They gathered in the far end of the parking lot. It wasmostly empty except for a few forgotten cars waiting like puppies sittingoutside of a store for their owners to come home. He doubted their owners wouldever see their cars again. Most of the cars either belonged to people who hadabandoned them or to people who had gone to work and never made it back. Theparking lot abutted against a MAX station, Portland's light rail system thatspread throughout all parts of the city. This was their target. This was theirticket out of town.
They had argued heatedly about plans, escape routes, allsorts of things on the rooftop. Many people had wanted to go along with Rudy'splan of escaping through the mall. In the end, they decided that they didn'tknow what awaited them the mall's windowless walls. All the doors could belocked or all the stores might still have their shutters down, which would makethe place useless for their needs anyway. In the end, there were simply toomany unknowns, so they had gone with Lou's plan.
The MAX ran throughout the city, on tracks that followedstreets for the most part. But there were also pockets where the MAX made itsown route, the tracks delving through tunnels or speeding through channelsthrough which only it was meant to travel. The highways were screwed; they hadall learned that at the Coliseum. Portland was a deathtrap as far astransportation was concerned. Highways were stuck in a perpetual state ofgridlock, the cars dead in their tracks, having been abandoned by theirdrivers, or in many cases, having had their drivers pulled right out of thevehicles. The highways were tombs, rivers of the walking dead penned in byconcrete barriers and stalled semi-trucks. They were not where you wanted tobe.
So they had chosen the MAX tracks. There would be somehairy moments; on that they all agreed. There was no way of getting aroundthat. Any movement through the city would be dangerous, but they had to get outand away from the burning buildings, the desperate humans, and the dead. Oncethey had decided follow the MAX tracks, they had argued over which direction togo.
Some wanted to head south, perhaps down to Salem, whichwas a much smaller city than Portland. Chloe was hopeful that her family hadsurvived there. Some wanted to head east to break out of the city and get intothe gorge. Some wanted to head North, to get across the river into the lesspopulated southern part of Washington, but the only way to get across theColumbia river, a wide expanse of dark blue water, was to swim, grab a boat oruse the I-5 bridge... and even then they still had to punch their way throughthe city of Vancouver. No one really considered that option. So, they were leftheading west, into the suburbs of the city. There was only one river to cross,and then they would have a climb up and over the ridge of hills that separatedPortland from its outlying towns.
After that, it would be a long easy hike to the beachalong country roads, and perhaps they could use the highway once they gotfurther away from the city. From the theater to the end of civilization, it wasonly twenty miles. But twenty miles was more like a thousand these days. Itwouldn't be easy, but it was doable, and once they escaped from the suburbs,the walking would be easier, and they could make their way to the coast wherethe population was less dense and supplies and resources would be more readilyavailable. The ocean always provides.
These were all the things that they had talked about...but talking and doing were too completely different things. So far, they hadgone 200 feet, used up a good portion of their ammo, and some of them werealready huffing and puffing from the exertion, their bodies fueled only by thesimple sugars in candy. It turns out sitting and eating candy for a couple ofdays wasn't as conducive to high tension escapes from the dead as one wouldthink.
They jogged across the parking lot. They were all there,some covered in blood, some fumbling in their pockets for more ammo to reloadtheir guns. But the same look was on each one of their faces. It was a look ofrelief. They had made it out of the theater. They had escaped, and now theywere on the run. It felt good to Blake. It was scary as shit, something hewould never admit to anyone else, but it still felt good. He pulled some roundsfrom his pocket and loaded up his rifle, readying it for the next time it wouldbe needed.
****
Mort wiped the blood off of his hammer using the shirt ofa dead body in the middle of the road. He had clonked more than a few of themdead things in the skull with his hammer, and many of them had gone downpermanently. His gun was useless for him outside of a certain range, which was aboutten feet. Even then, he had to stand still and concentrate to make sure he hitwhat he was aiming at. It would have to be the hammer for him.
Sweat poured off of his brow. It wasn't hot out, but itwas hot enough, and they were all breathing heavy. When they had broken throughthe crowd at the front of the theater and made it to the other side of the wallof the dead, he had wanted to jump with elation, but he was simply too tired.The arm holding the hammer hung down at his side. He was tempted to tuck thehandle of the hammer into his jeans, but he wanted it ready, just in casesomething came up.
Right now, visibility was excellent. As they stepped ontothe first rail of the train tracks, they could see a good distance away. Thetrick would be moving during the day, and staying
