The Gorging (16 page)

They both jumped at the sound of screeching tires coming to a stop outside of the post, followed by a loud crash of metal on metal.

“What was that?” Jeffrey ran out to the hallway and toward the front entrance. Sergeant Anderson followed quickly behind him. They both drew their guns and were ready to shoot at anything or anyone that would try to come through the front door. Whoever it would be would have a hard time getting through the security door, which has a tight lock, is made out of thick steel, and has a bulletproof glass pane from midway to the top. It also stops loud mouth suspects when they won’t stop rambling on about how they are going to get the troopers back for “setting them up.”

Outside in the parking lot they could see the car that smashed into the Mobile Command Vehicle. They wondered who was behind the wheel. Trooper Anderson could see across the street, running toward the man, a pack of about eight people all covered in blood from the chin down to the waist. They sounded like a pack of wolves, growling, and hissing as they ran toward the crashed car. They were hungry and whoever was in the car looked mighty tasty to them.

“Oh shit,” said Trooper Anderson as he tapped his gun against the glass, trying to point out the pack to his uncle. “You see them. They’re coming after him. That’s what West looked like when he ran out of the locker room. He had that same look on his face. The teeth clinched and his lips were pulled back just like that.”

“Yeah, I see ‘em.” Sergeant Anderson looked back to the car and saw the man finally shove the car door open enough to get out. The man had a Stetson hat resting on his head. A smile broke onto Sergeant Anderson’s face. “I’ll be damned. That’s Sampson.” He reached down and punched the numbers to the combination lock that secured them from the craziness outside. The door was the only thing between them and the pack of wild, flesh eating human beings running toward Sampson.

Trooper Anderson held the door open as Sergeant Anderson ran out into the parking lot.

“Sampson,” yelled Sergeant Anderson as he ran toward him. “Get the hell over here quick. They’re coming.” He pointed his gun to the pack that was now in the middle of the street and moving fast coming into the parking lot. They seemed to be picking up speed now that they had seen two potential victims.

Sampson turned around and caught a glimpse. His quick walked turned into a sprint that could have won him a Gold Medal in the Olympics if that had been his profession. “Fuck.” The only word that could escape his mouth by the time he reached the door, nearly passing up Sergeant Anderson on the way in. “Let’s get inside. Those crazy ass people will try to eat us.” He ran through the door and nearly tripped on the threshold going in. “Hurry up. Close that fucking door.”

“I know. I’ve seen them do it already,” said Sergeant Anderson as he raised his gun at the pack of people running toward them. He knew he couldn’t take them all out, but he had to at least try and take out as many as he could. Having eight, bloodthirsty people beating on the door, there would be no telling how long the steel frame could resist the beating. He could see the whites of their eyes and the blood dripping from their teeth. He felt like he was living out a horrific nightmare, but shook his head and reminded himself that this screwed up situation is for real. He took careful aim with the few seconds he had and squeezed the trigger. He hit the man in the front that seemed to be leading the pack. He went down, but the other seven trampled over him and kept coming. He squeezed off three more shots, taking out three more of the growling people. There were four left. He raised his gun again and took aim. He squeezed the trigger, but nothing happened. The .45 just clicked. He was out of bullets. Sergeant Anderson felt his heart skip as he took in a quick gasp of air. The four remaining crazy people were now only twenty feet away from him. He turned to run back inside.

At the time Sergeant Anderson squeezed off his first shot, Sampson looked at Trooper Anderson and wondered if he was going to stop being a sissy and go out there and help the Sergeant take care of business. After the other three shots, Sampson grabbed the gun from the trooper’s hands since he obviously wasn’t going to do anything with it. He rushed back through the door and aimed it at the four people that were still running at them. Sergeant Anderson had turned around to run back inside and was met with a .45 sticking in his face. Sampson pushed the Sergeant out of his way and unloaded all ten bullets, hitting all four. He watched them fall to the ground over top of each other. Sampson and Sergeant Anderson rushed back inside the building, slamming the heavy steel door shut behind them.

