Swarm (Dead Ends) (7 page)

After doing a solid job of blocking the hole in the window with various display racks, sleeping bags, and a large gun safe that was on display near the entry of the store, Ricky had returned and we all found ourselves in a bit of a heated argument about whether to stay here in the store and endure an unending supply of anxious and increasingly violent looters or to set out on the road to try and find out more about what was really going on. We’d gone back and forth for some time debating the key points. Predictability versus uncertainty. Relative safety versus unknown danger. Hypothetical scenarios. It all became too much. I forcefully took control of the conversation.

“Ok” I said, pausing until I had everyone’s full attention, “in terms of safety, I don’t have a damn clue if it’s better to keep moving or hunker down. But in terms of sanity, moving is the best option. That way we can focus on what’s next instead of waiting around to die while our imaginations turn us into nervous wrecks.”

Ricky nodded, “the longer we stay put, the quicker we fall apart.”

“Exactly” I said, nodding towards Ricky. “The way I see it? It comes down to fear versus hopelessness. If we stay here, each day will blend into the next and before we know it, all hope of going back to normal will be lost. And without hope, we may as well just lie down and die. But out there we can keep moving, looking for the next thing,
surviving
instead of waiting for the end. Sure we’ll be scared but fear keeps you on your toes.” I wasn’t sure where that sudden burst of wisdom originated from but it seemed to get everyone on my side so I decided not to question it too thoroughly.

As I stood there arguing a point that I only half believed in, a tinge of guilt nipped at the back of my neck as a part of me wanted all of them to want to stay so I could go off by myself, the way I was usually accustomed to handling any kind of stressful situation. I was never very good in groups. Most introverts aren’t. We tend to be casual observers of the world around us rather than active participants so sticking up for others is not one of my strong points. But seeing the way everyone was now looking at me, I knew taking off on my own wasn’t an option. My little speech had them all looking to me for answers. The de facto leader. It was clear to me that they wanted to be told what to do. Fear had destroyed their ability to make decisions but following orders they could handle. It didn’t require thinking, just doing. So basically they get the easy job and I’m left with all the responsibility. I can’t help but think this is payback for being a flake most of my life.

If only they knew that their new “leader” standing in front of them was the same guy who turned down being captain of his bowling team for fear that it would be too much work. If I couldn’t handle filling out a few forms down at the local Booze N Bowl, how was I supposed to manage keeping three other people from being eaten alive? It’s probably better that I’m the only one who seems to know just how fucked we all are. I still feel like I should’ve listened to my gut and gotten out of here at the first chance. It always seems to backfire when I try to be someone I’m not; like the universe’s way of telling me that it’s ok to just be myself, no matter what amount of perceived flaws I may possess. It was too late to back out now. These weren’t just random faces anymore. I knew these people and I sincerely wanted them to be ok, though I wasn’t quite sure I could protect them the way they seemed to think I could.

It wasn’t long before a plan had been made. We would pack up as much food and supplies as possible, find a SUV in the parking lot that was old enough for Ricky to be able to hotwire, and head for the coast, away from any major population centers. All we could do then was hope for the best. I planned on savoring what could be my last night sleeping in relative comfort. Tomorrow, with fresh minds and legs, we would set off on a journey filled with hope but most likely predetermined to fail.

Chapter 7

We managed to find an older model Jeep Cherokee with a tow package, its once beautiful red paint job now succumbing to the elements or perhaps the fact that it hadn’t been washed since it first rolled off the assembly line. Ricky stocked the back full of food and bathroom related camping gear – propane, camp stove, toilet paper, chemical toilet, freeze-dried meals, Swiss Army knives with a built-in spork and plastic toothpick, and as much water, soda, and beef jerky as we could manage to fit while still maintaining a clear sight line in all directions. I tied camping equipment to the top of the rig – sleeping bags, tents of varying sizes, fire starter logs, and some waterproof camouflage coats and pants just in case. We would place the three crossbows along with arrows and several machetes within reaching distance inside the Jeep just in case we got into trouble. The rest of the perishable food rested in a cooler that would sit under Zoe’s feet. We didn’t know how long any of this would take but we wanted to be prepared for as much as we could so the food in the cooler would be eaten first before any of the other supplies. It would be Zoe’s job to hand out food to anyone who needed it, a job she was looking forward to and one that I hoped would take her mind off of everything else.

