H10N1

by M. R. Cornelius

  Were other car thieves too fearful to move the body?

  She trotted back to Rick. “Let me have that knife.”

  His eyebrows furrowed, but he slid the Ka-Bar out of its sheath and handed it to her. She cut the seat belt strap to free the man’s leg, and his body slumped the rest of the way to the pavement with a soft squishing sound.

  Stepping across the body, she perched a knee on the driver’s seat and turned the ignition key to auxiliary power. The gasoline needle barely rose to a quarter of a tank. At least it wasn’t empty. Hopefully, some of the other cars had enough fuel that she could siphon off another quarter tank or more.

  She pumped the gas a couple times, then cranked the SUV. Leaning out of the opened door, Taeya gave Rick a thumbs up. Then she asked, “I don’t suppose you have a garden hose in the van.”

  He gave a quick snort and stomped back to the gas station. She thought about offering him a ride, but decided he was too freaked out to accept. After jockeying the car out of the queue, she turned around and headed to the station. But when she pulled into the parking lot, Rick was nowhere in sight. The van was still in the street, but she didn’t see Rick in the driver’s seat.

  After cautiously climbing out of her new car, she swept a full turn with her Beretta extended at arm’s length. The air pump was just beyond a row of cars queued in the parking lot. She was sawing through the air hose with her knife when she heard a crash inside the convenience store. Her heart lurched, and the skin on her scalp prickled. Dropping the knife, she yanked her gun out of her waistband and held it with both hands. She bolted back to the SUV, all the while aiming at the broken front door of the store.

  Was it Rick or a looter? Had he gone inside for some reason and been ambushed? She hadn’t heard a gunshot, but that didn’t mean anything. She dashed for a Tahoe closer to the building, hoping to get a look inside. Too dark. But she could still hear shuffling as though someone was sifting through debris.

  If she called out, and it wasn’t Rick, she would alert the intruder to her presence. She decided to duck down behind the Tahoe’s front fender and wait.

  Footsteps crunched on broken glass. Whoever it was, they were right at the door. She blew out quick bursts of air as she counted silently to three, then sprang up, steadied the Beretta on the Tahoe’s hood, and took aim.

  Rick stepped through the doorframe, each of his hands gripping two jugs of windshield washer fluid.

  Taeya let out a breath that actually croaked. He scowled when he saw her pointing the gun at him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

  “What are you doing?” She nodded at the jugs.

  He unscrewed the cap on one of the jugs and began pouring the fluid on the ground. “You can suck on a hose if you want, but I never acquired a taste for gasoline.”

  Once the first jug was empty, he strode over to a car, and after taking a quick look around, he crawled under the chassis. She watched him pull a hammer from his belt, and pound a nail into the underside. When he wrenched the nail back out, she saw a trickle of fluid. He quickly stuck the jug under the leak. He’d poked a hole in the gas tank.

  As he crawled back out from under the car, he glanced up at her. “You don’t really expect me to do all this myself, do you?”

  Taeya snatched up the next jug and emptied out the windshield fluid, then dashed to the next car where Rick was waiting with hammer poised. Once a jug was full, she’d hand him an empty replacement, then scurried to the SUV and dumped the gas in. She was pouring in her fourth gallon when she heard a noise.

  From the high-rise apartment complex across the street, Taeya saw a woman emerge from one of the front entrances. Out on the sidewalk, the woman took furtive glances left and right before she dashed to the street on tiptoes. She didn’t stop until she had ducked between two abandoned cars near the gas station.

  “Help me,” the woman pleaded in a hoarse whisper. “Take me with you, please.”

  Taeya dragged the surgical mask that had been hanging at her chin back over her mouth and nose.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “I’m not sick. I promise.” The desperate woman twisted to see if anyone had followed her. “I have lots of cash.”

  Digging into the pocket of her slacks, the woman produced a large roll of bills. “I’ve got over four thousand dollars. It’s yours if you get me out of here.”

  “I’m sorry,” Taeya said. “But you’ll have to find your own transportation.”

