Knocked hard and forcefully.
He was a man on a mission.
He knew this was the house.
There was no one around. No one in the street.
No cars drove by. No pedestrians walked. No curtains moved in neighboring windows.
No answer at the odor.
He knocked again. Pounded on the door.
“Sara?” he shouted. “Sara! It’s me! From the walkie-talkie.”
He realized that she probably didn’t even know his name. Or had he told her?
He stood there dumbly now. He’d rushed here. He’d risked his life to get here and now nothing was happening.
Absolutely nothing.
His gaze shifted from the front door to the other houses. Where were the occupants?
Had they all died from the virus? Were those cute faux-adobe houses filled with corpses and blood?
Or had the people been evacuated like he had? Had they been taken to some kind of “quarantine” area where they’d been packed in like clams only to bleed to death there?
“Shit,” he muttered, after banging on the door again.
He tried the handle. No luck. Nothing.
There was a window that faced the street. He moved over to it and tried to peer inside, cupping his hand above his eye to counteract the shadows and reflection. But no luck.
He wasn’t giving up. He scanned the ground for a rock. For something to break the window with.
He found nothing.
But he wasn’t going to bow out. He stripped off his shirt, wrapped his hand in it, and began smashing his fist against the glass pane.
It hurt.
A lot.
But the pain was nothing compared to being shocked by those security guards.
The window started to shatter. It came apart in pieces. He’d expected the whole thing to break at once, but instead he found himself taking out individual sections.
He reached through the broken window with his other hand. The glass cut him and blood flowed, but he ignored it. He unlocked the window and managed to pull it up.
He climbed through the open window. There was no screen.
“Sara?” he called out. “Anyone here?”
No answer.
Will hoped he had the right house.
There was a living room. He stepped into it. There was an upright piano in one corner. A bookshelf stacked with books. An old laptop on a coffee table in front of a cushy couch. A lot of magazines scattered around. Nice carpets. A normal room. Totally normal.
Except for the three bodies lying together, blood all over them. Blood on their faces. Blood still streaming from their ears and noses.
“Sara?” he called out.
Maybe those were her relatives.
Maybe not.
Maybe he had the wrong house.
He wound his way through the cramped little house, through the hallways, through the various rooms, until he found himself in the kitchen.
A walkie-talkie lay on the counter nearby.
It was her.
Definitely her.
But she was dead.
Blood everywhere. Blood all over her.
How was that possible?
She had succumbed to the virus as well? How was that possible?
He’d thought that he and she were two people immune to its effects.
Those security guards? They were probably dead, or about to die. There seemed to be no way that they could avoid the virus. If they weren’t immune, they were going to catch it somehow.
“Sara!” he said, crouching down, shaking her with his hands.
Her body was limp.
But it was still warm.
She was lying in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor.
But something was wrong about the blood.
It wasn’t around her face. There was some smeared on her face, but it seemed almost an afterthought or accident. It seemed that no blood had come from her face.
Then he saw her wrists. And the knife.
And it all clicked together.
She’d done this to herself.
9
Matt
A gunshot rang out behind him.
He glanced in the mirror on his side. The truck wasn’t far behind them.
“Was that you?” he shouted above the roar of the wind and the echo of the gunshot in his ears.
“Just drive!” shouted Judy.
Another gunshot.
They were headed up a long stretch of hill. The elevation changed substantially between Albuquerque and Santa Fe. If they’d had a GPS, and if it had worked, they might have seen as much as a thousand-foot increase on this hill alone. Of course, then it would dip back down again. Then up again. And so on.
The road curved around to the right. There were unusual rock formations on the left, ones that out-of-staters often slowed down to admire. New Mexican natives didn’t pay them much attention, however and took it as a chance to overtake the slowpokes.
That was in normal times though.
And these times were anything but normal.
They were almost to the top of the long stretch of climb. The sky looked beautiful and peaceful.
But the gunshots echoing out behind him were anything but peaceful...
His heart was slamming out a frantic beat in his chest.
He couldn’t see very far down the road in front of them. It just stretched up into the sky.
Suddenly, a big RV was coming at them. It must have been going 80 mph. Much too fast for such a big vehicle.
Matt’s hands gripped the wheel of the little sedan.
The road was curving around treacherously.
“Matt, watch out!” yelled Judy.
Another gunshot.
The truck behind them was close. Too close.
The sound of shattering glass.
The rear window had been blown out completely. Nothing but shards of jagged glass remained around the edges.
“Down! Get down!”
Matt couldn’t duck his head too far down without losing his ability to steer the car.
“They’re right behind us!”
A loud shotgun blast somewhere nearby.
The massive RV was coming right at them, although it was safely in the other lane. If Matt made a small error in his steering, they might wind up crashing headlong into the huge RV.
Behind them, the pickup had sped up, its little engine whining.
“It’s trying to pass us!”
