Bowie V. Ibarra (19 page)

After an hour of negotiating the stalled traffic, they found Red’s storage facility. The gate certainly was secure. There only seemed to be one or two creatures wandering around inside the facility.

Red entered his pass code. The gate opened. They drove in.

Several creatures entered before the gate closed, but they were no immediate threat.

They drove down several aisles of storage units until they got to the larger ones, where Alex stopped by number 1213.

“This is it,” said Alex, turning to George. “Thanks for your help, my friend.”

“No. Thank you,” said George.

Red and Alex exited the truck. George and Alex guarded the sides of the storage aisle. No real threats. Only two zombies appeared, at a distance, on Alex’s side.

Red unlocked the unit and opened the garage-style door.

The truck stood. Silent. Ready. It looked just like George imagined.

Red entered, fired it up, let it idle for a moment, then called for Alex.

Red put down the two zombies on his side and walked to George.

“It was nice knowing you,” said Alex, shaking George’s hand.

“You too, Alex. Best of luck. Be safe.”

Alex saw the scratch on George’s hand. Alex looked at George.

“Take it easy, okay?” said Alex as he got into the big truck.

George moved to the driver-side door of the Hummer as Red pulled the truck out of the storage unit.

“You want me to lock it?” asked George.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Red. “If someone wants to go through all the trouble of looting my storage bin, then they can have at it.”

“Drive safe. I’ll follow you out,” said George.

“Alright. God Bless you, my friend,” said Red.

George sat in the driver’s seat and put his hands on the wheel.

He looked at the scratch again. It was showing signs of infection.

George followed the large vehicle out the gate and onto the highway.

The two trucks separated. George waved to the other truck as he turned onto 90, which, thankfully, didn’t look anywhere near as bad as the loop.

RAIN BEGAN TO pour gently over the land.

On the way to Castroville, George saw two FEMA checkpoints that had been abandoned. Stacks of nonfunctioning creatures lay beside it.

Castroville was a mess. Buildings burned. Wrecked cars. Dead bodies. Slowly, he worked his way through the city. Creatures emerged from cars and buildings and tried to pursue the humvee. He continued to drive.

His scratch became very sore. George began to feel very warm. Sweat was forming across his brow.

The gentle rain continued, renewing life for the spring flowers along the side of the road. Bluebonnets blossomed. Indian paint-brushes grew.

Hondo was secured by locals. He thought people were staring at him as he drove past. His scratch was swollen. Puss was covering the sore. He was very hot. Sweat was pouring over his body. He looked into the rearview mirror. His beautiful brown skin tone was slowly turning pale.

D’Hanis was another Castroville, with leveled buildings and bodies all around. Smoke was still floating into the sky from several fires around the small town.

George pulled over on the side of the road in the middle of town. He had drank three whole bottles of water and needed to relieve himself. He put the humvee in park and exited the vehicle.

When he finished zipping up, he turned back to the vehicle to find three creatures staggering around the side. Unfortunately for George, his gun was in the Hummer and he felt too sick to take on the zombies without it.

“Fuck,” he said aloud, turning to run.

Creatures were coming out of the small stores and houses beside the highway, slowly chasing after George. He was feeling a lot slower, as if his body just wasn’t responding to the urgency of his commands. His joints and muscles were aching.

George ran to a black car that sat in the middle of the road, the only one that was still on all fours and not totaled.

To his astonishment, it was a Cavalier.

The door was open. The seat a bloody mess.

The keys were still in the ignition. It was a standard transmission.

George turned the key in the ignition as the creatures closed in. The engine started, and George tried to shift to first. It stalled.

Creatures began to bang against the driver side and passenger side glass.

George turned the key and tried it again.

The engine started.

George shifted to first. The car sputtered, but caught. He was on his way again. He tried to switch to second, but it took several attempts as he grinded the gears searching for it.

He realized then that he was losing his coordination.

The rain stopped, leaving the roads slick and wet.

Sabinal was secured by the locals. George was allowed in.

People were staring again.

His body was aching. His fever dropped and George was beginning to feel cold.

He looked at himself in the rearview mirror. His face had begun to sink. Dark patches were forming under his eyes.

He pulled into a convenience store for more food and water.

As he walked into the store the clerk pulled out her weapon. George yelped and pleaded, “I’m just here for some water, please. I just want water.” His voice was slurred. “I have money. There’s money here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out several hundred dollar bills. Puss and blood dripped on the money. He placed it on the counter.

“I’m going to San Uvalde. Is San Uvalde alive?”

The clerk stared at George and responded, “If you mean secured, yeah, they’re secured.” The clerk lowered her weapon, though didn’t put it away.

