Fountain of the Dead (20 page)

Casey Quigley, the only survivor from his family, walked down the ramp and stepped passed the guards. He looked up and down the street deciding which way was best. He turned and the scarred man with the guns pointed. He took off running.

“I did help you, kid.” Waters turned away to the sounds of worn sneakers slapping against the pavement and smiled, turning towards the stairs.

* * * * *

“We’re going to have to give them something to get in,” Frank said over the radio. He looked over the hood of the Jeep at the patrol into the city. Off on the shoulder hidden behind some trees and shrubs was the hint of a vehicle. They were smart to keep it concealed. That way Frank and company couldn’t see what they were riding in.

“What will they want?” Beverly asked.

“We’re just passing through, it shouldn’t be too much. We can try a case of water and some blankets. But that’s just to get past the patrol. Once we’re inside we may need to pay off more people to pass by different areas of the city. Think of the city run by gangs. Each gang has its own territory.”

“What about getting out?” Catherine asked.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. A spare clip of ammo goes a long way. Not that we have lots of those even with what I found.” Frank turned towards the back. “Let me do all the talking. Not a peep, Pierce.” The cars rolled forward. “We’re close to the wooded areas, so hopefully the patrols will be too busy dealing with the dead, than with us.” Frank looked over at Gerry and the rifle. “Stow the rifle and hide all the guns.”

They approached the patrol and were signaled to stop; three heavily armed men approached on foot. The man in the lead had better clothes and better weapons, obviously the man in charge, at least of this patrol. Frank didn’t stop the engine, just kept his foot on the brakes. The tail lights lit up Sam’s vehicle.

“What’s your business?”

“Our village burned out up north. We’re going as far south as we can,” Frank said.

“What do you have?” The other two men circled the cars and looked in. Sam’s dog barked at them.

“Some water, a few extra blankets.” Frank said eyeing the man, easily three inches taller than he was.

“Useless. We want guns, food, and alcohol.” The lead man stared at Frank sizing him up; Frank didn’t look away.

“We only have a couple of pistols, maybe a dozen clips. We eat when we find food.”

“Where’d you get the water from?”

“Convenience store up on the Connecticut border, lost a friend jacking it from the store.”

“That dog will make a good meal.” He said looking towards the Explorer.

“It’s not my dog and I don’t think you could get him away from Sam.” The man smiled, several teeth were missing the ones that remained were brown.

“You have any smokes? I’ll let you through right now.” Frank shook his head as he tapped his Mac 10. Several thirty round banana clips hung from his belt.

“Christ, I hate you fucking villagers. You need to learn to scrounge for better shit.” He stood up and whistled for the other two to come back. “Give me the fucking blankets. Keep the water. You find tobacco, you remember me.” Frank nodded, put the Jeep in park and stepped out. He went to the Monte and opened the trunk, using his body as an obstacle to hide the medical supplies, he pulled out the blankets.

The guard smelled them and cringed, “These all been slept in. They stink.”

“You find me a fucking 24 hour laundry and I’ll wash them for you.” The guard laughed and rolled the blankets into a ball and pressed them against his chest.

“You follow 81 all the way down. Don’t stop, don’t slow down. You stop, you’ll die. When you leave the city, high tail it to Wilkes Barre. It ain’t much, nothing more than a giant shanty town. But for whatever fucking reason they’re fond of you refugees. The downtown is mostly clear. Buildings are marked as cleaned or not.” The man turned and spat a wad of phlegm on the street. “Sure we can’t eat that dog?”

Frank nodded and got back in the car. The guard grabbed him by the arm and leaned in close. Frank smelled his fetid breath, rotting teeth and bad food breath rolled over him. “You ever lie to me about guns again, and I’ll fucking kill you myself. You won’t have to worry about zombies and murder squads.”

Frank pulled his arm free and drove off, the other vehicles close behind. The guard watched them leave and then flipped them off while they could still see him.

