Jerry brought the car to a standstill and surveyed the scene in front of him. Apart from some burnt areas of farmland nearby, the town itself, didn’t look all that threatening.
The smell of foamers, however, told him otherwise.
“Damn, what a mess this has all become,” Jerry muttered.
“What was that?”
“Huh? Oh, just a comment on the mess our leaders left the world in. How did we let it get this far?”
“I’ve asked myself the very same since it all began.”
“And?”
“I’ll let you know when I find an answer, okay?”
Jerry nodded. He knew as did Elliot there was no single answer for all that had gone wrong with humanity. Or when it had started.
Elliot looked at the map for a way around Winnemucca. The map was for interstate travelers and not of local town streets.
“According to the map, there’s a crossroad ahead. If we go right, there’s another road we can get on near the train tracks. That will take us over the river and onto the 95, then onto Oregon. That shouldn’t slow us down too…” Elliot paused to explain his reasoning, “y’know, it might actually be faster than going through town.” Elliot pointed out the route to Jerry.
“Yeah, that does look quicker, but we do need gas. We’re down to less than a quarter of a tank now.”
“Let’s hope for a gas station on the other side of town or some abandoned cars ahead. I don’t want to stop if there are foamers about.”
“How about we swap over?”
“Sure thing.”
The smell was worse—if that were possible—the moment they got out of the SUV. It might mean that the foamers were closer. The land around Winnemucca was mainly flat country. They could see some hills in the distance, but other than that, it was dry, flat desert, dotted with sagebrush and Catclaw shrubs. If anyone, especially foamers, were close, surely they’d have seen them by now.
“I don’t understand, that smell is really bad, but there’s nothing around.”
“Yeah, I know, and I doubt foamers would hide behind the brush out there,” Jerry said as he moved around to the passenger side, but paused before he got in. “Do you feel like we’re being watched?”
“I was about to ask you the same.”
A high-pitched squeal pierced the foul-smelling air, confirming they were not alone out here on the highway. The source of the odor had been discovered. The sound sent shivers up Jerry’s back, he turned to Elliot who stared straight ahead, his eyes like plates. Jerry hadn’t heard that sound before but Elliot had.
Elliot dreaded the very thought of hearing that sound again. One was more than enough. It was a sound he would never forget for the rest of his days—the mutant children.
“Quick get in the car, Jerry! Get in now!” Elliot jumped into the driver’s seat, glad Jerry hadn’t turned the engine off.
“What is that—”
“Just get in!” Elliot screamed.
Elliot had the rear tires spinning before Jerry got both feet in. The Escape didn’t have the takeoff speed of a Mustang or a Corvette—hell, probably not even a Mini-Cooper. But it beat running.
“Will you tell me what that was?”
“You’ll see soon, I imagine.” Elliot said, his eyes darted between the road ahead and the rear-view mirrors.
Elliot backed the SUV up and took the off-ramp. He had no idea which side the horrible sound originated from, but he had to get them over to Highway 95 and fast.
As they drove down the ramp, a cloud of dust erupted on the Jerry’s side not more than fifty yards away. “Holy shit, I see what you mean.”
Elliot looked over his companion’s shoulder and panicked at how close they were. He remembered the look of fear on Chuck’s face when they first encountered these mutants on the US-Canadian border as they charged from half a mile away. Now they were less than a football field from them.
“Don’t waste ammunition, there’s thousands of them. Our best bet is to just get out.”
Jerry didn’t answer, he stared in shock as the mutants rushed out from behind the brush.
“Jerry!” Elliot called sharply.
“Err, yeah, yeah. What the fuck are those things?”
“Tell you later, man—if we make it.”
