Authors: Jeremy Laszlo
“We should check the dealership for keys,” Greg says, stepping away from the truck.
“Sounds good,” I say, following after him.
Greg is carrying his shotgun like he’s ready for a shootout at any second, but I’m not as scared or convinced as he is that we’re in dire need for violence. Truthfully, I don’t think there’s anyone in this town but those flesh-eating freaks that are lumbering in front of the townhouse or hiding out for the rest of the night. He’s expecting survivors or bandits to be lurking around every corner. Shamefully, I haven’t even unbuttoned the guard on my holster. There’s nothing to worry about here. I haven’t even seen as much as a footprint in the layer of dirt and dust everywhere. If there’s someone out here, then they’re hiding it very well.
Surrounding the dealership is a layer of glass. It’s facing east and the wind must blow from west to east here, because the glass is everywhere, mixed with the dirt. I look up at the front of the building and feel like there’s no coming back when I look at it. The metal frames and stucco, rustic-looking walls are completely abandoned, ignored by the dying world. My feet crunching the glass under my soles with each step, I climb in through the shattered glass doors behind Greg. There are papers everywhere, strewn about like someone has tossed the place angrily. But that could have just been the wind. The once glossy floors that were supposed to look like black marble are now permanently stained from weathering and dust. I look at the chairs in front of the desks and feel a shiver run down my spine. This place feels like a crypt, a sanctuary for ghosts.
While Greg rummages around, I stare at the sports cars on display in the main room where the glass face of the front was supposed to show them off. Their paint is no longer glossy or sparkling, but they still appeal to me for an unknown reason. I hear a jingling and look over my shoulder at Greg who is approaching me with a handful of keys.
“Alright, it has to be in here somewhere,” he says hopefully, with a long sigh. I’m confident he’s right, but overwhelmed at how long it could take us to discover the right one and get back to my sister and nephew.
“Only one way to find out,” I say with a soft smile.
Chapter Eight
Greg reaches out for the handle of the truck, slipping the key inside of the lock, and looks around nervously as we both hear the lock click. It’s strange that there’s a sound that once was so unnoticeable that now puts me on edge. I look at the door as Greg slowly pushes it open, peeking into the back seats to make sure that there’s not some sort of lunatic hiding out for us. Standing awkwardly by the hood of the Mazda next to the truck, I keep a watch for anything that might remotely look dangerous. There’s nothing here to worry about, I’m certain of it. In fact, I let my fingers go and hang limply at my sides. If there was ever going to be a time where I was ready to be bitten in the butt about being wrong, this was it. But there’s no ambush, no sudden attack. I just watch Greg climbing behind the steering wheel to start the massive truck.
There’s nothing but a series of clicks. I feel my heart breaking free of its supports and crashing into my stomach with a loud and painful splash of disappointment. Greg tries the engine again, but it’s very clear that the thing isn’t starting. I look at him through the nearly opaque window and see that he’s frustrated by it. I don’t know what the clicking sounds mean, but I know it’s not good. I know absolutely nothing about cars and I wish that I did. I wish that we still had Marko with us. He knew everything. He was a savant—a car whisperer even.
Greg hops out of the front seat and closes the door quietly. The only sound that I can hear is the babbling of the narrow river and the howling of the breeze. Walking toward me with a very determined look on his face, he crosses his arms and looks back at the truck with an expression that wants to be indifferent, except for the hostile glimmer in his eyes. I’m afraid that he’s going to explode with frustration.
“Battery’s dead,” Greg mutters, barely stringing a sentence together.
“Oh,” I say, nodding. I remember that my battery died once. I had to get a ride to Malmart to get a new one. Unfortunately, there’s no Malmart, nor is there a way to drive to it, even if it did exist still. So I look at him with a questioning expression, eager to take any input as to what we should do next. “Should we find a new car?” I ask him.
“No,” Greg shakes his head. “This is the one we want. It’ll give us everything we need.”
“Well, the battery’s dead,” I say as quietly as possible. “So I don’t think that it’s an option anymore.”
“Or we could jump the battery,” Greg says in desperate attempts to climb out of his growing pit of frustration. I’m glad to see that he’s not dwelling on the disappointment. I like to see us moving forward, not remaining stagnant. “Okay, let’s go see if we can find the keys to these cars and then a pair of jumper cables. All I grabbed were the keys for Dodges, and most of these cars are imports. There’s a garage around back, there should be some jumper cables there. This is a dealership, after all.”
“I’ll go get the keys,” I tell him with a smile. “You get the jumper cables. Divide and conquer.”