* * * * *

Frank clutched the steering wheel in a death grip, his knuckles bone white, his dark eyes darted to all the mirrors.

“Pretty easy,” Pierce said.

“You’re a fool, Doc. They let us go. You think anyone would let us through for a handful of slept in blankets?” Williams said. “They’ll be tailing us until they find a clear spot to fuck us hard, un-lubed.”

“Nope, I think this place just has a bad rap is all,” Pierce said. Frank followed the road, dodging pot holes and burnt out cars. Bodies dotted the road like dead moths on the windshield, some zombie, some not.

“Still thinking that, Doc?” Williams asked.

“Not so much.”

They stopped at the 81 overpass. Frank peered out of the window. Below on the road a group of refugees were being ripped apart by a gang of mercenaries. They were searched, shot in the abdomen and left to bleed out on the road, easy prey for any staggering zombies that might wander past. The mercs dug through their packs, took anything they thought valuable. One of them looked up saw Frank and fired a warning shot. Frank nodded and got back in the Jeep.

“Should have stayed inside,” he said. Pierce watched the “landscape” passing by, family homes and residential streets looking they’d been the site of an air attack. Massive craters lined with crumbling buildings. Fires burned, be it someone trying to stay warm, or a beacon to the next safe zone or just a random attack from terrorists flushing out people. Frank glanced in the mirror in time to see the vehicle coming fast from behind at the Monte.

“Better get a move on people. We have company.” Frank dropped the radio into Gerry’s lap and stepped on the accelerator. “So much for all that fuel we just got.” Frank watched in the mirror as the vehicle passed the Monte, easily. The rear driver’s side door was kicked open and a flurry of gunshots echoed out. The bullets dotted the side of the Monte with holes. Chunks of metal and paint flew off, leaving a breadcrumb trail on the road.

The car sped up again; Frank watched the Monte in the mirror, nothing vital had been hit, that was the warning. The pursuit car looked like an old police cruiser, one of the unmarked jobs that used to camp out on highway shoulders. Williams went for the snaps of the soft top of the Jeep; Frank nodded approval as they worked it. The cover flew off, and sailed over the Explorer, missing the pursuit car.

“What’d you do that for?” Pierce asked, trying to block his face from the wind. Frank swerved passed an overturned Fedex truck in the road, packages and envelopes discarded on the road like dead leaves. Williams was handed the sniper rifle and he turned in the seat. His coat opened and the radio from Crowe bounced once on the bumper and then shattered on the road.

The first shot from Williams nicked the passenger’s side windshield. The cruiser approached the Explorer and the door kicked open again. No shots were fired until it was past the fuel containers. Gunfire peppered the side as the car went faster down the road. Williams’ next shot took out the driver’s side mirror.

“Getting closer!” Pierce shouted. Williams growled and took aim; his hands shaking and Frank’s crazy driving didn’t make it easy. A window on the Explorer slid down, a shaking hand holding a pistol poked out and fired, the jerk of the gun slammed Micah’s hand against the Explorer; the gun fired when it hit the pavement and the Monte ran over it. The unseen shooter put a shot through the open window and the glass on the opposite side exploded outward.

“What the fuck are they packing under the hood?” Frank yelled.

“What do they want?” Pierce asked.

“They want the fuel. They didn’t shoot when they passed it. Those assholes at the front gate set us up.”

The vehicle put on more speed, coming on hard. Frank pushed the Jeep but it was topping out at 90. Williams fired off a few more shots, abandoning the concept of aiming. Going for the tires, he shot several times into the front bumper and grill. Long parts of the car flew off and were crushed under the wheels. It was at the Jeeps’ rear bumper.

“Why us?” Gerry yelled.

“We’re the lead car. They think we’re in charge. Take us out the rest of the cars will stop.”

