Plan B.

                                    

                                              
It's been several hours, and John didn't dare stop at any gas station, which could prove as a bad idea because the engine has been acting up for the past half hour. It finally sputtered, and he pulled to the side of a backroad that he probably shouldn't have turned on. Rocks crackled under the tires like a bag a chips being crushed, as the car pulled over. John laid his head against the steering wheel in frustration. 
                          
In all of his readings of dorky comics, John didn't find this worldly situation related to any comics he's ever seen, probably because he's never experienced it for himself. Never did he consider this to actually happen, the dead to roam the streets, back alleys, farmlands, inside buildings and in bedrooms, and scratching and growling as they make desperate but fatal attempts to escape their coffins. People to be eaten alive every single day, just for them to turn into one of those corpses themselves. Their skin would rot off, whole bodies decomposed, loss of limbs, excessive burns, yet they still have the hungry ambition to bite into someone or something alive. It just didn't make sense to him, then. 
                          
He's been driving all night, since it was sundown when John set off of from New York, but the morning has been waking up for the past hour or so ever. John got into what seems like Georgia, or some other country state, he didn't like these places, all warm and sunny. He preferred the cold, when he lived up in the Northern states, but as he considered the view, the marvelous sun rising from the grassy hills like a newborn baby, he kind of liked it, if you asked him. But, even the glorious surroundings couldn't keep out fear and exposure. John was exposed, and anything could kill him, and that's what got him most. 
                          
Anxiety attacked John, as he slumped down into his seat, not even trying anymore to battle it. He let the feelings crash into him like a sailboat in the middle of an ocean storm, colossal waves pushing the ship back and forth, and over and around. Dizziness, that's how he felt from the recent conundrum he got himself into. The allowance of tears was aloud, for John just didn't care. Shockwaves of pain seared through his hand as he started abusing his thigh continuously, a stress reliever.
                          
After a long while of ruckus, even his legs were worn out from kicking different areas and compartments of the cab. He breathed heavily, inhaled, exhaled, and tried to hold in his cries. Probably caused a broken hand, he thought, or at least sprained. He wiped his waterlogged eyes and listened to faint murmurs. The sound of a husky, saddened voice lingered around his immediate area. His eyes narrowed, he unbuckled his seatbelt, and stepped outside of the car.
                          
Nothing. 
                          
He checked the car out for a while, hands placed on his hips. Although the repulsive stench lingered on him and around the car of course, he decided to let it be. The corpses in the distant fields didn't seem to mind.
                          
Sitting back in the car, he looked around. Nothing in the back, nothing under the seats, nothing from the ra-
                          
"The radio's on," he whispered in perplexity. He turned it up and listened to a much louder, manlier, and huskier man speak out for a broadcast, John sat back, and listened.
                          
The soft crackled and static of the radio was unheard while the big man was audible again, "-inform you all that the cities were a major mistake. Evacuate while you still can from populated cities, it is not safe. Repeat," he said stronger, "huge cities are not safe." 
                          
John sighed in relief that he's not one of the unfortunates in the city anymore. "Do not enter, we have been given authority to call Code B. City streets will be napalmed, and anyone coming near cities will be shot on sight. Telling the difference between human and the dead does not care to us. Any survivors need to retreat to unpopulated areas. General reporting out, God bless you all," and it repeated. It's probable that that very report was aired hours ago, even days ago. 
                          
Warily, John grabbed one of the last granola bars, and snapped open the tab to the very last soda. He took a sip, then practically stuffed the granola down his throat, satisfying his stomach. Eventually, he turned off the radio, locked the doors, rolled down the back-right window, and crawled to the backseat. "Thank God for tinted windows," he murmured, drifting off to sleep. 
                          
-
                          
Headaches. Headaches are a pain and discomfort in the head, scalp, or neck. What John was feeling late at night, way after he slept through the whole day in a valuable car in the side of a backroad, wasn't a headache. When he was younger, John tried smoking, which actually gave him a headache after that weird buzz went away. John told the offerings away as a he experienced a weird wave flow through his head, which made him paranoid. He decided to sleep it away. 
                          
Now, he's experiencing it again. John's eyes flicked open and he yawned, grumpy at the time in the morning. He propped himself up on his arms and wiped his eyes, stretching. Wearily, John was now fully awake as another wave crashed his mind, boggling any train of thought. The ground rumbled, and he looked out the left window of the car, nothing. He turned around and his eyes dilated to the very sight of the sky practically glowing a bright orange. 
                          
Napalms.
                          
Harmless people and the dead being killed. Heartless soldiers killing what could very well be hope in the distant future. John cursed at every single one of them involved, but was thankful for the spiking decrease in the population of dead.
                          
A strikingly large sound glided across the sky, which startled John, and then followed another rumbling explosion in the distance. Tears began to stream down his face, not being able to hold it in, he wrestled his feelings in that small space in the back of a car. He fought, and fought, and fought for the rest of the night, eventually weeping himself to sleep. 
                          
Little did John know, his wake up call the very next morning would take him to his next chance to survive this world. 
                          
But will he really? 
                          
~