“Step out of the vehicle,” a man’s voice boomed.
Allison felt for her keys still seated in the ignition and turned. The old truck’s engine revved to life.
“Stop now!” screamed another man.
Allison jerked the gear shift into reverse and hit the gas, flying back away from the men with bright lights. The men advanced as Allison turned the wheel of the truck to the left, angling it toward the rest stop exit. The men charged the side of the truck as Allison moved the gear into drive and hit the gas. One man in all-black Collector garb grasped the passenger door handle and popped it open as Allison pushed the pedal to the floor. He lost his hold and tumbled to the ground. The door flung open and then slammed shut as Allison accelerated. She exited the rest area and glanced in her rearview mirror. The men scramble to get to their truck. She kept the old truck’s gas pedal to the floor. Her body trembled as she held the wheel with white knuckles. She kept her eyes locked on her rearview mirror in search of headlights, occasionally glancing out the windshield to see what was ahead of her. The road was empty, surrounded by black forest, framed by dreary skies. Who are those people? What do they want? Then the answer slammed into her like a sumo wrestler’s winning blow: Dr. Neff. It has to be Dr. Neff. Her cheeks glistened as tears flowed down them. Allison wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and kept driving.
Chapter Thirteen Allison
Allison awoke as daylight peeked through the trees, the sun barely above the ground. The small digital clock near her head chimed out and she hit the off button. She sat up and looked out the window. The forest was still. She listened at her cracked window to the music of birds. No engines, no people, just birds. She cautiously unlocked her door and popped it open. She froze, listening. Nothing but birds.
She climbed from her seat and began pulling off the branches that were covering the truck, dropping them to the ground. She then removed the camo tarp and went to clear a path for the truck to exit its hidden forest of solitude. It had been a tight squeeze getting the truck into the trees the night before. Allison sandwiched it in so tightly the passenger side door couldn’t be opened. This wasn’t an area made for vehicles, but thankfully Old Blue had made it in.
She pulled away the dead branches she’d used to hide the slight opening from the road. Her stomach grumbled as she worked. Allison pulled an apple from her bag. Apple Acre Farm and little Jake’s bloody arm shot to the front of her mind. He just wanted to give me an apple. She stared down at the red, shiny surface before tossing it into the woods and pulled out a thin protein bar instead. She munched on her breakfast as she finished her work, got back in the truck, and pulled onto the road, stomach still rumbling.
She drove a few miles before she saw the sign for the town she was looking for. It depicted a sun wearing glasses and a smile. “Welcome to Comfort, Population 6,000.” As soon as Allison drove into town, she knew she was in the right place. Everything seemed so familiar. Then she saw it, just as it had been in her flashback, sans the family and other Infected. Her heart pounded and her stomach turned, threatening to regurgitate the little sustenance it had received that morning.
A little white midsize car sat in the center of the road, the back driver’s side door open. Allison parked the truck next to the car and looked around to be sure no one else was near. She reloaded the pistol and placed it in her waistband before exiting the truck. She strolled around the car observing every dent, scuff, and blood smear. Allison ran her hand down the side of the car, wiping away a layer of dried blood and dirt. It had been sitting vacant awhile, but even the rain hadn’t been able to wash away all the traces of the tragedy. Allison glanced at her blood and dirt covered hand. Whose blood is it? The father? The mother? One of the children? She held back tears as she wiped her hand on her jeans.
She looked in the back seat through the open door. There were two child’s size duffle bags. One was bright green with “John” embroidered on it in yellow. The other was red with “James” in blue. John and James. Her mind raced back to the terrified faces of the children on top of the car. Her stomach twisted into a knot, and sweat beaded across her forehead.
Butterflies danced in her gut, flying up to her throat, making swallowing even saliva difficult. On the ground at the open door sat a stuffed penguin with blood-marred fur. Allison swallowed, but the butterflies kept coming.
She opened the driver-side door and sat in the seat, trying to imagine the fear the driver felt when they were surrounded. No one should die like this. She clenched the steering wheel, staring in the rearview mirror as she imagined the panicky children’s faces looking back at her. Her face drained of color as she heaved to the side, losing her protein bar all over the street and door. Allison wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before taking a drink from her canteen.
Was the mom or dad driving? Were they from this town or just passing through trying to flee from the hordes of Infected? Allison looked in the center console and found a cell phone decorated with a pink sparkly case.
“Phone on,” Allison said. Her glassy reflection looked back at her. She tried again, “Phone on.” Nothing. She double tapped the screen,
