Before the quarantine Jackson Henry was a “red shirt” freshman, a paragon of athletic ability poured into a 6’1, 235 lb. running back. Now he’s a crazy strong, and fast man and more importantly one with access to the keys to a new Cadillac Escalade. Also known as my hero and his chariot of freedom. Jackson had been hold up in a dorm suite that he shared with two other freshmen football juggernauts. The three had been put through some of the harshest practices of their lives in their first weeks on campus and then tormented by the upperclassmen on the team. Hazing isn’t allowed at the University, at least that’s what the front office says. So when the three athletes had a night off they locked and barricaded themselves into the dorm suite and didn’t notice the lights and alarms of the quarantine until the next day. They slept in their oversized dorm beds, still far to small for their size, protected and safe.
They had spent weeks watching the horror unfold from their rooms. Thanks to a University supplied 42 inch plasma television in their suite the three had learned of the danger of stepping outside before their first bowl of cereal. They had attempted to reach out to family and friends but nothing had worked. So with plenty of electricity and a stocked fridge the three had stayed locked in there suite until the fridge wasn’t so stocked and the company wasn’t as friendly. Finally the decision was made to stretch their legs and maybe skip town.
Jackson didn’t like to talk about it but I know they reached his roommates escalade and had begun making their way out of the parking garage before his suite mate turned. He was a freshman defensive tackle, and thanks to being an avid fan of the schools football team before this all began, I can tell you the fact Jackson made it out of the escalade unharmed with a 6’7” 305 pound zombie lusting after his flesh is well beyond a miracle and speaks to Jackson’s speed better than any highlight reel. He ran straight back to the suite, alone.
Luckily the day we needed a savior he was watching the street from his barricaded dorm room and was brave enough to try and join the only other living people he had seen in weeks.
We ditched the escalade inside the aquatic centers lobby after smashing through the glass doors, the trucks loud exhaust and flashing wheels seemed to draw as many of the un-dead as the blood leaking from Adams head. The gymnasiums on campus weren’t very good for hiding in thanks to all the windows and large open rooms but we needed to get to some medical supplies for Adam and the swim centers proximity to the stadium made it the best place in a bad time.
Jackson had carried Adam up six flights of stairs and then back down five, we probably ran a mile through hallways and offices until there was no sign of the undead that followed. We watched them come from the windows in the football teams sports medicine facility. The swim center next to the stadium, where we left the Cadi., was being over run with the walking dead, it had to be some kind of communication, what I call the hive mind, that called them. We hadn’t passed by, or over, more than a couple hundred of the things before entering the aquatic center and yet there were now thousands.
Adam was sleeping, breathing slow and steady, he just looked so pale. Sandra and I were watching Adam’s chest rise and fall neither willing to look at each other because we both knew that if Jackson hadn’t shown up out of the blue we would all be dead. We had ignored the weakness of one of our group and it nearly caused the death of us all. That can’t happen again.
I was mentally berating myself when the first explosion shook the windows.
I looked around and saw Jackson standing at the closest window with tears streaming down his face. I followed the direction of Jackson’s wet eyes and saw fire. The zeds were packed so close together that at least fifty of them were burning and spreading it to others as they tried to crush their way into the aquatic center. Before I could even make sense of what was going on another ball of fire erupted about thirty feet from the epicenter of the first. Jackson wiped the tears from his face and told me Chants and Homer had found gallons of rubbing alcohol and other cleaning and medical supplies. They had taken what they could carry along with the head of kinesiology’s old fashioned coke bottle collection to the top of the south stairwell to “Clear out the crowd.”
Maybe I’ve pushed them to hard.
Jackson and I sat and talked by the light of a thousand burning corpses. We knew we couldn’t stay on campus, there are just too many of the undead. Before the power went out in his dorm room, Jackson had heard of military refugee camps being setup around the state. The decommissioned Army base, Camp Mabry, sits just a couple miles to the west of campus. On the other side of Fraternity and Sorority Row and a neighborhood of million dollar homes. We decided it is our best option, but we doubted all of us could make it.