“Divide and conquer,” he repeats with a mumble, and heads toward the back of the building, unslinging his shotgun from over his shoulder. I watch him walk away with mild amusement. He thought this was going to be a walk in the park. I hate to see him disappointed like this. Maybe next time we have to scour the town for something, it’ll be a piece of cake for us. Or it’ll be just as difficult, because that’s the world we live in now.
Back inside the dealership’s showroom, I retrace Greg’s steps across the dusty floor to the wall of keys they have behind the cubicles and banks of desks, waiting for eager customers that are never going to show up again. I look at the wall of keys and try to find the two sets that match the Mazda and the Honda on either side of the truck. I look through all of them, grabbing every set of Honda and Mazda keys that I come across, stuffing them into my pockets, Mazda on the right and Honda on the left. Laden with my goodies, I head back out to the truck, searching to see if Greg is anywhere to be seen.
As I try the keys and subsequently find that the first five sets don’t work, I chuck them over my shoulder, hearing them bouncing off the hoods of the other cars or tinkling as they skid across the dirty asphalt. “Could you keep it down, just a little?” Greg asks me, nearly scaring me to death by suddenly shattering the focus and world of silence that I’ve wrapped myself in. I’m grateful that I don’t scream. Turning around, I look at him as I hear the Mazda’s door unlock with a click.
“Got it,” I say, before hurling the rest of the other Mazda keys across the parking lot and hearing them clatter against the other cars. “There’s no one here, Greg,” I tell him confidently.
“Well, we know that there’s a lot of those things across the river,” Greg tells me, as he drops the jumper cables between the two cars and pops the hood of the truck. Pushing the hood open, he looks inside the engine and takes a deep breath before exhaling loudly and sending dust shooting everywhere in thick plumes. There is serious dust everywhere. Waving and choking on his mistake, Greg steps down while I pop the hood of the Mazda.
Everything else from this point is up to him. I watch the main street heading through town, no doubt leading through the hills to join up with a highway somewhere while the river chases along next to it. The little town on the opposite side of the bank would have been so charming to see in real life, in the world that wasn’t completely dead and ruined. Now it looks like we’ve become part of some Halloween model set. It’s completely wrong. I look over at Greg, studying him as he hooks up the battery of the Dodge to the battery of the Mazda.
“Can I see the keys?” Greg asks as I toss them to him. Dropping down behind the steering wheel of the Mazda, he slips the keys in and tries starting the Mazda. I close my eyes at yet another blow that strikes both of us with disappointment yet again when the engine makes the same clicking noise as the Dodge’s. Greg waits a few moments after he stops trying to start the car, and drums the steering wheel. I know that he’s silently counting time. He’s going to try again.
Before I can finish the thought, he’s turned the key again. When it does the same thing, he steps out of the car, held together by his willpower not to explode into a furious tirade against the stubbornness of the car. Marching around the Mazda, he heads for the Honda, chucking the keys across the parking lot and listening as they smack into the windshield of another car, not breaking it though. I quickly try several keys with the Honda’s lock, which turn out to be the wrong keys. I just drop them at my feet as Greg starts to unhook the Mazda. He leaves the hood up while I finally get the door to open. Reaching blindly for the hood release, I pop the hood for him just in time for him to lift it up and take a look at what’s hiding underneath. With a heavy sigh, he hooks up the cables and switches spots with me.
Even as the car clicks, refusing to start because of the same problem, Greg starts pounding his palms on the dashboard and the steering wheel, giving vent to his frustration as he locks his teeth together and lets out a muffled roar of rage that is smothered inside of the car. I don’t look at him. In fact, I pretend that I don’t even hear it. He doesn’t want me to stare at him while he suffers from this momentary lapse in sanity.
“They’re dead,” Greg snaps as he jumps out of the little Civic, slamming the door and throwing caution to the wind in one fell swoop. “Every last god-damn one of these cars is probably dead.”
“Were there any batteries in the back?” I ask him tentatively.
“Not that I could see,” Greg shakes his head. “We’re going to have to find a bunch of horses or something to tie together to pull us out of here, but oh wait, every damn horse is dead too.”
“Okay, well, there has to be something else we can do,” I tell him. I know that there are ways to charge a battery, but I have no idea what the machines are or how they work. I’ve just seen them at mechanic shops and in the movies. My knowledge of cars usually stops with the gas gauge.
“What, Val? Where are we going to find a battery that works?” Greg snaps at me and I feel the hostility in the air and I’m getting pretty sick of it. Noah is shell-shocked, Lexi is post-partum, and Greg has a fuse as long as my pinky now. I can’t deal with everyone being so pissed off all the time or angry. I need them to relent, just for a while.
“Well, we know where one battery that works is,” I tell him, reminding him that all is not lost just yet.
