Luke glanced at Chloe when they pulled to a stop at the red light in Lowville. “Where do you live?”
“Other side of the city, Ontario Apartments.”
“Florida and Chicago.”
“Shit.” He fiddled with the radio dials again, but only got static. “Guess you're coming home with me.” Chloe opened her mouth to protest, but Luke cut her off. “You’re not walking anywhere on that ankle, it’s the size of a grapefruit and anywhere with medical services is closed.”
Not liking it but knowing he was right she crossed her arms over her chest and settled back in the seat. Her backpack bit into her as she muttered, “Fine, but just until the travel ban is over then I’ll find some way home.”
“Ok then…” Whatever Luke was going to say died on his lips as a lifted black F150 barreled through the intersection. The truck swerved erratically, riding up on the curb and then wobbling top heavy on the large wheels. The driver seemed to be fighting the passenger as the truck tipped smashing down on it’s side. Neither the driver or passenger appeared to be hurt as they continued to struggle. “I’m going to see if I can help.” Luke unbuckled his belt and opened a compartment in the console between the seats, pulling out a small revolver.
“What? Are you crazy?”
“Just stay here.”
Chloe glared at him, “For the record this is how people die in movies.”
He smiled at her, “not the hero.”
Before she could come back with a smartass reply he had his door open and was climbing out.
Shaking her head, she watched him run across the street. The guy was brave, stupid, but brave. Chloe shrugged off her backpack and set it between the seats. Glancing behind her she noted the clean bunk space, he even made the bed. Turning back she caught a flash of black against the brown carpet. A tire iron stuck out from under the driver's seat, with a little struggle she snagged it. Just in case. Looking back out she watched as Luke kicked at the broken windshield of the downed truck. Inside the cab, the driver continued to fight off the passenger who hung from their seatbelt. Something was not right here. Common sense would have you grabbing for the seatbelt in an accident. Even if you were enraged with someone, you wouldn’t just hang there like that, it would hurt. Chloe flashed back to Paul and the mechanic both had been oblivious to their wounds. Could the passenger have the same thing?
Movement behind the accident drew her eye, two figures stumbled acrossed the lawns toward the accident. Thier movements were slow and jerky. One fell in the slush and mud, it struggled to get up arms flailingwith no coordination at all. Chloe’s heart sped up and stomach twisted as she noted they only wore pajamas and no shoes, yet the cold didn’t seem to be bothering them. It was like a scene straight out of a zombie movie.
The music cut out and the DJ came on, “Listen folks, it’s going crazy around here. Outside the studio we have people attacking each other. It’s like a Romero film…” It sounded as if the DJ leaned away from the mic. “Hey we’re on the air. What are you doing?”
Author's Note: Unedited Version