Race to Refuge

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Ty

I was playing a zombie RPG when I heard about the attacks. A weird coincidence. Even weirder, I was playing the part of the zombie, not the zombie hunter, in the role play.

It was about time to leave for school. Most of the time, my parents didn’t want me to play before school, but this morning they were distracted. It took me ten minutes to get ready for school, anyway. I scooted off real quick in the shower, pulled on jeans and a tee shirt, grabbed a granola bar and a glass of milk, and was all set. I’d even packed my backpack and made my lunch the night before, which was practically historic. But there was an online player that I knew was going to play this morning and I wanted to have a quick match with him if I could make time.

I’d signed in and was starting out with the game when a chat box popped up. Captain Crunch was the player. He usually sounded real chill whenever he chatted online. Just real laid back. I think he might have been an older dude … maybe in college. This time he sounded urgent. Don’t go to school.

I hesitated. It’s not like I trust people online or think they’re like my real life friends. I’m not stupid. They’re friends. But they’re different. I’m not giving out my home address or doing something idiotic like that. But I’ve played with this guy a while. If I felt like I really knew anybody online, it was him. “Why not?” I typed.

There’s some crazy stuff going on out there, dude. I’m in New York. I know you don’t live here, but there’s some kind of sick virus or something. They said on the news it’s almost like rabies. People attacking other people. Seems more like zombies to me. I know it sounds nuts. But look outside. Check the news. Skip school so you’re not trapped there. Don’t go.

He signed out of the game and I sat there for a minute, staring at the screen. Did Mom and Dad know I was playing games? Or could I still get away with saying I felt sick?

“Mom?” I called out.

I could hear Mom and Dad talking to each other downstairs. They had that morning-stressed tone where they were flinging things around, trying to find their stuff so they could get out the door. Of course, they were usually stressed when they were around each other, anyway.

“I don’t know where that business card is, Dan,” said Mom in a reproachful voice. “It’s not my job to keep up with your things.”

“Mom?” I asked. “Hey, I’m not feeling so well. Could I stay home today to keep close to a bathroom?”

“Nice try, Ty,” said Dad without even turning around from pouring his coffee. “I heard you up there playing games.”

Mom reached out and ruffled my hair. “Sorry, hon. You’ve got that science test today, too, so I want you to make it.”

“I’ve got the science nailed, Mom,” I said impatiently. Actually, I had it all nailed and they knew it. I spent most of the time in class thinking about other stuff and still had all A’s. Which made it especially frustrating that Mom and Dad wouldn’t give me a break. So tactic number two, now—the truth. I hesitated for a second before saying, “Okay, the truth is that I’m worried about going to school. And worried about Ginny being at school. You’re right, I was playing games. But while I was playing, I heard about some weird stuff going on. It sounded like some weird virus that makes people attack other people.” There was no way I was going to bring up the word ‘zombie.’

Dad was now doctoring his coffee with a ton of sugar. He snorted. “Ty, these games you’re playing are making you break with reality. You’re fifteen years old. Your brain is still developing and it’s probably getting warped by this stuff you’re playing. So you’re saying that zombie attacks are happening.” He finally turned around to look at me through narrowed eyes. “And what were you just playing?”

I didn’t answer, just stared steadily at him.

“Zombies, right? That’s what it sounded like, anyway.” He rolled his eyes.

Mom, as usual, was more sympathetic. Plus the fact that she just enjoyed disagreeing with Dad. But being sympathetic didn’t mean that she was on-board, either. “Hon, how did you hear about the attacks if you were playing a game?”

I sighed. It wasn’t going to sound good. But I couldn’t say that I saw the news on Twitter or my phone or something because my phone was still on the charger here in the kitchen. “It was a friend of mine. A guy online.”

Dad was now totally ignoring me as he lifted papers still looking for the stuff he needed for his briefcase.

Mom said, “He was just pulling your leg, Ty.”

“This guy doesn’t do things like that,” I said stubbornly. But it was pointless to argue. They were just going to say that I didn’t know these online friends. Then they’d so some sort of lame safety check to make sure I wasn’t giving out personal information online. “Look, have you watched the news this morning?” I pleaded.

“I certainly have,” said Mom, pointedly handing me my backpack. “There was absolutely nothing on the news about any attacks when I was checking the weather.”

“But that was local news. This might just be breaking on national,” I said. “I don’t want anything to happen to you guys, either.”

“Thanks for the concern,” said Dad. “But I think we’re good. And I’m running late. And you’re running late if you’re going to catch the bus, Ty.”

“Look, Ty,” said Mom, giving me a loose hug. “You’re talking about viruses, right? They can take a while to transfer and become real outbreaks. It’s not like some imminent danger.”

“I’m out of here,” said Dad tightly. “Get it together, Ty, and get going.”

“All right,” I said. “Let me just run upstairs for a minute and grab something off the printer.” I jogged up the stairs. I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach about the whole thing. For a minute I wondered if maybe the made-up story about being sick was coming true.

Naturally, the printer was out of paper. I set down my backpack and opened a new pack and was sticking it in the top drawer of the printer when I heard yelling outside toward the front of the house. I dropped the paper and pushed the curtains to take a look.

Then I heard my mom screaming downstairs. “Roger!”

Looking out the window, I saw one of our next door neighbors attacking my dad. He swung his briefcase at the thing as hard as he could, and he was a strong man. But this thing … and it was a zombie … was unaffected by the blows it was getting. It was true. And then—I did turn away and get sick.

Wiping my mouth I yelled, “Mom! Stay inside! Mom, come here!” Legs shaking I ran down the stairs, taking them a couple at a time.

It was too late. Mom had gone out to help Dad and was immediately attacked by two of the zombies. What was even more horrible … Dad was already turning. At least, his eyes were getting a hollow, hungry look and his motions were no longer fluid, but jerky. When he turned to Mom, and I realized—and she realized that he wasn’t going to help her—I’d seen enough.

I locked the front door and pulled chairs and small tables to block it. Then I checked the back door to make sure that it was also secure. I jerked open the pantry door. Mom must have gone to the store yesterday, because it was full of food and water bottles. I ran around the house, pulling together tote bags and boxes and throwing food and waters and a first aid kit in them, trying to ignore the sirens and screams from outside. Did I just have minutes? How strong were these things? How smart? Would they think to break a window? Would they use teamwork?

I knew I had to get my sister, Ginny. Would the zombies be at the middle school already? I needed Mom’s car out of the garage. Was the garage door open, or closed? Did Dad go out through the garage or the front door? Was his car blocking Mom’s? I could barely focus on what I was trying to do with all the questions flying through my head.

I forced myself to look out the front window, trying not to see my parents. And I saw that Dad’s car was off to the side of the driveway. I could get Mom’s car out.

I flung the stuff I’d put together into the back of Mom’s van, wishing I could stop shaking and think harder and clearer about what I needed. First aid, food, water. Maybe blankets. I ran back in the house and pulled blankets and bedspreads off the guest room beds downstairs and pushed them into the van.

Weapons. Dad wasn’t much help here, since he never liked guns. Instead I grabbed my baseball bat and an ax and shovel from the garage.

My camping equipment for scouts was in the garage, too, and as soon as I spotted it, I knew that was probably some of the best stuff to have. I even had water purification straws and that kind of stuff. I threw in a sleeping bag, tent, flashlights, and matches.

And all the time, zombies were scratching at the garage door and moaning.