As I hooked the last bungee cord into the roof rack and looked out across the parking lot to my trusty old car, now sporting a little less metal than normal, it was hard to believe that just a few days ago my biggest worries were how to make my boss think I was working, whether to buy a stout or pale ale at the store after work, or which video game to play when I got home. Lately I had been in a bit of retro phase with my video games partly because money was tight and I couldn’t afford 50 or 60 dollars for a new game but also because I always miss out on a lot of good games because I buy one or two and play them to death until the disc just finally gives up and stops working. Being a
completionist
was the only way I knew how to be. I wasn’t finished with a game until every last nook and cranny was discovered, every last achievement attained, every castle beaten, every dungeon explored. Video games were the only thing that I wasn’t too lazy to actually finish. I was halfway through Sly Cooper, a Playstation 2 platformer with a cartoonish emphasis on stealth that had somehow never gotten my attention when it first came out over 10 years ago. Now I was obsessed with its addicting play mechanics and the fact that it actually told you how much of the game you had completed – an OCD gamer’s wet dream. It didn’t hurt that its simplistic difficulty level allowed for a certain degree of inebriation without adversely affecting game play. It was designed for 12-year olds after all. With everything that was going on, all I could wonder is if I would ever have the chance to finish that game, enjoy a beer, or watch 5 hours straight of Man vs. Wild if I so pleased. An overwhelming feeling rising from my gut told me not to hold out too much hope for that.

I took one last glimpse of my car before climbing off the roof of our newer, safer, and more versatile means of transportation. I thought of all of the great times I had in that car – the drug-fueled road trip to The Gorge to watch a still-relevant Dave Matthews Band with a girl whose name I can’t even remember, a steamy backseat grope-fest with a girl I went to high school with who wouldn’t have given me the time of day back then, last minute day-trips to Vancouver B.C. to frequent one of their not-so-secret Amsterdam-style weed cafés, and the dent in the hood from the black bear at Yellowstone who wasn’t very pleased with my friend waving cheeseburgers behind the invisible wall known as my windshield. It was a piece of crap but it was my piece of crap and I would miss it dearly. Just as my feet hit pavement again I remembered the credit card I had seen under my seat and the heap of ill-gotten merchandise most likely sitting in my trunk. I figured it couldn’t hurt to see if there was anything useful in there. If nothing else, I could at least examine the evidence of what I’m certain would prove to be the last drug-induced escapade I would ever embark on. I took a machete and asked Jane if she wanted to come with me, making sure Ricky kept an eye on Zoe while we were gone.

We walked slowly and methodically to the car making sure to keep one eye on the perimeter and another eye on the random automobile debris strewn throughout the parking lot, no doubt hiding dead and undead bodies alike amongst its many unseen peaks and valleys. A large SUV – the kind with off-road capabilities whose tires had probably never touched dirt making it more like a really expensive minivan – sat sideways, the oddly polished driveshaft reflecting the early morning sunlight into our faces. The warmth, even with its blinding light was welcome. We both instinctually lifted our chins towards the sky in an attempt to increase the surface area with which to absorb the rays. Like a flower celebrating the arrival of spring. A typical reaction for lifelong residents of the Pacific Northwest. I glanced into the windows of this once-moving artifact of American overconsumption and instantly wished I hadn’t. A middle-aged woman sat buckled tightly into her seat, a victim of what looked like a severe head wound as her vehicle came to what was probably an abrupt stop, resting with the driver’s side planted firmly into the concrete. As we came closer Jane pointed out a series of bites on the woman’s neck that looked like they could’ve been from a small dog. We both simultaneously scanned the area around our feet, hoping not to find an insatiably hungry lapdog for which Alpo just wouldn’t do. Luckily, there was nothing and we both shared the slightest little chuckle at what apparently would now pass as humor in the midst of an apocalypse.

