Plaguesville, USA

by Jim LaVigne

  Justin, lacking much else to do, went over to the boxes, took out a pack of candy, opened it up, and stuck a cane into his mouth. Instantly, his under-used salivary glands gushed at the sweetness and mint and, despite his usual dislike for sweets, he popped the rest into his mouth and crunched it up. Then he grabbed another. And another. He was reaching for a fourth when he realized that he shouldn’t eat too many at once or risk getting sick to his stomach and put it back. Besides, they had tons of the things.

  “Better watch out,” he told Teresa. “You don’t want to eat too many of those or you’ll get a stomach ache.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said disdainfully, crunching happily away. “Don’ worry about me, Case.”

  “Yes, well,” said Justin, “if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go get the others.”

  “Huh?” she said. “Oh yeah… them.” She shrugged. “Suit yerself. Jus’ keep an eye open, hey? Don’ forget, we got some greep on our ass, right?”

  “Yes, I remember,” he said. “And I’ll be right back.”

  On the walk back to the others, for a split second he thought of collecting them and running away, of taking the opportunity to escape Teresa while she was busy gorging on candy canes, but then gave it up as hopelessly useless; with Mr. Lampert, they wouldn’t make it two miles before Teresa would figure out they were gone and come after them. And besides, how would they survive without her? No, now was not the time to try that.

  Needless to say, none of the others was too thrilled that they’d found a huge cache of candy canes—as opposed to something like a fully-stocked supermarket—but the prospect of something—anything—other than soy paste and pet food to eat somewhat made up for it.

  Mr. Lampert insisted on making the walk down to the factory by himself and did so, albeit slowly and carefully, and within another ten minutes, they were all together again in the dusty, cobwebbed, barn-like building. Along the way, there was no sign that Justin could see of anyone following or spying on them.

  He led the others to the storeroom, where they found Teresa still gorging herself on refined sugar. Cass and Swails immediately fell upon the candy, but the Old Man stood back with Justin and watched the carnage.

  “Candy canes,” said Lampert. “What a weird-ass fuckin’ thing to stumble across. Well, I suppose they had to make the things somewhere. Me? I could never stand ‘em. Even when I was a kid.”

  Justin tried to imagine Howard Lampert as a child, some sort of little, wizened, miniature version, perhaps, but some fundamental part of his brain was either too tired or too unimaginative to even begin picturing it and he quickly gave up and smiled down at the Old Man.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m not especially fond of them, either. But they are essentially raw sucrose and, in lieu of anything else, do provide some much-needed calories.”

  “Yeah, I ‘spose,” said Lampert, looking around the place. “Makes ya wonder, though, don’t it? All these candy canes, just sittin’ here like this?”

  “What do you mean, sir? What’s to wonder about?”

  “Well, look at ‘em all,” said the Old Man. “All stacked up on pallets, shrink-wrapped and everything, all ready to go. I mean, what happened here? Just one day nobody showed up for work? Or the truck line that was supposed to pick ‘em up didn’t show? I dunno, I guess maybe it just gives me the creeps.”

  “Hmm,” said Justin. “Yes, it does have a sort of ghostly feel to, it doesn’t it? But maybe that’s just because most of the buildings we find are wrecked or burned. Here there are still all the signs of, well, of humans at work. Signs of life.”

  “Guess you’re right, Doc,” nodded Lampert. “Got sort of a Mary Celeste feel to it.”

  Justin was learning about this purportedly famous ghost ship from the 19th century, in Lampert’s roundabout way, when he noticed Teresa abruptly drop the candy cane she’d been about to eat and then, emitting a low groan, clutch her stomach.

  “Err,” she said, her gorgeous features twisted. “I don’ feel so strack.”

  Justin smiled and shook his head. “I told you not to eat too many,” he said smugly. “Your system isn’t used to processed, refined sugar. At least, not that much of it. But don’t worry. It will pass. You may feel a bit ill for a time, but it will wear off.”

