Post by jackbull on Aug 2, 2009 22:06:16 GMT -5
Jack stared at the potential firing squad ahead. The collection of rifles and shotguns put his revolvers to shame. The shotgun next to him was too big; he wouldn’t have time to turn the barrel towards them without getting his head blown off. He was effectively cornered. His thumb played with the hammer of the Ruger Alaskan in his lap as he considered his options. But he knew that realistically speaking he had no choice. His thumb pushed the hammer in gently to rest safely against the primer. He slid the weapon onto the seat and reached for the door handle.
“Slowly does it mister” came a command from the leader of this picket line.
Jack eased the handle and popped the door open. He slowly raised his free hand, slipping it out high through the doorway to show he wasn’t holding anything suspicious. Gradually he got up and out and stepped out into view. The sight of the Super Redhawk revolver in his holster made the men arrayed before him uneasy. Almost like a hive of connected minds they simultaneously gripped their weapons tighter, tensing their muscles and holding a breath so as to ensure as little deviation as possible with their first potential shot.
“It’s cool, just take it easy guys” Jack urged them. He had no intention of being shot today.
“Your companion to” called back the leader.
“She’s not very well, she’s in shock. That fireball you might have seen was from a plane that crashed right in front of us” Jack appealed.
“We saw it, but your friend still needs to get out.”
Jack turned and called out for Lauren. She didn’t move a muscle. She was traumatised. He looked back at the line of high powered weapons facing him and decided to take things slow. He edged back towards the car and leaned down trying to make eye contact. Nothing. She just stared blankly ahead.
“Lauren, get out of the car.”
No response.
“Lauren, for Christ’s sake get out of the car!”
Still nothing. She sat and gazed, swaying slightly like a blade of grass wafting to and fro in the wind.
“Just slowly get up and get out of the car. It’ll help us get to your parents.”
The mention of her parents provided the sufficient jolt. Lauren stared up him and Jack nodded to motion her out of the vehicle. She dumped the puke covered gym bag from her lap and opened the door. Wary of her slight haste Jack turned to the armed roadblock and cautioned them.
“Just take it easy everyone, it’s all good. It’s all fine.”
Lauren walked around the front of the car to be near Jack and immediately drew a scolding from the roadblocks leader.
“Get your hands up where we can see ‘em!”
Slowly, almost sarcastically she raised her arms. Her face still looked in an almost trance like state. Her white T-shirt was draped slackly over the edge of her jeans, the whole ensemble now soaked with sweat. Jack suspected she was dehydrated.
“There man, it’s cool, I told ya we was cool” Jack affirmed. He was nervous as hell. His fingers curled into his palms, he could feel his own sweat oozing out.
The leader of the roadblock didn’t seem so convinced of the couples genuine nature. Here we had a local sheriff of a hick town staring at a black man driving an expensive car. His girlfriend, companion, whatever she was, she didn’t look all that great. She was a looker sure as day, but she also had a pale and sickly complexion. And today had been an awful rough day for people like that. The sheriff felt a pang of pity for this poor nigger. His squeeze was infected and that there revolver in his holster was probably gonna have to be put to use for a purpose he’d never imagined. But then the car looked stolen and after the day he’d had, the sheriff was running short of sympathy as it was. But he couldn’t help but think he’d seen this man before, he just couldn’t remember the charge.
“I’m afraid young man, you’re gonna have to turn round and head right back the way you came” he said in his most authoritative voice.
Jacks head sagged and his hands slumped. All this way to get held up by some hick pricks.
“Listen sir, I don’t want to stay I just need to get through to Dallas and this is the only way” levelled Jack. The Sheriff shook his head just fractionally as he considered the best advice to give this man.
“Son, you can get to Dallas or Fort Worth fine just by heading back down that road and turning left at the intersection.”
Jack sighed again, this was going to take some explaining.
“That plane crash I mentioned, the road is covered with aviation fuel and burning debris, no way across.” Surely now they had to let him through.
“Then my suggestion is head south, go to Graford and then go east, that’s your only option.”
Shit. Jack thought about the rig that had nearly ploughed them into the flames. He thought of the ‘zombie’ that was hanging off the back and the one he’d shot in the head. He’d seen it coming from Graford. Whatever was happening down there wasn’t good.
