“Sorry. That’s it? You take everything I have after I saved your lives, your baby’s life—and, and—you’re sorry?” She was practically hysterical.
The crackling sound of splintering wood once again caught her attention. It was only a matter of minutes before the door tore away from its hinges. The problem was how to escape? There were creepers in the front and back. She needed to think of a way to lure the creepers away from the garage door. Then she could make a fast getaway in the Mini Cooper. How could she lure the creepers away from the garage when she was stuck inside?
Hmm, they are incredulously stupid. I just need to fake them out.
She thought for a moment.
She threw her travel bag and purse in the Mini Cooper and then rummaged through the garage for anything she could use. She fumbled through the various items in the car emergency kit she found in the back of the car, a two-pack of flares caught her eye.
This might work. It has to.
She ran back to the balcony, ignited a flare and then yelled down at the hungry congregation of creepers that had gathered around the closed garage door: below her—waiting for her.
“Hey, you shitheads,” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Over hear.” A mob of ghoulish heads lurched up and salivated at her presence. She tossed the flickering flare over to the far side of the townhouse building and then ducked below the stucco wall of the balcony. She peered over the edge of the balcony, and to her relief the hungry mob tottered and teetered towards the flare.
Completely out of breath and running on pure adrenaline, Scarlett ran back down the stairs to see dozens of bloodstained, flesh-less, skeletal hands reaching and clawing through the narrow gap where the hinges of the front door had given way. The sight was horrifying, and for an instant, she stood there watching as the door frame gave way another two inches and more bloodied-boney hands reached in. Then the door came crashing down; she dodged the door just in time and ran into the garage.
Scarlett tugged on the garage door’s manual release cord and tried to raise the door, but the door was stuck, badly warped from where the creepers had tried to maul their way in. Finally, with all her strength, she managed to lift the door up, cringing at the shrieking sound as the damaged door rolled-up: halfway.
She peeked around the half-open garage;
they
were onto her trickery, jerking their way to her like human vultures. She really wasn’t sure, but she thought the car might fit under the garage door. If not, she’d bash her way through.
“What if the car doesn’t start?” she panicked. It had last Sunday when she had last tested it. The next instant she was in the car, and turned the key a bit too quickly; the engine didn’t catch.
Please start!
The engine started and then faltered, remembering it had taken it a while to start last Sunday, but she really hadn’t been concerned, since she had decided that the SUV would be a better choice of the two vehicles.
“Errr-errr-errr,” the whine of the engine reverberated, the sound bouncing off the walls of the garage like a church bell announcing her attempt to escape to the entire flippin’ Natomas creeper community. Finally, the engine turned over. As she shifted the car into reverse, she caught a glance of several creepers in the rearview mirror. They’re here! The flare had bought her the life-saving seconds she had needed. She slammed her way out of there, running over several creepers, splattering the pristine blue and white car with a googol of bloody-red spots. How patriotic she thought as she turned on the windshield wipers, smearing a thin sheen of burgundy across the glass.
Scarlett squealed onto the main road, Arena Boulevard, without a clue of what to do next. Where should she go? She drove by several apartment complexes. Bad idea she thought. She also didn’t want to run into Sam and Sonia . . . they had her rifle. Would they use it on her? Remembering last night’s conversation, they were going to check out the hospitals in the Sacramento area and as a last resort, go west to the UC Davis Medical Center.
Scarlett gave up on analyzing the situation and resorted to her intuition: after all, it had kept her alive so far. Gradually, she felt her heartbeat slow down, enough not to have a flippin' panic attack. The creepers seemed to be everywhere. She had no idea this many of
them
existed. Although, her escape hadn’t been so clandestine. Still, it got her thinking again if creepers communicated on a different level than humans.
Scarlett drove down Arena Boulevard in a half-panicked and half-dazed state. Where could she go? How could Sam and Sonia have been so heartless to steal everything she had worked so hard to acquire? She thought back to all the dangerous supply runs she’d gone on these past few weeks. There had been several close calls, but somehow she had always managed to escape the creepers. And now, one seemingly harmless family had nearly done her in.
She shuddered. What would have happened if she hadn’t been awakened by Sam and Sonia’s noisy getaway—if she hadn’t heard their tire-squawking escape? Would the creepers have invaded the garage and then the home? Had Sam and Sonia intentionally left the garage door open, or had it just been an oversight during their rash flee?
A road sign beckoned ahead: INTERSTATE 5 NORTH AND SOUTH. She wasn’t familiar with this area of California, and at this point she didn’t care. She was just relieved to make it out of there alive.
How could they be so heartless?
Or perhaps, the appropriate question should be:
Why was I so stupid?
OK, OK, you've got to stop thinking about that and figure out what to do NOW.
The only thing she knew for sure: it was time to leave Natomas. And she didn’t want to risk running into Sam and Sonia again since they had her rifle.
Scarlett chose I-5 South, thinking that it connected to Interstate 80 at some point. The Mini Cooper followed the looping on-ramp as she drove in a dazed state. Surprisingly, the on-ramp was not blocked. There were only a few stranded vehicles on the road, and she began to breathe easier, although her knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel too tightly. Another deep breath, “OK, I can do this.” It was more of an affirmation than a reality, and she drove.
Scarlett came to the Interstate 80 junction sooner than expected. The highway took on a forlorn eerie presence under the gloomy October sky. At this section of the highway, three junctions merged: I-80, I-5, and I-99. She approached the I-80 on-ramp and noticed that the two-lane access ramp had expanded to countless lanes as hundreds, if not thousands of vehicles had attempted to make their own escape route by inventing impromptu lanes on the shoulder and even farther to the empty fields on the sides of the highway. It looked like a scene from an Armageddon movie.
