red hill - jamie mcguire

to mind, my legs sprinted to the parking lot.
I threw my purse into the passenger seat and then inserted the key into the Suburban’s ignition,
trying to keep calm. It was Friday, and my daughters were already an hour away, at their dad’s for the
weekend. Each possible route flashed in my mind. Scenes from post-apocalyptic movies with
vehicles lining every lane of highways for miles did, too.
I pulled out my cell phone from my pocket and dialed Andrew’s number. It rang, and rang, and
rang, and then a busy signal buzzed in my ear instead of his voicemail. “It just started,” I said quietly,
putting my phone in the cup holder. “I can still get to them.”
I tossed my phone into my purse, gripped the steering wheel with one hand, and shoved the gear
into reverse with the other.
A part of me felt silly. The logical side of my brain wanted to believe I was overreacting, but there
was no music on the radio. Only breaking news about the pandemic, the rising death toll, and the
ensuing panic.
The Suburban stopped abruptly, and I turned around, seeing Lisa Barnes, the employee-health
nurse, gripping her steering wheel, her eyes bulging. I’d backed up while she was pulling out of her
parking spot, and we’d crashed into each other. I pushed open my door, and ran over to her.
“Are you okay” I said, hearing the subdued panic in my voice.
“Get out of my fucking way!” she screamed as she gripped her gearshift and threw it into reverse.
Just then a pickup truck barreled through the lot and slammed into my Suburban, taking it all the
way to the street.
Standing still beside Lisa’s sedan in shock was the only thing I was capable of in that moment. My
brain refused to process the surreal scene in front of me until I caught a glimpse of a crowd of people
pushing through the side entrance, and fanning out into the street, joining others who were from other
parts of town, running for their lives, too.
Drew Davidson, the human resources director, stumbled and fell. He cried out in pain, and then
looked around him, reaching out to those passing by, screaming for help. No one so much as paused.
A pair of wild eyes stood out from the mob. It was Mrs. Sisney. She was moving quickly, into the
dispersing crowd. She crossed the road and finally caught up to Drew, who was still on the ground,
reaching for his ankle.
I watched in horror as Mrs. Sisney charged Drew, leaping on top of him and grabbing at his
expensive suit while opening her mouth wide. Drew was pushing back against her, but she was a
large woman, and eventually her body weight helped to press Drew’s arms down enough for her to
take a bite of his shoulder.
Drew’s cries attracted someone else—whom I recognized as Mrs. Sisney’s son—and another
woman in scrubs. They ambled over to Drew’s flailing legs and began to feed.
Lisa’s screams matched Drew’s, and then the crumpled front end of her sedan flew past me and
toward the road as she left me standing in the parking lot to witness the horror alone.
A loud boom sounded in the distance. It was then that I noticed several pillars of smoke in the sky,
the newest in the area of the blast. Gunshots added to the noise, both close and far away. The chaos
was confusing and happening so fast I didn’t have time to be afraid.