I
weave down a few blocks and put some distance between the gun-toting lady and
us. We have entered into a more industrial area. There are more businesses here
than homes. The traffic is much lighter and no one is on the streets. There is
an abandoned parking lot ahead of us. I pull into it and yank the emergency
brake. We skid to a stop.
“Are
you guys okay?” I pivot in my seat to look back at Devon. He rubs his sore face
and gives me a thumbs up. He can’t even squeak out a “dude” for me. There is a
clear as day bullet hole in the seat next to him. Only inches away. Sara has a
tight grip on the dash. Her hair has fallen her face. She breathes in her nose
and out her mouth. “Are you okay?” I ask again. She raises her hand and holds
up her index finger. She still needs a minute. I examine the windshield and
there are five holes in it. Another three in the hood. I take a sip of water as
I look around the abandoned parking lot. The building is an old strip club. The
sign reads “Fuzzy Holes.” That’s a funny name for a club. On the sign below the
name is reads “We fired the ugly one. Come on in!” I like a strip club with a
sense of humor. The crack half a smile thinking about if there was an ugly
woman working there how long did she shake her nasty udders and dirty mud flaps
before she got the axe. Did the guys lay down singles and ask her for change. My
half smile quickly goes away and I crank around the rearview mirror. I take a
look behind us. The building directly behind us is a gym. The front is smashed
open. Busted glass litters the street. I don’t think that much of it until I
see the beasts that busted open the door. These two look like Schwartzenegger
wannabes. Two hundred and fifty pounds each of pure infected muscle rumbles
across the street. They are on a collision course with the backend of the
Bronco. Fantastic.
They
move really fast for being such big guys. It only takes the two muscle head
monsters a few seconds to sprint across the street and into the parking lot.
They smash into us like a couple of rhinos. They hit the Bronco so hard that we
slide a foot even with the emergency brake on. Their twenty four inch pythons blast
through the back window. Devon ducks down. He squeezes his body all the way
down to the floorboard. The monsters keep pushing us and the tires grind across
the asphalt. The only thing keeping them out of the car is their massive chests
and their inability to take turns. Both monsters fight to climb into the same
small opening. Meat heads. No way in hell I am stepping out of this car to face
them. They would snap me in half and eat me like a protein bar. One of them has
his hand on Devon’s backpack. He lifts and pulls at him like he weighs nothing.
“Jim?!”
Devon holds onto the back of Sara’s seat. I drop the emergency brake and put
the old V8 into reverse and punch the gas. I back out of the parking lot,
across the street and slam into the brick wall of the gym. Their heads are
crushed between the wall and the back of the car. These two monsters explode
and blood sprays us like a fire hose. The whole inside of the cab feels like it
is coated in blood. The tires spin and the engine revs because my foot is still
pressed all the way to the floor. I finally let off the gas. I put her back
into first and pull away from the wall. They drop out of the back window and
fall to the ground. The inside of the windshield is splattered with gunk. I
wipe it with my gloved hand so I can see out. I have got to keep us moving. I
can’t stop. It is horrible every time I do. Devon has a full gallon of blood on
him. He runs his hand through his hair to try and squeeze out the excess chunky
marinara sauce. Next to him on the seat is a severed jaw. He slides as far away
from it as he can.
“Well,
this is gross,” I try and find a dry spot on my sleeve to rub against my face
and clean this crud off. Sara convulses. She is going to puke. She pushes
herself as far back into the chair as she can. I finally notice what it is that
has sent her over the edge. There is an eyeball in her lap.
“Don’t
puke!” I beg her. “It is already disgusting in here! Don’t add to it,” she holds
her hand over her mouth trying to keep down the bile. She can’t hold it any
longer. Puke sprays out between her fingers. I am doused with Sara’s hot lunch.
“I’m
so sorry,” she apologizes. I don’t want to look at her. I will lose my lunch
too. I am a man in my mid-thirties. I have had my fair share of adult drinks
and sometimes the night ends with a little vomit. As a father you also run into
puke from time to time when the kids get sick, but that is your kids puke so it
is not as bad. I have never had an adult throw up all over me.
I
can feel my stomach turn. I don’t think I can keep it down. I hate puking. I
fight to keep what is in my stomach, in my stomach.
We
roll down a little back road that dumps us off at a large intersection. Fifty
yards down the street there is an overturned Subaru. It looks like it was hit
by another car and is up on its side. It sits in the direction I have to go so
I head towards it. I am still fighting my stomach and about to lose the battle.
