H10N1

by M. R. Cornelius

  A bump on the back of the van knocked Rick back on his butt. It took an instant to realize what had happened. Then he got pissed. “Okay, that’s it.”

  Wrenching out of his seat, he stomped to the gun cabinet for another rocket. Before he could get the missile loaded into the launcher, one of the redneck truck drivers tapped the van’s bumper again.

  “They probably think I’m loading up for another volley,” he called to Sanchez.

  “Really?” Sanchez dragged out her little sarcastic quip. “And they’re ramming the van to keep you off balance?”

  Okay, so he deserved that. “Just try and hold it steady until I get into position.”

  “Aye, aye, sir!”

  Rick growled from deep in his throat before realigning the boxes he had stood on before. Climbing up, he held the launcher in one hand while gripping the edge of the opening with the other. His shin was throbbing like a son-of-a-bitch, and his wrist was screaming. He’d have to do that bobbing squat again to get the launcher and himself through the hatch, knowing it was going to hurt like hell. All the more reason to make the shot.

  He counted in his head: one-two-wham!

  The van took a hard hit and Rick toppled off the boxes. He banged his shin on the way down, and instead of breaking his fall with his bad hand, he took the impact with his elbow; so now he could add that to his list of injuries.

  The guys in the trucks got tricky. One driver would bump the left side of the van, then the other guy would tap the right, trying to throw Sanchez off.

  She wasn’t into their game. The van lurched forward, picking up speed. But Rick knew there was no way to outrun those dudes.

  “Hang on!” she yelled at Rick. Then she slammed on the brakes.

  He managed to grip the open gun case door to keep from being thrown across the van. He heard the squeal of tires outside before one of the trucks bashed into the bumper. The back wall actually caved an inch or two. Guns flew off their brackets. Rick dropped the launcher.

  Still holding the cabinet door, he reached down to retrieve the gun, but Sanchez blasted off again, making a sharp swerve to the left. The launcher skidded away.

  Damn! He should have taken over the driving. He definitely had to get up front and see what the hell was going on. But Sanchez took her foot off the accelerator again. The cabinet door ripped of its hinges and Rick hurled into the boxes.

  “Now!” she yelled. “Get up there and shoot!”

  With another snarl, Rick righted the boxes, bounced his knees twice for momentum, and heaved the launcher and himself through the hatch.

  About a hundred feet back, one of the trucks sat on the pavement, its engine spewing steam. The second truck driver must have hesitated, maybe checking with his buddy, but he’d gotten the all clear because he was barreling toward the van.

  Bracing on his elbows, Rick aimed the launcher at the asshole’s windshield and fired. The guy was closing on the van fast. Hell, he was probably going to hit the van before the delayed rocket ignited.

  “Go!!” Rick screamed at Sanchez.

  He heard the engine whine as she gave it the gun. The gap widened between the van and the truck. At the last second, Rick realized flying shrapnel was eminent. Bracing for the pain, he let go of the roof and fell back down through the hatch.

  Sanchez didn’t slow down until she’d gotten back on Interstate 40. And then she picked a spot up on a ridge where they could see in both directions. She was trying to calm down, but Rick could see the cords in her neck flexing, watched her swallowing the fear.

  His own heart was racing like a mother, and his body ached all over.

  Once she had the van stopped, she blew out a long, shaky breath. “Shall we assess the damage?”

  He admired her grit. Most women would be blubbering by now, but Sanchez was definitely holding it together. And she was right. He needed to see if the van had been compromised.

  Wearily, he gripped the handle and opened the passenger door. But Sanchez reached an arm across to stop him. “I meant your leg.”

  He saw fresh blood soaking through his jeans.

  This time she was much gentler as she swabbed his wounds. She did seem a little disappointed that he wouldn’t need more stitches. As she dabbed his shin, her hand trembled.

  “You did good back there, Sanchez,” he said.

  She gave a slight shrug. “Sorry you got so banged around. It was all happening pretty fast.”

  “Yeah. Lucky for you I’m such a nice guy or I might be fussing at you right now.”

