We rolled along the highway in silence. Just complete silence. This irked me, because there was always something to talk about, especially when an infectious zombie disease was spreading across the globe. But there were no words. Nobody said anything. The only sound was the clank of the heavy duty tires clanking across the road.
I glanced at Max. His face was riveted in concentration, his eyes grim and staring at something beyond. I decided not to bother him. I chuckled. Que looked at me from the front of the truck. "What?" "It's just kind of stupid," I said, my eyes now fixed on the middle aged man. He laughed but didn't smile. "How long did it take you to figure that out?" I would have replied but didn't. I just sighed and looked at the ground. Ten seconds later, a hand poked me to get my attention. I looked up to the face of Max. "Who's he?" He gestured at Grey. "I wish I knew." "Does he talk?" I thought about this. "He can if he wants to. He's kind of autistic." Max nodded. He glanced at Grey again. "God, he might not talk, but he sure watches." I didn't need to look to know what Max was talking about. Even from where I was sitting, I could feel his yellow eyes boring sizzling holes in my flesh. I winced, and touched my back just to make sure that that metaphor hadn't come true.
We turned in to a 7-Eleven. "Gotta get some gas," Que said with an out-of-context wink. We all got out anyway. I needed to feel the ground under my feet. When Que said 'get gas' he meant 'get gas'. I looked over to see him siphoning gas from a battered gray Volkswagen Bug. I sighed and realized there are no laws in zombie land. I motioned for Grey and Max to follow me in the store. I tossed an old rusty section of lead pipe to Grey, who caught in one hand. I beckoned for them to be quiet and follow me. I pushed open the door of the 7-Eleven-
And all hell broke loose. The alarm went off. I heard the whooping and screeching of the bells above me. I skittered over to the counter, and felt around trying to stop it. Well, a fire axe fell out of my shoulder holster and broke the glass, setting off another alarm. This one was shrill and even louder than the last. I rushed outside, my only thought to warn Que. But it seemed I didn't have to warn him. The only glimpse I caught of him was a blur rushing past me to get to the fire ladder to the roof. I looked around in confusion and saw why. Hundred of zombies, all congregating to our location. I ran inside and yelled at Grey and Max to get on the roof. They ran out the cracked broken door and up the red fire ladder. I did the same and finally got a full view of the reality of what was happening. On the roof, I could see that there were not only hundreds, but THOUSANDS. From any direction on a compass you could point to, there were zombies coming from. And right then, I'm pretty sure that any self confidence I had packed its bags and left me at that moment. There were too many. Too many to shoot, too many to burn, too many to stab. We all sat in the center of the roof in shocked silence. Grey was the first to speak. "Man.... we're done! We're dead! They're gonna eat us!" He had a deep rusty voice. He fell to his knees and started hyperventilating. Max got up, walked over, helped him up.... and slapped him. Grey looked more dazed then usual. Max grabbed his rotting gray sweatshirt and yelled, "Quit acting like such a wuss! Believe it or not, I can get us out of this!" This was news to us. Que and I looked at each other quizzicly as if either of us knew what he was talking about. Max threw Grey back on the ground, and walked over to our position. Out of his jacket he pulled a little radio, pulled up its antennae, and tuned to a channel. A fuzzy voice came in, riddled with static. A man's voice said, "If you are hearing this, head to the Charston community center for evacuation. Flights taking at 6:00... 9:00... 12:00..." His voice faded out. As it faded back in, although it was riddled with static, the message was clear. "In exactly nine days time at midnight, Charston will be carpet bombed to remove infected. Please report to evac station..." His voice faded out for good this time, but it didn't matter. We had to try to make it. One day had passed since we had heard that message. But today we were in better spirits because we actually had a plan to fight off the horde. Wait, did I just say that? What I meant was we DIDN'T have a plan and we were completely screwed. I paced the roof nervously. There had to be a way to fight off the horde. When I started on about the fifty billionth lap around the roof, I tripped on something. I opened my eyes to find myself looking at a half rotted face with yellow broken teeth. It hissed at me and tried to reach up to grab my face. I shimmied back with a shudder. Then, I looked at what I had tripped on. When I had tripped on it, a little bit of the paint covering it had come off. I saw that under the brown paint there was chrome. I chipped off more paint and wiped away dirt and saw what I was secretly hoping for. A trap door. I pulled it open and was immediately hit with a stench that would have killed anyone had they not been used to the smell of rotting meat. Meat. I looked inside once more, my eyes burning, and pointed my flashlight in. What I saw was severed pigs. Loins, chops, ribs, the bloody carcasses stared at me through the door. It was gross, but I finally had a plan. Que and I hauled the pigs meat up to the roof. There must have been at least a couple hundred pounds of it in what we took up. We also took up a strange machine that must have compressed the pig into sausage. Before, Que had opened it up, and instantly had a verdict. "There's an air cylinder in there. It has a small opening to let the air pressure decompress when the pig is pressed into sausage. If you plug the air cylinder, the pressure builds up and acts as a spring." Whatever all that had meant, the outcome was satisfactory. Que and I loaded the carcasses into the machine. He flicked it on and it hummed to life. Soon after, I heard grinding. Like metal against metal. And three seconds later, a chunk of pig flew up, over the zombie's heads, and landed maybe three fourths of a mile away. The zombies swarmed after it. We repeated this process for a while, until all the pigs were gone and all the zombies were tearing them apart. Gathering ourselves, we climbed down the ladder and into the car. Que looked back. "You ready?" We all shook our heads no. "Like it matters." He turned the key, the engine roared, and we tore off towards the Charston Community Center.