“Graford’s in bad shape sheriff. Those… ‘things’, are down there.” Checkmate.
“Then you’re shit out of luck sunshine.”
Fuck it. Jack racked his brain. What the fuck was this guys problem? All he wanted to do was pass through quickly, no stops. Just in, out and off to Dallas. Jack looked across again at Lauren. She was getting restless. In her mind he imagined she was still playing out scenarios of what had happened to her parents, each one more gruesome than the last. She was gradually breaking up. This wasn’t good.
“Listen Sheriff, all I wanna do is drive through. You can escort me if you have to but I need to get to fucking Dallas! Her parents are there and we need to go pick ‘em up. So please, will you just cut us a break?”
Jack stared over the shotgun in the sheriffs hands and focused on his eyes, looking for some small glint of hope that he might see sense and help them.
“I’m sorry sir, but I got 4,500 people here that are relying on us to keep them safe. I just cant take a chance on your lady friend.”
“What?” came the scathing reply from Jack, “What are you talking about?”
“Trust me son I’ve seen a few things today and I’m pretty darn sure your young lady there is infected.”
Jack turned to face Lauren. He could see the misconception. The sweat, pale skin, awkward swaying and thousand yard stare did little to endear her to people right now. Despite all her usual good looks, she currently came across as being the worst for wear. In this kind of climate, it would be an easy mistake to assume she was infected.
“Please sheriff I’m telling you, she’s not infected, she’s just scared out of her mind right now. We’ve been through a lot today and it’s taken it’s toll, if you just give us a few moments we can get some water, sit her down and she’ll be right as rain” Jack pleaded.
For the sheriff though, the maths was simple. Forty five hundred people were depending on him to maintain this checkpoint, to keep them and their families safe. It would take more than this mans word to convince him everything was fine and dandy. His lady looked in bad shape and the sheriff guessed she may not have more than an hour or two left before she went off the rails, and he didn’t want her around when it happened. It was time to move these people on he thought, let them get a safe distance away. But just as he prepared to issue his order the woman stepped forward.
“Look at my arms” screamed Lauren, holding out her wrists for the men before her to examine. She rolled up the sleeves of her T-shirt to show her upper arms as well. “No marks!!!” she screamed.
The penny dropped in unison as all those present suddenly realised what she meant. No syringe marks. No syringe marks meant no injection. No injection meant no vaccine, which in turn meant no infection. At least Jack hoped.
“There you go sheriff, there’s your proof” Jack confidently stated. He looked from face to face for approval. Slowly the men manning the line began to ease the grip on their weapons. Barrels began to droop. The mood was shifting. The tension was easing. At the very least the immediate threat had appeared to pass, though they weren’t out of the woods yet. Despite the inconvenient timing, Jack couldn’t help but wonder if this was how President Kennedy had felt after the Cuban Missile Crisis had passed its most critical moments. He could smell a deal was within reach. The sheriff lowered his shotgun right down and stepped a pace forward, still a good 15 yards away from where Jack stood.
“That doesn’t prove anything I‘m afraid” he said with a sombre look in his eyes.
What the fuck? What did this guy want, a full fucking medical report? How could he be so fucking petty? All Jack wanted to do was drive through the town for fucks sake! Were his precious fucking roads too good for them? Or was this jack-off just getting some kicks out of the power trip? The anger roared in Jack and a small amount of adrenaline started to secrete itself slowly into his system again. But before he could speak up Lauren took the lead and launched her own scathing tirade of abuse.
“What the fuck is your problem?!! All you have to do is let us through!! Jack even said it, you can just fucking escort us if you’re that worried that we might stay…”
“Now Miss, just calm down…”
“… No!! My parents are waiting for me! They need my help and because of you they could be dead by the time we get there! Well I hope you’re fucking happy…”
“Lauren this isn’t helping2 Jack tried to interject.
“… I don’t care!! If it wasn’t for this asshole we’d be through by now! They need me Jack! I need them!” She broke down in tears. Everyone stood silently as a scene that would doubtless be played out across the country many times over, was played out right before their very eyes. As Lauren stood with her hands on her face, tears streamed through the gaps between her fingers. Her body heaved and shook with the effort of crying. Weary, her patience expended and with her nerves shredded, she could take no more. Jack watched helplessly as a close friend fell apart before his very eyes. The sombre mood was only ruffled slightly by the sound of a distant gunshot. Otherwise only Laurens anguish could be heard. Her breath recovered, again she screamed at the sheriff.
