Bowie V. Ibarra (8 page)

George understood so far. The Beta Alpha Chi fraternity house was down the road. The irony, of course, was that Michael was a Theta Epsilon Kappa, as his frat shirt revealed.

“Michael had brought some of his friends over to help me. See, he lived down the way at Mossy Mount and him and his friends were some of my best customers.” He took a chomping bite from the hot dog and followed it with a swig of Coke.

“Jeff walked outside and put an ‘Out of Gas’ sign on the pumps. Most didn’t give a damn, just wanted to get the fuck out. Some yelled shit from their cars. Fact was, there was a whole line of cars trying to get up the road and out of this place -to their hometowns, I guess.”

Jeff jumped in. “But the fuckin’ Betas took issue with the ‘Out of Gas’ sign. They gathered by the pumps.”

“That’s where my boys, the Thetas, jumped in,” stated Michael with pride. “It was like those old school gang movies, with pipes and boards and shit. Like West Side Story without all the damn singing.”

“It was a brawl, let me tell you,” stated Jeff. “For about five minutes, it was a whirlwind of beatdown in the parking lot. But then things really got all messed up.”

“No shit,” stated Michael.

George took a swig of soda and ate a couple of chips as the story continued.

“While the brawl was heating up, it was looking good for Michael’s Thetas.” Jeff finished his hot dog. “Three or four Betas were already calling it quits and licking their wounds near all the traffic on the road. Then it happened.”

“A small wave of those fucking monsters -about ten or twelve -came out from the neighborhood across the tracks and started attacking the cars,” said Michael, taking a seat on two unopened cases of malt liquor.

Jeff popped open a can of Old Milwaukee. “It was like watching a goddamn fucked-up Indy 500 of spooked cattle. The cars that were attacked hit the gas and started a car stampede. They all started trying to work themselves up the road, crashing and a-ramming each other. Some flipped into the ditch by the tracks, lots just wrecked. People started getting out of their cars and just started running.”

“But those Betas got it worst. The deadfucks that made it past the cars attacked the poor bastards that were injured from the fight and tore into ‘em.” Jeff paused for a moment. Michael sat quietly, staring at the chocolate mints and spicy candy on the rack in front of him. He looked tempted. “Never seen anything so ugly in all my life. Blood everywhere. Those kids started screaming as those monsters…” Jeff paused again, swallowing hard, then continued, “…As those monsters bit into them. They tore whole chunks -just whole chunks out of those kids’ necks. Their arms. And just blood… everywhere.”

Jeff stopped talking. He pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes and took a mini lighter out from the display rack by the register. He lit the smoke, took a drag, exhaled.

“You know, those frat bastards might have been assholes, but even they didn’t deserve what happened to them.”

Michael wanted to say something -wanted to condone the slaughtering of the frat guys -but he held back and respectfully remained silent. George bummed a smoke, remembering the parking lot he just walked across. The pavement was stained a dark red, almost as thick as the motor oil and other automotive fluids staining every parking lot in Anytown, USA. He lit up the cigarette and took a drag.

Jeff finished the story. “When the screams were heard, the fighting stopped within seconds. The boys just stared at them, stared in this kind of shocked disbelief, some of them with blood dripping out of their noses and heads. It took one of the creatures lunging at them to wake them up. Most of the Betas just ran; Ran away into the mess of cars. Some went to help their comrades. Not enough, though. I rounded up the remaining Thetas in here and brought my brothers and male family out with the guns. It was quite a sight. Cars wrecking and blowing up. Zombies everywhere. And those kids… Goddamn kids.”

Jeff continued, “My brother Frank told the family to open up on those frat guys and the monsters. Word had come saying that getting bit by one would turn you into one in hours -sometimes even minutes. They blew them all away. Probably did them a favor. I went back inside and joined the others. I couldn’t take it.” Jeff frowned. “You know, after the Gulf War, looking at all those dead kids, soldiers, the Highway to Hell, you think you’ve seen it all. You don’t want to see that shit again. Never thought something like it would be at my front door, you know?”