  “Errgh,” said Teresa. “How long that take?”

  Justin shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he said, rather enjoying himself. “I’m no expert on gastro-intestinal problems. But I’d say, oh, a few hours, most likely. Unless you throw up, of course, in which case it would be much faster.”

  Teresa groaned again and, her perfect complexion going pale, suddenly staggered from the room. A few seconds later, they heard the sounds of violent retching. Having noticed this, Cass and Erin Swails each wisely had just one more before leaving the stacks of boxes and coming over to Justin and the Old Man.

  “She’s sick, Dr. Kaes!” whispered Cass avidly, sucking on a candy cane and eyeing the doorway. “Now’s our chance!”

  “Our chance?” said Justin. “To do what?”

  “To escape!” said Cass. “We could just run away, now, while she’s out of it! Or we could overpower her. There are three of us and only one of her!”

  Justin shook his head. “We can’t,” he said firmly. “It’s just as I said earlier: We’d be lost out here without her. We need her help.”

  Cass scowled and grumbled. “I suppose you’re right. It just galls me that we’re at the mercy of this teenaged survie. I mean, she’s just a kid!”

  “A kid,” Justin pointed out, “who has managed to survive everything the Fall has thrown at her. Don’t be deceived by her age, Cass. She’s one tough, capable young woman.”

  “Yeah, lady,” interjected Lampert. “I mean, it ain’t like I give a damn, but that little gal’s about your only hope now, what with no more trucks or food or any sorta clue as to where you’re goin’. If you had a brain in yer skull you’d see that. And besides, she’s fuckin’ hot!”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t hurt,” said Erin pointedly. “Does it, Dr. Kaes? After all, she is very pretty.”

  Justin felt himself blush slightly. “That has nothing to do with it. Because what she really is, at least as far as we’re concerned, is someone born and raised in this world. She knows it far better than we do. We simply can’t afford to be without her help.”

  “Uh huh,” said Erin dubiously. “Well, you’re the boss.”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” said Justin. “And I wish things were different. I wish Dr. Poole was still here, and Dr. Gonzalez and all the others as well. But they’re not. And for now? I fear we have little choice but to follow Teresa.” He paused with what he hoped was dramatic effect. Then: “Of course, I can’t force you to stay. I need your help with Mr. Lampert and I would be quite sad if you decided to strike off on your own, but still, I can’t make you come with us. If you want to run away… well, I can’t stop you.”

  “We’re not going to run away,” said Cass, offended. “But it’s still galling.”

  For her part, Erin Swails shrugged. “Don’t worry Dr. Kaes,” she said reasonably. “We’re with you. We’re just a little disconcerted.”

  “Of course you are,” said Justin. “That’s only normal, considering what we’ve been through.” He paused to listen for a moment and caught the sound of continued retching. He turned back to the others. “Well, at any rate, it doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere any time soon. I think we should take the opportunity to get some rest. This place seems safe enough, so why don’t we all bed down as best we can. Then we’ll take it from there. OK?”

  Erin and Cass both nodded, obviously relieved at this unexpected respite. Mr. Lampert, whose opinion wasn’t really being asked, just shrugged and kept silent. Justin, Cass, and Erin all spread out and, rooting around in the stacks of this and that, poking into old lockers and break rooms and offices, gathered what soft materials they could, made beds of sorts for each of them, and then, moaning and sighing, lay down for some mu
ch-needed rest.

  Justin, thinking about it, had to admit that he actually believed what he’d told Erin and Cass; despite the fact that she’d kidnapped him and that she wasn’t even able to countenance going back to save the rest of the CDC group, he’d come to understand that Teresa might be their only remaining chance at success.

  Chapter Fifteen

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  Examining the ground very carefully, the Hunter surveyed the small camp that Justin and the others had just abandoned and decided that, finally, he was back on the right track. Indeed, they were probably very close, maybe even in that big factory building. Grinning humorlessly, oblivious of the splendid weather and pleasing landscape, he faded back into the undergrowth and waited. He did a lot of that.

