Graves Family Exodus

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Eric's eyes were glued to the television screen, taking in every detail of the escalating chaos. The Zeta virus was spreading like wildfire, and Colorado Springs was now a hot zone. He pulled at the edges of his beard, something he always did in times of great tension.

"Enola," Eric called out, breaking the tranquility of their morning routine. His voice was rough, troubled. "You need to see this."

Enola sat at the kitchen table with her laptop before her. The band manager had sent an email of all the events canceled due to the quarantine. She rose from the table and joined him, her dark eyes widening as the horrifying scenes played out on the screen. Schools closed, hospitals overwhelmed, and violence erupted on the streets. The virus was here. The thought sent a shiver through her, a cold dread that made her stomach churn.

She met Eric's gaze, her voice shaky but determined. "We need to get out of here. Go on and make your phone calls, and I'll make mine."

Eric's thumb hovered over his brother's name on his phone, his other hand clenching and unclenching in anxiety. He pressed the dial, holding his breath as the line rang.

"Eric?" John's cheerful voice came through the line, laced with a hint of confusion. "Something up?"

Eric's grip tightened on the phone. "You've seen the news, right?"

There was a pause on the other line and then a dry chuckle. "Oh, you mean the zombie thing? Sure, when do we start boarding up the windows?"

Eric grunted in annoyance. Trust John to make a joke out of it. "This isn't a joke. We need to get out of the city now."

John's laugh faded, replaced by a more serious tone. "You think it's that bad?"

"I do," Eric's voice was stern. "I don't want to wait around and find out how bad it can get. We need to protect our family."

There was a pause again, longer this time. When John spoke, his voice was softer, his bravado replaced with concern. "Alright, I trust you. I'm on my way."

John swiped over the phone and found Lewis in his contacts. He didn't want to call his other brother. They had not seen eye to eye since Lewis moved his family onto the reservation. He texted him instead. "I'm worried about the virus. I'm taking it to Enola and John and heading out of Colorado Springs. Please come with us."

Enola looked up from the couch. "No one is answering their phone. I've sent texts, but no one's answering."

"We don't have time to wait. Let's get going."

---

The family rendezvoused at the Graves' household - a frantic, terrifying scene as they grabbed essential supplies and precious family photographs and herded the confused twins into the waiting camper van. Ever the explorer, Abel tried to make a game of it while Grace clung to her mother, her little face pale and frightened.

With a heavy heart, they left their home behind, heading south away from the populated nightmare Colorado Springs was quickly becoming.

The first hours of their desperate exodus were a nightmarish blur. A cavalcade of abandoned cars, snarls of traffic, and desperate, panicking people trying to flee. At some points, they encountered those already lost to the Zeta virus; their yellow eyes and twisted limbs were an agonizing testament to the urgency of their flight.

They drove all night, maneuvering through the traffic and finding their way past areas that would be blockaded by the National Guard only hours later. Eric kept them on a fast pace, knowing they needed to get far away from the rest of society.

Everything was working right until the first light of day on Friday morning. Their van broke down near a desolate train yard, its rusted husks of carriages a haunting backdrop to their precarious situation.

---

Friday, May 11, 2012

"Eric, we've got to find somewhere to crash. We're all wiped, and the kiddos are beat," Enola said.

Eric scanned the dilapidated train yard. It was far from perfect, but they needed more options. The van had overheated and needed repairs before it'd be road-ready again.

Eric turned his gaze to John, lounging on the van's rear bumper, engrossed in a wrestling magazine while munching on a sandwich. "Get your shotgun and come with me. Where's Lewis?"

John shrugged, placing his sandwich and magazine aside. "Took Danica and the little ones into that rusty railcar over there."

Exhaling a weary sigh, Eric trudged towards the dormant train car, its old, rust-eaten tracks glistening in the fading light. The door was slightly cracked open; he nudged it further, peering into the shadowy interior.

The twins were nestled in one corner atop a blanket, their innocent faces dimly lit. Lewis sat on the gritty floor next to them, a rifle spread across his lap, with Danica beside him. Their faces were etched with soft smiles, a whisper of a shared moment or recent conversation hanging in the air.

