For a second, she felt like royalty, parading through thestreets while her adoring fans lined the avenue. This must be what pro athletesfelt when they drove down a street after winning a championship. Only, thethings on the other side of the fence weren't so much fans of her as they werefans of eating her flesh. She felt a brief impulse to wave at them, but shedidn't think it was right to do so.
Despite the fact that the faces and bodies mashed upagainst the fence were dead, she still thought of them as people, even whenthey had to be killed, there was still a part of her that felt sorry. Shewondered if, in some twisted way, she was breaking her Hippocratic oath. Theone line that kept coming back to her was, "Above all, I must not playGod." Such a strange thing to be included in an oath for people who wereinterested in helping others.
It was understandable though. The many doctors andsurgeons she had met over the years had tended towards being largelynarcissistic and in love with their own abilities, a bunch of know-it-alls whomade damn sure that you knew they knew it all. Such people, left to their owndevices, invariably began to see themselves as existing in a permanent state of"above," above the law, above the rules of man, above the conceits oftheir own warped minds. But now, here she was, playing at God... decidingwhether to let these pitiful creatures live or die.
Some scientists might claim that the living dead weresick. Others would say that when they reanimated, they, in fact, stopped beinghuman at all. The truth was that Joan didn't have enough proof either way.Dead, alive, human, not human... it all came down to survival. Fuck theHippocratic oath. What good would she be doing if she just let one of thosedamn things chomp on her the first time she encountered one due to some archaicoath that people only took because of tradition, not because of any belief inthe words they said? Hippocratic oath. What a fucking laugh.
As the tracks began to descend, another tunnel loomedahead of them. It was a short tunnel, and they could see daylight on the otherside. The tracks ahead were still mercifully clear. Joan knew this place. Itwas the Sunset Transit Center. It was still technically part of Portland, butit was so far out, that most people considered it part of Beaverton, the suburbthat was closest in on Portland's southwestern border.
A long set of stairs would lead them upwards here, ifthey so wished. Above them would be a couple of small kiosks that servedpre-made pastries and coffee... if anyone were still alive. Past that would bea three-level garage, probably still filled with cars waiting for their ownersto appear and take them home. It wasn't likely to happen.
"We should go up here," Joan said.
"Are you sure?" Lou asked.
"Yeah, if we keep following these tracks, we'regoing to have to go through the heart of Beaverton. Up there is a parkinggarage. We might be able to find a car and get it working. Traffic might be alittle better out here on the outskirts of the town. If we have to go throughthe middle of Beaverton, you're likely to have to walk through a whole citythat's like that highway over there... only without the fences to keep themheld back."
"Sounds good to me," Mort said.
"Me too," Katie added.
They nodded their heads. It was settled. They climbed upon the concrete platform, and headed up the north set of stairs. Joan couldfeel the burn in her calves by the time they reached the top of the long stairwell.
To their left the Java Station sat, closed and shuttered.It would have been nice to have gotten some coffee there, even if it was the"shittiest coffee ever" as she had written on her yelp review thatone week she had taken public transportation to the hospital because her carwas in the shop. Those metal shutters would be like a dinner bell to the deadonce they started banging on them to try and pry them open.
"You think they got any cigarettes in there?"Clara asked.
"I wouldn't bet on it," Joan said.
"Fuck the cigarettes," Mort said. "Theygot any food?"
Joan didn't say anything to that as her own stomachgrumbled at her. The parking garage spread out before them. It was dark, butthey could still see as they stepped into the bottom floor of the garage.
"Should we see if any of these will work?" Louasked. "There don't appear to be many of those things around."
It was true, there were only a couple of drifting shadowsin the parking garage, already honing in on their position. But they couldhandle one or two. If all they ever had to face was one or two of those things,they would easily be able to make it from here to the beach.
Joan whispered the word "careful" to Mort as hemoved to intercept one of the shadows. The clunk of hammer upon skull wasfamiliar and comforting by this time, and one of the shadows dropped to theground, never to get up again.
"Anyone know how to hotwire a car?" Lou asked.
Joan knew the answer before everyone shook their head. IfLou didn't know how to hotwire a car, then none of them did.
"Alright, stick together, we'll check the doors, seeif they have any keys stashed away. It's the fucking suburbs. Lots of trustingdumbasses out here," Lou said.
"Hey, I used to live out here," Joan said.
Lou just shrugged his shoulders as he attempted to openthe door of a black SUV. No luck. They moved down the rows, tugging on doorhandles. The first car they found that had an unlocked door was a white stationwagon. With
