“You know how to use those guns?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah, I can use both my guns. Better than most, to be honest. My daddy started taking me with him driving cross country when I was fourteen and wanted me to be able to take care of myself.” She chuckled. “I got my high school diploma and an associate’s degree riding in a big rig on the open road. When I got old enough I got my CDL and began doing most of the driving. By then he had no business driving and we had to keep the money coming in to pay the truck note and support the family.”
Tate pulled the rig into the parking lot of a small mom and pop bait store with a single fueling island. Charlie and Tate walked into the small store and began talking to the elderly couple behind the counter.
The pair seemed to consider the state of emergency a minor inconvenience. Tate used her credit card at the pump to top off the gas tank then picked up breakfast rolls, jerky, packages of chips and candy bars.
As she pulled away, she wondered how long before they would be overrun by the infected wandering the roadways. She had tried warning them, but they waved her away and said they would be fine. The old man pulled a .357 from under the counter and grinned a toothy farewell with a wave.
Traveling was slow. It took nearly an hour to go ten miles with the number of stalled and abandoned vehicles left on the road and along the roadside. Charlie directed Tate from one small road to yet another.
Finally, he pointed at a sign for the town of Gardener.
“This road bypasses downtown. We’ll turn off the main road up ahead. Take the next right.”
Tate downshifted and turned the rig on to the narrow blacktop. When they crested a hill they were met by a roadblock in front of a narrow bridge. A massive road grader was parked across the road at an angle.
All traffic was forced to stop without any chance of going around since both sides of the road dropped off into a creek. Four men, with handguns and rifles, stepped out from behind the machine to face them.
One of the men stepped forward. “Shut ‘er down, there.” The road is closed and we don’t want outsiders. Turn around and go back the way you came.”
Charlie stuck his head out of the side window and called out. “Cool your jets, Henry Smith. I got as much right as anyone to be on this road.”
“Charlie?” Henry called back. “Charlie Duffy, is that you?”
“Yeah. It’s me. Now open up. I’m tired and I want to go home.” Charlie called out.
“Can’t do that. That ain’t Jackson with you and City Council voted to close the town to ALL strangers.”
Charlie growled. “She saved my life in San Antonio. Jackson is gone and I owe her. This is her rig.”
“Sorry, Charlie. Council was very clear about it. No strangers.” The heavy set man answered with a shrug.
“Look, I lost my son this morning and I’m going home to tell my wife, so either; move that grader or I’ll move it for you.” He pulled the handgun from behind Tate’s seat and reached for the door handle.
Tate grabbed his arm. “Don’t do this. I was going to head out in the morning anyway.”
Charlie settled back in the seat and passed the handgun back to Tate. “I owe you. At least let me get you food and water for traveling.”
Tate shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”
Charlie continued. “No. Let me do this. Go back to the last cross road then take a left. Go half a mile then turn left again and follow the first driveway to the old farm house on the right. Park in the backyard, but don’t run over the hand pump, it’s the only way to get water now that there’s no electricity out there. The key is hidden in the pump shed at the side of the house, on the wall to the right. Use it on the back door to go inside. The propane tank still has gas so you can use the kitchen stove to heat water if you want to clean up. I’ll bring food and whatever I can lay my hands on at dusk. ”
“I don’t want to cause you any problems.” Tate responded.
“See you this evening. Be there.” Charlie stepped down from the rig then turned back. “By the way, you can see the roadblock from the northeast corner of the house. I’ll blink the headlights twice when I head up the driveway so you’ll know it’s me.” He turned away and walked toward the road block.
“Alright. I’ll see you later,” Tate answered.
She cranked the engine and maneuvered the rig to turn around. As she pulled away, she hoped Charlie could make it back home.
Following the directions he gave her, she found the farm house. She pulled around the back of the house and parked between the house and two outbuildings. After gathering a clean set of clothes and her handgun, she walked toward the house hoping it was as empty as Charlie claimed it would be.
Tate found the key and used it to open the door. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She walked from the kitchen to the front hall to look through a doorway at the parlor. The inside of the house looked as if the occupants had just walked out the front door. A framed cross-stitched picture hanging on the entry way wall included the Duffy name and a pre-World War II date. She realized she was probably in Charlie’s parent’s home.
