We raced past a few abandoned cars as we moved rapidly toward the next exit. Young Oliver kept looking out the back window, watching to see if anything was following. "Relax" I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. "They can't run this fast." He didn't seem convinced, and stared skeptically into the fading distance. A green sign on the side of the road said "Baker Street, 1 mile" and I pointed over to it. "Almost there." I said, breathing a sigh of relief. Baker street was an industrial park, abandoned long ago by years of economic decline. While the area's infrastructure was certainly not as maintained as the other parts of town, it was practically abandoned except for the few people driving through it to the get to their homes on the north side. The odds of running into a pack of zombies was even less in this area, and I allowed myself a moment of relaxation.
Oliver turned around, apparently satisfied that we had put enough distance between the monsters that had just attempted to accost us. "That was close" he said. It was odd hearing such an adult tone and phrase coming out of such a young boy. I looked out at the sun, now rising high into the sky. It was warm and comforting. The air was quiet, and only the noise of the engine and the wind through the window echoed in our ears. "Thanks again for your help," I said sincerely. "You were really brave." I looked over at him. He was holding his hammer tightly, staring at the blackened blood caked over the rusty steel. A thick gelatinous drip oozed off the end, teasing us as though it would drop, but hanging on relentlessly. It reminded me of the monster's hands, grabbing, clawing, refusing to let go. I shuddered but noticed he wasn't bothered at all. He touched the little ball of goo on the end of the hammer's claw and watched it wiggle from side to side. He seemed so complacent, so comfortable with something completely horrifying. The sides of my face itched, and I reached up to scratch my ear and felt a sharp pain, reminding me of the bloody hands gripping my skulls, pulling out my hairs. I could still smell the stench of their rotting breath, the sound of their moans as they pulled with all their might.
"You're getting pretty good with that hammer" I mentioned, attempting to force the images from my head. He smiled and looked down at it, rubbing the wooden handle with tender care. I could already see a bond forming between man and weapon. I wondered if similar bonds were formed between knights during medieval days and their swords.
Down the road we could see mist peeling off the freeway as the cool morning temperatures evaporated into the sky. As we approached the exit we saw a few more abandoned vehicles parked, many of them pulled off to the side of the road as if their owners had purposely pulled aside. As we got near we saw a man standing in front of an SUV, staring at the engine but looking lost. He looked up as we pulled alongside, and I could see the nervous but hopeful look of desperation cross he face. Inside the vehicle was a woman and several small children. I thought of how the doctor had referred to the virus as being airborne, but attacking the genetic code of the right sort of people. This was the first time we'd seen more than one survivor, but it made sense. Entire families could be saved simply based on their genetic similarities.
Looking through the broken glass of the passenger side window I smiled at the man. "Looks like you're having a little car trouble. Would you like me to call AAA?" His nervousness was immediately erased and he smiled. "I wish" he said. "I think my alternator is bad. I can't get it started. I thought it was the battery but when I tried jumping it with the battery from that car over there but it didn't work." I looked over at a small sedan on the opposite side of the freeway. It's hood and doors were all open. "I'm no mechanic and I think finding the right part for that vehicle is going to be a challenge. When our car died we just found a new one with the keys inside. There's plenty of those around." I paused a moment, looking back at the children in the car. Lowering my voice I gave the man a serious look. "You guys know what's going on right?" His jovial smile immediately erased from his face and he nodded solemnly. I could tell he he'd already seen some horrible things. "Are you guys okay?' I asked. He nodded, thumbing toward the SUV. "Yeah, kids are hungry but no one's been injured."
"We've got some food." Oliver immediately chimed in. "Plenty of it." The man smiled and looked at me. I could tell he didn't want to impose, but that he really needed help. "Oliver's right." I said, putting the truck in park and turning off the engine. "Let's get you guys set up."
Oliver stood on the back wheel and eagerly pulled the tarp off one corner of the truck bed. He reached into a cardboard box and pulled out two MREs, passing them to the man who smiled and nodded gratefully. "Thanks" he said, and his eyes looked at them hungrily. He turned and passed them through the window to his family inside. "Here you are girls." Two young girls, about Oliver's age, eagerly grabbed the packets and attempted to rip open their hard plastic coverings. Unsuccessful and frustrated, they passed them to their mother who cut the tops off with a short kitchen knife. The man smiled as his little ones ate happily, and then turned back toward us. Looking into the box expectantly he asked with a little quiver in his voice "I don't suppose you could spare one more?" He asked humbly. "For my wife?" The woman in the car stared at us, hiding in the shadows of the car liked a scared animal. She looked haggard and worn, as though she had missed too many meals even before all this happened. Oliver looked down at the big box of MREs. There had to be at least 30 meals left. Without asking permission he pulled the entire box up and struggled to lift it over the edge. The man stepped forward to help, stabilizing the side of the box. "Here" Oliver said generously. "Take them all. You guys need them more than we do." The man hesitated, and I could see the slightest glimmer of a tear in his eye. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper. Oliver was beaming, a huge smile splitting his face. I nodded. "If course we are." I replied. We have plenty. That should take care of you guys long enough to get to where you are going. Do you need help finding a new vehicle?" He shook his head. "We'll get it figured out. You've done enough already. He turned to hand the box to his wife who hungrily grasped its edges and pulled in in through the open window.
Looking back at me he gratefully nodded. "You have an amazing son." he said to me. I was about to explain when Oliver interrupted. "He's not my Dad. My parents turned into zombies." he said frankly. "They tried to eat me, but my Grandpa hit Dad in the head with a crowbar, and pulled mom off me before she could bite me. He's dead too though. Mom got him." The man looked at Oliver, jaw open, his face turning a sallow shade of pale green. He looked back at his family in the car but didn't say anything. Oliver climbed into the cab of the truck and sat quietly, waiting for me. I smiled weakly, wondering how to break the awkward silence. "Take good care of them." I said, nodding toward the girls in the car. He nodded back, staring at his feet. I'm sure he was wondering if he would do the same thing to his family.
I climbed into the truck and started the engine. Pulling away, I glanced over at Oliver. He was holding his hammer again. "You okay?" I asked. He nodded, not saying anything. "Giving them that food was really generous Oliver." I said, looking forward to the road ahead. "Your family would be proud." I looked over at him and saw a tear run down his dirty face, dripping onto the head of the hammer.
You know how it ends. Now read how it begins...