“Just let us through!… for Christ’s sake let us through!” she wailed mournfully. The sheriff stared for answers on his shoes. No one could bring themselves to look at her, to acknowledge the pain she felt to which they might have contributed in some small way. The silence was broken abruptly by an odd, digital sound, like a message alert. Lauren froze absolutely still. Then like lightning her right hand dived down to her right pocket and in a flurry came out again.
A gruff but surprised voice shouted “GUN!!” followed by a single, ear bursting report from a rifle.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” roared the sheriff.
Lauren stumbled back onto the hood of the car. Her cell phone slid from her right hand, clipping the bumper on the way down before smacking the tarmac hard. She sat motionless for a second, as Jack looked on in horror, before she finally began to slide forward till her knees gave way, sending her crashing off the front of the hood sideways. Jack dived in and managed to grab her. He lowered her down as carefully as he could, laying her out on her back. The sheriff grabbed the radio mike on his shoulder and yelled into it for paramedics. He shouted at one of the men to fetch the medical case from his trunk as he raced forward to aid Jack. The man who fired the shot just stood in horror, constantly pleading allowed ‘I thought I saw a gun’ like a mad man.
“Sir let me take a look” offered the sheriff. Jack merely gripped her hands tighter.
“Sir, I can help her!” the sheriff insisted. Again Jack ignored him as he continued to grip her hands, staring her in the eyes and trying to reassure her that everything was fine. The sheriff looked up at the vehicle. He noticed a crack in the glass which indicated the shot had gone right through. Looking down he could see blood starting to stain the front of the T-shirt. As he reached down to pull back the shirt he was violently shoved away by Jack.
“She doesn’t need your help! You did this! You!” Jack fiercely screamed at the sheriff. An unknown voice spoke up from among the other men.
“He knows what he’s doing sir, let him help her!”
But Jack continued to kneel at her side, holding her hand. He looked alternately in her eyes to let her know he was there and also up at the sheriff to keep him at bay.
“Sir that was a .308 Winchester. If you don’t let me help her she’ll bleed to death… Sir I can help! Let me help her!” pleaded the sheriff.
Jack was confused. On the one hand his anger seethed and boiled. These men were responsible for what just happened. They shot Lauren. It was their fault! On the other, he knew his medical kit was stuffed away in the car. He knew a bit about this kind of thing but he didn’t have the level of training the sheriff did. His emotions ran as he was paralysed by the moment. She was bleeding badly. Blood was starting to seep out the back of her shirt onto the ground. Eventually her blood pressure would drop too low and she would die. In the background he could hear the sheriff begging to let him help. Jacks vision narrowed. His hearing dulled, till all round him sounded like a faint muffle. Somewhere a siren wailed. He was sweating profusely, panicking. What to do?
“Sir, just let me help” asked the sheriff once more. Jack sat backwards, still holding Laurens hand as she squeezed it tightly. The sheriff cautiously crawled forward once more and began to check the wound. The distorted sounds of the sirens in Jacks ears grew ever closer. He looked up and now he could see the red lights flashing as the ambulance roared down the road and pulled up short of the road block. Two medics strode confidently and reassuringly over to help. Through it all Jack continued to cling to her hand. After administering some treatment the medics had a brief discussion and one disappeared, returning moments later with a wheeled stretcher.
“You should grab your stuff, I’ll give you a hand” offered the sheriff.
“I have to go get the stuff, but I’m coming with you baby, don’t worry I’m here” said Jack, offering what little reassurance he could to Lauren. He had to let go of her hand as the paramedics recruited the help of some locals to load Lauren onto the stretcher. Heading to the car, Jack was immediately faced by the sheriff holding his shotgun.
“They wont let you take this” he explained. Jack leaned into the car and grabbed his two gym bags, still sticky with vomit and with a rancid smell to boot. But none of that mattered to Jack now. He reached in and retrieved the Tupperware pot of shotgun shells, throwing them onto the drivers seat.
“Just leave the gun on the seat, and if you need it, use it” Jack offered.
“We’ll move your car up past the roadblock and then park it. I’ll keep and eye on it but I cant guarantee what’ll happen to it between now and when you get back” replied the sheriff.
