Creative Writing: The First Vietnam War

The fall rain pounded against the almost opaque window of the car or the miserable excuse of one they were driving. The fall leaves scattered across the highway made a satisfying crunch as the car scuttled away to its next destination. Inside John was getting vexed by the crappiness of the ride, driving the car with one hand and trying to massage his aching back with the other. The already uncomfortable seat paired with the seemingly endless amount of potholes made the idea of a proper ride seem almost as plausible as a cure. Thinking back to the time when he rode his Harley—its smooth leather seat, the roar of the engine, and the wind in his face— he, as he often times would, began to linger in memories of the past. Meanwhile, in the backseat,

Sarah was screwing around with a diary of a girl she had found, now a relic of the past.
“Is this all they had to worry about back then? Boys, movies, which shoes to match which outfit? It’s bizarre!” John didn’t reply; he didn’t have to after what she had done. He had done so much, sacrificed so many, and for what? Just so she could risk her life again?
“We’re almost there, pack up and get ready,” John said, his southern accent sounding authoritative as ever.
“And what if I say no? What are you going to do about that!” she snapped back.
“Do you have the slightest clue what your life means? Risking your life and running off like that, it wasn’t just stupid, it was selfish.”
“Looks like we’re both disappointed in each other then.”
“What do you want from me,” John asked, “Bill knows this place better than anybody else-”
“Screw that! Admit that you just wanted to get rid of me the whole time!” Sarah interrupted.
“Well I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I trust him better than I trust myself!”
“Cut the shit, what are you so afraid of? I can handle myself. You think I’ll end up like Sam? Newsflash, I can’t get infected!”
“Do you know how many close calls we have had; you barely survived the FEMA screening!”
“We seem to be doing alright so far and I-”
“And now you’ll be even safer with Bill. THAT IS FINAL!”
The silence that accompanied was devastating, a mixture of awkwardness and fear for what lay ahead. This was a different time, a different era. After the collapse, everyday life halted, and chaos erupted in the streets. First it was the economy, then it was the power grid, and before we knew it, we were thrown into another dark age. One by one the pillars of civilization eroded away, and the idea of morals and justice became more of a luxury than a necessity, a luxury which many people could not afford if they wished to stay alive. John was only 27 when it had happened, but now approaching 40, he wondered if it had been a better idea just to die and not suffer through what the 13 years had in store for him. At a point where the crunching sound of the leaves stopped, Sarah suddenly broke the mutual silence.
“I’m not like her, you know, I’ll never be.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Vanessa spoke to me about Rachel, and I just think-”
Rachel. The sound of her name caused a pang of guilt and pain through his body like a rattlesnake sinking its teeth into its prey.
“Sarah,” John said with a grimace, “you’re walking on some mighty thin ice here.”
“Listen, I’m sorry about your daughter, but you’re not the only one who has lost people.”
“You have no idea what loss really is.”
“Anyone who I have ever cared for has either died or abandoned me. Everyone except for you, so don’t you dare tell me I would feel safer with someone else because the truth is I would just be more scared.”
“Your right, you’re not anything like my daughter,” John said, “I sure as hell am not your father and we are going our separate ways.”
In retrospect, this was more of his fault than it was hers. He struggled to hold on to his memories, what with all that had happened in the course of eight months. After the collapse, the government scrambled to control the outbreak as best they could, but one by one stronghold began to fall, and before they could counterattack it was too late. In June 2018, they lost contact with the base in Springfield, and then in 2019 they lost contact with Providence. Boston stood strong, and not without good reason. Curfews, random ID/infection checks, guard towers, turrets, checkpoints, armored patrol vehicles, and a forty foot tall concrete wall surrounding the city were just some of the tools they used to keep the frenzied, rabid infected outside. But what happens when the people who are so willing to protect you are equally willing to kill you if the circumstances are right. John still had nightmares about what he had experienced in Boston. It was a cold winter morning and he was standing in line to redeem his ration stamps. Supplies were running lower than they usually were and when the MP running the depot said there was nothing left to ration, people went berserk.
“Where is OUR food? You people are supposed to sustain us not let us starve!” one man complained.
“I bet they are keeping it all for themselves, look how fit they all are while we can barely keep the skin on our bones!” another woman chirped in.

Despite being on the verge of a riot, everyone fell silent when they heard a door break open across the street. There they saw a man tumbling out with a German Shepard sinking its jaws into the arm. Behind him were two little girls and an older woman. As they ran to get away from whatever was in the building, a dozen soldiers rushed out from the building and after a quick chase, tackled the family of four to the ground. They were promptly cuffed, lined up on their knees, and patted down.
The man suddenly stood up and pleaded to the solider guarding him at gunpoint. “PLEASE! We’re not infected, I swear! You got to believe me!” To which the solider responded by slamming the butt of his rifle into the man’s head, demanding he remained on his knees. They two little girls were sobbing uncontrollably and everyone in the crowd looked on with anguish. Out of the blue, an officer with a hazmat suit on approached them. He pulled out what looked like a giant metal detector, except everyone knew he wasn’t searching for weapons. It had become so quiet that to this day John thought he could of hear the scurrying of the rats in the sewers below them. One by one he ran the metal rod over their heads until he heard a beep. He looked down to be met with the devastated expression the little girl

wore.
“She’s the one”, the officer said, “You know what to do.”
“NO! NO! NO! Please let us go, you can’t do this, we’re people just like you!” the mother stuttered out.
John felt his heart drop and braced himself for what he was about to witness. With a nod the solider standing behind the girl aimed his pistol and promptly sent a bullet through her head. John had the sudden urge to vomit as he ran away from the scene. He didn’t know where was going nor did he care, all he wanted to do was to run forever, forever away from what he had seen.
“How much longer?” said Sarah. John flashed back to reality and adjusted the front mirror to get a glimpse of the back seat. He saw Sarah drying tears off her flushed cheeks.
Damn, he thought to himself, I feel like an ass now.
John turned his head around to say something, and in the corner of his peripheral vison he noticed something running towards the speeding car. Before he could apply the brakes he heard a massive thump as he felt himself losing control of the cars steering. Before he could react, the car sped out of control, crashing into the divider that split the highway in two. Recovering from the shock, John fumbled to get his gun out of the glove box and stumbled out of the car. He felt a pulsating pain in his leg and he limped away from the car to see what they had hit. There, sandwiched between the car and the divider lay the clobbered remains of a Brute. He looked into its lifeless eyes and scanned its grotesque form, in disbelief that it was once a human. Some believe the virus didn’t actually kill the person it infected, only transforming their bodies and controlling their limbs, while the real person still conscious. He moved in to look for anything it may have been carrying before it turned when he heard screeching of more infected in the distance. As he turned to look ahead at the long, winding Carolina highway, the Brute’s upper torso suddenly came to life and clamped its arm around his shoulders. John began screaming, knowing that if it bit a single a part of his body, and he would suffer the same fate. Brutes were notorious for their incredible strength as the virus takes control of muscular system, enhancing it for its own survival. Struggling to pull away, John was finally pulled in by the Brute as it opened its, ready to sink into his neck. Right before John thought he was mincemeat, the Brute’s hands unexpectedly fell limp as blood soaked John. As he turned to his side he saw Sarah, hunting rifle in hand with smoke coming out of the barrel. He collapsed to his knees in exhaustion. They were in infected territory now.