We didn’t know the name of the town. It had long been trampled and shredded by the filthy mass of survivors. We all called it Last Resort. It was the last town not infected. The military made sure to keep it that way. Once you were in, you felt safe, you felt like things could go back to the way they were. Almost. Helicopters circled all hours. We were all forced to stay in the hotel. No one was allowed to visit or live in the outlying homes from the downtown area. It was a coastal town somewhere in Florida. Parents would walk their children along the beach looking for sea glass and shells. When body parts started washing up on shore, the military forbid going to the beach. Still if you sat on the roof of what was once Taylors Tourist Trap you could watch the sunrise with the snipers and it was beautiful. They put us to work. I was a cashier at the grocery store. We didn’t use money though, not really. It was more bartering, sometimes just donations. It gave you something to do, kept your hands busy, kept your mind occupied. I was grateful for it. The military stocked our stores and the people of the town would trade for what they wanted or needed. Sometimes people wouldn’t trade and that was okay. We even had a tiny 2-plex that showed old movies. That was where my sister worked. You could leave anytime, just don’t expect to be welcomed back, not without a more rigorous inspection than before. We were canaries in a mine shaft. It was only a matter of time.
In the beginning everyday brought a cattle car of new refugees. Some we heard the gunshots go off as they were “put down” with infected. The ones who flooded in had horror story upon horror story. Some went crazy. We watched them wail and shake and eventually drown themselves in the water before the beaches were off limits. I think the military saw it as a way of thinning out the herd, no one tried to help these people. More food for us, right? Newcomers slowed to a trickle as the months passed the last few who made it needed medical attention.
It was my little sister, me and my friend Kelly who survived and made it to Last Resort. Our journey wasn’t easy, but no one’s was. We started in Seattle. My little sister was visiting from Hawai’i; my husband was visiting family in Boston. Kelly and I realized quick what was happening, from the first flustered announcement on TV. We hastily packed and went down the street to the supermarket, stocked up on non perishable items, some fruit, veggies and lots of water. The infection hadn’t quite gotten to us yet. We filled up my tank and several additional 5-gallon jugs of gas and headed southeast. From what we could tell on the radio the infection started in Reno, Nevada. The people closest to Reno regained the most function after exposure. They were the most dangerous. As the virus spread the people who were infected furthest from the initial site were slower, easier to deal with. The West coast was off limits for us, too close to the clever infected.
Nene, my little sister was freaking out. She went through stages, denial, anger, total breakdown. We did our best to calm her, but she had a hard time. There was no stopping for or checking on loved ones. We drove through Yellowstone, taking the widest route around Reno. When we made it down to Texas, we noticed the infected were few and far between the heat dried them out. But one good rain could bring them back.
That was where we met Bubba. He was a biker type we rescued from some ashy infected. They were easy to overcome but Bubba was weak, dehydrated, tired. We shared our supplies. We restocked as much as possible whenever we came across a gas station that wasn’t shutdown or locked up we had a strict protocol. Most times we’d need to turn on the pumps, which meant checking for the infected inside the small food-mart. Nene got blood on her hands and as that soon became the norm, she adjusted surprisingly well. She almost became a commando leader. She was really good at mapping out how to go through a gas station for supplies. A tactical, guerilla guru. On rare occasions, we’d venture into supermarkets. They were big and harder to navigate and flush out the infected.
We were usually pretty well stocked, lots of gas, water and food. Safety and cautiousness kept us alive and well fed. We had a very good system. One was always in the car and the two went to flush out the area. We were extremely careful and moved slowly. Never rush. The infected became more sluggish, slow and docile as long roads stretched away from Reno. We nursed Bubba back from dehydration. He was grateful, which was a tad surprising for us, he seemed like such a badass. Too cool for help. But the outbreak changed everyone. People abandoned their faith or renewed it too viciously, abandoned their families, went from hermits to socialites, from human beings to rats. Bubba was a big help he knew the roads through the barren wasteland of Texas. We avoided major cities.
“Where are we headed?” Bubba asked one day shortly after his rescue.
“Last Resort,” Kelly stated.
“Is that like an actual resort?” He guffawed. I drove mostly, rarely talked. We were all pretty silent after leaving Seattle. We only talked tactics. We didn’t want to dwell on things.
“It’s an outpost the government set up for survivors. It’s on the east coast of northern Florida they said we should follow road signs for Jacksonville then head south.” My voice sounded mechanical, like I rehearsed the speech over and over in my head, just in case. “It’s the only transmission they’re broadcasting on the radios. Directions.”
I flipped on the radio and a recorded voice rambled off the directions to Last Resort and pleaded with any survivors to head there. There was also information on ways to kill and deal with the infected.
“I see,” said Bubba. “So how do you three know each other and why did you decide to save me?”
We all fell silent. The hardest part of our pilgrimage was seeing the people. We would pass desperate hitchhikers. We’d see gangs of scavenger hooligans attack people on the side of the road. Get them to pull over for a child hitchhiker and then kill them for their car. We didn’t take any chances. We closed our eyes to the tears of people. It was harder than killing the infected.
“We worked together and she’s the driver’s sister,” Kelly said.
“Well, I go by Bubba. Y’all got names?”
“We rescued you,” Kelly continued, “because we watched you for a while. You were ahead of us on the road and we saw when you stopped that you were weakened and alone. Riding a bike like that has got to be exhausting in this heat. When the infected came for you we took a vote, we all said yes to letting you join us.”
There was a pause. Kelly’s speech sounded rehearsed too.
“Well, I appreciate it.”
“I’m Kelly, this is Nene and the driver is Lani.”
