Half of the country has deserted to the northern region, Canada or further. There are many patches of hot zones throughout the country, with California having the highest percentage of Existing Dead, specifically, San Diego.”
That last comment snapped Kyle out of his trance. “Fuck,” he said over the radio. “It’s the highest populated dead zone and I have to go in it. I just hope you’re still alive, Jasmine. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you too,” he said to himself out loud. Kyle took the picture out of his wallet and put it near the speedometer, next to a picture of him and Eddie fishing. The empty feeling returned when he began to cry.
When the first tear fell from his face, a moan followed by a bang thumped at his window. Kyle jumped away and leaned closer to the passenger seat. The creature slapped the glass again. Kyle looked close through his tears and noticed its lips were gnawed off or had rotted away. Its teeth were completely exposed, and it gave Kyle an eternal grin. Kyle had been hoping he’d be able to grieve for his son in peace, but this member of the Existing Dead had decided to interrupt. He was enraged, and wanted to show this rotting corpse pain even if the radio said they couldn’t feel any. Kyle was the kind of guy who loved proving people wrong.
He put the truck in reverse and went back several yards. When the creature was directly in front of him, he popped the truck into drive and raced for it. Kyle hit the body with a sickening thud. He backed up again, running over the creature’s legs. The bones snapped as the tires rolled over them. Kyle backed up until he was able to see the creature struggling to get to its non-existent feet. He slowly moved forward until he was right next to it. He looked around to make sure another one wasn’t going to pop around a corner. The coast was clear; the nearest one he could see was at least two hundred yards away. With the way they walked it could take hours for it to reach him. He got out and climbed into the truck’s bed. Most of his construction tools were still there. He searched until he found a road spike and his sledge hammer. He climbed out and walked toward the immobilized Existing Dead who was lying on its back. He stood the sledge hammer up next to him and with no remorse he lifted the metal road spike over his head. The creature looked at him and began snapping its jaw as Kyle brought the spike down into the creature’s heart. The steel spike stood at attention as it wedged an inch into the paved road. He raised the hammer and brought it crashing down on the spike. He did it again and again until the spike was half way through the asphalt. The creature paid no attention to the spike and continued outstretching its arms toward Kyle.
He walked back into the truck and popped the hood. The engine’s roar grew louder. Kyle searched the back seat and found what he needed. Jumper cables and a small white bottle of paint thinner were now in his hands. He walked to the front of the truck as the creature continued thrashing for him; struggling against the spike in its chest. Kyle opened the bottle of paint thinner and forced the top into the creature’s mouth. The liquid flowed down its throat and spewed out of the opening like an overfilled bottle. The paint thinner drenched the pavement as it tried to moan, but all that came out was a strained gargle. He connected the jumper cables to the truck’s battery and grabbed the other end. He put one of the clamps on the creature’s chest. The end closed but did not attach. It ripped off a chunk of flesh, the loose flab hung from the clamp like bait on a hook. He tried again, but the creature’s skin was too rotten to support the clamp.
Quickly, trying to avoid its mouth, Kyle grabbed the clamps and snapped them onto the creature’s collarbones. He heard the engine hum quietly as they attached. He walked into the truck and rubbed the engine causing twelve volts of electricity to circulate through the Existing Dead’s body. Looking out of the window, Kyle saw the paint thinner slowly igniting and bursting the creature into flames. A foul and disgusting smell began pouring out of the creature. It didn’t bother Kyle,
Kyle got out of the truck, detached the jumper cables from the battery, and threw them at the monster. The paint thinner was highly flammable, but once the flumes burnt off, the fire died down. The monsters white eyes were the only thing still following Kyle’s movements. The rest of him was covered by third degree burns. There was a hacksaw in the back of his truck. Kyle reached for it. The tool felt good in his hands.
As he walked back to the creature, he heard another moan coming from behind him, followed by another and another. Kyle turned just in time to see a dozen of them come out of the few abandoned buildings in the area. He put the hacksaw back into the bed and grabbed the hammer. He tossed it in with the rest of his tools, jumped into the truck and drove away.