After looking around, she walked back into the kitchen and turned a knob on the stove. When she heard the hiss of gas, she turned it back off and glanced around for matches. She pulled open drawers until she found a box. She picked it up and shook it, grinning to herself at the rattle of wooden matches inside.
Tate opened cabinet doors until she found a large aluminum canning pot. She walked out the door to the pump and set it on the wooden platform surrounding the rusted pump. She grabbed the handle and pumped up and down several times before a trickle of rust colored water spilled from the spout. She shrugged and pumped the handle again.
Water flowed from the spout growing clearer with each rise and fall of the handle. The faint smell of iron wafted up, but the water looked clear and clean.
She leaned over and slid her hand under the flow. Tate brought it to her mouth and slurped at the puddle in her palm. The water tasted a little funny with the hint of iron and no chlorine, but it was cold and refreshing in the eighty plus degree temperatures. She gulped at handful after handful of the cool refreshing liquid. Finally sated, she filled the pot and headed back inside the house.
Back at the stove, she struck the tip of a wooden match against the side of the box and held it to the burner then turned the knob again. Flames flared to life.
She put the pot on the stove, found three additional pots of varying sizes and one by one, filled and carried each inside. Once Tate had water on to boil, she spent a few minutes looking around and found an empty plastic scrub bucket.
She carried it to the old-fashioned pump, pumped the handle to draw enough water to rinse it out then carried the bucket of cold water to the bathroom. She rinsed the dust from the claw-footed tub, then plugged it and poured in the remainder of the water.
While the water came to a boil in the kitchen, she carried several buckets of cold water to the bathroom and added three to the tub then another to fill the toilet tank. She carried a final bucket to the bathroom to use in the toilet later. When the water on the stove came to a boil she carried each pot to the bathroom and added them to the cold water in the tub all the while hoping she wouldn’t be sitting in tepid water.
Tate stripped her clothes off and stepped in the shallow bath. She leaned back and slid her hair under the surface. After using soap and shampoo, she sat in the tub with her face pressed against her drawn up knees.
She imagined her friends and family facing the monsters she saw in San Antonio. If Ellington had been hit by the terrorists, was Houston as devastated as San Antonio? She fought the tears threatening as she realized how much the world had changed in just twenty-four hours. Finally, she pushed the terror back down and climbed from the tub, dried off and dressed.
She decided on a plan. She would leave in the morning and find family. Meanwhile, she had some time to kill. She walked down the stairs and glanced from room to room.
Tate hesitated only a moment before she started going through the pantry where she found a box with half a dozen empty quart mason jars with lids. She walked out to the water pump, filled the jars, resealed them and returned them to the cardboard box. She carried them to the
Orange Bitch
figuring water might be an issue when she left the farm.
She needed information and the house had no power. So after stowing the box of jars in a cubby under the sleeper, she crawled inside the cab, rolled down the windows and turned on the radio. She scanned through channels until she found a news channel discussing the attacks. The newscaster listed over a dozen bases around the country that had been hit.
In Texas, the governor ordered the National Guard to evacuate San Antonio, Houston, and Dallas, the cities of the initial attacks. The evacuation of Houston was an even worse disaster than when Hurricane Rita threatened the Gulf Coast and the powers-that-be ordered all emergency services suspended.
When Hurricane Rita bore down on the cities of Galveston and Houston the order was given to evacuate flood-prone areas. With the news stations threatening a category five storm everyone from the coast all the way to North Houston ended up on the roads. With no counter-flow lanes, vehicles lined the freeways in perpetual gridlock for over a hundred miles. Supply trucks were diverted from the city and gas stations ran out leaving fuel in short supply. Accidents happened and tempers flared. People died.
This time was no different and now hordes of infected overtook the people stuck in vehicles on the congested roadways. The countryside was ordered to arm and be prepared to defend themselves and their family against the infected. After all, this was Texas. Thirty-five percent of households had firearms. There was gunfire all around the city and the infected were not the only ones being shot.
According to the newscaster, the army base in San Antonio was the hardest hit because the attack took place during parade formation. Hundreds of soldiers were out in the open and fell to the air-born toxin. They succumbed almost immediately, convulsing, blood leaking from their mouths and noses. Then the coughing began. Within minutes, it was so intense the bloodied mist hung in the air contaminating the first of the emergency personnel to arrive. Of course, at that point only a few people even realized there had been an attack. They in turn fell to the agent or its bloodied byproduct.