"What's the deal here?" Eric questioned, his eyes darting around the dim-lit car. Lewis shrugged noncommittally, prompting Eric to press on. "John and I are going to scout that building we passed on the way in. Grab your rifle and —"

"No," Lewis cut him off, his voice firm. "We're fine here. My family is safe."

"Your family includes Enola, John, and me," Eric retorted, the rising tide of anger coloring his words.

"Is that so? Sure, we share the same blood, but does that still make us family?" Lewis posed, challenging Eric with his piercing gaze.

"Enough of your nonsense." Eric's patience snapped; he shut the door with a resonating slam, turning on his heel to find John. Moments later, the pair trudged towards the large, imposing building adjacent to the train tracks, a faded "Tickets" sign still clinging above the entrance.

The edifice was sheathed in sturdy metal siding, its windows fortified with iron bars – an unintentional fortress against the undead menace. Drawing upon his SWAT instincts, Eric approached the door methodically, his senses on high alert. He met John's gaze, signaling a countdown with his fingers, preparing for what lay beyond.

The door creaked open under Eric's hand, revealing a scene straight out of a nightmare. Several infected meandered aimlessly through the confines of the small lobby. They turned as one at the sound of the opening door, their ghastly yellow eyes falling upon Eric and John. The sight of about a dozen infected sent a chill down their spines.

Instinct kicked in as the brothers recoiled, with Eric attempting to close the door gently. But halfway through, a collective snarl echoed from within the building. The heart-stopping sound signaled the undead horde's onslaught, hurtling toward them.

Whirling around, Eric and John bolted towards the van, hollering at Enola to arm herself. But as the infected spilled from the building, their twisted forms lurching towards them at an alarming speed, Eric realized their retreat was futile. Outpaced by the undead, he pivoted and raised his M-16.

"John, it's fight or die. Aim for the head; save your bullets. We have to bring them down."

Wheeling around, they opened fire. Eric's swift precision quickly dispatched the leading infected, two headshots ringing out in quick succession. Beside him, John's shotgun bellowed, its deafening blast sending an undead corpse sprawling backward. Gunfire peppered the air from behind, prompting Eric to glance back. His gaze found Enola, her hands steady on an AR-15, pumping lead into the encroaching horde.

"To the van! We'll barricade ourselves in!" Eric hollered above the chaos. His rifle rang out, dropping another infected, then another. John, too, felled a pair, but at least half a dozen kept charging, undeterred. Enola was a trooper, her shots landing but not always in the lethal zones, hitting shoulders and torsos. In the onslaught, Eric could see their imminent overrun by the relentless undead.

A bullet zipped past Eric, severing the knee joint of the nearest infected. The crippled zombie crumbled, its grotesque form scrabbling forward in vain, soon left behind by its rabid brethren. Another shot resonated, followed by the thud of another undead hitting the ground.

Craning his neck, Eric found Lewis perched atop their makeshift railroad car refuge, rifle poised on a tripod. His aim was steady, each shot targeting the relentless undead bearing down on them. With practiced hands, Eric switched magazines on his rifle while John reloaded his shotgun shells. Amidst the sounds of combat, Enola and Lewis kept up their barrage, their shots aimed to disable, not kill. Once re-armed, Eric and John quickly fell in line with the new tactic. Soon, the once menacing swarm was reduced to a mass of writhing forms on the ground, presenting easier targets for the finishing blow.

John slumped to the ground while Eric leaned heavily against the van's cool metal siding, their breath coming in ragged gasps. Eric could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, the adrenaline rush subsiding, leaving a shaky aftershock.

"Didn't see that one coming," John managed, his lips curving into a weary smile.

John turned his gaze to Lewis, raising a thumbs-up in his direction. Lewis responded with a curt nod before descending from his rooftop perch and disappearing back into the train car.

Enola approached Eric, her hand tracing a gentle path along his back, a silent show of support. "Besides the welcoming committee of the undead, what do you think about this spot?"

Eric lifted his gaze to meet hers, the sunlight haloing her braided hair. "This place... it's perfect."