American Infection (Book 2)

by Smith, Justin

  As Rob and I sat around the grill, polishing off the leftovers of Matt's catch, we described our outing.

  "I think we might have gotten lucky," I began. "That road up there, that's Route 1."

  "Route 1?" Matt asked, a hint of recognition in his voice. "That runs into…"

  "West Chester, I know," I interrupted. "Way I figure, we've gotta be just a couple miles from the PA border. We can follow Route 1 east and it should take us right there."

  "How?" Melissa asked. "We're not walking the whole way, are we? That'll take days, weeks."

  "There's a town about a mile down Route 1," I continued. "We didn't go all the way down, cause we didn't wanna attract any attention. But we saw a used car lot, and there's gotta be cars in town."

  "How long do you think it'll take to get to West Chester from here?" Melissa asked. I could tell she wasn't grasping the severity of our situation. It wouldn't be a simple car ride.

  "Listen," I said. "Even losing Tom and Anne, I'd say we've been pretty lucky so far. But you guys saw Baltimore, you saw Annapolis. Hell, even that little shit town where the river started. There's a pretty damn good chance we don't make it out of West Chester, if we even make it there in the first place. Once we're on land, I have a feeling things are gonna get real bad real quick."

  Melissa was looking down at the ground. I hadn't meant to sound like I was attacking her, although that's probably how she took it. I really just wanted everyone to understand what we were about to encounter. I wanted everyone to be on board with our decision to find Matt's parents, and then my own. I wanted everyone to know that this was the absolute final opportunity to back out.

  I continued, "I think tonight we need to look at what we have, and what we can carry. Most important are the guns and ammunition. After that, I think we need to get a good night's sleep. Everything changes tomorrow."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Thursday, 7 a.m.

  The rocky beach had been too difficult to sleep on, so we had all spent the night on the boat. At first light, Rob and I jumped out and pushed the Wakesetter back into the river, then waded in after it and hopped on. Matt guided the boat to the eastern bank, where Rob and I hopped back off to pull the boat to shore.

  Permanently disembarking from our home for the past three days, we took everything we could carry. Water bottles were refilled with river water; probably not the cleanest choice, but it was better than nothing. After all the ammunition had been placed into backpacks, the remaining space was filled with the water and canned vegetables. Rob carried his tactical rifle, as well as Anne's Sig Sauer. Matt carried his own rifle and Melissa carried her father's rifle. Sarah and I each had a Beretta. We considered carrying the fishing poles, but decided their usefulness had lapsed. From this point forward, we'd likely be scavenging.

  Rob led us across the rocky outcrop and up the slope to Route 1 above. Thankfully, the road was still deserted. I was relieved, having come to expect surprises.

  Shortly after the bend in the road, Route 1 became three lanes; two lanes heading east and one lane heading west, back toward the bridge. The added width of the road made me a little more comfortable, as dense woods grew right up to the pavement on either side. The likelihood of infected waiting in the woods for a random ambush was low, but I was still tense from our escape off the beach near Aberdeen Proving Ground.

  A few minutes later, we came to a used car lot named "Car Capital." It was one of those beat‐up old trailers converted into a business, with about eighteen cars in the lot. Red, white and blue flags hung from a string that encircled the entire dealership twenty feet in the air. A sign in the window claimed "Bad Credit, No Problem." A dozen sedans and six minivans from the 1990s sat in the parking lot. This was the kind of place that probably didn't want you to test drive their vehicles before purchasing them.

  "Beggars can't be choosers," Matt said, speaking to the look on Melissa's face.

  Matt crossed into the lot and began looking inside the cars, first a Toyota Corolla then a Ford Taurus. He shrugged, then looked back at the group.

  "We'll check inside for keys," Matt said. "We can keep an eye out for a better deal, but as long as it runs, it's better than walking."