Everyone was silent for a moment. Michael got up and put his hand on Jeff’s shoulder. George looked out the open door of the grocery store. “I’m alright,” Jeff told Michael. “I’m fine, man.”

But it was obvious that he wasn’t.

Jeff went on: “Anyway, with all that gunfire, we’re sure as shit lucky this place didn’t blow. They were out there for close to a half hour, just firing away. When they were done we took a break, made barriers with the wrecked cars, and secured the store and the elementary school next door with boards and stuff.”

A shot was heard from outside. George winced, but Jeff and Michael remained unfazed.

“Since then, we got a little community-thing going. Lots of people found their way here yesterday. Lots from the surrounding neighborhoods, most getting run out of their houses by the beasts, some running away from the feds.”

Michael commented, “Some of the people that came in said that FEMA had set up shop at the high school and college football fields and indoor basketball courts. Helluva place to feel safe, huh? Homeland Security started rounding people up yesterday, making them get ID tags, corralling them up in fenced-off areas. Lots of military and barbed wire. To protect them, they said.”

Jeff jumped in, “Looks more like a prison camp than a refuge.”

“Fuckin’ A,” agreed George. Familiar with the area, he knew the camp itself was just three blocks away, beyond the railroad tracks, in the same direction all the cars were headed.

“We got some escapees coming from the camp, too. Some bring food to share with the whole community. We’re operating under the assumption that it’s going to get better. That’s why I’m still charging for stuff, food not so much as the gas. I do have a bit of charity.”

Jeff took a final drag off the cigarette and smashed it under his foot. “Well, they’re rounding people up, as I said. Don’t know how long that will last, though. Whatever the hell’s causing these monsters to attack hasn’t wore off yet. By tomorrow, there might be more of them than us. And if that damn camp falls, who knows what will happen to us.”

“Yeah, and it don’t even have to fall from outside,” Michael pointed out. “All it would take is one or two people dying unattended in that camp, waking back up, and start chomping on people to fuck that situation up -Real quick.”

George spent the day and part of the night at the camp based on Jeff’s advice. He claimed the FEMA people didn’t dare leave their camp at night looking for other people. His advice made sense. So George made some friends, played a game of chess with a ten year-old (and lost,) watched the FEMA camp at the stadium through binoculars, and rested. All in all, it was a fairly relaxing day, with the camp members keeping the hordes at bay behind the wreckage.

George planned to sleep through the night and leave at around five the next morning, just before the sun came up. Finding a cozy corner of a classroom, George drifted off to sleep.

After a few moments, he began to dream.

He was back in his Austin apartment, or so it felt. Esparanza was holding him in what felt like the old bed. The warmth of her love revisited his heart, and George smiled. Esparanza got up and walked out the door. George stood up and followed her, seeing a long dirt path filled with old trees. He took the path without hesitation. The trees burst into flames. He tried to put it out with a bucket of water, but the fire only got stronger. He was starting to catch on fire when Esparanza pulled him into the movie theater parking lot of San Uvalde. In flames, Esparanza pleaded with him, crying, “Kill him… Kill him… Kill him.”

“Who?” George asked. “Kill who?”

“Wake up and go!” she commanded.

An explosion -shaking the building and cracking the ceiling - rattled George from his sleep. Jeff was running into the room, an expression of fear on his face.

“If you’re trying to get home, you’d better hoof it now! Those military fuckers from FEMA are attacking the place!”

Gunfire and explosions were erupting outside. The building shook again.

George’s gear was still in his car by the gas station. He and Jeff ran through the halls among a large crowd of men, women, and children. Lots of yelling, lots of screaming, lots of crying. Another explosion punched a hole in the wall behind them. The force of the blast threw them to the ground, their ears ringing.

Four girls, two children, and a man weren’t so lucky. Most ended up a red mess on the adjacent cracked wall. The others were in pieces.

The man’s weapon, an AK-47, fell by Jeff. It looked functional.

