Revulsion wells up inside of me while I simultaneously swat at his hands to keep them from getting too close to me; all the while, his stinking breath is making me gag. The hundreds of times I told my mom no to self-defense and MMA classes go through my head, and my regret is so great, I want to cry. Instinctively I grasp that I’ll be doomed if I allow his hands to find any kind of purchase on me.
I get one leg up and under him and use all my strength to kick him off me. He falls backward and loses his balance, just as Ryan comes up the bus’s steps to see what’s going on. The two of them collide and fall back to the ground.
Honking pierces my consciousness, but I don’t have time to think about it. I jump forward to help Ryan, who is pinned under the man who attacked me. Ryan hits him in the head with his bare fists, screaming obscenities at him, to no avail.
Ryan is strong, but the punches seem like feeble swats for all the impact they make on the attacker. Whose own hands reach for Ryan’s throat. Feverishly my eyes search for something I can use as a weapon. Finally, they land on a fire extinguisher, secured by the side of the bus’s doors.
I pivot and pull it out before I swing it, hitting the attacker squarely in the head. There is a sickening thud, and my arms vibrate from the impact before he goes down. Ryan pushes him off and climbs to his feet.
“Are you okay?” we ask each other simultaneously.
I throw the fire extinguisher to the side and hear another honk.
“Somebody found a bus,” Ryan exclaims excitedly.
He reaches for my hand, but I pretend I don’t see it and run towards the sound of the horn. I ignore the expression of hurt crossing his face. We’re the last ones to enter the bus.
Chapter 4
“What happened to you guys?” Drew asks as he closes the door behind us.
“Ran into some old friends,” Ryan smirks.
“Don’t quote Star Wars.” Conner chides, shaking his head in mock disgust.
“I don’t understand where they all came from? The whole park seemed empty and then… boom there they are.” Ace asks. But his question goes unanswered for now.
“Who knows how to drive this thing?” Ty asks the obvious question.
We appraise each other skeptically. All of us have a driver’s license or learner's permit, but none of us has ever driven anything bigger than an SUV.
“I drove my uncle’s semi during the summer,” Cory volunteers.
“You win,” Ace smirks and throws the keys at Cory, who climbs into the driver’s seat apprehensively.
Everybody picks a seat and sits down. There are plenty of benches, and each one of us gets one for ourselves, except Jose, who is still holding the toddler. I walk over to them.
“Want me to take her?”
Hesitantly he hands her over, but the kid has none of it; she screams and holds on to Jose for dear life. “Guess not.” He smirks.
“Fine mothering skills,” Conner laughs, and I give him the finger.
As soon as my butt hits a cushioned seat, I spring back up like one of those Jack in the Box toys. “Who has my gun?” I ask frantically.
“Jeez, easy there, Rambo.” Drew gets up and hands me the Glock, shaking his head and mumbling something under his breath.
I cradle the 9mm and finally sink into the cushions. I need a moment to collect myself. The engine rumbles to life, and a squeal sounds out as Cory shifts into drive without releasing the emergency brake first.
“Where to?” he yells at no one in particular.
All of us rush forward to help Conner, no rest in sight yet. I sigh.
“We need to take the 5 West,” Alex says, pointing at his phone.
“That will take us straight through Los Angeles,” Blake warns.
“We can probably find some cops there. They’ll help us.” Ace adds hopefully.
“Unless they all turned too.” Ty wagers darkly.
“The rain started just before we hit Los Angeles,” I interject.
“So, what of it?” Drew questions.
“Let her talk.” Ryan takes my side.
“I’m just saying, if this has something to do with the rain, and it started back….”
“Guys,” Cory says, warningly, interrupting me.
“We can take the 22 and go around,” Ryan suggests then, ignoring my words, even though he told the others to listen to me.
“What does the rain have to do with anything?” Alex wants to know.
“Guys,” Cory shouts, and we all stop to see what has him so anxious.
