We
creep across roof and reach the windows. Sara sits perched at the top of the
roof above the first one. The roof has a fairly steep pitch to it. If you move
slowly it is not so bad but if you start to slide you will definitely fall over
the edge. I prop myself up at the top of the first glass window. It is about
two feet by four feet in size. It will be tight but we should all be able to
fit. Devon locks his arm under my armpit and Frank does the same on my other
side. They hold me tight. I slide down on my butt to get close to the window. I
use the heel of my boot to kick down into the glass and my boot bounces off the
glass. The next time I use both feet. I come down on the window hard. It
shatters under the pressure. I slide over to the right of the window. Devon and
Frank lower me down the roof so I am parallel with it now. I am able to let go
of them and grab the edge of the frame.
“Pass
me the dowel,” I reach up as Devon lowers the piece of wood to me. I place it
at the base of the window and drop the sheet down into the garage. The window
sits about fifteen feet above the concrete floor.
“Slide
down here next to me,” I signal to Devon. Frank and Sara help him move slowly
down to me. I help prop him up next to me. “Okay, Sara come down,” Frank holds
her hand and she slides down next to Devon.
“We’re
gonna lower you,” she takes my hand and then Devon’s. Sara drops her legs down
into the window and slides her butt over to the edge. Together we lift her up
and over the window and then slowly drop her down so that she is eye level with
the dowel.
She
lets go of Devon to grab the sheet. For a couple of seconds I am the only thing
keeping this girl in the air. I freak out, just a little, but once she has
ahold of the sheet I know she will be okay.
“Got
it!” she breathes heavily. We let go of each other and she climbs down. When
she gets to the end there is a couple feet drop but she lands it perfectly. It
is dark down there.
“I’m
fine!” she calls up at us. Seconds later she finds a light switch and kicks it
on.
“Frank,
come help me with Devon,” Frank lets go of the peak and slides down. We set up
the same as before and lower Devon down. It took every fiber of muscle to keep
him from falling through the window when he let go of Frank. How I am going to
get Frank down into this thing. Devon lands it with no problem.
“Toss
the bag,” I tell him. He lowers the bag down into the window and lets go. They
catch it with a loud grunt. “You’re gonna have to hold the dowel yourself,” I
tell Frank.
“It’s
no problem,” he quickly drops his feet over the edge and wraps the sheet around
his foot. He gets down onto the sheet all by himself. He gets to the bottom. Now
it is my turn. I wrap my leg around the sheet like Frank did. I am sweating
like a pig and my arms tremble. I use my foot to pin the sheet to my leg. My
legs are holding most of my weight. I grab ahold of the dowel. It is not so
much the physical act of dropping down into the window that is scary. It is the
concrete below that scares me to death. If I fall I would break my ankles or
snap my knees and then game over. Frank would have to put a bullet through my
head. Why am I being so dramatic? Why am I concentrating on the bad? I need to
stay positive. My family needs me to stay positive. This crew of people below
needs me to stay positive. So, no more thoughts about falling and suffering a
compound fracture, no more thoughts about becoming a cripple that slows the
group down and gets everyone killed. No more thoughts about not seeing my
family because I fell to my death. Oh my feet just touched down. That was not
so bad. My muscles burn so I give my arms a good shake as I look around the
garage.
Calvin
drove a mid 2000’s Toyota Camry. I feel weird. I guess I feel let down. The
house was so nice I thought it would be something more exotic.
“What
a bummer,” Devon shakes his head with disappointment.
“Hey!”
I whack him in the arm.
“What?”
he rubs his sore bicep.
“Show
a little respect. It has four wheels, what else do you need?” Sara whacks his
other arm.
“Stop
hitting me,” he rubs his other arm.
The
monsters claw at the garage door.
“Now
what?” Frank and I look around the garage. It is so clean. Everything has its
perfect place.
“We
need something to clear a path to the street,” I whisper. “Why don’t we drive
through them?” Frank asks.
“It
will kill the car. This Toyota can’t take many hits before we blow the
radiator,” Sara says leaning up against the drivers’ door. I open cabinets and
look through shelves. I don’t know what I am looking for. Something to distract
them would be nice, but it is a normal garage filled with tools, cleaning rags
and Christmas decorations. I open the last set of cabinets and I find what I
was looking for. I pull out two propane tanks. They must be extras for his
outdoor barbecue.