“They’re just going to shoot us. It’s not going to pass us!”
The pickup was in the opposite lane. It was barreling toward the RV, which was barreling toward it.
“They’re going to crash!”
“They don’t care!”
“They’re maniacs!”
Matt glanced over. The little pickup had almost pulled abreast to his car. As soon as they did, he knew it was over. A single shotgun blast into the sedan and it was all over.
Matt slammed on the brakes.
The sedan fishtailed a little, slowing down rapidly. Tires screeched. The metal of the rim screeched.
The pickup truck sped past them.
It was headed right for the RV.
The RV, though, swerved over into the other lane, narrowly missed the pickup truck at the last second.
Now the RV was coming headlong at Matt again.
The little pickup truck slammed on its brakes.
“What are you doing?” screamed Jamie.
Matt slammed his foot on the gas. Tires squealed. The sedan was accelerating. Not fast. But it was picking up speed again.
Matt spun the wheel around, his hands passing over it like he was hauling a rope up out of the ocean.
The sedan appeared to be rear-wheel drive by the way it was handling. American made. Power diverted fully to the rear wheels. And one of those wheels had no tire on it. Just a rim. A lot less transfer of power to the road. Not a lot of grip.
Matt turned the sedan around.
And now also, there was an RV coming at them.
“They’re gaining on us again!”
“Great plan, Matt,” snarled Jamie.
“You have any better ideas?” shouted Matt, over the roar of the wind and the whine of the engine.
“Drive off the road!”
“We won’t make it far.”
“Enough of this running. Let’s stand and fight!”
“You’re nuts,” he shouted.
Judy wasn’t saying anything. Instead, she was carefully studying the road behind them.
Suddenly, Jamie let out a screech. A scream. The sound reminded Matt of when his college girlfriend would see a bug. She’d let out this shrieking scream.
Matt saw what she was screaming about too late.
Too late to react properly.
There was a car rushing headlong at them.
In their lane.
It was a sports car. Bright red and speeding. Low to the ground. Looked like a two-seater of some sort.
“It’s in our lane!”
That was the last thing anyone was able to say.
Matt jerked the wheel of the car hard.
Suddenly, the front of the sedan was pointed off the road.
The car bounced horribly as it jumped across the ruts that ran alongside the road.
Before Matt knew what had happened, the sedan was stuck with its nose tilted down toward the ground, the engine whining, and the rear wheels spinning uselessly.
Matt glanced back at the highway. They weren’t far from it. Less than twenty feet.
The red sports car sped by in a blur, its engine incredibly loud. He caught a glimpse of the driver. There didn’t seem to be a passenger. The driver was a man in his fifties. Blond hair that blew in the wind from the open window. Looked rich. Looked like the type to drive a car like that.
“He’s suicidal!”
Matt didn’t bother watching the crash. He knew it was going to happen. He knew that the sports car was going to crash into either the truck or the RV.
He hoped it crashed into the truck.
But if it didn’t, or if they somehow survived, they needed to be ready to defend themselves.
“Everyone okay?” he said. “Everyone able to fight?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m fine. But my seatbelt is stuck.”
Matt already had his own seatbelt undone. He dug into his front pocket for his knife, flicked it open, reached back and cut Judy free from her belt.
“Everyone out of the car,” he was about to say. He knew they needed to get into a defensive position behind the car. They needed to be ready for the truck to come for them. They needed to be ready for a gunfight.
But before he could say anything, the crash happened.
Jamie shrieked.
Judy said something too quiet to hear over the sound of the impact.
Matt turned his head just in time to see the aftermath.
The red sports car had smashed right into the pickup truck.
Everything seemed strangely still now.
In the wake of the crash, there were two mangled vehicle bodies. Tangled steel and smashed-up doors. Shattered glass.
Screams and wails of pain coming from the road.
The big RV drove right around the wreck, not even slowing down. It zoomed right on past.
Matt saw, for a moment, a glimpse of the driver. A woman in her early fifties. Maybe there was another passenger, maybe not. It was hard to see. It seemed that the driver was looking at him, as if she had something she wanted to say to him with her eyes.
But it was just a split second. Nothing more. No information was exchanged.
And, in the blink of an eye, the RV was long gone, away down the road. Nothing but a memory.
In its wake, there was the crash.
“Shit, that looks bad,” said Jamie.
“What should we do?” said Judy. “Should we still get out of the car?”
“Stay in here for now,” said Matt, putting up his hand, signaling for everyone to stay in place. “Let’s see if they’re alive.”
“First you tell us to get out of the car, then you tell us stay put,” said Jamie. “Why don’t you make up your mind?”
“Why don’t you say something useful for once?” snapped Matt, unable to help himself. “All you’ve done is criticize me. I’m getting tired of it. This is a life-and-death situation here and...”
“And you’re not doing such a great job,” she said, interrupting.