“Holy shit,” yelled Jeffrey. “I thought they were going to come in here for sure.”

Sergeant Anderson looked at his nephew and shook his head. “Boy, you’re about as useless as an ashtray on a motorcycle.” He double locked the door and pulled the shade down, blocking the sunlight from coming in through the window. Sampson leaned back against the wall and handed Trooper Anderson his gun back.

“Here,” said Sampson. “You might want to reload it.”

“I can take care of that myself.” Trooper Anderson grabbed the gun and stuck it in his holster. He looked at Sampson as if to say that he’ll reload it any damn time he pleases. Of course, right now would be a perfect time to stick a flesh clip into the gun. None of them would know if there would be more growling, hungry people coming for them, but Jeffrey was not about to allow some G-man to make suggestions to him inside his own trooper post.

“How did you make it out? Out of the hotel?” asked Sergeant Anderson.

“I had to pretty much run some people over,” said Sampson as he titled his Stetson back on his head. “What I want to know is why they’re like that and we’re like this. Those crazy sons of bitches are ruthless. I even watched as one of the deputies shot a man and then started eating his damn face.”

“What do you mean?” said Trooper Anderson.

“I mean those people out there have clearly turned fucking psycho and we seem to be perfectly fine.”

“I’ve been doing a little thinking about that,” said Sergeant Anderson. “Let’s go to my office.” Trooper Anderson and Sampson followed the Sergeant as they quickly walked down the hallway.

They gathered around Sergeant Anderson’s desk and pulled the chairs close. The coffee in the pot in the break room was still fresh because Daniels had made it about ten minutes before he checked out. They each had a full cup of in their hands that they sipped from as Sergeant Anderson began to give his views on the ongoing massacres happening in the small town of Franklin. They all three came to a quick agreement that if it was happening in Franklin, and the landlines and cellphones didn’t work, then it was probably happening just about everywhere. A quick check of the television in the break room only revealed a snowy background with the familiar white noise emitting from the speakers. The only form of communication that seemed to work was the police radio, but none of the other troopers were answering and they couldn’t get anybody from the Sheriff’s Department to come through either. This pretty much left them on their own for the time being until they could devise a plan to get somewhere where they could find out if things are as bad everywhere else as they are here.

Sampson set his coffee cup on the desk and took off his Stetson. He sat it on the desk next to his coffee cup and looked over to Sergeant Anderson, who was sitting behind the desk. “If this is happening in other places, it’s probably going to be a lot worse than here. This is a small town with a very small population. At the rate people seem to be going down out there, it won’t take very long before the population is diminished to an even lower number. Hell, I could probably count on one hand all the people who actually looked normal I saw on my way over here. They were taken out like it was nothing by those crazies.”

“That’s right,” said Sergeant Anderson. “I only saw a couple of normal looking people, or they at least looked normal, meaning they didn’t have blood dripping down from their teeth. Whatever is happening for some reason or another it didn’t seem to happen to us.”

“I don’t want to know what’s happening,” said Jeffrey. “Not after looking at Daniels in there with his face gone. That made me sick as a dog. I don’t want to see shit like that.”

“Shut up boy,” said Sergeant Anderson. “Man up. This is some serious shit and we have to keep our heads together.”

“Well,” said Sampson. “I don’t think it’s a terrorist attack because there are no bombs or anything like that. If it was some kind of gassing or poisoning going on we would have been hit with it, too—”

“How do you know that?” Trooper Anderson looked at Sampson with a crossed look of pure wonder and sarcasm.

“I don’t know that for sure, but we do know that we are fine and those people out there are not. We’ve all been breathing the same air as they have.” Sampson pulled his cigarette pack from his shirt pocket. He looked at Sergeant Anderson for approval of smoking in the building. Sergeant Anderson shrugged his shoulders and put his hand out for one as well. They lit their cigarettes and Sampson continued. “We need to trace our steps back and figure out why those people are running around slaughtering each other and we’re not.” He took a long puff from this cigarette.

