Tracking Blood: Episode 20

An apocalyptic serial

Table of Contents

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Will and Stan had been driving for hours, yet by morning they’d barely covered much distance. The interstates were a mess. Some of them were destroyed, others were jammed up with cars and remnants of fires, leftovers from scenes of unimaginable destruction. A few times they even came across survivors, people who begged them to stop, but they never did.

It was so easy to take the system for granted when it worked the way it was supposed to. When it all ground to a halt, when the infrastructure failed, to use Stan’s words, that was when its importance became so clear. Society was a way for things to function so that people could get on with their lives. With that gone, simply functioning became life.

The trip that had taken Will hours to make the first time seemed now like an impossible journey. They had to get on and off the interstate so many times, they questioned taking it at all, but then they would come across infected, get themselves noticed, and soon they were clamoring to get back to the comparatively quieter road.

Somewhere along the interstate, Will checked the gas gauge and realized they couldn’t wait any longer to fill up. “We need to stop,” he said.

Stan sat up in his seat. “Are there any rest areas coming up?”

“Not soon enough.”

“Alright, give me a second.” He pulled the map out of the glove compartment, found their location on it, and started checking for gas stations. “Here, this should work. Take the next exit.”

Will navigated the ramp and followed Stan’s directions, which brought them to an open lot some eight hundred feet long and five hundred feet wide. On the west side, there was a combination cashier/convenience store, in front of which was a long row of gas pumps covered by an overhang.

After driving a quick lap around the lot to make sure the area was clear, Will pulled up to one pump. He cut the engine and jumped out with the Glock at the ready. Stan followed him out, standing lookout while Will opened the gas flap. “Didn’t mom drive a truck at some point?” Stan asked, looking at the row of trucks parked on the far side of the lot.

“For a little while.”

“What company did she work for?”

“It wasn’t a company, it was a foundation. She delivered to food banks, charities, things like that.”

“Why did she stop?”

Will looked back at his brother. “Probably because they took her license away.”

“I forgot about that.” Stan frowned and shook his head. “One thing hasn’t changed- there’s always someone who thinks they know you better than you know yourself.”

“She wasn’t fit to drive. She almost killed a guy pulling out of the driveway one time.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“You were young, there’s a lot you don’t remember. That’s why you wear rose-colored glasses whenever you talk about her.” He looked back at Stan. “Mom lost her mind as she got older, which is something you should be worried about.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re exactly like her.” Will turned back and swiped his debit card to start the pump. The machine beeped and the screen read: SYSTEM ERROR.

“The credit card network is down,” Stan explained.

“Alright, let’s check inside. There’s probably a way to activate it at the cashier. Some people pay before they pump.”

Stan widened his eyes and smiled sarcastically. “Really, Will? Is that how gas stations work?”

“Shut up. Let’s go.” They walked to the building, Will in front.

“I always thought I should have been named Will,” Stan said suddenly. Will turned to look at him briefly.

“Why?”

“You were named after him, and yet I’m the one trying to put him to rest.”

Will peeked through the glass door. It was well lit inside, thanks to the strong sunlight shining through the windows. Having a clear line of sight made him relax a bit. “He was put to rest a long time ago. 1991, I think the year was.”

“He didn’t even get a proper burial. That’s not being put to rest.”

Will opened the door and they both ducked inside, exploring the small convenience store. He checked behind the register for a way to activate the pump while Stan grabbed a plastic bag and stuffed it with all the food it could fit.

“What about his memory?” Stan asked.

“Whose?”

“Who do you think?”

“Give it a rest,” Will sighed.

“I can’t. William Sharpe died for no good reason. He was a test rat, and when the test went bad, they threw it in the trash and set the trash on fire.”

Will found the gas control panel next to the register. It looked fairly simple to work. “You can’t bring him back from the dead,” he said.

“No, but I can make his death mean something.”

Will looked over at his brother. He must have been tired, because Stan was almost making sense. He flipped the switch to activate the pump and headed to the back of the store. “Keep a lookout,” he said, “I have to take a piss.”

“Good talk,” Stan replied.

As Will opened the door to the restroom, the first thing that hit him was the smell. It was the sour odor of sickness and bile. The next thing that registered was the shape of a man on the floor, huddled next to the toilet in a pool of his own fluids.

Will didn’t see the gun until it was too late.

“You won’t take me alive, you son of a-”

BANG. The gunshot was deafening in the tiny space. It missed Will by inches, lodging into the wall just behind him. Will scrambled out of the way and slammed the door shut as three more shots tore holes through the wood.

“I can wait,” Will said to Stan as he retreated.

“Me, too,” Stan replied.

They ran out the door. The man in the bathroom was too sick to follow them, but the damage was done. The telltale screams of the infected already sounded in the distance. It wouldn’t be long before they showed up.

Will started the pump and began filling the tank. “Will!” Stan called out. On the far side of the lot, over a hill, figures appeared. Will pulled the Glock from his waistband with his free hand.

“Are you insane? You can’t fire that here,” Stan warned. He motioned to the machines, one of which was currently pumping gas.

He was right. “Damn it,” Will said. Tucking the gun back into his waistband, he stopped the gas flow, pulled the nozzle from the van, and returned it to the pump before the tank was even half-full.

The infected were closing in. They appeared between the distant trucks, running at full speed toward the men. Stan was already back in the van by the time Will jumped in.

“Should we blow up the gas station or something?” Stan asked, staring at the red-eyed creatures coming at them, two of which were directly ahead.

“No, we should not.” He started up the van, slammed it into drive, and hit the gas pedal. The tires squealed as the van bolted away from the pumps and toward the exit.

“Uh, Will?”

He kept the van going straight, bearing down on the two infected ahead. The creatures only ran at them faster, their eyes burning and chests heaving, both covered in gore and missing patches of skin.

“Now would be a good time to turn,” Stan suggested.

Will kept the wheel locked. The creatures didn’t stop, either, the distance between both sides dropping to a few feet in seconds. Will stomped the gas pedal as their bodies crashed into the front of the van. Both bounced off the hood in a flurry of broken bones and limp limbs.

With the infected behind them, and the van sporting a few extra dents and stains, Will glanced at his brother. Stan was staring at him wide-eyed.

“What?” Will asked.

“What the fuck was that?”

“They were in my way,” Will said. Then he turned his eyes back to the road ahead.

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