  He’d lost the CDC group after they’d fled St. Alferd’s and had spent the last two days catching up. He’d watched all of the goings-on over the last week, the dispatch of the search team (which he opted not to trail, deciding to stick with the main body), the arrival of the Motor gang, their inexplicable retreat before some really old man they trotted out from the big RV, and all of the various arguments and discussions. He’d also watched as the tall, good-looking guy who seemed to be in charge snuck off during some kind of crazy bonfire party. He was very tempted to follow the man, sure that he was up to something, but then had decided, again, to stick with the primary group.

  It had been the next day that another survie gang, a bunch of brown-uniformed men on motorcycles, had suddenly come blaring out of the dawn to raid the CDC party. Here the Hunter had almost given up hope for the poor doomed scientists, but apparently the gang wasn’t interested in mere mayhem; instead, they’d packed up the whole bunch and all of their gear and vehicles, and herded them off like cattle. The Hunter had thought for a second about helping the CDC group at that point, maybe just opening fire at the raiders from his place of concealment, but there’d been at least thirty gang members and they came and went so quickly, victims in tow, that by the time he’d thought it over, everyone was gone.

  And that, he’d told himself, was that. Game over. As he’d always expected it would, the CDC mission had failed. They’d had no idea how to survive, they’d come unprepared and now they’d paid the price. The end. Well, he thought, they hadn’t stood much of a chance, anyway. And if he’d lost a big fast bounty, at least now he could go find some decent work.

  But then he’d stopped and considered. What was the whole point behind these poor CDC bastards, anyway? What was their mission? To bring some old man—undoubtedly the very geezer he’d seen at their camp—to California, so as to use his blood to make a vaccine for the Sick. So did this, their abduction, really mean the end? Was his job really finished if he hadn’t actually seen the Old Man die? No, he decided. He wasn’t quite done. He’d have to follow the brown men and see for himself what became of the Old Man, because if he didn’t and the old fart lived somehow and the Governor found out about it, his own reputation would be shot to shit. No one would want to hire a hunter who gave up.

  And so he’d trailed the brown men, all the way to their quasi-military compound, and, again, had waited and watched. It hadn’t looked too good for the CDC people; from obvious signs, the Hunter could see plainly that their captors were cannibals. Most likely, they would kill and eat the whole CDC party with no more compunction than a dog with a bone. He’d seen cannibal survie gangs before and they almost always made short work of anyone unlucky enough to wander into their clutches. But still, something had told him to wait; who could say what wild-ass thing might happen?

  And sure enough, some wild-ass thing had happened and, through his rifle scope, he’d watched on UV as it had gone down. The girl from the Motor gang, the really pretty one with the hot body, had, out of apparently nowhere, appeared and gone to work. In a flash, she’d snipped through the fence, bent out the bars of the cell where some of the CDC guys were being held, and vanished inside. He’d admired that; it took some guts to break into a survie compound, especially when they were as well-armed (and cannibalistic) as this bunch. Who was this chick, anyway?

  Then the girl and a few of the others, including the tall guy who’d snuck off and the Old Man, had burst out of the place and, dodging shotgun pellets, run away. After a quick discussion with himself, he’d decided that the Old Man was his real target and had opted to trail the escapees, but it was at that point, leery of the mob of armed dudes on bikes, that he’d lost them.

  It had taken another whole day to find their trail because, whoever the girl was, she sure as hell knew how to travel without leaving a trail. Indeed, he only rarely spotted one of her boot prints. But finally, thanks mainly to the other escapees, who were not so careful about where they walked, he caught back up and, just this morning, had finally laid eyes on them again. And so now he sat and waited and watched and listened. Sooner or later, they’d come out of this factory, whatever it was, and, with any luck, resume their trip.

