The radio was turned low, barely above the noise of the heavy duty all terrain truck tires. After contemplating Sam’s opinion JR added, “We were wise to not confiscate the weapons used by Breyna’s family’s convoy. We don’t know if washing them in gasoline or boiling them would make them safe once contaminated. I guess over time we’ll learn more through experience if we live that long.”
The temperature dropped sixteen degrees from the previous evening as they continued north.
Lights were on at an RV and camping trailer lot as they left the highway and approached. Several customers had their rigs parked out front as Sam parked. Smokey was left in the truck before they entered the store and got directions to a small mattress display area. Sam wasn’t surprised as he paid an outrageous inflated price for a new mattress for the camper’s bed.
On the road again, rain started slowly but soon pelted the windshield with the wipers on high. Fast traffic continued to speed past them dangerously in the near dark on the wet roadway. Occasionally they tuned the radio to a news station. Finding one still operating was becoming more difficult daily. Stations with signals strong enough to be received clearly always indicated the news was bad with no sign of improving. Zombies were steadily advancing north from the Gulf region and inland from the East Coast and West Coast. One station reported Kansas City and St. Louis had been overrun. They were discouraged to hear Canadians were having the same issue on each of their coast. Pockets of outbreaks also had occurred in Baltimore, Cleveland, Chicago, Detroit, Minneapolis, and New York and several other U.S. cities along the northern border served by international airports. Even Anchorage, Alaska, was under attack by the undead.
They stopped after dark at Valentine, Nebraska, five miles from the South Dakota border. Rain subsided to a light drizzle, and the sky was overcast and starless.
JR said, “I’ll sleep up here tonight with Smokey. You can have the camper bed.”
“I’m fine up here, really.”
“Sam, you’re not getting proper rest. I need you in good health and relaxed not exhausted and grumpy. We’ll switch every night. I insist. Now go.” He knew she was right and let logic overpower his male ego.
“Thanks,” he said before the door shut. Before dozing off he thought of JR; he was glad to have her along. She was adapting to their situation as well as possible and showing strength he suspected she didn’t know she possessed. He’d read coming of age stories but had never actually seen the growing pains clearly in people he knew. He hoped she would decide to stay with him after they crossed into Canada.
Early Tuesday morning they crossed the South Dakota border. Much like Nebraska, they passed huge fields of corn, soybeans, and alfalfa. Rain must have been plentiful throughout the growing season because the plants looked tall and healthy. After twenty-five miles they entered the small town of Mission. A sign on the outskirts gave the population as eleven hundred. A left turn to stay on Highway 83 headed them toward the business district where traffic was backed up to a standstill. A fire covering an entire block of the miniscule downtown business area blazed in the distance.
A strong breeze blowing from the north fanned flames and drove heavy, dark smoke and sparks to the south. Sam noticed other vehicles turning north on side streets and told JR to follow their lead. She drove a short way before turning west again. Slowly they drove through a residential area to bypass the downtown section. Without warning the street funneled them onto a local Native American college campus. A sign at the entrance to the Sinte Gleska University of the Rosebud Sioux Tribe, Lakota Nation, proclaimed an enrollment of over eight hundred students.
Traffic was routed into a large sun drenched parking lot. As JR circled to leave the parking lot, two young students approached the truck with pamphlets in hand. JR stopped and lowered the window. The short, heavy female student said a prayer meeting was scheduled to invoke the tribe’s spiritual entity’s help dealing with the undead threat. The students invited Sam and J.R. to stay and join them. Sam and J.R. exited the truck to stretch and talk to the students. Smokey was restless until JR reached through the open window and laid her palm on his coat. He licked her hand and calmed.
Listening to the student’s prepared spiel, Sam and JR shared a bottled water and gave some to Smokey. They talked to the students for a quarter hour. The college existed to provide programs to preserve and teach tribal culture, history, and language and to seek innovative and effective strategies to address the myriad social and economic concerns confronting the Sicangu Lakota Oyate tribe. Additionally the students said the school offered a wide range of business degrees. J.R. and Sam declined to stay for the prayers, asked for directions to skirt the fire, and drove on. The truck’s windows were left down. They discussed how it was finally bearable to stand in the sun even in the early morning hours without sweat forming in minutes.
JR drove and they rode in silence with the disc player running. On the highway again, JR said, “That pair we spoke to at the college . . . they’re so wrapped up in their religion I didn’t want to burst their bubble by telling them to wake up to reality. I’m afraid they’ll both be stumbling zombies within the next two weeks if they depend on any god to spare them from the evil coming at them.”
“Yeah. In a way I envy their complete devotion to some mysterious deity they believe will save them. But then it’s very presumptuous of them to think their god will save them while billions of other people have been susceptible to evil because they worship a different god or don’t believe in any god.”
“I guess that sums up how I feel about them too. On one hand I sort of admire them for their tenacious beliefs, but then I think they’re fools and are going to suffer a horrible fate because they’re so wrapped up in false promises. You’re liable to think this is morbid; I’d like to know if they survive the zombies intact. Does their god protect and spare them while hundreds of millions around them are sacrificed? Then, if the religious adherence works, I wonder if the zombies are a manifestation of the devil.”