  “All the cars are locked. Or there’s dead people in them!”

  Taeya gave the woman a reassuring nod. “You can do it.”

  After checking her surroundings again, the woman crept into the parking lot. “I’ve got jewelry. And shoes. Over fifty pairs of size seven and a half. Jimmy Choo, Mark Jacob, Chloe. And boots. Christian Louboutin.”

  Interesting what different people found valuable.

  As the woman listed her possessions she continued to inch her way toward Taeya. Although her long red hair looked matted and dirty, Taeya imagined that at one time the woman must have taken great pride in her appearance. She wore expensive trousers and a stylish blouse, although they looked rumpled. No dry cleaning anymore. The woman had even made the effort to put on a gold belt.

  How would people like her survive surviving? Women who were afraid to go it alone, to take chances.

  “Please stay back!” Taeya raised her voice. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “I’m running out of food,” the woman said. “People are roaming the streets—.”

  “Then find a car.” Taeya kept her voice calm but firm. “I’ll leave you this jug. You can use it to siphon gas like we did.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Taeya caught movement farther down the block. A man wielding a club had come out of a different entrance to the apartment complex. He strolled toward Taeya, tapping the wood against the palm of his hand. It looked like a leg from a dining room table.

  Another man sprinted out of the same entranceway and across the street, carrying a similar club. He disappeared behind a pharmacy.

  Taeya pulled the Beretta out of her waistband and pointed it at the man still striding toward her. “Hold it right there.”

  Stifling a scream, the woman ducked back between two cars. “Shoot him!” she insisted.

  Oh, sure. The woman could not bring herself to steal a car, but showed no compunction in urging Taeya to kill.

  The man with the table leg took advantage of Taeya’s distraction to trot closer. Aiming over his head, she took a warning shot. Then she scanned the parking lot behind her. The second man stood at the corner of the convenience store, waiting.

  Another gun fired and bricks beside the man’s face shattered. He quickly jumped back.

  Jerking her head around, Taeya saw Rick standing behind the Tahoe in front of the store.

  “I’ll give you motherfuckers five seconds to clear out,” Rick yelled.

  He looked to see if the man on the sidewalk was running away, but he had ducked behind a car out in the street. Taeya watched Rick’s jaw harden; then he fired a steady volley at the car. The windshield shattered first, then the side windows from front to back. Glass rained onto the pavement. Bullets ticked along the body of the car until they hit the back tire with a loud bang. The car rocked from the impact.

  Then Taeya heard the crack of a gun farther away, and the window in the Tahoe exploded. Reeling away, Rick dove under a car at one of the gas pumps.

  Frantically, Taeya searched to see where the shot had come from. Up on the roof of the apartment complex, she spotted a man with a rifle.

  “He’s on the roof!” she yelled at Rick.

  The rifleman fired again, and the man on the sidewalk slammed against the car before sliding to the ground.

  Cowering between cars, the woman held her hands on her ears as she whimpered. “Oh, dear God, dear God!”

  Rick crawled on his belly to the island of gas pumps, then using one as a shield, he raised to hi
s knees and fired several rounds at the rifleman.

  “Shit!” he hissed. “He’s out of range. We’ve got to get out of here. These guns are no match for whatever he’s got.”

  Taeya stared at Rick, unsure of what he meant.

  “Let’s go, Sanchez,” he snarled. “Leave the car.”

  “No way!” She backed toward the SUV.

  “Are you shitting me?” Rick growled. “Let it go. We can find another one.”

  Clenching her jaw, she shook her head.

  “Oh, for crissakes,” Rick mumbled to himself. “I’m going to get killed for a friggin’ Ford.”

  Before she could argue, Rick barked, “Cover me!” and ran for the van.

  Squeezing hard on the trigger, she fired a continuous barrage of bullets at the man on the roof. At the same time, Rick blasted away with his gun. The noise alone caused the rifleman to back away from the edge.

