At seven forty, more than four and a half hours after arriving at the garage, Sam stood looking down the road in the direction of Charlie and Ilene’s house. They made their decision; now he had to accept it. He shook his head at the absurdity of it all, entered the truck, left the driveway and then was on his way north where he would turn west on Rt. 9.
He’d gradually drifted away from his high school and college friends; they derided his talk of the approaching zombies and treated his views as if he’d lost his mind. He’d tried to understand their reluctance to accept his news of happenings around the world; but they didn’t see it on the evening news, and none made the effort to chase the hard to locate websites he frequented. He wanted to warn them but soon grew tired, aggravated, and short tempered at their condescending and demeaning attitudes. He wondered if any of them would now remember his talk of impending doom and give him credit for trying to warn them. Probably not.
A half hour later, he stopped at a gas station in Carnegie and topped off the truck’s dual diesel fuel tanks. Two five gallon plastic fuel cans took fresh premium gasoline for the motorcycle, and four more cans were filled with diesel. Eight large bags of ice, a cold drink, and two hot beef and American cheese sandwiches completed his purchases before he dumped the ice in the coolers. Then he was back on the road. To save time he ate while he drove and pondered the day’s happenings while ignoring the disc music playing softly in the background.
Away from Carnegie JR’s fear ran rampant in the dark abyss ahead of her. Traffic on Route 9 was sparse compared to the number of cars she’d left on Route 62. Images of humans attacked by zombies flooded her mind and invoked terror she’d never dreamed possible. Everyone considered her tough, and here she was sniveling like a spanked three-year-old kid. She pushed the car too fast for visibility and squalled around curves in the dark with a single headlight beam guiding her. Her mind focused on what she’d seen instead of where she was. The horror wouldn’t leave her thoughts and totally consumed her. The radio announcer reminded her it was eight thirty-two and then played a fresh country western song. She glanced at the speedometer; it sat on eighty plus a bit.
She’d barely driven five minutes when a huge, full-grown, black bull lumbered onto the roadway right in front of her. It stood in the center of her lane and stared as if mesmerized by the approaching single light. JR stood on the brakes, and the car slowed perceptively as the tires squalled and front end nosed down. She jerked the steering wheel to the right, but the left front fender hit the rear quarter of the huge animal. The car bounced to the right, and the airbag exploded from the steering wheel into her face; white powder fogged the interior. Her car skidded off the road and plowed a trough along the bottom of the roadside drain ditch while the radio blared. The left side of her head hurt; moisture wetted her finger when she touched it. She didn’t remember her head banging against the trim above the window, but it must have. Both headlights were out, and the engine was dead. She tried in vain to restart it, but the battery was soon too weak to crank the engine. With the window down, she leaned out and saw under the dim glow of a quarter moon that the left front end was crumpled almost halfway back to the windshield. Setting in the dark with a disabled car, she cursed herself for being scared stupid, wrapped her arms around her torso, and cried.
Leaving Carnegie, Sam turned west and drove at 55 MPH. The evening temperature was still warm but much cooler than the heat of late afternoon. A beautiful, clear sky filled with bright, shining stars belied the atrocious events on Earth in Oklahoma. He kept the window glasses up for safety from roaming zombies. Traffic was surprisingly sparse. He thought more people would be using that route to escape the area. Perhaps most were still not aware of the danger or were in a muddle deciding what action to take or were busy making preparations to leave. After a few minutes, a pair of red taillights glowed dimly ahead and off the right side of the road. He glanced at the clock, it was eight thirty-eight as he slowed for the wreck, turned the c/d off, lowered the window several inches, and heard a bull bellowing loudly and mournfully. He flipped the headlights to high beams and saw a mutilated and crippled bull blocking the edge of the left lane and the shoulder.
In the distance a woman crawled out the driver’s side window of a green car at least fifty feet ahead in the drainage ditch. She waved her arms furiously for him to stop. She climbed the grassy slope to stand near the edge of the pavement. The bull was attempting to crawl using its front legs to pull its mangled rear half. Sam was amazed it was still alive. A blood trail showed it dragged itself from the middle of the right lane onto the far shoulder. Sam turned the emergency flashers on and stopped in his lane but halfway on the shoulder. The ghostly female form stood in front of his hood as he got out. His first move