“Nice to meet you all, I still cannot thank you enough for what you did for me.”
“I have a feeling you’ll earn your keep if need be,” I said.
We chuckled slightly, for no apparent reason. It just felt good to laugh.
Bubba was thin. You’d think with that name he’d be a lumbering large guy. But he was thin probably 30, rugged, dark skin and hair but green eyes. The dark skin was probably from the desert sun. He had a biker jacket and patches. He slept for the first 12 hours of driving.
Kelly smiled at him. She was single as was Nene. I held out hope for my husband who texted me he was heading South before the phones blinked out of existence. Kelly was petite, a red head in her mid-twenties. I’d call her beautiful. Fair skinned, blue eyes. Striking. Nene, my sister, had just turned 21. She was dirty blonde from Hawaii’s sun, tanned, thin with long limbs, like a ballerina. I was thick but the weight was coming off me. Curvaceous, despite how much I lose. Curly black hair and tanned skin, late 20s. We all began losing track of time. We rushed to Last Resort but we stopped frequently. It was a lot of mental stress to take on we tried to stop at places with beds, sleeping in a car made the fear too palpable.
Bubba was a good watch. He took care of us girls and let us sleep. He said he was fine with sleeping in the car. He did take advantage of the showers. Sometimes a shower can really bring humanity back to your skin.
After bubba joined us, the mood lightened, the jaws unclenched. I was no long white knuckled clinging to the steering wheel. Driving came natural to me it was a way to focus, to drown out the events of the weeks. It required focus. I preferred that to the situation at hand. Kelly even began flirting, it was cute but made me miss my husband.
The virus was something no one had seen before. But isn’t that what they always say in the movies? Kelly and I were zombie movie fanatics, which is why when the TV started frantically describing a new outbreak spread by the blood and saliva of the infected, we fled. Immediately. Nene cried when we told her what was happening.
“It’s zombies, basically,” I said to Nene.
“That shit doesn’t exist,” She replied angrily.
“What else would you call a virus that is spread through the blood and saliva of infected and regenerates the recently deceased?” Kelly wasn’t getting involved in this conversation. I had to break it to Nene she was my blood.
“I don’t know but it can’t be zombies, that’s stupid, that’s not real.”
“Okay, but you believe in Rabies right?”
“Well yeah, but that’s dogs right?” Nene’s lips trembled.
“Well, it can spread to humans. It, too, is spread through bites and saliva and blood. It can take months for the virus to reach the brain but once it does it causes madness and death. Once you are showing symptoms of rabies, you’re a gonner. It’s a madness virus and there are several variations depending on the carrier and origin.”
“Okay, what does that have to do with this?”
“So you believe in rabies but not zombies? I just explained their similarities. If there’s a madness virus why can’t there be a zombie one? A virus passed through bites, blood and saliva, one that causes its host to forget themselves, forget their strength, forget their past?”
“Because Zombies aren’t real, they’re not,” she broke down to tears, “real.”
“I’m sorry Nene, I love you but the reality right now is that there is a virus that is out of control, which is killing people and changing them into something else. It’s rabies on steroids. It’s mad scientist rabies.”
She smiled a little at that. We listened to the radio as things developed and progressed. Initially for the trip we had my dog Butch. He was a small 40-pound mutt but I loved him. I rescued him as a puppy and raised him for 8 years. He was the closest thing to a child I could perceive. I treated him as such. Before the outbreak he was at my side all the time, I could barely stand to take trips without him. The radio told us the virus could spread to animals. It appeared to be slightly picky about its hosts though. If its host was too weak or obese the virus would just kill the host and itself instead of turning them into an infected. The virus understood survival of the fittest. Good thing America was overweight right?
At our third stop for food and gas. We were surrounded by stray dogs, they were infected. Their hair was matted, their teeth stained red, but it was the eyes that would haunt you. The eyes were white, not bloodshot, not glassy they were white but they could see. It was the same with infected people white eyes but they knew your every move. The ones closest to Reno, anyways. We tried to fight them off. Made a run for the car, we killed 5 or 6 of them. My dog, Butch, didn’t make it. They ripped his throat out but he didn’t stay dead for long.
The first time I cried after the virus outbreak was when I had to smash my dogs head in with a baseball bat. As I brought the bat down, all I could picture was the times he curled up with me when I was sick, our jogs through nature, watching TV on the couch cuddling. Kelly had to drive after that for awhile. I shook and wailed and slept. I wished and hoped for my husband who had a Lani-Butch separation plan in place for when Butch passed. But nothing could prepare me for being the one to make him pass. I know it was just a dog, but it was my dog and that had made all the difference.
The first time I cried after the virus outbreak was when I had to smash my dogs head in with a baseball bat. As I brought the bat down, all I could picture was the times he curled up with me when I was sick, our jogs through nature, watching TV on the couch cuddling. Kelly had to drive after that for awhile. I shook and wailed and slept. I wished and hoped for my husband who had a Lani-Butch separation plan in place for when Butch passed. But nothing could prepare me for being the one to make him pass. I know it was just a dog, but it was my dog and that had made all the difference.
When the four of us finally made it to Last Resort there was a communal exhale. The check points were extreme but once we got in and saw other actual living people, we cried for joy. The euphoria only last a few months. That small town had a weird effect on us. Kelly and Bubba started dating, well in a way it’s hard to “date” when you’re in a military town sharing a hotel with 600 people. A lot of us shared rooms. I slept in the conference room surrounded by people. The sound of people breathing, snoring even passing gas comforted me that they weren’t dead and neither was I.
The infected were closing in and Reno made it to Florida. The zombies had hit the fan.
