Crispy Zombie Road Trip
Sumner
The Sweet Salvation rolled into Sumner on a Tuesday afternoon. Daniel drove with both hands steady on the wheel, humming along to Le Freak while Alyssa adjusted the frequency modulation from the passenger seat. In the back, Mina's equipment hummed, analyzing thermal patterns. Nikki studied maps. Melissa organized medical supplies with the focused intensity of someone who'd seen too many splash victims.
And Ignacia, she kept a steady gaze on the horizon, counting heat signatures.
“Forty-three survivors,” she said quietly. “All clustered in one building. Central location.”
“Smart,” Nikki said. “Easier to defend a single position than multiple locations.”
“Or easier to get trapped,” Melissa muttered.
The community center was a squat brick building. It probably hosted bake sales and town meetings before the meteors fell. Now it was a fortress. Makeshift border walls constructed from cars, shipping containers, and half of a playground. There were even a couple watchtowers cobbled together from lumber and hope.
A man stood at the gate. Tall, barrel-chested, with a police captain's bearing. His uniform was long gone. Replaced by practical cargo pants and a tactical vest. His hand rested on a holstered gun.
Daniel brought the truck to a stop, killed the engine. The music died with it.
“Let me do the talking,” Nikki said, moving toward the door.
The man, Captain Bradley Ashford, according to the faded name tag still pinned to his vest, didn't smile. “You're the disco truck.”
“Mobile frequency defense unit,” Nikki corrected. “You requested assistance.”
“That was three weeks ago. Figured you weren't coming.”
“Roads are difficult. Had to clear routes, avoid hordes.” Nikki gestured to the truck. “We're here now. We can install a perimeter defense system. Teach your people thermal protocols. Establish…”
“How many burners you got in there?” Ashford interrupted.
Silence.
The word hung in the air like a slur.
“Partially converted individuals,” Nikki said, voice carefully neutral. “Three. All fully controlled.”
Ashford's jaw tightened. “They stay in quarantine. Your people can do the installation, but burners don't get near my civilians.”
Ignacia opened the truck door and stepped out. Let him see her. The cracks in her skin glowed. The heat shimmered around her hands. “We ARE your defense, Captain. We can sense the Burned Ones before you see them. We can fight them in ways you can't.”
Ashford's hand moved to his gun.
Didn't draw, but the message was clear.
“Ignacia,” Nikki warned.
A new voice cut through the tension: “Let them in, Captain.”
An elderly man in a doctor's coat emerged from behind Ashford. Dr. Patel, Ignacia guessed from the medical bag and the exhausted compassion in his eyes. “We asked for help. They came. The least we can do is let them try.”
Ashford's glare could have melted steel. He stepped aside. “Quarantine section is east wing. Your burners stay there. They work under guard. They so much as look wrong at my people, this arrangement ends. Understood?”
"Understood," Nikki said before Ignacia argued.
The crew unloaded equipment while a young man in EMT gear helped haul speakers from the truck. Mid-twenties, easy smile, despite the circumstances. He moved with practiced efficiency. The kind that spoke to medical training.
“Connor Hayes,” he said, extending a hand to Mina. “I've been helping Dr. Patel. Well, trying to. We've got forty people and one doctor who's seventy-three and running on fumes.”
“Mina Russell. Computer engineer. This is my frequency optimization system.” She patted her equipment with obvious affection. “The speakers emit specific sound patterns that disrupt Burned One motor control and thermal regulation.”
Connor's eyes lit up. “So it's not magic. There's actual science.”
“Finally,” Mina breathed. “Someone gets it.”
Connor shadowed them through the installation, asking questions that showed genuine understanding. How did frequency interact with thermal patterns? What was the optimal decibel range? Could the system adapt to different stages of conversion?
“That's what I'm working on,” Mina said, pulling up graphs on her laptop. “Different frequencies for different thermal signatures. Music that helps the partially converted maintain control instead of just repelling what they're becoming.”
“Like a pacemaker,” Connor said. “But for humanity.”
Mina smiled. “Exactly.”
Ignacia watched him from across the compound while she and Daniel mapped heat signatures. Something about Connor reminded her of herself in those early days. Curious. Adaptable. Looking for patterns in chaos. But there was an eagerness that bordered on reckless.
“He's good with people,” Daniel observed, following her gaze. “Gets them to relax. We could use someone like that.”
“Maybe,” Ignacia said.
Night fell like a curtain. The installation was eighty percent complete when Ignacia felt them coming.
“Incoming,” she said sharply. “East side. Fifteen, maybe twenty.”
Ashford was on the radio immediately. Alyssa fired up the speakers. Stayin' Alive blasted through the gathering darkness. The approaching heat signatures wavered, then slowed.
There were gaps in the coverage. Sections where the speakers hadn't been mounted yet. Weak points.
The Burned Ones found them.
Crackling shapes poured through a gap in the eastern perimeter. Ignacia blazed forward to meet them. Daniel at her side. Behind them, Melissa coordinated the cooling response teams while Nikki directed fire extinguisher placements.
Connor was near the medical station with Dr. Patel. He helped evacuate patients from the exposed section. A Burned One broke through. Faster than expected. Heat rolling off it in visible waves.
Connor pushed Dr. Patel toward safety.
The Burned One collapsed. Whether from the bass frequencies or structural failure, it didn't matter. What mattered was the crimson ooze that splashed across Connor's left arm and shoulder. It soaked through his shirt and spread heat like wildfire through gasoline.
Connor's scream cut through the disco chaos.
