The Long Way To Reno (25 page)

            It
was chaotic – I didn’t understand why these new guys were trying to take
over on the military supply – the guys on our side were screaming that
they were friendly, but they were being fired upon. Bullets rained through the
shelves, and I hit the floor with a squeak as my eardrums felt the explosions.
Sandy was crouched against one of the shelves, trying to make herself as small
as possible – I didn’t know when she’d slipped back into her helmet.

            The
people that had been sitting in the aisle across from us had left some things
– jackets with cartoon characters, a stuffed dog, a backpack bulging with
clothes. I heard the guys from the front crashing through glass, their voices
bouncing off the walls of the CVS as they grew closer to our positions,
shouting at the guys in uniforms to surrender.

            I
hurriedly pulled out one of my newly constructed bottles of death, and fumbled
for my lighter. The harsh smell made me cough as I lit the match, as heat
quickly overtook the bottle. I was shocked that it actually worked. Sandy
looked over and screamed at me to leave, but, in a crouched position, I waddled
away from her, heading for the end of the aisle with my flaming bottle. It
burned my hand.

            Once
I was at the end of the aisle, I peered down the empty area and saw some guys
scrambling to get closer to our position. They were desperate and fierce,
carrying shotguns, handguns, and shouting orders to each other. They wanted the
military guys’ gear – that was their intentions.

            They
were so focused on Sandy’s position that they didn’t see me until I stood and
threw the flaming bottle in their direction. The melting plastic bottle full of
hot oil splattered over a couple of guys, causing them to scream in alarm,
shifting into those that hadn't noticed what had happened. As a result, people
stumbled, fell against beauty shelves, splattering more of the flaming oil
amongst each other. Once guys started to realize they were on fire, they had to
stop firing at the soldiers, and this gave me time to race for the back of the
store, fumbling for another bottle. Sandy followed, laying down some fire as
the other military guys moved hastily towards the back.

            I
rummaged with shaky hands into my bag, and pulled out two more soda bottles. As
I paused to light them, Sandy gave a weird laugh, jerking them from my hands as
soon as I had them lit. She threw them towards the front, where the guys were
moving away from the effects of my earlier attack. As firey oil splattered and
connected against those unfortunate to be in her path, she pushed me to run.
The screams of those being burned by the oil splatter left me feeling
surprisingly content – like I contributed to something.

            Everyone
was running towards the Marina apartments directly behind the outlet mall. But
it felt wrong to be exposed the way we were – I felt like I didn't have
enough eyes to keep a watch out for anymore dangers. The guys and the soldiers
were urging the women and children to keep a narrow line, running through the
apartment grounds. I followed, feeling every bit of soreness and pain in my
feet and body. My legs and hips were stiff – my back ached from the
weight of my bag, from sleeping weird in the Hummer. Everything hurt.

            But
I couldn't take my eyes off the women that ran while carrying small children in
their arms, and that somehow motivated me to keep going.

            There
were a few guys that lead the way past the apartment grounds, and we entered a
small neighborhood – it was silent, with cars crashed at the mouth of it.
There were dead people on the nearby lawn – we were moving too fast to
see how they'd died. As I sucked wind, struggling to keep up with the others,
more firecrackers rang out. Amidst the screams of the women and children, I saw
one of the soldiers drop. Sandy immediately stopped with him, and tugged him to
his feet – slowing both of them down. Two guys in black hoodies, dirty
jeans and submachine guns were catching up fast with hard shouts and clear
intentions – it felt frightening just looking at their faces and seeing
how focused they were on the two that slowed down.

            Before
anything could happen then, their heads jerked sideways with hard pulses, the
loud crack of another rifle echoing through the neighborhood. I helped Sandy
pull the injured guy with a stiff leg into a slow jog, a fast civilian racing
to pilfer the dead guys' weapons from their hands. Then we were all moving fast
after the others, and I was terrible help because I was too short for both
Sandy and the other guy.

            As
I struggled, someone relieved me of my efforts, and I realized it was Alex
shoving me away, his sweaty smell making me wince.

            "Go,
go,
go
! There's more comin'!" he shouted at me, and it was Emmy
tugging me along behind her, breathing hard. Her makeup was running, her cheeks
and forehead were red, and it was obvious she'd been moving faster, for longer,
than us. Alex was winded as well, but he was faster than me helping Sandy.

            "
MOVE
!"
Benson bellowed, before lifting his shotgun and blasting beyond us. I was
startled to seeing more guys from the CVS chasing after us, as well as what
looked to be a souped up Ford fishtailing from the nearby side street.

            It
looked like these guys were going to overwhelm the group – it moved slow
because of all the vulnerables that struggled to stay moving. Even with the
guys holding onto the kids, that was still a loss of weaponry – a woman
holding onto a toddler fell, and both of them rolled as her kids stopped along
with her, causing a domino effect with those around them.

           
We're
all going to die
, was my horrid thought as I reached into my bag once more.
Benson was reloading, suddenly distracted by the Ford racing our way with a
squeal of tires. Sandy screamed something incoherent as she pushed herself to
continue running with her injured buddy, Alex struggling to keep pace. I yanked
away from Emmy, lighting my last Molotov.