  Her lips fought between a smirk and a smile. The smile won.

  “You know,” he said, raising up on his last good elbow, “this is why you need to take the van. You’re not even halfway to Arizona. Once you’re out there on your own—”

  “I get it,” she said. “I’ll take the van.”

  “Atta girl.” Rick flopped back down onto the cot. Sure, he was relieved that she’d be safer in the van, but he was also a bit giddy that she’d be coming with him to Devin’s place in Arkansas.

  As she pressed the tape of a new bandage onto his leg, she said, “I wonder why those guys didn’t attack us at the lake. We were sitting ducks at that picnic table. They could have easily ambushed us and stolen the van.”

  Rick nodded. “I figure that was plan A. But by the time their reinforcements arrived, we’d packed up.”

  “They sure got that roadblock set up in a hurry.”

  “That might have been a contingency plan, in case we escaped from Plan A.”

  “You know, I don’t usually have this much bad luck,” she said, her left eye winked shut. “I’m beginning to think its you.”

  * * *

  The roads got narrower as Sanchez steered the van through the backwoods of Arkansas. Rick warned himself that once they got to Judith and Devin’s, The Doc might grab a quick bite to eat and take off immediately for Arizona. But a glimmer of hope made his heart do flip-flops. Maybe she wanted to spend more time with him, too.

  He stopped her at a dirt lane called Old Mine Road. “We go about two more miles and turn left.”

  The van lurched and bounced down the dusty road but after two miles there was nothing—not a lane, not a trail, not even a footpath—only a dense thicket of underbrush.

  “This has to be it.” Rick climbed out to have a look.

  He stepped up on the bumper and scanned the area. “It is. Look at the trees.” A gap split the forest in two. “They’ve been here so long, their road grew shut.” He hopped back down and brushed his hands.

  Sanchez balked at driving into the brush. “What if we get stuck halfway in?” Then just to prove how little she trusted him, she made him take the wheel.

  Rick was pumped. He plowed through weeds and brambles. Low branches slapped against the roof. Sanchez had to clutch her sissy strap with both hands as they rolled in and out of ruts. He came to a turn in the lane and skidded to a stop. For good measure, he threw the van in reverse, and backed between two trees.

  Ahead, he pointed out the booby trap Devin had set. A thin layer of limbs and pine straw covered a ditch four feet wide and just as deep. “Nobody gets in here without Devin knowing about it.”

  After closing the shutters, Rick locked the van and slipped the key card in his pocket. “Let’s go see if they’re home.”

  He grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels for the host and hostess.

  Sanchez followed as Rick limped down the rest of the trail and into a clearing. Just as the farmhouse came into view, a gunshot cracked and a bullet smashed the bottle, splattering whisky all over his pant leg.

  “Argggh.” He stared at the jagged neck, the Jack Daniels dripping off his hand. “Now that’s just wrong!” He hobbled into the yard, shaking the shard at the gun barrels sticking out of two upstairs windows. “You goddamn son-of-a-bitch. Why don’t you and your Jewish yenta come down here and try that, old man?” He threw the bottle neck at the house.

  One of the guns disappeared, then the other. The sound of fe
et stomped on stairs. The front screen door burst open and Judith flew off the porch, her tits bouncing under her tie-dyed dress.

  “Rick, you crazy bastard!” She leaped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. He staggered, gripping her thighs while she planted a long, wet kiss on him.

  “Who are you calling old?” Devin stepped out onto the porch wearing his signature overalls and looking like LLCoolJ on the farm. He slung his gun over his shoulder and smiled.

  Judith was still raining kisses on Rick’s face as Devin crossed the yard. Rick peeled her off and eased her to the ground. “Jesus, Dev. You need to give it to her on a more regular basis.”

  “Hell,” Devin sighed. “The woman wears me out.”

  They went through their elaborate soul-brother handshake, banging knuckles, sliding palms.

  “Still got the touch,” Devin said as his calloused fingertips brushed against Rick’s.

  Rick wiped the last bit of whisky on his friend’s bibs. “But why the booze, man? You should have taken out a leg.”

