Forget The Zombies (Book 2): Forget Texas (11 page)

“From what I hear, there’s a whole shitload of zombies coming up from the south,” Stetson said. “Why don’t you do something about that instead of keeping us all penned up on this road?”

“Sir, the border between Texas and Oklahoma is temporarily closed,” the soldier said.

“What do you mean, temporarily closed?” Stetson said, his voice rising.

“The government closed all state borders…”

“The government!?” Stetson shouted. “There’s Washington getting in our business again.”

“Young man, young man,” the old lady with the umbrella said trying to get Bernie’s attention, but Bernie couldn’t decide whether to follow orders or attend to this woman. I looked over the old woman’s shoulder and saw two more men coming up the shoulder our way. They didn’t look happy, either.

The lead soldier swiveled his head back forth between me, the man in the Stetson and the men coming up from behind. I would imagine that his little idea of checking in on us was turning out not to be such a good one now.

“You know what you need to do?” Stetson asked, but it was less of a question than a statement. “You need to go up there with your guns and open up that border.”

I saw my chance. “Yeah, that’s what you need to do,” I shouted and then looked to Stetson and the others arriving on the scene. “We need to get off this road. What are you doing about it?”

The lead soldier’s face lost most of its command certainty and he took a step back.

“Young man, what are you going to do to get us off this road?” The old woman asked Bernie who was retreating away from her outstretched cane.

“Bernie, get back on the Humvee,” the lead soldier shouted and Bernie didn’t need a second command. He dodged the women’s cane and was back in the Humvee in three long strides.

“Where are you going?” Stetson asked. “You just leaving us here?”

“What?” a man who looked like a truck driver asked when he arrived on the scene. “They’re leaving us?”

I saw another opportunity and took it. “Yeah, I think that’s what they’re going to do. Can you believe it? Just leaving us here.”

Another man in a suit popped around the front of our truck. Where he came from, I had no idea, but I was glad for the company. “They can’t do that. This is outrageous,” he said coming on fast. “Listen here,” he stopped and searched for the soldier’s name on his jacket. “Sergeant Whiting, I’m an attorney and I think there’s a civil suit about to be filed against you and your men for keeping us out here on this road against our will.”

“You tell him,” I said backing up toward the truck.

I started to climb back inside when Stetson, the trucker, and the lawyer circled around Sergeant Whiting, with the old lady with the umbrella closing fast. Whiting saw it was about to get ugly so he quickly retreated to the Humvee with an entourage of very pissed off people in pursuit. He almost made it back into the vehicle but Stetson grabbed his jacket and tugged him back. Whiting broke free with a shrug, but stumbled into the Humvee, a shocked look on his face.

Whiting quickly righted himself and whipped up his rifle and pointed it at Stetson. “You people need to get back. NOW!” His face went red as he swiveled his aim to each person.

Funny how a gun gets people’s attention. The pursuit ended as they all took a step back, involuntarily raising their hands in the air as they did.

“You can’t point a gun at us,” Stetson said. “We’re Americans!”

“Well, I just did, Tex,” Whiting said taking a step toward Stetson. “What the hell are you going to do about it?”

I didn’t mind the benign distraction that the people provided for me as a diversion from having the truck searched, but I didn’t want anyone getting hurt. I reached across the seat and grabbed my pistol.

“Grant, what are you going to do?” Joni asked with some alarm in her voice.

“I don’t know,” I said turning back toward the tense scene.

“Young man, you’re not going to shoot anyone,” the old lady with the umbrella said as she stepped in front of Stetson. She had her cane up and was pointing it like a gun at Whiting.

Whiting turned his aim towards her, but then something in him let go and he lowered his aim. You could fill the tension level drop as the immediate danger lifted. I dropped my gun back onto the seat.

“You people need to get back in your vehicles and wait,” Whiting shouted.

“But when are we going to get moving?” the trucker asked.

Whiting looked to the ground and then back up. “I don’t know,” he said. “Soon, maybe soon.” He jumped in the Humvee and it circled around in the field and then sped back northward.

We weren’t moving anytime soon. We all knew that, but you have to have hope, don’t you?

Thunder sounded in the distance and the skies slowly darkened.

“Aren’t we in tornado alley?” I asked Joni.

“Yeah.”

“Great. As if zombies weren’t enough. Now we have to worry about being blown away by a tornado.”

“Are you whining again, Grant?”

I smiled and turned away from her.

An hour later, a torrential storm blew through the area but thankfully, there was no tornado. The rain fell in buckets and we found out just how porous the canvas was covering the back of the truck as nearly everyone got soaked. Just before the real rain fell, I moved to the back and Rosalita and the kids got in the cab. At one point during the worst of it, Jay jumped out of the truck and did a dance in the road, letting the rain pour over him. He claimed it was an ancient Native American dance. What he was hoping his dance would achieve, I had no idea. It just looked insane to me which he very well might have been.

The storm passed and the sun turned whatever moisture in the area into steam which cleansed our pours, but otherwise made us hot and sticky. The hours dragged on as the sun seemed to intensify as it slowly drifted over us. At times, I felt like a giant had a huge magnifying glass and was holding it front of the sun, narrowing its beam on to us as sweat poured off me.

People lounged in or on the side of the road. Some people went from car to car just trying to get information or to ask for supplies. At least our people had a canvas cover, but there was definitely no air conditioning in the truck. We went through our limited water supply like we were fish. To their credit, Martin and Jessica didn’t complain about the situation like most kids would. Then again, a zombie apocalypse sort of places a whole new perspective on mild discomforts and inconveniences.

