"That's okay, let's see how you do it; put up your dukes, let's get down to it!"
Cliché as it must sound, I had never felt so alive. It was spring break, and, for the first time in my life, I was actually doing something about it. My friend Amy and I were driving down to her parents' place in Georgia for the week. Granted, Savannah was no Fort Lauderdale or Palm Beach or anything, but it was a welcome change from the old days, when I'd spent most of break catching up on homework or lazing around my parents' house. Even considering all that, I had almost copped out and stayed home again. I had a million and a half excuses not to go…money, homework, upcoming tests…but I'd finally been convinced by a pouting Amy and a well placed smack from my younger sister.
I zipped down I-75 and let out a bit of a whoop when I saw the sign welcoming us to Georgia. We were finally close! Over a day straight in a car was enough to drive anyone nuts. Amy rolled her eyes a little at my enthusiasm, but indulged me by turning up the radio.
"I suppose this calls for a celebration?" she asked wryly. I lightly smacked her hand away from the controls. Nobody touches the radio but me. I fitfully switched through the stations, despairing when I found nothing but country on. It's been the same damn thing ever since we left Illinois…I was definitely not in the mood for that. Hell, I was never in the mood for that. I finally found what I was looking for and cranked the volume once more.
"Pat Benatar, you have officially saved my life!" I yelled enthusiastically before proceeding to sing along tunelessly. Amy rolled her eyes with a grin and accompanied my mediocre karaoke with sarcastic drumming on the dashboard. We continued on like that all the way to Savannah, hours of pure, uninterrupted stupidity. I would have been lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. Acting like a complete nutcase once in a while was remarkably refreshing.
We drove into Savannah to the tune of "In the End". I convinced Amy, through the use of many puppy-dog faces and light threats of dumping her water bottle on her while she slept, to do the singing parts while I rapped. Of course, as the radio hates me, it stopped in the middle of the song for some news bulletin. I rolled my eyes in exasperation. Who cares?
"Oh, come on!" I complained, turning the radio off. I shrugged and counted down on my right hand. We finished the rest of the song from memory. It was infinitely more rewarding than listening to some useless news report. It couldn't be anything affecting us anyway. Usually, those announcements let people know when there was a tornado warning or something. I cocked an eyebrow sarcastically at the lovely, clear blue sky peering through the dirty windshield. The lack of any clouds or other threatening weather, of course, put me on red alert for a tornado. After all, anyone with half a brain knows tornadoes generally appear from thin air and attack people who don't listen to the radio in a valiant effort to balance karma.
I allowed Amy to direct me to her parents' house from there. It was only a few minutes before we pulled into the garage of a small, slightly weathered townhome. It looked perfect to me. So what if it was a little small? Hotel rooms were smaller and they weren't free.
Before I could so much as unbuckle my seat belt, Amy bolted into the house ahead of me, yelling, "Shotgun!" as she went. What the hell? Then I went inside and heard the sound of her suitcase bouncing on the bed in her room. I walked in to see her perched primly on the bed.
"Okay, then. So where am I supposed to sleep?" I asked, half hoping to find a second bedroom. She raised an eyebrow and glanced through the open door at the living room. Oh, good, I get the couch. I relented and dragged my bag into the living room. "Whatever happened to Southern hospitality?" I called over my shoulder. She just grinned like a moron and stuck out her tongue.
I plopped my duffel bag unceremoniously on the couch in the living room and turned on the TV. I didn't even get the chance to change the channel before more beeping, warning bullshit appeared on the screen. I hastily changed the channel, only to find the same scroll crawling across the screen repeatedly. The same thing happened when I went to every other channel. All ten of them. Ah, well. I can watch TV at home.
Amy was just coming out of her room when the phone rang. She skidded through the kitchen in her socks to answer it in time. I tuned out the conversation to the best of my ability. It was probably just her parents letting her know where they were. Frankly, it didn't matter much to me. Not that I had anything against them really, it was just much easier to enjoy oneself when parents weren't constantly checking up on you. I really didn't need someone to remind me that I should really be in bed by eleven and couldn't I turn down the radio? I was just thankful I'd gotten my check-up call out of the way early.
I wasn't picking up on the words of the conversation, but I caught the emotions. Amy's voice changed from the typical, placating tone generally used to reassure parents to a slightly worried one. I frowned, but decided it was none of my business. There was no point in prying. She hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment, seemingly confused. Just before I was going to ask what was wrong, she perched on the edge of the couch and spoke to the wall.
