Chucklers: Laughter is Contagious

by Jeff Brackett

  “Where are we going?”

  “We need to get where those people can’t see us anymore, or they’re going to keep coming.”

  Matt grunted and turned left. “Good thinking.” He slowed, and after another block, the GPS finally pinged that it had completed its rerouting.

  “Where to?” Matt asked.

  Erica cursed. “It wants us to turn around.”

  “Well that sure as hell ain’t happening.” Matt continued to drive straight.

  She tapped the screen several times, taking it out of trip mode, and activating the map function. The GPS showed about a nine block grid and showed her that they were on Ruiz Street. She tapped the minus symbol on the screen to zoom out until she could see the freeway system surrounding the downtown area.

  “There’s a freeway up ahead,” Matt said. “Can you see where the closest entrance ramp is?”

  “I think there’s one up ahead on the left.”

  “Good.” He drove to the freeway and turned left, shaking his head as he saw the ramp ahead of them. “Figures.”

  There was a ramp, all right. But it was another exit ramp, and it rose up toward another source of billowing black smoke. He looked at Erica. “What do you think?”

  She considered only a second. “We already know what’s behind us.”

  “True enough.”

  Matt drove around a small, two-car accident near the base of the ramp and drove toward the smoke. As they reached the top, he whistled. “That must have been one hell of a sight last night.”

  In front of them, a fuel tanker had driven off of the overpass above, landed on several cars on the freeway before them, and the entire conflagration had left nothing more than a charred and twisted mass of metal and plastic. Most of the flames were out by now, though some small flickers still showed inside a couple of blackened chassis on the road. But while there was no longer any real danger from the fires, there was no way they were getting past the twisted wreckage blocking the freeway. “Looks like we’re going to have to keep heading south for a while.” Matt drove to the top of the ramp and turned the Xterra onto the freeway, heading southward on I-59.

  They made good time for a few minutes, as the inferno behind them had blocked any traffic from making it this far on the freeway. But after only a few miles, more cars began to appear… more cars, and more wrecks. Within five minutes, they were once more driving at a maddeningly slow pace, winding their way through wrecks every few yards.

  Erica put the GPS back to finding them a new route to Montgomery, and eventually, it quit trying to get them to turn around, and selected a route that took them from I-59 onto the Gulf Freeway toward Galveston. It wanted them to then cut to the 610 loop, routing around the east side of Houston and travel back north to I-10.

  When the ramp onto 610 proved impassable, they rerouted yet again, once more heading farther south. This time, their goal was the Sam Houston Parkway. It was a roundabout way of getting there, but by that time, Erica really didn’t care. She just wanted to get out of the nightmare that downtown Houston had become.

  Chapter 71

  Linton Bowers

  Losing It

  “We got runners on the right,” Emmet called out. “They’re moving to cut you off, Lesslie. You’re gonna have to punch it.”

  Lesslie hesitated. “Lots of debris on the freeway. I’m not sure we can—”

  “If you don’t speed up, they’re going to be blocking the road. You gotta move it!”

  Linton leaned over the back seat to see the crowd running at them from the right. “He’s right, Lesslie. It’s what might happen with the debris, or what we know will happen if that crowd gets us.”

  “Shit.” Lesslie sped up and the sedan bounced as they drove over bits and pieces of automobile wreckage. “Getting on the freeway like this was a mistake.”

  Linton silently agreed, but figured there wasn’t any use worrying about it at the moment. There were more important things to concentrate on. He jumped at the sound as the tires threw pieces of twisted metal up to strike the undercarriage. They hit with thuds and pops loud enough to make him wonder if they weren’t tearing the car apart.

  “Gotta go faster. They’ll be in front of us in about ten seconds!” Emmet’s voice sounded a little panicked, even through his voicemitter.

  Linton felt the car accelerate more as Lesslie put the gas pedal to the floor, and the car bounced more violently across the debris field. The sounds of debris hitting under the car were deafening. Michelle moved beside him, calmly drawing her pistol and making sure there was a round in the chamber. Linton nodded, and did the same.