I glanced at Max. His face was riveted in concentration, his eyes grim and staring at something beyond. I decided not to bother him. I chuckled. Que looked at me from the front of the truck. "What?" "It's just kind of stupid," I said, my eyes now fixed on the middle aged man. He laughed but didn't smile. "How long did it take you to figure that out?" I would have replied but didn't. I just sighed and looked at the ground. Ten seconds later, a hand poked me to get my attention. I looked up to the face of Max. "Who's he?" He gestured at Grey. "I wish I knew." "Does he talk?" I thought about this. "He can if he wants to. He's kind of autistic." Max nodded. He glanced at Grey again. "God, he might not talk, but he sure watches." I didn't need to look to know what Max was talking about. Even from where I was sitting, I could feel his yellow eyes boring sizzling holes in my flesh. I winced, and touched my back just to make sure that that metaphor hadn't come true.
We turned in to a 7-Eleven. "Gotta get some gas," Que said with an out-of-context wink. We all got out anyway. I needed to feel the ground under my feet. When Que said 'get gas' he meant 'get gas'. I looked over to see him siphoning gas from a battered gray Volkswagen Bug. I sighed and realized there are no laws in zombie land. I motioned for Grey and Max to follow me in the store. I tossed an old rusty section of lead pipe to Grey, who caught in one hand. I beckoned for them to be quiet and follow me. I pushed open the door of the 7-Eleven-
And all hell broke loose. The alarm went off. I heard the whooping and screeching of the bells above me. I skittered over to the counter, and felt around trying to stop it. Well, a fire axe fell out of my shoulder holster and broke the glass, setting off another alarm. This one was shrill and even louder than the last. I rushed outside, my only thought to warn Que. But it seemed I didn't have to warn him. The only glimpse I caught of him was a blur rushing past me to get to the fire ladder to the roof. I looked around in confusion and saw why. Hundred of zombies, all congregating to our location. I ran inside and yelled at Grey and Max to get on the roof. They ran out the cracked broken door and up the red fire ladder. I did the same and finally got a full view of the reality of what was happening. On the roof, I could see that there were not only hundreds, but THOUSANDS. From any direction on a compass you could point to, there were zombies coming from. And right then, I'm pretty sure that any self confidence I had packed its bags and left me at that moment. There were too many. Too many to shoot, too many to burn, too many to stab. We all sat in the center of the roof in shocked silence. Grey was the first to speak. "Man.... we're done! We're dead! They're gonna eat us!" He had a deep rusty voice. He fell to his knees and started hyperventilating. Max got up, walked over, helped him up.... and slapped him. Grey looked more dazed then usual. Max grabbed his rotting gray sweatshirt and yelled, "Quit acting like such a wuss! Believe it or not, I can get us out of this!" This was news to us. Que and I looked at each other quizzicly as if either of us knew what he was talking about. Max threw Grey back on the ground, and walked over to our position. Out of his jacket he pulled a little radio, pulled up its antennae, and tuned to a channel. A fuzzy voice came in, riddled with static. A man's voice said, "If you are hearing this, head to the Charston community center for evacuation. Flights taking at 6:00... 9:00... 12:00..." His voice faded out. As it faded back in, although it was riddled with static, the message was clear. "In exactly nine days time at midnight, Charston will be carpet bombed to remove infected. Please report to evac station..." His voice faded out for good this time, but it didn't matter. We had to try to make it. One day had passed since we had heard that message. But today we were in better spirits because we actually had a plan to fight off the horde. Wait, did I just say that? What I meant was we DIDN'T have a plan and we were completely screwed. I paced the roof nervously. There had to be a way to fight off the horde. When I started on about the fifty billionth lap around the roof, I tripped on something. I opened my eyes to find myself looking at a half rotted face with yellow broken teeth. It hissed at me and tried to reach up to grab my face. I shimmied back with a shudder. Then, I looked at what I had tripped on. When I had tripped on it, a little bit of the paint covering it had come off. I saw that under the brown paint there was chrome. I chipped off more paint and wiped away dirt and saw what I was secretly hoping for. A trap door. I pulled it open and was immediately hit with a stench that would have killed anyone had they not been used to the smell of rotting meat. Meat. I looked inside once more, my eyes burning, and pointed my flashlight in. What I saw was severed pigs. Loins, chops, ribs, the bloody carcasses stared at me through the door. It was gross, but I finally had a plan. Que and I hauled the pigs meat up to the roof. There must have been at least a couple hundred pounds of it in what we took up. We also took up a strange machine that must have compressed the pig into sausage. Before, Que had opened it up, and instantly had a verdict. "There's an air cylinder in there. It has a small opening to let the air pressure decompress when the pig is pressed into sausage. If you plug the air cylinder, the pressure builds up and acts as a spring." Whatever all that had meant, the outcome was satisfactory. Que and I loaded the carcasses into the machine. He flicked it on and it hummed to life. Soon after, I heard grinding. Like metal against metal. And three seconds later, a chunk of pig flew up, over the zombie's heads, and landed maybe three fourths of a mile away. The zombies swarmed after it. We repeated this process for a while, until all the pigs were gone and all the zombies were tearing them apart. Gathering ourselves, we climbed down the ladder and into the car. Que looked back. "You ready?" We all shook our heads no. "Like it matters." He turned the key, the engine roared, and we tore off towards the Charston Community Center.