The initial contagion only remained active in its airborne state about fifteen minutes but that was plenty of time to drift across the parade field and cause the symptoms to develop in hundreds of soldiers, emergency workers and civilians on the outskirts of the base.
Though symptoms began within minutes, it took anywhere from an hour to twelve hours to become fatal. The infected were scattered around the city in hospitals or around hospitals in makeshift triage facilities. By then, they figured out the infection could be transmitted by body fluids so workers used masks and protective clothing but it was too little, too late.
The agent was designed to enable emergency personnel to load up the sick and dying to transport them around the city. When people started dying within the first six hours, dozens of bodies were covered with sheets and pushed into morgues and then nearby hallways. With so many patients, personnel ignored the dead and focused on those they thought they still had a chance of saving.
While doctors and nurses treated patients in the overcrowded emergency rooms amid worried families and soldiers, the hidden away dead began rising. With the staff focused on the incoming patients, the dead moved through the halls attacking patients and families alike. Shortly after leaving their victims, the victims of the vicious attacks began to rise. Chaos ensued. The dead took over the hospitals, killing all then spreading out into the city. The sick and injured still able to run raced from the buildings only to die later and attack families caring for them.
Tate tried calling her mother and was not surprised when cell service was unavailable. She crawled into the sleeper to rest while the news droned on and on. All of the news coming from the three Texas cities told of mayhem and chaos. Her eyes drifted closed to the sound of the reports of evacuations, road closures and a collage of emergency information.
The sun was beginning to set when the sound of gunfire in the distance startled Tate awake.
“Okay, Matt. Where to now?” Larry asked as he plowed over three infected at the entrance of the alley. Two of the bodies fell under the massive tires jerking the wheel and jostling the vehicle from left to right and back again. The Humvee roared from between the brick buildings and hit the front bumper of a Fiat sending it into the front of a glass storefront across the street.
“Sorry. I’ll try to dodge around the next one so you can settle things down back there.”
The baby in Matt’s arms screamed and fisted her hands. Matt had no experience with babies and the screaming made his head throb. He didn’t have a clue what to do so he just clung to the squirming bundle trying to keep her from slipping from his grasp.
“Larry, damn it, slow down and stop hitting shit! You’re scaring the shit outta the kids back here.” Matt ordered. “And I need a fucking drink.”
“Sorry,” Larry mumbled over the crying children.
“My mommy? We have to go back for my mommy.” Amy wailed.
Matt sighed as he looked at Amy, then down at the sobbing baby in his arms.
He had to get his shit together. When he looked at the men in the front seat, he realized the three of them were the only hope for the two kids. It was time to man up
.
Larry slowed the Humvee to a speed that allowed him to dodge around stopped or crashed vehicles but still outpace the roaming infected.
Matt slid closer to Amy and wrapped his arm around her trembling shoulders trying to calm her terror. “We’re going somewhere safe. Can you help me, Amy? Let’s get your sister a clean diaper and calmed down.”
Amy nodded and pulled a pacifier from the diaper bag. She popped it into the baby’s mouth. The baby began sucking the nipple and silence filled the vehicle.
Matt gave a big sigh of relief. Amy unlatched the seatbelt and slid out from under Matt’s arm to reach deeper into the diaper bag. She passed Matt a disposable diaper then settled back and reattached the seatbelt.
Matt accepted the diaper then laid the unhappy baby across his lap on her stomach.
“Not like that!” Amy protested. “On her back. Her head there.” She pointed to his knees. “My daddy can do it like that.”
He carefully laid the baby girl down as instructed and with a little help removed the wet diaper then opened the window and tossed it out. The wind caught the open diaper and it flew into the face of an infected man as they passed. Amy giggled.
“Oh, you like that, huh?” Matt asked as he grinned at her. Amy shrugged and grew silent. He unfolded the new diaper.
It can’t be that hard, right.
He looked to Amy and asked. “Now what?”
“That end goes under her bottom,” Amy advised.
Matt followed the directions then pulled the front up and between the baby’s legs. He pulled down at the top as he wondered about the closures.
Amy leaned over and pulled the tabs up and over the front.
It was done. He sighed in relief. “That wasn’t so hard. You think she’s hungry?” Matt asked.
Amy nodded.
