Joseph Love - Kill Town, USA

“It’s strong if you never tried it before.”

“Please stop the truck.”

I slowed to a crawl. Before I could stop she opened her door and leaned out, retching a putrid streak of black sludge to the snow. She heaved again. And again. By then, she had nothing left to throw up and dark strings hung from her mouth. She didn’t move for a long time. In the dark, I couldn’t tell if she was still breathing. I kept my hand wrapped around the Glock.

“I don’t think that was good,” she said finally.

We followed the tire tracks downtown. There were bare spots on the road where trucks had been parked. An Igloo cooler was left on the side of the road, a steaming cup of coffee on top of it.

“See if there’s a map for emergency drills. Something like that.”

“I don’t see one.”

“Well, they all went to the same place. They wouldn’t just abandon town. They have a plan for everything.”

“I said there isn’t a goddamn map.”

I stomped the brake pedal and the anti-lock system pulsed in the snow. “Give me the maps.”

Audrey held the maps tightly.

I snatched the bundle from her and pulled out the second map in the stack, Emergency Plan. I’d seen it at least six times already.

“Good, you found it.”

“Do you have a problem?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you have a problem?”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

I unfolded the emergency map and examined the guard positions. Red dots were positioned all along Main Street, “Roof” was scribbled above the locations. The jail had a large red square drawn around it, ten dots marked for roof patrol. Sanctuary. I folded the map and continued toward Main Street. “I’m asking if you just didn’t see the map or if you didn’t look for it.”

She was silent.

“Why?”

She kicked the floorboard. “Because you’re not puking black shit, Jack. You didn’t get bit and I’m just…counting down.”

“You’re not doing me any favors either way. Just remember that. I’ve been here to help you ,” I was angry, but I kept my voice low.

Main Street ran along the river and dropped to just a few feet above water level. A caboose was parked outside an old depot, a broken plastic chair sat by the mailbox. We passed a garage with no sign, new parts still on display in the window. A car was parked out front with the hood up. Before it was quarantined, Marshall was little more than rusted cars and parking lots.

The buildings were all the same. Four or five stories, chipped paint and crumbling mortar. Small eerie houses hidden on the hill. Faded store signs. I passed a small grocery and teashop and took the alley toward Back Street.

“I could have lived somewhere like this,” Audrey said. “I never wanted to move to the city. Neither did Watts. We rented a house for two years. We were both happy in that house.”

I stopped in front of one of the squat brick buildings. Fine and Folsom’s Undertaking, indicated by a small square sign hung high on a rusted pole. “Let me see the map,” she said, staring up at the building. “Look,” she traced the map with her finger. “This is where we are, the funeral home. It’s right next to Alfie’s Outdoors and the jail.”

Three buildings away, the road came to an intersection. The jail was situated on the corner.

“What do we do?” Audrey sounded excited again, hopeful.

“We need a boat from Alfie’s Outdoors. Then, we need to figure out how to get the boat in the water without being spotted.”

I stared at the cracking paint on the funeral home doors. I rubbed the Winchester’s stock. My cold palms felt like sandpaper against the smooth handle. “If there’s a good window upstairs, I might be able to pick them off.”

I DON’T BELIEVE IN LUCK. But if I did, I’d say mine ran out right then.

There came a Hellstorm of bullets into the cab. It sounded like hail. It burned the plastic and carpets. I dove on Audrey, pinning her under the bench seat, our bodies wedged in the floorboard. They shot my right shoulder, right hip, and right knee.

I also don’t believe in God. But if I did, I’d say those heathens descended into Marshall only by His grace. The emergency sirens shrieked and the bullets stopped. I was panting. Lapping the air. The gunfire picked up again and we ducked. But the bullets landed far away. Audrey shivered under me.

The red dots. The red dots were people. People move. I never considered that the guards might move from their posts.

How could I have been so reckless?

“Jack, you’re bleeding.”

“Yes. A lot. Are you okay?”

“I think—I don’t know.”

“You’d know. It hurts like hell.”

“I think I’m okay.”

“Good. Good. Audrey?”

“Jack!” She smacked my cheek. “Jack, you need to wake up.”

“Audrey. Have I told you?”

“Told me what, Jack?”

“I think you’d know.”

“I know you’re in pain.”

“Not that. Something else. Have I told you?”

“Jack!” She slapped me again. “Jack, we need to get out of this truck.”

“I want to stay with you.”

“I’m not staying. We can go further.”

“No. I think we’re both dead.”

When the world ends, the strong will fight off death but they will lose. When the world ends, nothing will change.

“We’re not dead, Jack. I have to tell you this. I’ve had this bite for a long time. Watts didn’t even know about it.”

“Of course. How long?”

“Weeks.”

I laughed but I didn’t mean it. It hurt to laugh. “I kissed you.”

“I didn’t even think about it.”

“I’m not upset. Don’t leave.”

“What?”

“Please.”

The truck swayed like it was under a heavy wind. Then, it rocked. It creaked and jarred and Audrey stared over my head. “Jack! They’re here.”

I looked up. Their bony hands groped the door panels, pieces of broken glass tore their gray skin. I couldn’t raise the pistol. Audrey took it from me and fired through the window.

“I have to get up,” Audrey tried to push me off of her. I moved far enough to the side for her to get up. She screamed and fought her way out from under me.

Audrey crawled into the driver’s seat and started the truck. It chugged roughly as she took off in the parking lot. Skulls bounced off the truck and rattled under the tires. She slammed on the brakes and backed up to the loading ramp at Alfie’s Outdoors. She armed herself with the Remington and a Glock, stuffed her pants full of ammunition.

“A boat,” she said. “We still need a boat?”

“I think it’s our only choice.”

“Listen.” The cab was silent. “I’ll get a boat. I’ll put it in right there.” She pointed to the train tracks across the parking lot. She would drag the boat across the lot, scurry down the bank, and guide the boat to our rendezvous. “I’ll meet you under the second bridge,” she pointed downriver. One bridge crossed the river, and the second went out to an island. “There are some shoals on the water just under the bridge. I’ll pick you up there.”

“No. I’ll meet you right there,” I pointed at the train tracks.

“You can’t sit here. I don’t know how long it will take. They’ll tear you out of this truck.”

I shut my good eye. She fired out the windshield, out her window. “You’re right. I’ll meet you over there.”

“Jack!” She swatted me with the dead flashlight. “You need to stay awake. You need to get up. Swallow this,” she shoved the lip of a bottle in my mouth and I gulped. The morphine warmed my mouth and throat.

When your body is full of bullets and your leg has been bear-trapped and you’re blind in one eye and you face certain death, you swallow some morphine and give fuck all about the world.