S. Davis - 900 Miles

Kyle glanced at me, and I nodded. Both of us shifted our shoulders toward the front door. We knew we needed to get inside to see if we could dig up any supplies, but it had to happen quickly. None of us wanted to be stuck in this old building when Gordon’s men showed up.

After reaching down and slowly trying the knob, Kyle pulled his hand back and glanced over his shoulder one last time Seeing what he was about to do, I took a step back and watched as he lifted his boot and kicked in hard against the wooden door.

It burst inward with a crack, a bit too loud for my comfort, shooting splinters across a dust-covered floor. Leaping inside, ready to strike, the two of us stood there like morons for a moment as we peered around the shadow-infested room. Shifting my wide eyes from one set of cobwebs to another, I took a deep breath in, feeling a blast of stale air fill my nostrils.

Exhaling, I came up from my crouch, realizing the place appeared clear of Zs. Cautiously inching forward, I ran a hand across a near empty wooden shelf while surveying the few things that were still available for the taking. Weapons would be nice, but I certainly didn’t suppose we’d be finding any firearms in the place.

“Check this shit out,” I heard Kyle whisper with a little too much joy as he pulled a double-barreled shotgun from the contracted grip of a decomposed body lying behind the counter.

Looking over the top of an old metal register, I noticed that the decaying body was wearing a camouflage National Rifle Association (NRA) hat, and was missing a leg. Before the person died, it was clear that he had tried to shoot off his leg, as the stump still sitting in the boot was just a mere “foot” from where he lay dead. The hole starting at his mouth and running through the back of his skull had me guessing that he was getting ready to turn—just before he decided to end it.

“Must have gotten bit, and tried to sever the wound,” Jarvis said in a low voice as he eased toward us.

“I haven’t seen that work yet,” I replied.

“Either way, bless these NRA nuts,” Kyle said as he reached into the body’s front vest pocket and pulled out a handful of shells.

Eyeballing the rest of the dark room, I could see that it was mostly set up like a small museum. Stopping in my tracks, there was a moment where I nearly shit myself as I realized three frozen human figures were standing in the darkness across from us. After a few horror-filled seconds spent straining our eyes, we quickly realized that they were simply another set of mannequins. Each one propped up, displayed with knitting and sewing supplies—evidently reenacting what it took to make clothes before Americans could simply drag their fat asses to the nearest Walmart.

Pulling myself together, I glanced toward one of the walls. Spread across it was a mural that proudly displayed a series of children dressed in clothing that the original settlers of this area must have worn. A picture forever captured in time. All the children looked so happy. Momentarily thinking of Tyler, I wondered if he’d ever have the opportunity to be around that many other kids.

It still saddens me to know the answer to that question.

After a few more hasty minutes of running through the place, we pulled together a pile of equipment that included three plastic lighters, a full trail map, and a small medical kit to help fix up Jarvis’s leg. To our dismay, no other real clothing (aside from the red t-shirt) or supplies existed. The place had been fairly looted before it was deserted.

“We gotta get a lay of the land,” Kyle said as we crouched down by the window. “Gordon’s men are out there, and who knows how close that mega-horde is at this point.”

“That fire tower is out there. Maybe we can get a good vantage point from there.”

“Good thinking, John,” Jarvis replied.

Moments later, we crept outside, listening for any movement in the distance. The lights we’d seen earlier were nowhere in sight, leading us to think Gordon’s men had gone in a different direction… at least for the moment.

“Who’s gonna go up?” I asked with a gulp, already knowing the answer.

Kyle and Jarvis just stared at me as my shoulders dropped once more and I slid the hammer into my belt. Turning away from them, cursing myself for being the most nimble of the group, I reached up toward a ladder that led up to a platform which in turn led to a set of stairs that spiraled to the top of the tower.

I had seen fire towers in the past during backpacking trips, and knew that most of them were no longer in use. They were often at the tops of hills, giving people a good vantage point over the forest to watch for smoke. Some parks used scarce resources and funding to try to preserve them. With rotting wood and bent metal, this one felt like they had let it fall to the wayside. Still, we had to figure out what the hell was out there. For all we knew, there was a pack of creatures roaming around just outside the parking lot below. I found myself praying the moonlight would help me see well enough to be able to tell.

Glancing over the edge after reaching the first level, I looked down toward my friends. Kyle was standing guard with the shotgun held high, while Jarvis was plopped down against the base of the tower, tightly wrapping gauze around the red t-shirt that he’d tied across his leg to help slow the bleeding. I kept climbing.

Letting out a tired exhale, I pulled myself into the top of the fire tower. I stopped gritting my teeth once I found the floor absent of anything dead… or alive. It was made of wood. I could hear tiny slivers of dry rot falling to the ground below with each step. Attempting to balance my weight, I gripped a set of metal railings, which shook back and forth, as I inched forward. A bizarre feeling, as if something was missing, crept into my mind as I let my eyes adjust to the moonlight. Surveying the swaying trees, I tuned my ears to the blowing wind as I realized what it was. The world was devoid of that rhythmic chirping from distant insects that would normally be heard on a night like this. My mind drifted to those humid summer evenings I’d often spent sipping on a glass of bourbon while trying to relax on my back porch. All the while, that calming chant singing to me in the background. Tonight, it was as if they could sense the shitstorm was coming. Even the bugs knew to keep quiet.

With the moonlight peeking through the clouds, I could see a sizable chunk of the park below. In addition to the lake, it was apparent that a few other parking lots were spread out around the area, in between a massive expanse of trees and forests. What I didn’t see were any towns or signs of civilization. I also didn’t see anything in the form of Z hordes lurking around in our immediate area.

A set of dancing lights about a mile away caught my attention. It looked like Gordon’s men were still searching around the lake that we’d crashed into. To the left of the lake, I saw a larger set of lights, which I believed to be where they had landed the helicopter. I couldn’t see the vehicle, but there was illumination that could be seen bouncing off the tree limbs

Glancing down at Kyle, I flashed a thumbs up to let him know we were all right for the time being. He tilted the shotgun up a degree or two, acknowledging the news, then turned back to continue his survey of the immediate area. Not lowering the gun from his hip, he guarded the parking lot, seemingly on full alert.

After adjusting the backpack over my shoulders, I reached into my vest pocket and pulled the cell phone out. Wiping the glass plate dry with my sleeve, I reached up and smashed the upper right-hand button with my thumb, praying that it would still turn on after its bath out in the lake. Not even the tiniest flicker of light crossed its screen. Dropping my head, cursing under my breath, I could only hope it would eventually dry out enough for me to recover the last remaining pictures of my wife.