The sand crunches under my feet and the gas mask hisses as I take slow, deep breaths in and out. I pull my visor down as I see it- the outskirts of Phoenix.
I look at the cars on the highway. Most are empty, but there are some lucky souls still sitting there. No bacteria dares attempt to decompose their corpses, no fungi or flies will come within a hundred miles of here. Their skin seems to have sloughed off, more and more over time. They look like a burned and blurred person made of wax and left out in this godforsaken heat. I can't look for long. I feel the bile start to rise within my throat, but I have to hold it in. I can't take off this mask until I get out of the exclusion zone, lest I end up like them...
In 2026, the Palo Verde Generating Station, a nuclear power plant, had melted down and blown its top spectacularly. Buckeye was completely uninhabitable by the end of the first year, and it only got worse from there. Just two years later, the exclusion zone was established at 25 miles, centered around Palo Verde. When the "riots" started, it went up to fifty. Now, it stretches into both California and Nevada.
It was soon revealed to the public that the cause was not rioting due to the plant explosion, but instead due to the outbreak of a new infection. Some kind of hybrid between cordyceps and rabies- no fungal bits, but it hijacked your brain all the same, and made you really fucking bitey. Soon people were helping the police fire into the crowds, but it wasn't enough. It was airborne now, and God help us all.
Something opens its car door. I don't even have to hesitate. I raise my pistol and fire repeatedly, not stopping until the slide locks back. It drops to the ground, harmless now. The inside of its vehicle would stink if meat could rot correctly out here. And if I could smell through this mask. I put in another mag. I really need to work on ammo retention.
I finally hit Picacho. It's weird, seeing a school out here. For the past 20 years I was raised being taught that this place was almost completely unlivable. Before I knew about the Illness, I thought that it was just like the surface of the moon, but with a town in it. No plants, no animals, no water... nothing. It turns out that grass still grows, even out here. The sign was talking about evacuations, but there were still posters on the doors welcoming students for the 2029 school year. I snapped a picture.
I was born about 9 years before we had to leave. I lived up near Tonopah, a stone's throw from the plant. My parents died later, thankfully not from exposure to the Illness, but cancer all the same. I'm still here. Maybe I'll be able to find our old house. I still have the address memorized.
I have some memories of Tonopah, actually. Our side of the I-10 was a bit notorious for how often semis would wreck on it; it was the main way in and out of Arizona, coming from the West Coast. I remember watching one burn as we drove by, and the fire truck speeding towards it. I hope that driver made it out okay.
I snap some more photos on the way before I hit the real outskirts of Phoenix. There's a pack of them roaming. They disgust me; they're probably looking for me. I check how full my mag is, and decide to swap it out before detouring around a semi. Even if I could outrun it, it's better safe than sorry.
If the roads were packed before, they're near impassable now. I have to be careful now, I can't draw attention by shooting those things. I go through buildings, over awnings, leaping across rooftops. I felt like some kind of parkour god.
I hadn't been to this part of the city, not that I could remember. So many golf clubs. The building kind, not the stick kind. I counted ten on the map I had been provided. Seems that Chandler had a huge concentration of rich people. I eyed one man face-down in the green, putter still in hand. Emphasis on had. Fat lot of good that did 'em. When I realized the club was pretty much deserted now, I started hauling stuff onto the roof. I will admit, I spent way too much time hitting balls down onto the course. I've never been the best shot, but I had a couple buckets of range balls and no reason to stop, so I got pretty close to the hole a couple times. I dented a couple of the drivers I brought up, though. Stupid hard roofing.
When I got to Fresno, I was bombarded with questions about Phoenix, and people would gasp when I told them I'd lived in Tonopah. "How are you still alive?" they'd say. I'd tell them the same thing: I dunno, but I'm glad i am. I was lucky they were the accepting kind; I'd heard about all the others who were shunned by their community; thought of as contagious. These people were just curious, and I couldn't blame them.
I'm sure the people back in Arizona wouldn't have approved of my choice in partners, either. From what I heard, it was mostly a red state, but it was getting bluer around the time the plant blew its top. There were some people in California who told me that I needed to just pick a side, but I never really did. I guess prejudice is everywhere.
I woke up pretty early. It's nice and cool, but the flies are all over me.
Stop. Flies?
I hadn't seen anything trying to get at all the victims, but... here they are. Trying to get at me. I wait until it lands, and take a photo. Maybe the area itself isn’t dangerous anymore, and just the people were?
I swat away the fly and head into the club to replace my filter.
I can see downtown Phoenix from here. One building stands out. A massive monolith, at least fifty stories above all the rest, dominating the skyline. That's where I'm headed.