Rising, I peel back the curtains a touch. It’s the same as when we began our rest; cars stretching to the sides, front, and back, for as far as I can see but no movement. Feeling a little better about our situation, I head to the front to wake Trip. I knew deep down that he would sleep, but I was exhausted and had reached my limit. Trip jumps into wakefulness at my touch.
“Dude, why did you have to wake me? I was with my wife on a peaceful motorcycle ride.”
“It’s time we get going,” I state.
“Where are we going? I kinda like it here,” he replies.
“Mike is still out there somewhere, and I assume that he’ll make for the highway. Regardless, though, we have to keep moving. It’s only a matter of time before zombies show and we need to find a more secure location before nightfall,” I answer.
“If you say so. I still like it here better.”
Without another word, we make our way outside. The sun is almost directly overhead and the tangle of cars stretches beyond our line of sight. I cram a few food items that hadn’t spoiled into my pack. As Trip chews down some of his food, I notice that he found another shirt from somewhere. I don’t bother asking. After downing a water bottle between us, we set out.
Maneuvering through the vehicles is more difficult as they are parked every which way without clear lanes between them. We clamber over and around the stalled cars, slowly making our way along the highway. I keep an eye out for anything that might serve as a safe haven for us, but there’s nothing more than a lengthy line of traffic with trees marching along the sides. The couple of hours rest we gathered wears off, and it’s with a numb mind and body that we traipse forward. I would like to find someplace soon that would allow us to get some true rest before the sun sinks below the horizon.
I only notice a few bodies scattered here and there, some in the vehicles, with others on the little pavement that shows. They all show signs of being mauled and are in a state of decay. Not like the zombies or speeders, but they have obviously dead for some time. As we progress, the remains become more numerous.
Trudging is the best way to describe our progress. With our lack of sleep, I’m surprised we haven’t collapsed, but there’s always one more car to climb. Scaling one vehicle, I notice a starred windshield under a covering of grime. Wiping some of the dirt away, it looks suspiciously like a strike from a bullet. It could have been from anything, even a thrown rock or maybe it occurred before the car’s arrival, but a bullet is what immediately comes to mind.
More alert, I scramble over the next vehicle and there are more starred windshields and a few broken out windows. I tell Trip, who has been mostly silent during our trek, and hasn’t lit up another of his seemingly endless supply of joints, to stay put. He sits on the hood of one car and collapses against the windshield. Climbing to the roof of the car, I look in the direction we’ve been traveling. I’m not feeling great about exposing myself like this but, with what appears to have been gunplay, I need to get a better picture of what we’re venturing into.
From my higher vantage point, I see several military-style vehicles ahead that are surrounded by the mass of cars. Pulling out my binoculars, I scope out the scene. In the magnified view, I note that the vehicles closer to the military unit in the middle are riddled with bullet holes. Bodies are draped over and lying around the vehicles. Many of the cars are missing windshields along with their side and rear windows. Past the concentration of military vehicles that look a lot like Humvees, with subtle differences, the log jam continues.
It looks very much like whatever served as the military here attempted a blockade to stem the flow of cars out of the city miles behind. The panicked people attempted to run through the blockade and the soldiers opened up. From the sight of the vehicles stretching past the barricade, it is apparent that the flow of people was too much for the soldiers to contain. They people managed to overrun them, but not before suffering more than a few casualties.
I continue to scan the area, but there’s nothing moving. Gathering Trip, we move through the wreckage. Bullet-ridden cars line the area in front of the military ones with bodies lying everywhere. The forms have been dead long enough that there’s only a faint, lingering smell of death. Some are decayed, but many have been torn apart and eaten — a sure sign that night runners are around. All of them have indications of injuries from bullets — bones shattered from the forceful impacts and more than a few with shattered craniums.
The thing I notice as we maneuver through the wreckage of vehicles and bodies is that none of the figures lying in cars, across hoods, or on the ground, have uniforms on. Perhaps the soldiers withdrew when they found they couldn’t stem the tide and saw the futility of their actions. Although, why they didn’t drive away is anyone’s guess. At first, Trip stares at the bodies, shaking his head. He then purposely looks away, maintaining silence as we continue past the blockade. It may be that he, like me, is too tired for conversation.
I keep expecting to run into Mike as we make our way along the highway and wonder what happened to him. He seemed, or seems, like a good man, and I hope that nothing bad happened to him…that he was able to make good his escape from the tower.
A short time later, we are confronted by the burnt out remains of vehicles. The traffic jam turns into burnt hulks as if a line was drawn. Inside of the cars, bones lie scattered. And then, the wreckage of cars just ends. That’s it — a snarled mess of cars, then burnt ones, and then it ends. A hundred yards away from where the traffic jam terminates, there’s another barricade of military vehicles. These are different from the other ones we passed in that they are a combination of the Humvee-style vehicles and armored ones.
Scanning the blockade, I don’t see any signs of the soldiers that once manned the position. The windshields are covered in the same grime as the miles of cars we’ve passed. It becomes apparent that this line stemmed the tide of people pouring out of the city.
But then what? Did they abandon their positions afterward? Where did they go?
The trees that have lined the road since the beginning begin to widen out, and then, they too, end. Beyond the barricade, the highway remains clear and begins a descent to a plain with fields of tall grass stretching to either side. In the far distance, across the wide plain, there is a barely visible, purplish line of mountains.
Trip and I carefully walk past the last of the cars to the military vehicles. At the first one we come to, Trip steps up and opens the door. Reaching under the seat, he pulls out yet another wrapped Spongie.
“I thought I smelled another one,” he says, opening the wrapper.
Shaking my head, I walk around and through the blockade, checking the vehicles for any signs of life…or death, whichever. There is no indication of what happened to the soldiers. Just behind the barricade, I see a helmet stuck in the pavement. Looking closer, I find no indication that it was hammered into it or forced into the road. It really looks like it just grew out of the asphalt.
Turning to see what trouble Trip might be stirring up, or really, more interested to see what he’ll come up with next, I notice a boot sticking out of the tread of one of the vehicles. Shaking my head to clear my mind, I look again. Sure enough, there is the bottom part of a boot growing out of the tire.