Like an old western movie, the mutants rushed like Indians attacking a lone wagon. Unlike the old westerns, however, there was no Randolph Scott or John Wayne to come to their rescue. Thousands of mutants rushed the Escape, which took time to pick up speed. Elliot had the pedal flat, but the sand-covered surface of the road didn’t help matters. Yelps and squeals and other assorted war cries were heard behind them before they finally picked up enough traction and outran their attackers. The spinning of the tires and the sliding about had used up more gas than intended. With less than a quarter of an hour before the SUV’s tank would run dry, they would need to find an abandoned vehicle soon. The distance the mutant children appeared to be able to cover meant they would probably be too damn close.
“We’re gonna have to find a car with gas in it and hope we can get it started. We can’t fuck around with siphoning. There might be more of them around.”
The Ford Escape had done more than its job, but Elliot now wanted more speed—for obvious reasons.
Jerry kept an eye behind them for the mutants. They were way in the distance now, but they hadn’t given up.
“Where are they?” Elliot asked.
“Still behind us a long way, but—”
“Fuck!”
“What’s wrong, Elliot?”
“There are some houses on our left,” Elliot explained as he came to the 95, “and a few stores with parked cars all around. It’s too dangerous to risk.”
“Why not? We need gas and—”
“You saw how many there were. Even if we had the ammo, could the two of us get all of them?”
Jerry answered with a, just shake of his head.
They would run the SUV hard, straight up the 95. Put some distance between themselves and the mutants, then hopefully find another car.
Hope was the magic word and what they were running on.
Chapter Ten
Against All Odds 9
In ten minutes on the 95, also called the Veteran’s Memorial Highway, they’d put a good six or seven miles between themselves and their pursuers when a trailer park came into view.
“Cars!”
“I see ’em, I see ’em!” Elliot realized this wasn’t a minute too soon as the gas gauge needle sat on zero. “We left those mutants way behind, but we don’t know what else is about. Let’s just grab the first vehicle with gas and leave.”
“I’m with ya on that one.” Jerry gave a thumbs-up.
In his excitement with all the vehicles nearby, Elliot failed to consider the terrain. As Chuck once explained, “Always have an escape route and always know it.” The road in and out of the trailer park was circular. There wouldn’t be enough room to get up to any decent speed and if the road in front were blocked or attackers came from the front and the back…
Elliot turned into the trailer park off the 95 and went left, for no apparent reason. He took the Dan Wesson revolver from the holster and sat it on his lap. At least one part of his brain remembered Chuck’s directions, “Always be ready”.
“Here.” Jerry pointed to a Chev Camaro up ahead.
“Okay, I’ll pull up alongside. You check inside first—don’t open the door unless you’re sure it’s empty, okay?”
“Got it.”
Elliot stopped next to the Camaro, but kept the engine running while Jerry got out. He figured whoever owned this car spent all they had on it and now could only afford a ramshackle trailer out here in the desert. Maybe the car was stolen, or maybe…
“Okay, it’s all clear.” Jerry referred to the inside of the car.
“Damn Elliot, you’re not thinking!” Elliot admonished himself. He knew should be the one outside checking the car because he could hotwire a car. The
re-appearance of the mutants had him fazed.
“Jerry, get back over here.”
Jerry didn’t hesitate, not after he witnessed the abhorrent features of the mutant children up close.
“Around this side!” Elliot called to him through the open window, but wasn’t about to get out until Jerry was right there.
“Keep watch while I start the Camaro and be ready to jump in and take the wheel in a hurry. I’ll pop the trunk when I start it so you can throw the packs in.” Elliot didn’t have to tell him to hurry or be careful.
Elliot hoped the Camaro was open—he didn’t want to smash a window, and was pleased when the driver’s side door opened. He jumped in and after hotwiring it, Elliot checked the gas gauge; about half full. Good Enough.
“Let’s go!” Elliot put the window down and yelled.
Jerry grabbed the backpacks and threw them with as fast as he could into the Camaro’s trunk. Slamming down the trunk, Jerry turned to get the rifles and the shotgun from the Ford when he was alerted by the sound of fast-approaching feet behind him.
A hundred or more foamers came running from behind trailers toward him. Emaciated, rancid, undead. Elliot gunned the engine to get Jerry moving.