“Kids,” said Judy, holding up her hands. “I’m twice your age and I remember what it was like to be young and full of passion.”
“Passion?” hissed Jamie.
“Passion?” said Matt, perplexed.
“But,” continued Judy, “this isn’t the time or place. Looks like we’ve gotta try to survive.”
Matt turned his attention back to the crash.
Someone had emerged from the wreckage. A tall, lanky man, bleeding from the head.
“We never figured out,” said Matt, “whether or not the three of us are immune to the virus.”
“I mean, probably,” said Jamie. “Otherwise we’d be dead, right?”
“Do we want to bet our lives on ‘probably’?” said Matt.
“Not sure we’re always going to have a choice.”
“Does he have a gun? Any weapons?” said Judy.
“Doesn’t look like it,” said Matt. “He’s looks pretty messed up.”
The tall, lanky man was shuffling down the road, walking right along the dotted line. He didn’t turn his head one way or another. He just looked straight ahead.
“It’s like he’s not even alive,” said Jamie.
“He’s in shock from the crash,” said Judy. “I’ve seen it before.”
“There’s someone else...another survivor...”
“Which car is he from?”
“No idea.”
A short, stocky man had emerged as well from the wreckage. Matt watched as he went jogging down the road. He was in significantly better shape than the tall, lanky man.
“He’s got a gun.”
He did have a gun all right. As the stocky man reached the lanky man, he raised the gun, aimed it at the back of the lanky man’s head, and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot rang out, echoing through the dry air.
The lanky man fell, crumpling to the ground like a rag doll.
“What’s the point of all this?” said Jamie, nearly shrieking. “Why did he do that? Did they know each other? This makes no sense!”
“Does he see us?” said Judy.
Just as she said those words, as if on cue, the stocky man turned abruptly. He now faced their little crashed sedan.
“Yup,” said Matt. “He sees us.”
“You think he’s infected?”
“Who knows?”
“What do we do?”
One of the wrecked vehicles had caught fire. There were small flames that licked the engine, emerging briefly here and there near the hood. Thin streams of black and white smoke twisted up from the wreckage.
“Someone must still be in there,” said Jamie.
“They’re probably already dead,” said Judy.
“This just makes no sense. What the hell’s going on? Is he coming for us now? None of this makes sense.”
Jamie seemed like she might lose control of herself at any moment. The idea of senseless, pointless chaos and violence seemed too much for her. At least it was too much for her right now in this moment.
“Someone answer me!” she said, her voice loud, almost yelling, as she banged her fist into the door of the car.
“Jamie, can you handle yourself?” said Matt.
“Handle myself?” she yelled. “What the hell are you talking about? I can’t stand this! I’m getting some air!”
“Air? What are you talking about?”
“She’
s having a panic or attack or something,” said Judy. “She’s not in control.”
Jamie, acting swiftly, opened the door and stepped out of the car.
The stocky man, meanwhile, had already left the road and was walking swiftly toward them. He had his handgun hanging at his side.
He looked ready to use it. There was a stern look of anger on his face.
“Shit,” said Matt, throwing open his door.
He stood up, glancing at the stocky man and then at Jamie.
The stocky man was just out of range. Just barely. Several more steps and he be able to shoot them.
Jamie, meanwhile, had started walking in the opposite direction, toward the mountains and their shadows off in the distance.
“Judy,” he said. “Take care of Jamie.”
“Got it,” said Judy, her door already open. “Jamie, honey!” she called out, as she dashed off, surprisingly quick and agile for her age, toward Jamie.
“Shit,” muttered Matt, glancing over at them.
Jamie was moving fast. She’d already put some distance between herself and the car. It would take Judy some time to catch up with her.
He felt the anger rising in his chest.
Why did she do this? She’d endangered them all, breaking up the group like this. And at a terrible time. Right when someone was coming for them.
“Well,” muttered Matt, his hand on his gun. “Here goes nothing.”
He turned to face the oncoming man.
Suddenly, the stocky man was closer than he had seemed moments ago.
It was as if time had sped up, rather than slowed down, as it sometimes did when people get “in the zone,” or life-or-death situations happen.
Suddenly, there wasn’t enough time to take shelter behind or inside the car, or even behind an open door.
It was just like in the old movies. Those old Westerns, where the men walked right up to each other and the fastest man won.
The stocky man was almost in range.
Matt inhaled. He raised his gun.
He was ready.
As ready as he was going to get.
Seconds remained.
10
Jacob
Jacob stood there next to his SUV. His wife, Marigold stood next to him. She was an elegant, sexy woman. Full of life. Just the way he liked it.
Jacob was a man who’d come to New Mexico about five years ago. But he wasn’t the sort of man who moved slowly. No. He moved fast. He took what he wanted. Within the first year, he’d had his hands in all sorts of enterprises. Most of them were legal businesses. Some of them skated the sidelines of legality.
Last Pandemic (Book 2): Escape The City Page 6