“!@%*.”

The word seemed insufficient, and so did the tire iron.

“!*%%, !&^@, **@*.”

He felt like an idiot for leaving the car, leaving Debbie. He whirled around and sprinted the few feet back to his vehicle, metal rod slapping up against the paneling as he tore open his door, leaving an ugly scratch and dent.

“!%@%.”

He stuck his head into the car, almost keeling forward into Debbie’s lap. He snatched her hand up out of her lap and all he wanted was to kiss the back of it.

“Jason what’s wrong?”

“Babe we gotta go, and we gotta go right now.”

“What about food?”

“No, stay in the car.” He dropped into the driver’s seat and did kiss the back of her hand. He placed the tire iron between them and slammed the door shut.  As he wrenched the wheel to the left, a thought wriggled through his panic and he laughed.

“What is it?”

“I just wish you were driving.” She was always a better driver then him. She squeezed his hand and then let him take the wheel with both. The audible horror was creeping closer, and cars were now streaking by in the left four lanes, going the wrong way. He pulled out with them and stomped down on the gas pedal. There was a heavy lurch as their car’s bumper caught onto—and briefly made love with—the car in front of them, and then they were free.

The engine opened up and Jason watched a blur of white form on his right side, but as more cars pulled onto the wrong half of the highway, Jason saw a problem: the same problem the road was having now. This would eventually be clogged, brought to a halt, and then they would be right where they left off, waiting again for the swarm to crawl down the road into their car. Maybe they would be crushed by the weight of the mob before they could be eaten. Jason felt his stomach twist as he imagined Deb’s ribs being broken, blood leaking from her mouth—he grabbed her hand again, and though the car wavered at eighty miles an hour, his stomach loosened as he squeezed and kissed her fingers.

“These lanes are just going to fill up, too.”

“So let’s hop off the highway.”

“You think so?”

“We can take Route 21 all the way to the state line.”

The conversation sounded too normal on the surface and too strained underneath, like they were recovering after a fight and failing to make it work. He didn’t like it.

“You’re really pretty.”

Deb laughed, but it came out sounding like a sob.

“Just drive, ok?”

He calmed a little and released her hand. Deb was right, of course. He smiled a little, burying his worries. As soon as he saw one, he took an exit (actually an on-ramp) and sped off the main road. 

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Author guidance for This story

One day, when all was going well, society collapsed as a result of a rapid outbreak that led to the reanimation of dead corpses.

Guidelines
- The plot is very simple: What is it that we observe in ourselves and in others, when every facet of instinct is utilized? What happens when instinct overcomes the social standards that we've painstakingly built up over the course of civil history?
- I've made the background setting very vague for a reason. Finding the source of the outbreak, the origins of the walking dead, and all of the answers to the first questions we ask in this scenario - all of this is detached. There may never be a solution.
- This story, should it go as planned, will be a look into the preservation of one's humanity, when all else seems lost.

updated Dec 23 '11 by Proffer