Jack undid his gun belt and dropped the whole lot into one of the bags. He then reached into the car again and retrieved his smaller Ruger Alaskan. That went in the bag as well.
“Just be careful what you’re doing with them” said the sheriff, who then noticed the Walther PPS on the dash.
“Was this her gun?” he inquired.
“Yeah” was the simple reply.
“I’m sorry sir. I hope your friend pulls through.”
“And your friend better hope she does.”
Jack lifted the bags up and started to head to the ambulance. Lauren was now being loaded in. The spot on the floor where she had lain was now marked by a quickly fading, dark pool of blood. As Jack stepped around it he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. Her phone. He stopped to pick it up, only to be shouted out by the medics to move his ass. Jack sprinted to join them and hopped in the back. Setting the bags down he once more took Laurens hand. She was alive but looking bad. Her skin was white as a sheet. Her eyes looked drawn and her lips lacked there usual vibrant colour. It wasn’t good.
As the ambulance began to pull away Jack stared out of the rear window. There he saw the sheriff raise a hand, a parting salute perhaps. The ambulance jolted and rocked as the sirens began to wail into life. The acceleration was surprising for a vehicle of it’s size. They certainly weren’t built for comfort. Jack chided himself for such thoughts at a time like this. Still gripping Laurens hand, he bent his head. The flashing light on the phone once again caught his eye. A new message. This is what had caused the trouble in the first place. He tentatively picked up the phone and opened it. He suspected it was from Laurens parents, held up somewhere, frightened out of their skins, begging for help. But it wasn’t. It was from Warrior. Jack opened the message and read:
“Cant get hold of Jack. If u c him or u with him, then tell him 2 get his ass 2 the Suicide Zone. Am building D#. Have called/txted the others as well. This is safest place I knw. And tell Jack 2 replace his shitty phone while he’s at it. Warrior.”
Jack smiled. Even in times like this his wrestling comrades were trying to pull together. But Jack couldn’t go yet. He couldn’t leave without Lauren. If this whole thing was getting as serious as it looked, then Lauren would need protection. He couldn’t rely on a bunch of nurses to save her from zombies. He and his friend .44 magnum would have to do it.
“Just hold on Lauren, everything’s gonna be cool.”
Jack wasn’t sure if he believed that just yet. He reached down and pressed the top of the bag just to make sure the Ruger Alaskan was still there. It was. And he had a feeling he was gonna need it soon.
“Slowly does it mister” came a command from the leader of this picket line.
Jack eased the handle and popped the door open. He slowly raised his free hand, slipping it out high through the doorway to show he wasn’t holding anything suspicious. Gradually he got up and out and stepped out into view. The sight of the Super Redhawk revolver in his holster made the men arrayed before him uneasy. Almost like a hive of connected minds they simultaneously gripped their weapons tighter, tensing their muscles and holding a breath so as to ensure as little deviation as possible with their first potential shot.
“It’s cool, just take it easy guys” Jack urged them. He had no intention of being shot today.
“Your companion to” called back the leader.
“She’s not very well, she’s in shock. That fireball you might have seen was from a plane that crashed right in front of us” Jack appealed.
“We saw it, but your friend still needs to get out.”
Jack turned and called out for Lauren. She didn’t move a muscle. She was traumatised. He looked back at the line of high powered weapons facing him and decided to take things slow. He edged back towards the car and leaned down trying to make eye contact. Nothing. She just stared blankly ahead.
“Lauren, get out of the car.”
No response.
“Lauren, for Christ’s sake get out of the car!”
Still nothing. She sat and gazed, swaying slightly like a blade of grass wafting to and fro in the wind.
“Just slowly get up and get out of the car. It’ll help us get to your parents.”
The mention of her parents provided the sufficient jolt. Lauren stared up him and Jack nodded to motion her out of the vehicle. She dumped the puke covered gym bag from her lap and opened the door. Wary of her slight haste Jack turned to the armed roadblock and cautioned them.
“Just take it easy everyone, it’s all good. It’s all fine.”
Lauren walked around the front of the car to be near Jack and immediately drew a scolding from the roadblocks leader.
“Get your hands up where we can see ‘em!”
Slowly, almost sarcastically she raised her arms. Her face still looked in an almost trance like state. Her white T-shirt was draped slackly over the edge of her jeans, the whole ensemble now soaked with sweat. Jack suspected she was dehydrated.