  “Not gonna make it,” Lesslie said through gritted teeth.

  “Yes you will,” Linton reassured her. “Just don’t let off that gas, no matter what.”

  “And if they get in front of us?”

  Linton caught her eyes in the rearview mirror. “No matter what,” he repeated.

  She looked a bit panicked, but nodded.

  “Everybody got their seatbelts on?” Linton yelled. “Lesslie, you’re probably going to clip the leader. Don’t stop no matter what, you hear me?”

  “Oh god. I don’t know if I—”

  “If you stop, we’re all dead!”

  The frontrunner of the mob stepped out in front of them. Lesslie swerved to the left, scraping the driver’s side of the vehicle along the concrete center barrier. Sparks flew, and Linton gritted his teeth at the jarring sound of metal scraping concrete just outside his window.

  Ultimately, even swerving as far as she did wasn’t enough. The man folded over the hood of the car with a jolt that shook them all. But Lesslie did as she had been told, and her foot never left the accelerator.

  “Holy shit!” Emmet shouted, as the man hit the windshield right in front of him before bouncing violently off the car and into the rest of the crowd. Linton had a brief flash of his face as it splattered blood on the broken glass. Even as the man had died, he had been laughing.

  Then they were past the crowd and tearing down the freeway. Linton felt his heart pounding in his chest, and he was breathing so heavily he wondered if he was in danger of hyperventilating. When he felt he could speak, he asked, “Everyone okay?”

  They all nodded, but no one actually said anything.

  Linton looked behind them as the crowd fell behind. When he felt they were in no danger of the mob catching them, he touched Lesslie on the shoulder. “That was a great piece of driving, but you can slow down now.”

  He watched her in the rearview as she swallowed nervously and nodded. She let off the gas and they began to slow.

  “Damn!” Emmet said, following it with, “I can’t believe we made it!”

  Linton glanced over to see that his wife was crying. He put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

  She sniffed and nodded.

  “We made it!” Emmet repeated, and pumped his fist against the ceiling. “Yeah!”

  And he started to laugh. “We made it. We… heh… we fucking made it! Heh heh… Oh no…” He spun to look back, and through his mask, Linton could see a look of horror in his eyes. It only lasted a second, and then his friend’s eyes widened and he was suddenly laughing. He jumped toward Lesslie, and only the fact that he still wore his seatbelt saved her. She screamed, swerving the car as she pulled her body against her door, straining to stay out of his reach.

  But while he might not be able to jump at her, she was easily within reach of his fists. Linton reached forward, trying to restrain his old friend, but his own seatbelt held him back at first, and Lesslie screamed again as Emmet pistoned a fist at her. Lesslie’s head fell sideways, and Michelle screamed as the car swerved out of control.

  Linton looked up to see the rear end of a trailer just before they impacted.

  * * *

  He couldn’t have been out for more than a few seconds, but the sound of approaching laughter jolted him awake like ice water in the face. Linton looked over at his wife. “Michelle?” He shook her
shoulder and she groaned. “Michelle! Wake up, they’re coming.”

  Her eyes flicked open at that. She blinked a few times and fumbled with her seatbelt.

  “You all right?”

  She nodded as she grabbed her pack and rifle from where they had fallen to the floor. She looked up, and gasped. Linton followed her gaze to the front seat. Lesslie sat, eyes closed, twisted against the driver’s side door. She was still and unmoving, and blood seeped down the window behind her head. He reached over the seat and checked her pulse, confirming what he feared. “She’s dead.” The airbag had deployed on impact, but she had already been twisted against the door where she’d tried to get away from Emmet. The violence of the deployment had slammed her head into the door frame hard enough to kill her.

  Linton looked over at Emmet. His old friend still breathed, but was unconscious. Still, the man chuckled lightly as he slept.

  The sound of laughter outside got louder.

  “Lint, we gotta go!” Michelle threw her door open and crouched, shouldering the rifle.