I notice a chunk of hotdog on my sleeve and that is it. I lose it. The streets
clear of infected people so I pull over next to the Subaru.
My
stomach kicks out every drop of food and water I have had all day. I shake off
the extra chunks from Sara. I am dry heaving when I hear the sounds of someone
calling for help. It is from the overturned car. I quickly look around to make
sure I am not about to be swarmed by a gang of infected. It is clear. It is all
empty parking lots and deserted buildings around us. I step a little closer to
the overturned car and there is an older woman trapped inside. She stands on
her drivers side window and kicks at the windshield. Her car sits in the middle
of an intersection. She is trapped.
“Guys,
someone’s in this car,” I reach back into the Bronco and pull out the keys.
“What
the hell are you doing?” Sara grabs the sleeve of my coat. I break away from
her grip and pull the keys from the ignition.
“We
shouldn’t stop!” Devon begs. I sprint back to the old lady.
“Oh,
thank you!” she is pressed against the glass.
“You’re
gonna be okay!” I tell her. I search the side of the road and find a big rock.
It is the size of a grapefruit.
“Get
down!” I yell at her. She squats behind her steering wheel. I chuck the rock as
hard as I can. It smacks against the window and the safety glass splinters. The
stone falls to the ground. I pick it up and throw it at a different part of the
windshield. It smashes the hell out of it but I can’t get the rock to punch a
hole through the glass. I need something like a bat or crowbar. I kick the
glass a few times but I can’t get through it. Sara and Devon scream at me from
the Bronco, but I can’t make out what they are yelling.
“Behind
you!” The old lady yells. I turn and there is an infected. It has its hands
reached out to grab me. I don’t have my spear and I don’t have time to pull my
machete. It is almost on top of me. The guy was a big heavyset trucker. His
flannel shirt is half torn off, exposing a massive wound. The fat from his stomach
drips from the open wound and falls to the ground. I put my arm up and catch
its teeth with the soccer shin pad that I have strapped to my forearm. He
crushes me up against the windshield. Chunks of safety glass fall down the back
of my jacket and into my shirt. It bites the pad over and over again, but it
has not broken my skin. The pressure from its jaw on my forearm is incredible.
I feels like it is about to break my bones. I can’t reach my knife and he is so
heavy I can’t push him off me. He has me pinned between the glass and hood.
Crunch! The tip of a knife sticks out from the infected monsters forehead. It
falls to the ground. Sara got him with my spear. Thank goodness! When its big
body hits the ground a squirt of blood shoots up into the air and splashes her.
She lets out a disgusted squeal.
“Is
that your first one?” I push myself off the hood.
“No,”
she hands me the spear. I use it to smash through the glass.
The
street we are on snakes south under a set of train tracks and connects with a major
street. Around the corner a big rig has emerged. The truck driver has a lead
foot and six infected punch and claw at the rig’s windows. I give the window a
hard front kick. The hole in her windshield is only a foot wide. Sara pulls at
me.
A
monster at the driver’s side window mauls the man behind the wheel and rips out
one of the driver’s eyes. He fights for his life, but he can’t see. The rig is
on a collision course with the Subaru. I kick and kick at it. I reach in to her
car and we lock arms. I try and pull her though the window, but she can’t fit.
Sara pulls at me. We only have seconds to move.
“I’M
SORRY!” I yell at the lady. I have to tear my arm away from hers. Sara and I
dive for the side of the road. The semi crashes into the car and blows the back
of the Subaru apart. Sparks fly as it grinds across the street. The Subaru hits
the curb and blasts over a shrub that separates the street from the parking
lot. Both the Subaru and the truck crash into a wall of stone. The Subaru
explodes into a fireball and seconds after that the semi explodes into an even
bigger fireball.
I
sit up to readjust my backpack. I can feel the heat of the fire from here. How
many more people will I see die today? I went my whole life never seeing anyone
die.
“I’m
sorry you couldn’t save her,” she dusts the asphalt from her hands. I stand up
and give my back a quick twist to pop my vertebrae. Two creatures crawl out of
the fire and I have a strong desire to take my spear and stab the hell out of
them. We jog back to the car and watch the two charred and mangled bodies and I
wonder about the science behind these things. They can have totally wrecked
bodies and keep moving, but one stab to the brain and they are done? On top of
that, how the hell does a dead person keep moving? Doesn’t the body need air?
Science is not now, and never was, my strong point, but nothing about these
things makes any sense.