  Rob turned to look at me and I waved him forward. Matt and Rob walked up to the entrance, which used to be someone's front door before the tenants moved out and a car salesman turned the place into a lemon lot. Rob tried the knob but it didn't budge. He stepped back and gave a swift kick just left of the handle. Wood splintered as the door burst open. The sound was much louder than I cared for, and I scanned the surrounding area. Rob's action hero antics didn't appear to have immediately attracted any visitors.

  Several minutes later, as I waited outside with the girls, slowly turning in a circle keeping an eye out for any movement, Rob and Matt emerged from the building. They looked around the lot. Matt pointed in the direction of the minivans. They jogged to a blue Dodge Caravan sitting in the corner of the lot nearest the road. Matt unlocked the driver's side door, jumped in and cranked her to life. With a giant smile, he leaned out of the open door and, looking back at the three of us still standing in the middle of the road, said "Let's go."

  Back on Route 1, we began passing houses on both sides of the road. Nice homes, well‐kept ranches and Cape Cods, most with at least one car in the driveway. None of the houses showed any signs of having been destroyed by ravenous infected, or uninfected scavengers. Apparently the folks in this town had either bunkered down as soon as the attacks began, or had managed to evacuate shortly thereafter.

  Past the houses, businesses appeared. We passed a pizza joint and another auto dealership, not much nicer than the one where we had acquired the minivan. Matt slowed the car to a cool 20 mph, uncertain if speeding through town was a good idea when we had no clue what town we were in or how big it might be.

  The next intersection was Route 1 and Route 222. It seemed like a major intersection; major for this town anyhow. To our left on the corner was a Royal Farms convenience store and a set of 12 gas pumps. To our right, up Route 222 about 100 yards, was a place called Rick's Gun and Pawn. Matt looked at Rob in the passenger seat. Rob nodded knowingly. They both turned around.

  "What do you guys think?" Matt asked, glancing from me to Sarah to Melissa then back again. "I haven't seen a single person. I say we park the car here. I'll leave the keys in the ignition. Jason, you take Sarah and Melissa into the store and grab as much water and food as you can carry, maybe make a couple trips if you can. Rob and I will check out the pawn shop and see if we can upgrade our weapon status here."

  "You sure that's a good idea, splitting up?" asked Sarah.

  I looked around, but didn't see any movement. The entire town was silent and still. Too quiet, I thought, but I couldn't think of a reason not to gather up some necessities now that we had the space and the ability to carry them. We could definitely use a few packages of beef jerky, just for the protein. And I wasn't comfortable with the weapons and ammunition we had, considering how populated West Chester was. I knew we'd be in for a fight.

  "I think Melissa should stay in the car," I said. "If she sees anything, she can honk the horn and we get our asses back here ASAP."

  "You're gonna fuckin' leave me alone?" Melissa asked. "Are you kidding me?"

  "Fine, Sarah, you stay here," I said. Turning to Melissa, I asked "Does that work?"

  Melissa nodded. She wouldn't be happy no matter what we did, I thought, but she needed to suck it up and keep it together.

  We all got out of the van and Sarah climbed over the console into the driver's seat. The guys each checked our guns and ammo, then Matt checked Melissa's.

  "You know how to use that thing, right?" I asked, looking at Melissa.

  "Yes, I grew up on a farm, thank you," Melissa replied. "It's just been a while."

  "Oh God, well just don't point it at me and we'll be alright," I said, cracking a smile in an attempt to lighten her mood.

  I watched as Matt and Rob trotted
south on Route 222 toward the pawn shop, hopeful that they'd return with a bounty of guns and bullets. Disappointed that I'd been given the task of babysitting Melissa, I shook my head and turned to face the Royal Farms store. I gave Melissa a nod and we walked slowly toward the store.

  Much like the rest of the town, the Royal Farms appeared undisturbed. The gas pump handles sat neatly in their holsters on the pumps. There were no cars in the parking lot, although the lot looked like it extended around the building. Nervous that we might walk in on someone, or some thing, I tapped Melissa on the shoulder and held up a hand to indicate she should stop.

