Zombie Revolution Page 3

  Damon shifted the truck into drive and rolled forward. He locked it into four wheel drive before steering it into the median. He did not want to chance getting stuck. When he came to the Civic blocking his path he eased up to it. The Civic’s body crunched under the pressure of the steel bumper when Damon stepped on the gas. The Civic was moved from Damon’s path with ease. After he passed the Civic, he continued to drive down the median. There were so many cars…soon… there were so many zombies. They were filed in long lines around the abandoned cars much like they were waiting in line to get on an amusement park ride. They came from everywhere. A wave of terror rolled off the crowd of undead and hit Damon in the chest. He could feel his heart thump wildly. It became hard to breathe. Damon had to resist the urge to slam his foot on the gas pedal and try to outrun them. He would not make it very far he told himself. There was too much debris in the road. It would only take one sharp piece of metal to blow his tire, and then he would be shit out luck on a zombie infested highway. He forced himself to be calm. Breathe. He had to survive.

  After a few bumpy miles, Damon was able to steer his Silverado back onto the cracked pavement. The highway opened up in front of him. Towering pine trees lined each side of the road. The sky was bright blue with fluffy clouds painted on the endless horizon. The sun was hot on Damon’s sweaty skin. The view almost serene, but he knew better. Every now and again he could see a dark silhouette amongst the green needles of the pines. Even though he knew the truth, he allowed himself to enjoy the view. He even rolled down his window to let the summer air caress the stubble on his face. Out of habit he turned on the radio. Every station was static. Even the emergency broadcasts had stopped playing. He punched the CD button on the dash with his finger. It took a second for the music to fill the cab, but soon Damon was rocking out to Disturbed. The speakers bumped with every beat to “Get Down With the Sickness.” How fitting. Damon turned up the volume and sang right along, bobbing his head with the music.

  Nearly an hour passed, and his Disturbed CD was about finished when he looked at his gas gauge. The needle was hovering over the red line. Damon checked all his mirrors for any unwanted visitors. He noticed his facial hair was getting longer. He had dark circles under his eyes that were not there before. His eyes were wild and strange to him. They were darker. They were no longer the color of mahogany but that of Mississippi mud. He took his eyes off the mirror and looked at the road ahead and behind. After he convinced himself the coast was clear, he allowed the Chevy to roll to a stop. He did not bother pulling over onto the shoulder…the only other traffic was wrecked cars on the old highway. Damon hopped out of the cab. His eyes squinted in the bright daylight. It was going to take a while to get use to that. He quickly made his way around the truck, grabbed the heavy gas can out of the bed and ran back around to the other side. His muscles rippled as he hefted the can over the side. Damon could feel his step quicken the longer he was out of the cab, and a sense of urgency building in his chest. The extreme vulnerability of his current position made his body vibrate.

  Just as he finished dumping the contents of the can into the gas tank, he heard SNAP…followed by a loud spine-tingling moan. Damon nearly jumped out of his skin. He knew what it was before he whipped around to confront it. He was staring at what use to be a businessman. The zombie stood about ten feet from him dressed in a black and white pinned striped suit. The jacket hung off his right shoulder revealing a tattered white shirt stained in blood. He reached for Damon with two mangled hands. He looked as though he had been hit by a car. His neck was twisted around and the bones bulged under the skin. Thankfully, it was a slow one tripping on uncoordinated feet. Damon bolted; throwing the gas can in the truck bed as he jumped into the cab. The zombie banged against the truck. His loud moans filled Damon’s ears. Damon turned the key, and the engine roared to life. His booted foot hit the gas pedal. The truck’s tires barked with the sudden surge of power throwing the businessman in circles off the truck. The zombie went to the ground and struggled to get up to chase its meal, but it was already disappearing into the sunny horizon.

  “That was close…” He muttered to the steering wheel. His voice was scratchy and gruff. He reached behind the seat and grabbed a jug of water. After a few big swallows he returned it to its place and focused on the road ahead. The CD changed from Disturbed to a mix of country music his wife had come up with. Damon felt a soft pain in his chest, but he let the music calm his nerves. He could not believe he let a zombie sneak up on him like that. If it had not been for that single twig the zombie stepped on, things could have been a lot different. I will be ready next time.