The people who chased us must have finally managed to break down the fence because they surge down the embankment straight for our bus.
“Shit! Go!” Ryan hits Cory on the shoulder to emphasize his panic-stricken words. “Go! Adams, go!”
“Where to?” Cory screams again, horror written all over his face.
“Go straight out, Landers.” Blake points towards the exit, there is urgency to his words, but outwardly he remains relatively calm.
“I don’t think we’ll fit,” Cory doubts, pointing at an open gate ahead.
“Easy, you’ll fit. If not, this baby is big enough to take some of that fence out,” Blake encourages, just as loud banging comes from the back of the bus.
The little girl, we really need to find out her name, screams, and Jose rocks her gently.
“The street looks empty, go, man, go,” Alex yells.
“No, take it easy.” Blake puts a reassuring hand on Cory’s arm. “You are doing great, Cory, don’t go too fast; the last thing we need is for this bus to crash; those people can’t get in here.”
Ryan still has his phone out. “Take a left here,” he advises.
“Where are we going?” Cory asks again, his eyes glued to the road.
“Alright, let’s take a vote on who wants to go through Los Angeles and who wants to go around.”
“How do we know Los Angeles is bad?” Ace wants to know.
“Let’s try 911 again,” I suggest, already punching in the numbers.
I put the phone on speaker, and everybody’s eyes, except Cory’s, are on my phone as it rings. We all hold a hopeful breath.
“…. all our operators are busy at this time. Please hold for the next available operator. Your estimated wait time is three hours and fifteen minutes.”
I turn to Ace. “Does that answer your question?”
Silence greets my words. A chill runs through my body, and I assume the others aren’t faring much better. It’s not only the unsettling message and the events of the past few hours; it’s more what it represents.
We grew up with a safety net; we grew up with the knowledge that you call 911 if something bad happens and the cavalry rides into the rescue. All that, and more, is gone. Gone within a few hours. We are not only alone in a bad situation, but we are also alone in a state unfamiliar to us.
The silence hangs over us for a few seconds as our minds explore the significance and ramifications of the 911 message to our current situation.
“My dad said he is coming to meet us, we just need to keep going west, and we’ll eventually meet up with him,” Blake tries to reassure us.
“Going through Los Angeles will get us there a lot faster,” Ryan persists and looks at Blake challengingly.
His voice rallies the boys. They are used to taking orders from Ryan under high-stress situations. Not that a high school playoff game is any measure. Still, nervousness spreads through our group. Picking a route should not be a decision that could mean life or death. We are teenagers, for crying out loud. We shouldn’t have to make those kinds of choices. The weight of it lays heavily on all our shoulders. We need more intel if we are truly forced to pick a route that could mean our demise or survival.
“Okay, does anybody have any news updates or anything?” I ask.
A five-vehicle car pile-up ahead of us forces Cory to navigate the big bus around it carefully. We stare at the accident, speechless, noticing a dead woman in the driver’s seat of a blue T
oyota and two others lying still on the pavement, just like the dead bodies we saw at the park. With no sign of police, firefighters, or any kind of rescue organization, it hammers home, once again, of how utterly alone we are in this. There is nobody. Not even any spectators like there usually would be.
We kind of suspected that whatever it was, didn’t just affect the park, but seeing it here makes it all so much more real. I think all of us held out a shred of hope that once we got out of the park, things would be normal again.
“They are saying it’s everywhere in and around Los Angeles.” Jason reads off his phone. “They are putting up roadblocks to prevent people from getting in or out.”
I narrow my eyes and turn them questioning at Jason. “What do you mean, won’t let anybody out? Are we stuck here? In L.A.?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “That’s all it says. It says it’s a developing story and to hold on for further detail.”
Blake pulls his phone out and calls his dad.
“No, we are fine… on a bus, getting out of the park.… Yeah, listen, one of the guys found a news report saying they won’t let anybody in or out of L.A.…. okay… yeah, we’ll wait.”