I
don’t want to but I get back into the disgusting blood and puke spattered
Bronco. I feel deflated and tired. It has only been a little over an hour since
that helicopter fell out of the sky, but it feels like I have been running a
marathon all day. The thought of seeing this amount of carnage and destruction
every day for the rest of my life is absolutely disheartening. When I think
about my children witnessing this kind of brutality and loss it is beyond
comprehension. Right now I have to put that out of my mind and keep moving. I
get the Bronco rolling again.
“No
more stops,” she spits venom at me.
“Where
would you be if I didn’t stop,” I pull back onto the street.
“No
more stops!” she says again. I get the feeling that she is the “last word in
every argument” kind of girl. I step on it and head north. The busted out back
window moves enough air in here to keep my wrecked nose from only smelling the
puke and blood.
“How
are you gonna get onto the 205 bridge?” asks Sara.
“We’ll
take the on-ramp by the airport.”
“That’s
a busy on-ramp. What do you think it’s going to be like today?”
“No
one’s following the letter of the law when it comes to driving, so I’ll ride
the curb if I have to. I’ll drive down the center pedestrian walkway if I have
to,” I feel some blood drip down onto my upper lip.
“Can
you look for some napkins in the glove box?” I ask her. She pops it open and
luckily there is a handful. She hands me one. I run it over my upper lip, but
the blood keeps coming. She takes one of the napkins and twists it.
“Here,”
she hands it to me. I jam it up my nostril and grunt out in pain.
“Damn
this nose,” I whimper. She twists another and I stick it in the other nostril.
I look really cool. My nose is all red like Rudolph. It makes Sara giggle a
little when I look over at her.
“I
don’t normally get nosebleeds.”
She
uses some of the napkins to clean off the blood and puke on her, “What’s your
wife’s name?” she asks. Devon reaches from the backseat for his own handful of
napkins to clean himself with.
“Karen.
My girls are Valerie and Robin.” Saying their names gives me a boost of energy.
Sara looks back at Devon and sees that he’s dressed like me.
“What’s
with the gear?”
“We
looted some stuff from a sporting goods store,” Devon sits up to talk to her.
“They
only had the one outfit?” she smirks. I peek a look back at Devon.
“No,
this was the best they had...so that’s what we took.”
“Holy
shit!” I yell. A mushroom cloud of black smoke rises in the distance. A few
years ago Portland built a shopping center close to the airport. It sits right
on the Columbia River. It is called Cascade Station. It has your typical bunch
of shopping stores, a Best Buy and Oregon’s only Ikea. It is a popular
destination in Portland. Right now it is on fire.
Steam
begins to creep out from under the hood of the Bronco. The lady with the rifle
put a hole in the radiator. Awesome. I am not looking forward to walking, but I
will be glad to get the hell out of this chum bucket.
There
is a very large field between us and the shopping center and the field is also
connected to the freeway. It is only grass out there and it would be a huge
shortcut if I drove across the field. I jump the curb and pop up onto the grass.
The Bronco tears across the field.
“Where
are we going?” Sara has cleaned most of the blood from her face.
“Shortcut,”
I sound like a cartoon character with my nose all plugged up.
We
get up onto a little ridge where we can see the shopping center, and to the
west the Portland International Airport. Now we see where the smoke is coming
from. A commercial airliner crashed. The plane looks like it hit the edge of
the Ikea that sits the farthest east of the shopping center, and then slid
across the massive parking lot that connects all of the stores. Half of the
fuselage juts out of the Best Buy at the west end of the center. The smell of burning
jet fuel fills the air. Along with what I guess is cheap Swedish wood and
Chinese electronics. I stop the Bronco at the top of a small ridge so I can get
a better look.
“What
are you doing?” Sara asks.
“Let’s
take a look,” I pull the keys and I get out of the car. I climb up onto the
hood then the roof. We are in the middle of the grass field and there is no one
around us so I feel pretty safe out here. The plane is a Boeing 747. The wings
of the plane tore off during the crash and one ended up in a place called
GolfSmith, the other in a Verizon Wireless store. The fuselage took out hundreds
of cars in that parking lot. Most of them are on fire. People run in and out of
the stores. Half of them are looting with arms full of discount clothing and
cheap electronics. With their cars destroyed I wonder where they are going to
put their new stolen property. The others are probably looking for their lost
loved ones. Farther to the west is the airport and a few other planes have
crashed onto the tarmac. The southern half of the tower that looks over the
airport is missing, like it was cut by the world’s largest samurai sword.