Williams took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger; the bullet shot out, punched through the windshield and struck the driver in the forehead. It nudged the Jeep, spinning Frank out of control. The cruiser flipped, rolled over on its side and slid, leaving a trail of debris behind it. Sam steered out of the way and Tony barely. The cruiser came to a stop, and exploded in rich orange flames and dense black smoke. Frank stopped the Jeep and jumped out. He ran to the burning car and heard voices inside screaming, struggling to get out. A smile played across his mouth.

The window exploded outward, smoke gushed out. An arm reached for freedom burnt and bloody and then a head. When Frank saw the face of the guard from the front gate, he put a bullet in his head. “I should have let you burn, fucker.” Frank walked away, whistling as the car was totally engulfed in flames.

* * * * *

They stopped in the parking lot of the Wilkes-Barre airport. Everyone piled out of the vehicles to stretch their legs and get some air. Sam and Micah were absent. Sharon rushed over to the Explorer. Micah was in the back seat, crying, covered in blood. He was patting Sam’s dog lying dead in his lap, hit by a shot from the murder squad. He looked at Sharon and held up his hands, covered in dog hair and blood. He rushed out of the car and buried his face in her shoulder and wept. She comforted him, and stroked his head gently.

“Fuckers killed my dog,” Sam said from the driver’s seat.

“Something else wrong, Sam?” Frank asked.

“Not really. I hate Pennsylvania.” Sam opened the door and got out. He looked through the open back door, where the seat was covered in blood.

“Not as much as I hate Connecticut,” Frank said and checked the clip in his pistol.

“Would it be out of line, Frank, if I walked up to the Jeep, and punched Pierce in the head, for my dog?”

“Wait until we hit Florida, Sam. And then you can do whatever you want to him.” Frank stuck out his hand. Sam took it.

“I’ll hold you to that, Frank.”

“You have my word. And save some for me. I want to feel his ribs break under my boot.”

* * * * *

The caravan refueled at the airport with a sense of déjà vu. Sam found some space in a median between runways and buried the dog best he could. It was more covering than burying. After drawing straws, pieces of wire scrounged from the airport in Connecticut, Tony lost and cleaned the back of the Explorer.

They flanked the PA turnpike opting to stay on the smaller roads, thinking there’d be less obstacles. Then hooked on to 80 and bypassed the last big friendly city in PA and went into West Virginia. Deer grazing at the side of road bolted off into the trees at the approach of the vehicles.

“God, I miss hunting,” Frank said. “Hours alone in a tree stand in the middle of the woods, you become one with nature.”

“Yeah, and then you kill nature,” Williams said.

“Yeah but nature tastes so good,” Frank said.

“Anyone ever have deep fried alligator?” Williams turned to Pierce and shook his head. “Little nuggets, strips of meat, little fishy, not much taste, have to depend on the seasoning. I had an alligator corndog once before the storm. That was odd.” Williams shook his head as they passed a sign for Morgantown.

“What do we know about West Virginia?” Gerry asked.

“Not much,” Williams said.

“A lot of outdoors stuff, good camping. Be a good place to hold up if we were going to stay...”

“But we’re not. We’re not staying,” Pierce said. “We have to go to Florida.”

“We don’t have to do anything, Pierce. Never forget that, I could leave you here with a bullet in your head then we could rest up and go home. I lost two friends on this bullshit trip of yours, one of whom I killed,” Frank said.

“You think the cure to the Night Storm is bullshit?”

“No, Pierce. You’re the bullshit.” The radio blared to life.

“Can we stop?” Catherine asked. Pierce slumped back into the seat, a look of pure panic crossed his face. He dug under the seat for his pack and tore into it. At the sight of his book, everything calmed.

* * * * *

“There’s a lake ahead we can stop at to rest. Problem is we don’t have any blankets and we really only have road snacks for food.”

“You said you wanted to hunt,” Gerry said.

“I could try to get a deer, but that’s going to take some time. Face it, we stink. Deer catch our scent, they won’t come near us.”

“Can we fish?” Sam asked. “Though fishing won’t the same without my dog.” He patted Micah on the head. His mind wandered to a small boat, a cooler of beer, and a dog.