Beyond the Barriers by Timothy W. Long Read Free Book Online
Authors: Timothy W. Long
the doors and checked the windows one more time. I set the house alarm, knowing it wouldn’t do much good. If the police were too busy with the virus, or whatever it was, there was no way they would respond to my piddly house alarm, no matter how much I paid.
I slid into the little Honda and fired it up. I’d had the car for a few years, and she was as reliable as anything I had ever owned. Plus the car had a four-wheel drive setting, which would come in handy.
The sky grew dark as big puffy clouds slid into view. I backed out of the driveway, forgetting my sunglasses for now. Edwards was still dead and lying in his front yard. I had trouble looking at his body as I backed out. His not-so-lovely wife was still banging away at the window, smearing blood all over it with her hands.
I drove past ghastly faces that rose up in curtained windows, past Devon’s, where I didn’t see a light or a trace of him or his wife. I stopped at the end of the street and looked both ways. The road was zombie free, for now, and I hoped it would stay that way.
I suspected that it would not.
* * *
When I got back to highway 322, I hit traffic. On the worst day, it could take ten or fifteen minutes to get through the city. Today, I didn’t think I would be able to make it in an hour. I pulled out of the turn lane after waiting for what seemed like an eternity, and then stopped again. A few cars had pulled over to the shoulder lane, so that was not an option. A few brave souls tried weaving into the opposite lane, but they met traffic, and had to either jump back into the correct lane or drive off the road and look miserably at the line of traffic that wasn’t going to let them back in.
It took ten minutes at one light, and then ten more at the next. I drove past the Walmart I visited earlier in the day, and the place was in full panic. I watched as a few of the dead walked toward shoppers. After the news reports all day, it was apparent that others had caught on to what to do. People didn’t stand around dumbly. Some fought back, but most ran. I saw a man pulled down by three of the things; he screamed over and over at the top of his lungs for help. My hand was on the shotgun before I knew it.
A horn honked loudly behind me, and I realized the light had changed, so I accelerated to the next light and waited there as well.
They were everywhere, a small army of them interspersed with the cars. Men, women, and even children walking around with blank stares, most covered in blood, some missing limbs.
Some were missing throats, and some staggered with broken bones. One walked right up to my window and snarled at me. He had a screwdriver driven into his chest, just to the left of center. It should have punctured his heart and made him drop to the ground, dead. Only he was dead already, or undead.
I gave him the finger, and the light changed. As I accelerated, I popped my door open quickly, which knocked him to the ground. A car tried to avoid him, but the one after swerved to the right a bit and drove right over him. Score one for the good guys.
I didn’t slow down to see if it smashed in his head.
The next light was just about as bad, but a side street called to me—one I knew well from my years of living in the little city. I shot down it into a residential neighborhood that led me to another side street. I ran parallel to the main drag for a while, but jetted down yet another street before emerging onto a lightly traveled road. It took a long time to get back to highway 322, but once I reached it, I was only on it for a few minutes before jumping onto a tiny, two-lane road. Home free at last.
* * *
I was on the outskirts of the Vesper Lake when something reassuring came into view.
A half mile ahead, I saw a row of military vehicles pulled into an orderly line along the side of the road. A group of men were piling out of a Humvee, while a pair rolled pylons across the street.
After the day I had, it put a smile
I slid into the little Honda and fired it up. I’d had the car for a few years, and she was as reliable as anything I had ever owned. Plus the car had a four-wheel drive setting, which would come in handy.
The sky grew dark as big puffy clouds slid into view. I backed out of the driveway, forgetting my sunglasses for now. Edwards was still dead and lying in his front yard. I had trouble looking at his body as I backed out. His not-so-lovely wife was still banging away at the window, smearing blood all over it with her hands.
I drove past ghastly faces that rose up in curtained windows, past Devon’s, where I didn’t see a light or a trace of him or his wife. I stopped at the end of the street and looked both ways. The road was zombie free, for now, and I hoped it would stay that way.
I suspected that it would not.
* * *
When I got back to highway 322, I hit traffic. On the worst day, it could take ten or fifteen minutes to get through the city. Today, I didn’t think I would be able to make it in an hour. I pulled out of the turn lane after waiting for what seemed like an eternity, and then stopped again. A few cars had pulled over to the shoulder lane, so that was not an option. A few brave souls tried weaving into the opposite lane, but they met traffic, and had to either jump back into the correct lane or drive off the road and look miserably at the line of traffic that wasn’t going to let them back in.
It took ten minutes at one light, and then ten more at the next. I drove past the Walmart I visited earlier in the day, and the place was in full panic. I watched as a few of the dead walked toward shoppers. After the news reports all day, it was apparent that others had caught on to what to do. People didn’t stand around dumbly. Some fought back, but most ran. I saw a man pulled down by three of the things; he screamed over and over at the top of his lungs for help. My hand was on the shotgun before I knew it.
A horn honked loudly behind me, and I realized the light had changed, so I accelerated to the next light and waited there as well.
They were everywhere, a small army of them interspersed with the cars. Men, women, and even children walking around with blank stares, most covered in blood, some missing limbs.
Some were missing throats, and some staggered with broken bones. One walked right up to my window and snarled at me. He had a screwdriver driven into his chest, just to the left of center. It should have punctured his heart and made him drop to the ground, dead. Only he was dead already, or undead.
I gave him the finger, and the light changed. As I accelerated, I popped my door open quickly, which knocked him to the ground. A car tried to avoid him, but the one after swerved to the right a bit and drove right over him. Score one for the good guys.
I didn’t slow down to see if it smashed in his head.
The next light was just about as bad, but a side street called to me—one I knew well from my years of living in the little city. I shot down it into a residential neighborhood that led me to another side street. I ran parallel to the main drag for a while, but jetted down yet another street before emerging onto a lightly traveled road. It took a long time to get back to highway 322, but once I reached it, I was only on it for a few minutes before jumping onto a tiny, two-lane road. Home free at last.
* * *
I was on the outskirts of the Vesper Lake when something reassuring came into view.
A half mile ahead, I saw a row of military vehicles pulled into an orderly line along the side of the road. A group of men were piling out of a Humvee, while a pair rolled pylons across the street.
After the day I had, it put a smile
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