“The truck is out of gas,” Greg says, as if I’m ignorant and stupid. I take offense at the tone, but I’m not so certain that now is the time to bring that up.
“Yeah, but not the other truck,” I remind him. He looks at me as if I’m speaking another language, but I can see the gears turning behind his eyes. He’s putting the pieces together and starting to nod. I nod with him, yes, he’s getting it now. He’s understanding what I’m saying to him. He snaps his finger and nods eagerly.
“The tire’s flat,” he says, his voice sounds like he’s hoping that I’m going to tell him that it’s alright, that we don’t need that stupid, flat tire anyways.
“Doesn’t matter.” I tell him what he needs to hear. “We just need to get it here and we’ll be fine.”
“So let’s go do it,” Greg says eagerly.
We leave the parking lot, moving as quickly as we can. Making our way over the bridge, we see that the world around us is starting to get brighter, meaning that dawn isn’t far away. We have to hurry if we’re going to avoid the enormous horde of the flesh-eating monsters that take over the town when day hits. Across the bridge, at the first intersection, we spot three of them making their way from one side of the street to the other, stopping and looking up at the moon with dazed and confused expressions on their faces. Moving from car to car, we cross the intersection, using all three of the stalled and crashed vehicles for cover. Once we reach the other side of the street, we hop the fence of the nearest house and start picking our way back around the town, taking a big loop back to where the main street intersects with our little temporary hideout. I lead the way, moving faster than Greg, and avoiding a second group of the lumbering cannibals who have set up camp in the back yard of one of the houses we almost dropped down into.
When we get into position, I step out of hiding, looking straight at the window of the little girl’s room and seeing Noah standing guard like a sentinel, gazing down on the cannibals who are still lurking after their large feast yesterday. Stepping out from our hiding spot, I wave to grab Noah’s attention. Thankfully, Noah has pretty much developed the eyes of a hawk since our lives were throwing into the frying pan. He gives a slow, somber wave back and hoists the rifle to his shoulder, trailing the scope on me. I feel an iceberg rocking gently in my stomach, knowing that he probably doesn’t have the safety on.
I point toward the white truck, mouthing the words “white truck” to him. Lowering his rifle, he points right at the truck and I nod in confirmation to him. He holds up his hand, making the ‘okay’ sign. I smile and look at Greg. “I think he’s got the basics,” I tell him.
“How could he not?” Greg mutters sarcastically.
“Alright, I’ll circle around and get the truck,” I tell him, laying out our plan step by step. “You draw the attention of the zombie things and when I get the truck, I’ll run them over and pick you up. Sound good?”
“Best I’ve heard yet,” Greg grunts.
“Good,” I tell him before running over and slipping into the alleyway. Reaching behind my back, I unfasten the guard on my Sig and pull it out, expecting the two surviving fanatics to appear out of nowhere. I stop and listen while I slip through the alleys, hearing the movement inside the buildings. There are flesh-eating monsters lurking inside of all of these businesses. I expect them to come popping out of the back doors at any second.
Finishing my loop, I slip through the alleyway across from the townhouse, looking straight at our dead five-ton truck. I can see Noah in the window, watching the zombies below and then glancing over to where Greg is hiding. I take my first steps out into the street and look over to where Greg should be, behind a filthy bus stop whose Plexiglas windows have been stained brown by the mud and the dust. Catching sight of me, Greg steps out from behind his hiding spot and lets out a sharp whistle and waves his hands.
“Hey, dumbasses, over here!” he shouts to the eight zombies that are standing between the five-ton and the townhouse. They slowly turn and start shuffling toward him, one of them stopping and hissing at the sound of Greg’s voice. They look in his direction, unblinking as they move. I wonder if their eyes even work or if they’ve lost the need to blink.
As they start moving away, I jog across the street, running as silently as I can, kicking up dust with each step. Hiding behind the five-ton, I listen as the zombies grow nearer to Greg who is still shouting profanities at them, drawing them down on him. I hear glass shatter and crunch as the zombies lurking inside of the businesses start to come out, drawn by the sounds of fresh food. Quickly rounding the truck, I step out, ready to bolt for the fanatics’ truck when I stare face to face with one of the emaciated horrors.
It looks at me with white, milky eyes in dark, sickly eye sockets. Its nose has fallen off, much like what I’d expect a syphilis victim to look like from the Middle Ages. The creature stares at me with dried, brown gore caked to its lips and chin. Its mouth is a gaping black hole, lined with yellow, fetid teeth that have chipped and cracked over the months of going mad. It was once a woman. It’s still wearing a bra and a skirt that’s been torn to shreds. She tilts her head at the sight of me, her bones popping with the curious movement as she takes me in. Her eyes don’t blink and I feel a scream frozen inside of my throat.