Zocopalypse (Death Fields 1)

4 Weeks Ago

Somehow, despite the heat, rain, fires and increasing waves of Eater’s, we make it out of the city. It took four days and we narrowly make it into the fifth, assessing the final bridge out of town. That’s when we spot them. Not the military or even the Eaters but a group of survivors on the road like us. Or rather under the road, they’d camped out under the bridge. We watch from behind one of the 18-wheelers parked behind a factory jutting up to the wide creek.

They’d created some sort of makeshift fort, using road barricades and fencing. The bridge itself fortifying the backside. The early evening light is waning and our options for shelter are slim. Even running out of choices I’m not sure we want to hunker down with an unfamiliar group.

“I knew we should have stayed at that last building,” Paul declares. He’d tagged along with us right when we left the apartment the other day. Bags packed and waiting at the back door, declaring he’d like to go with us to the edge of town, then he’d split off on his own and head toward his family. I wasn’t sure at first, but he was helpful—a good shot. Little fear. He knew his way around this part of town way better than Mom or me. But he doesn’t like making decisions and even I can tell withdrawal from information and the internet is getting to him.

I shook my head. “It was too big. There’s no way we could have confirmed it was clear. I mean, I’m not sure it would have been safe before the end of the world.”

My mother nods, coughing into her sleeve. The fires started two days ago, bringing explosions and dusty, smoke-filled air. It had become increasingly clear we needed to leave the city as soon as possible. There were too many people, living and almost dead. Too much military personnel and too much danger.

“What do we do then?” Paul asks.

I look around and see nothing but empty parking lots and trucks. The bridge is too exposed and going under it…I glance once more at the group underneath. In the firelight I can see mostly men, but there are women too. A couple of kids. Their voices echo off the cement supports.

“They could be nice?” Mom suggests. She wants to be around other people. Unfortunately, she hasn’t quite grasped what is going on here. It’s not that she’s dumb. Or even naïve. She’s just in denial. Her delusion is thick. Fortunately, I’m paranoid to the extreme and other people make me nervous.

“Too risky,” I finally say, the only one willing to make a decision. “Do you think we can get in one of these?”

“The truck?” Mom asks.

“Yeah. We can sleep in the cab. It’s high off the ground. We can lock the doors and see anything—or anyone—coming our way.”

Quietly we comb the rows, trying each door. I’m about to give up when I hear a small cry from my mother. I grab my hatchet and race to the tractor-trailer but she’s three feet in the air, standing on the platform with the door open with a wide smile on her face.

We climb up, handing our bags off to the person at the top. Paul comes in last. Over the last several days he’s become a friend. Probably the only thing keeping Mom and me from losing it with one another. The cab is large with a fairly clean area behind the seats and big enough to spread out a sleeping bag.

Paul goes back, his sticky, sweaty scent assaulting my nose. It’s not like I can talk. We all stink. It’s been days since we’ve had a real shower. The last time was at the apartment complex.

“Anything good back there?” I ask him, locking the doors. Mom is already leaning against the seat, her eyes drooping. Sleeping anywhere at any time is her gift, along with rationalizing almost anything. The second worked better in our old life. Survival didn’t take time to rationalize so instead she slept. A lot.

I peer over the massive steering wheel to get a look out the front. The window is covered with a thick layer of dust and grime, keeping out the fading light, but also protecting us from being seen from the outside. For the first time all day I feel a slight sense of safety, like we’ve burrowed into a small cave.

“A bottle of water but…” He shuffles around some. “It’s already been opened. There’s a bag of chips, some cans of Diet Coke and.” He leans between the seats, shoving something forward. It’s a bottle of brown liquid. “We can get drunk.”

“Thanks but no thanks.”

“There’s a bottle of 24-Hour Energy Booster.” The pills clink around in the container. God, I could use some energy boost but not that kind. The kind that comes from a solid meal and three days of sleep. The aches in my body scream the minute I ease into the leather seat. My feet throb and sharp pains shoot up my shins. It’s like the half-marathon my Cross Country team ran together during junior year. The closer I got to the end, the more I had to run. My body wanted to shut down. My legs ached. Fatigue set in. I pushed through it though. My coach thought it was great. I knew I had no choice if I didn’t want to crawl to the finish line. Surviving out here feels the same.

Don’t stop. Never stop.

But at some point you have to and this truck is as good as anything else. “You hungry?” I say to them both.

“Eh,” Paul replies. Mom shakes her head—ready to pass out, but he takes out three granola bars anyway and gives shoves one into my mom’s hand. “Sarah, you’re eating.”

I take a bite and fight off a grimace. Nothing tastes good anymore.

“So tomorrow we cross that bridge, don’t you think?” I ask.

Paul nods. “Daylight?”

“Just before, maybe. I don’t really want to alert that group below that we’re here.”

“Good idea. Hopefully the people underneath will

be asleep. From there we can cut down the rural side roads. It will be the safest way to the lake.”

Mom and I had told Paul all of our plans. How we were on our way to Georgia. How my sister should be waiting for us. How my father told us what to do. He had questions. We didn’t have many answers, but after my mom fell asleep on the second night I told him about Liza and Matt. He told me about his own family and how he hoped they were still alive.