Page 9 of Creepy
3
The next day startedlike all others, with my fruitless walk to the mailbox.Of course, first I brushed my teeth and armed myself.No matter how lonesome it seemed, I was no longer alone in Creepy.When I made it to the Dead-End sign, I tried hard not to check our mailbox.For fuck’s sake, there wouldn’t be anything there, I told myself.Just as I was about to turn around and walk back, I gave in and yanked down the lid.I stared inside the metal box, letting the empty deep mock me as usual.Nothing.Obviously, I knew there wouldn’t be.It’s not like the post office was running.There’d be no junk fliers or bills.Nothing, even if I’d technically gotten mail from my stalker yesterday.
Walking back, I wondered if I’d have any more surprises from him this week.Or her.Or they.At least I knew whoever had been leaving me gifts was not a zombie.A zombie would never figure out how to seal an envelope.What was the point?My stalker would leave mementos on my front porch, mostly.Leave them when I wasn’t here.Maybe they knew my routine.I was predictable.
Predictably, I had my coffee black, out of a mug from my youth, flipping through a magazine.Oprah, this time, speculating if she and other celebrities survived.I thought of Dillon’s mom in Switzerland.Did the rich and well-off spread the virus all over the world when they headed for all corners of it?Or were they alive, waiting for the right time to return?I thought of Dillon saying people were returning.With zombies still lurking?Nah.I dressed in my usual leggings and tank.There was no reason not to be casual.Besides, my complete day would be like one long workout as I went to collect what I needed to survive.
When I climbed into the truck, I decided not to be predictable.I climbed back out and got the keys for Papa’s Buick.Instead of heading to the Piggly Wiggly first thing and an entirely new street afterward, I headed back to Mallard Avenue.
I was in the market for a new set of wheels.Well, a vintage, new to me set of wheels.You only live once and all.Dreaming of the Camaro the entire drive, I tried not to regret the fact I’d be ditching Papa’s wheels.He’d taken such good care of the Buick Park Avenue.Sure, it was old, but brand new, back when I was in high school, it’d been the nicest car we ever owned.I always called it my Papa’s car, but I’d always been the one to drive it.
I parked in front of the house of the Camaro’s previous owners.Grabbing my backpack and the gas can, I said goodbye to the Buick.Remembering advice from Marie Kondo, a decluttering philosopher, I thanked it for its service and let go of it.In the dark garage, I turned on my flashlight, found a ladder, and got to work on disconnecting the garage door opener so I could get the beauty home.Finished, I climbed down and raised the garage door with ease.The sunlight folded into the garage, revealing precisely how nice the Camaro was in the light.Geezus.Someone had taken great care of this car.After all this time, it wasn’t even dusty.I couldn’t wait to take it out on the road, let the wind flip through my hair.Maybe I had been doing this whole apocalypse thing wrong?I’d clung to routine and a mundane existence for safety’s sake.It was time to throw caution to the wind.It was time to gas up the SUVs blocking it in and get this car on the road.I stepped back into the garage to grab the gas can filled with the fuel I’d removed from the very same vehicles.Stepping back into the light, there were two black SUVs in the driveway and behind them another identical one.
“What?Another one?A third one?”That wasn’t there before...Before the thought fully clicked, I ran for the Buick.
“Hey, wait...”A man yelled, stepping out of the third black SUV.
Fuck.He was a giant.I started the car and pulled out onto the road.He jumped in front of my car, his hands up.I screeched to a stop.I wouldn’t hit him.For fuck’s sake, he’d break my car in two, as big as he was.The behemoth had to be pushing seven foot tall.I undid the snap on my gun’s holster as he walked to the window.My hand on my weapon, I rolled it down a bit.
His hand landed on my roof, probably covered a good chunk of it.He squatted to face me.“I’m not infected,” he said right off.
Oh, I hadn’t even thought of that.Since I’d gotten over the virus and didn’t die and change, being infected again wasn’t on my list of worries.I figured I couldn’t become reinfected.I ignored any doubt that crept in now.“Me...either.”
“You live around these parts?”
I wasn’t about to tell him where I lived.“Guess so...”I remembered my manners and asked, “You?”
“Just got back.Someone cleaned me out.”
“Really?”I feigned innocence to being the one who cleaned him out yesterday.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”
I assumed I wasn’t off the hook.He’d seen me run from the garage, evidently.“This is your house?”It was a question.
“Yes, it is.It is now...It was my parent’s house.”
“So, the Camaro?”
“It’s mine.”
Fuck.I couldn’t believe it.The one time I decided to get a new car, it’s taken.
“Just drove it up from Florida.Someone stole the keys.”
“I’ve lived in Creepy my whole life.What’s your name?”
“Troy Broussard.”
That sounded like a Louisianan last name if there ever was one.“So, you’ve lived here before?”
“Yeah, back in middle school.”
There was only one of those.“Creepy Middle?”