“Elliot! Elliot!” Jerry yelled. “Pop the trunk!”
Elliot did so without a question. With the rifles, shotgun and the extra ammo, Jerry jumped into the trunk. “Drive, Elliot, drive!”
Elliot put his foot down on the accelerator of the double overhead cam V6 roared off in a cloud of blue-gray smoke. The foamers were within a field goal-distance and Jerry, who supported himself on one of the backpacks, was able to get several well-aimed shots off before Elliot turned in the circular driveway of the trailer park. They would have to complete a full circle to get back to the entrance and out to the 95. They just had to hope the foamers didn’t double-back and come the other way. No chance foamers were that smart.
Were they?
When Elliot came around on the home-stretch of the oval driveway, a dozen or more foamers poured out of several trailers in front of him.
He couldn’t control the 300 HP Chevy on this narrow, dusty road and fire his revolver simultaneously. He couldn’t tell if Jerry was still in the back of the trunk as he’d stopped firing—he wasn’t about to pull over to see.
“Mad Max!” Elliot shouted, remembering the mayhem in the movie and put his foot down further on the gas pedal. The Camaro gave a swish to the side, before Elliot lined it up and went for it.
The impact of the Camaro at fifty miles per hour into the group of foamers had the same was like that of a bowling ball into a set of ten-pins—which was worthy of a NASCAR driver. Some were knocked to the sides, while a few catapulted over the roof, and then finally, the car ran over the top of the others. That slowed the Camaro down a touch, but they’d made it through the wall of foamers and were now at the park’s exit. As they turned back onto the 95, Elliot heard the distinctive sound of the 7.62x51mm. Jerry was still with him in the trunk. With that knowledge, his enthusiasm received a lift and he hit it cranking the muscle car up to ninety, keeping it there for a good five minutes before he pulled over to let Jerry out of the trunk.
“Shit, Jerry, are you all right? I forgot about you in the back there?” Elliot joked.
“Yeah, yeah, sure you did. You’re just having fun with your new toy, I know you!”
“It does drive like a beast! You wanna try?”
“You bet your ass I do!”
Elliot grabbed his rifle out of the trunk and placed it the back seat and handed Jerry the sawed—off shotgun.
“Keep that by your side.” Elliot said then gave a wink.
Elliot looked around the desert landscape before climbing in the passenger seat. The wind out here carried a chill this time of year and a lonely, empty howl.
“Let’s get going,” he said.
The cold air offered a good excuse for him to clasp his hands together—at least until the heater warmed up—besides, he didn’t want Jerry to see his hands shake.
Against All Odds 10
The Camaro had enough gas in the tank to see them through to Burns, Oregon. Burns was about a quarter of the size of Winnemucca and they’d already planned to drive straight through. But it would be ideal to fill up with more gas beforehand. A quick stop on the highway to siphon gas wouldn’t take long, and with desert on all sides, they could keep watch for any approaching horror—alive or dead.
There were more than a few cars and the odd truck in the ditches off the highway itself. More than would have been expected on the highway from Winnemucca to Oregon. Elliot and Jerry also passed some fire-damaged farms carved out of the desert and there were mountain ranges in the distance on either side of the 95 as they neared the Oregon border. These ranges were not at all like the Rockies, but reached a good height in places.
The main topic of conversation was, of course, the mutant children—or those “the mutant things” as Jerry called them. Elliot explained about the origin of the mutant children as was told to him by his mother, way back before the foamer outbreak had begun.
Elliot’s first encounter was just before the Canadian border at a time he was sure he’d seen all the horrors there were. The ferocity displayed by the mutants made them more dangerous than the foamers, he believed. Jerry was in full agreement on that.
“Do you think they’re walking dead, like the foamers?” Elliot had wondered this since the first encounter.
“This is the first time I’ve seen them, so I couldn’t say.”
Elliot nodded, it didn’t matter—dead or alive, they were fucking deadly!
