Pandora (Book 5): Behold A Pale Horse Page 8

  “Great,” said Patrick aloud.

  The driver of the BMW got out of his car looking very angry. He stopped to see the damage. It didn’t look terrible. He then looked back at the driver of the green car, who still hadn’t moved from his seat. Throwing his arms up from his side in a WTF exasperated gesture; he raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth in the circle. He stood like that for a second or two, but when the driver still hadn’t moved, he angrily went over and banged on the driver’s window.

  Nothing happened.

  He bent down and looked in the window at the still seated driver. His curious expression turned puzzled and he reached down and opened the driver’s door. Looking in momentarily, he quickly stood erect and yelled out, “Hey, I think this guy is dead.”

  Patrick got out of his car as did one or two other drivers waiting behind them. A young man walking past also came over. As Patrick walked over to stand next to the BMW driver, he looked into the green car. A middle-aged man sat slumped forward behind the wheel. The young man, who was walking by, reached in and, taking the driver by the shoulders, sat him back in the seat. His head flopped back and then drooped to his shoulder. His face was deathly pale and clammy looking. Crusted blood was all around his lips. From his receding hairline, dark veins stood out on his forehead.

  When everyone saw his face, murmurs started from the crowd. The BMW driver was on his phone calling 911.

  “I think that guy has the Pandora disease,” one man said.

  “He definitely looks really sick,” a woman agreed.

  Feeling his neck for a pulse, the young man said, “No, this guy is definitely dead. I saw somebody die from the Pandora mutation just this morning. She looked the same way he does.”

  “What the…?” the other driver said, looking at his phone in disbelief. “911 just said all lines are tied up and to call back later. Are they kidding me?” By this time the light had changed and the three cars in front of the BMW drove off. “What am I supposed to do now?” the driver said. “I can’t wait here all day.”

  “I have to get out of this lot,” Patrick pointed out, “and this guy’s blocking the exit.”

  They looked around, hopefully trying to spot a police car. Not seeing any, but ironically hearing sirens all around them, Patrick said to the drivers of the two automobiles behind the green car, “Why don’t you to back up your cars and then we’ll push this car back from the exit to clear it.”

  Isn’t that leaving the scene of an accident?” one driver asked.

  “Really? It’s ten feet,” Patrick said, “no one’s leaving.”

  Everyone nodded and the two drivers got in their cars and backed up. The driver who asked the question then put his car in gear and, swerving around them, sped off.

  “Asshole,” the young man called after him.

  The other driver got back out and came forward to them. The young man nodded and said, “Okay, I’ll steer.”

  Patrick and the two other men place their hands on the green car’s hood and began to push. The young man had already put the car in Neutral. He stood in the open door and grabbed the steering wheel. Working together they succeeded in pushing the car back ten feet.

  The three men in front stood up and congratulated themselves as the young man reached back into the car to put the transmission in park. As Patrick brushed off his hands, he looked into the front windshield to watch the young helper. As he put the gearshift into Park and started to disengage himself, the dead driver of the green car opened his eyes.

  Patrick grabbed the sleeve of the BMW driver and pointed. The young man was smiling and attempting to stand; but as he did, the dead driver jerked forward and grabbed his arm. The young man tried to pull away as the zombie darted his head forward and sank his teeth into his bicep. The young man had his left hand on top of the half open door, and as he jerked back, the door fully opened. Screaming, young man lost his balance and tumbled onto the street, dragging the growling zombie on top of him.

  Patrick could see beneath the door frame that the zombie had transferred his bite from the arm to the throat and was shaking his head side to side as he bit down. Blood was everywhere. The BMW driver shouted a shrill expletive and turned around, running forward to his car. Patrick any other driver ran around to the driver side of the green car. Patrick stopped, but the other man kept going. He jumped into his car and, veering widely, sped away. This left Patrick alone. The zombie looked up at him while chewing on a piece of flesh. As he started to get up, Patrick grabbed the car door and slammed it as hard as he could. It made a meaty thunk as it knocked the zombie back and caught his head in the door.

  Turning and running back to his car, Patrick jumped in and slammed the door. He sat there hyperventilating and tried to calm himself down. By the time his hands stopped shaking, the zombie had struggled to his feet again. Patrick started the SUV and turned to look at the entrance again. The zombie was standing in the middle of the street. What cars were now on the road were swerving around him, horns blaring, as he grasped at their cars. Spinning the wheel, he spun the SUV around and sped out of the lot. As he breaked before pulling completely out, he looked back at the green car. The young man, his throat torn out, was lying there in the street. As Patrick paused, he saw the body start to twitch.

  § § §

  “Where are you going?” Erica asked.

  Jason glanced in the rearview mirror at her and said, “My navigation unit says that Routes 4, 17 and the Parkway are jammed with traffic. I’m taking the Palisades Parkway instead. Less traffic. We’ll take the back way.”