“What?” Ryan barks at Blake.
“My dad says to avoid L.A. and to keep going west. He’ll try to find out about the roadblocks, and he’ll call me back.”
“Great. Back to square one,” Ryan huffs.
“Except that his dad confirmed to avoid .LA.,” I interject.
“Okay, fine? Go on Stanton Road, and then on the 605, it’ll get us around.” Ryan orders, somewhat irritated for not getting his way.
It doesn’t take long to find the road Ryan suggested. The bus is utterly quiet as we make our way down an accident littered street full of abandoned vehicles and dead bodies.
“Stop the bus,” Blake suddenly orders.
“What’s up, Thornton?” Cory asks while he slows the big vehicle to a stop.
“Wait here,” Blake says and opens the doors, ignoring Cory’s question.
“What the hell, Thornton, what are you doing?” Ace and Ryan are right behind Blake, disembarking the bus.
Fearing another testosterone-fueled argument, I follow and find Blake walking towards three police cruisers. All the doors on the driver’s sides are open without a trace of any cops. It’s disconcertingly quiet. Too quiet. It reminds me of the park, just before all those people showed up to chase us.
Blake bends over inside the first cop car and pushes a button, releasing the trunk lock. It opens with a pop, which sounds loud in the stillness of the city.
“Where are all the people?” Ace wants to know.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asks again.
Blake walks over to the trunk. “Most cops keep back up guns and ammo in the trunk,” he says, just as he triumphantly pulls out a shotgun.
Ace imitates Blake’s moves, walking to the cruiser in the middle. Reluctantly Ryan follows suit on the third, where he hits the jackpot, pulling out a fully automatic assault rifle.
A sudden hissing sound gives us barely enough time to react when ten people pour out from one of the stores lining the street.
“Hurry,” I urge. “Back on the bus.”
The hissing grows louder; more people appear from storefronts and parked cars.
“It’s like they were hibernating in there,” Ace remarks and runs back to the bus.
All of us fall into a sprint. Blake takes the lead, Ryan in the middle and me, as usual, bringing up the rear. We barely make it back onto the bus in time. Just as the doors shut, hands slam against them, pounding, demanding entrance.
“Go, go, go!” Ryan slaps Cory on the shoulder.
Cory hesitates. “They are people, McCarthy.” He points through the windshield.
And sure enough, on the other side of the glass, we can make out two men and one woman slapping their hands against the front of the bus.
“Doesn’t matter.” Ryan orders. “Go.”
Reluctantly, Cory lifts his foot off the brake, throwing a questioning look at Blake, who shakes his head. “Go.”
A determined expression moves over Cory’s face, and he pushes the gas pedal down. Thump, thump, thump. They never even try to get out of the way. Nausea and bile rise up my throat.
Those were people, I think, dismayed. They got up this morning to fix breakfast for their kids. To go to work. None of them set out their day thinking, today is a good day to beat up and kill people. None thought their lives would end underneath humongous bus tires.
“Hell, this is so sick.” Cory’s face twists in disgust.
A tear rolls down his cheek, and I stretch my hand out to provide comfort. I remember the face of the woman I shot earlier. I push it down. Later, we’ll have to deal with the guilt later.
The other people chase after the bus, but Cory speeds up, and they soon lag behind.
Blake checks on the three guns we pilfered. He explains to the rest of the boys how to use them while Cory keeps the bus rolling. Since I already know how to use pretty much any kind of gun, I think it more prudent to keep watch through the front window. To be alert to more people, possibly showing up and attacking us.
After a while, my stomach grumbles, assuming I’m not the only one hungry; I walk down the center aisle, towards the middle, where I reach Jose, still holding the little girl. That’s where I stored my backpack earlier. The first bottle of water and giant pretzel I find, I hold out for Jose to take.
“See if she will eat.”