  Linton scrambled across the seat and got out beside her. The crowd was less than a hundred yards away. He reached back into the car to grab his own gear and weapons. Seeing Emmet beginning to stir, he opened the front door and yanked his friend’s pistol from his holster.

  “Outta time, Lint!”

  He looked once more at Emmet, remembering his thoughts about whether or not his friend would be able to kill him if he went crazy. He raised the pistol in his hand, put it against Emmet’s head.

  “Linton! We have to go. Now!”

  Unable to bring himself to pull the trigger, he turned and picked up his pack. Together, he and Michelle ran between the wrecks, heading down the freeway.

  Chapter 72

  Charles Griffe

  “Who’s Fred Hartman?”

  Taking the announcements to the rest of the group had been a good news, bad news situation. Everyone had been saddened by the loss of Shane. But other than his girlfriend Julie, none of them had known him all that well, but he had been one of their number, and that counted for something. The news about Houston had been welcome, and if Chris hadn’t prefaced the announcement with the now standard warning about laughter, it would have undoubtedly been received with smiles and whoops of joy.

  Charlie had asked Tabby and Chris to give him a few minutes to let Felicia know about his bite before they told everyone else. They had agreed, and while they were talking, he pulled Felicia aside.

  “What is it, Charlie?”

  “It might be nothing. But I figured you should hear it from me, just in case.”

  Her face got serious. “You’re worrying me, sweetie. What’s wrong?”

  “When we were up on the bridge, there was a fight. A bunch of the crazy people attacked us.”

  “That’s when they killed Shane?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was so terrible. I wonder if we’ll ever find out who his family was. Someone will need to let them know what happened when we get to Houston.”

  “Felicia? This ain’t about Shane. Focus, baby.”

  “Sure. I’m sorry, sweetie. It’s just…”

  “I got bit, Felicia. One of the crazies bit me.”

  Felicia’s jaw snapped shut and her brow wrinkled as she processed what he told her.

  Yeah, she ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Is she, boy?

  “Does that mean you’re going to get crazy, too?” Genuine fear showed in her eyes, and she unconsciously pulled a bit farther away from him.

  “We don’t know. Until we know more, you should probably stay close to Tabby and Chris.”

  “Do they know?”

  “Yeah.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds, thinking about it. “Charlie?”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Are you gonna die?”

  He pulled her close, feeling closer to her than he had in quite some time. “No, baby. I’m gonna beat this thing. Like I said, we don’t even know how this stuff spreads. It probably won’t have any effect.”

  She looked unconvinced.

  He hesitated before finishing. “But if you see me start smiling or laughing, you run and tell Tabby or Chris, okay?”

  Her eyes widened as she once again realized what he was telling her. “You’re scaring me, Charlie.”

  He wanted to smile at her, convince her with his cheerfulness that everything would be all right. But he couldn’t even do that. For all they knew, smiling would trigger the craziness that had taken over the ship. And if he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he didn’t really feel much like smiling anyway. “Yeah, I’m scaring me, too.”

  * * *

  Charlie awoke to the sensation of Tabby gently shaking his shoulder. He blinked, trying to force his eyes to focus. “What? What time is it?”

  She kept her voice low, so as not to awaken Felicia, who slept on the floor beside him. “It’s a little after one. You seen Chris?” she asked.

  “I haven’t seen anything but the inside of my eyelids for a while now. Why?”

  “He was acting all worried earlier. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but Celina needed some help with Merl. He’s got a heart fibrillation, and he’s out of his meds. I wanted to see if Chris could take some of us to the ship’s infirmary.”

  Charlie looked down at Felicia sleeping beside him, then quietly got to his feet. “I’ll help you find him.”

  It took them almost an hour, but they finally found him back in an office on the mess deck, cursing quietly at a computer screen. Tabby and Charlie looked at one another before Tabby interrupted Chris’s tirade. “Chris?”