  This seemed like it had become a pattern. He would wait and watch, the CDC guys would get jumped or kidnapped or hijacked, and then he’d trail along in their wake until the next disaster. Except this time, the majority of them had been kidnapped and only a few had escaped; only the Old Man, two women, the tall man, and the girl remained. But, since his mission was to deliver the Old Man, one way or another, he was bound to follow the smaller group. Besides, the rest of the CDC people were probably all cannibal chow by now. And besides, he didn’t mind waiting and watching; it was his job.

  He was musing these and other points when there was a rustling in the undergrowth nearby. In one silent motion, he hit the ground and whipped out his pistol, but it turned out to be just some guy, a pale, younger man with long hair, whom he’d never seen before. The man came within fifty yards of the Hunter and he was taking aim to blow the dude away, whoever the hell he was, but then the newcomer veered away and headed down to the abandoned factory. The Hunter thought about zapping the dude anyway, just to keep him away from the precious CDC remnants and any possible trouble he might cause them, but then decided against it. Whoever the guy was, he wasn’t obviously armed, he was just one man, and he sure as hell didn’t look like any kind of a match for the banger girl. As he watched, the young man crept up to the factory and crawled in through a window. The Hunter just shrugged; whatever the guy was doing, it was none of his business. Settling back into the deeper weeds, unmindful of the bugs and the heat, he waited and watched.

  Chapter Sixteen

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  Groggy as he was, just waking up, Justin did not fail to notice when suddenly, from off somewhere in the vast factory, there came a noise, like metal falling on concrete. It was a small noise, and normally he would probably have written it off as rats or simple settling of the building itself, but Teresa’s assertion that they’d been followed suddenly popped into his head.

  A quick glance told him that Cass and Erin were still both asleep. What if this, the noise, was their pursuer, breaking into the factory? Or already inside? For a second he thought of going to investigate by himself but then, unarmed and aware of his own limitations, decided that he’d better tell Teresa instead. Oddly enough, he found her sitting with Mr. Lampert in a nearby office.

  “Hiya, Doc,” said Lampert, as Teresa rose from a comfy spot on the floor. “How’s tricks?”

  “Um… fine,” said Justin. “But I just heard something, out there in the factory. A noise, like metal fal
ling on stone.”

  “Yeh?” said Teresa warily, un-slinging her shotgun. “An’ it ain’t a rackety-coon or somethin’?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Justin said, almost whispering. “I just thought that you’d want to know.”

  Frowning, she knelt and dug in her satchel before coming up with a small flashlight, which she deftly slid into a socket near the shotgun’s muzzle. Switching this on and motioning for Justin to stay where he was, she silently padded off into the maze of factory machines. For what seemed like a long time, there was no sign of her, just a faint gleam from her flashlight bobbing around. Justin was about to go see what she was doing when suddenly he heard her voice ring out from somewhere not too far away:

  “OK, ya doopy greep,” she said, surprisingly authoritative. “C’mon outta there or I fill yer ass with lead!”

  There were some scuffling sounds and then another voice, a man’s, called out:

  “Don’t shoot! It’s just me, Bowler!”

  Bowler, thought Justin? The young man from the cannibal’s compound? But what was he doing here? The last they’d seen of him, he’d vanished into the night.

  Curious, and certain that Teresa had the situation under control, he walked across the factory floor and between some big machines to where Teresa stood, keeping guard with her gun on the spindly, shaggy-haired figure of Bowler. The young man looked up fearfully as Justin approached and then slumped in evident relief.

  “Bowler?” said Justin. “What are you doing here? I mean, it’s obvious you followed us from St. Alferd’s, but why?”

  Bowler shrugged miserably. “Got nowhere else to go,” he said. “Those goddamn cannibals took all my stuff, I got no weapons or food or transportation. You guys just gotta let me come with you!”

  “We ain’t gotta do nothin’,” Teresa said. “If y’all want some chow, there’s all them boxes o’ candy over there. Yer welcome to that. But you ain’t comin’ with. Forget it.”