Day 1…
The double set of swinging doors burst open, stetcher pushing it’s way through with a couple of officers on either side, the all too familiar image of a man clad in orange scrubs strapped to the gurney. There was a lot of shouting going on, pointing left and right, but through it all I could still hear that squeaky wheel on the damn roller. It was a wonder the thing was still useable, given it’s age, but then again, Cedar Junction wasn’t a 5 star hotel, most of the equipment behind it’s iron gates was aging.
“Somebody tell me what the bloody hell is going on?!” It was the on call physician’s voice, a long way from his side of the pond as his folks would say. He wasn’t bad at his job though, sometimes it was honestly a wonder to watch him work. His patients, our patients, the dredges of society, but every one of them received the very best care we could provide, and Dr. Connors saw to that. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day. People used to ask where were you on 9-11. At least, Americans used to. Now the whole world asks – where were you on Day 1? The officers accompanying the man on the stretcher rattled off a list of symptoms the inmate was displaying.
My stomach was sinking as I listened to each symptom. It wasn’t just 20 minutes ago we received the CDC brief. Some virus. Nasty little shit. But the more I listened the more it became obvious. This inmate, this man, Ronnie, he was on his way back from court, life sentence, murder. He must have contracted it there. Somebody at the courthouse was sick. A virus like this, through a closed environment like the prison, it could wipe out half the population in weeks. That’s when I was snapped out of my own little daze. Dr. Connors was yelling for me.
The inmate, his arm, somehow he got it free. It looked like the bone was snapped in two places, but he still was weilding it like there was no pain. Was this another symptom? I jumped to action, I reached his upper arm, throwing my entire body weight against him to keep him, just to keep it down so that the other nurses could sedate the man. Right as one of them reached him, there was a gut wrenching crunch, did he just break his ankle? He did something, but seconds later his foot had flown into the face of one of the nurses. I felt a sudden jolt of electricity. The four officers, they were tasing him. The inmates arm flailed and with the electrical jolt coursing through me as well, I flew back into a tray of instruments, a nasty bump to my head.
Vision was blurring, things going out of focus, but I remember one last thing before passing out. The inmate, he lunged up at Dr. Connors, sinking his teeth into the man’s shoulder. Blood sprayed everywhere and as my eyes finally closed and I gave to the mild concussion, the sounds of gunshot slowly were drowned out by my consciousness…

Day 713…
If only for a brief moment, it felt like 2013 again. It could only be a moment, because the second my eyes opened I’d be reminded it wasn’t, and you couldn’t really drive with your eyes closed, but still, there was that really good moment. Wind blowing across my face from the down window, the tape deck playing some old Michael Jackson tunes, and an empty road… well, almost empty. Sure, this wasn’t my old Audi coupe, with it’s plush leather interior and sporty ergonomics, but it would do. If there’s one thing my brother taught me before leaving, there’s no substitute for classics. Ok…ok, this wasn’t really a classic, a 1990 Plymouth Voyager, but, some of the old principles still pertained. Older cars, less computers, easier to fix. This little baby, with it’s wood paneling and rusted maroon color had gotten me across half the country. We were an item.
Of course that was until that horrible burning rubber smell. Then the steam, the loud pop, and lastly, the sound of a seized engine. Everything dies now. Even a 1990 Plymouth Voyager. Your journey is over my friend. The van finally rolled to a stop alongside the highway. At least it had gotten me to the West Coast. I don’t even know why I kept moving West. It had been 2 years, he had to be dead by now. Everyone was dead. Of course, not everyone stayed dead. Opening the door of the van, the moment I stepped foot aside I immediately regretted my decision on ditching the van here. Right at my feet was one of them. Biter. Walker. Deader. A million names, all the same thing. From the woods to my right a few more started shambling out. The music must have attracted them. It was dumb, and now I was about to pay the price. I swung my foot, as hard as I could, tried to knock the ugly bastards teeth out, although, time had already done that for me. Propping myself onto the frame, I hoisted myself up onto the roof of the van and rolled to my back. Just in time I would wager a guess, because the vehicle started rocking back and forth on those horrible shocks, squeaking with every left to right motion. The numbers were growing.
It was just me up there, and I remember laying up there for a few minutes… maybe even 20. The van rocking side by side, the undead clawing at the top of the van. I had made it literally across the entire country, and this was how I checked out. But then it struck me, words my brother always said, “never give up, never stop trying, only concede once you’ve breathed your last breath.” If he was dead, he was watching from up above in disgrace, if he was alive I owed it to him to try.
I moved to the front of the van, started swinging my foot down on the windshield with everything left in me. It took a few minutes, a couple close calls, but finally I broke through. After pulling the safety glass back I could just barely reach my pack on the passenger seat. My chances of success, 10% maybe, but I had to try. When I finally went for the pack, one of them grabbed my arm. Thank God for leather. It was never my choice of material, but now, now I swear by it. I used all my might, yanked my arm free with my pack in hand and scuttled to the center of the van’s roof. This was a long shot, but it was my only shot. WIth just a few rounds left, I squeezed off a few right at my feet, piercing the thin metal roof. Hopefully the the thin metal floor too. Then I waited.
People still ask me how I can believe in a higher power. With all the horrors in the world, how can there be something better. It’s moments like these. The all too familiar smell emminated from the undercarriage and glancing to the road, I could see it, gasoline. I grabbed the pack, a single roadside flare stuffed in a side pocket and I lined up. Sprinting as fast as I could, I slammed the flare against my thigh, watched it ignite and then just as I passed the small puddle, I dropped it and jumped. The landing was rough, my ankle would hurt for a few days no doubt, but I had to keep moving, they were going to give chase. I turned around, and sure enough they were moving off the van, I must have missed.
Wrong… because seconds later I heard the massive explosion. I needed a new home. Arklay… wonder if they have mini vans there?