CHAPTER 9: NO SMOKING
August 1, 1993
6am.
Harlan and Anthony slept in separate rooms, just in case, but Harlan was in higher spirits the morning after. His leg throbbed as he followed Anthony to the farm supply store. The undead were still there, maybe not as many as yesterday, but enough to make fighting them a death sentence.
The two men trailed north until they hit a state road, Anthony steered them east with newfound determination. Soon, they were greeted by a huge blue sign reading FOSSOIL.
The gas station was mostly devoid of un-life, a handful of deadheads milled about the parking lot. They were quickly executed by Anthony as Harlan trailed behind.
"Stay out here and scream if you see 'em." Anthony vanished inside the gas station for a few minutes, returning with a gas can, newspapers, magazines, maps, and a-
"No fucking way." Harlan crossed his arms.
"Yeah fucking way!" Anthony held a lighter aloft in his right hand, its weak flame put out almost immediately by a light breeze.
"We are not burning down the town. I'm still a fucking firefighter."
"No! No, no, not that." Anthony started pouring gasoline around the fuel pumps, adding a generous amount to the garbage cans as he stuffed as much flammable material inside.
"Really? Because it looks like you're burning down the town to me."
"Okay, fine, you got me." Anthony kept splashing gasoline around, the smell brought Harlan back to his first couple jobs as a farmhand. "If we get this thing to blow, it'll call all the deadheads over."
"Them, AND everyone in the countryside."
"And? We'll be long gone by then."
"Are you sure? It might pull them from farther down south and we do not need any more company." Anthony thought for a moment.
"If we don't do this, what's your plan?"
"Well," Harlan looked around at the gas station. Aside from a few corpses, and whatever loot was still in the station, the only thing at their disposal was a beat up police cruiser.
"Well?"
"Have you ever been arrested?" Harlan queried as he stepped towards the vehicle.
"I actually have, yeah. Drunken disorderly, my uncle Sylves-"
"So you know how loud the siren is."
"What?" Anthony watched Harlan slap the hood of the cruiser, "Oh."
"Yeah." Harlan winked.
Anthony abandoned his pyromaniacal ambitions, for now. Harlan had the car running in moments and the duo got inside, Harlan at the helm. Almost out of habit, possibly out of hope, he popped on the radio and scanned for something, anything, being broadcast. Harlan's heart leapt as he heard the static cut out for a brief moment before a robotic voice introduced itself and rattled out the day's weather.
"Fuck you." Harlan punched the radio's off button.
"Did a weatherman break your heart?"
"No, no, I'm just sick of that being the only station. I miss Hitz FM."
"I could sing a song or two."
"Please," Harlan turned to Anthony, exhausted, "do not."
The car rolled out of the gas station and turned south towards the horde. The road was thick with them, dozens if not hundreds of terrible-smelling rag-wearing green-gray-colored zomboids. Anthony sank back in his seat as Harlan gunned the engine, roaring down the main road faster and faster before colliding with a group of them.
Without missing a beat, Harlan threw it in reverse and pulled them out of the horde. He hit buttons and flicked switches until the car was lit up like a christmas tree, and screaming like a spoiled child. Harlan reclined in his seat as the undead approached from the front.
"Hey, Harlan?"
"Yuh?"
"They're behind us now." Harlan twisted himself to see, and yes, there were two zombies walking over. He waved Anthony off.
"I'll grab 'em on the way back."
"And on the left." Yup, two more on the left.
"Don't forget the seven thousand in front of us."
"Why are you so flippant about this?" Harlan could hear Anthony was not in a joking mood any more.
"Right, yeah." Harlan scooched up and grabbed the wheel. "I have an idea, maybe your original plan wasn't so bad."
"Oh so now you're fine with starting fires?"
"Yeah, crowd control."
"But that's-" Anthony threw his hands up, "I'm suing for copyright."
"Sure, sure, I bet Matlock is just waiting by the phone for you."
"Who?" Harlan looked at Anthony like he had three heads.
"You work in TV but you don't watch TV do you?" Before he could answer, a rotten hand slapped the driver's side window, spooking Harlan. What used to be a young woman was now trying to scratch its way into the car. "No thank you!"
Harlan reversed the cruiser, lights flashing and alarm blaring, over the two deadheads that were behind them. As he rolled over the corpses, the cruiser's tires left two long red ribbons on the road. Harlan parked the cruiser in front of the tools shop.