            Benson
snatched it from me as soon as it caught fire, lunged off to a side angle and
hurled it with all the grace of a freaking Olympian – the flaming bottle
splattered over the driver's window, but Benson is a superhero because as soon
as that bottle splat, he was firing off his shotgun – seriously, it was
like poetry, the way he moved.

            The
truck veered off course – the five of us ended up diving out of its path
anyway, before it slammed hard into an abandoned electronics repair van. Glass
shattered, metal bent, fiberglass sprayed the street. Before it even had a
chance to settle, Benson was clamoring back to his feet, and pumping the
shotgun towards the guys catching up to us.

            Their
desperation was more evident, because they weren't even armed – they
swarmed onto him with fists swinging. Some of Benson's buddies returned,
shooting when they could, then engaging into battle with knives, with their own
fists. It was a street rumble with grunts, shouts and frantic bodies moving
wildly as they struggled to dominate each other.

            But
it was clear – there were no other guys racing over. Sandy abandoned her
buddy and raced over to help Benson. The way she swung made me think she was
Cyborg, relentless with her manly dominance over a weaker opponent. I tried not
to fall in love with the redheaded lesbian, even as she bodyslammed a guy into
the pavement like he was a rag doll.

            Two
more shots rang out, and two guys dropped dead.

            Emmy
had just grabbed my arm when the roar of voices caught our attention. Almost as
one, everyone just
froze
.

Chapter Fourteen

            Almost
comically, the attackers took off without another glance in our direction. The
soldiers rounded everyone up with hasty action and we were moving again. Benson
bellowed for everyone to separate – immediately, his buddies were taking
charge, splitting up into groups with women and children and armed civies, and
everyone was racing for cover.

            Emmy
and I ran for a plain white house, both of us breathing hard. Took me a few
moments to realize Harley himself was ushering us to move with breathless
action, and two other armed civilians were moving with us. By the time we got
into the house, the Rabid were flocking into the street, scrambling for
movement.

            Their
howls, barks and screams, followed by the Usher's yodeling roars penetrated the
still, empty house. Nobody could talk – I think all of us were too
scared, too winded to even say anything. Hand motions and shoves were used
instead, and Emmy and I crammed ourselves into a nearby hall closet while the
other guys spread out for bigger hiding areas.

            Emmy
and I struggled to catch our breath, the enclosed space making it impossible to
hear anything more. The slits in the closet door made it possible to see each
other, and we stared at the other's red, sweaty face, unable to do anything
else. She was shaking, holding onto my jacket with both hands.

            The
windows rattled, shattered noisily, and she clapped a hand to stifle her own
cry of surprise. Scratching, slapping sounds suggested they were trying to
enter the house. The Usher sounded as if it were directing them towards another
direction. The sounds of their fading voices encouraged someone to leave their
hiding spot. Not even a moment later, the crack of a gun told me one of the
guys had taken aim for the Usher.

            The
alien screamed noisily, causing more gunshots to fire out. The surprising
silence afterward was also a relieving one. I exhaled heavily, tilting my head
backward against the wall. Emmy tried to shush me, but I pushed her hand away
and ventured out from the closet on shaky legs. It had been one of the civilian
guys that had used my earlier advice, and he glanced at us with a reassuring
nod, wiping his sweaty forehead with one dirty sleeve.

            "Are
they dead? That fast?" Emmy whispered, clutching my jacket as she caught
up to me.

            "Once
the Usher's dead, the flock can't do anything," I whispered back. I felt
winded. I felt like all my adrenaline had left at that moment, and I suddenly
had to sit down. But before I could, my arm was gripped hard, and I gave a
whining sound as I was forced to move. I would have fallen and begged for
someone to drag me hadn't it felt like Harley's grip made me think of the
Terminator from the Arnold age.

            "Keep
moving – there's more," he said grimly, Emmy nodding at me with a
trembling chin. She followed him like he was a freaking – but I had to
admit, there was a small part of me that felt relieved that they were still
alive and together. "They're moving inward from the edges of town."

            "A
continued invasion," one of the civies said with a harsh exhale. We all
left the house, and they called for the attention of the others that were
picking off the dazed zombies that lingered on the streets.

            Harley
squinted at this while I jerked away, stumbling through a flowerbox to see that
Sandy was still dragging her friend, and Benson was gathering everyone else
from their hiding areas. The other guys in uniform were looking around
cautiously, kids crying, women struggling to hold each other up.

            As
my breath finally came back to me, my ears ringing from the earlier gun
discharges, from my heart working overtime to keep blood flowing, I felt like
vomiting.

            "There's
so
many
," Emmy whispered to me, watching the group of women and
children gather together. She started to cry in earnest, and I stared at her as
she stifled her hiccups and short breath with one dirty hand. When she looked
at me, her mascara was smeared around her eyes, and saliva dripped from her
chin. "How are we going to move fast with all of them?"

            "We
got this far, so far, without losing any of them," one of the civie guys
told her, walking away from us to rejoin the others. "Mendive is just down
the street."

            "There's
a huge camp of people there," I said in response to Harley's confused
expression. I waited for him to acknowledge me, and he did – with a long,
bewildered stare, like he
finally
noticed I was alive, or something. I
resisted the urge to slap him.