  Taeya checked behind her to be sure the other club man wasn’t sneaking up. A moment later, Rick jumped back out of the side door of the van with a high-powered assault rifle. Bracing the muzzle on the side mirror of the van, he took aim and fired at the man on the roof. Bullets ripped into the brick at the roofline. The man fell back, but Taeya wasn’t sure if he was hit or just regrouping for his next attack.

  Swinging around, Rick sprayed another round at the convenience store, but the man who had been lurking there was nowhere in sight.

  Rick jumped into the van and started the engine. “Wake up, Doc!” he yelled out of the side door. “If you’re going, then go!”

  She sprang into the driver’s seat and cranked the car.

  The woman crawled out from under a car, one hand held up to plead one last time. Taeya shook her head sorrowfully.

  “I would have helped you!” the woman cried.

  Taeya slammed the door shut and hit the gas. The man from the side of the convenience store barreled out, brandishing his table leg. He leaped onto the hood of the car and banged on the windshield. The glass splintered like a spider web.

  Out on the street, Taeya turned sharply to the left and the man rolled off, taking one of the windshield wipers with him.

  She caught Rick’s gaping expression as she sped past the van. A tick-tick-tick of bullets ricocheted off the back of the SUV, but within seconds she was out of range from the man on the roof.

  Taeya didn’t stop until she reached a bridge on the expressway. Then when she was sure it was safe, she wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, climbed out of the SUV and scurried back to the waiting van to retrieve her supplies.

  Rick stood in the side doorway with his hands on his hips. “I’ve seen some crazy stunts in my life—”

  She held up a hand to stop him, then climbed up and pushed him out of the way. “Let me just get my stuff and I’ll be on my way. You’ll be free of me and on your way to work in ten minutes.”

  Curiosity got the best of her, and she yanked the tarpaulin off Rick’s stack of gourmet foods in the back of the van. Behind those cases, she discovered big 40-pound bags of flour, sugar, and rice. There was a case of honey in those little bear-shaped bottles, canned goods, even powdered milk. He also had a box of first-aid supplies, bandages, ointments, Ibuprofen. She counted six cases of MREs.

  Wheeling around, she nearly bumped into Rick.

  “Why the pretense?” she asked. “You’re running just like me.”

  He gave a slight shrug.

  “How long have you been planning this little getaway?”

  “Since the day I took the job,” he boasted.

  “And we didn’t drive to D.C. because you were going to work. You knew the roads were clear.”

  Another shrug.

  “So what happens if I decide to follow you?” she asked.

  “You’ll have to stop for gas eventually.”

  So, the man wasn’t a total jerk. He knew a route out of the city and was going to let her follow. Then a more logical answer crossed her mind. The Walter Reed medical complex was just a few miles south of the beltway. Now that she had her own vehicle, did Rick think she might run down there and rat him out for stealing New York’s van?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Rick had made a trial run from Arlington to Front Royal the week before. Forty-some miles of traffic snarls and wreckage along Interstate 66. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t impossible either. The worst was the first ten miles, from I-495 to Centreville. The inbound lanes were less congested than the outbound, so he headed onto the off-ramp and drove west, dodging the few cars that had still been heading into the city.

  At least all the zigzagging kept his mind off the Doc. He’d checked his rearview mirror a hundred times to make sure she wasn’t taking a detour into the city, but she was still right behind him.

  His attention was drawn to the cars along the highway. In the cities, the cars had mostly been abandoned, but out here on the open road, it looked like a parade of carnage. One car had been rear-ended by another. Both drivers were slumped over their steering wheels, but the passenger door was open on the back car. Half a mile farther, Rick spotted a dead woman, curled up in a fetal position, on the side of the road. She’d survived the crash, but not the flu.

  Back in a field, he spotted a small campsite with three bodies decaying in the hot sun. A family? Another car held five passengers. In the middle of the back seat, Rick glimpsed a guy’s head tipped way back onto the headrest, his mouth wide open. The dead woman propping him up had her cheek pressed against her window. The glass was smeared with blobs of crud that she must have coughed out. In this heat, would so much vile pressure build up inside that the windows would eventually blow?