Matt leaned toward the front seat. “Hey Curtis, hold the baby for a minute.” He passed the infant to Jake who immediately made faces and baby sounds. It was funny seeing a huge black man playing with the tiny baby girl. Her sudden smile caused her to drop the pacifier and the road sounds were drowned out by a giggle.
Amy helped Matt make a bottle of formula then passed the bottle to Jake. Within minutes, the vehicle was quiet except for an occasional slurp of the hungry baby.
Matt looked at the ten-year-old girl and asked. “What’s your name?”
“Amy.”
“Is this your sister?”
“Yes. Her name is Claire. My daddy is a soldier. How are we going to find my mommy?”
“We’re gonna work on that as soon as we can,” Matt answered as he rubbed at his temple.
When they got a few miles away from the alley, Larry pulled off on a side street with a good view of the surroundings and stopped. After looking around for the infected one last time, Larry leaned over and picked up a radio and depressed the button on the side.
“Three stooges outside the wire. Request FOB?”
Initially, Matt had hated when a smart-ass sergeant had referred to the trio during ranger training as the “three stooges”, now at thirty-two, the moniker never failed to bring a smile to his face. They became fast friends in boot camp and remained together ever since. When men in the unit began referring to them as
The Three Stooges
, Matt decided if he couldn’t escape it, he may as well embrace it.
He smiled thinking of his friends as young recruits and the strong capable soldiers they had become. If he was going to be caught in a shit-storm, he was glad it was with them.
Larry Benson was five-ten but sported broad shouldered with thick muscled arms. He was a bearish man that kept his wiry black hair cut short and his hazel eyes hidden behind a pair of aviator glasses.
Jake Curtis had put on almost fifty pounds of muscle since basic training and grown into a huge man with a quick smile. When he started losing his hair, he shaved what was left and never looked back. The bald head and massive build made him look fierce and dangerous. That is until he smiled, then you saw the good humor.
Matt was almost as tall as Jake, but didn’t have the bulk of his friend despite the weight lifting and training. He kept his sandy blonde hair short and his face with its square jaw, clean shaven at least until he had started drinking. Over the last year in the Sand Box, a name used by some of the troops to identify Iraq, deep furrows had appeared on his sun-browned face.
Since back stateside, he had become brooding and silent. He spent hours replaying missions over and over again blaming himself for the failures. Only alcohol dampened the need to constantly examine his decisions.
Larry released the button on the mic and waited. Static and distant gunfire was the only answer. After three minutes, he repeated the message and waited again. No response.
Finally, Larry sighed and turned down the volume. “Maybe it’s the range on this radio.”
Jake answered pointedly. “You saw the same things I did last night. We’re on our own.” He bounced Claire on his shoulder.
Matt’s head pounded as if Van Halen’s drummer was doing a solo. He leaned forward to be part of the conversation. “What in the fuck is going on? What is wrong with all those people?”
Jake turned around and looked at Amy pointedly.
Matt grunted and mumbled. “Sorry, kid. I’m a little under the weather.” Matt ignored Jake clearing his throat and continued. “What’s going on?”
Larry spent several minutes outlining the attack and the resulting masses of roaming infected dead.
Matt just kept moving his head from side to side all the while his face growing paler by the minute. “I...I can’t...I don’t...believe this.” He leaned against the window and closed his eyes. He gripped his knees to keep his hands from shaking. He really needed a drink.
Finally, Larry turned to Jake and asked. “What are we going to do?” He jerked a thumb toward Matt. “Shit for brains there, is so hung over he can barely sit up. We’re so fucked now.”
Jake frowned. “Watch your mouth, Larry. We got kids in the vehicle.”
Matt looked at Amy. Her pale and tears streaked face tore at his heart. Ignoring the bickering conversation in the front seat, Matt swallowed the bile at the back of his throat and cleared it.
“Turn left here and head to Smith Street. We’re going to the orange storage units just north of West Commerce. I got a unit at the back of the facility. It’ll be a quiet place to regroup.” After a pause, he continued. “I got weapons.”
Larry snorted. “And you got a well-stocked frig in this storage unit?”
The baby began to whimper and Jake turned his dark face around to look over his shoulder and smiled at Amy. “Don’t worry little one. We’ll figure this out. Poor Larry here is a little anxious. Just ignore him.”
“Yes, sir.” Amy answered then continued. “A hmmmm. Mister? That was the last diaper and Claire makes a dirty diaper after she eats.” She shrugged.
