Assault Party

She drove in her car warily, never stopping to look in the vanity. It was her first day out on the road with a proper license and everything, not just a permit. Perhaps it didn’t matter that she had her little brother in the backseat, she was a good enough driver, but worry for his safety still plagued her even after two years of studious practice. Dixie glanced sporadically at the rearview mirror, also paying attention to the road and her perfectly ten-and-two hands.

Literally, she measured it, put white paint on her hands, and placed marks there. It actually looked quite good, if a bit off-kilter, sanity-wise.

Dixie Knight was always the most anxious person she had ever met, and Dixie had met a lot of people in her not-so-jet-set life in the LA school system. She was also the biggest cry baby she had ever met, and that included Nicolas Cage, who she met once in the street. Well, to be more accurate she glanced at him and he glanced back, sort of. It was sort of more of a glare… but still the same. The young woman was a massive cry baby and couldn’t hide her tears from anyone.

This vulnerability was why she didn’t listen to music often, nor found any comfort in it, she didn’t like crying. Music was more crying to her, and that wasn’t allowed, not when she had finals to study for and a life to look forward to. See, Dixie wanted to be a university professor in pop culture and that meant she had to have the most exact grades anyone could have, and had to continue that trend throughout college. She was an essay writer, and a damn good one too, Dixie found joy in the simplest of non-fiction works. In non-fiction one could take themselves away from all of the action, find themselves a hole and bury themselves, in their heads. In fiction no one could do that, she barely scraped through the Harry Potter series, finding herself immersed in a world she knew so little of, and yet learned so much of. She still couldn’t bring herself to reread the seventh book; Dobby’s untimely demise was still too fresh a wound for closure… despite the fact that it came out three years previous.

The thoughts and summary of her life washed away like waves crashing over insubstantial sand castles and she returned her mind to the task in front of her. Traffic was still there, of course, but it didn’t mean her attentions should wander into the empty fissures in her life and from the road. A surge of electronic car horns met her welcoming ears as traffic jolted forward, finally finding room to move.

After a few more stops at two-thirds primary colored traffic lights, Dixie finally managed to transport her little brother safely to school. Now she found herself staring at the flashing screen of her GPS, and saying the words that became her destination aloud. Miss Knight was headed up north, towards a college in Sacramento, where she had an interview set up for later that day. Obviously it was a long way to travel, but it was still quite early in the day, and she was already out of the city, finally away from the chaos. Los Angeles was a thing that swallowed people, if they let themselves get taken, that is.

Of course, anyone who lived in the city immediately became ingrained and partial to the culture. Those who lived there long enough became ignorant of the outside world; she did not wish that to happen, hence why she searched out of town for university opportunities. She was just another LA kid with big dreams, thankfully hers were achievable should the world stay pretty much the same as it was now.

Okay, that last was unlikely, but at least she didn’t want to be an actor!



Her tires squeaked in disdain as she pulled into the gas station parking lot, just outside of Sacramento. Slamming the car door, she stepped out, her sensible flats kicking up some of the rubble at her average sized feet. As she wandered her way into the convenience mart a bland box of a television caught her glance. The words on the screen and the voice of a busty television journalist flashed with forewarning.

Mystery illness spreading: First it feels like a migraine, then like the flu. It’s a new strain of the Swine Flu, scientists believe. Twenty deaths reported already, world-wide.

Dixie scoffed. It was one of those stupid news stations where they speculated so much it didn’t really matter what they said… but still, swine flu wasn’t the best thing to have when she was studying for the rest of her life. She decided to err on the side of caution, as was human, and did not touch the hands of anyone in the store, and she didn’t purchase any food products that weren’t sealed.

Dixie found a few people outside of the gas station coughing up storms; she promptly held her breath, paranoia becoming her. The young woman wound her way to her car. It was a vintage 1966 Mustang GT. Its fair teal paint warmed her heart as she approached, and Dixie gave the handle of Jewel, what she had named the priceless beauty, a fair tug to enter her refurbished interior.

