Jeremy finds four mean-looking tomahawks, each having about two and a half foot long handles and, along with the blades, each having a six-inch-long spike opposite of the blade.
Chris locates two Barrett .50 caliber rifles. Jim imagines the smile on Chris’s face has to be getting painful, as Chris is able to locate twenty-five rounds to load the two ten-round magazines.
The Barretts, along with their mounted Leupold scopes, are placed into their respective cases. The large caliber rifles, along with the items they collect, are transferred to the MRAP. Jim, Chris, and Jeremy make several trips back and forth to the vehicle.
Completing their latest collection of supplies, they all load into the MRAP and stow the items. This family mission went well; they were able to collect several more weapons and much more ammunition.
They take an informal inventory and discuss what else they need. Food. More food is at the top of all their mental lists.
Arzu reminds Jim of the Academy distribution warehouse nearby. Giving it some thought, it’s determined that it may be too big for them to secure and collect supplies. They decide to check a couple of small-business camping supply stores nearby.
Securing their supplies as best they can for now, they decide to head further south on Mason Road to look for stores that could have more needed essentials.
Closing the rear doors, Jim hears the distant sound of an obviously low-flying jet aircraft. Everyone inside turns toward the back door, apparently hearing the same. The sound grows to a crescendo and then blurred shadows streak across the windshield and then the pavement ahead. The noise fades as quickly as it came.
After the jet-fueled raptors make their flyby, the distant chopping of rotors is barely heard, then the intermittent deep thump-thump-thump-thump of machine-gun fire. As Arzu heads them south on Mason Road, Jim begins to disassemble his Glock 17, replacing the factory barrel with a longer one with threads on the exterior of the muzzle. Then, after reassembling, he attaches a suppressor, replaces the magazine, and re-holsters it in his drop-leg rig. Doing the same with two other Glock 17s they acquired from the firearms store, he then hands them off to Chris and Jeremy, and points out the drop-leg holsters he also collected.
Chris and Jeremy finish donning their new holsters and place their suppressed Glocks. While doing this, Jim checks the flash suppressor on his AR-15. Disappointed, he reloads and makes sure it’s ready.
“What’s wrong?” Jeremy asks, noting the irritated look on his dad’s face.
“We need to keep an eye out for a vise. I’ll need it to remove the flash suppressors on our ARs,” Jim explains.
“There was one at the gun shop,” Jeremy suggests.
“Good observation, Jeremy, but I saw it too, and it’s welded to the gunsmith station and too big a problem to get out,” Jim answers.
“Wait. Stop,” Jeremy says as he stands and looks out the front windshield. “They may have one in there.” He points to a small auto repair shop on their passenger side.
“True,” Jim says, and asks Arzu to stop on the road in front of the garage. The roll-up doors of the small two-car garage are open. Although some shadows are inside, it is well lit. Jumping out and making a careful entry, they find what they need. Using some of the numerous tools lying about, they unbolt the vise.
Taking a little extra time, they also gather up tools for possible future use. Once they return to the MRAP and get on their way, Chris and Jeremy look for a way to secure the vise while Jim joins Arzu in the front.
Chapter 24
Present
Heading south, they see more of the same: some buildings untouched by damage, others destroyed by fire, many in between on the spectrum. Finding the fourth camping supply store not razed to the ground, they pause on the road and then pull in front of the store.
Although hesitant, not wanting to put any of his family in added danger, Jim agrees to allow Chris to lead them in. Like before, they exit the rear doors of the MRAP and approach the camping supply store. All crouched, with weapons at the ready, they reach the door.
Finding it locked, Jim stops Chris from doing his early trick with the duct tape and then breaking the glass. He retrieves a lock-pick gun from his pocket. Affixing a needle to the gun, Jim maneuvers past Jeremy and then Chris to take a position at the door.
“Let’s give this thing a try. I found it at the firearms store,” Jim explains.