  Damon saw a gas station billboard on his right. LAST STATION TILL THE INTERSTATE it read. He thought to himself that he better stop to refill the tanks in the bed. Even top off the truck’s tank too, if time permitted. The thought of stopping again unnerved him a bit. He was still rattled from the last zombie encounter. The gas station soon appeared on his right, and Damon steered the truck off the pavement and onto a gravel parking lot. It looked like it was abandoned long before the zombies came. The main building was in desperate need of repair. The wood siding was chipped and cracked revealing bare gray wood underneath. The GAS sign was hanging by a single rusty cable. The other must have snapped due to the elements or lack of maintenance. It squeaked with every gust of wind, which made a very eerie noise. Glass littered the dust covered ground from the broken front window.

  This is where scary movies are made . Damon thought as he rolled up next to the old style gas pump. It did not even have the pay at the pump option. He could only hope there was even gas left. He pulled on some leather gloves that were under his seat to cover his flesh. It was one less chance of getting bit. At least he hoped the zombies couldn’t bit through the leather. He was not taking any more chances. Damon grabbed the machete from the passenger seat and tucked the pistol in his belt then looked 360 degrees around the truck to check his surroundings. Somewhat comfortable, Damon slid out of the cab. He left the keys in the ignition just in case he needed to make a quick getaway. He got the two cans from the bed and set them on the gravel. He tried the pump…nothing. Damon tried again, but after a second he remembered that a worker had to flip the switch in order to turn the pump on.

  Damon crept across the gravel as lightly as possible, but the gravel still crunched softly under his weight. Every step was careful, calculated. He did not want to alert any zombies that may be shuffling around the ramshackle shanty of a gas station. The afternoon sun cast Damon’s shadow across the gravel only to disappear as he crossed the threshold into the building. His eyes took a few tension filled seconds to adjust to the light. Damon’s chest clenched. The gas station was a mess on the inside. Practically all of the shelves were toppled scattering what little was left on them across the dirt covered floor. There was no movement of air in the building making it very stuffy. The humid air was another set of clothes on the mechanic. His chest heaved. It was as silent as a tomb the only sound was that of his heart beating. Damon’s dark eyes scanned the area for danger, but it was not what Damon saw that made him more uneasy…it was the smell. Something was rotting…or someone. Damon did not waste any time. He climbed over the glass counter containing various types of lottery tickets and searched for the fuel switches. Damon ran his rough calloused hand along the underside of the counter. He felt the panic button that was used for a robbery but no gas switch. Damon turned his back to the front counter to search the back one. His fingers passed over a plastic switch hidden under the edge of the counter. Damon flipped it and prayed it would work.

  He sighed, letting his shoulders relax, but it did not last long. There was a loud crash from the back of the store. It felt like a thousand tiny spikes stuck into his skin at once from the startling sound, and he looked up to see an Indian man struggling to get up. He had stumbled over the heavy metal shelving units that were tipped over onto the floor. His knees were locked with death as he stumbled forward towards the counter, tripping over mor
e debris. It groaned when it hit the ground with another loud crash. The thing that Damon figured to be the store owner let out a moan that made Damon’s skin crawl. Through the dim light he could see that half of the zombie’s face had been torn away. The skin that once covered his jaw hung in tatters under his chin like a fleshy bib. One eye was missing from the yellowish socket. The zombie was propped on its knees trying to get its legs to work properly. The thing was bent in an unnatural backbend. Damon came out from around the counter using the zombie’s current position to his advantage. Damon’s hand went to his pistol but froze. The sound of the shot would definitely bring other zombies around. He let go of the pistol and held the machete with both hands. Damon lunged at the zombie gripping the machete like a broad sword. Damon swung the blade down with every ounce of his power. The sharp blade sliced through the zombie’s neck. The head hit the laminate floor with a thud. Its blank milky eyes stared up at him. Damon stood motionless, not letting go of the machete. His hands squeezed the hilt until his knuckles were white. There was so much adrenaline coursing through his veins that his hand started to shake. Convinced the zombie was dead, Damon relaxed, letting his arms drop to his sides and his shoulders sag. The prickling sensation in his limps dissipated. Suddenly, Damon felt drained. He trudged out of the gas station through the broken window avoiding the thick zombie blood pooling on the floor.