  Chris grabbed his meat cleaver off the desk and whirled. He relaxed when he saw them and turned back to the screen. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on people, what with…” he waved the cleaver absently in the air, “…all this crap going on.”

  “Sorry,” Tabby said. “Something wrong?”

  Chris’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, something’s wrong.” He turned back to face them. “I think we need to go back up to the bridge.”

  “What!” Charlie was shaking his head before Chris could say any more. “No fucking way! We barely made it out last time.”

  Tabby put her hand on his arm to calm him down, looking at Chris the entire time. When Charlie clamped his jaw shut, she asked Chris once more, “What’s wrong?”

  With a huge sigh, he pointed at the computer screen. “Fred Hartman.”

  Charlie and Tabby stepped closer to the monitor. “Who’s Fred Hartman?” Charlie asked.

  Tabby was closer to the screen, blocking his view. “Not who.”

  “What?”

  She nodded. “Exactly.”

  Charlie blinked, trying to figure out where the conversation had derailed. Tabby stepped aside and pointed him to the screen. “Fred Hartman is a bridge.”

  Charlie peered at the screen and saw that it displayed a web page. Fred Hartman Bridge Statistics. With the power back online, Chris had managed to get to the internet. Displayed on the screen was a page that explained the history of how the bridge had been built. On the right hand side of the web page was a column that showed number of lanes, length of spans, and a variety of other specifics. A small paragraph was highlighted.

  The Fred Hartman is a cable-stayed bridge that traverses the Houston Ship Channel as part of State Highway 99 (aka The Grand Parkway). It is 147 feet wide, 436 feet high at the apex of the pylons, with a vertical clearance of 262 feet. Clearance beneath the bridge is 178 feet.

  He remembered Chris’s comment about the Bahama Queen being a floating, eighteen-story luxury hotel. “Didn’t you tell us the ship was about two-hundred-fifty feet tall?”

  Chris nodded. “And that’s why we have to get back up to the bridge. I need to reprogram our course. Otherwise,” he looked at his watch, “we crash into the Hartman in about two and a half hours.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Charlie looked at his watch.

  “So what
do we do, then?” Charlie was surprised to hear his own frustration echoed in Tabby’s voice. She was usually the calm one of their little trio. “Are we supposed to just float around out here until we run out of food and water? Or maybe we’re supposed to jump overboard and swim the last hundred miles to shore?”

  “No, I’ll reprogram the course to stop us in the middle of the Ship Channel, and then we can launch one of the life boats.”

  Charlie blinked. That actually sounded like a good idea. He hadn’t even considered the life boats. Then he took the thought a little farther. “Why don’t we just shut the engines back off and take one of the life boats to shore now?”

  “They don’t have that kind of range. They’re only designed to get people off the ship and keep them in the same area for rescue. Their range is only about ten miles or so. But if we get into the Ship Channel and drop anchor, we can take one of the life boats to shore and get with the Port Authority. Let them figure out what to do with the rest of the passengers, crazy or otherwise.”

  Charlie nodded. “That makes sense.” He wiped his hand across his face. “I’m just not wild about making another run to the bridge. We barely made it out of there alive. What if another group of crazies catch us?”

  “Look, I’m open for any better ideas. You got any?”

  Charlie looked to see if Tabby had anything. When she shook her head, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “All right. When?”

  Chris shrugged. “It’s not going to get any better if we wait. Is there anything you need to do here?”

  “You mean you want to go now?”

  “Unless you have something better to do.”

  “Hang on,” Tabby said. “Who are we taking? You don’t mean just the three of us, do you? There were four of us before, and we’re down one person.”

  Chris shook his head. “Who else? There’s no one else in the group who’s in good enough shape for something like this. The rest of the group is either too old, or too…” Chris looked at Charlie, “delicate.”

  “Me? Delicate?”

  “I meant Felicia.”

  “Hang on. That actually brings up a good point. We need to talk about Charlie, too.” Tabby looked embarrassed as she turned to face him. “How are you feeling?”