“What do you know Trooper?” asked Sampson.

“Just call me Jeffrey.”


“Jeffrey?”


“Well, like I told my uncle. One of our guys just went nuts all of a sudden and ran out of the locker room and straight into the dispatch room and took out Daniels. He probably would have gotten me if he knew I was in there. I don’t know why he did it. He just did. Then he ran out of the building naked as a jay bird.”

“That’s pretty much the same for me,” said Sergeant Anderson. “I was getting a cup of coffee, went to the john, came out and next thing I know I’m having to shoot people to keep them from tearing the Sheriff up anymore and to keep them off of myself as well.”

“Same here,” said Sampson. “Alright, maybe there was something they ate or drank that caused this to happen. What did you eat last night?” He looked at Jeffrey.

“Me? I couldn’t eat anything after watching all those people throw up all over the place last night. I was going to stop for breakfast this morning, but my stomach just couldn’t bare it. So I haven’t had anything since yesterday.”

“What about you, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Anderson looked at Jeffrey and then to Sampson. He took a long time to answer. “I had a bowl of cereal this morning...Got too busy back here with the reports and all from that crash the other night to eat anything else.”

“Fuck,” said Sampson. “I had a bag of potato chips I picked up from the gas station on my way back to the hotel room. I was going to stop for a burger, but they were closed when I drove by.”

“Do you think this has anything to do with those people at the drive-in last night,” said Jeffrey. Sampson and Sergeant Anderson looked at each other and then looked at Trooper Anderson. The thought hadn’t occurred to the three of them until just now that maybe the dead cows on the Miller farm and the mild food poisoning from the drive-in could somehow be connected. None of them had watched the news. If they had they would know for sure that the same thing was likely happening everywhere in the country and possibly the world. What happened at the drive-in was not an isolated event. The entire country had experienced similar problems in nearly every city. With all lines of communication down, there would be no way to be a hundred percent positive, but it didn’t take them long to make the correct assumption.

“Suppose it did,” said Sergeant Anderson. “What the hell do we do about it?” He pulled a glass ashtray out of his desk drawer and crushed out his cigarette.

“We can’t stay sitting here,” said Sampson. “We’ll be like sitting ducks. From the looks of it, those people haven’t turned on each other yet, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. So in the meantime, we’ll have to make an ass out of each other and assume they’ll be more looking for us.”

“Looking for fresh meat,” said Jeffrey. “That’s what you’re saying.” His hands were shaking as he leaned forward with them hanging between his knees. The sweat on his forehead dripped to the floor and began to pool in front of him.

“Sorry kiddo,” said Sampson, looking down at Jeffrey’s hands. “I’m afraid that’s how it is right now. Here,” he pulled a cigarette from the pack sitting on the desk. “You look like you need one, too.”

“I don’t smoke.” Trooper Anderson looked at the cigarette that Sampson continued to hold out in front of him. “But, now’s as good as any time to start.” The concern of getting cancer didn’t seem very important to Trooper Anderson now considering people were dying outside by having their faces chewed off and their guts ripped out. A cigarette certainly is harmless when compared with that kind of carnage. He grabbed the cigarette and with a little help from Sampson holding his lighter out, he got it lit and started puffing away. He coughed a couple of times, but smoking came naturally after that.

“Okay,” said Sergeant Anderson. “So we’re all agreeing that we can’t sit here or we’ll end up dead. So where do we go?”

“I think we should head to the closest major city.” Sampson crushed out his cigarette and walked over to the map tacked to the wall in the office. He skimmed across it with his finger. “It’s too far to Louisville from here.” He ran his finger down south and stopped on the closest city he could find.

“That’s Nashville,” said Trooper Anderson.

“That’s right. Nashville...It’s out of all of our jurisdictions, but in our current situation I don’t think jurisdiction means shit. Do you Sergeant?”