Hope shimmered again in George’s dying heart. “Thank you,” he said, walking to the refrigerated doors.

He pulled open a door and grabbed three bottles of V-8, two sports drinks, a Coke bottle and two bottles of water. He dropped a V-8 bottle on the floor and started to walk out.

“Thank you, sirma’am. Have a happiness,” he said. He grabbed some chips and Twinkies on the way out as well.

George exited the store and stumbled back to his vehicle.

Knippa was totally abandoned. Very few cars were on the highway now, wrecked or otherwise.

George looked in the mirror. His eyes were turning yellow. His face was sunken even more, his skin pale.

He coughed. Blood and goo entered his mouth. He spit the slime on the passenger side floorboard.

He exited Knippa.

He passed the San Uvalde city limit sign. Population 14,279.

George was trying to stay on the road. He tried to keep his eyes open. His body was in pain, but he had no energy to scream in agony. Turning the wheel and keeping control of the vehicle was near impossible now. He was driving in second gear, winding it out on several occasions. San Uvalde was in the distance. His home, on the outskirts of town, was just minutes away now.

But George closed his eyes.

His foot came off the gas.

The car stalled out as it veered off on the right side of the road and into a hill on the other side of the ditch. George’s face smashed into the windshield; his left arm was caught in the steering wheel. It broke at the elbow.

A large sign stood in front of the hill before the wrecked vehicle, and in large green letters proudly proclaimed: “Welcome to San Uvalde!”

GEORGE OPENED HIS eyes. His vision was very cloudy. He wiped his blood from his face. He was in a lot of pain. He looked at his left arm, which dangled by his side, broken. He let out an audible moan, a vocal release of his pain. Blood dripped from his mouth as two teeth fell to the floorboard.

It took a moment for George to figure out how to get out of the vehicle, but he did. He fell to the ground.

An anthill nearby began to attack his left hand. George decided to ignore their stings and the pain it was causing him and cry out again. It was another awkward vocalization.

George looked down the road and saw a city. He began to shuffle in the direction of the city. There was a place he needed to be, but he couldn’t remember where or why anymore.

George was off the road now and in the brush alongside. Every part of his body ached. It was an effort to move.

A small bird running across the highway into the brush attracted his attention. He pursued the bird. Tree branches and sharp bushes scraped at his face and body.

A small rabbit approached George. It sniffed at his foot as George grabbed it swiftly with his right hand.

George brought the rabbit to his mouth and bit into its neck. The animal’s feet kicked as George swallowed and took another bite. The creature stopped moving. George devoured it. Blood caked around his mouth and covered his Alamo souvenir shirt.

The sun had gone up and down several times when George found a clearing that looked familiar. It was a neighborhood. It looked all but abandoned except for one house, which had lights on. George approached.

A feeling that George was unfamiliar with began to fill his body. It could be called happiness, but George didn’t know what that was anymore. All he knew is that it made his lips turn upward. He coughed up some blood, but wiped his mouth again as he approached the yard of the strangely familiar house.

Another feeling came to his body. Something that could be called a memory, but George didn’t know what that was anymore. He could almost see a small boy playing ‘barbarians’ in the front yard with sticks with his friends. He saw a small boy standing next to a tall man. It’s like they were taking something that could be called a picture, but George didn’t know what that was anymore. The man and the boy embraced each other. Both seemed to be dressed up for something. But George couldn’t reach far enough into his mind anymore to know who anyone was or what it meant.

But he felt something pull him to the front door. A big red door made of strong wood.

He stepped on the concrete front porch.

A child, sporting a backpack and the same thing on his face that George had which stretched his lips upward, was standing on the porch and waiting. A woman embraced the child, the corners of her mouth turned upwards as well.

George reached for them, but they weren’t there. Somehow, he wanted that same embrace.

And now, the door. That was there. Right in front of him. His lips were stretching upwards.

George knocked on the door, flesh from his knuckles breaking open on the hard wood. He winced.

A woman opened the door. George seemed to have a pleasant feeling about the woman, but he couldn’t reach far enough into his mind anymore to know who she was.

George reached forward. He tried to vocalize something like, “Mom,” but it came out as a guttural growl.

The woman screamed and covered her mouth.

A slender bearded man moved the woman aside and stood in front of George. He had a long, black object in his hand. Some portions of the object were brown.

“Get back everybody,” the slender bearded man said.

George continued to reach forward at the man. He tried to vocalize something like, “Tio,” but it came out more of a gurgling sound than anything else.

The last thing he experienced was a sudden hot blast emanating from the end of the long, black object.

His head burst into pieces.

His body fell to the porch.