CHAPTER 9 
The next two hours of driving did little to abate my feelings of dread in fact it did more to intensify it. I was trying to go over the events of the day to find some sort of alternate explanation for what was going on. First off, sprinting zombies were not on my agenda. Our survivability odds had just been greatly reduced. Any mode of transportation that didn’t include wheels was tantamount to suicide. These new zombies could run full tilt probably forever. In my hey day I could sprint for a max of maybe a quarter mile, now, hell maybe 100 yards before some significant body part failed. I shivered thinking back to our escape from Wal-Mart, if we had encountered speeders then…well I guess it would be over and I could stop fixating on the damn issue at hand. The main problem right now was the sun, well the sun and its gradual decline. We were going to have to stop, sooner rather than later, and with our own shining lighthouse transmitting our whereabouts I couldn’t fathom where we would find sanctuary. I’m not above sleeping in a car but with three other people it was not going to be a comfortable affair. We could all sleep in the truck bed but if something happened we would have to abandon the Jeep and the Explorer, which was not an option. We could find a defensible house, but images of the old Dawn of the Dead movie flickered through my brain plate. Hands coming through windows and all that stuff. Come to think of it that didn’t turn out to be such a good idea either.
This was not looking good for the home team. Let’s see, we were outnumbered probably thousands to one, they don’t need sleep and they have just harnessed a second gear. Yep, not good at all. I was thinking about the myriad ways of our demise when I nearly finished the job myself. Alex had been slowing down for near on a half mile trying to gain my attention to pull along side. My thoughts were elsewhere when I almost slammed into his tailgate. His brake lights as large as saucers in my field of vision.
“Two other cars on the road and you almost crash with one of them.” My wife stated. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you drive my Jeep.”
I was pissed and had to bite back a sardonic reply, mostly because she was right. Not about smashing up her Jeep but the part about almost making us road kill. I had read once in one of those bathroom readers’, ok don’t go getting all high brow on me, one of my past life’s small pleasures was to sit on the throne and while passing time (and other things) was to gain some useless knowledge. And one of those little nuggets (get the pun?) was the fact that back in 1899 Oklahoma, there were two cars in the whole state and they had an accident with each other. They say history repeats itself, well there’s proof positive, almost.
“Talbot!” My wife said with some force. “Alex wants something.”
I pulled my hand across my face hoping to pull off the growing fog in my head. It didn’t work. I got up alongside the semi, a low throbbing apprehension coursing through my body.
“What’s up Alex?” I yelled over the sound of our engines.
“I’m getting tired Mike.” Alex yelled back. Although the words were superfluous, he looked exhausted and he had two small kids up in the cab with him. Young children could make you tired if you were already lying in bed and this was far from that peaceful scenario.
“Getting?” I asked sarcastically.
Something got lost in translation or he was just too tired to grab onto the barb. He just shrugged.
“Any ideas?” He asked.
“I’ve been thinking the same thing Alex.” Alex had been expecting me to elaborate with my plan. Unfortunately I didn’t have one. When I didn’t answer right away Alex took that as a cue.
“There’s a small town up ahead called Vona.” He finished.
Now it was my turn to shrug, "So what.” Vona, Detroit, fucken Paris, where could we go without a flesh eater joining us for company.
“They have a sheriff’s office.” He concluded.
Light and hope began to not so much blaze but at least glimmer. A sheriff’s office should have holding cells and a bit more fortification than the average house. “Lead on, Tonto!” I yelled.
“Who the hell is Tonto?” He retorted.
“Never mind, how much further?”
“Ten minutes at the most.”
“Alright we’ll scout ahead.” I accelerated past him. It would be safer to have my Jeep go in first. It was much more maneuverable and would be easier to vacate a hostile area if the need arose. Five minutes later I was taking the off ramp down into Vona. Alex stayed at the top of the ramp with the engine idling. If I wasn’t back in twenty minutes the plan was for him to leave. I knew he wouldn’t, but that was the plan.
My guts felt like I had swallowed a salamander. As calm and collected as I could, which wasn’t working by the way, I turned to see if I could garner any information from my early warning detection system, Tommy. I was neither alarmed nor relieved.
“Hey buddy, got any feelings?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible.
“I got a bunch Mr. T.” He said with a small smile on his face.
I waited for a second, hoping for some sort of revelation. Then it dawned on me that Tommy’s ‘feelings’ probably had more to do with how much he liked Pop-Tarts than with the outcome of our lives as we entered into Vona.
“Hey Mr. T.”
“Yeah Tommy.” I answered as I slowed the Jeep down to around 15 mph, slow enough to look for trouble and quick enough to get away from it.
“What’s it mean when you put your hand over your mouth?” He asked.
I was about to answer that it generally means to be quiet, but the universal sign for that usually only entails using your pointer finger. “I’m not sure Tommy, why?”
“Well Ryan has one hand over his mouth and the other hand is pointing to his throat and he’s shaking his head, side to side.”
My foot involuntarily slipped off the gas and onto the brake, I stalled the car.
“What’s the matter, Mike?” Tracy asked. “The last time you stalled your car we had almost hit a moose four wheeling.”
“This is worse. Something or someone is blocking Tommy’s abilities.”
As if on command we all stared out the windows convinced that whatever was causing this was within range. But Vona in death was a lot like Vona in life, dead. Why they had a sheriff’s office was beyond me, maybe if they had a rash of cow tipping they could lock the hooligans up. Or maybe if things got real bad and mailboxes started to get smashed they would have somewhere to put the bad guys. Hell we were three quarters through the town and I hadn’t seen a bar or a liquor store, so no real need to even lock up the town drunk. Ah wasteful government spending at its best.
“Tommy can Ryan write?” I asked hoping beyond hope. It seemed like a far-fetched idea, but I was open to suggestions. “Maybe a small note to kind of let us know what’s going on?”
“Oh God!” Tommy moaned.
I ground the starter a little bit in response to his alarm, looking around wildly for what had caused the distress in his voice. I was still on edge but when nothing visible showed itself I relaxed a bit. Just a bit, this was still Tommy we were talking about.
“What’s the matter Tommy?” Travis asked. Even Henry could feel the change in atmospheric pressure in the car as we waited for Tommy to elaborate.
“All of Ryan’s fingers are all crunched up and broken looking.” Tommy said almost silently, a small sob escaped him.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” I said nervously.
“What’s that mean Mike?” Tracy asked me, panic beginning to well in her chest to match mine and Tommy’s. Only Travis seemed the least affected, but I noticed his knuckles turning a brighter shade of white as they gripped his shotgun.
“We’re being hunted, I think.” I answered.
Tracy’s tension eased a bit. “Well duh. Zombies have been after us for three weeks now, what’s so new about that?”