“Sara,
pop the trunk to the car,” I grunt as I carry the two heavy tanks. She pulls
out the keys from her pocket and opens the trunk. Calvin seemed like the type
to always be prepared. I was right, there in his trunk is an emergency kit. I
drop the tanks and open the kit. It has exactly what I am looking for. Road
flares.
“What
are you thinking, bro?” Devon scratches at his neck.
“We’re
gonna Duct Tape these flares to the tank. Pop the flare and roll them out under
the garage door. Frank shoots them. Boom. What do you think?”
“That’s
idiotic.” Sara shuts the trunk.
“You
want to open the door?” Devon shakes his head and thumbs at the garage
door.
“What
if it blows the door down on us?” Sara shakes her head at me too.
“It’s
all I got,” I rest my hands on my hips. They look at each other and shrug their
shoulders.
“Lets
do it,” Frank nods his head. I grab the roll of Duct Tape off the work bench. I
also pull a drawer out of the tool box. It is full of all different sized screwdrivers.
I tape a flare to the side of the tank and then I tape down over twenty
screwdrivers to each tank. I hope when it blows it will fire these screwdrivers
in all directions, taking down a few more of them. Devon and I drag the tanks
over next to the car. Sara and Frank push the big toolbox. It is a heavy-duty
steel box that is thirty-six inches wide, and they push it over to the garage
door. If we stay behind it we will hopefully be safe from the explosion. Frank
picks up a drill out of the toolbox and puts a one-inch bit on it. He drills a
hole into the garage door. I unhook the garage door so that the chain is not
pulling it open or closed anymore. Now I can lift it open myself and close it
when we are done. I grab a wrench and stick it into the track that holds the
wheels. I set it so that we can lift the door about two feet before the wrench
stops the door from going up any higher.
I
look through Frank’s newly drilled hole and there are nearly forty of them
milling around out there. I need to get the tanks as far away from the door as
I can, but there are so many infected in the way. If one of them steps in front
of it and blocks the tank we will be in trouble.
“Devon,
you open the door. I’ll roll out the tanks. Sara you be ready to cut down
anything that climbs under the door. Frank, clear me a path,” I give Devon a
nod and he pulls up on the door. It stops against the wrench and the foul smell
of them rushes into the garage. Frank fires six rounds.
“Now!”
He yells. I pop the top off the flare. It fires up and burns hot next to my
hand. I take a run at the door and then release the first tank like a bowling
ball. I give it everything I got. I let out one hell of a grunt when the tank
leaves my hand. I angle it to the right. Devon drops the door right away. The
tank rolls and rolls. Frank watches through the hole.
“We’re
good,” Frank gives me a nod.
I
grab the second tank. Devon lifts up the door. A set of busted up arms reach
under the door and grab Devon by the shins. He squeals and let go of the door.
It crashes down on the arms. Another set of fingers reaches under the door.
They lift up the door and it comes to a stop at the wrench. Devon takes a few
steps back. Frank steps on the handle of the garage door and stomps it down. The
arms keep it from closing. Sara shoves Devon back as she strikes with her
machete. She chops off the monster’s arm. Then she rears back and takes another
chop. The severed limbs gush black blood into the garage. Frank quickly fires
six shots and pulls back up the garage door.
“Now!”
he yells. I pop the flare and run for the door and sling this tank to the left.
I grab the door and slam it shut with Frank.
“Look,”
Devon points down at his feet. I look back and the two arms are still attached
to his shins. He does a little dance to shake them off. It takes a good bit of
foot work to loosen their grip.
“Are
we ready?” Frank has his gun up and ready to fire.
“Here,”
Sara hands me the car keys. I open the driver side door and put both Devon’s
and my spear into the car. We leave all four doors open so we are ready to
roll. We group behind the toolbox and Frank takes careful aim. I plug my ears.
Frank pulls back on the hammer and then squeezes the trigger.
BOOM
and then BOOM!!! The garage door rocks and almost comes down off the tracks.
“Oh,
God!” Frank’s the only one that can see what has happened out there. He has
already got the next tank in his sights.
BOOM!
BOOM!!!
That
one finished the job and the garage door falls fully off the tracks. Frank and
Devon push the toolbox back out of the way. I give the door a good hard kick
and it falls out and onto the driveway. The tanks put two massive craters
outside the garage. Every one of the infected monsters are down on the ground.