  Damon took the gas nozzle from the holder and started to fill the empty tanks. The gas fumes entered his nose. He smiled. It works. Damon finished one tank and moved on the other while keeping an eye out for more trouble. He looked over the bed of his Silverado to the wheat fields across the highway. There were dark spots dotted across the golden field. They resembled scarecrows, but Damon knew the spots were not something as harmless as a haystuffed jogging suit. More were coming. He finished filling the tanks and quickly put what he could into the tank of his truck. They were getting closer, much too close for comfort. His ears perked up when he heard the moans. Above the chorus was the vicious growl of a fast mover. Damon shut the gas cap and darted for the driver’s door. He jumped in the cab. They were crawling up the ditch when Damon tore out of the parking lot kicking up dust and gravel. They disappeared in a thick cloud.

  Chapter 6

  The truck hummed down the highway. Once more Damon shook out his nerves and sank into the cloth seat. The bumps on his skin faded. He veered the truck to the left and merged onto the interstate. He turned off the stereo, his brain needed a break. He watched the scenery pass by. The golden fields continued on for an eternity. Damon dodged more cars in the road like he was playing one of his son’s video games.

  Minutes of driving turned into hours of driving. Damon could feel his eyelids start to sag. He slapped his cheek to keep himself awake to no avail. His tired mahogany eyes stared out the windshield at the sunset. The picturesque sky was painted with orange, yellow, purple and green. The large glowing orange orb hung halfway below the horizon. His eyes sagged and his head bobbed forward. Damon jerked his head up causing the truck to swerve onto the shoulder. He had to sleep. Damon saw the Welcome to Oklahoma sign. He had not seen any zombies since the gas station, and he was not near any towns that he knew of. He pulled off the road. The rumble strips vibrated his seat when he made his way onto the shoulder. He felt for the latch to recline the seat, and laid his seat back to get comfortable. He checked the cab once over to make sure the windows were up and the doors were locked. Damon maneuvered in his chair for a second rolling a little onto his right just like he did at home in his own bed. As soon as he closed his tired eyes he was asleep. The sun disappeared below the endless plains in a brilliant display of color leaving the glittering moon rays to glimmer down through the windshield casting a blue tint over Damon’s stressed face. His eyelids twitched as he dreamed.

  ___________________________________________________ He was in the middle of the ocean laying on the bow of a pearly white sailboat. The sun peeked over the horizon shining in Damon’s eyes. He turned over onto his stomach and let the sun warm his back. Damon relaxed as the waves rocked the sailboat from side to side. “This is the life…” He whispered to the breeze. The waves splashed against the hull as Damon lounged. While the swells grew in size, the boat rocked harder. Damon suddenly felt the sun disappear. A cold shiver ran through him, and the hairs on his arms stood up. The waves tossed the sailboat from side to side. Harder and harder the boat was rocked. The boat threatened to capsize because the waves were so strong. Damon sat upright.

  __________________________________________________ Damon opened his mahogany eyes to find that he was not in the middle of the ocean on a sailboat being rocked by waves, but in his truck, that WAS being rocked from side to side. Waves of zombies pressed their dead bodies up against the truck. Damon was staring in the faces of hundreds of rotting corpses that had completely surrounded his truck. Some had even crawled into the bed of the truck and were thumping on the back window. He swallowed a cry of terror even though his brain was screaming ‘Oh shit I’m gonna die!’ He worked his fingers around the keys in the ignition. A big male zombie with matted brown hair was smashing his face against the glass of the passenger window with all that he had. He turned the key just as the window shattered The Silverado’s 320 horses sprang to life, when Damon’s foot slammed onto the gas pedal. He heard the zombie’s arm snap. Countless zombies fell under the truck as the bumper mowed over them with crunching force. Damon could feel the thuds and bumps under his tires.