“Wow. You sort of make me wish I’d gone to church more often and paid attention to what was said, just in case.”
South of Pierre they approached Interstate 90. JR picked up a CB radio broadcast by a trucker hauling a load of lumber from Pennsylvania heading for Nevada. He reported the same zombie situation at major Northeast Coast cities as at the southern coastal cities. The undead were spreading as their numbers increased and coming to the Midwest from three directions.
“Hopefully we’ll be in Canada before the zombies converge on where we’ll cross over,” JR said.
“If nothing happens in the next twenty-four hours, we should be across the border and heading into wilderness.” JR edged to the shoulder as a large motorhome flew around the truck. It swayed from side to side in the strong gusty wind with its speed at least twenty or more MPH above theirs. A woman in the passenger seat made an angry face and gave her the finger. Then the driver swerved obnoxiously over into JR’s lane much closer than was necessary simply to express his anger. When the driver steered sharply to the left to straighten in the right lane, a strong gust of wind hit the vehicle broadside. JR hit the brakes as brake lights flashed on the motorhome and the left wheels raised off the pavement. The motorhome flopped down and swerved from side to side in and out of its lane before the driver got it under control.
Sam was incensed at their nearly being involved in a wreck because of someone acting like an ignorant redneck. “Another adult acting childish. They work themselves into a bad mood and then respond more harshly than situations deserve.”
JR snickered. “Guess they weren’t impressed with the number of wrecked vehicles along the road that were likely driving like he is. I don’t wish them bad luck, but I’ll not be surprised if we see them wrecked beside the road before this day is over.”
Just before noon, they passed the scattered debris that remained of the blue and tan motorhome that passed them three hours earlier and almost tipped over. There were no signs of survivor
s loitering around the long trail of scattered wreckage where the RV tumbled and disentegrated.
Near the south city limit of Herreid, South Dakota, JR exited the highway to a fuel station with high prices but a short waiting line. It was a small, local operation without a convenience store attached. When they were committed on the approach lane, they saw a State Highway Patrol car fifty feet from the pumps. The driver's door stood open and a bloodied trooper sprawled unmoving on the ground in a pool of blood. An armed group of four males and two females controlled the pumps robbing travelers at gun point. All six thieves brandished handguns. Two pickups were parked on the left away from the pumps.
J.R. attempted to reverse back to the highway and bypass the fuel stop. Sam watched as one of the fuel customers resisted the thieves and was shot in front of several other customers. The man fell to the concrete and a woman and two young children knelt beside him. His arm moved, so Sam knew he was still alive.
The thieves saw JR attempting to back up to flee. Four of the young people rushed toward their truck from almost a hundred yards away. Under pressure, JR cursed as the trailer backed off the approach lane and started to jackknife. Another pickup pulling a trailer stopped behind them blocking them from leaving. Sam said, "Stop and get ready to fight. They've already killed a state trooper and shot another man, so they're desperate. I'm not letting them take anything we have. They’re murders; shoot to kill, not to wound." Like Sam, J.R. had never killed another human being, only wild game and a few zombies. She was momentarily shocked at the idea Sam had planted but she hadn't yet fully accepted. Sure, she’d talked with Sam about people going rogue and needing to be dealt with; but now she was faced with a confrontation that was real and imminent. Faced with four threatening humans waving guns at them, she apprehensively prepared to follow Sam’s lead. It was another unwanted ordeal she was quickly being forced to come to grips with.
J.R. slammed the emergency brake pedal, threw the gear selector to park, and carefully pulled the gun from her thigh holster. Her features expressed doubt and fear mingled with determination. They opened the truck doors, aimed, and fired. Their targets stood in the middle of the roadway in the open forty feet away. Sam hit his first target in the chest twice, and the man instantly fell hard. Smokey tried to get out, but Sam pushed him to the floor and yelled, “Stay!”
J.R.s first three shots puts a man down with wounds. He wallowed on the ground and tried to crawl away. The other two attackers broke and ran back toward the pump area. “Keep firing. Don’t let them get away, or we’ll have to deal with them later.” Sam shot a running woman in the back twice as she tried to escape. J.R. and Sam emptied their magazines and watched the fourth person collapse to the pavement about seventy-five feet away. He said, "Reload. We’re not done yet. There are at least two more to deal with." He looked to the pump area for the last two attackers. Both wannabe bandits were on the ground surrounded by their victims kicking and stomping them unmercifully. The crowd backed away and a man with a handgun shot both thieves where they laid.
Sam spoke loudly to J.R., "I'll walk ahead and drag those bodies out of the roadway. Bring the truck and get in line for fuel." JR was surprised but impressed at his cool demeanor. She exhaled deeply and gathered her poise. She pushed aside feeling of remorse and pity for the people who would have shot them if given the chance. She remembered the song, “Welcome to My World.” Some world, she thought. But that was the new world order she was being forced to accept. Her hands shook until she gripped the steering wheel firmly. Smokey paced the seat growling. In her side mirror she noticed an older man standing outside his vehicle behind them holding a handgun by his side.
