Chapter 33: The Gauntlet Begins
The riot van could take them no further. Quinn parked it in the relative shelter of a multi-story parking garage that overlooked the interstate, its engine falling silent for what felt like the last time. They walked up the spiraling ramp to the top floor, emerging into the open air. From here, they had a clear, unobstructed, and utterly horrifying view of the gauntlet that lay before them.
Interstate 95 was not a road. It was a wound gashed across the landscape, festering with infection. For miles in either direction, as far as the eye could see, it was a solid, impassable traffic jam. Cars, trucks, and buses were packed together in a chaotic jumble, a testament to the city’s final, panicked attempt to flee. And moving between the vehicles, a thick, shambling carpet of the dead, was a horde of infected so vast it defied comprehension.
Lily gasped, her small hand flying to her mouth. Lena pulled her close, trying to shield her eyes, but the scale of the devastation was impossible to ignore. Ben and Clara, the two survivors from the clinic, simply stared, their faces pale with a despair that went beyond fear.
"The journal was right," Hex muttered, his binoculars pressed to his eyes. "It’s a meat grinder."
As if to punctuate his words, a small drama of horror unfolded on the highway below. A small group of four survivors, desperate and foolish, made a run for it from the far side of the highway. They darted from car to car, trying to cross the ten lanes of stalled traffic. They made it halfway before the horde noticed them.
The reaction was instantaneous. The slow, shambling sea of infected turned into a roiling, churning wave. They converged on the small group from all directions. The survivors’ screams were thin, tinny sounds, quickly swallowed by the overwhelming roar of the horde. It was over in less than a minute. The wave subsided, leaving behind nothing but a dark, spreading stain on the pavement.
The brutal, live demonstration sent a cold dread through their small group. This was not just dangerous. This was a place where survival was measured in seconds.
Hex continued to scan the highway, his face a grim mask. "I see what’s left of a military roadblock up ahead, maybe a mile north. Humvees, a disabled APC. That’s probably the epicenter. That’s where the jam is tightest." He lowered the binoculars. "There’s no way around it. The embankments are too steep, and the overpasses look just as clogged."
They retreated to the relative safety of the van to discuss their options. The atmosphere was thick with tension.
"We go through," Quinn said, his voice flat, leaving no room for argument. "It’s the only way."
"Through?" Clara’s voice was hysterical. "Did you not just see what happened down there? We’ll be torn apart!"
"We have advantages they didn’t," Quinn countered, his gaze steady. "We have a plan. We have teamwork. And we’re not just going to run blindly." He looked at Hex and Lena. "We use the cars for cover. Move from vehicle to vehicle. It’s a maze, not an open field. The limited visibility works both ways. They can’t see us from a distance any more than we can see them."