"Mom's sick," she started, "Dad took her to the doctor and he got…kind of freaked out for some reason. Evidently he wasn't actually saying anything to show that, but Dad could see it in his face, you know?" I nodded. "He said the doctor wanted to run some tests up at the hospital. There was a bunch of other people there for the same thing. Dad said he got the feeling they wanted all of them to be in one place or something." I sighed mentally. Why was it that people always came to me for venting or advice? I wasn't exactly great at handling those sorts of situations. My bluntness usually got in the way of any potential to seem tender. Sure, I empathized with the people I spoke with, I just didn't really know how to help them.
"Could be flu season, I suppose," I said with my usual scintillating psychiatrist voice. Sure. Flu season isn't in March, genius. She nodded slowly, chewing on her lower lip.
"I suppose," she said doubtfully, "But what if it's that crap from Pennsylvania?" I resisted the impulse to roll my eyes. The new flu of the year had been starting up in Pennsylvania a couple weeks ago, but I wasn't too worried about it. Most people barely gave it more attention than swine flu…and that was only because it had originated here rather than overseas. Harder to ignore. I shook my head.
"I don't think so. How would it get down here that fast? Besides, if it was a big deal, the doctors would've told your dad by now. So it's probably nothing to worry about."
*/*/*/*/*
The next few days were awful. The power went out a few minutes after Amy's dad called, so we were basically stuck listening to an ancient, battery powered radio for news. We spent the first couple of days listening to a radio constantly interrupted by static and playing cards. It wasn't exactly how I'd envisioned my first independent spring break. I tried bringing up going to the beach or park or something, but Amy was more than reluctant to go outside. She believed the warnings in the news reports much more than I did.
During this time, Amy became increasingly sick. It didn't seem like such a big deal at first; maybe it was a cold. She rolled her eyes, finally convinced the whole situation seemed cartoonish and ridiculous rather than believable and scary, and we stocked up on cold medicine, tissues, and junk food at the nearest gas station. Most of the bigger chain stores were closed already. They couldn't operate during the blackout.
It went downhill fast after that. What had initially looked like an annoying cold quickly transformed into something worse. Amy spent most of her time cooped up in her room, trying to recover. I listened to the radio alone. What little I could hear was increasingly frantic. Warnings about blackouts turned into warnings about quarantines. I couldn't quite understand what was going on exactly; the radio always seemed to conveniently dissolve into mind-numbing static whenever something important came up. I had no computer. I had no phone since I had ingeniously used most of the charge on the trip south and neglected to pack its charger. I had no contact with the outside world save the incompetent radio.
Finally, a day came where the radio was mostly news and miraculously understandable. I turned the volume up slightly and listened intently. "…has declared a nationwide state of emergency," the broadcast began, "Report unusual behavior. Barricade your homes. Avoid all contact with infected individuals. Wait for official instructions." The broadcast faded out for a minute, then repeated itself. Useful. Obviously, I had missed something important. Infected individuals? What the hell was going on? My heart was pounding in my chest as I tried to think calmly about the situation we'd gotten ourselves into. Referring to my ample knowledge of video games, I checked the windows and doors. It wouldn't work. There were far too many ways for "infected individuals" to get in. Besides, what help would barricading ourselves inside the middle of an apparent quarantine zone possibly be? We had a very limited supply of food, and, as far as I could tell, no weaponry to speak of. Not to mention, I really didn't have much to barricade with. What was I supposed to do? Lean every piece of furniture across the windows myself? I didn't have the strength, and it was obvious Amy wouldn't be of any help in her state. She'd been asleep in her room for the past twenty-four hours at least.
I shook my head. No, there was no way I was just going to sit tight and get myself killed. I started packing the remaining junk food into my duffel bag, then strategically dumped it into a nearby backpack instead. It would be a hell of a lot easier to move with the food secure on my back rather than flopping all over the place. I tore the kitchen apart looking for water bottles, thankful the tap still worked. I filled every bottle I could find and stuffed them in with the food. I threw the backpack over my shoulder, frowning at the light weight, and dumped it in the backseat of my car, leaving the keys in the ignition for a quick getaway. Now for the fun part. Trying to move a sick and irritable person roughly your size to the car without issues.
