Chapter 4
September 21, 2009
En Route to Brattleboro, Vermont
John and Sara, along with a snoring Princess in the back, headed north. They'd spoken about the route before, on the way to the Maxwells' house, and decided to head north on Route 146, through Worcester, towards Route 2. They'd take Route 2 to Greenfield, then either get on Interstate 91 north, to Vermont, or go through back roads either through Bernardston or Leyden, and cross the state line, depending on traffic or other hazards.
John looked down at the gas gauge as they approached a filling station. “A little over half. We better stop and fill up now, while we still can.” John said, pulling in to the station.
The radio had been reporting over and over that people were to remain in place. National Guard units were clashing with the “infected”, as they were being called on some of the radio stations. Violence had spread out from Boston into the outlying towns already, with incidents being reported less than twenty miles from their current location. The radio station also said numerous wounded were being evacuated by bus to Worcester and further west to Springfield. Sara had listened to too much of the broadcast, and turned down the radio and put her iPod headphones in her ears.
John looked around, carefully scanning the area before getting out of the Volvo. A pickup truck was filling up one pump over, and two tractor trailers were at the diesel pumps. Otherwise, the station appeared deserted.
Looking back in to the car, John stuck his hand out to Sara. “Babe, throw me the credit card. The one with the really high interest rate.”
“Seriously? I thought we agreed not to use that one except in an emergen...oh. Right.” Sara pulled the card out of the glove box and handed it to John. He chuckled at her as he swiped it in the pump.
“You are too easily amused, dear.” Sara said, shaking her head and reinserting her headphones as she watched her husband pump the gas.
Back on the road, the couple soon found themselves battling heavier traffic. Worcester appeared to be in a full on panic, with people in all sorts of vehicles clogging all lanes of traffic in all directions. John pulled out his cell phone and dialed his parents' telephone number.
John's mother, June, answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Mom, hey, it's John. We're on our way up to the cabin.”
“Oh dear, John. Be careful, the TV says Al-Qaeda (she pronunced it El Kayda) invaded us . Your Aunt Sally called but got cut off.” June said, sounding very worried.
“I know, Mom. We'll be up there sometime tonight. It's going to take us a while to get through all the traffic.” John said, pulling in and out of the lines of cars, making some headway despite the angry honking directed at him.
“Do me a favor, Mom. You and Dad just stay home, ok? This thing is bad and just getting worse.”
“We're not going anywhere, son. Jesse called us an hour ago. He said Jen and the kids are coming over to stay with us.”
“Yeah, he already told me. He's going to try to get to Uncle Walt's house.”
“Oh goodness. Well, you come on up but be careful. I'll be praying,” June said.
“Love you mom. Be there soon,” John said, closing his phone.
They eventually reached Route 2 well after dark. Traffic had thinned out considerably, though reports on the radio said the Mass Pike was completely stalled in both directions. Apparently a bus filled with evacuees and wounded had crashed, and violence had broken out.
With forty miles still to go before the Greenfield exit, John was driving at a pretty good pace, trying to make up some of the time they had lost in the heavier traffic. Sara had been on the phone with her parents for a while but finally got cut off due to bad reception. They were finally starting to pay attention to the news, but the Maxwells insisted they not turn around for them. John powered through a corner, slamming on the brakes as he rounded the bend. Ahead, a State Police cruiser sat off to the right of the road, behind a red Nissan Altima. The Altima appeared to have crashed into the guardrail. The blue lights from the cruiser illuminated the scene in eerie blue strobe light.
John pulled to a stop as he neared the police car. A booted leg stuck out from the driver's side door. John didn't see anyone else nearby.
“Sara, stay in the car, but keep me covered.” John said, opening the car door.
“John, maybe you should stay in...” Sara said, even as John shut the door behind him. “We are going to have a talk later, about this bravado thing,” she said, trying to cover up the fear in her voice. She lifted up the right side of her shirt and drew her Beretta 9000S, thumbing the safety off. She held it down below the level of the window, keeping it out of sight but ready. The night sites on the little 9mm glowed a bright green in the darkness.
John walked slowly over to the police car. As he got closer, he could tell the man inside was dead. Blood covered the uniformed trooper's chest, and most of the inside of the front compartment of the car. His left hand and forearm were missing, as well.
Reaching inside, John felt the trooper's ankle. The flesh was already cold, with no hint of a pulse. John reached down on to the floor and picked up the trooper's pistol. He could smell gunpowder. “Good for you, Trooper. At least you tried.” John said, nodding to the prostrate figure. Looking back at Sara, John gave a little wave, then a thumbs down signal. Sara nodded, keeping a good watch of the woods behind the two cars.
John reached in and pulled the spare magazines from the trooper's belt, as well as the portable radio. He grabbed the keys from the ignition, and walked back to the trunk, tucking the trooper's Glock into his belt as he walked. Popping the trunk, John reached inside and grabbed a duffel bag. Unzipping it, he rifled quickly through the contents, noting extra ammunition, gloves and a few other goodies. Zipping it back up, he reached back in and grabbed the tactical rifle case laying flat on the floor of the trunk. He nodded to himself as he opened the case, exposing a brand new Smith & Wesson M&P AR 15, complete with tactical light on the forearm grip. He closed the case and took it and the duffel bag to the Volvo. Opening the back door, he pushed a curious Princess over and stuffed the two items in to the already overcrowded car. Princess sighed in annoyance as her little kingdom was rudely invaded. Her annoyance was quickly forgotten as she found a zipper on one of the packed bags to chew on.
John walked towards the driver's side door. As he reached for the handle, Sara yelled. “John!”