“There man, it’s cool, I told ya we was cool” Jack affirmed. He was nervous as hell. His fingers curled into his palms, he could feel his own sweat oozing out.
The leader of the roadblock didn’t seem so convinced of the couples genuine nature. Here we had a local sheriff of a hick town staring at a black man driving an expensive car. His girlfriend, companion, whatever she was, she didn’t look all that great. She was a looker sure as day, but she also had a pale and sickly complexion. And today had been an awful rough day for people like that. The sheriff felt a pang of pity for this poor nigger. His squeeze was infected and that there revolver in his holster was probably gonna have to be put to use for a purpose he’d never imagined. But then the car looked stolen and after the day he’d had, the sheriff was running short of sympathy as it was. But he couldn’t help but think he’d seen this man before, he just couldn’t remember the charge.
“I’m afraid young man, you’re gonna have to turn round and head right back the way you came” he said in his most authoritative voice.
Jacks head sagged and his hands slumped. All this way to get held up by some hick pricks.
“Listen sir, I don’t want to stay I just need to get through to Dallas and this is the only way” levelled Jack. The Sheriff shook his head just fractionally as he considered the best advice to give this man.
“Son, you can get to Dallas or Fort Worth fine just by heading back down that road and turning left at the intersection.”
Jack sighed again, this was going to take some explaining.
“That plane crash I mentioned, the road is covered with aviation fuel and burning debris, no way across.” Surely now they had to let him through.
“Then my suggestion is head south, go to Graford and then go east, that’s your only option.”
Shit. Jack thought about the rig that had nearly ploughed them into the flames. He thought of the ‘zombie’ that was hanging off the back and the one he’d shot in the head. He’d seen it coming from Graford. Whatever was happening down there wasn’t good.
“Graford’s in bad shape sheriff. Those… ‘things’, are down there.” Checkmate.
“Then you’re shit out of luck sunshine.”
Fuck it. Jack racked his brain. What the fuck was this guys problem? All he wanted to do was pass through quickly, no stops. Just in, out and off to Dallas. Jack looked across again at Lauren. She was getting restless. In her mind he imagined she was still playing out scenarios of what had happened to her parents, each one more gruesome than the last. She was gradually breaking up. This wasn’t good.
“Listen Sheriff, all I wanna do is drive through. You can escort me if you have to but I need to get to fucking Dallas! Her parents are there and we need to go pick ‘em up. So please, will you just cut us a break?”
Jack stared over the shotgun in the sheriffs hands and focused on his eyes, looking for some small glint of hope that he might see sense and help them.
“I’m sorry sir, but I got 4,500 people here that are relying on us to keep them safe. I just cant take a chance on your lady friend.”
“What?” came the scathing reply from Jack, “What are you talking about?”
“Trust me son I’ve seen a few things today and I’m pretty darn sure your young lady there is infected.”
Jack turned to face Lauren. He could see the misconception. The sweat, pale skin, awkward swaying and thousand yard stare did little to endear her to people right now. Despite all her usual good looks, she currently came across as being the worst for wear. In this kind of climate, it would be an easy mistake to assume she was infected.
“Please sheriff I’m telling you, she’s not infected, she’s just scared out of her mind right now. We’ve been through a lot today and it’s taken it’s toll, if you just give us a few moments we can get some water, sit her down and she’ll be right as rain” Jack pleaded.
For the sheriff though, the maths was simple. Forty five hundred people were depending on him to maintain this checkpoint, to keep them and their families safe. It would take more than this mans word to convince him everything was fine and dandy. His lady looked in bad shape and the sheriff guessed she may not have more than an hour or two left before she went off the rails, and he didn’t want her around when it happened. It was time to move these people on he thought, let them get a safe distance away. But just as he prepared to issue his order the woman stepped forward.
“Look at my arms” screamed Lauren, holding out her wrists for the men before her to examine. She rolled up the sleeves of her T-shirt to show her upper arms as well. “No marks!!!” she screamed.
The penny dropped in unison as all those present suddenly realised what she meant. No syringe marks. No syringe marks meant no injection. No injection meant no vaccine, which in turn meant no infection. At least Jack hoped.