“Up ahead, look,” Jerry said.
“I see it. Let’s check it out.”
A recent-model two-door GMC Sierra sat in the middle of the highway. It remained at somewhat of an angle, as if it had stopped suddenly—skid marks also attested to this. It was a gas model, which made it even more appealing.
“Let’s be careful. I don’t like the way it stopped suddenly in the middle of the road,” Elliot told Jerry as he pulled the Camaro within twenty yards of the Sierra.
“Me neither.”
If there were foamers about and the shit hit the fan, they’d be okay as long as they left the engine running. There was enough room on one side of the pickup to get by, where Elliot pulled up just ahead. Jerry checked the magazine of his Remington R-25 and then, obviously satisfied, gave Elliot a nod. They got out of the Camaro and took a minute to survey the terrain before moving on to the pickup, continually scanning each side of the road and listening for any sounds of movement. Most of all, they were on alert for any decayed or fetid smells. More than anything that would tell them of the presence of foamers or—God forbid—mutants.
“This time when you open the door, get the hell out of the way,” Jerry reminded.
“Roger that,” Elliot said.
Elliot pulled open the driver door and stepped back quickly. He realized he’d been a little too trusting previously when they came upon the foamer in Hammett, especially when he had no idea of how Jerry might react. What he’d seen since showed that his new companion had a good sense of control with a firearm, and safety did indeed seem to be of paramount importance. But you couldn’t always guarantee safety when faced with hordes of the undead, or pig-squealing mutants.
“Try this side.” Elliot edged around to the passenger side from the rear, while Jerry followed in a wider sweep. He repeated the same procedure and nothing untoward occurred.
“All right, bring the car up!” Elliot called.
Seconds later, Jerry drove the Camaro past the Sierra, then reversed so the gas tanks could line up next to one another.
“Good job, Jerry.” Elliot grabbed a length of hose from the trunk. “Let’s make this quick.”
Elliot didn’t bother to try and hotwire the pickup, there wasn’t time. Either it had some gas or it didn’t. Luckily it did—half a tank, which practically filled the Camaro up.
They were underway again, less
than fifteen minutes spent on refueling. The air was now beyond chilly, and Elliot and Jerry threw on thick woolen hunting style jackets to combat the cold. It was already mid-afternoon and they were over two hundred miles away, but Elliot believed there was still time to make it to Bend, Oregon before dark.
As Jerry drove, Elliot studied the map and the distance. If they stayed close to the coast in a power boat, the waves wouldn’t—or perhaps shouldn’t—be too choppy. He calculated they would have a chance to get to Sandspit by about noon the next day—if everything went smoothly.
He smiled to himself.
When did things ever go smoothly?
“How many small towns along the way?” Jerry appeared to be a little on edge. Every stop they’d made since Hammett brought confrontation with it.
“Let me look here.”
“If we’re to have foamers at every town or every stop, we better think again about continuing through the night, Elliot.”
“We got the Indian reservation up ahead but I don’t think there’s much there—not on the highway at least. At the border, we got McDermitt but then, apart from a few lone buildings here and there, it doesn’t look like we have anything until we reach New Princeton. That’s about ten minutes from Burns, but we can avoid that town if we take a side road.”
What Elliot did, however, was avoid Jerry’s remark about nighttime travel. As far as Elliot was concerned, that part of the plan wasn’t up for debate. He knew it was far from safe, but was anything? Elliot didn’t go into details about how Cindy called to him—and not just in his sleep. He was positive during his recovery he’d heard her voice. Again, he’d heard it once they got on the road. As the driver and as the passenger he heard her voice.
He only wished—if she was going to speak with him through some form of telepathic connection—she could at least warn him of the imminent attacks.
Women! Sheesh!
The McDermitt Oregon State Airport was visible on their left as they roared through the town of the same name. The town only had a few sparse buildings and at their current speed, those were merely a blur.
Beyond the Brink_Toward the Brink IV Page 25