“Damn!” A ticket had wound its way between her wipers and windshield, a parking ticket. Hopefully this did not affect her future life as a driver. Sighing indignantly, she forced the ticket through the open door of her glove department, ignoring the small pistol concealed in its locked vault. Yes, she was quite so paranoid that she even learned to use a dangerous firearm.

Starting the engine of the Trans am, she high tailed it out of the parking lot, after getting her not-so environmental gas from the Mobil station. The drive to main Sacramento didn’t take quite as long as she had imagined, but what met her sight when she got there wasn’t like anything she could have day-dreamed.

People were on their knees, retching, worried friends standing over them, wondering what could be wrong, strangers running away, wishing to not be exposed to whatever horror this was. Dixie rolled up her windows, worry creasing her brows. It was a short move to the college, and she pulled into the emptiest parking area there was. Dixie clutched her résumé to her wispy chest, pulling her turtle neck up over her mouth, barely breathing in the air. Anxiety beseeched her as she entered the university at the time of her appointment, walking straight into the musty office.

Dixie pulled down her collar, hand outstretched and a false smile on her knowing face, but her eyes only met an awful sight. The head of the university was face down on the ground, sticky crimson blood frothing with spit, falling out of the corner of his pale mouth. A scream tore its way out of her dry throat, and she ran as fast as she could out of the room Death had just visited.

The secretary jumped out of her seat at the sound of Dixie’s feet pounding the ground, but a cough tumbled out of the poor woman’s throat. Dixie only ran faster, pulling up her turtleneck in blatant fright.

This act made her a coward.

Yet she sustained her own running towards Jewel, heedless.

Dixie sped out of the parking lot faster than one could say, “Damn me!” and continued on the road until she was far past the gas station, far past declining civilization and into the Bad Lands. This might not have been the smartest idea, but she, being an intelligent and paranoid youngling, already had provisions plenty.

A radio, flint and knife, satellite phone, and survival guide sat in the trunk of her car, along with a very small solar powered generator. This was all too convenient, but this was her life, always two steps ahead. The “swine” had beaten her on the stepping stones this time, but she was prepared to live in the desert until the pandemic cleared up.

A vague thought for safety other than her own fled across her mind.

What about Jed?

Her little brother: who got so sick, so easily, who was thin as bones, who couldn’t survive without her.

Oh, God! Dixie thought, tracing her hand across the rearview mirror, where she often saw reflected Jed sitting, grins assuaging the youth of his chubby face. Salty and impure tears threatened to course out of her eyes like founts or rivers, but she held them back, for dehydration could and would be the death of her here.

She picked up the satellite phone idly, knowing Jed would be home by now.

If he wasn’t already dead…

Dixie dialed the numbers, hands trembling.

“Dix?” It was Jed, his little trembling voice carrying over miles of desert.

“Yeah, Jed, it’s me, how are you feeling?” Dixie asked; worry increasing when a choked cough originated from his voice box.

“I’m feeling a little sick… You?” Her heart surged with sorrow at the fit of coughing that overtook him, and it continued to sink down to her stomach, making her sick with mourning.

“I’m fine, just fine. You know I love you, right?” She choked this out behind tears that her will could not hold back; She couldn’t help but feel that death was becoming her best friend in the most twisted way possible.

“Aw, shucks, big sis.” He replied, sarcastically, despite the situation unknown to him.

“Yeah, just tell me you love me too alright; tell me you know that I love you. I’m serious.”

“Of course I love you; you’re my big baby sister.” He got through the entire sentence without coughing, but at the end the young boy, too young, let out a long shuddering spit. Dixie closed her eyes.

“I’ll never forget you.” She cried into the phone, hanging up before she was overcome with grief.

God, his little voice, I’ll never hear it again.

I’ll never see him grow up.