“There you go sheriff, there’s your proof” Jack confidently stated. He looked from face to face for approval. Slowly the men manning the line began to ease the grip on their weapons. Barrels began to droop. The mood was shifting. The tension was easing. At the very least the immediate threat had appeared to pass, though they weren’t out of the woods yet. Despite the inconvenient timing, Jack couldn’t help but wonder if this was how President Kennedy had felt after the Cuban Missile Crisis had passed its most critical moments. He could smell a deal was within reach. The sheriff lowered his shotgun right down and stepped a pace forward, still a good 15 yards away from where Jack stood.
“That doesn’t prove anything I‘m afraid” he said with a sombre look in his eyes.
What the fuck? What did this guy want, a full fucking medical report? How could he be so fucking petty? All Jack wanted to do was drive through the town for fucks sake! Were his precious fucking roads too good for them? Or was this jack-off just getting some kicks out of the power trip? The anger roared in Jack and a small amount of adrenaline started to secrete itself slowly into his system again. But before he could speak up Lauren took the lead and launched her own scathing tirade of abuse.
“What the fuck is your problem?!! All you have to do is let us through!! Jack even said it, you can just fucking escort us if you’re that worried that we might stay…”
“Now Miss, just calm down…”
“… No!! My parents are waiting for me! They need my help and because of you they could be dead by the time we get there! Well I hope you’re fucking happy…”
“Lauren this isn’t helping2 Jack tried to interject.
“… I don’t care!! If it wasn’t for this asshole we’d be through by now! They need me Jack! I need them!” She broke down in tears. Everyone stood silently as a scene that would doubtless be played out across the country many times over, was played out right before their very eyes. As Lauren stood with her hands on her face, tears streamed through the gaps between her fingers. Her body heaved and shook with the effort of crying. Weary, her patience expended and with her nerves shredded, she could take no more. Jack watched helplessly as a close friend fell apart before his very eyes. The sombre mood was only ruffled slightly by the sound of a distant gunshot. Otherwise only Laurens anguish could be heard. Her breath recovered, again she screamed at the sheriff.
“Just let us through!… for Christ’s sake let us through!” she wailed mournfully. The sheriff stared for answers on his shoes. No one could bring themselves to look at her, to acknowledge the pain she felt to which they might have contributed in some small way. The silence was broken abruptly by an odd, digital sound, like a message alert. Lauren froze absolutely still. Then like lightning her right hand dived down to her right pocket and in a flurry came out again.
A gruff but surprised voice shouted “GUN!!” followed by a single, ear bursting report from a rifle.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” roared the sheriff.
Lauren stumbled back onto the hood of the car. Her cell phone slid from her right hand, clipping the bumper on the way down before smacking the tarmac hard. She sat motionless for a second, as Jack looked on in horror, before she finally began to slide forward till her knees gave way, sending her crashing off the front of the hood sideways. Jack dived in and managed to grab her. He lowered her down as carefully as he could, laying her out on her back. The sheriff grabbed the radio mike on his shoulder and yelled into it for paramedics. He shouted at one of the men to fetch the medical case from his trunk as he raced forward to aid Jack. The man who fired the shot just stood in horror, constantly pleading allowed ‘I thought I saw a gun’ like a mad man.
“Sir let me take a look” offered the sheriff. Jack merely gripped her hands tighter.
“Sir, I can help her!” the sheriff insisted. Again Jack ignored him as he continued to grip her hands, staring her in the eyes and trying to reassure her that everything was fine. The sheriff looked up at the vehicle. He noticed a crack in the glass which indicated the shot had gone right through. Looking down he could see blood starting to stain the front of the T-shirt. As he reached down to pull back the shirt he was violently shoved away by Jack.
“She doesn’t need your help! You did this! You!” Jack fiercely screamed at the sheriff. An unknown voice spoke up from among the other men.
“He knows what he’s doing sir, let him help her!”
But Jack continued to kneel at her side, holding her hand. He looked alternately in her eyes to let her know he was there and also up at the sheriff to keep him at bay.
“Sir that was a .308 Winchester. If you don’t let me help her she’ll bleed to death… Sir I can help! Let me help her!” pleaded the sheriff.