The ones closest to the blast were set ablaze. The screwdrivers and tank
shrapnel absolutely shredded them. The monsters are laid out on the ground
twitching and convulsing. It looks like a war zone.
“Jim!”
Sara yells at me. I turn and the three of them are already in the car. Frank is
in the passenger side and the kids are in the back. I pull the keys out of my
pocket and run for the car. I start up the Toyota. I drop it down into low and
hit the gas. We ride quickly out of the garage and over the fallen door. It is
hard to describe the sound of our tires as they crush the skulls of the
infected. It is kind of a pop, but with a lot of crunch, a squish and squirt.
We roll over twenty of them to get to the gate. I pull the car up to the end of
the driveway. I look at myself in the rear view mirror.
I
look ridiculous with this bandage on my head. Why am I the one driving? I am
sure I have a concussion. I have black eyes now from my broken nose. I look
back at the house. The infected flood the front yard. I turn the steering wheel
to the right. This is a little road that connects all these million dollar
homes on the riverfront. The road is clear. No cars blocking the way, no infected
roaming around looking for their next meal. I step hard on the gas and then the
car dies. We come to a complete stop. I look down at the console. The gas gage
reads empty.
“No!”
I hit the steering wheel. What the hell! I turn the key again and nothing. The
starter tries to turn the engine over but it does not catch.
“What
happened?” Sara yells.
“We’re
out of gas!” Frank groans. I turn the key again and pump the gas and keep one
eye on the rearview mirror. I watch the horde get closer and closer.
When
I was in college I had an old Volkswagen Rabbit. It had chronic electrical
problems. Actually it had a leaking problem. Every time it rained, water would
leak somewhere in the windshield-dash area and drip down onto the electrical
circuits. Sometimes the lights did not work. Sometimes the blinkers did not
work. Most of the time it would not start and I would have to reach up under
the dash, give the electrical box a wiggle and then it would come back to life.
I got used to having an unreliable car. Worse case scenario involved calling a
tow truck. It was a pain in the ass and it cost me money, but I loved the car.
It was the first one I had bought with my own money so it had a special place
in my heart. It was also the car I first made out with my then girlfriend and
now wife, so it had real sentimental value. Never in the three years that I
owned it, was my life in danger if it did not start. As the four of us sat here
in Calvin’s car an extreme sense of dread fills my core.
I
try again and again to start the thing, but it will not turn over. The infected
have surrounded us. They scratch at the windows and bang on the roof. My three
passengers scream at the top of their lungs for me to do something. As a father
you develop a level of tolerance to all kinds of noise. You can tune it out to
a certain degree. The amount of noise, panic and despair I am going through
would cripple the average father. I look out my window and face a creature so
horribly disfigured, the fact that it is still up and walking around is a crime
against nature. There is more bone showing than anything from the neck up.
Milky eyes floating in a red skull is a good way to describe it. The jaw is
held on by only the slightest of muscle fibers. The tips of its fingers have
been worn away and now only the bones remain. Over the screams I hear the tapping
of its hand on my windowpane. I turn the key again and the engine starts. I can’t
believe it. I waste no time and punch the gas.
We
tear out of the driveway and leave the disgusting freaks behind. I get the
Toyota up to sixty and we all let out a triumphant yell. In the rearview mirror
I watch as they follow us out onto the street.
Every
house we pass looks as nice as Calvin’s. A nice little community of million dollar
homes right on the riverfront. We are almost to the intersection we need to
turn onto. After the turn it is all uphill for a few miles. If this car is
anything like my Mitsubishi the second we start up the hill the gas moves
around in the tank and it will cut off again.
Frank
pulls his bag up into his lap. He unzips it, pulls out a black case and digs
around a little more and finds a shoulder harness. It is a double gun harness,
one under each armpit. He opens the case and there is a set of matching nine
millimeter Berettas. Frank pulls out four clips and he slides one into the
bottom of each gun. He puts one gun into each holster, drops the leather straps
down onto his shoulders and clips it to his belt. In a few seconds it is
strapped to his body and ready to go. The last two clips slide right into his
front pants pocket. He digs a little more into his bag and pulls out a small
revolver. It is already in a holster and he wraps it around his right ankle. By
my count the man has about thirty to thirty five shots before he has to reload.