“Hey, princess,” He coaxes her, taking the water first.
Her head pops up, and her deep brown eyes search mine, filled with so much sadness, it breaks my heart. I kneel in the aisle, keeping my balance by putting a hand against a seat.
“Hey, sweetie, do you want some water?” I point at the bottle Jose has opened and is holding out for her.
She greedily reaches for it and drinks in big gulps. “Hungry,” she states after she is done drinking.
I can’t suppress the smile forming around my lips. The world might go down in a handbasket, but toddlers will always remain demanding. So convinced their every whim will be taken care of. I can only hope the little girl won’t be in for a rude awakening. I promise myself; I’ll keep her small world intact for as long as it is in my power. It’s bad enough we could not find her daddy, but at least for her hunger, I have a cure.
I break off a piece of pretzel and hand it to her. Hungrily, she snatches it out of my fingers and munches on it.
“What’s your name?”
“Angie,” she says between bites.
“Pretty name. I’m Vivian, and this big guy here is Jose.” I say, pointing at Jose.
“Daddy?”
“I don’t know, Angie, but we’ll try to find him or your mommy, okay? Later.”
“Daddy.” Her huge eyes fill with tears, and Jose pulls her closer, back into his embrace.
I hand him another bottle of water and pretzel; he nods at me gratefully. Slowly, I make my rounds from one boy to the next, handing out food I find in various backpacks once mine runs out.
I take a seat next to Blake and munch away on my pretzel. It tastes heavenly, salty and gooey, shaped in the form of Mickey’s head. I shouldn’t have an appetite after what we’ve seen and done, but I’m starving.
The bus keeps going, and Cory seems to get more confident behind the wheel; he looks almost relaxed. Ryan sits on the bench to his right, giving him directions. After a while, we make it to an on-ramp, where a mess greets us as far as the eye can see cars block all lanes. Some interlocked in pileups, while some appear abandoned. Cory stops the bus.
“No way we’ll fit through here.”
Blake points at the emergency lane. “Take that, and let’s see how far it’ll take us.”
Cory seems skeptical but does what Blake suggests. We fall silent again, eyes glued to the accidents. Just like in the streets before, wrecks are everywhere, small pileups, and big ones. Some appear as if people used their vehi
cles like missiles and plowed them into other cars.
Whereas others seem like they were just abandoned, their doors hang wide open, the engines still running. Exhaust fumes curl lazily into the air. It’s eerie and more than a little creepy.
Drew asks the obvious question, “Where is everybody?”
Dead bodies litter the ground, not as many as one would have suspected, though, and there is no sign of life.
We keep driving until we reach an abandoned car blocking the emergency lane. The driver’s and passenger’s doors are swung wide open, and the vehicle is still running. Cory stops the bus, and we all stare at the obstacle. The right side of the road is blocked by other cars, either smashed or abandoned. There’s no way around them.
“Now what?” Cory asks, “Backtrack?”
Blake sighs and gets up. “I’ll get out and drive it ahead of us until I can find a spot to ditch it.”
“I’ll go with you,” Ace offers and reaches for one of the pilfered shotguns.
I watch the two get out of the bus warily but cannot come up with a better idea. All I can hope is that they’ll find a spot soon where they can leave the car.
I watch Blake walk towards the edge of the overpass we stopped at, to peer over the low wall. There’s something about his body language that tells me something’s wrong. He waves at us and points down.
On cue, all of us move to the left side of the bus and peer out the windows. Down below are, what has to be, hundreds of people fighting on the freeway, just like they were at the Amusement Park.
These people, though, must have been at it for hours. Bodies litter the ground, and men and women fight each other with fists, phones, and empty guns, right on top of them. Some wield knives without prejudice. It seems like they are using whatever they were able to get their hands on. Most of them sport some kind of injury, but nothing seems to slow them down, nothing short of death that is.
The Rain | Part 1 | The Beginning Page 5