Down the Road: The Fall of Austin by Bowie Ibarra Page B

screams for help.
    The house phone rang, making Mike jump in his
seat. It was quite a surprise, but he quickly pulled himself
together and answered the phone.
    “Hello?”
    “Son?”
    “ Mom ,” Mike said, relieved. “How are
you—are you all right?”
    “We’re fine, son. How are you?”
    “Things are going a little crazy here,” he
said. “How are things in Three Rivers?”
    “The city is doing fine. We’re so far away
from the big cities, I don’t think we’ll be having much trouble
down here.”
    Three Rivers, Texas, was Mike’s hometown. His
mother and father were still there, along with his brother, who
managed a convenience store.
    “I think you might be right, mom. You guys
need to sit tight. And make sure you’re armed.”
    “Oh, your father has things taken care of,
son. We’re going to be fine.”
    His father was an avid hunter, and kept a
vault filled with firearms. Mike felt relieved. It was soothing to
know his family would, potentially, be protected. He could still
see his mother wearing one of her many fancy embroidered shirts in
the middle of the apocalypse. After some brief small talk, Mike
assured his mother he would be fine in Austin.
    “The city needs me right now,” he said,
feeling kind of like a knight.
    “I don’t know what I can do right now,
exactly, but I’m trying to keep in mind why I became a cop in the
first place—before I lost the enthusiasm. You know, before reality . I know I can help, I just—”
    “You just take care of yourself, son. We’ll
be fine. This will all blow over soon.”
    “Take care, mom.”
    “I love you, son.”
    “I love you, too, mom.”
    The two said their goodbyes, and not one
second after Mike put the receiver back in place, another knock
came at the door.
    Who the fuck is that asshole looking for?
    Taking his gun back in hand, he approached
the door again. He peered through the peephole.
    It was Derek.
    Mike pushed the couch away from the door,
unlatched the chain, unlocked the handle, and opened the door.
    Derek neglected pleasantries. “Get your
uniform on, man,” he said, almost too excitedly. “We gotta
roll.”
    “What’s going on?”
    “I’ll explain in a minute. Just get your shit
on.”
    The television continued its report: “All
citizens are to report to any of the following FEMA centers nearest
where you live: Bowie High School, Crockett High School, Travis
High School, YMCA
    central…”
    Mike barely heard the newscast as he fit
himself into his modern day shining armor. Far from the pure white
of the old symbols of goodness, it was a police-state midnight
blue. He buckled his belt and looked in the mirror. Austin Police
Department’s own—and perhaps only —white knight was ready. He
couldn’t help but think this might be the last time he would look
at himself in the mirror. He gulped, considering the very real
prospect.
    Walking to the door, he joined his silent
partner for their walk to their police cruiser. All around them the
apartment complex was in chaos. People screaming. Gunshots.
Yelling. It felt like a prison riot. People needed help. But Mike
knew if he started here he would never get out. Whatever plan Derek
had for him was to be revealed soon, and he trusted his partner not
to lead him astray. Mostly.
    As they pulled out of the parking lot, the
streets were filled with frenzied pockets of people in panic.
    “We’ve been assigned to facilitate traffic
flow at south I-35 and William Cannon.”
    What? Mike smelled bullshit right
away.
    “Listen, the shit’s really hitting the fan.
That girl that was sent to the hospital... You know, from the
apartment?”
    Mike pictured the young girl—Brandi, her name
was—sweet and innocent and polite even through it all. “Yeah? What
about her?”
    “Attacked two cops at the hospital. Bit them,
then bit four more people in the waiting room. This thing has to be
something viral.”
    “If it’s viral, then those cops must be sick,
too.”
    Derek sat silent,