“I kinda wanted to break some shit,” Chris says, in an attempt to pretend to be disappointed. While Jim works at the lock, Chris and Jeremy swivel their heads in every direction, looking for threats.
The lock defeated, Jim stows the lock-pick gun and dramatically motions with a slight bow for Chris to resume his spot at point. “Lead on, son,” Jim says as he lifts his bowed head and moves to the back of their formation.
“Going in,” Chris announces and pulls open the glass door. Like the others, this store has no electric light sources. Only the sunlight illuminates the interior. They’re thankful that it’s a small store and well lit by the sun beaming in through the front windows.
The layout of the store, although small, is an open area with a counter and register on the left wall as they enter. In the back of the building, a closed door is set in the center of the wall.
After checking behind the register counter, they cautiously make their way to the closed door. A sign on the door reads Private. Carefully, Chris checks the doorknob, turning it left and right. Shaking his head, he turns to see what his father suggests and sees his dad, last in their formation, with his finger to his lips.
Understanding the sign for quiet, Chris says nothing and nods his head. Using his left index and middle fingers, Jim points to his own eyes, and then to the gap at the bottom of the door. Jim then makes a walking motion with his index and middle fingers.
Chris and Jeremy understand the signs; their dad has apparently seen shadows move across the door. Chris gives a shoulder shrug to request their next move, to which Jim signals for quiet again and for them to move away from the locked door.
Whispering near the counter area, Jim makes it clear that he saw shadows move past the gap under the door, deciding they’ll attempt to see if the person or persons are infected or not. If not, they’ll offer help. If infected, well, they’ll kill it.
Setting up positions away from the doorway, in case their offer to help is rewarded with gunfire, they each signal they’re ready by responding to Chris’s three clicks on his comm with two from their own.
After another check to make sure his dad and his brother are ready and aiming at the closed door, Chris calls out loud enough to be heard but not enough for his voice to carry far from the interior of the store.
“Hello in there! We aren’t here to hurt anyone.” No response from inside. “We’re just getting some supplies we need. If you own the store and don’t want us to have it, we’ll leave.”
After a long thirty seconds, they look to each other for any suggestions. Jim signals for another huddle when they receive a reply. “Are you police?” is the muffled question in a female’s voice from the other side of the door.
“No, we’re not. We’re just a family trying to gather supplies and get to more of our family,” Jim answers.
“Why do you have the police truck?” the female asks, sounding a little closer to the door.
“We found it abandoned near a hospital. The police who had it don’t seem to have made it,” Jim answers again.
After a long silence, they hear the click of the door lock, a pause, and then it opens inward. In the doorway stands a young white woman about four feet eleven to five feet two inches tall. Her medium-length, brown and burgundy-dyed hair is pulled into a ponytail. The dark circles under her eyes are testimony to her lack of sleep for the past week.
Jim guesses her to be twenty-two to twenty-five years old. She’s petite in height, but has an athletic build. Standing slightly behind her and to her right is a young man about nineteen or twenty years old. The family resemb
lance is unmistakable. The young man’s hair is medium length and brown, his eyes the same green as the girl who seems to be his older sister. “My dad owned this store. I’m Chelsea. Chelsea King,” the young woman says, her green eyes not focusing on Jim, Chris, or Jeremy, but somewhere else far off. “This is my brother Zach,” she continues the introduction.
“I’m Jim. These are my sons, Jeremy and Chris,” Jim says as he points out each.
Finally focusing, the young woman looks at Jim and then Chris and Jeremy and nods. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. Can we come with you?” she asks with her bottom lip quivering before she bites it slightly to force it to stop.
“Yeah,” Jim answers and then sighs, “you can come with us.” Chris takes their new companions out to the MRAP and introduces Chelsea and Zach to Arzu, Berk, and Kayra. He then returns to the inside and helps gather more supplies.
Finding more buckets of freeze-dried foods of varying flavors, as well as water purification tablets and filters, they also find several magnesium fire-starting kits, camel packs, and compasses. And the most important of all, a camping toilet with a real seat and some chemicals to help reduce odor and break down fecal matter between emptying the storage tank.