“What the hell could’ve made those bite marks?” I asked. “I mean, they’re
tiny
.”

Jane was thinking now; really trying to come up with an explanation. She seemed like one of those people who didn’t give up until she had made sense of the situation. She looked in the back seat and found the answer to our question.

“Oh, Jesus,” she whispered. She was slowly backing away as if looking for a chair or wall or something that could hold her weight while the gravity of what she had just seen had a chance to sink in. “Well, there’s your answer” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

I looked in the back to see two car seats. One was empty while the other contained a toddler – two years old or so based on its size – with the same size bite marks as mommy. I squinted to get a better look when the one-time occupant of the empty car seat slammed into the windshield, lazily biting at us, a meal it would never be able to enjoy. From its size, the two children looked to be twins. It was so covered with blood that it was hard to tell whether it was male or female. It reached for us, its bloody hands knocking into the windshield to reveal fingers that had been gnawed and eaten all the way to the bone; a clear indication that the whole
undead
thing didn’t come with any instruction manual. The “terrible twos” – that age that every parent dreads but dutifully suffers through – now had a new poster child. The child looked away quickly, its wavering attention span seemingly unchanged in the transition from toddler to terror. It focused its attention once again on mommy, settling on the immediacy of yesterday’s news instead of the work involved to even have a crack at the late breaking headlines. It plunged its face into her breasts, perhaps a bit of muscle memory holding on strong even in death. I could almost see the indecisiveness in its eyes as it pondered rooting around for mother’s milk or chewing its way through her spleen; each action exerting a pull on its undead psyche as it struggled to learn the rules of this new way of getting fed. The slowly shrinking angel on one shoulder quickly gave way to the undead devil on the other as it plunged its face into mommy’s right cheek with the same gusto as it probably had diving into a birthday cake a year earlier. I couldn’t seem to make myself look away.

“Soooo…. Where ya’ from originally?” Jane’s attempt at humor snapped me out of my slack-jawed stupor. She was now walking away from the vehicle, her eyes urging me to do the same.

“Shouldn’t we…” my voice trailed off as I gestured towards the SUV, a Price is Right model moment of fruitlessly pointing out the obvious.

“No, we should not.” Her voice was tinged with conviction as if this were a point that she would not waver on. “It’s not going to get out of there anyway and I’m already going to be having nightmares, so…” she gestured towards my car. It was early in the morning but she’d clearly met her daily quota for things she’ll never be able to un-see. Seeing as how I was about as enthused as she was at the thought of plunging an arrow through a two-year old’s face, I gladly focused my attention back on my car and the trunk, no doubt holding a grab bag full of drug-fueled excess in its spacious confines.

The walk was slow, quiet but by no means peaceful. I have a feeling serenity will be in short supply for the foreseeable future. Each quiet moment from now on would most likely be spent trying to process the things we’ve seen and avoid thinking about the things we haven’t.

“Sea-Tac, by the way.” The silence was too much for me to handle.

“What?”

“I grew up in Sea-Tac” I responded, blankly staring off into the distance.

“Oh, you mean like the airport?”

“Sort of. More like the crappy city that surrounds the airport and acts as a receptacle for jet fuel and a sounding chamber for the massive 747’s that seem to take off every 30 seconds.”

“Wow. Sounds luxurious”

“Yeah, it is. If your idea of
luxurious
involves constantly rattling windows, out-of-towners asking for directions on a daily basis, and an increased risk of every kind of cancer and human ailment known to man. On the plus side, the schools were horrible so I didn’t really have to try that hard.”

“Sounds amazing. You probably had a lot more to do though compared to where I grew up.”

“Oh yeah? So you grew up in the Yukon Territory then?” I smiled.

“I wish. No I grew up in a town called Vader. No Joke. The only reason it even exists is because it was a stop for the Northern Pacific Railway back in the early 1900’s.”

“Yeah, I see the sign for that on I-5 every time I drive to Portland. I always wanted to live there just for the geek cred.”