[Vodstok]

Steve hit the steering wheel again. “Oh Jesus man. That is ridiculous. That can’t fucking be.”
“It sure as hell looks like it.”
“No, it sure as hell doesn’t godammit! Dead people don’t get up and try to eat you!. This isn’t one of those godamn movies. This is real life, and in real life, dead people don’t get up and try to eat you!”
Marc shrugged. “Then what do you think, genius?”
“I don’t know, damn it, I don’t know. Maybe they are all crazy or something.”
“Thirty-plus people and a dead priest? All went nuts…. How?”
“How the fuck should I know? Maybe something in the water. Maybe a disease. For Christ’s sake, maybe we are crazy and nothing happened back there.”
Marc smirked. “Do YOU want to go back and see if we are hallucinating?”
Steve shook his head.
“Yeah, thought so. Me either. Where the hell are we going?”
Steve slowed the car down. They were in the middle of cotton fields now, the trees and people far behind them. “I have no clue.”
“Should we head home? Maybe, call the cops from there?”
Steve shook his head. “I don’t want to go back past there. We are almost in the next town. We can find a payphone and call the Sheriff’s department.”
Marc tapped his foot. “Well, I don’t have any better ideas. I wish I had bought that damn cell phone.” Steve nodded silently and started down the road again. The roads were clear; not another driver passed them. “This is what we get for living in east-cotton-pickin’ bumfucked, you know that?” Steve was shaking his head. “Damn cell phone wouldn’t have even worked out here anyway..”
The two drove for roughly twenty minutes before hitting the next town. Marc kept his eyes peeled for a payphone. Steve looked around for people. The streets were empty. Cars were parked here and there, but there was not a person to be found. “What in God’s name is happening today? Did the whole state pack up and leave?”
Marc got a cold feeling in his stomach. “Steve?...”
“Yeah?”
“What if what happened back at the church happened here, too?”
Steve blinked. “Hey, there is a pay phone.” He pulled over. Marc got out and rummaged through his pockets for change. Steve popped the trunk.
Mark dropped some quarters into the phone and dialed 911. The recorded operators voice came on, explaining that there were no available operators, but to stay on the line and they would assist as soon as possible.
“Damn, man, 911 is busy…”
Steve walked up to Marc with a tire-iron and a baseball bat. “You got a busy signal?”
“No man, there is a message saying that they don’t have any available operators.”
“What the fuck?”
Marc hung up the phone. “What, you aren’t going to wait?” Steve asked.
“Do you think it would make a difference?” Marc asked. Steve shook his head, then handed the bat to Marc.
Marc looked at his quizzically. “What is this for?”
Steve walked back to the driver’s side of the car. “The next time someone comes up to us and doesn’t introduce themselves, we are going to smash their fucking head in.”
“Do you still think they’re crazy?”
“I don’t give a shit. If they are, then they WILL be dead if they get too close.”
“Where are we going to go?”
“I don’t know. Let’s get some gas, then we can drive around and figure out what we should do. I feel better if we’re moving.”
The two found a gas station. The pumps were working, but it was abandoned. Marc stood guard, while Steve filled up. “I’ll use my credit card, in case we ARE crazy.” Marc relaxed a little. At least they could make some light of the situation.
They continued through the town, not once seeing a sign of life.
They hit the open country on the other side of town. “Hey, aren’t we heading toward Mike’s, that old country store?”
Marc looked at Steve. “Yeah…..?”
“Getting hungry?”
Marc stuck out his lip. “No, but I will be.”
“Good let’s check it out.” Marc grimaced. “The least we can do is check it out, okay?” Steve looked hopeful. “Okay..”
“Good.”
Mike’s was ten minutes outside of town, nestled in between some corn fields. It was a grocery store fashioned out of an old barn, that eventually grew past the original old post-and-beam building. As they approached the red-painted store, Marc noticed someone standing on the roof, who then slid down it and ran in the front door.
“Steve, somebody’s there.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, he just slid off the roof and ran in.”
“Good. Maybe they will know what is going on.”
