Faces were pressed against the thick, break-proof glass. Blood and saliva smeared in shapes of noses, mouths and handprints. “Milzy said the first sick people were in the bunker.”
Didn’t matter what Milzy said. Bunker. Secondary.
The sick weren’t in the bunker, resting. They were in Secondary. Locked up. Locked away.
“So now what?” Nolan panted, used his sleeve to wipe sweat from his forehead. “What’s going on? I mean, where do we go?”
Where do we go?
“I took a few calls—I think what’s going on here, is happening out there, too,” Maar said. “I have to get home. My wife and kids, you know? I have to get to them.”
“It can’t be safe out there,” I said. I thought the same thing. My kids. I needed to find them. Protect them.
Allison looked from one operations floor to the other. They’re literally twenty feet apart. Identical rooms. Both housing flesh-eating monsters that were all staring at us through blood-streaked glass, as if we were animals at a zoo. Or, more like we were food on display and they were waiting to place their order, to pick up their plate and get in line at the buffet.
Now serving number twenty-seven? I think.
“Jimmy has guns,” I said, “in his locker.”
I didn’t want us to separate. Safety in numbers and all of that. “We can get the guns; make a dash for the parking lot. We’ll follow each other. Nolan lives closest. We’ll hit his house first.”
Nolan smiled. He liked the plan.
“My wife’s home alone,” Maar said.
“I’m worried about my kids, too. We shouldn’t split up,” I said.
“My wife is closer,” Maar said.
I just stared at him. “We’re staying together. Nolan’s house first. Right now, Jimmy’s locker, all right?”
We ran for the men’s room, through the door, past the urinals and stalls, and finally through rows of lockers. “It’s this one,” I pointed.
“So how do we get in?” Nolan set fists on his hips.
“Break into it,” Maar said.
Way easier said than done. After ten minutes of pulling, banging, and pounding, we realized the truth. Guns might be inside that locker, but we had no way at them.
“I have to check on my family,” Nolan said. He’s in his locker, grabbing his cell phone, dialing. “No one’s answering.”
Maar disappeared. I heard another locker open.
“Come with me to the women’s lockers?” Allison snaked her arm through mine. She shivered. “Please? Will you come with me to my locker?”
“I have to get to my family.” Nolan put on his coat. One hand had his cell. The other, car keys. “I’m sorry. I have to.”
“We should stay together.” I wasn’t going to beg. I didn’t think anyone would listen. Not anymore.
I heard the bathroom door open. “Maar! Maar!”
Nothing. He must have taken off!
“Let’s get your stuff, quick,” Nolan said to Allison, and zipped up his coat.
I looked at Jimmy’s locker, then at Allison, deflated. “Okay. Let’s hurry!”
I got my cell, followed them out of the men’s room, and into the women’s. They were stopped inside.
Barb leaned against the sink counter. The faucet running. Her messy dark hair was perfect for framing a face full of clown-like smeared make-up. “I don’t feel well.”
“Get your stuff, Alley,” I said. “What doesn’t feel good, Barb?”
“My stomach.”
“Go Allison. Get your stuff,” I ordered. “Now.”
She moved, ran to her locker.
Barb stood up straight. Like Bradley-Phillips, she drooled. Blood drop tears dripped from bloodshot eyes. Her nose twitched. Lips quivered.
When she grunts, I’m running!
“Allison!” I yelled.
“I gotta get out of here,” Nolan said.
I grabbed his arm. He shrugged it off, stepped back and banged back out through the door.
Son of a bitching chickenshit!
Allison is stuck. Barb stood between us. Pupils milky-white and glazed over. Shit. From stomachache to zombie after seconds? That quick? That was un-fucking-fair, forget simply unbelievable!
“What do I do?” Allison asked.
Barb was all of four-foot-eleven. If that.
“Get ready, Alley,” I said. I counted inside my head. One. Two...
I pivoted, raised my leg, and kicked.
The flat of my foot planted solidly across Barb’s face. She fell backward, through a stall door. I saw Barb’s smashed nose and missing front tooth as she landed on the toilet.
Allison didn’t need to be told to run this time.
We fled the restroom and the facility and headed for the parking lot.
Chapter Seven
“Where’s Nolan?” Allison asked.
I saw a car wait as the gated fence slid open. A car drove out--Nolan. And zombie-monsters sauntered in. He let more of those fucking things into the secured parking lot!
“Run,” I said.
At the parking lot, she went left. I turned right. “This way!”
“My car?”
“We’ll take mine,” I said. I didn’t want us separated.
We get to my car. I click the fob to unlock the doors. Climbed in. Locked it.
I started the engine just as a zombie stepped in front of us. Without a second thought, I put it in second, and gave it gas. My car lunged forward and over the monster. I pulled up to the gate. Waited for it to slide open slowly, as I looked in the rear view.
Maar must have made it out, too. I was pissed he just took off, but hoped he was safe just the same.
I had the attention of the zombies roaming about inside the fence-confined parking lot.
They came our way.
Only these two were fast. Not slow and sluggish like I’d seen inside 9-1-1.
Hunger drove them.
And right now, Allison and I were the only visible meal.
The gate’s mouth is open just wide enough for me to maneuver the car through. So I accelerated, smashing off the side mirror.
“Where are we going?”
“My ex-wife’s. I want my kids.”
She didn’t ask. But we’re both thinking it. My ex is just not going to hand over my kids. Thing is, I don’t give a shit if Julie does or not. I’m taking them. That simple. She and the geriatric boyfriend of hers, Douglas or Donald, or whatever, won’t be able to protect my kids.
“Did any of them get the shot?”
I cringed, a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. My ex’s boyfriend is so freaking old; no way he didn’t get the shot. And if he got one, then I’d bet Julie did, too.
“Your kids?” Allison is looking straight ahead.
I punched the dashboard with each word. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”
I sped down streetlight lit roads. It’s 10:48 PM.
People are out, filling the sidewalks and streets.
Adults. Kids.
If I didn’t know better, I’d of said trick-or-treating started early.
I turned on the radio.
Static.
I checked channels.
Nothing.
I went to AM and surfed until I found a hard-to-hear broadcast, like the D.J. was holding a hand over his microphone:
“. . . the Mexican government is allowing Americans to cross the borders. Unaffected are allowed to cross the border. There’s a medical exam—if you’re deemed healthy, the Mexican army is letting people cross. But they are shooting the heads off anyone sick. That’s right. The Mexican military is shooting on-sight the obviously infected. Like I said, they are letting healthy Americans into their country. . .”
Mexico. Made sense. They were too poor a country to have received any of the vaccinations created by America. Our president put up a concrete wall to keep Mexicans out of this country. What a double-edged sword. That same wall would now benefit the Mexicans, so they could keep Americans off their soil. Funny, and almost fitting, that Mexico is getting the last laugh.