Sam picked up the discarded pistols and dragged the seriously wounded man off the roadway. The man bled profusely and would likely die if left unattended. The man coughed blood as he begged for help. Sam debated giving first aid. He decided against it. He didn’t kill the wounded man but continued walking away. Bad people reap what they sow, or something like that, he’d heard in church years ago. He paused, then passed the four confiscated pistols to J.R. All four were 9mm semiautos of various brands and sizes. She was second in line from the four pump islands.
In the two pickups belonging to their attackers, Sam confiscated another pistol and a dozen full boxes of 9mm ammunition for the thieves' pistols. Several thousand dollars in currency was in the glovebox of each truck. He shared two boxes of ammo with the people who took guns from the thieves they stomped before they were shot.
Parked alongside the pumps Sam said, "As soon as I pay, we'll get the hell out of here. This is the kind of thing we spoke about earlier. We’re going to see more of it as the situation becomes more desperate. I don’t want to wait here until more State Police finally show up, or we’ll be here till midnight answering questions and defending our actions." He paused. “The station operator tripled the price of diesel to near nine dollars a gallon, but we’ve just accumulated an even larger abundance of US dollars to dispose of; so the fuel isn’t costing us anything. JR exercised Smokey as fuel poured into their tank.
Sam stood alone at the pump when he observed an elderly man and woman leave the truck behind his and approach.
“Young fella, I want to thank you for corralling those hoodlums who were robbing folks. My wife and I were prepared to do the same thing. I was a sheriff in Kansas before I retired. Ethel was one of my sergeants. Expect we’ll see more of that behavior as this crisis grows. The bad side of people is coming out and now it’s vigilante justice taking over. I was never pro-vigilante, but now it’s becoming the law of the land. It’s a shame to witness that even though it’s necessary.”
Both people shook Sam’s hand and then returned to their truck as a pump in the next row became clear. Two more vehicles were in line behind the ex-sheriff. In the near distance he heard a single siren coming from the south.
JR and Smokey returned a few minutes before he finished fueling. They left as an ambulance pulled into the station to treat the victim who’d been shot by the thieves and the man JR shot.
“I guess the station owner was robbed by those people too.”
“He was. His daughter got their money back from the shoulder bag one of the women was carrying. The woman was one of the two thieves who were killed at the pumps.”
“I’m also surprised not everyone at the pumps had a gun. I assumed by now everyone would be armed.”
“Several did, but most were disarmed before the thieves robbed them. The other man waited his chance for a clear shot. I suppose some of the other people are so dead set against guns they can’t bring themselves to use one even if it gets them killed. They’ll either change their attitude or be harassed and intimidated until someone kills them. It’s sad, but that’s what is happening.
Sam was silent a minute longer. “I wish what happened back there hadn’t. Killing another human leaves a bad feeling even though it’s necessary. I thought I was totally prepared for it, but I learned it’s not that simple. I’m sure there’ll be more acts like that, and I guess the empty somewhat guilty feeling will go away. But right now it’s hard to accept that I actually did it.”
JR nodded. She was having the same self-incrimination issues and hadn’t been nearly as acclimated to it as he was.
Approaching Strasburg, North Dakota, shortly past noon, the truck’s engine started spitting and sputtering and running erratically. Sam flipped the fuel selector switch to the other diesel tank. He pulled off the road and stopped on the shoulder and ran the engine at higher speed while in neutral. “That asshole at our last stop likely pumped his diesel tank too low and had water in the bottom. We might lose that whole tank of fuel. It’s a good thing we only filled the one tank. We’re barely ten miles from there.”
“Everything about that stop was negative, I hope there’s no more like it,”
Sam frowned. “And we can’t go back there to raise hell with the owner because the police will likely be there by now.”
After several minutes,
the engine smoothed out and ran better but not like usual. They continued sputtering along another ten miles into town. Sam parked on the lot of a gas station but left the engine run and had JR hold the fuel throttle down to maintain a higher engine speed than idle. He went in the office and asked the attendant where a garage was located. The only garage in town was two blocks north and a block west, if it was still open. Several businesses had closed in the last week when their owners left town. The attendant said, “Two left because they had no customers and didn’t expect any. Who is going to buy insurance or investments with a mob of zombies approaching?”
They followed the directions to Marty's Auto Repair. The garage sat by itself on a short block across from a small public park. The area was residential without other businesses nearby. The shop owner was working alone but said he could get to Sam's truck later that afternoon. He agreed with Sam's assessment of the problem likely being water in the fuel and clogged injectors. He’d had two other customers with the same symptoms in the past ten days or so. Marty told them his other mechanic quit two days before, and he was packed to leave too. The first day no work was scheduled, he and his wife would join the exodus north. Sam and J.R. would spend the night there while the fuel tank drained. The fuel injectors, tank, and fuel lines would be cleaned the next morning.
Running To Escape: A Sam & JR Zombie Thriller Page 8