After exiting to head north under the highway, she took back streets through residential neighborhoods toward her parents’ house six blocks north of Cache Road. Three blocks from the house, groups of people stood near the street or milled aimlessly in large numbers in the mostly neatly mowed front yards. Several moved slowly with their arms extended and glassy, vacant stares on their faces toward her faded, beat-up Malibu. Several people had their mouths hanging open like baby birds chirping to be fed. Most had ripped clothing and large areas where blood covered portions of their bodies. Her first thought was, what the hell happened to them, was there an explosion? Her benevolent instinct was to stop and help. As she touched the brake pedal, she watched a young man run toward her from a house on her left; he waved franticly at her as he tried to zigzag between several of the Holocaust survivor looking people, but one snagged him and dragged him to the ground. Others quickly dropped to the ground and clawed at him and chewed flesh on his arms, legs, and torso in a feeding frenzy. Then fear abounded, and her primal survival instinct took over. She cranked her driver’s side window up as a barrier against the evil around her. As she watched the young man’s demise amid his struggles and nerve-racking screams, she mumbled, “Holy shit, it’s real. Those customers at the store knew what they were talking about.” Still more joined the attack until the man wasn’t visible.
She jumped and gasped when a male monster slapped its palm against the glass near her head and groaned pitifully. Its bloodshot eyes stared blankly as bloody, pink slobbers dripped from its maw. The zombie’s claw-like fingers scratched at the glass inches from her head. Frightened out of her mind, she floored the gas pedal and pushed the tired six-cylinder engine to speed away and leave the frightening apparition behind. The engine coughed but slowly increased speed. She leaned across the bench seat while driving with her left hand and rolled the passenger window up as she sped off weaving down the street. As she straightened, she jerked the steering wheel to the right to barely avoid sideswiping a car parked next to the curb.
She had to warn her parents and younger sister. A dark though entered her mind, but she instantly buried it. No, they’d be safe, they had to be. Please God, let them be all right; she couldn’t face the evil danger alone.
Undead monsters on both sides of the street stumbled toward the roadway to intercept her. The car weaved left and right through the stumbling dead obstacle course as she fled to escape. Running fifty MPH down the residential street, she approached her parent’s house. She cried out as her foot left the gas pedal and the car coasted. Her family stood in their front yard like bloody, broken vagrants until they and other neighbors she’d known since early childhood saw the approaching car. Her family had changed. They were no longer the caring people she respected and loved. The crowd staggered en masse in unsteady lurches to intercept her. She was too late. She wanted to help her loved ones but knew she couldn’t. Tears welled in her eyes as she accepted they were all lost. She wanted to stop and take them with her but knew they would have wanted her to escape alive. She threw them a kiss as tears welled and dribbled down her cheeks. The horror of the scene was slowly seeping into her brain. She’d have to dismiss this last image of them from her memory and retain thoughts of pleasant, joyous times. Three of the undead stood in the street near the corner directly in front of her. She hoped there was room to shoot between two of them without wrecking her car. At forty MPH, a loud thump told her she misjudged the distance. The right front fender hit fat, old Mrs. Rinaldi and slung the body to the side in one sickening thud that jolted the car. She finally noticed there was no other vehicle traffic on the streets; she was alone among bodies that refused to rest peacefully in a graveyard.
In a confused rush she sped northeast toward her apartment. Tears blurred her vision and she wiped at them with the backs of her hands. After two blocks the undead were absent from view. Up and down her street, a few neighbors she didn’t know rushed from cars to houses and back again. The car slid to a stop in her driveway, and the engine died as she jammed the gearshift to park. She couldn’t get the mental picture of Carol and her parents out of her mind. Their loss left her all alone and with no one to turn to. Nervous and afraid, she fumbled her backpack and dropped her keys at the entrance before the door was unlocked, then flung open. She flew through the three-room efficiency apartment grabbing clothes, makeup, and snack food. Hastily she jammed the items haphazardly in cloth shopping bags. In a daze, she held a photo of her and her parents and three siblings; it was the last item she claimed. A sudden urge to check on her older siblings caused her to stop and sit on a wood chair in the kitchen. She found their numbers in her contacts list and punched Crystal’s number. It rang a bunch of time before she left a message. The same lack of a