"Let's wait for them to get closer, draw them through the gas station, and have a belated 4th of July celebration."
"My plan was better." Anthony crossed his arms.
"Your plan was to blow up a gas station."
"And your plan is to… lead them to a gas station, which we will then blow up? I wanna make sure I'm hearing this right."
"Yeah, but-"
"Just give credit where it's due." Anthony pointed to the horde, which was gaining ground uncomfortably fast. Harlan spun the cruiser around and parked it between the FOSSOIL gas pumps, lights flashing and alarm screaming. The duo hopped out and watched the horde slowly approach the car.
"So, how do we do this?" Harlan turned to Anthony.
"Okay. So," Anthony clapped his hands and rubbed them together, "We wait til they get closer, light something small on fire to get things going, and bolt for the trees before we get extra crispy."
Harlan was about to speak when Anthony started laughing.
"Oh man, did I ever tell you about this one story we ran like, must've been years ago, about this pig someone NAMED Chri-"
"Runners!" Sure as Harlan said, a couple haggard forms broke from the horde and were gaining on them, fast.
"Always at the fucking gas station!" Anthony wound up his bat and swung, connecting with one of their faces. A disgusting crack followed by a thud, she was down. The second, a larger man, was more of a waddler than a runner as he targeted Harlan. He would have laughed if the third wasn't a child, maybe six or seven years of age, missing its entire face.
"Fucking hell," Harlan moaned as he shoved the kid down and swung at the man. His axe tore through the monster's face, missing its brain but morphing it into an even more disgusting sight. Harlan's stomach churned.
"I got it!" Anthony stepped over and slammed his bat into the man's head, this time taking him down. Harlan watched the child-zombie struggle on the ground, pinned by the older one's corpse. He felt Anthony's hand on his shoulder.
"Hey," he began, "don't look at it."
"I know." Harlan sighed. Anthony's bat put the little thing out of its misery. Turning their attention to the horde, they had maybe a minute, maybe 30 seconds before they were on them. For a moment, Harlan wondered if it would be better if he stayed behind and let Anthony escape to carry on where he left off. He was ripped from his thoughts as Anthony started splashing around more gasoline.
"C'mon, let's make a mess!" Anthony tipped over the garbage can and kicked it around. Harlan couldn't help but laugh.
"Hell yeah!" He shouted as he tipped over the other can, picking it up and emptying cans and bottles and all sorts of crap onto the stained asphalt.
15 seconds left, they've swarmed the store.
Anthony dipped into the car and pulled out a pack of smokes, bringing one to his lips with a glint in his eye as they stepped away from the soon-to-be-fireworks.
"I have always wanted to do this." He lit the cigarette, took a dramatic drag, and tossed it into a pile of trash. A moment later, a triumphant flame erupted as the deadheads made it to the cruiser.
"RUN!" Harlan shouted. Both men took off as swift as their legs could carry them. Anthony leapt over the parking lot curb and ducked into the trees, Harlan wasn't far behind. Through the trees they saw a barricaded home and recollected themselves at ther back door.
"Hot damn!" Anthony screamed, "Holy fuck!" Harlan was hooting in between labored breaths.
"God DAMN that was fucking scary."
"Right? I feel so fuckling alive!"
"Well," Harlan coughed, "don't stop now." Harlan pointed at the black plume of smoke soaring higher and higher behind them. "That's gonna bring anyone who's still alive to town, and even worse, I don't think we lost the dead ones."
As the words left his mouth, both men were thrown against the wall by the explosion. Harlan sat up in the grass and looked at Anthony, who pulled a red hand from his head, and looked at Harlan. The home's barricaded door started shaking, something was trying to break through.
"Get up, get up!" Harlan grabbed Anthony and pulled him up.
"Fuckin A, man."
"Concussion?"
"Who?"
"Fuck." Harlan grabbed his non-bloody hand and pulled him back towards the center of town. It wasn't completely clear, but they could make it to the truck. The poor farm supply store looked like a riot passed through. Harlan nearly threw Anthony into the truck as he limped into the store.
"I'm a fucking moron," he sung to himself as he did one final sweep of the store, "Gonna die, gonna die, gonna dieee." Nothing stood out, no deadheads, Harlan made a 180 and sped back to the truck where Anthony was absently sitting in shotgun.
The truck roared to life, kicking up dirt and rocks as the bloody and bruised duo escaped back to Rosewood.