It was impossible to go any further—almost, that is. Scarlett remained determined and skillfully managed to squeeze the tiny car between the stranded vehicles. Sometimes she would have to put the car in reverse for a few car lengths and then attempt a new path, usually banging the car in the process. She finally stopped cringing at every little scrape, realizing that it couldn’t be helped. She had a sick feeling that the beautiful car now looked like a piece of junk from the county pick-and-pull yard (just like her Kia).
Scarlett glanced at the dashboard clock, almost two in the afternoon.
That can’t be right?
She noticed that it was suddenly much colder, and it looked like it would rain at any moment as storm clouds swirled ominously above
. A cold front must be moving in, today, of all days,
she thought ironically. She needed to stop, to rest her aching arms and shoulders and eat. She had been maneuvering around the quagmire of vehicles for nearly four hours. One thing was for certain, Sam and Sonia had definitely not taken this route; they would have never made it through with the SUV. Hopefully, that meant that they were still in Sacramento and not heading to Davis, or surely they would have caught up to one another by now.
After I get out of this mess, I’ll take a break
. She tried to encourage her aching and starving body. She let out a long sigh of relief; she hadn’t seen many creepers the past hour or so. She did spot one occasionally; however, it was just as difficult for
it
to find a clear path to her as it was for her to drive through the maze of cars. Scarlett couldn’t help but wonder where all the people—the living people had vanished too. Shouldn’t there be more creepers roaming the highway, or had they left in search of a food supply?
The words from one of Kevin’s favorite rock songs popped into her head. She sang out boldly as if in rebellion, “I’m on a highway to Hell, on the highway to Hell. Highway to Hell.” Her stomach suddenly turned acidic, a pile of bones, human bones, blocked her path. And even though that particular sight was becoming more and more common, it still made her break out in a cold-and-hot sweat.
Scarlett thrust the car into reverse to maneuver around a mega- pile-up and noticed that all the windows (not the windshields) had been bashed, forcing her to drove over a sea of glass shards. She tensed and found herself holding her breath at the crunching sound. How long would the tires last? Did she even have a spare tire? Well, it didn’t matter; she would most likely need four new tires before the day was over. “Yeah, highway to Hell . . .”
Scarlett wondered what it had been like for all of these desperate people attempting to find refuge at one of the shelters only to become stranded in this gridlock. She recalled her first confrontation with the creepers and would never be able to forget the unbelievable horror she had felt that such a creature could exist on earth.
Suddenly the heebie-jeebies took hold of her, and it took all of her effort to shake off the unnerving mood that settled-in: consuming her. Walkers, that’s what Sam had called them as he had so sarcastically corrected her. Then she was angry again. Her fear was suddenly replaced with anger: it was a pleasant respite.
How could they just take everything—except for one flippin’ box of granola bars?
“Phew!” she wiped the cold sweat off of her forehead, relieved that she was finally out of the colossal traffic jam. She was somewhere between Dixon and Vacaville, based on the last sign she had passed. She eyed the farmland surrounding the area. She needed to find a place to pull over. Her hands, head, and just about every part of her tense body needed a break from the past several hours of intense driving. Scarlett carefully surveyed the area for a safe place to rest.
A magnificent oak tree loomed over the flat vacant land, and she cautiously drove a few yards off the paved highway to get to its seemingly beckoning call. The area beyond the oak was surrounded by barren fields, providing a panoramic view of the area. She decided to park under the lonesome oak, which hadn’t given in to autumn just yet. She would be able to spot any trouble long before it spotted her.
Scarlett continued to keep a vigil eye on the perimeter while groping through the travel bag. “Ahh,” she found the box of granola bars and her one and only bottle of water. Her whole body felt like one big charley horse. She stepped out of the car and stretched, then gobbled down two granola bars, but sipped at the water. Gradually she began to relax, shaking out her arms and legs to relieve the tension.
Leaning against the side of the car, she took in a deep breath of the invigorating chilly air, contemplating her next move. The fuel gauge warned of one-eighth of a tank of gas. She should be able to make it to the next town of Vacaville, and then she’d have to search for another car; unfortunately, she didn’t have the slightest idea how to siphon gas.
Must have hung out with the wrong crowd
, she chided herself.
Scarlett worried: it would be dark soon, very soon, from the looks of those ominous storm clouds. She needed to find a safe place to stay the night.
I’ll just have to figure that out when I get to Vacaville
. An arctic-like wind blustered out of nowhere, startling her as well as the huge oak as its branches and brownish leaves quivered in response. As if all at once, the heavily laden clouds gave way, and a barrage of chilled rain droplets ricocheted off the asphalt like transparent machine gun bullets relentlessly attacking the earth. “Ah, today of all days it rains! It’s Halloween. It always rains by Halloween . . .”
When the rain had finally decided to let loose, it poured with a vengeance. Scarlett had attempted to continue the trip to Vacaville but had been forced to turn around and seek refuge under an oak tree again. The oak served as a huge leafy umbrella protecting her from the torrents of rain that lashed out onto the thirsty earth. Its fading leaves buffered the impact of the raging rain, creating an illusion of invisibility and safety. She sat in the car and waited for hours for the rain to cease, eventually falling asleep to the blissful sounds.
She woke up to the soft thuds thumping the car. She couldn’t tell what time it was by looking out the fogged windows, realizing that the car was probably completely covered with leaves. She fumbled through the Anne Klein purse and found the miniature alarm clock. It was almost 6 PM.
She could no longer deny the overwhelming need to relieve her full bladder. Silently stepping out of the Mini Cooper, she was surprised to see that the entire car was shrouded by drenched, brownish-mushy, oak leaves. As she looked around, the entire area was blanketed with hundreds, possibly thousands of leaves. She glanced up at the newly barren branches; the poor oak seemed to have lost its bounty all in a matter of hours.