Jim lets out a “Fuckin-A!” when he finds several air mattresses with air pumps. After the third foraging mission of the day, they’re all visibly exhausted from the stress, though Chris seems a little less exhausted than the rest. Chelsea and Zach’s assistance in locating items in the store has made the endeavor much less time consuming, and having them point out and suggest items to leave behind or take is valuable.
They decide to head to the large parking lot of a strip mall to better organize their supplies. As soon as they get back into the MRAP and head toward the parking lot, Chris sits near their new passenger and tries to make her more comfortable. He learns she was working at the store with her father when things went to shit. After spending days locked in the store, her dad tried to make it to their car.
He reasoned that night was better, thinking he wouldn’t be seen. They had failed to notice that the infected were much more active at night. Her father, Richard, was torn to pieces while she watched. Her mother had died years ago, so it was just her, Zach, and her dad.
After parking the MRAP, they all go about packing away their newly acquired supplies. Chris decides he’ll take a look at the side of the MRAP in an attempt to find a place to mount the large L-shaped 103-gallon fuel tank. Chelsea follows outside Chris. It’s not unnoticed that wherever Chris goes, Chelsea is close by his side.
After checking several of their ratchet-straps, Chris settles on the three he’ll need to secure the tank to the rear driver side. Enlisting Jeremy’s help, they mount the tank to the MRAP.
“Shut up, Jeremy,” Jim overhears Chris saying while he and Jeremy drink some water nearby. This instant, Chelsea’s not next to Chris. Walking over, Jim asks, “What’s going on, guys?” Jim asks. “Jeremy’s just being a dumb-ass, that’s all.” Chris says. Jeremy feigns a look of surprise and hurt and replies, “I was merely pointing out to my older —but shorter—brother that little Miss Chelsea is crushin’ on him. And hard.”
Jim gives a quick smile and then becomes serious “Do they have any family around?” Jim asks Chris. “No, Dad. Her dad and brother was it.” Chris replies. “Well they’re welcome to come along, like I said. We all pull our weight, though. Right?” Chris gives a nod and says, “Yeah, I’ll help her out and keep an eye on her.”
“I bet you will, Chris,” Jeremy says with a quiet laugh and a playful jab to Chris’s shoulder.
They all work together, even Zach and Chelsea, arranging the back of the MRAP so that they can locate items more easily and not have things turning into projectiles or trip hazards. They decide to have a meal, and then fill up the MRAP and their newly mounted spare tank. They decide their easiest opportunities will be with semi-tractors. After they clean up, they depart the parking lot and search for fuel.
It doesn’t take them long to find a semi-tractor: as soon as they turn north on Mason Road, there is one in the parking lot of a Burger King. Stopping the MRAP, taking a careful look around and seeing no threats, they pull closer to the semi. Jim and Jeremy check the cab and then pull security while Chris defeats the locking fuel cap.
It takes both of the Kenworth’s fuel tanks to fill the MRAP and the spare tank attached to the side. The whole time, Chris is stomping away on the fuel pump between the suction and discharge ends of the manual pump.
Throughout their time siphoning diesel, they hear distant gunshots, some automatic and some semi-automatic. Distant explosions rumble like thunder. Accompanied by the sound of jet and rotary aircraft.
Taking note of the sun’s position, well on its way to settling to the west. Jim suggests they all get some rests, and the family agrees it’s time to try and find a safe place for the night. They all feel exhaustion. The drain from their post-adrenaline highs is taking its toll.
They load into the MRAP and begin the search for a place offering some sense of security in this new world. As they search, they notice figures that seem to be staring at them from the shadows of homes and buildings.
They travel further south on Mason Road, and Jim decides on The Golf Club at Cinco Ranch. They reason parking in an open area will allow for escape, and they can also see anyone or anything approaching at a distance.
