Chapter 30

Outbreak - Day 6

Stanley, Idaho

 

Dan travelled without the benefit of headlights to show the way. Twenty miles an hour was as fast as he dared go in the total dark.

A few miles outside of town the reason for Stanley’s lack of electricity was evident. Dan had to slow the Dodge to a crawl in order to slip by a tangle of downed power lines near a jumble of wrecked cars.

Movement in a compact Toyota caught Dan’s attention. He stopped Lizzie’s old car and got out to investigate. Dan used his tactical flashlight to fully illuminate the wreck. The driver’s glass was shattered, and the entire front of the vehicle was buried under the back bumper of a white Ford Excursion. It was a miracle that the accident didn’t culminate in a huge fireball. Maybe, Dan thought, the truck had run out of gas first.

The Toyota’s engine block had been pushed into the passenger compartment. Even though the zombie was pinned in the driver’s seat from the lap down, the infected female still thrashed about, reaching her chalky white arms through the shattered window in his direction.

Dan stayed out of the zombie’s reach and walked to the rear of the car. He wiped a portal in the road grime covering the rear window so he could safely look inside.

In a rear facing car seat, an infant arched its tiny body fighting against the restraints holding it down. Its dried lips silently opened and closed in anticipation of a meal. Slowly, the infected baby turned its head to face Dan, and stared him down with cold dead eyes. It was all too surreal; he still couldn’t believe the sight directly in front of him, even after his first encounter with the zombie in Stanley. He acted without thinking. As if on auto-pilot Dan put each of the creatures out of its misery with a bullet to the brain.

Hell has opened up, and the rapture has begun. Dan felt hot tears trickle down his cheeks as he holstered his pistol.

After his encounter with the undead mom and her infant, Dan was a changed man. He felt it was his duty, going forward, to put down as many of them as possible.

Dan arrived in Arco, Idaho before dawn. It looked like a slaughterhouse in the middle of town. Dead bodies littered the streets and many more walked them.

Dan had used all but one of his bullets mercifully killing the undead. The final round he was saving for his own exit plan. There was no way he was going to die at the hands of a demon and then return as one of them hungering for human flesh. Dan always told himself he was going out on his own terms, and he fully intended to honor that promise.

***

The back lot of the Food King grocery store was devoid of parked cars, and much to Dan’s relief there were none of the moaning zombies roaming around. Two eighteen-wheelers were backed up to the loading dock; it looked like the warehouse crew didn’t have time to unload the trailers before the shit hit the fan.

According to the article the illness had swept the nation with the infection rate surging exponentially day by day. Dan was hoping to avoid any more scenes like the two trapped in the car. If what he had seen so far was as widespread as the article suggested, he knew that wasn’t going to be possible.

It was a tight fit, but Dan managed to back the four door Dodge between the two big rigs. He left himself enough room to partially open the driver’s door so he could escape if he had to.

Dan found the cardboard dash protector that nearly every geriatric kept in their car; it was wedged under the front seat with a collapsible umbrella. It would keep out the light from the rising sun, but most importantly it would hide the inside of the car from the prying eyes of the dead. At last he felt safe enough to close his eyes. Ironically, the outside of the solar shield had the words, “HELP! CALL 911,” printed in big bold red letters, and it was facing outward.

***

Dan awoke with a start to something beating on the windshield; he was disoriented and wondered where the hell he was. It felt like he had closed his eyes for only a heartbeat. Suddenly he realized the predicament that he was in, wedged between two tractor trailers with the monsters from hell wanting in. “Dan. Dan. Dan,” he admonished himself. “Smooth move Ex-Lax, now what are you going to do?” The .45 caliber pistol, with the last remaining round in the chamber, was on his lap where he had left it. Hefting the weight of the gun in his right hand he realized that his knuckles were whitening and the grip’s checkerboard pattern was biting into his palm. He placed the barrel under his fully bearded chin. You’ve got a decision to make, he thought, coward’s way or...

The thing pounded on the windshield again, more forcefully this time. It sounded like there was a rock in its fucking cadaver hands.

“911... do you need Police, Fire or Medical?” The male voice was followed by loud guffaws which puzzled him further, because in his mind he was convinced that at least fifty of the flesh-eaters were waiting outside his General Motors-made coffin.

More forcefully this time, and minus the laughter the same voice shouted, “Take down the sun shade and keep your hands where we can see them.”

Dan pulled the cardboard down and immediately noticed the reason for the laughter. It was the writing on the other side that they were getting a kick out of. He didn’t possess the energy to laugh even if he had wanted to. Relief washed over the Vietnam veteran when he realized that at least a Company of American soldiers were in the parking lot.

Dan placed his pistol on the roof of the car, squeezed his frame from the vehicle and walked slowly, with his hands in the air, out of the steel canyon.

“Do you have any wounds or bites?” a soldier asked sternly.

“No sir,” Dan replied, his hands still reaching for the sky.

“With all due respect sir, we need you to completely disrobe.” It was an order, not a request.

Dan complied without forming any resentment. Every square inch of his body was thoroughly inspected by a latex glove-wearing medic. Two soldiers kept their rifles pointed in Dan’s general direction during the entire exam.

“Good to go sir,” the medic said to his superior. “Sorry,” he said under his breath, loud enough for only Dan to hear, “better safe than sorry.”

“Hook up the rigs. We’re Oscar Mike in ten.” The soldier in charge strode away without saying another word.

Dan addressed the combat medic, “Where are you all headed?”

“We’ve been shootin’ and scootin’ since Z day plus two. We were based outside of Seattle. Wow... I’m gonna miss Seattle... shit hit the fan fast. Anyway you’ll be riding in the Bradley with me.”

“I don’t have a choice?” Dan asked.

“No. And I’ll tell you why when we get underway. Besides, if you would’ve seen Seattle, Portland, and Boise you would be begging us to take you.” The soldier stared off into the distance and then reacquired eye contact with Dan. His eyes narrowed before he spoke, “You don’t want to be out there alone. We’ve been ordered to muster all hands and make way for Colorado Springs, ASAP. It’s the new Capital of the United States.”

Dan was dying to unload the burden he was carrying and spew everything he had witnessed in his hometown of Stanley, all of the atrocities, as well as the details relating to Sheriff Blanda’s horrific death. Bottom line, Ganz and his boys needed to pay. It was a long haul to Colorado. He was sure he would get his chance and hopefully all of his questions could be answered as well.

The two semi trucks joined the convoy of Humvees, Bradley fighting vehicles and eight wheeled Strykers from Fort Lewis. They had to push through Pocatello and continue to soldier onward to Colorado Springs.