  Walking past Melissa, I peered in through the glass doors. Nothing moved. Nothing caught my attention. The entire store looked like it could be open for business, if not for the whole infected, rabies, zombie thing. I tapped on the glass with the Beretta. I waited. Nothing jumped out from behind a counter or shelf. I'll consider that empty enough.

  I pulled the door open slightly, listening for one of those welcome bells that some stores have at the entrance. Hearing nothing, I pulled the door the rest of the way and stepped inside with my gun at eye level, ready to fire. Melissa grabbed the door before it shut, but I held up a fist, again telling her to stop.

  Quickly and quietly, I checked down each of the three aisles and behind the counter. Confident that the place was vacant, I waved Melissa into the store.

  In the back corner of the store was a display of bottled water. Sure as hell beats river water. I grabbed two cases, 24 in each and nodded for Melissa to do the same. We walked the cases to the van and returned. I made another trip with two more cases. Melissa grabbed all the beef jerky and Slim Jims she could hold and followed me back to the van. The third trip into the store, I brought a backpack that I'd emptied onto the floor of the van. I filled it with cigarettes, lighters, batteries and some more beef jerky. With my free hands I grabbed five of the large Gatorade bottles. Melissa carried four cases of chocolate bars.

  As Melissa and I unloaded our largess into the van, Sarah stated that she had to use the restroom and sauntered toward the store. Matt and Rob were nowhere in sight, so I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the backpack, unwrapped the cellophane and sparked my first smoke since Tuesday. Just as I settled back to enjoy the rush of nicotine to my brain, a scream erupted from the Royal Farms.

  I threw the cigarette to the ground and sprinted toward the sound of terror, still booming from the store. Reaching the door, I threw it open and stepped inside with the Beretta aimed high. To my right, Sarah was fighting with the bathroom door, attempting to keep it shut against the weight of an infected on the other side. Sarah used her foot as a doorstop and her full 110 pounds to push back. Her face was turned to the left, looking straight at me.

  Sarah's eyes were pleading with me to help, as her shouts did the same. Her face was filled with terror. Every time she reached her hand for better leverage or shifted her weight to prevent sliding backward, the infected would gain half an inch on the door. I had to act fast.

  All I could make out of the infected pushing against her was a bloody right hand grasping in the air. I had no idea what I was dealing with on the other side of that door.

  "Alright, Sarah," I said with authority. "When I say go, you're gonna jump toward me. Soon as that fucker comes out, I'm gonna shoot him. Make sure you hit the ground, got it?"

  Sarah nodded her head, apparently afraid that the energy of speaking would detract from her efforts to hold the door.

  "Again, on go, you jump toward me, and stay down," I said, making sure she clearly understood the directions.

  Sarah nodded again, still straining against the door.

  "One, two, three, Go!" I shouted.

  Sarah flung herself toward my feet, landing hard on the ground and immediately curling into a fetal position with her hands covering her ears. The bathroom door flew open and the infected's momentum carried him out the door, smashing into the wall across the small hallway. The collision with the wall must have stunned the infected. For just a moment, the creature paused and met my eyes. I didn't see a human anymore. I saw black eyes, and a mouth filled with blood and rage; I saw an animal, a predator and an enemy. I didn't hesitate. I fired the semi‐automatic Beretta twice, in rapid succession. The second bullet was unnecessary, as the first landed square between the creature's eyes. Its body crumpled to the floor, falling forward so that its head landed inches from Sarah's feet.

  After a brief moment of stunned silence, Sarah slowly lifted her head and looked down at the body laying only inches from her own. She scrambled to her feet and ran to me.

  "Did it bite you, or scratch you?" I asked, holding her at arm's length until I could be certain she wasn't infected.

  "No," Sarah said, stretching out her arms, flipping them over to reveal nothing more than the red skin from having been pressed against a door.

  I let my arms fall and Sarah quickly closed the gap, wrapping her arms around my waist, holding me tightly. I put my arms around her neck and upper back, kissing her forehead. We released and turned to see Melissa standing at the doorway.

  "That was fucking intense," was all Melissa could muster. For such a sweet, little housewife, she had sure had a shitty mouth.

