Rest is Best

Against his better judgment, Chris agreed to stay while the HAZMAT team procured a vehicle and supplies for him. He sat down on one of the bunk beds and surveyed the trailer. Each bunk had its own personality. One bunk had pictures of Voltron and Transformers stapled to the wall, another had World of Warcraft and Guild Wars game box covers on the wall. But they all had something in common. 40-Year Old Virgin and Revenge of the Nerds came to Chris’ mind. There was a small desk with a dirty microwave, paper plates and a box of disposable eating utensils.

*knock*knock* “Chris, it’s Jenkins, I’m coming in.”

Jenkins entered the trailer and asked with a coy grin, “How are you enjoying your hotel accommodations? Chris chuckled, “Thank you very much. I’d like to hit the jacuzzi after my back and stump massage.” Chris pointed to his left shoulder.  They both laughed. “Listen, I have a couple of guys getting you a car; ammo and food for your trip back home, but I have a serious question.” The commander nervously rubbed his hands together and Chris waited attentively. “Are you certain your girl is at home? Is there a possibility that she left or was rescued or…”

Chris snapped, “Or, what? Became of one those things?! No, Commander, Sarah is fine and she’s at home waiting for me!”

“Hang on, now. I’m not trying to piss you off; I just wanted to make sure your trip wasn’t in vain. You don’t want to waste all that effort on an empty house if she’s in a shelter or with the military.”

“What military? Your little nerd herd is the only military I’ve seen.”

Jenkins snapped back, “Yes, you’re right. We are. And we’ve survived longer than any military out here because, as you call us, NERDS, we nerds happen to be well-versed in zombie survival. So, sir, please do not insult our integrity and the team because you grew up watching 90210 and Bruce Willis movies. As I stated, we will help you, but don’t piss me off.” Jenkins took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders.

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose, “Yeah, I’m sorry, just stressed. Where is the military? Do they have a shelter?”

“FEMA and the National Guard were sheltering people at Ellington Field, Reliant Stadium and the Astrodome, but news came over the ham that with all the commotion and noise the zekes never went to sleep and eventually consumed the Reliant Stadium and Astrodome shelters. If Sarah escaped she might be at Ellington. Where do you live, Chris?”

Chris had a sullen look on his face, “Spring.”

Jenkins’ eyes widened, “Chris, if she’s at Ellington you’d have to cross Houston again and that’s too dangerous.”

“Can you contact them?” Chris asked.

“No. There's no contact number even though we can still use cell phones, and the military’s radio transmissions are encrypted. The only information we could gather was from ham radio operators and we haven’t heard from those guys in days. Mole was able to hack into the cell towers but all he can get is people screaming and desperate calls from family members and those have thinned out as well.”

Jenkins pulled out a map from behind the microwave; unrolled it on the bunk mattress and started pointing. The map was of the greater Houston area. There were arrows pointing to different areas in the city with scribbles of footnotes. “Not safe” pointed at downtown and “safer” made a big circle around the outside of Beltway 8 and the surrounding counties.  

Jenkins continued, “Okay. Mole hacked into Houston TranStar camera system so we know most of the freeways are congested with abandoned vehicles. The ham operators that live, or lived in the outer counties last reported that it was safer travel in those areas. If I were you, I’d be vigilant of drunk rednecks since most of the available law enforcement was dispatched into Harris County to assist Houston Police and the Guard so, you’ll need to stick to the outskirts of town and rural roads to avoid any possible contact with zekes that are awake. We have a clear route that we can escort you on from here to I-10.”

“Which way should I go?”

“Personally, I would recommend going through Jacinto City on Highway 90 to Crosby, then on Farm-to-Market road 2100 to Huffman and then on 1960 to Spring.”

“Do you have an extra map I can take with me?”

“Yes, I’ll give you this one with the route drawn on it once you leave us. Right now, get some sleep; you’ll need it. When you leave here you’ll be on your own and you’re gonna have to find safe houses to rest in. From what we’ve seen in the field and heard on the radio, it won’t be a happy jaunt on the scenic tour. Me and the boys will sleep in the command trailer. See you in the morning.”

Jenkins patted Chris on the shoulder and then exited the trailer. Chris lay down on the bunk and covered up with the blanket. His mind was swimming with thoughts of fear. “What if Sarah isn’t there? What If she’s at Ellington? What if they brought her to the stadium or the Dome?” Chris shook his head. “Okay ya boob, don’t start jumping to conclusions.”

He turned his lamp off and drifted off to sleep. A couple of hours later, one of the team members came in. Chris could hear him taking his boots off at the bunk on the other side of the trailer. His breathing was shallow and shivering. Chris thought that it was cold in there but not really cold enough to breath like that.

“Are you okay?”

“Wh-who’s that?” the team member asked.

“It’s Chris the Crip; the new visitor. What’s wrong? Catchin’ a cold or something?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s b-been cool out at n-night and I ain’t been takin’ my v-vitamins. I h-hope it ain’t the flu. Yeah, s-so I’m real-ly tired and spaced out.”

“What’s your name?” Chris asked.

“Ch-Che-eco.”

Chris turned the lamp on and turned over. Chico was sitting slouched on the bunk. He was shivering and clutching his abdomen.

“Chico? Well, it’s great to meet you, man. You and that Diverter thing was cool!”

Chico waved his hand back and forth. “I’ll tell y-you all about i-it in the morn-ing. I gotta g-get some sle-ep.”

“Okay man, good night.” Chico didn’t respond. Chris turned the lamp off and faded back into dreamland. Chris later awoke to arguing outside followed by a wheezed grunt sound inside the trailer. He heard the squeaking of the bed springs and then an off-rhythm clomping of footsteps toward the doors. The indiscernible arguing kept going and the grunting got more persistent; then he heard a clawing sound.

Chris started freaking out. He knew what he was hearing. Chico wasn’t sick with the flu. He’d been bitten and now he’s dead!      

 “Oh damn! How am I gonna get out of here!”