Cubbie who in return looked at him. He knew what the young man was trying to do. The look in Chris’s eyes told Cubbie he shouldn’t have said what he had just said. It was a lie. Cubbie knew there would never be a safe place in this world again. The two men turned and looked at the approaching set of traffic lights. The light that faced them had gone from red to green and back to red as the truck began to slow down before coming to a complete stop. Chris began looking around as Cubbie put the truck into park. He could see the vehicles that littered the interstate. He looked at them and wondered where the passengers of those vehicles might be. He wondered if the horde they had just driven through were the former occupants of those very vehicles. It would explain why there were so many walkers in such a rural area as the one they had just passed through.
Chris took a breath and let it out with a heavy sigh. His body had gone ridged as he sat there looking at the abandon cars and semitrucks that littered the once busy interstate. It was a bit eerie of a sight to behold. He could feel the prickling of his flesh as goosebumps began crawling across his body. It was like a scene out of a horror movie—only this wasn’t a movie. It was real life. Chris looked away from the interstate and to the left of where they now sat. He looked at Liberty gas station building that was still lit up as it had been the night of the outbreak. Chris couldn’t tell at this distance if the building was vacant or not. He could only assume that it was filled with walkers. He turned his attention from the building to the parking lot. It was just like the interstate—littered with both passenger vehicles and semitrucks that were parked in various states. He looked at each of the abandon vehicles—studying them. It was a bone chilling sight to see. It was as if the owners of those abandon vehicles had vanished
into thin air.
“We should stretch our legs and check on the others,” Cubbie said, looking at Chris and then at Lailah, “We need to make sure no one is injured.”
Chris nodded as Cubbie opened the driver’s side door.
“Yeah. Okay.”
The two men hopped out of the truck. Lailah remained on the floorboard of the truck’s cab—rocking back and forth but this time she wasn’t mumbling anything. Cubbie looked at the other trucks behind them. He watched as the group within those trucks began off-loading from the bed and the interior of the cab. The look on their faces were of both fear and shock. It had been a close call. Chris looked at the men and women of the truck he had been riding in. The group not only looked like hell but scared shitless. He didn’t blame them one bit for being scared. He too had been scared shitless. He wasn’t sure how they had survived the horde. He wasn’t sure how the truck had made it this far without conking out on them. He then turned and looked at the truck. The body of the truck looked as if someone had beaten it with a baseball bat. He could only imagine how the front of the truck looked.
“Everyone okay?” Chris asked as he began helping those within the bed of the truck out.
The men and women getting out of the truck nodded their heads and said not a word. Chris understood and didn’t dare push them to talk. He wanted to reassure them that they would soon be be back at Graceland where it was safe. It would have been the same lie Cubbie had used earlier to try and calm Lailah. He couldn’t bring himself to lie to them, so he said nothing further. The men and woman quickly began checking their weapons and their surroundings. The group had been well trained. Chris wondered if it had been Tex who had trained them. He still had a lot to learn about the man who wore six shooters on his hips and a cowboy hat atop of his head.