Jacqueline Druga - Reset

They were newly married when the virus broke out. In fact, from what I saw. Melissa wasted no time getting married after Jason’s supposed death.

Maybe they rushed to the altar because in the thick of things, this virus was ravaging the world. Maybe they thought, hey, let’s make the best of what we have left in this life.

Her getting remarried did not seem to bother Jason much at all. I found that very chivalrous. Because I myself would be not only devastated, I’d be pissed if Rick remarried that fast after my passing. Jason was more forgiving. He held high hopes, but I actually began to think that he started to relinquish those hopes to reality the closer we drew to his home. Grasping at life’s last little straws when he saw his neighborhood.

While I searched his home, Jason sat by the little graves, clearing them and making them perfect. I suppose he talked to his wife and his daughter. Conveying his love. I know he prayed. Because he told me when he came in, that God was watching over them now. They were in a better place. Then he asked if I found anything. In addition to the marriage certificate and lots of memories that they created pretty quickly, I did. I told him we could talk when his head was clear.

From what I pieced together this new man in their lives took care of Melissa and Daisy up until the last moment.

But where was he?

How did he survive? I would have enough time to look for those answers. Again… Time. Jason didn’t want to leave first thing in the morning, but conveyed that he would if that was what I wanted. He wanted to stay back, find some photographs, and whatever else he could take with him.

I was fine with that. We could stay a day or two, even a week. After seeing Jason’s home, our little three bedroom house in Cleveland, was probably not where I would find my family, even if they were somehow miraculously alive.

Oddly enough, I was starting to think, those who survived the horrendous event, were really somewhere out there. All together and we just had to find them.

The bloodcurdling scream caused John to snap out of his sleep. It wasn’t one of those subconscious sounds, or an animal, it was a scream. A human scream. It was real. It was Meredith.

Immediately he was consumed with panic. What was going on? He jumped up. Where was she? When they all went to sleep, they were in a small circle not far from the buggy, and now John was alone. No Grant. And Meredith screamed in the distance.

He took a moment to assess. He needed a weapon. If there was trouble he needed something to defend himself and her. Damn it, he thought, why didn’t he break out the gun? He knew why. His arrogant and confident self didn’t think there was a soul left to bother them

Grant had an insight. He felt it. He knew there was trouble. And not just from the fact that there was no brush for nature’s camouflage. The only thing that John could grab was a stick. It wasn’t big. It was dry and brittle, rendering it useless. John couldn’t waste any more time, he followed Meredith screams.

Racing toward them, he heard something else. Laughter. Not only male but female laughter. Hooting and hollering and whooping it up as if at some sort of party. To John it was the quintessential post apocalyptic game. Ravaging the world. A scenario he labeled complete and utter fiction bullshit. Nothing like that would ever happen. He had more faith in mankind. He was wrong.

Right then and there, in front of him, on the old highway, was every bad apocalypse movie playing out. It was game. From what he could see, six men encircled Meredith.

Two women were off to the side

She crawled on her hands and knees, trying to get away. Her clothes were tattered and torn from her. They kicked and pulled at her and another man grabbed her. It was well rehearsed event to them. Throwing her to the ground, laughing. One would yank her back, another would hold her, while the third mounted her. The invasion to her body caused her to cry out.

It wasn’t happening.

Grant had conveyed his fear about everything John witnessed before him.

Where was Grant?

Did he run?

Everything moved in slow motion. John’s heart pounded in his chest and he drew in the courage he needed to help.

Alone he was useless. Knowing that each second was too much and too long, John backtracked, and ran back to the buggy. The only real way to help was to get the gun.

Their vehicle wasn’t too far from where they camped out. Down off the side of the road, where they always hid the buggy when they stopped. John was certain it was still there, there was no way those people would even begin to know how to drive it, and if they did, they couldn’t do it. Grant in his neurotic state hid the battery.

He made it to the buggy and as he expected it had been ransacked. The book bags that they had left behind were empty; there were no contents to be found. He supposed they did not know what the purifier bottles were, because they were off to the side. They obviously didn’t search under the seats either. John knew that was where Grant hid the gun. He lifted up the back seat to expose the hidden compartment with the extra supplies. His hands trembled as he hurriedly grabbed the pistol and clips. After shoving one clip in the back pocket of his pants, with a trembling hand he loaded another into the handgun. As he did so, he was grateful that Grant was as scared of problems as he was. Or else, if left up to John, all the items would have been taken. Weapon loaded John raced back on the highway.

Meredith wasn’t moving at least not from what John could see. His heart pounded even more, inside he screamed, “No!”

He was a good shot. Always had been. From the time he was a boy until the time he disappeared from the face of the earth, John could fire a weapon. He had 10 good shots in that clip and another load. But he had to be fast. He moved closer to get a good aim. It was dark and the human beings gone wild, didn’t even carry any flashlight, or fire.

They probably were adjusted to the dark.

Who to hit first was the question in John’s mind. He aimed at the three men having their way with the motionless Meredith. It was a semi-automatic handgun, chamber engaged, John took aim as best as he could in the darkness lit only by the moon.

Three consecutive shots were dead on, taking out two of the assailants, and the third was hit in the shoulder. At that point John had to hurry and shoot the others. He took down the two females off the side.

Three more to go and they started to scurry around. They weren’t an easy target now and John had to move closer to where Meredith was to get a good shot. Weapon in hand, he raged forward ready to fire, ready to take charge. He had counted eight people. Six men, two women.

He didn’t see the ninth. He never saw the ninth.

As he raced in, directly center of them, he hovered above Meredith, in a protective stance. One hand on Meredith, he extended his arm in an aim. Finger on the trigger, ready to depress, John only got to fire one shot.

He felt the excruciating slamming pain to the back of his shoulders and John, with the force of the hit, went down, landing on Meredith. Beneath him he could feel her breathing. She was still alive. The blood from her chest seeped through onto his shirt. He cocked his head, reached out his hand for the gun and when he did, he saw Grant. The young man was off to the side; his bloody and motionless body was curled in an unnatural position, as if a rag doll just tossed aside. That brief second of looking at Grant afforded his assailants the chance to take control again. Just as his fingers grazed the gun, a bare foot slammed down on his hand and his legs were grabbed. Suddenly, he was yanked backwards, and John was literally dragged from Meredith.