somehow.
“You and me,” Gus spoke to it, “are gonna have a lot of fun.”
The snowmobile growled back.
“Fuckin’ A.” Gus squeezed the throttle.
The machine jumped from the garage, and he immediately had to brake. The controls were simple, but getting used to controlling the vehicle was another matter. Gus didn’t worry about it. After being holed up in his house for almost two months, he just wanted to get out there and do something other than watch movies, read, and shovel snow. The machine roared through the gates, jostling him in the seat even though the shocks absorbed most of the impact. Gus could tell Russell had paid top dollar for the rig. As the snowmobile rumbled over the buried road, he knew he had chosen correctly in taking the smaller vehicle. Snow smothered the mountain road and bordered the edges all the way down to the highway.
Gus slowed and turned onto the main road, looking around, awed at the extent of what the winter storms had done. Snow covered everything in a knobby white blanket that sparkled in the sun. He weaved in and around cars with only the upper parts of their roofs visible. Sahara-like dunes rose like finely sculpted waves about to crash. In places, he rode high before dropping into dangerous dips. The road was too bumpy for a smooth ride, and it would take a few runs to flatten everything. Or another snowfall to fill in the hollows.
It took him an hour to get into town. He felt the cold in his limbs. He also had a slight ache in his arms from steering and in his lower back from riding out the dunes. On the main street, storefronts and houses had been buried to the point that Gus felt he was driving down a ceramic half-pipe.
He continued until he came to one of the parking lots of the shopping mall in New Minas. Once there, he moved off the road and circled the area several times before coming to a stop on a bed of snow perhaps three feet deep. He stood up on the machine and gazed around, spotting the tops of several trucks and SUVs. The sun reflected off some of the roofs that weren’t covered.
Gus killed the engine and dismounted.
He pulled the aluminum bat from its sheath and flexed his fingers over it.
“I’m back, fuckers.” He waded through the snow and smashed out the windshield of a nearby truck. The sound echoed over the desolate expanse, but attracted no attention. He laid into it again, his knees level with the hood of the truck as he punished the body of the vehicle, making considerable noise.
After a minute he stopped, quietly admitting that he needed to get back into shape.
He took off his helmet and screamed, roaring obscenities every bit as cold as the air on his gloveless fingers, until he could shout no more.
“They’ve fuckin’ gone deaf,” Gus said. He climbed onto the roof of the pickup and looked about.
There.
Crawling from the entranceway of the mall, a single figure came his way. It struggled in the snow, fell over, got back to its feet, and continued.
Gus almost felt bad for the thing.
Four more followed it. Apparently, the front door to the building was either smashed out or somehow wedged open. They walked unsteadily across the parking lot, black on glittering white, totally out of place in the daylight. He could hear them as they got closer. They came at him with hissing glee.
Then, he could smell them. Foul, decomposing juices, ripe and half frozen, percolated throughout the dead flesh, emanating a putrid odor that only got stronger. Before the world went into hell’s handbasket, the smell reminded him of old, raw waste disposal sites, open and festering like rotting meat in the sun. Even in the frigid open air, the smell assaulted his nose and eyes, repulsing him to the point where he took one deep breath and held it.
Like long-lost relatives wanting a hug, they shambled toward Gus. Some of them kicked up snow with bare feet. He thought about the shotgun for a moment, but eventually settled on simply bashing in their
“You and me,” Gus spoke to it, “are gonna have a lot of fun.”
The snowmobile growled back.
“Fuckin’ A.” Gus squeezed the throttle.
The machine jumped from the garage, and he immediately had to brake. The controls were simple, but getting used to controlling the vehicle was another matter. Gus didn’t worry about it. After being holed up in his house for almost two months, he just wanted to get out there and do something other than watch movies, read, and shovel snow. The machine roared through the gates, jostling him in the seat even though the shocks absorbed most of the impact. Gus could tell Russell had paid top dollar for the rig. As the snowmobile rumbled over the buried road, he knew he had chosen correctly in taking the smaller vehicle. Snow smothered the mountain road and bordered the edges all the way down to the highway.
Gus slowed and turned onto the main road, looking around, awed at the extent of what the winter storms had done. Snow covered everything in a knobby white blanket that sparkled in the sun. He weaved in and around cars with only the upper parts of their roofs visible. Sahara-like dunes rose like finely sculpted waves about to crash. In places, he rode high before dropping into dangerous dips. The road was too bumpy for a smooth ride, and it would take a few runs to flatten everything. Or another snowfall to fill in the hollows.
It took him an hour to get into town. He felt the cold in his limbs. He also had a slight ache in his arms from steering and in his lower back from riding out the dunes. On the main street, storefronts and houses had been buried to the point that Gus felt he was driving down a ceramic half-pipe.
He continued until he came to one of the parking lots of the shopping mall in New Minas. Once there, he moved off the road and circled the area several times before coming to a stop on a bed of snow perhaps three feet deep. He stood up on the machine and gazed around, spotting the tops of several trucks and SUVs. The sun reflected off some of the roofs that weren’t covered.
Gus killed the engine and dismounted.
He pulled the aluminum bat from its sheath and flexed his fingers over it.
“I’m back, fuckers.” He waded through the snow and smashed out the windshield of a nearby truck. The sound echoed over the desolate expanse, but attracted no attention. He laid into it again, his knees level with the hood of the truck as he punished the body of the vehicle, making considerable noise.
After a minute he stopped, quietly admitting that he needed to get back into shape.
He took off his helmet and screamed, roaring obscenities every bit as cold as the air on his gloveless fingers, until he could shout no more.
“They’ve fuckin’ gone deaf,” Gus said. He climbed onto the roof of the pickup and looked about.
There.
Crawling from the entranceway of the mall, a single figure came his way. It struggled in the snow, fell over, got back to its feet, and continued.
Gus almost felt bad for the thing.
Four more followed it. Apparently, the front door to the building was either smashed out or somehow wedged open. They walked unsteadily across the parking lot, black on glittering white, totally out of place in the daylight. He could hear them as they got closer. They came at him with hissing glee.
Then, he could smell them. Foul, decomposing juices, ripe and half frozen, percolated throughout the dead flesh, emanating a putrid odor that only got stronger. Before the world went into hell’s handbasket, the smell reminded him of old, raw waste disposal sites, open and festering like rotting meat in the sun. Even in the frigid open air, the smell assaulted his nose and eyes, repulsing him to the point where he took one deep breath and held it.
Like long-lost relatives wanting a hug, they shambled toward Gus. Some of them kicked up snow with bare feet. He thought about the shotgun for a moment, but eventually settled on simply bashing in their
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