Jack was confused. On the one hand his anger seethed and boiled. These men were responsible for what just happened. They shot Lauren. It was their fault! On the other, he knew his medical kit was stuffed away in the car. He knew a bit about this kind of thing but he didn’t have the level of training the sheriff did. His emotions ran as he was paralysed by the moment. She was bleeding badly. Blood was starting to seep out the back of her shirt onto the ground. Eventually her blood pressure would drop too low and she would die. In the background he could hear the sheriff begging to let him help. Jacks vision narrowed. His hearing dulled, till all round him sounded like a faint muffle. Somewhere a siren wailed. He was sweating profusely, panicking. What to do?
“Sir, just let me help” asked the sheriff once more. Jack sat backwards, still holding Laurens hand as she squeezed it tightly. The sheriff cautiously crawled forward once more and began to check the wound. The distorted sounds of the sirens in Jacks ears grew ever closer. He looked up and now he could see the red lights flashing as the ambulance roared down the road and pulled up short of the road block. Two medics strode confidently and reassuringly over to help. Through it all Jack continued to cling to her hand. After administering some treatment the medics had a brief discussion and one disappeared, returning moments later with a wheeled stretcher.
“You should grab your stuff, I’ll give you a hand” offered the sheriff.
“I have to go get the stuff, but I’m coming with you baby, don’t worry I’m here” said Jack, offering what little reassurance he could to Lauren. He had to let go of her hand as the paramedics recruited the help of some locals to load Lauren onto the stretcher. Heading to the car, Jack was immediately faced by the sheriff holding his shotgun.
“They wont let you take this” he explained. Jack leaned into the car and grabbed his two gym bags, still sticky with vomit and with a rancid smell to boot. But none of that mattered to Jack now. He reached in and retrieved the Tupperware pot of shotgun shells, throwing them onto the drivers seat.
“Just leave the gun on the seat, and if you need it, use it” Jack offered.
“We’ll move your car up past the roadblock and then park it. I’ll keep and eye on it but I cant guarantee what’ll happen to it between now and when you get back” replied the sheriff.
Jack undid his gun belt and dropped the whole lot into one of the bags. He then reached into the car again and retrieved his smaller Ruger Alaskan. That went in the bag as well.
“Just be careful what you’re doing with them” said the sheriff, who then noticed the Walther PPS on the dash.
“Was this her gun?” he inquired.
“Yeah” was the simple reply.
“I’m sorry sir. I hope your friend pulls through.”
“And your friend better hope she does.”
Jack lifted the bags up and started to head to the ambulance. Lauren was now being loaded in. The spot on the floor where she had lain was now marked by a quickly fading, dark pool of blood. As Jack stepped around it he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. Her phone. He stopped to pick it up, only to be shouted out by the medics to move his ass. Jack sprinted to join them and hopped in the back. Setting the bags down he once more took Laurens hand. She was alive but looking bad. Her skin was white as a sheet. Her eyes looked drawn and her lips lacked there usual vibrant colour. It wasn’t good.
As the ambulance began to pull away Jack stared out of the rear window. There he saw the sheriff raise a hand, a parting salute perhaps. The ambulance jolted and rocked as the sirens began to wail into life. The acceleration was surprising for a vehicle of it’s size. They certainly weren’t built for comfort. Jack chided himself for such thoughts at a time like this. Still gripping Laurens hand, he bent his head. The flashing light on the phone once again caught his eye. A new message. This is what had caused the trouble in the first place. He tentatively picked up the phone and opened it. He suspected it was from Laurens parents, held up somewhere, frightened out of their skins, begging for help. But it wasn’t. It was from Warrior. Jack opened the message and read:
“Cant get hold of Jack. If u c him or u with him, then tell him 2 get his ass 2 the Suicide Zone. Am building D#. Have called/txted the others as well. This is safest place I knw. And tell Jack 2 replace his shitty phone while he’s at it. Warrior.”
Jack smiled. Even in times like this his wrestling comrades were trying to pull together. But Jack couldn’t go yet. He couldn’t leave without Lauren. If this whole thing was getting as serious as it looked, then Lauren would need protection. He couldn’t rely on a bunch of nurses to save her from zombies. He and his friend .44 magnum would have to do it.
“Just hold on Lauren, everything’s gonna be cool.”
Jack wasn’t sure if he believed that just yet. He reached down and pressed the top of the bag just to make sure the Ruger Alaskan was still there. It was. And he had a feeling he was gonna need it soon.