I slowly opened the door to Amy's bedroom, frowning when I didn't see her in bed. Then I heard it. A soft, heartbroken sobbing in the corner of the room. Amy looked ridiculously pale and gaunt, probably a mark of her illness. She had curled into a ball, rocking back and forth rhythmically. Maybe she somehow heard some news about her mother? I reached out a hand to comfort her, awkwardly touching her lightly on the shoulder.
As soon as I touched her, she whirled around, screaming at me unintelligibly, hands outstretched. One hand ripped through the air and raked across my right arm, leaving three angry red streaks. I was too shocked to scream. It was like a dream, one where you couldn't run because you were constantly tripping or couldn't scream because your voice was gone. I was positive my friend didn't exist anymore. Her hair had turned pale and lank. Her eyes had been dyed a shocking shade of brilliant red. But worst of all, the nails on her hands were gone, leaving in their wake foot-long, razor sharp claws. None of the quarantine warnings could have prepared me for this.
I expected her to continue attacking me, but instead, her face cleared and she retreated back to her corner. I fled the room as quickly and quietly as I could. Bolting through the house, I shut myself in my car and locked the doors, panting heavily. My arm was steadily turning red with blood. I took a few more panting breaths to calm myself. I needed to slow down. I needed to think. Finally, my heart slowed to a less maniacal pace. I mopped up the mess on my arm with my jacket and tied the arms around it as tightly as I could. Denim probably wasn't the best bandage, nor the most sanitary, but I had a crazy monster in the house right now and didn't exactly have access to anything else.
I forced myself to accept the fact that my best friend had turned into a mutated monster. It seemed I would be evacuating alone. I turned the key in the ignition and heard the usual roar. This was followed by more cries, almost in answer. My heart settled somewhere in the vicinity of my throat. I saw the figure of monster-Amy silhouetted in the open door. She looked absolutely furious. I didn't take any chances. I immediately shifted into reverse, gunning the gas and crashing through the garage door. I heard a series of sickening thumps as I ran over the source of the earlier noise: a crowd of slack-jawed, rabid-looking…zombies.
I careened into the street, followed by the clawed demon. She managed to break the passenger side window, showering the seat with bits of glass, before I shifted into drive and promptly got the hell out of there.
I desperately turned on the radio, hoping for some direction. The station I'd been listening to earlier was just broadcasting the same completely useless information as before. So naturally, I swore loudly at the radio and switched to a different station. This one decided to give me some actual information.
"Evacuation Zones have been set up throughout the country. Current operating evacuation zones are located in the following cities. Olympia, Washington. San Diego, California. Duluth, Minnesota. Chicago, Illinois. Boston, Massachusetts. New Orleans, Louisiana. Galveston, Texas." Using my knowledge from fifth grade geography for once in my life, I gathered that I should be going to New Orleans. I drove as fast as I could through the neighborhood, dodging as many of the…zombies…as I possibly could. I couldn't afford to further damage the car.
I was almost on the highway when a car crashed into the road ahead of me. I screeched to a jolting stop just in time and started to maneuver around the vehicle when I saw it. It wasn't human. It couldn't have ever been human. It was huge. It looked like some kind of hairless gorilla on steroids. I gunned it and got out of dodge. I furtively checked the rearview mirror just in time to see it rip a chunk of the street off and throw it at me. It missed by a couple of feet, the jarring impact cracking the pavement. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It was a moment before I realized I was saying it out loud.
I tried to remain calm as I played a harrowing game of dodge-the-zombie all the way to the highway. The path seemed relatively clear. In fact, I felt like I was making decent progress. There were very few cars on the road, all of which were stopped and most of which were pulled off to the side of the road. I was doing eighty the entire time, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.
The sun was beginning to set directly in my eyes. I figured I needed to stop eventually; I needed to get some sleep if I was going to succeed in…not crashing and killing myself. The road, however, decided for me. I barely saw the pileup in time. I ground on the brakes for probably the fiftieth time that day and skidded to a clumsy stop. I cautiously exited my car and stood on top of the hood for a better view. It seemed as if the cars went on for miles and miles. There was no way in hell I would be able to drive through this. Well, if I'm going to die, I might as well get some sleep first. I hopped off the car and climbed into the backseat (checking first for any unwanted hitchhikers), locking the doors several times. As I lay down, the exhaustion and stress of the day finally caught up to me. I didn't have time to worry or even think. My head wobbled a little and I soon surrendered to sleep.
A/N: I'm back, finally! I'm reposting my story with a few minor changes…let me know what you think!