Imagine this. You are a fourteen-year-old kid. It’s Monday morning around 9:00. You are home sick from school, on the backside of recovering from the flu. It is not a serious illness but you are pretty ticked off that you wasted a weekend in bed when you should have been going to a friend’s birthday party. So your dad is gone to work and your mom is off running some errands down in Tulsa. So you are chilling on the couch, watching television, wrapped under blankets, and you get a call from your dad on his cell phone. But this is not just a check-in call Ferris Bueller style to see how you are doing. He is barking orders and from his tone you can tell that there is no room for discussion. He tells you to look outside and see if anyone is around. You live out in the country and your nearest neighbor is several hundred yards away. When you tell him no, he tells you to pack a bag of supplies – clothes and essentials only – and then hoof it over to your grandparents house that is right next door.
Dad demands that you stay on the phone the whole time. You know where your grandparents hide the key. After all, you have been going over there to put out food for their dog in hopes of scoring some extra allowance money for a video game that you want. Dad’s demand is very curious. Go to the strip where Granddad keeps the keys. Get the one to his blue Dodge pickup. It is sitting unused in the garage while they are away on vacation down in Tunica, Mississippi.
This is where it gets really strange. He has you go to Granddad’s gun room. Yep, he has an entire room dedicated to his guns. Welcome to the home of a right-wing conservative living in Oklahoma. Dad tells you to load up all the guns and ammunition that you can. Put it in the back of the pickup that is in the garage. When you begin to protest, Dad tells you that you have a five minute clock. And you have to stay on the phone the whole time.
So you do as you’re told. Ammo is heavier than you think and your arms are burning by the time the five minutes is up. Then, he tells you to look outside through the garage door windows and make sure no one is outside. You confirm you are alone.
Now, get in the pickup, start it and have it in drive when you open the garage door via the remote control Granddad keeps clipped on the sun visor.
“Dad, I don’t even have my learner’s permit.”
“You’re learning today, son…”
Instructions are simple, drive to Highway 69 and cut across. Do not go into Adair. Go through Strang. Head into Langley from the south and cut down that side road next to the donut shop where we got donuts that one day. Make the first turn to the left on that paved road. Come up to Reason’s through the back service road. Come to the Produce Dock. Stay on the phone the whole time. Do not stop. Do not talk to anyone. Do not stop for anyone. Plow through Strang. If people are in your way… run over them.
You begin to protest, wanting to know what is going on. One word. Zombies. You can scarcely believe it. But you have two choices: Believe and live or disbelieve and die.
So you do as you are told. Thankfully, you don’t see any cars, even when you cross the highway. Strang is all but abandoned but it was not like it was a populated town to begin with. They couldn’t even keep a convenience store afloat. All they have is a post office, a volunteer fire department, and a few churches. Do they even have a cop?
Speed is not an issue. You put your foot down as fast as you dare to go. That 22 minute trip, you cut down to 16 flat. But once you reach Langley, and specifically the store where your Dad works, it is a nightmare like out of one of your video games. These things are wandering around in the parking lot and the engine on Granddad’s pick up is not quiet. So they come chasing after you. Dad is still on the phone guiding you in. Still, at fourteen, most of your driving skills come from XBox. And you crash into the Produce Dock, pinning your driver side door against the dock itself. So the only way out is through the passenger side door, out the driver side window or the sliding windows in the back. And none of these options seem appealing when zoms are swarming over your truck.
Then, from out of nowhere, there is a savior. A guy that your dad works with comes pulling along side you in a 4X4 pickup outfitted with a gun rack in the back window. He splatters the three zoms banging on your passenger window with the front brush guard of his pick up. Then he backs up, gets out, and starts blasting away with weapons of his own. Clearly, he is not in disbelief about the zombie apocalypse and has zero compunction about putting a bullet in each one of these maggot bags’ heads. Given the camouflage design on his dashboard and steering wheel and all the weapons in his truck, it is almost comical that his name is Hunter. But, sure enough, he more than lives up to his name. Clearing a path to the produce dock door, he kicks on the door, yelling for the door to be opened. Thankfully, you are still on the phone to your dad. The door opens, there he is, and he yanks you inside.
Somehow, defying all odds, you make it to a refuge inside a grocery store and you are safe with your dad.
This is the story of Alex Ryan Mathews and how he made it to Reason’s Foods in Langley, Oklahoma on May 1st, 2011. This is how my son survived to be with us. And I thank God every day for it. I just wish his mother was with us too…
