We pulled away from Caprock Canyons State Park and headed down the 207. I flipped on the radio and found the soothing sounds of smooth jazz static. That was not unexpected, considering where we were. It would take over an hour and a half to get back to Lubbock. Noah, bless him, was chattering up a storm while playing games. Mostly he was talking to himself or the game, lost in his digital world. His short brown hair was all I could see of his head as he hunched over the controller. I hated giving him so much screen time, but I needed the chance to think.

Something unusual was going on. I understood that much. That strange haze in the sky, fainting, and the weird toadant. Gears tumbled in my head as I parsed for an answer. My first thought was of a Russian or Chinese nuclear attack. However, those were filled with the usual fire, death, and the signature cloud. Although the EMP that accompanies an atomic detonation might explain the weird colors in the sky. But shouldn't that have affected the Jeep and Noah's game? Everything was working fine so far. Maybe we were just sheltered from it. Still, that didn't seem right. It could have been a chemical attack. Something that could cause hallucinations. That seems the most likely. There was no toadant or lights, and we were just affected by whatever they launched into the atmosphere. Fortunately, it seemed to have flushed itself out of my system.

Hopefully, whatever happened didn't hit Lubbock. All my stuff was there. If this was a war, I've got an entire truckload of bug-out gear to survive. The loss of one tent won't mean much. But I'm not sure what we'd do if I couldn't get to the rest of my emergency stash. We had a few outdoor supplies, but our camping trip was more about fun than survival. So we packed a lot of luxuries. Noah even insisted on taking his skateboard, even though I was adamant there would be nowhere to ride it. All we had for protection was my Glock.

Damn it. What about Michael? He was my other son, a sweet little 4-year-old who lived with his mother. Because of her, we were kind of estranged. I never believed in demonic possession until my fifth year of marriage to that woman. Not sure what happened, but one day she went cuckoo for crazy puffs and nearly succeeded in jumping out of the car as we zipped down the highway. Then she tried to stab me (twice) and kidnapped the boys. They had been missing for almost two years.

Michael and mamma queen evil were still in Lubbock. My brother John and his girlfriend, Darla, were outside town but on the western edge while we would be entering from the east. Maybe it would be best to circle the city and try to see John first? That would allow me to better look at Lubbock and gauge how dangerous this would be. I knew I had to find little Michael, but I'd rather see if I was walking into a warm spring turd shower or a category five poop tornado.

The appearance of buildings on the horizon woke me from my ruminations. Before I had realized it, we had crept up on the little town of Floydada. Something was wrong. Cars and trucks had crashed and piled up along the sides of the street. One oversized duley pickup was buried cab deep into some unfortunate house. Smoke rose in the distance, and black plumes belched into the sky as distant buildings burned. Dark blood discolored patches of the overgrown sidewalks. My knuckles whitened as I turned onto the 62, and sweat dripped down my face despite the air conditioning.

The area was strangely quiet. There wasn't another person in sight. No running or screaming, just the stillness of death. Now that I thought about it, I couldn't remember passing any other cars on the way here. Not that I was paying attention.

The plan slowly formed in my mind. People were dead or missing from the chemical attack. So, if we get to Lubbock and can't pick up any local radio stations, I'd take that as a sign that something is seriously wrong. And maybe Lubbock had ended up like Floydada. That would mean danger from getting exposed or re-exposed to whatever caused this. I had no protective gear, so I'd have to jury rig something. Then if we couldn't find John and Michael, I'd grab my stuff and run. But, if we are heading for a bug-out area, I'd need to refuel first. Fortunately, there was a place not too far away.

You'd find Marcy's about 40 minutes outside Lubbock, on the 62. It was a little convenience slash gas station straight out of the 50s. The tacky neon lights still worked, and the aluminum paneling still held its shine. The old mechanical pumps were in good repair and had that pre-digital charm. I made it a point to stop by every time I was in the area just to peruse the wall of jerky. The teriyaki alligator was surprisingly tasty.

The next decision was where to go after that. It would be best to avoid populated areas. Not only are they the most likely to be contaminated, but people are our own worst enemies. More than anything, we would need water to survive. The food we could scrounge or hunt until we developed a garden. But a garden needs water too. So maybe we'd head north to Lake Meredith? But that's not an ideal choice. Damn. This area wasn't the best for off-grid living. Perhaps we could head farther north to Tishomingo? But we'd need to refuel several times before then.

While musing about ways to siphon gas, a small creature ran out of the fields and onto the road. I slammed down on the brakes but knew it was too late. It looked like a child with a malformed head and bulging yellow eyes. It wore only tattered shorts over its green skin. Clenched in its hand was a club a size too big for its small body. It turned, and I met its gaze a moment before it collided with the Iron Cross grill guard. But on its face wasn't fear. It was rage.

"What was that, dad?" Noah asked.

"Something just ran into the road, and we hit it. Hold on, I'm going to check." I replied.

"Can I come? I wanna see it!" Noah asked, already trying to unbuckle his seat.

"No. You do not want to see this," I said with finality.

Noah strained in his seat to look around while I got out of the truck. The small splattered body lay behind the Jeep, the club still clutched in its hand. The corpse looked mostly human, but its skin was a ruddy green and its ears were too long. But if the chemicals were changing animals, people wouldn't be immune. Or this could be another hallucination. Either way, I think I had just killed a kid. I put my hand over my mouth, and the image of Noah lying dead on the road flashed in my mind. But the tears trying to creep out of my eyes sucked themselves back in when two more of the little buggers ran onto the road and screeched.

There was a loud banging behind me, and Koko started barking. I ripped my eyes from the child-like creatures and swung my head around. Then I saw it. Hundreds of the green beasts were flooding from the shrubbery and gathering onto the road. All of them were nearly naked and armed with some kind of weapon. Crude clubs and swords were most common, but a few had rudimentary bows. Then something zinged past my head and smacked into the pavement.

In seconds I was back inside the Jeep. Arrows started to rain down and plinked off the Jeep like a macabre hailstorm. Then the green horde surged forward. Any hint of remorse vanished as I dropped back into four-wheel drive and gunned it.

At no point had I ever imagined my run-flat tires would be up against spiked clubs and crude swords. But the knobby tires climbed over the creatures with only minimal resistance. Blood splattered around us as I gathered speed. The tires kept their grip despite the gore. More arrows hit us, cracking the windshield. Those who dodged out of the way took swipes at the Jeep denting the fenders.

I kept plowing through the seemingly endless stream of the armed green toddlers when the squiggles came back. Yep, I was having a hallucination. And it was getting worse. There was a small clearing a little ways further down the road. The clearing was encircled by the little green jerks and in the middle stood bigger green jerks. These were the size of tweens, their scrawny bodies adorned with feathers and bones. As I barreled forward, one of them raised a short stick. Its eyes burned yellow, and a wave of mist swept towards us. Then it hit the Jeep, and ice crept over the cracked window. Visibility was already shot, but I still saw the surprised expression on the beast as we lost traction.

Noah screamed as we started to fishtail. Honestly, I don't know if it was out of fear or excitement. You could never tell with that boy. I fought against the traction control as the back of the truck spun out and slammed into the group. One was knocked over the bed before crunching its face into the bloodied pavement.

We slid sideways down the highway and out of the last of the mob. Then we suddenly had traction. Our sideways slide suddenly transformed into forward momentum, and we shot onto the graveled shoulder. Rocks were thrown from our wheels as we spun to a stop. Noah was yelling to do it again. Koko was trying to climb back onto the seat after getting thrown to the floor. I sighed and took the opportunity to spray a generous helping of wiper fluid onto the blood-caked window. It didn't help.