  Soon Damon was out of the mob and back on the interstate, but he still had a few problems…three to be exact…and they were in the bed of his truck. Two of the zombies were male. They were both dressed in shorts and T-shirts, and both looked like they had been beaten to death. The other zombie was an elderly lady whose right arm had been ripped off at the elbow. The bloody stub reached for the flesh inside the truck. Damon jerked the steering wheel hard to the right and then left to cause the truck to wobble. The tallest male zombie went over the side smashing his face on the pavement, leaving a gory trail as his body tumbled over itself repeatedly.

  One down…two to go. He tried to jerk the wheel again, but the zombies were just tossed to the floor of the bed. Damon regained control of the truck. He had to think…think…think…It was hard to form a coherent thought when he could hear hungry moans not six inches from his head. The zombies were getting to their feet. This time Damon hit the brakes with both feet. The tires screeched to a halt, the truck sliding to the side sending Damon nearly into the steering wheel. He could smell the smoke from his tires. Thank God I remembered to wear my seatbelt. The zombies flew forward into the back window. There was a hard thud. Damon hit the gas leaving black marks on the pavement sending the two remaining unwanted hitchhikers toppling over the tailgate with flailing arms.

  Damon drove for a long time in silence. His brain was swimming from his near death experience. He was definitely having more of these since leaving the safety of his home. His heart was still beating in his throat. He felt like he was going to throw up. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. More hours passed by without any problems. His body finally returned to normal around noon. He passed signs for Oklahoma City and Tulsa as he drove.

  He stopped only to relieve himself and to put gas in the truck, which was as fast as a NASCAR pit crew. Around 2:00 PM, Damon reached the Kansas border. His mind was on autopilot. He felt like a drone. His eyes flicked left and right staying on guard. His body automatically did that now. He was always ready for something now. The scenery had not changed much from Oklahoma to Kansas. The flat open land allowed Damon to see miles each way. He was a black dot in the middle of endless nothingness. God it was lonely out here. He didn’t know what was worse being home or out here. As he passed an exit to the small town of Willa, he saw a truck stop and then the golden arches. It was the international symbol for fast food. Damon had to fight the urge to stop off and grab a Big Mac, but he knew there would not be anyone there to make him one. The only thing t
hat would be waiting for him would be a rotten burger and a horde of hungry zombies.

  Damon sighed and forged on. More of the interstate disappeared behind him. His thoughts lingered to what would be waiting for him in Colorado. He prayed his brother was still alive, and he would not just find another burned out city and more zombies. He had already completed half of his journey. His thoughts were interrupted by a massive road block in front of him. An eighteen wheeler was overturned in the middle of the interstate. The guard rail that lined the median was still intact. The cars that had been following behind the semi did not have time to react. A chain reaction of accidents caused a mess of twisted metal to completely block his way.

  The Silverado rolled to a stop, the setting sun made the onyx paint gleam like a new. It was a sharp contrast to the devastation that lay before him. Damon sat there staring at the cars trying to decide what he should do. There was no chance his truck was going to push that mess out of the way. A mangled body lay near the median. Its insides had been ripped out leaving a bloody cavity. From between the wrecked cars came the dead. A zombie that had only bloody stubs for legs, crawled over the hood of a blue Prius. It reached for the truck. Damon still was a safe distance from the zombies, but he had to think. It would not take long for other zombies to show up. A small group had formed in front of the truck. Damon could hear them. The moans made his skin crawl and sent shivers down his back. An elderly man with a walker led the charge. Even in death the old man would not let go of his walker. A tennis ball fell off the walker as the zombie neared the steel bumper. Instead of feeling the fear, Damon laughed. There was something about the crowd of stumbling dead led by a zombie with a walker. Now that is something you don’t see every day. Damon thought it was hysterical.