They throw blankets on the grass and engage in small talk while they clean their firearms. They familiarize themselves with the additions to their arsenal, the Barrett .50 calibers and others. Jim puts the vise to use and removes the flash suppressors to attach the sound suppressors. With a tilt of her head in Jim’s direction, Chelsea asks Chris, “What’s he doing?”
“The infected seem to not like loud noises, but they seem to come running to it at the same time,” Chris explains. “He’s mounting sound suppressors to keep the gunshot noise down to a minimum.”
Jim returns their attention back to the Barrett .50 calibers. “The .50 caliber round is a devastating piece of human engineering. It was originally designed as an anti-aircraft round, but was adopted by regular infantry.”
Jim continues to elaborate more on his admiration for the weapon and ammunition: “The weapon was adopted by snipers because of its ability to remain accurate at extremely long ranges. It also has the mass and velocity to disable light or non-armored vehicles. We may need to use these, but only when the situation calls for it. You don’t find many .50 caliber rounds in most of your normal firearms stores.”
Finished with the tasks, Jim brings over a suppressed AR-15 to Arzu, Chris, and Jeremy. He hands Chris another and asks, “Why don’t you take Chelsea and Zach over there to that sand trap and go over the rifle and pistol with them?”
Standing, Chris takes the other rifle and the holstered Glock from his father. Chelsea stands beside him and Chris assists her in donning the holster, and then they walk to the sand trap about thirty yards away.
Jim, Arzu, and Jeremy look over occasionally and watch as Chris gives the lessons. Using a few paper plates as targets, Chelsea seems to shoot fairly well, Zach not as accurately. Most importantly, Jim is glad to see that they both handle the firearms safely.
“What’s the next step?” Arzu asks as she takes a seat on the blanket next to Jim and leans her head on his shoulder.
“We camp out here tonight and then try to stock up on medical supplies tomorrow, check some of the small walk-in clinics or emergency care centers.”
Nodding her head against Jim’s shoulder Arzu takes in a deep breath and exhales with a sigh. “You stink,” she says and gives a chuckle.
Chapter 25
Present
Once all inside the MRAP and their side of the Earth have turned away from the sun, they have to face the night. With no glow from lights in Katy or from the larger nearby city of Houston, the blackness is total. Only faint glimpses of a star or two are seen through the clouded sky. With the armored vehicle locked up tight
, the Matthews and their new companions quietly prepare the interior for sleep.
Jim keeps watch through the bullet-resistant glass ports set in the turret, while the others inflate the air mattresses Jim retrieved and laid them in every available open space on the floor. Not able to see anything because of the darkness outside, and not able to use the night-vision optics due to the light in the interior of the MRAP, Jim steps off the turret platform and joins the others.
Throughout the Houston suburb of Katy, the infected have already emerged from hiding from the bright burning light of the day. They hunt for food now. They’re attracted to the scent of it, processed and packaged for sale to what they once were.
The infected are more attracted to the scent and sounds of living things. They can’t control their desire to seek out and bite what moves, to infect what is not infected.
Distant gunfire catches the attention of some. They head in the direction of the noise. Others, in different locations, hear the sounds of voices or vehicles. The infected seek prey in that direction.
At the golf course, the interior of the MRAP is dark and quiet, except for the occasional sound of someone turning on an air mattress to find a more comfortable position. It’s cool outside. The cloud cover brings with it the lower temperatures of an approaching cold front. The engine is off so as to try and not draw attention.
Jim has the first watch of the night. Standing on the turret platform and looking through the small ports with the night-vision goggles, he’s now better able to see the golf course around them from within the lightless interior.
Repeatedly, Jim watches an area for movement, turns a few degrees until completing a circuit. After several long minutes of continually repeating the searches, Jim takes a seat for a moment to rest his legs and drink some now cold black instant coffee.
Rising again, he completes the same search pattern. The sound of someone turning over on their air mattress or brushing against the side of the MRAP reaches his less than perfect ears.
Omega Pathogen: Mayhem Page 11