Part IV – Desert of Abandon

“I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name” – America

I drove eastward as fast as I could through Arizona, New Mexico, and finally into the Texas panhandle. I figured she’d head back to Georgia the same way we came when we moved out west. Along the way I found trucks still standing upright and siphoned their fuel. I was getting low and figured they didn’t need it anymore anyway, so why not?

Amarillo was closing in and I needed a rest. I pulled off the highway into a truck stop that was curiously devoid of trucks. I didn’t like the feel of the place but needed supplies, so I grabbed my bat, a bag, and my newfound toys from Flagstaff and headed inside. The doors weren’t locked and the power had finally given out. The store was dark and smelled bad – like stale urine and old sweat. I knew that smell and backed out fast, but it was no good. Several of them had obviously caught the flash of daylight when I opened the door.

Three rushed out at me – two women and a man. They barreled through the doors at a full run. I drew the gun and fired at them, managing – despite my fear – to actually hit all three. They went down in a heap, but were still moving. One of the women started pushing herself back to her feet, and I shot her again – this time in the head. She didn’t move again. I holstered the gun, drew the machete, and moved in to dispatch the other two. That done, I returned to the task at hand. I needed water, badly.

I’ve said before I don’t know what the deal is with these…what? Are they still people? Zombies? Cannibals gone mad? I don’t know what to call them. I know they were infected with something – but what? Is it a bacteria? A virus? Some kind of parasite? Or is it manufactured? Some kind of weapon that escaped or was released?

I don’t know if they’re alive or dead. I know now that their blood turns to some kind of thick black viscous jelly that smells like death. I know their capillaries pop and they turn a mottled bluish grey color. I know their eyes turn yellowish and are bloodshot. They’re slow until they sense you, then they’re stupid fast. They’re quiet too. They don’t moan, they don’t yell, they don’t scream…until they have you in hand. That’s what really makes them dangerous. They’re just so quiet. I know it takes more than one shot to kill them – I started with a 9mm, and have…acquired…several other calibers of handgun along the way. I have a shotgun, which will bring them down with one shot of buckshot at close range, but I don’t like to shoot at all if I don’t have to. It’s the noise, you see. The noise will bring them down on you like a pack of wild dogs. I learned that lesson outside of Dallas. Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday.

Anyway – I do know the only way I’ve found to actually kill them is massive head trauma. A bullet – a bludgeon – truck at high speed – stab wound…you get the picture. If they die from other wounds I can’t say because I just don’t stick around long enough to find out. I’ve been careful with my ammo and managed to stock up on quite a bit anyway throughout my foray through north Texas.

I found lots of what I needed (lots of guns in Texas) but no more sign of my family. By this point I’d been on the road for a week. I had no idea what kind of vehicle they were in, but was still hopeful they’d stuck to the interstate. I lost a lot of time investigating pileups and otherwise abandoned vehicles. There was never any sign beyond the soda bottle and empty chip bag in Flagstaff though. I was getting desperate by now. Had they changed direction and gone north? Were they intercepted? Were they even still alive?

I’d been traveling nine days since I left Vegas and in all that time I hadn’t encountered anyone else. Well – anyone else who was uninfected, anyway. That was about to change, and I still shudder when I think about what happened there.

to be continued…