The radio continued playing the press conference with Doctor Theodore Greenly. He was going on and on about pain. Kyle smiled. His smile quickly turned into a frown when he looked at the gas gauge. The needle was almost on empty. He had to find fuel soon. As he started worrying about gas Doctor Greenly said, “The streets are unsafe. If you can, please stay home with your family. Treasure them and protect them as best as you can.”
Chapter Three
Kyle continued driving through the main road, heading further into the desert. Another mile or so ahead was the next town. Static overpowered the interview with Doctor Greenly as Kyle drove toward the nearest gasoline station. After searching for another radio station, with no result, he turned off the receiver. Kyle tried to bury all of his emotions; he was in the middle of a war zone and if he wanted to survive he needed to think clearly. The needle on the gas gauge was now hovering over the E. Kyle glanced down when the empty light flashed on.
This area had been Kyle’s home for the past four years. He knew where all of the fill-up stations were in the region. Just over the hill in front of him was a Shell gasoline station. He cleared the mount and began going down with the Shell station in his view.
He slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched as he swerved to avoid a collision with the two wrecked cars in the middle of the road. Kyle’s heart raced as he cleared the wreckage. He stared back through his rearview mirror and composed himself. The Shell station was getting closer, as all of the traffic lights were off. Kyle didn’t feel the need to drive cautiously through the intersections. Besides Mary and Eddie, he hadn’t seen another living person in days.
The Burger King that Eddie and Kyle would spend their father-and-son time flew by like the memory of a past life. He tried to think about just getting to the gas station and filling up, but the recollections of better days continued to dance within his head. The Shell station was a block away to his left. He sped through the last intersection and didn’t bother to use a turn signal when he pulled into the four pump gas station.
Kyle parked behind a silver colored Honda that still had the nozzle attached to the car. It was the only available pump. The other two were occupied by an early 1980’s green Chevy Luv and a red Ford Mustang. He turned the truck off and looked at the deserted lot. He wondered what happened that made everyone leave their cars half way through filling up. The store’s doors were to his right and wide open, snacks and shelving in view. His stomach grumbled in hunger.
“I gotta be quick,” he muttered to himself, then grabbed the Winchester by the pistol grip. He pulled eight shells out of the robot backpack and loaded them. Each shell clicked as it was loaded into the barrel. He looked at the bag again, and the emptiness returned. Quickly, he shook it off and pumped the shotgun. Stepping out of the truck, gun at the ready, he looked at the gas pump. All of the lights were off.
“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, realizing how dense he was, “of course it’s off.”
Kyle turned and walked cautiously toward the little market. He took one step inside and looked left to right, making sure no one else was there. Racks of chips remained untouched on the shelves. The coolers were off, but there was no telling how long they’d been that way. He pressed his head against one of them; it felt cool against his face. A beer stared back at him from behind the glass at perfect eye level. His throat craved the taste of alcohol. He opened the glass door and grabbed the first available beer. Chugging it down, he savored each drop.
A gasoline can had to be somewhere in the area; every gasoline station had them for sale, or at least one to lend to the poor sap who ran out of gas. Kyle searched the store for the gasoline can. After a few moments of searching, he found the five-gallon jug sitting behind the front desk. He grabbed it by the handle and began walking back to the truck whistling a tune that he couldn’t remember the name of. If he wanted to get gas, he would have to siphon it from the cars already there. He looked in the bed of his truck for the hose he used at construction sites. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to siphon gas.
The hose was cut three feet long, the perfect length to get as much gas out of a tank as possible. He walked to the silver Honda directly in front of him with the hose and gas container. He detached the still-connected nozzle and set it on the ground. A small amount of gas began seeping out of the nozzle.
Kyle put the hose into the gas tank and began sucking on it like a straw. It took a few attempts, but he managed to get a good flow going. He accidentally got some gasoline in his mouth, so he needed something to wash the taste out. Water would do the trick, maybe even another beer. He took the hose out of the tank when the
