The Survivor Chronicles: Book 1, The Upheaval (32 page)

“Walmart or Costco,” she said.

“Why there?” John inquired.

“Everyone knows that’s where you go during a zombie apocalypse.”

John rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Of course they do. There better not be any damn zombies out there. That would be complete B.S.”

“Oh, and this isn’t?” Rochelle retorted.

“At least something isn’t chasing me down trying to eat my brain right now.”

“You’d be safe if there are zombies, then,” Carl informed him.

“Oh, you’re just a fuuhh… ah…” John glanced at Rochelle. “…a freaking riot,” he amended. For the first time he actually managed a wan smile.

Rochelle grinned back at him. “I’ve heard it before.”

John shrugged and shoved a handful of chips in his mouth. Carl closed the doors on the truck and leaned against them. He was purposely trying not to look at the burning red sun overhead as he chewed thoughtfully on a piece of jerky. The scenery certainly wasn’t much to look at anymore, but it felt good not to be encased within the cab of the truck and to breathe fresh air for a few minutes.

In the distance he saw another vehicle moving over the broken terrain. The brief reprieve vanished as he straightened away from the truck. “We should get moving.”

They followed his gaze to the vehicle on the distant horizon. John shoved the last bit of his beef jerky into his mouth and hurried toward the passenger side with Rochelle on his heels. Carl climbed behind the wheel and started the truck again. Rochelle was staring at the map and shaking her head. “I don’t know where we are,” she muttered.

They passed a road, but the first half of it was nothing but a colossal pit, the street sign was gone. He spotted people but it wasn’t a relief, in fact the sight of them only increased his anxiety. Driving past more homes they came to a fork in the road where he made a right. Apartment buildings and small houses rolled by. There were more people here, some of whom turned to watch as the truck drove by and others who didn’t pay any attention to them at all.

Carl didn’t know which was worse.

Rochelle leaned over John and locked the door. Carl stared at her for a minute as she gazed out the window with a parted mouth and a crease in her forehead. She glanced at Carl and he obligingly locked his door for her. Truth be told though, he found a large amount of relief once the lock was in place. Rochelle inhaled loudly as a gas station came into view. Carl almost pulled into it until he realized that would have been a bad decision.

He couldn’t stop his mouth from dropping or his foot from easing up on the gas as he gaped at the broken remains of the building. But this damage hadn't been caused by any earthquake. In fact, this was one hundred percent man made. The windows had been smashed out; the glass fronted door was pulled open and hanging ajar. As they passed he saw that there were three people inside grabbing stuff and shoving it into bags.

Somewhere someone shouted and a shot was fired. Carl jumped, Rochelle let out a little squeal as she ducked instinctively, and John threw his hands over his head. Screams rang out. Carl slammed on the brakes as two teenage girls ran in front of the truck. He suddenly felt as if he was in the middle of Iraq and not in some small town Massachusetts.

His breath hissed out of him as more shots were fired, but this time it was coming from the gas station. Carl slammed on the gas as one of the men who had been looting the store jumped out of the broken window and started to run. The loud boom of a shotgun rang out. The man’s arms flew outward; his face twisted in agony as a blood stain bloomed rapidly on his blue shirt. Coming to a stop, he pitched over onto the pavement.

Rochelle started to scream as the truck lurched forward with a loud squeal of tires. Another shot rang out, screams echoed through the air. A loud bang hit the side of the truck and it took him a moment to realize that a bullet had just struck it. Rochelle’s screams broke off abruptly, the color drained from her face as she leaned back against John, pressing herself firmly against him. Carl was white knuckling the steering wheel as the truck pitched and bucked over the broken road.

He wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d run over anyone that tried to jump in front of them right now. He wasn’t about to be gunned down during some piss-poor robbery attempt. A man reeled back; scarcely avoiding the front right fender of the truck as he practically threw himself into the street. Carl’s breathing was becoming labored, he could feel the hot pulse of blood in his eardrums as a ringing began in his ears and a vein throbbed on his forehead. He could feel the sweat beading across his brow and slipping down his cheeks. He thought his heart was going to explode as more shots rang out.

“Jesus!” John gasped. “What the hell!” “Don’t start that again!” Carl snapped at him as he spun the wheel and plunged down a small side street.

The sounds of guns and screams faded as they drove straight into the heart of small town suburbia with its tree lined streets and quaint, well-manicured homes. It was all so surreal that he half felt as if he had just entered The Twilight Zone. A low curse escaped him as he slumped forward. His shoulders ached from the force with which he’d been holding himself upright. He was panting for breath as he fought to calm the frantic beat of his heart. He contemplated pulling over to regain some control of himself, but he was terrified of even remotely stopping in this apparently wild west shit show of a town.

“
Get us out of here,” he managed to grate through his teeth.

John and Rochelle were both opening and closing their mouths like goldfish, their unfocused eyes told him that neither one of them were quite registering what he had just said yet. “Now. Get us out, now,” he told them.