  A pickup lay on its side where it had careened off the road and down an embankment. It looked like the driver had tried to push open his door, but it must have fallen back down, crushing his hand. All four fingers were stuck in the door.

  How the hell was all this going to get cleaned up? Who was going to draw the short straw on hauling away the disgusting detritus?

  Rick sped up. Once he got past Centreville, the barrier along the middle of the interstate gave way to wide medians of grass and trees. He relaxed, rotated his stiff shoulders, and checked his rearview again. The brilliant doctor was still following. He had to ditch her soon.

  She almost got him killed back there. Hell, she nearly shot him herself! He couldn’t afford to waste any more time. And he certainly wasn’t going to get out of the van again—for any reason.

  Another annoyance niggled at his brain. What was the Doc doing snooping at his supplies? She thought she was real clever, figuring him out. Well, he’d done all the helping he intended. From here on, she was on her own.

  He spotted a traffic snag ahead. Slowing down, he aimed for the median and crossed to the other side. The Doc’s SUV bounced across, fish-tailing in the mud he intentionally drove through. Rick chuckled, then zoomed onto the westbound lanes, passing a sign for the Manassas battlefield.

  Ahead, he saw the first humps of the Appalachian foothills, and wide-open highway. Thank God. He needed to make up for lost time.

  Raising a hand to give Miss Pain-in-the-Ass a wave goodbye, Rick glanced one last time in his rearview. Ho-ho! The Doc was stuck in the mud. He watched her wheels spin, throwing mud and grass high into the air. Perfect. She’d never see him turn off the interstate, never guess where he was headed.

  He hoped she’d have to slog through the mud to find something to use for traction under those back tires. Taking his foot off the accelerator, Rick let the van slow as he kept an eye on her. Maybe he’d get to see her slip and fall on that fine ass of hers before he crested a hill.

  She stopped spinning her tires, and that’s when he saw a man step out of the thin stand of trees in the median. Rick hit the brakes.

  “Shit! Where’d he come from?” Rick rolled down his window to get a better look. The guy was heading straight for the Doc’s car.

  He knew Sanchez had the Beretta.

  “Shoot,” Rick muttered, waiting to
see the quick flash, to hear the pop. If she was smart, she’d hit the guy three times, head, chest, gut.

  The guy took two more steps. Rick gritted his teeth. “Shoot now, Sanchez.”

  What the hell was she doing? The guy was almost to the car. Rick leaned out of the window and screamed, “Shoot, goddammit!”

  His heart was beating so hard it felt like it was in his throat. The guy was standing right outside Sanchez’ window now. Hadn’t she just been through this crap in D.C.? Or did she think she was going to talk her way out of this one?

  Well, it was too late to decide the guy was dangerous. No doubt, he was aiming a gun at her head, and ordering her out of the car.

  Rick jerked the wheel to the left to zip across the median, but some idiot in the highway department decided this was a good place for a concrete barrier. Rick had been too busy keeping tabs on Sanchez to notice. He threw the van into reverse.

  Why didn’t she just plug the guy when she had a chance? What is it with women? Always giving people the benefit of the doubt. Falling for every trick in the book. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised to see her roll down the window to give the guy directions.

  Rick glanced out his window. Sanchez was still in the car. Oh, what? Now she finally got it, and was refusing to cooperate? Like the guy wouldn’t just blow a hole in her head, yank her dead body out of the car, and drive off? What was she thinking?

  Rick pulled forward in an awkward three-point turn, since the same idiot in the highway department had added a guardrail at the right shoulder.

  Shit! He should have cut harder on the reverse. Now the van was sideways on the highway, and he had very little room to maneuver. His sweaty hands slipped on the steering wheel as he wrenched it to the left.

  He hadn’t heard a gun fire yet. That was good. He shot another quick glance at the Doc.

  Okay, she was out of the car. “Give him the keys and walk away,” Rick yelled.

  But the Doc and the man seemed to be standing there talking. What, was she describing all the wonderful bonus items he was getting with his brand new car? Rations, water, jars of marinated mushrooms.