Turning, John saw what made his wife scream in horror.. The dead trooper sat up and looked straight at him. John stared back at the officer, noting the eyes were cloudy, almost milky. The trooper's mouth worked silently for a few seconds, before a low, angry moan escaped the lifeless lips. Princess was barking like mad in the back of the car, pawing at the window.
Struggling, the officer began to slide out of the car. He stumbled out and began running toward the Volvo. Sara brought her gun up even as John was pulling his from his shoulder holster. Sara fired twice as the trooper closed on them, hitting him in the chest with both shots.
Either the man was wearing a vest, or the shots didn't affect him, John noted to himself as he took careful aim at the trooper's head. His first shot hit low, right under its chin. The officer staggered for a second, but then resumed its violent run at the Volvo. Sara watched in horror as the creature made it almost to her door before the top of it's head exploded with the force of John's .45 hollow point bullet. The dead trooper dropped in its tracks.
John jumped in the Volvo, slammed the car into drive and stomped on the gas.
The next forty-five minutes passed in near silence as the two tried, each in their own way, to make sense of what had just happened. Neither wanted to think that they may have just killed a man. But both knew that what they had killed had not, in fact, been a man any longer.
Finally Sara broke the silence. “John, that guy was already dead.”
“I know,” John replied, taking his wife's hand and gently squeezing. “But that was some shootin' there, Tex.”
Princess chose that moment to break the tension by sneezing. Fine brown powder exploded from the back seat. Sara looked in the back, eyes going wide. “John! She's in the coffee!”
Princess began chasing her tail in the crowded back seat, her snout covered in coffee grounds. She quickly became little more than a black and brown streak in John's rear view mirror.
John pulled the Volvo onto Interstate 91. A few minutes later, he knew he'd made a mistake. A big yellow school bus lay across both northbound lanes. John pulled the Volvo in to the median and worked his way around the yellow behemoth. Sara looked inside as they drove past. Red smears streaked the windshield. Something moved inside.
“John, something's moving in there.”
John slowed as they passed the windshield. Suddenly, a small face appeared, pressed against the glass. The entire bottom portion of the child's face was missing. John stepped on the gas, leaving the bus behind.
After Greenfield, traffic north on the interstate grew heavier. Sara and John both noticed there was no traffic heading south. As they drew closer to the Vermont border, they saw cars pulled off to the side of the road. Steam rolled from the hoods of some, while others just appeared to be abandoned. People were walking along the side of the highway heading north. Single people as well as families carried what belongings they could, some struggling under ridiculous burdens, including one old man carrying what appeared to be a box spring and a mattress.
John turned on the hand held radio he'd taken from the dead trooper. A female dispatcher was speaking. “...apprehend anyone trying to cross the border. All subjects attempting to flee the Commonwealth are to be detained and checked for symptoms or abnormal behavior. Anyone displaying such behavior must be isolated and transferred to the nearest detention facility. Use of deadly force is authorized. Vermont State Police are not cooperating, expect no back up from VSP.”
“That doesn't make any sense. Why would they do that?” Sara asked John.
John shook his head. “I don't know babe. Let's see what the deal is at the border. There must be a mistake. Either way, we're going through.”
Finally they approached the border. Traffic stalled completely. Just ahead, John saw a police roadblock, with four blue Massachusetts State Police cruisers blocking both lanes, illuminating the scene with two portable, generator powered spotlights. There appeared to be no way across the border.
Rolling down his window, John could hear a male voice over a loud speaker up ahead at the roadblock.
“Get out of your vehicles and step to the right of the road. You are being detained by order of the Governor. No one is allowed across the border until the state of emergency has been cleared. I repeat, get out of your vehicle and step to the right of the road!”
Up ahead, John could see people stepping off to the right of the road. Uniformed troopers as well as National Guard personnel were walking down the line, some with rifles pointed at the civilians.
“John, this isn't right. Why won't they just let the people pass?” Sara asked, fear and anger fighting for control of her voice.
“I don't know, babe, but we are not sticking around to find out.” John backed the car up as much as he could, turned off to the right of the road, and drove until he saw an old path through the woods. A rusty chain link fence blocked the way. John turned the car around and rammed the fence in reverse. The commotion drew the attention of the troops manning the roadblock. A blue cruiser raced down the side of the road right for them. John turned the Volvo around quickly and followed the old logging trail as fast as he could, the Cross Country handling the rough dirt trail as well as any off road vehicle.
Having grown up not far from where they were, John new the logging trail was headed in the right general direction. They ran a parallel course beside the interstate. As they passed the roadblock, John looked over through the trees and saw a National Guard soldier pull a woman out of the crowd standing beside the road. He dragged her out in to the middle of the road, threw her to the ground, and fired his rifle at her.
John turned back to the path, not saying anything to Sara about what he had just seen. The path curved back toward the highway. No fence blocked the way this time, and John knew they had crossed over in to Vermont. He pointed the Cross Country at the highway, breaking out of the forest. The blue cruiser was right behind them.
As they pulled onto the interstate, John looked back. Beside the driver of the cruiser, John saw a second trooper aiming a rifle out of the passenger side window right at them.
“Get down!” John yelled.
As Sara ducked down in her seat, reaching backwards to hold a shaking Princess down too, a green and gold Crown Victoria pulled between the Volvo and the blue cruiser, cutting them off. John looked in his rear view mirror just as a second Vermont State Police car joined the first one in blocking the blue cruiser.
John and Sara looked at each other as they sped on, a mere twenty miles from their destination. Somewhere behind them, gun shots rang out.