More screams and crying children were heard as a series of rapid gunfire shots were resonating across the breached hallway.

They were, indeed, under attack -A balls-out attack meant to crush them.

When George and Jeff exited the building, they finally got to see exactly what was going on. A large tank had shot a huge gap in the automotive barrier, and a small group of green camouflaged soldiers -in hi-tech gear and armed to the teeth -were storming the place, laying waste the valiant, yet untrained, survival community. A field of wholesale slaughter was forming in front of their eyes.

Through a loudspeaker, a booming voice was heard. “This is Homeland Security. We are here to help. Please lay down your weapons and follow us to safety at the FEMA center. You are not being attacked. Homeland Security is here to help. Repeating, you are not under attack.”

From worse to even worse, the assault was opening up the community to the living dead, who were beginning to enter in increasing numbers in the trail of the soldiers.

Jeff yelled, “Some of the escapees warned they were going to do this, but I didn’t think it would be this soon!” He passed the AK-47 to George. “I know you’ve got family to get to. There’s a large group of us that’s making a break for it.” He pointed to his gas station where cars were already hauling ass out. The military didn’t have as much man or firepower at the end where George entered from, and it looked like a good escape route. “But you need to fuckin’ go now!”

“What about you?”

“That’s my gas station, friend.”

“Bad ass,” complimented George. Bullets ricocheted over their heads.

“Go!” yelled Jeff as he began firing towards the advancing column of green.

George sprinted to his car.

“Homeland Security is here to help. You are not under attack.”

Overhead, a helicopter began emptying its content of soldiers onto the roof of the elementary school. Explosions rocked the roof of the school as the black-clad and masked force entered from the roof. George knew there were only some women, children, and old men in the school.

Those bastards, he thought.

Gunfire, blasts, and screams shook George’s eardrums as he raced to the car. Several soldiers were opening fire on some of the barrier men, smearing them across the cars and mattresses of the barricade near the exit. George hit the ground, pointed the barrel of the AK-47 at the soldiers, and pulled the trigger. Sparks erupted from the end of the gun and the butt-end rattled violently against George’s shoulder. When he let his finger off the trigger he saw that the soldiers were down. But dead? He wasn’t sure. Getting up off the ground in a scurry, George saw creatures coming through the barrier as well.

“Lay down your weapons and follow a member to the FEMA center at the stadium. We are here to help.”

Several more vehicles hit the exit -and each other -on the way out as George unlocked his car, fired it up, and sped to the exit. George turned the corner just as a soldier came running in, colliding violently with the soldier’s right leg and snapping it in two. The soldier discharged his weapon in agony, hitting some of his own men who were pushing back the barricade community.

Two helicopters were chasing down and firing on the vehicles that escaped past the feeble sandbags and machine gun nest set behind the back barricade, though two cars had been sacrificed to take it out. The group was so spread out that the helicopters were forced to be selective in their pursuit, meaning some were getting a clean break.

George was lucky.

Finding an old neighborhood several blocks away from the barricade and the FEMA camp, George pulled into an open garage of a house, turned off the lights and cut off the ignition, and sat out the search and destroy mission by the helicopters.

No creatures were in the vicinity, or at least in plain view.

George secured the house.

It was two o’clock in the morning.

George opened the fridge. There was a half empty case of beer inside. He busted one open, took a long swig, and tried to relax.

Images of the battle that was the siege, (moreover, the massacre of the barricade people,) were haunting him. He took another swig of warm beer and had a seat on the living room couch. He threw a coffee table book across the room at a mirror, breaking the reflecting plate, angry at the useless massacre by the soldiers.

After an hour, George headed to the bedroom. He set some primitive alarms by all the doors and windows, (empty beer can pyramids,) and locked the door. After locating an alarm clock, he set it for five o’clock a.m., then laid on the bed and went to sleep.

The city of San Marcos seemed vacant, but not completely empty. Every now and then a creature would be in the road, or be exiting a building as George drove through downtown. The Cavalier was still too swift for them.