No more Army vehicles came our way and with our radio dead; we had no way to get any information. Huck had an iPod, but when he went to check for any radio broadcast, he got little more than repeated emergency transmission telling people to remain calm and to stay inside. What the broadcasts did confirm was that the state line was temporarily closed. I had my strong doubts about how temporary that closure would be.

“Do you think that temporarily means for good?” Randell asked through the pass through between the cab and the truck.

“Most likely,” I said. “Put yourself either in the governor of Oklahoma or even the President’s shoes. You’ve got this thing spreading across the southwest. You may have it contained but you may not. Hell, you’ve been willing to fire bomb entire cities to keep it from spreading. Would you let people move from state-to-state willy nilly?”

“You’re saying we’re trapped here?” Joni asked.

I didn’t want to say it, but the truth is the truth and there was no avoiding it. “Probably,” I said.

We were silent for a few seconds and then Randell asked, “So, what are we going to do?”

“Hell, if I know,” I said pulling up the map and taking a look. “If we don’t start moving by nightfall, I say we get out and try to head north on foot.”

“How far are we away from Oklahoma?” Joni asked.

“Not that far,” I said. “Only four or five miles, but there’s a big problem once we get to the border.”

“What’s that?” Randell asked.

“First, there are probably going to be troops at the bridge. The second one being that we’d have to get across the Red River. You’re our resident Texas historian, Randell. How deep is that river?”

“I don’t know for sure. Probably ten to twelve feet. Depends on how much rain we’ve had.”

“Do the kids know how to swim?” I asked Joni.

“Jessica maybe,” she said. “Martin, no.” She looked down.

“I can’t swim at all,” Jay said poking his head up next to Randell’s.

All I could think was,
Great.

I scratched my head for a minute. “We’ll have to think of something because staying on this road isn’t an option. Tomorrow, we’ll either bake or the zombies coming up from the south will get us.”

“What the plan, Stan?” Jay said.

“I don’t know for sure,” I said, “but get everyone ready to leave by nightfall.”

The sun was about to dip below the horizon and the temperatures dropped below boiling when some internal alarm told me it was time to leave. I mustered our people, grabbing whatever we could carry. It took me a couple exchanges with Jay to convince he shouldn’t bring all our MREs with us.

I was concerned if the other road refugees saw us moving northward en masse it could create a panic because there were too many of us to hide. I considered moving our group off road, but in the impending darkness anyone of us could fall into a hole or get bitten by a snake, so I decided to risk it and stuck with road.

We passed through several groups people standing beside their cars. When they asked where we were going, I just said we were heading into Ringgold for water. What I would say after we passed Ringgold was a mystery to me, but I figured I’d come up with something when the time came.

“Mom,” Martin cried out, “my shoe fell off.”

I saw Martin’s silhouette against the pink horizon shifting around while standing on one foot.

“Well, find it, Martin,” Joni said in a slightly exasperated tone.

“It’s too dark,” Martin said.

“Hold on,” Joni said, “I’ll help you find it.”

She made her way back to him when a voice asked out of the dark, “Joni? Is that you?”

Joni spun around and looked into an RV sitting on the road just a car away. “Dave?” she asked drawing out the name.

Dave? Who the hell is Dave?

The next thing I knew was that Martin was bounding down the road and shouting, “Daddy!” His single shoe slapped on the pavement while his shoeless foot was near silent.

The door of the RV opened and light from the inside spilled onto the road. Standing in the doorway was a shirtless man, a little thick around the middle, and a tangle of hair on his head. Just as he stepped down onto the road, Martin slammed into him, nearly toppling him.

Joni stood frozen in place, while Jessica made a few tentative steps towards the man who I assumed was her father and Joni’s husband. Joni looked towards Dave and then to me and shrugged.

“Marty!” Dave exclaimed. “I’m so glad to see you. Where’s your sister?”

“I’m here,” Jessica said, gaining some momentum. A moment later and she hugged the man called Dave.

Joni made her way to the reunion and joined in the hug, but with some reserve. At least, that’s how I read the body language, but maybe that’s what I wanted to see.

“We thought you were dead,” Joni said.

“I went back to the hotel, but you guys were gone,” he said.

“We were there,” Joni said. “We waited.”

“Well, I was running late,” he said.

“You were at your fantasy football draft,” she said and there was some heat in her voice. The kids instinctually drifted back to their mother.

“It ran long, I know, but…” he said.

“It ran long?” she said. “Didn’t they have TVs where you were?”

“We only had it on ESPN,” he said.

A new voice came from inside the RV, “Dave, who’s that you’re with?” It was a woman. She was wearing a t-shirt and jeans and reminded me of Marilyn Monroe, but a more frumpy version that gone slightly to seed. Her hair looked disheveled, sticking this way and that.

Joni pulled back and asked, “Who’s that?”

Dave stammered for a moment and said, “That’s Trudy.”

“And?” Joni asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“She and her friends got me out of San Antonio,” he said.

“And you left us behind,” she said.

Once again, he was at a loss. “I thought you guys had gotten out. That or…”

“Or what?”

“Or…well, you know.”

I stepped up and said, “This reunion is touching, but we have to get moving.”

“Who the hell are you?” Dave asked.