  “That’s what I was trying to do.”

  “Bullshit. You two were probably fighting over who got the shot.”

  Judith and Devin both chuckled.

  “Look at you, Farmer John.” Rick jangled one of the straps of his overalls. “You getting ready to plow the back forty?”

  “I wish.”

  Judith cleared her throat and nodded toward Sanchez.

  “Oh, shit.” Rick swung around. “This is the Doc. Sanchez.”

  She stifled a smirk and held out her hand. “It’s Taeya.”

  Judith and Devin exchanged a confused glance before they each shook hands with her.

  “Are you like, a doctor doctor?” Judith asked. “Or is that some kind of nickname?”

  “Yeah. I’m a real doctor.” She held up her medical bag to prove it.

  “What are you doing hanging out with Rick?” Devin asked.

  Sanchez looked a little uncomfortable. “That’s a long story.”

  “One of many,” Rick added.

  “Oh, goody. We love your rambling stories,” Judith said.

  “Good thing I brought more booze or you’d have to listen to them sober.”

  “Forget that, man. I got plenty of home brew.” Devin slapped Rick on the back. “So, did this epidemic chase you all the way out here to Arkansas?”

  Rick glanced at Sanchez. “I’m here to crash your party. She’s off to see the wizard.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  While Rick was busy embellishing what few facts he knew about the Biosphere, Taeya wandered through the front room of Devin and Judith’s house. It was like something out of a history book: a large stone fireplace with a huge stack of wood piled against the wall, wooden planks twice the width of the usual hardwood flooring, worn to a lustrous gray, and a large weaving loom that took up most of the area. Taeya also noticed a spinning wheel, and two armchairs that must have been handcrafted, angled in front of the fireplace.

  “Gee, you really are pioneers.”

  Judith smiled. “You mean Rick has finally stopped calling us long-haired hippie freaks?”

  “Well, you’re not anymore.” Rick rubbed his hand across Judith’s short red hair.

  Self-consciously, Judith tugged at a strand of hair that might have measured two inches. “I just got tired of the maintenance,” she said, then jerked Rick’s ponytail. “Not that there’s anything wrong with long hair.”

  They heard Devin banging around in the kitchen. Immediately, Judith rested a hand on each of their shoulders. “I want to go on record right here, that I had nothing whatsoever, to do with the making of his home brew.”

  In the kitchen, a black cook stove radiated heat. Steam rolled out of a large pot, but it smelled more like fabric than food. Hanging plants dried overhead, adding an herbal aroma.

  Taeya drifted toward the sink, drawn by the metal spout and handle. “Rick led me to believe you had to tote your water.”

  “Oh, no.” Judith pumped the handle and water gushed out into the trough sink. “We’re very progressive here. Although we do use an outhouse. And we aren’t wired for electricity.”

  Devin hoisted a jug and poured four glasses of amber liquid.

  “Take it easy on mine,” Judith warned.

  He handed a glass to Taeya. Rick held his up to the light.

  Devin beamed like a proud father. “I make it out of sweet potatoes.”

  “That would explain the freaky orange color.” Rick took a sip and shuddered. “Jesus, this is awful!”

  “Hey, it gets me where I want to go.”

  “Cheers.” Judith clinked her glass with the others, shot it down quickly then slammed her glass on the counter with a shiver. “God, I never get used to that taste.”

  Taeya sniffed hers.

  “Come on,” Rick chided. “Don’t be a baby.” He tickled her under the chin like she had back at the van while she was cleaning up his wounds.

  “We used to have lemons, but the tree got killed in a frost,” Judith told her.

  “It gets better after the first one,” Devin said.

  “No it doesn’t.” Judith gave Taeya a wink.

  They all stood watching Taeya, so she slugged it down. The moonshine burned all the way to her stomach. She coughed, her mouth wide open, gasping for air. Her eyes watered, her throat screamed in pain. Once she caught her breath, the bitter taste assaulted her.

  Devin hooted. “It’s all downhill from here.”