John was the first to react as he grabbed hold of the map and smashed it down on the dashboard. Rochelle lurched awkwardly toward him; her hands shook as she pushed the map down with him. Carl made another right and pulled into an apartment complex, he drove behind the buildings and parked the truck in the nearly empty lot. Leaning back, he rested his head against the seat as he inhaled a shaky breath. He thought if he tried to stand his legs would give out and he would make a fool of himself by sprawling flat out in the parking lot.

They were muttering together as Carl grabbed his cigarettes and hopped out to survey the damage that had been done to the truck. He stared at the large bullet hole high up in the side board. It had pierced cleanly through the metal siding, leaving a quarter inch sized hole that he could see through if he stood on his tip toes. He didn’t particularly feel like doing that right now.

He knelt down to survey the underneath of the truck and then took a quick walk around. To his great relief the only damage appeared to be the one hole. He hopped back into the driver’s seat and leaned over to survey the map. Both Rochelle and John were staring helplessly at him. “We’ll figure a way out of here,” he muttered. “Or at least figure out where here is.”

Slamming the door he pushed the lock button again, but he felt no sense of protection as he heard it click into place. He pulled out of the parking lot and took a convoluted route past homes, a small school, a couple of churches and more than a few cemeteries. He felt as if someone was walking over his grave as he stared at the toppled headstones and gaping hollows that marked one of the cemeteries. He shuddered, half afraid that corpses actually would climb out of those holes and start to roam the earth again. He thought he might actually prefer it; at least then he would know who the bad guys were.

Though he supposed almost everyone could be considered the bad guys now. He glanced at John and Rochelle, feeling almost fatherly with the protective urge that surged through him. Fatherly was never something he’d been, nor ever had any desire to be. But now, looking at the only two people he had to rely on in the world, he knew he would do anything to protect them. No matter what that might require.

He turned onto another road, a large rotary came into view. He’d always hated rotaries, but it had been amusing to try and watch the tourists navigate them in the summer. There was no one to make the navigating process difficult now as he merged with ease onto the empty expanse. There was a group of a few hundred people gathered within the grassy center of the rotary.

“Well, at least that answers one question,” John muttered.

“What’s that?” Carl inquired as he returned the wary stares of the people.

“Where we are.”

Carl followed John’s pointing finger. He’d been so focused on watching the people that he hadn’t noticed the large wooden sign planted into the grass. “Guess so,” Carl muttered as he read the sign. Foxborough Incorporated seventeen seventy-eight.

CHAPTER 23

Al

Foxboro, Mass.

It’s a mess. The whole thing is just one giant mess, Al thought as he stared around the chaos that reigned within the stadium area. There were far too many people for his liking, his skin was beginning to crawl, and all he craved was to break free of the confusion. Mary Ellen stayed close by his side as they prowled through the papers searching for her daughter’s name.

“Leave her a note,” he suggested when they came up empty.

“You read my mind,” she muttered.

He waited impatiently, relentlessly studying the crowd as they milled past. Most people just appeared flat-out dazed, although there were a few irate ones and more than a couple who were weeping openly as they searched for their loved ones. Al was pleased that Mary Ellen was maintaining her composure.

They moved away from the wall, he knew that Mary Ellen would return to it, but he wouldn’t come back this way again. There was no one there for him and he didn’t wish to see what was here anymore. A good chunk of the crowd was filtering into a restaurant but they bypassed it and continued on with the throng still weaving its way through the stores. He didn’t know exactly what was going on until they were almost to a large building with its doors propped open.

No AC, he realized as soon as he stepped into the sweltering interior. He felt as if he’d been slapped. The heat of the day had been bad enough, but within the shadowy interior of what he now realized was a large hotel, it was oppressive. Soldiers stood within the building, water was being handed out, a few blankets and pillows sparsely given.

Al stared numbly at the pillow that had been thrust into his hand. He was half tempted to throw it back at the woman, turn around and leave. He remained where he was, though, as Mary Ellen seized her pillow and studied the crowd. He unscrewed his bottle and took a small swallow of water before sticking it deep into his pillowcase.

A man standing by a set of stairs was staring at a clipboard as Mary Ellen stepped before him. He looked at her and then at his board. “Seventh floor, room seven ten.”

Mary Ellen’s jaw dropped. “Seventh floor?”

“Yes.” Mary Ellen turned toward Al. “Hope you own a Stairmaster.”

Al managed a wan smile, but he already knew what she hadn’t guessed at as the man was looking Al up and down. “Second floor, room two ten.”

“Wait, we’re together,” Mary Ellen protested.

“Are you married?” She shook her head in response to his incredulous question. “Does he require you to care for him?”

“Absolutely not,” Al retorted defensively.

The man barely acknowledged him as he continued to stare Mary Ellen down. “Then you won’t be roomed together, and since I don’t want the old guy to have a heart attack, I think it's best if he stays on a lower floor.”

Al bit back a nasty retort as his hands clenched on his pillow. He hadn’t hit anyone since he was a kid and gotten into a fight with his best friend, but he was sorely tempted to right now. Judging by the look in the man’s eyes, he knew it too as he eyed Al with an almost challenging expression. This guy was spoiling for a fight and apparently he didn’t care who he picked it with. Mary Ellen gawked at the man, looking horrified by what he'd just said.