From the bottom of the bag he pulls out a big black gun.
“What’s
that?”
“SKS.”
It
looks like an AK-47. It fit in his bag because the stock has been sawed off and
it looks like its barrel is shorter than normal. He snaps the banana clip into
the bottom of it. Then he pulls out a second clip and a roll of electrical
tape. Frank quickly tapes the two clips together.
“Holy
moly!” Devon sounds like a kid at Christmas.
“What?”
grunts Frank.
“Can
we have some guns?” Devon begs. Frank turns back and looks at him.
“You
know how to shoot?” Franks says flatly.
“No,”
Devon’s eyes drop.
“I
don’t want to get shot by a kid.”
I
hang a left. It is a slight hill at first, but the Toyota keeps moving. It
feels good to be on a road that is not heavily traveled. There are no cars and
trucks whizzing by at a hundred miles an hour. No big rigs or snow plows
destroying every vehicle on the road. We cross over the train track. There are
a few abandoned cars I have to swerve around. The next road we are going to
cross is a major highway that runs from downtown Vancouver almost all the way
to Idaho. We round the last bend in the road and there is the highway. Traffic
is moving. I can’t believe it. There is no crowd of dead people smashing from
car to car eating the passengers.
“There’s
a gas station right there,” I point up on the hill on the other side of the
highway. At the intersection a nice soccer mom waves me through and we take off
up the hill.
“That
was weird,” Devon looks out the back window at the cars patiently waiting their
turn. On and off the highway they go like nothing has happened today. There is
no one at the next intersection so I blow through the red light and turn into
the gas station. The Camry runs rough as we pull up to the pump. We survey the
area.
“Looks
clear,” Frank pops open his door.
“How
much should I get?” I pull my wallet out and get my debit card ready.
“Fill
it if you can,” Frank grunts as he steps out of the car.
Sara
looks over at the convenience store part of the station. “We should get
supplies. Water and some food.”
“I’ll
like go with her,” Devon volunteers. I pop the door open and step out. My neck
kills but I keep my head on a swivel. Devon and Sara climb out and head for the
front door of the store. Frank stands guard by the passenger door. I slide the
card into the machine and grab the nozzle. I watch Sara and Devon fill a basket
in the store. The pump fires up and drops gas into the tank.
A
big truck pulls into the station. A rough redneck type is at the wheel. He
screeches to a stop and rolls down his window.
“They
still got beer?” he calls down to us.
“I
think so.”
“Cool.
Shit’s gettin’ fucked up man,” he pops his door and steps down.
“Yeah,
shit is gettin’ fucked up.”
“I’m
gonna get me some supplies and head up to the mountains. Let this shit settle
for a few days,” he walks by me for the front door. He catches a glance at
Frank and puts his hands playfully up in the air.
“Relax
partner. I mean you no harm,” he laughs to himself as he steps into the store.
Frank and I look at each other. He is as confused as I am. People handle crisis
differently. I remember the famous photo taken during hurricane Katrina of a
man toting a bucket full of beer as he struggles through waist high water.
Priorities man. The gas pump stops and it is full. I put the nozzle back.
“COME
ON GUYS!” I shout at the kids. I look back into the store and see a man holding
a gun on them and the redneck.
“Damn
it!” I take off for the front door. Frank is right behind me.
“You
have to pay for that!” yells the clerk. I step into the store and he points the
gun at me. I stop in my tracks and put my hands in the air. The clerk takes a
look at Frank.
“Oh,
shit!” the clerk and Frank have each other in their sights. The man’s gun
shakes as he whips it from Frank back over to the redneck. The redneck has two
cases of beer stacked in his hands.
“I
can pay, man. Calm down,” says the redneck.
“So
can we,” Sara points at me. “He’s got money.”
“Okay!
I don’t give a shit what the news says! I’m not getting looted!” the clerk
steps back and gets behind the front desk. Sara walks over with her basket and
sets it on the counter. The clerk puts his gun down and begins to ring her up.
The second he looks down to scan an item the redneck bolts. The bottles of beer
clank around in their boxes as he hits the door.
“Stop
you son of a bitch!” the clerk yells after him. He snatches up his gun and runs
around the counter. He kicks the door and it swings out wide.