  As the three of us were walking between the fuel pumps, across the Royal Farms parking lot, back to the car, we saw Matt and Rob running toward us from the gun shop, each carrying a large black bag over their shoulders. When Matt and Rob saw we appeared to be uninjured and were walking rather than fleeing, they slowed to a jog.

  "What the hell was that?" Matt asked, as we converged on the van, tossing his oversized, gun‐filled bag onto the hood of the vehicle. "We heard gunshots."

  "I found one in the bathroom," Sarah said. "I opened the door and he was just sitting there."

  "It's dead now, doesn't matter," I interjected. "But we don't wanna hang out long. What'd you guys find?"

  "Lots of good shit," Matt replied, as I reached across the hood of the van to have a look at our new toys. "I'll tell you on the way…"

  Before Matt could finish speaking, I read the look of horror in his eyes. Turning to see what had caught Matt's attention, I understood the fear. Coming south down Route 222, straight toward our minivan, was a swarm of two or three hundred infected, sprinting at full speed in that awkward gallop. One in the front fell, only to be trampled on and replaced by a faster infected from behind. The group was cresting a hill about a quarter mile away, growing larger as more and more infected emerged from over the horizon.

  "Jesus fucking Christ," Rob yelled. "Get in the God damned car."

  Matt nearly leaped over the hood, pulling his bag behind him. He threw the bag into the passenger seat, which Rob then tossed into the back before he sat down.

  "Where the hell are the keys?" Matt shouted, his hands searching the floor beneath the steering column.

  "Oh shit," Sarah whispered, looking toward the Royal Farms, feeling her pockets. "I think I dropped them in the store."

  "Fuck," Matt shouted, slamming his hands against the steering wheel. He punched the 12‐o'clock position on the wheel two more times for effect.

  Matt threw open his door, took two steps out of the car in the middle of the intersection, and realized he'd never make it to the store and back before the horde overwhelmed the van. He slammed his fist against the window and shouted for everyone to get out, then ran around to the passenger side.

  I was already out of the van, helping the girls onto the street when Matt came around. I handed Matt and Rob the two duffel bags full of weapons and whatever else they had collected, threw the ammo backpack at Sarah, then grabbed my own backpack and looked around to make sure each person had a firearm in their hands. Satisfied, I slammed the sliding van door.

  As I had been handing out the supplies from the back seat, Matt was weighing our options. Running south along Route 222, directly away from the infected, was safer, but took us off course. Heading east along Route 1, our intended path, was ideal, but dep
ending upon the number of infected, the horde could very well take an angle and cut us off.

  A split‐second after I slammed the van door, an explosion caused the ground beneath us to shake. I turned back toward the van, shifting to my left so I could see around it, and witnessed the front lines of the infected horde engulfed in flames, blood and body parts littering the surrounding ground.

  "Hey," came the shout. To our right, two hundred yards east down Route 1, stood a military or SWAT‐style figure, on the lot of a white Cape Cod, frantically waving both hands at us. "Move your asses," he shouted, motioning us in his direction.

  No one gave it a second thought. On cue, all five of us began running toward this stranger, this angel wearing a black helmet, a vest full of ammo, camo fatigues, and carrying a rocket launcher over his shoulder.

  The man turned and ran away from us, glancing back to ensure we were following. He stopped at the next driveway, then waited for us to catch up. He motioned us past.

  "Keep going until you get to the last driveway on the left before a stretch of trees," he said calmly. "Gravel road, curvy driveway. You'll know it when you see it."

  Matt, Sarah, Rob, Melissa and I just stared in total confusion.

  "Go," the man shouted.

  As we turned to run, I looked back and watched the military action hero pull a thin wire across the street and wrap it around a mailbox post on the other side. The infected horde had rounded the corner onto Route 1, most cutting through the parking lot of the Dollar General that was across the street from the convenience store.

  Checking back again, I saw the soldier following us. Again, the soldier stopped and stretched a wire across the street, tight from one mailbox to another, then turned and continued toward us.