Katiepressed on, weaving in and out of the dead who wandered the streets. Wherewere they all coming from? How many people had died in the night? Sheturned on the radio to clear her mind. She punched a button and tuned theDurango's radio to her favorite station, a pop station that played light,forgettable fare punctuated by obnoxious DJs who thought they were morehilarious than they actually were. There was nothing, just a hum. Katie punchedthe seek button on her car stereo and waited for it to find a differentstation. The first station that it stopped on was a station that she typicallyassociated with oldies, old white boys singing about girls and summer to theaccompaniment of guitars, bass, and drums. It was not her scene, but todaythere was something else on the radio. Instead of the usual thoughtless tunes,a recording was playing. She listened intently as the deep male voice droppedinformation in a loop that ran for a minute before playing over.
"Thisis a public service announcement. The city of Portland is under martial law.All citizens are requested to remain inside. If you have need of police, fire,or medical service dial 911. Do not, under any circumstances, leave your house.Stay in your home, barricade your doors and windows, and listen to the radiofor further updates. Citizens on the street are putting their lives at risk.Stay inside."
Themessage started again from the beginning. Stay inside... what a joke. There wasno way Katie was going back to her house to sit by herself, replaying the finalmoments of her family in a house that was now filled with nothing but memories.Lost in thought, she pulled into a gas station and threw the car into park.
Shedidn't know why she did it, but she sat in the car waiting, as if a gas stationattendant were going to come out at any moment and pump the gas for her. Shepressed the seek button again, and another station came on. This time, shefound a talk radio station. She didn't pay attention to the words as she lookedaround. The lights on the gas station's mini-mart were still on, and aroundher, creatures were moving. She could feel them closing in on her, their eyesdrawn to her movements.
Sheopened her door and stepped out of the car, lifting the lever that popped openthe little door to her gas tank. She stepped up to the pump and lifted it offof the hook. She unscrewed her gas cap and was greeted by the pungent odor ofgasoline. She pressed the yellow fuel selector button and breathed a brief sighof relief as she felt the magic liquid course through the hose, down thenozzle, and into her tank.
Katiekept her head on a swivel as the machine pumped, numbers ticking by and pumpingmechanisms clicking. Outside the quiet environment of her car, she could hearthe horror of Portland. In the distance, a fire crackled and there werescattered batches of gunfire. The moans of the dead filled the city and madeher skin crawl. She could see them, moving towards her, getting closer withevery second. She had never wanted a Prius more than at that moment, a niceelectric car that didn't need so much gasoline... she would have been out ofthere by now.
Thedoors to the gas station slid open, and an attendant came out, his blue work shirtcovered in his own blood. He was closer than she wanted him to be, so shepulled her gun free of her jacket. She thumbed the safety off, just as FredWalker had showed her, and she aimed the gun at the attendant, his pale facelocked in a scream. She didn't want to fire, not standing next to a gas pumpwhich was connected to who knew how many gallons of gasoline. What good wassurviving if you just blew your ass up at the first opportunity?
Whenshe reckoned that the man had gotten close enough, she pulled the nozzle out ofher car and placed it back on the hook for the next lucky customer. Afterscrewing the gas cap back on, she held the gun up to the attendant's head andpulled the trigger, hoping against hope that she wasn't giving herself a funeralby fireball.
Theman fell over, and the dead faces in the street, if they hadn't yet turned inher direction, had done so by now, drawn by the loud crack of the revolver thatleft Katie's ears ringing. She hurried inside the store and grabbed somenecessary supplies. Then she hustled over to her car door and hopped into thedriver's seat, slamming the door shut behind her. She turned the engine on andcruised away. That was simple, she thought.
Thevoices on the radio droned on in their librarian tones. It was a local program,and they were doing their duty. Despite the fact that they probably had familyin the city, they were sticking it out, behind their consoles, probablydreaming of some sort of glorious journalism award. How altruistic of them.
Aman with a deep voice proclaimed, "Everything is going to be alright. Themilitary is here, and things will be under control soon."
Hiscounterpart, a man with a nasally voice said, "Remember to stay off thestreets. If you absolutely must leave your home, head to the rescue station atthe Memorial Coliseum. The highways are locked up tight with stalled andabandoned vehicles. For now, there is no way out of the city, except by air orby boat."
Rescue...rescue was as good a proposition as any she had heard. She punched updirections to the Memorial Coliseum on the GPS sitting on her dashboard. It wasan underused birthday gift from her husband... her husband. Maybe they couldrescue her