The parking lot of the old store had a few cars in it. Most of the entrances had lines of grocery carts in front of them. They parked near the front, and approached the door with their weapons in hand. The French door on the front did not open when they walked up to it. “Isn’t this an automatic door?” Steve asked.
Marc looked in the window. “Yeah, someone must’ve turned it off.” Marc gave a sharp knock on the glass. “Hello! Anybody home?”
No answer. “We know someone is in there, we saw you when we were driving up. Don’t worry, we are okay.” Steve shouted. They waited. Nothing.
Steve shrugged, then pushed on the door. It opened.
Both men gripped their weapons. Steve pushed the door further, then Marc stepped in. Steve followed, and let the door close behind him.
The store smelled like fresh fruit and bread, mixed with flowers from the nearby floral department. The floors were stone, turning into wood towards produce. Just past the entrance, they could see almost the whole store. Marc started walking towards the registers “Hello..”
There was a sharp clack as a shotgun was pumped and a man in a flannel and jeans popped up from behind a fruit stand. “Hands up! Both of you!”
Marc and Steve froze, then slowly lifted their hands. Marc glanced out of the corner of his eye at the man with the shotgun. “It’s okay, pal. We were just looking for some food to take with us, we’ll go.”
“Like hell we will Marc..”
“Marc? Steve?”
Marc turned slowly. The man with the shotgun was Tim Belford, a friend of theirs. “Ah shit, Tim, I damn near pissed myself.”
“How do you think I felt, Steve?” Tim said, sounding relieved.
“Good, two more people. More help keeping this place safe.”
Marc looked to Steve and then Tim. “Tim, do you have the slightest idea what the hell is going on?”
Tim shrugged as he moved to the front door and locked it. “Some idea. Not too much. Mostly just hearsay and shit on the radio. Give me a hand.” Tim had a palette of what looked like bundles of paper bags on a jack and was moving it in front of the door. Once they had it in place, he let the palette settle into place on the floor.
“Those bundles are about 75 pounds a piece, and there are 16 on that palette. Nothing is coming in through that door.”
They moved back into the main body of the store. “Everyone can come out now, we’re all set”.
Once the rest came out, there were six people in all, including Tim and the brothers. The others were a grungy older man, maybe in his 50s, a scrawny boy barley over sixteen with long hair, and a rather plump middle-aged woman. “Marc, Steve, this is Burt, Kevin, and Lucy. They’re holed up here with me. They come from over in the town. Burt was their bus driver when all the shit started.”
“What shit?” Marc asked.
“Boy, you two really do live out in the middle of nowhere, don’t ya? It was on the news, still would be if the damn TV worked. Burt took out a telephone pole, killed the cable.”
Tim shot the older man a glare.
“Looks like there is something spreading about, making people sick. They are attacking people. Biting ‘em, acting like they want to eat them.”
“So, this is happening in other places?” Marc looked around at everyone.
Kevin picked up an apple and wiped it on his shirt. “No way to tell. Can’t get any phone calls out, can’t get TV, and can only get local stations with the shitty radio in here.”
Kevin motioned to the weapons Marc and Steve carried. “Why you got those?”
Marc looked at Steve, then back at Kevin. “We were on our way to a funeral, when we got attacked.”
Steve looked over at Tim. “The first one was Will Sutcliffe. Found him limpin’ down the side of the road.”
“Will Sutcliffe? Isn’t he that big Down’s fella?”
“That’s him. Attacked Marc. I kicked him in the ribs, must’ve broken a couple, but that big bastard jumped up and kept coming.”
Marc nodded. “Then we went to the old church to get help, we were going there for Father Dillon’s funeral.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. He was a sweet old man.” Tim nodded.
“Yeah, well, when we got there, everyone there had whatever is causing all of this craziness.” Steve followed up.
Marc piped in. “That’s not even the best part.”
“What is?” Asked Lucy.
“Father Dillon was out walking with the rest of them.”
Burt coughed out a laugh. “Bull-fucking-shit.”