To the South-West lay St. Louis, a death trap, for sure, and to the South-East was Edinburg, Sharpsburg and a whole host of other small towns much like the next. Undecided, she blew out a frustrated breath. “Why is this so hard?”
Dylan banged her head against the headrest of her seat until she remembered something. Or rather, someone. A familiar face from the past. “Frankie.”
Frankie, short for Francine, was probably the closest thing she’d ever had to a friend. During a brief stint in Sharpsburg, they’d worked together at a diner and even shared an apartment for a few weeks. Though total opposites, they somehow clicked and hit it off. Many of Dylan’s best memories stemmed from their brief friendship, but, after a few months, she’d grown restless. Driven by some inexplicable need, she’d moved on to the bigger and brighter city lights of Springfield while Frankie stayed behind. Time passed, and the two spoke less and less until the conversation dried up completely. Now, Dylan wondered if Frankie would even remember her. Guilt flushed her veins, and she sat frozen in her seat until a loud thud caused her to jump. “Holy shit, what was that?”
A little girl clawed at her window with bloody fingertips, her teeth bared in a vicious grin. Dylan pressed a trembling hand to her chest, trying to still its frantic beating. The child’s snarls filled her ears, and she closed her eyes for a brief second. “To hell with this town. I’m out of here.”
Jamming her foot on the gas, she roared away, leaving the zombie child stumbling along in her wake. Three more figures joined it, all trying their best to catch her, but she soon left them behind. Even they were no match for the speed of a car.
Dylan lit another cigarette to calm her shattered nerves, sucking on the filter until her hands stopped shaking. The countryside flashed by her windows, but she paid little heed to it. Her brain kept circling the little girl. Around every zombie she’d seen so far. Soon, she’d be one of them unless she killed herself before she turned.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. As the virus progressed, so did the symptoms. While it started as mild flu, it quickly changed into something far worse as the tissues in the body began to bleed at random. The veins blackened until it resembled a road map beneath the skin. Your eyes darkened until they became pitch black and psychotic episodes presented in even the most mild-mannered of people. Many reported increased hunger too. A craving for meat that turned cannibalistic in the end. And what about Frankie? What if she’s one of them? Could I kill her? Shoot her like the zombie at the supermarket? No!
“That’s enough!” With a shudder, Dylan shook her head to rid it of its morbid thoughts. When the time came, she’d do what had to be done. She was strong. A survivor.
Minutes later, she climbed onto the 29 and headed toward Edinburg. It wasn’t far, and she’d reach it soon enough. Behind her, Springfield continued its slow collapse into anarchy. A blanket of smoke covered the city as key installations burned, either through the actions of looters or an accident. Though it had never felt like home, it was still a shame that so much history was being lost: The Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum, the Lincoln Monument and home…all of it gone.
Just outside of Rochester, a crude cardboard sign announced that fuel was available at the next stop. Dylan eyed the board with mistrust before pulling up to the gas station, wary of a trap.
The place was ancient. Weathered and peeling. A single pump stood in front of the shop with its shuttered windows. She parked next to it and hesitated, one hand resting on her gun. Before she could get out, an old man carrying a shotgun walked through the door and strode over.
He gave her the once-over before nodding. “Looking for gas?”
“Yes, Sir,” Dylan replied.
“Got something to trade?”
“You won’t take cash?” she asked, thumbing the last few hundred dollar bills she carried in her pocket.
“Cash is of no use to me, Miss,” he said.
After a moment’s hesitation, she opened her door and climbed out, taking care to hide her bite mark from him. “I’ve got food in the trunk. I’ll give you half of it for a full tank.”
“Show me first.”
She unlocked the back and revealed the supplies she’d grabbed at the supermarket. They haggled over the contents for a few minutes with Dylan insisting on keeping the water. “You must have some stored away.”
“Yeah, alright. Keep the water,” he relented at last before carting away his share of the food. After he filled her tank, he shook her hand and stood back. “Be careful, Miss. The world’s a dangerous place now.”
“It always was,” she replied, before driving off in a cloud of dust.
Edinburg was next, but she passed through without mishap by sticking to the quieter roads. The population in this part of the country was sparse, consisting mostly of tiny villages, a definite boon in these awful times. A lot of people had fled their homes too, heading toward one of the many quarantine zones set up by the government. She hadn’t bothered. Her trust in the authorities didn’t stretch very far, and she imagined the safe zones closely resembled concentration camps. “No, thank you. Not for me.”
She found herself enjoying the drive, the quiet roads, and the countryside. It was a definite improvement over her dingy little apartment and the chaos of Springfield. Not long after Edinburg, she rolled into Sharpsburg. It, too, was quiet. The streets deserted and empty. Luckily, she still remembered where Frankie lived and found the house without too much trouble.
It was a typical suburban home, tucked away in a quiet cul de sac and fronted by a fenced garden. The eaves were painted green, the walls white, and the driveway