Melissa was running. Cooling packs in hand. Ignacia sprinted across the compound, leaving scorch marks. She pressed her palms to Connor's shoulder, pulling heat. Fighting the conversion spreading through his circulatory system.
“Alyssa! Bass! Maximum!”
The frequency surged. Connor convulsed. The glow in his veins pulsed.
“Ice!” Melissa barked. “Now!”
They worked in synchronized chaos. Melissa applied cooling packs. Ignacia pulled heat. Alyssa adjusted frequencies. Through it all, Connor's face showed something Ignacia hadn't expected.
Fascination.
“It's…” Connor gasped, pupils dilated. “I can feel everything. The heat signatures. The warmth moving through my veins. It's like—like having a new sense.”
“It's like fire in your veins,” Daniel said quietly. “I know.”
Connor's tone wasn't fearful. It was interested.
By dawn, the cracks formed. Fine lines at Connor's wrists. They spread up his forearms. His veins glowed faintly beneath the skin. He should have been terrified. Instead, he sat in the medical station, flexing his fingers, watching the light pulse with each heartbeat.
“You need to practice control,” Ignacia said. She demonstrated breathing exercises. “The warmth responds to focus. To will. You have to…”
“Like this?” Connor closed his eyes. The glow dimmed. Opened them, and it brightened. “Is that right?”
Ignacia blinked. It had taken her three days to manage that level of control. Daniel longer.
“How are you doing that?” Nikki asked. Suspicion clear in her voice.
“I don't know.” Connor looked at his hands with wonder. “It just makes sense. Like learning to move a new muscle.”
Daniel offered encouragement, but Ignacia saw the flicker of concern in his eyes. Learning control too fast was almost as dangerous as not learning it at all.
“There's a child,” Connor said, his eyes unfocused. “East side. Collapsed building. I can feel her heat signature. Faint. Fading.”
Ashford, monitoring from nearby, shook his head. “That building's surrounded by burners.”
Connor stood. “Then it's lucky I'm becoming one of them.”
“Connor…” Ignacia started.
But he was already moving. Toward the gap they'd fought to defend last night. The building groaned with structural instability. The Burned Ones crackled in the ruins.
“Cover him!” Nikki shouted.
Alyssa cranked the mobile speakers. The crew formed a corridor of sound. Connor ran through it, his own heat allowing him to navigate spaces that would kill uninfected humans. He disappeared into the building.
Five minutes passed like five hours.
Connor emerged, carrying an eight-year-old girl in his arms. She'd been trapped when the building collapsed two days ago. Everyone assumed she was dead.
Connor's arm glowed brighter from the exertion. He was controlled. Steady. He handed, the child, Rosie, to her sobbing mother. His skin cracked more.
“I just saved that kid,” he said to Ashford. Statement of fact.
Ashford's expression was stone. “Tomorrow you'll be another one of them, trying to burn us all.” His hand pressed against his side where his shirt hid the truth. Three nights ago, during the first breach, crimson ooze splashed Bradley Ashford across the ribs. Just a few drops. He'd cleaned it quickly. Told no one. A heat that didn't belong, spread slow as honey through his veins. He told himself it was different. He was stronger. He could fight it off through sheer will.
The vote happened at noon.
Forty people, minus the child Connor saved. The question ~ should Connor Hayes be allowed to remain in Sumner?
Thirty-two voted for exile. Six for allowing him to stay. Two abstentions, including Dr. Patel.
Even Rosie's mother voted to send him away, apologizing through tears.
Connor took it better than Ignacia expected. He packed his belongings. Everything fit in a backpack. He walked to the gate where Sweet Salvation idled.
“I'm sorry,” Dr. Patel said. The only one brave enough to see him off. “I don't believe in condemning people for being sick.”
“I'm not sick,” Connor said, looking at his glowing arm. “I'm changing. There's a difference.”
Ignacia approached. “Come with us. We're teaching people like you how to stay human while burning. How to turn the curse into something useful.”
Connor looked at her. “While burning. Not despite it. While.”
“Does that distinction matter?”
Connor smiled. “I think it might.”
The Sweet Salvation's interior was cramped with six now instead of five. Connor sat near the freezers. The cold helped with control. He held an ice pack, watched it melt in his grip, practiced redirecting the heat.
“You follow Ignacia's protocols,” Nikki said. Her tone brooking no argument. “No exceptions.”
“Absolutely.” Connor nodded. “I want to learn everything.”
Daniel, from the driver's seat, glanced back through the rearview mirror. “It gets easier. The fighting.”
Connor's reflection caught the light. Amber eyes, cracks spreading. “What if I don't want it to get easier? What if fighting is what keeps us honest?”
Silence.
Mina typed something into her log. Melissa reorganized her supplies. Alyssa adjusted frequencies.
No one had an answer for that.
Sumner disappeared behind them. It's people safe. For now. Ignacia watched Connor through the mirror ball's scattered light. He was alone in the back, examining his veins, tracing the glowing paths with fascination instead of fear.
And very quietly, too quiet for anyone to hear over the engine and the music, Connor whispered to the warmth: Show me more.
The warmth answered. Ignacia noticed a surge in his thermal signature settle too comfortably. Too quickly.
“You sure about this?” Nikki asked beside her.
Ignacia's hands were hot enough to leave marks on her seat. She clenched them. “No. But that's never stopped us before.”
Whether he'd learn to be a guardian or something else entirely remained to be seen.
The Sweet Salvation rolled on.
My Creativity is fueled by tea. Lots of tea.
Awesome
I totally enjoyed this