BOOM,
BOOM, BOOM! He guns the redneck down in the parking lot. He falls to his face
and the cases of beer shatters on impact. We flinch and duck down behind the
displays of magazines. The clerk leaves the store to check out his handy work
and continues to scream at the man for stealing his beer. The redneck’s body
bleeds out on the asphalt.
“What
should we do?” Sara and Devon have ducked down behind me.
“Stay
down and be quiet,” I pull out a knife from my belt. “Frank, what do you
think?”
“I
don’t know. The guy shouldn’t have nicked the beer,” Frank keeps his SKS
trained on the clerk.
The
redneck slowly lifts himself off the forty-eight busted beers bottles. Blood
pours out from his stomach. His eyes are black. The redneck has turned. The
clerk fires off his remaining shots. He hits the infected in the chest. The clerk
backs up quickly and trips on the curb. He falls hard to his back. The infected
snaps his teeth and is about to pounce when its head explodes. The clerk looks
back at the store and there is Frank, gun still smoking in his hand.
“Shoot’em
in the head,” Frank holsters his revolver.
“Thank
you. Take what you have in the basket,” he gets to his feet. “I owe you guys
one.”
Sara
grabs up the basket of snacks and water.
“Lock
the door. It’s only gonna get worse,” Frank picks up a couple packs of bubble gum.
We race back to our car and pile back into the Toyota.
I
take a long drag of water from my pack as I pull out of the gas station. I
crank the wheel to the right and take off.
Vancouver
is all suburbs. Thousands of homes wrapped around shopping centers. As we speed
down the road we see families scramble. Clamber to fill their cars and SUV’s
with laptops, iPads and phone chargers. The housing development to our right is
so packed on top of each other. The houses sit less than fifteen feet apart
with no backyards. There is a five foot stone wall that separates their tiny
backyards from the sidewalk. They are squeezed into tight streets and around
culs-de-sac and in the center of it all there is a golf course. I hope everyone
grabs their golf clubs before they leave. They are going to need more than
iPads to fight against the infected. Sara and Devon load the new food and water
into his backpack. They hand the over flow up to Frank to put into his bag.
“We’re
getting close,” I tell them.
“What
are we gonna do after we find your family?” Sara chomps down on an energy bar.
“I
hope we can ride out this shit in the apartment, but I don’t know.”
“We
should try and get to a Costco,” Devon digs into a bag of jerky.
“That’s
a good idea,” Frank re-zips his bag. “Tons of supplies and no windows. A big
metal door that can be locked.”
I
weave the car past some newly infected humans.
The
road we are zipping down runs parallel with a big highway. It is gridlocked in
both directions. In the distance is a swarm of infected people. They are
marching down the highway smashing windows and biting the terrified people. A
couple of people stuck in this mess try and make an escape. They drive up onto
the median and into the emergency lane. Whole families are consumed right in
front of us.
I
step on the gas and get the car up to seventy miles an hour. Calvin’s ride has
a smoother feel to it than my car. It really hugs the road at this speed. The
closer we get to the freeway the more infected there are on the streets. I
weave in and out of the traffic. Both my side mirrors are torn off by near
misses with small groups of infected. The bloodthirsty monsters race off the
highway and are storming towards us. They are a plague of locusts that devour
crops of healthy humans.
“We
have to get away from the highway!” Sara pulls herself forward with the back of
my seat, her face right next to mine. I don’t have much of a choice. The
intersection up ahead has a multiple car crash blocking the road. It looks like
some of the cars tried to escape the highway and crossed the little stretch of
land that separated the two roads. They lost control and crashed into each
other. The street and sidewalk are totally blocked. I am going to have to turn
right and head north.
A
car screeches to a stop on the other side of the intersection. He tries to
smash his way through, but he only destroys his car. He stumbles out of his car.
His shirt is covered in blood. There is a family in the front and back seats. He
has a look of devastation on his face. He scans the chaos around him and then
looks back at his car. The woman in the passenger’s seat points at him and
slams her fist down onto the dash. The children in the back seat slap their
little hands at the glass windows. The horde on the highway closes in on him and
his family. I make the turn. He pulls a gun from his belt and quickly fires
three shots into his car. All four of us flinch with each shot. Little clouds
of pink spray up onto the windows. The last thing the man does is put his
pistol to his temple and pull the trigger.
“That
motherfucker!” my face goes flush with anger.