  LaShawn asked, “Are you sure?”

  “I hope so,” Jason replied. “I’m hoping to catch 287 and take that back to 84 or 87. Right now, that’s our best option.”

  Greta sat in the back next to Erica and remained silent. She had no idea where she was or even where she was going. Loneliness washed over her as she sat there. Erica was sweet to ask her home with her, but she still really was in the company of strangers. It’s not that Erica and she were the best of friends. They weren’t even really close friends. In reality, she just wanted to be back in Austria with her parents right now. She sat there hugging herself and trying not to cry.

  The number of vehicles on the Palisades Parkway was manageable. Jason hoped that they could make up some time. He kept Camaro in the fast Lane, only changing lanes to pass other cars. The throaty sound of the sports car’s exhaust comforted him. At least now he felt in control.

  LaShawn’s headache was much worse now. It was very draining, making him feel exhausted. They were moving at a good pace and he let the vibration of the road lull him to sleep. He closed his eyes and after a few minutes was fast asleep.

  It was quiet in the car and Erica used that opportunity to take out her phone and text her father. Telling him of their whereabouts and plans to get home would take the worry off of him. She knew that she would probably be arriving later than they had first intended. As soon as she sent the text, on a whim, she called her mother. She felt the need right now to hear her familiar, soothing voice. Her mother could always make her feel better.

  Punching in her speed dial number, Erica put the phone to her ear. She settled back in the seat as the phone rang. After three rings it went to voicemail.

  “Hi Mom,” Erica said softly, “just calling to say hi. We’re on the way home, but it will probably be later than we thought before I arrive. Just wanted to hear your voice. Call me back when you can. I love you, Mom.” She paused, and then blurted out in a cracking voice, “I miss you.”

  Hanging up, Erica sat staring out of the window. A tear ran down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away. Get it together, girl, she thought, you’ll be home in a couple of hours.

  As the miles passed, Jason noticed cars pulled off onto the shoulders of the highway. Many seemed abandoned, but as he passed them he noticed that several still had people sitting inside. Seeing vehicles slowing down in front of him, he pulled into the slow lane as it seemed less crowded. Jas
on could see a large, multicar collision ahead. The traffic pattern narrowed to a single lane. There seemed to be at least ten vehicles involved in the accident. Toward the front was a large tractor-trailer. It was jackknifed across two lanes and had the cab caught up atop the tangled guard rail. The truck’s cab was leaning on an angle and the driver side door was hanging open. Jason could see the drivers arm hanging out. His sleeve looked bloody. Taking stock as the line of cars inched by, he surmised that the tractor-trailer must have lost control and swerved along the highway, ramming its way through all the vehicles around it. One delivery truck was lying on its side, steam streaming from its smashed radiator. The entire area of destruction stretched at least three hundred feet. Most of the cars sitting on the road seemed to be damaged along their sides, but a few had appeared to be completely totaled.

  Greta turned to the passenger window to avoid seeing all the damage. As she did, she wound up looking into a Cadillac that was pulled over onto the shoulder and sitting on the grassy berm. Her eyes widened and she screamed out, “Mein Gott” reverting to her native tongue in shock.

  Everyone in the car turned to look. Inside the large four-door automobile sat an entire family. All of the windows were smeared in bloody handprints. The five people in the car had their faces pressed up against the left side windows and were scratching and clawing at the filthy glass. They could see their mouths opening and closing in silent snarls.

  Everyone gasped at the sight of the car full of zombies. They kept staring as the Camaro slowly glided by. The zombie’s eyes followed them as they passed. Then, when the car behind came into view, they immediately turned to that one, renewing their struggle to get out. The passengers from the cars involved in the massive accident were either huddled around their vehicles or wandering about helplessly. Some had a family member in the car or on the road that had injuries. Jason wondered why there were no police cars here yet. As they made their way, creeping along the accident site, Erica noticed movement in the tractor-trailer’s cab. The drivers arm twitched twice then stopped. As she watched, the arm moved. Suddenly, the driver’s body fell out of the tilted cab. He fell behind another car with a severely smashed front end and she lost sight of him.

  A man with a gash on his forehead appeared from between two cars. He was in his late twenties and was carrying the body of a petite girl. She looked to be around the same age as he, but it was hard to tell. She was horribly mangled and her skull looked to be partially caved in. The man was crying and screaming, “Help me. Won’t someone help me?” The limp form he was carrying, as he stumbled around, was obviously dead.

  Jason turned his head as he passed and the two girls cringed away from the window. Eric’s gaze veered and she saw the truck driver stand up. She knew it was him by his bright yellow shirt. He was swaying unsteadily on his feet. Swiveling his head from side to side, she saw that his face was pale and look waxy. As he looked around, they held eyes for a second. Erica grew in a sharp breath as he saw his milky white eyes. He must have been sick with Pandora, she thought, and then died while on the road.

