Even with the odds against him. Even if it cost him his life.
<Hello Alexander.>
“Jocelyn?!”
<I’m in the back seat.>
Alexander, in the front passenger seat of an SUV, turned his head to see Jocelyn, burned on most of her body, in the opposite corner of the cabin. As he watched her, the burns gradually became worse. The soldier next to her was staring wide-eyed.
“How the fuck?—” Alexander began.
<—I’m not really here. I’m astral-projecting, and I’m being burned alive by some survivalists. It’s a long story, as I’m sure yours is—considering the military fatigues you are wearing and that swastika on your forehead—but I came to say goodbye. It appears the burning is stronger than I can heal.>
“But . . . I can’t hear you—”
<—I’m dying. I wanted to say goodbye—to all of you, but especially to you.>
Alexander turned and looked off into the distance through the front windshield. A plume of smoke was rising in the North. “Oh, my god . . . Is that you?”
<I doubt it. Where are you?>
“We’re just south of Beaver Park. We’re running up to a traffic jam and will have to drive on the median strip and parking lots.”
<Then you are close! The smoke is me! Saint Michael, how much time do you think I have?>
“Who the hell—”
A disembodied thought entered Alexander’s mind. <Approximately ten minutes, maybe seven. Maybe thirteen. It is hard to gauge.>
“Who was that?”
<Never mind. I’m on a pyre in front of the supermarket, on the edge nearest the wall. I came there to retrieve my sword they had stolen and put in the break room. Long story short, I can control zombies, and we attacked them, but they won—barely. There’s still four of them left alive, three men and one woman. Driver, can you get us there in seven minutes? How far away are we?>
“Alexander,” the driver said, “could you tell me—”
“Did you hear that? Just answer the question,” Alexander said. “Can you get us there?”
“That’s anyone’s guess. It’s two miles up the road, but there’s a lot of stalled traffic to weave in and out of. It’ll be tight.”
“Of course it will,” Alexander said. “Hang on, Jocelyn, we’re coming. Hurry, Francis!”
<How come you’re so close?>
“I don’t know, but the sheriff and I . . . “ Alexander looked back at the SUV following them. “The sheriff’s in the car behind us. Soon after the military freed us from the skinheads, we decided to look for you and Vin in case either of you was still alive, or to bury you if dead, but we never found the scene of the ambush. We looked for the van but didn’t see it anywhere. When we realized we’d gone too far, we backtracked, but neither of us remembered exactly where the ambush occurred. We guessed—or, rather, the sheriff did—that you’d repeat what we did before: get a new van and head south to get to Colorado Springs. So we were heading up toward the rental place, hoping to find you, the old van, or a new van on the road—”
<Hold on.>
<Driver, what is your name?>
“Francis.”
<Francis, please hurry! You must trust me.>
“How did you get here?” Francis asked Jocelyn.
“Sheriff, do you copy?” Alexander said into his walkie-talkie. “Over.”
<I’m not really here. Francis, did it ever occur to you that a zombie apocalypse is not natural?>
“Marty here,” came the reply. “Over.”
“The thought crossed my mind,” Francis said.
“No time to explain,” Alexander said. “We’re in for a bumpy ride. Follow us. It’s life-or-death! Over.”
<Then trust me. I’m not natural, either. I can project myself somewhere else, like a ghost, but my body is actually in the middle of that fire!>
A brief silence.
The SUV lurched, coming off the median strip, and scraped a car on the right side as their car swerved around a light pole and sped into a clear intersection.
“Will do,” the sheriff said. “Care to explain now? Over.”
<I’ll jump to the other vehicle and explain to him what I’ve told you.>
Jocelyn disappeared.
The vehicle turned into the right-turn lane and down an embankment to avoid some cars. Alexander leaned onto his door as the SUV listed to the right, driving on a steep curve of grass. If they didn’t go fast, they might not get there in time, but if they crashed and got stuck for even a few minutes, it would be all over.
The hillside started to get muddy, and the wheels spun. But whether it was the four-wheel drive, or the traction control, the SUV regained its forward momentum.
They approached a drainage tunnel. They couldn’t fit through, so they had to turn back up the hillside. It looked like up ahead there might not be room for them to squeeze by the cars on the left. The wheels started to spin again, and the SUV slowed to a crawl. Its wheels kept spinning, and it started to slide back down.
Unable to get a grip on the scissor handles, using one edge, Clarence tried to cut through his zip tie for about ten minutes but barely cut into it.
Should he give up at this point?
His nose burned on the inside as the smoke in the store thickened. He coughed violently. All this smoke from Jocelyn burning? Could the building itself be on fire? Maybe the survivalists had not been careful.
The smoke came from the front, but if he gave up on cutting the zip tie, even if he made it to the rear door, he wouldn’t be able to turn the knob. There was a small chance the front of the store opened at some place to the outside to allow him to escape.
If he knocked over his chair, he might survive longer, as the smoke wouldn’t be as dense at floor level, but then he’d lose his ability to move at all. He’d be trapped, relying on someone to find him.
Unless he cut the tie
