“Are you insane?” I scream back at her. Taking out my own Swiffer/broom combo and aiming at her, “I’ll blast you the fuck out of that window you dumb cunt!” giggling to myself.
A pop zings out as the ground at my feet explodes. It was my vision—I lurch forward sprinting like I’m back on my high school track team, 200 meters to get the hell out of her sights. I hear another shot and see the concrete flint right in front of me and I jump for cover behind a car.
“Drop your gear son, and you won’t get shot,” I hear faintly. I wonder if I knew her before things became awesome. I feel pretty panicked but I’m curious, maybe I held the door open for her when I went to the corner deli. What an asshole.
“I helped you before, just let me go!” I yell out, totally a wild card.
“How do you figure?” she asks.
“I held the door open for you.”
And then I bolt running as fast as my legs will carry me and round the corner. My heart feels tight—the adrenaline pumps do that, the feeling of fear is overwhelming. I see an Audi, looks like a model from 2002, the doors unlocked, hot damn. I get in, drop my backpack on the passenger seat and throw my “rifle” in the back seat. The seats are soft, leather, beige, and it has a nice used car smell, like new shoes but a little gentler. I lean the seat back and breathe in deeply, my stomach grows, chest expands and I release a long breath slowly. I’ll have to keep in mind that my vision might not be perfect anymore. I check my pockets for my eye-drops, empty, anger bubbles up at how itchy my eyes are. I used to compulsively check my pockets for my wallet, keys, and gum. Now it’s time for a little gift from god-the car keys. I check the glove compartment and I’m not making this up, first times a charm. I start the car and see that I have about a quarter tank of gas. I drive out and the feeling of accelerating forward isn’t exactly novel, but it certainly brings shivers to my spine. It’s wonderful, I floor it and get pulled back into my seat and my spirit soars; a feeling of jubilance cascades over my being like a cool waterfall.
I open all the windows and scream out, “Wooo hoooo!” laughing hysterically that I almost got shot for a backpack with water and food-oh how things have changed.
As I drive down the street swerving left and right to dodge the various debris and detritus I switch through the radio, static, static, static, and then I hear a voice, “And that’s what you call a three-fingered salami,” I think this is the survivalist nut-job talk show my neighbors were talking about, the guy rants about taxes and road kill for the next 15 minutes but it’s strangely soothing, just to hear the sound of a voice no matter how deranged.
I drive like I’ve never driven before-no speed limits-fuck the police; I drive just how I want to drive. Prime Directive: get on the highway and haul ass to Denver, see if my Dad is still alive, then make my way to Ohio and see if my Brother and Mother haven’t been decapitated, and then head to Boston to see if my girlfriend’s in one piece.
I pull into a gas station with a bit more optimism than is warranted, I don’t quite understand how the infrastructure works but I’m assuming the pumps still work. I park next to a pump and get out, look around. A cool breeze comes through as some papers fly by, a dog barks in the distance. I look inside the convenience store or kiosk, however you call it, windows smashed in and looted. I walk over to check it out and see if there’s anything I can scrounge. I have my Swiffer/Broom ready just in case, knife still in my belt. As I walk towards the door glass cracks underfoot and I get a slight hint of oil in the air, the door is ajar and I slowly step inside with caution. It’s completely silent; the floor is sticky, various drinks and snacks are spilled all over and old newspapers litter the counter. I grab one of them, it’s the LA Times and the front cover states Pandemic both Viral and Bacterial. Well shit, maybe all those antibiotics finally did screw things over royally, I always told my aunt that not everything needed a pill. I read the article and glean that in essence, the CDC and WHO couldn’t deal with a dual hitting combination of a highly deadly and contagious virus mixed with a new strain of Gonorrhea that was completely anti-biotic resistant, a perfect mixture of shit and suffering. I recall an interesting piece from The Atlantic, “Is America Ready for a Global Pandemic,” nope she sure as shit wasn’t. Do you reckon that people simply didn’t read enough of the journal? Why didn’t we heed their call, who was asleep at the wheel-thanks Obama—but really it was probably Trump’s fault.
Looking through the racks I see a few bags of chips left and inside the refrigerators are a couple of warm sodas. I grab what I can and walk back to the car, I think this is pretty cool, didn’t even have to pay. I try the pump, it’s still on and it seems like the station still has gasoline. I fill up and drive out of the station. Navigating my way towards the highway, eventually coming upon I-80 East I merge onto it. Well this is it, the cool wind blows my ponytails left and right and I can still smell my balls but it’s okay, I’m doing something with my life—what’s more important than family and lovers right?
The highway is relatively empty with the occasional burned out car and body, probably infected laying out being lazy. On further consideration I probably should have scored some CD’s or a music player or something, driving in silence is alright but I can actually feel a kind of musical void in my soul. I would kill for some Bill Withers or Nina Simone right now, maybe some classic Al Green, a little bit of My Girl here and there, but that’s the price you pay for freedom.
I drive and mentally map all the things I miss about the past but at the same time feel ecstatic that here I am driving a stolen-my new car-down the highway as fast as I want and that’s all I really have to do, just drive. We used to talk about freedom in the world before, it meant this, it meant that, there was positive and negative freedoms and we all argued about which laws took them away or increased them. Well let me tell you stranger, there’s no law or scripture which captures the present moment, flying down the pavement, four wheels in contact with the asphalt and my soul ethereally above it all not caring one bit about anything and everything.
I drive on for about forty five minutes carefree and just feeling swell and pretty, remembering the song Oh, Pretty Woman—I wish I could hear it one more time. Suddenly a number of cars and people run out from the trees surrounding the road forming a roadblock. I slow to a standstill, about 300 meters out from the block. I see about 10 men on foot carrying what I imagine are weapons but they look like more broomsticks, that’s what the apocalypse really was, a broomstick invasion. They might actually have AK-47s; I can vaguely make out an ammo clip. At this point I realize going forward isn’t an option, I don’t know who or what they want, but I reckon it’s nothing good. I drive the car around and start heading back the other way and right before my eyes I see the same thing occur in the other direction.
I panic; I’m boxed in, dead, soon to be raped and mangled and eaten. I look in the rearview mirror, outmanned, outgunned, outfucked. This is deadpool-guaranteed annihilation. I process every avenue of escape, pretty much all end up with a bloody asshole and my teeth kicked in. I might drive into the forest but this car isn’t going far and I can’t just do another 360, both sides are blocked and a bullet storm ensues no matter which way I go. I could try negotiating but that’s a pipe dream. The only real chance is to go full speed, duck down, and try to drive between the cars or around on the curb.
I can hear yelling from afar “Get out of the car and we won’t hurt you,” faintly, almost indecipherably. I can feel my penis retract into my body and my heart accelerates, my palms get moist. Do or die time this is. I lean back in my seat thinking up all the horrors they have in store for me, I take a look at my passenger seat, all for food and water, or do they want more than that? Anyways I suddenly really wish I could get out and take a piss in the trees to my left. I can’t say how many cars and people and how they are dressed, but I would wager they are what we would call marauders. They aren’t partial to dialog and thinking, rather they just like to get what they want, at least I think so and I’m not going to risk it.