  All of this commotion pierced through LaShawn’s deep cloud of sleep. He lifted his head for a moment unsure of where he was. As he turned, a sharp, shooting pain exploded in his head. He closed his eyes, wincing. While he was sleeping the group had left the Palisades Parkway and turned onto Route 287, which was the New York Thruway.

  LaShawn gripped the door panel and said through gritted teeth, “Jason…”

  Jason turned his head to his friend and said, “So… you’re finally awake.”

  “Jason,” LaShawn repeated, “stop the car.”

  “What?” Jason said, knitting his brows. “Why should –”

  “Stop the car,” LaShawn said louder, “I’m going to be sick.”

  Instantly Jason turned the wheel and the black Camaro veered off the road and onto the grass berm. The car had barely stopped when LaShawn threw open the door and leaned all the way out of the vehicle. With a loud, liquid retch, the young man violently threw up onto the grass. No sooner had he stopped and spit twice, when he vomited a second time. Breathing hard while clutching the open door, LaShawn looked down at his regurgitation. It was mostly blood with dark, almost black clumps mixed in.

  “Jeez,” said Jason, “are you okay?”

  LaShawn hung out the door gasping for another ten seconds, and then fell back into his seat. His head was back and eyes closed. A clot of blood was on his lower lip, glistening, then rolled down his chin and onto his Lacoste shirt.

  “Oh, fuck,” he said softly between breaths. “I – I need a hospital.”

  Jason stared at him as Greta put her hand on his shoulder.

  “I got Pandora,” he said abruptly.

  Everyone gasped, “What?”

  He opened one eye and looked at Jason. “When I thought I had that cold a few weeks ago,” he said, “well, it wasn’t. It was Pandora. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it. But – But now I’m really sick.” A tear slid from his eye. “I think I’m dying.” His breathing began to normalize. He shook his head in despair and mumbled aloud, “What am I going to do?”

  Jason had his left arm draped over the steering wheel as his mind raced in thought. It was then that he noticed the figures in his peripheral vision. Looking out the front windshield, Jason could see three figures walking along the side of the highway. They were a couple of hundred feet away. The end of the accident scene was only twenty feet away, and as the cars passed they would quickly speed up and move into the other lanes. The two men and a woman that were walking toward them were moving awkwardly. That was what caught his attention in the first place. They looked inebriated. The occasional car that would zoom pass in the right lane would cause the nearest man to reach out. As they drew near and became clearer, Jason could see blood on their clothes. At first he thought they were originally from the accident site; but about ten feet in front them some bushes shook, and another figure staggered out of the trees. This was a young, teenage girl. She had long brown hair almost to her waist. Leaves and branches were tangled up in her tresses.

  Jason’s mouth dropped when he saw that her left arm was missing below her elbow. The three people walking barely noticed her, as she did them. The four walked straight for the people milling about the accident scene. Jason pointed and was about to say something when a scream burst from their left. As Jason, Erica and Greta turned to look at this new calamity, they saw the tractor-trailer driver grab an old man and savagely bite him on his shoulder. The man screamed again as he vainly tried fighting the zombie off. As they wrestled, another man ran over and punched the driver on the side of his head. Still, the driver continued to rip at the old man’s shoulder. The Good Samaritan then hit the driver again in the temple and this time the zombie turned on him. Letting go of the old man, he grabbed onto his new victim. The man held the zombie’s neck and continued to punch him in the face. The zombie kept clawing at the man, throwing off his aim. When one of his punches landed on the zombies open mouth, he bit down on the presented knuckles. The man yelled and drew back his hand. Looking at the gashed joints, he lost focus, and the zombie rushed in and bit him in the center of his face.

  Hearing the screams, the four figures approaching began moaning loudly. They became more animated and began to walk faster, seeming almost angry. Jason saw that their eyes were milky white.

  The old man who was first attacked staggered away, and then grabbed his chest and collapsed.

  “We have to get out of here,” yelled Erica.

  Jason put the car in gear and attempted to pull back into the lane. No one was letting him in. Blowing his horn, he swore aloud, but the other cars were bumper to bumper. Frustrated and becoming anxious, he finally just floored the gas and took off along the grass berm. The Camaro fishtailed a little, but kept gaining speed. The four approaching zombies were reaching for him when he cut the wheel and swung into the lane. They were past the accident so he was able to cut in. As he did, his right bumper hit one o
f the zombies a glancing blow and flipped him in the air.

  “Shit,” cursed Jason.

  Looking over her shoulder, Greta said, “You hit him!”

  Banging on the back of his seat, Erica shouted, “Don’t stop. Just keep going.”

  Jason was gripping the wheel with white knuckled hands, and holding his breath. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. Quickly glancing over at LaShawn, he said, “Hey, are you still with us, buddy?”

  LaShawn’s head rolled loosely with each jerk of the wheel. Greta leaned forward and felt his pulse.

  “He’s unconscious.”