The rear and side windows shattered, and the almost deafening noise of bullets on metal made Alexander panic. They were taking fire from both sides! The phrase “shock and awe” rattled through Alexander’s brain as bullets flew all around the inside of the van. He tucked his head into the corner between the seat and the center console.
The shooting stopped, but Alexander dared not move. Emily continued to scream, while everyone else was silent. Silence from Emily followed a murmur of a “shush” from behind him. He felt a chill as cool wind blew through where his window used to be.
Moments later, a voice with a Western drawl shouted, “Everyone remain calm.” The voice came from close by, probably only a few feet from right outside his door. “Do not resist, or we will kill you. We have you surrounded. Drop any weapons you may have and put your hands up over your heads. Now if there’s anyone in the front passenger seat call out ‘aye.’”
“Aye!” Alexander yelled.
“Good. Come out slowly with your hands up.”
Silently cursing to himself, Alexander placed his handgun on the floor and opened the door a smidge. He put his hands up and used his shoulder to push the door wide, then exited.
There were several skinheads with guns pointed at him and the van doors. He guessed there would be one or two on the other side, guarding the driver’s door.
Not that they had anything to worry about over there. Last Alexander knew, Vin had his hands full of blood, trying to stop his bleeding.
As soon as he got out, Alexander said, “The driver is wounded, too wounded—“
The skinhead nearest him interrupted. “Shut up and stop. Go no further.”
Alexander complied as he was too far away to disarm any of them. Not that he knew how, anyway.
“Do not move until I give you the final word, understood?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Now you will, slowly, staying as close to the van as possible, open the sliding door. Do you understand these instructions? Do you hear me clearly?”
“Yes, I do.” Alexander was shaking from all the adrenaline, his heart pounding. He hoped they wouldn’t kill them all.
“Okay. Everyone remain calm with your hands up. Okay, you may open the van door now.”
Alexander complied.
“Now everyone except the driver walk out slowly. Continue to keep your hands up. Do that now.”
Alexander hoped no one, especially the sheriff, would try to play the hero, because that would almost seal their doom. Certainly, they would shoot Alexander on the spot.
“We’re sending out the child first!” Janice called.
“A child?” The same skinhead said. “Shit, okay, bring out the child.”
Alexander saw Emily emerge from the van, eyes wide, frowning, but silent. It was an act of bravery from someone so young.
Janice came out next.
“Okay,” the skinhead called loudly. “Peter, escort the driver out.”
“He’s badly wounded—” Alexander started to say before being interrupted.
“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up.”
Vin suspected he was mortally wounded, as he couldn’t stop the bleeding out of his abdomen. While lamenting his pre-apocalypse time was too short, he admitted, as he imagined the life getting sucked out from him, that post-apocalyptic life would be shitty. But his biggest regret was he’d never started a family. He’d told himself he didn’t want one, but now he realized that was a rationalization. He would never know what it was like to marry and have children. At least you could still do that in a post-apocalyptic society, but even so he wouldn’t want to bring up any children in this environment. Not having to grieve over a family turned into zombies assuaged his regret. Because he didn’t have children, there were fewer people in this post-apocalyptic cluster-fuck. Give them four years of life only to pull the rug out from under them and make them live out miserable lives.
He wondered if zombies felt the pain, loss, and trauma the remaining normals suffered from.
Emily.
Emily was probably the reason he now regretted not having kids. Yet at the same time, he felt fortunate not to have brought any children into this world.
At least he got to enjoy a comfortable life, albeit a short one.
Will Emily even remember any of her life before the apocalypse? Would she remember anything if she turned into a zombie? And if she turned into a zombie, and if that condition were reversed, would she remember anything from her past life?
Vin, by dying, was getting off easy. It was Emily he mourned for.
“Let’s go,” commanded the man outside the van’s open sliding door. Thinking about going out in a blaze of glory, he decided against it as the skinheads would probably take his resistance out on the rest of his group.
“I’m weak,” Vin managed to say before groaning in pain. “I think I’m dying.”
“I’ll kill you myself if you don’t come out . . . Your choice.”
“I can’t take my hands off the . . . wound. I’ll bleed out . . .”
“I’ll open the door for you,” the skinhead said.
The white-hot pain almost unbearable, he got out one more warning. “I’ve got a handgun . . . in a holster . . . I can’t take it out or . . . I’d have to . . . remove my hands.”
“Use one hand for the bleeding. Use the other to open the door a crack and then hold it high. Understood?”
“Yes.” He took his right hand off the wound and started to move. Sharp pain greeted him and he cried out. He exited the van as commanded.
Dizzy. And cold.
The bad men brought Prince Charming around the front of the van at gunpoint. His