“Diapers?” Larry lamented. “Where in the fuck are we going to get diapers?”
Matt raised his hand. “Enough!” He swallowed hard. “There’s both a CVS and a Walgreens about a mile from the units. If we’re lucky we can find what we need, then have a quiet place to hunker down and evaluate our options. Hopefully, the area is quiet.”
“Yeah. That sounds good.” Jake chimed in. “And after that? You know we can’t stay in the city for long. Electricity will be going out.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Matt answered as he picked up the diaper bag and riffled through the contents.
Amy was right. No more diapers. He put everything back except a woman’s wallet he’d found in a side pocket. He ignored the credit cards and cash and looked at the driver’s license. Elizabeth Jameson. She was a nice looking woman judging from her picture. He replaced the license and found a slip of paper with a rural address postmarked through a small town three hundred or so from the city.
Matt turned to Amy. “Your last name is Jameson?” Amy nodded. “Who lives in Pine Springs Canyon, Texas?”
“My grandpa. He used to be in the Army, but now he lives out in the woods.”
Matt nodded.
Jameson?
He groaned.
He knew the kid’s father. He was a good man and had kept him out of a jail cell more than once in the last few months. He was an M.P. on the base. That meant whatever went down he would have been in the middle of it. Captain Brian Jameson was probably dead.
“Is your dad, Brian Jameson?” Matt asked.
Amy smiled. “Yes, sir.”
Matt replaced everything in the wallet except the slip of paper and returned the wallet to the bag. At least it would be a destination that satisfied two requirements; family for the girls and out of the city. Maybe grandpa would be remote enough to protect the kids.
Matt buckled Amy into the seat belt next to him while Larry put the Humvee in gear and pulled from the gloom of the side street onto a boulevard that led to a thoroughfare. He guided the vehicle around a small fender bender and eased down the street toward the warehouse district. They passed gatherings of the undead. Each time the vehicle grew close the faces turned and arms reached out toward them. The infected would begin to follow and Larry would accelerate and leave them behind.
Matt was horrified. There were hundreds of the mangled and torn dead stumbling around the city. The bodies were walking nightmares.
Matt leaned toward Amy. “Hey, don’t look out the window okay?”
Amy turned to face him. “Claire is supposed to ride in a car seat.”
Matt chuckled. “I guess you’ll have to tell us what we need for your sister.”
Larry used the medium to drive around a roadblock as they got closer to the base. Clusters of the infected dressed in military garb stumbled through the streets aimlessly until they spotted the moving vehicle. As they neared a group of stumbling monsters in the middle of the road, Matt saw they were feasting on two bodies.
The world has gone to hell.
Twenty minutes later, the Humvee approached an intersection where three infected dressed in tattered and torn business suits leaned over a body still trapped in a car. The car had been involved in a minor accident crumpling the front fender. Now the windows were broken and the infected were feasting on the remnants of the occupants. They pulled entrails from the trapped corpse and clutching organs against their gnashing mouths. Dozens of infected had been drawn to the accident.
Larry slammed on the breaks. “Ain’t getting through this way.”
Matt stared at the sight through the windshield then turned back to Amy. “Lay your head down, Amy.” He reached out and pulled her against his chest.
He sobered as he realized the terrible state of the world. He could see when the infected noticed the vehicle. They focused on the sound then sniffed the air like dogs smelling a bitch in heat. Finally, they seemed to comprehend the faces through the windshield and turned toward the passing vehicle.
“Uh oh. I think they’ve noticed us.” Jake commented as he passed the baby over the seat back.
Matt accepted the infant and pulled her close as he ordered. “Back up! Get us out of here, Larry.”
Larry slammed the Humvee into reverse and turned the wheel to the right. He performed a K-turn and headed back the way they had come. At the next intersection, he turned right and stepped on the accelerator. At the first cross street, he looked toward the right and saw a repeat of the same scene of the previous intersection.
“We’re fucked!” Larry pointed to the intersection ahead. He braked then quickly looked left and right. “Which way? Where do we go from here?”
Matt pointed toward a yard and deteriorating picket fence. “That way! Go right through the yard to the next block.” Matt ordered. He pulled Amy and the baby closer. They jostled around the back seat. “Amy, hang on. This is going to be bumpy.”
Amy grabbed at the handhold of the seat in front of her, her face mirroring her terror. She turned toward Matt and commented. “Claire should be in a car seat.”