The day we left L.A. was the day the expression 'traffic jam' acquired a whole new meaning inside my head. Mom and I left home at about one thirty in the morning. At dusk we were, I'd say, about two miles closer to Big Bear Mountain.
The 405 was never really a place where cars ever moved much, but this was just ridiculous. You know how you see those lines of abandoned cars rotting away in post-apocalyptic movies?
Well, I was finding out how they start.
"It'll be ok," mom said, for the hundredth time, as we not moved, stuck between cars. "We're just being extra careful. Truth is, we'd probably be fine if we stayed in the city. But better safe than sorry, right?"
I looked around at the endless row of cars streaming ahead and behind, the setting sun casting a golden ray across the metal hood of every car in line.
"I think everyone's being extra careful."
Earlier, ignoring my protests, mom had decided to turn off the radio, so as not to freak me (and herself) out. From what little I heard before the AM/FM embargo, I gathered that people panicked when they heard some wealthy patients had been transferred from Philadelphia to the UCLA Medical Center, in hopes of getting better treatment (say, at a hospital where people were not biting each other to death). A riot formed just outside the hospital building, with protesters trying to get in by force and... well, I assumed, kill the bloody zombies.
It got out of control when the fire started. From that point on, just chaos. There were reports of patients escaping in the midst of the confusion, and UCLA students claiming they had spotted grey-skinned, gown wearing people roaming aimlessly around campus (though, to be fair, those could just be art students). Some more people were arrested for attacking people with baseball bats.
Similar histories were being reported in pretty much every major city across America. Patients being transported to hospitals in New York, Chicago, San Diego... all greeted by protesters. Reports of infected people showing the first signs of the disease in airplanes and airports...
It wasn't looking good.
When the newscaster mentioned looting across West LA, mom switched to music. And that's what we were listening now. Some slow jazz as the world burned.
"It will be fine. It'll be fine." Mom kept repeating her mantra, eyes on the road. "You remember Aunt Meredith's house, don't you? We'll be safe there. It's a good, safe place."
Yeah, Meredith had a sweet house at the Big Bear Ski Resort. With a Jaccuzzi and everything. But I was starting to get the feeling that 'this whole thing' wouldn't blow over as fast as mom was trying to convince herself of.
"Did you talk to Damian?" mom asked, turning to face me. Honks and screams of 'move, assholes' reached us muffled through the closed car windows.
"Not yet," I replied. "I tried Skype a few times, but no answer."
She held my eyes for a second. "I'm sure he's fine. His father wouldn't put him in any dangerous situation."
"Yeah, like taking his son to ground zero."
Mom sighed, and silence took over between us. I turned my eyes out the window.
It's a weird feeling, looking at roadscape when the car isn't moving for too long. You start noticing little things you normally wouldn't. Like a shoe just by the car pool lane. Why is there a shoe there? Who left a shoe by the road? What's the context behind that shoe?
You notice the poorly-kept houses just by the highway. The small front yards, the fences between them. You wonder about who lives there. Wonder what their names are, and what they do for Thanksgiving. You wonder about whether your boyfriend is being eaten alive right now in Philadelphia.
"Do you want anything to eat, Eve? I think there's some –"
My lap vibrated, all of a sudden. (Quick giggling, it was my phone.)
I unlocked the screen with a swipe so hard the phone almost flew from my hand. Skype Call.
"Damian!" I yelled at the screen. Damian's face popped up -- all seven pixels. His movement was robotic and punctuated by pauses, like security camera footage.
Talk about a shitty connection.
"Eve... I... Philly... thing... are..."
"What? I can't hear you! Are you ok?"
"Dad... working... hospital..."
"Where are you? Are you safe?"
"Bad... ternet... Everything... all.. igh."
The screen went back to blue. 'CALL ENDED.'
"Well, you see? I told you. Everything will be fine." Mom said, turning to look at me.
I nodded, unable to contain a smile. My eyes were still frozen on the phone when the screen lights died out.
Everything was fine. The world was ending, but everything was fine.
Damian was ok.
YOU ARE READING
Eve
Teen Fiction-Featured Story -Wattys 2016 Winner Eve's a vegan zombie, and she really doesn't care what you think of it, so shush it. All she wants is to get by and find some pigeons or a fat rat - anything without a name she can eat before she starves to death...