  “How about a chaser.” Judith glugged a thick orange liquid into Taeya’s glass. “It’s juice, made from carrots.”

  Without hesitating, she gulped it down to put out the fire. Not only did the juice soothe her burning stomach, it quelled her hunger pangs.

  Rick drifted over to the kitchen window. “So, how’s the farm?”

  “More of a struggle every year,” Devin said. “The deer have learned how to open the door to the greenhouse. Coyotes dig holes under the fence to get at the chickens.”

  Judith poked Devin in his belly, kidding him about all the rabbit stew he’d fixed trying to keep up with his catches. He objected to her insinuation that he was gaining weight.

  The harmless barbs they shot at each other were spoken with affection rather than disdain. Taeya knew from experience that some couples just weren’t comfortable with hand-holding and gentle whispers of love. She wondered what the community thought of a black man married to a white woman.

  Devin and Rick made some sign language that Taeya couldn’t interpret. Then Rick turned and touched her arm gently.

  “Uh, Dev and I have a short errand to run. Will you be okay?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. Why was he acting like the attentive boyfriend? Wouldn’t this behavior seem a little odd to his friends when she took the van and left in the morning? Or did he think she might stay on with him here? Not a chance.

  “Leave me the key,” she said. “I want to go get some shorts.”

  He gave her the key card without an argument and she slipped it into her pocket.

  “Here’s a good one for you, Dev,” Rick said as the two men headed out the door. He started in on the story of the dog attack as he and Devin hustled across the yard and up a dirt path into some woods.

  “Boys,” Judith said with a shake of her head, as though that explained everything.

  Taeya didn’t get it.

  “Devin’s got half an acre of marijuana.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Half an acre? That’s quite a crop for just the two of you.”

  “We’ve been using it to barter for a few years now. Out here, most folks grow their own food, but they don’t want to fool with pot.” Judith opened the back door and they both stepped out onto the porch.

  “So, you take your baggies to market?”

  “Sure. The ancient Egyptians traded in salt. The American Indians used beads, trappers used animal pelts.”

  With a snicker, Taeya said, “The natives of Borneo used human skulls.”<
br />
  “That probably won’t catch on here,” Judith said. “There’s a glut in that market.”

  Taeya nodded. “My older brother used to watch post-apocalyptic movies when he was a kid. They all had their own vision of what a valuable commodity might be, like water or fuel.”

  “Exactly.” Judith stepped off the porch. “I don’t suppose the Jack Daniels brewery will be up and running again anytime soon. So for a while, you can get a buzz from your home brew, or from marijuana.” Judith chuckled. “And believe me, Devin’s much better at growing pot.”

  The bleating of a goat caught Taeya’s attention.

  “Come on,” Judith said. “I’ll show you the farm. Or what’s left of it.”

  At the goat pen, Taeya laced her fingers through the chain links. She watched two new kids frolic, butting each other with their little horns. The nanny trotted over to the fence, hoping for a treat, and the kids tagged along.

  “Do you think they have goats at the Biosphere?” Taeya asked.

  “If they’re smart, they do. You can’t have cows on a small farm. They eat too much, shit too much. But if you want milk, you can’t beat goats.” A memory made her snicker. “Last time Rick was here, we had this pot-bellied pig, Gwendolyn. She followed him everywhere. Course we don’t bathe regularly out here, so maybe it was just his smell.”

  The high fence around the cornfield showed the numerous repairs Devin had made to keep the deer out. The heavy plastic covering a greenhouse had been patched many times.

  What a constant battle Judith and Devin fought—animals eating their crops, frost in the winter, drought in the summer. And with no refrigeration, everything had to be canned, stored, or consumed.

  Doubts clutched at Taeya. This Biosphere was totally self-sufficient. If they didn’t have it, or couldn’t produce it, they had to do without. Was she ready for that kind of survival?

  Taeya was slicing tomatoes when she heard Devin and Rick yodeling some song off-key. She glanced out the kitchen window to see the guys saunter into the yard. As if on cue, they both stopped and breathed in the aroma of the corn pudding baking in the oven. Rick broke into a sprint for the back door.