He knew immediately why Dawson squealed out an ‘ew’. A part of Mr. Westerman’s hand was all by itself a good ten feet from the other remains. Probably tossed aside when he was getting chopped up.
The closer he got he could see a bit of shredded shirt, a few bones, and what remained of Mr. Westerman’s torso. It was mowed clean.
“Hopefully, he didn’t have the key in his shirt pocket,” Dawson said. “Should we check the grass.”
“If it’s in the grass we won’t see it with all the water.”
Judd cringed both facially and internally. He hated, really hated that he actually was going to check the lower remains of Mr. Westerman. Was it worth it? Did they really need to take that boat? What it they just found that Bruce’s Boat place?
He was there, right there by the pair of legs, buttocks up, covered in what probably was green pants. The pants were soaked from the water, and the waste was semi blood stained.
Mr. Westerman still wore a belt.
“Okay, here it goes,” Judd said, crouching down.
He wanted to gag, throw up, in fact his stomach churned. From above the waist of Mr. Westerman’s pants extended a shredded part of his abdomen and spine.
“Oh my God,” Judd groaned out.
“What?”
“This is horrible.”
“Does he smell.”
“Yeah, he smells.”
“I can’t smell him.”
“Trust me, he smells.”
“What’s he smell like?”
“Dawson,” Judd said with a correcting tone. “All right, here I go.” Holding his breathe, Judd reached out and aimed for the back pocket. He stopped when Dawson screamed. “What?” he asked the boy.
“You’re touching him.”
“I have to touch him if I want to look for the keys. Okay, I won’t go in his back pocket. I’ll feel.” He patted the back pocket area, then looked over his shoulder when he heard Dawson snicker. “What now?”
“You’re touching his butt.”
“Stop. Frist screaming and now laughing.” He exhaled in frustration. “Okay no keys there. I’ll check the front packet.” He slid his hand under the torso. “No comments, please.” He reached into the front pocket, paused when Dawson giggled and then Judd smiled.
He lifted the keys.
“See. See?” Dawson said with glee. “I told you. Didn’t I?”
“You were right.” Judd stood up.
“Now what?” Dawson asked. “We leaving?”
Judd looked up at the sky. If the rain held off, they could wait around to leave. But was it a chance he wanted to take?
“Yeah, let’s head back to the house. Finish getting what we need and we’ll head out.”
Dawson nodded. “Should I get in the truck?”
“Yes, we’ll drive it to your house. That will make it easier to pack.”
Dawson walked toward the truck.
“Wait,” Judd said. “How old was Mr. Westerman?”
“Can’t you tell?”
“No.” Judd snapped. “I can’t judge someone’s age by their legs. Unless you know, they’re a woman. Even then, there are some older women with legs that …” he cleared his throat. “No I can’t tell.”
“Why do you need to know?”
“I just do.”
“Old.”
“Like how old? My age old, your dad’s age old …”
“You and my dad are the same age. He was grandpa old.”
Judd winked. “Then I think we need to see what all Mr. Westerman has before we leave. If he’s grandfather old, then he didn’t rely on technology as much. Bet he has maps and all sorts of stuff we can use.”
He didn’t want to get into it with Dawson, what all he wanted to search for, because Judd himself, didn’t quite know. He just knew that when he searched Dawson’s house, there was nothing useful. Not a power tool or even a map. Not that Judd was a survivalist, but that book had quite the list and before they left, he wanted to check Mr. Westerman’s house for some of those items Dawson’s parents didn’t have.
TWENTY-ONE – CONCERT OF ARMS
Following the letter of the law, Ross went outside to have a smoke, that was when he saw the crowd. He didn’t notice them at first. It was early, he was half asleep and in his own world. He looked down only at the ground and didn’t peer beyond the truck until he wanted to see the rain.
There was something about the crowd of people that struck him as scary. They all looked the same, stared the same way as if operating on one brain.
They could get out, get in the truck and drive right through them, but was that the right thing to do?
He wanted Morgan’s opinion. He made her coffee, woke her up and broke the news. Figuring if she were like his wife, she was easier to deal with and more clear headed after a few sips of coffee.
She looked out the front door for a while. “How long have they been out there?”
“They've been there since I got up,” Ross replied.
“Have they moved?”
“Not once.”
“Okay, we get in the truck and drive through them.”
“Morgan, they’re people. Living breathing people.”
“If I’m not mistaken, didn’t one of those people try to kill you?” she asked.
“Not them, Tanner did. He was a violent person before. We don’t know anything about the people standing there. They may feel pain, know what’s going on and not be able to do anything about it.”
“Not our problem. If we want out of here and they don’t move, just run over them.”
“Jesus, you’re cold.”
“What do you want me to say?” she asked. “If you don’t want to do that, then we stay put. We stay until we go. We can walk, I don’t want to walk. We have a perfectly good vehicle out here with gas. So we can stay and they will eventually leave or make their way in.”
It would be a different story if every end of the world book and movie were right. If those people out there looked like creatures or were undead. They weren’t. They looked normal, like people in the morning waiting on the subway.
Ross decided to check the back of the motel. If it was a free and clear escape, then they could find another car. The back was surrounded as well. One big circle of the staring people encompassed the motel.
The rain came down steady and hard and not one of them moved an inch.
Morgan made the decision for them both to wait. Wait until they left. Even if it delayed them a day, Branson was a thousand miles west. They could do that easily. They had gas to get half way.
After the decision to wait was made, not an hour later, the crowd moved forward. They pressed against the window, hands and finger tips squeaking as they ran down the glass.
None of the people out there showed violence. They hadn’t tried to break through, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t.
It was Ross’ turn to make the executive decision. Most of their items were already in the truck. They merely had to shoulder the bags they brought in.
They would try to go.
Morgan was agreeable.
The front double doors were blocked and their best option was the exit at the far end of the first-floor hallway. Go out that door and make their way through the people to the SUV. Then he thought about Morgan. While she presented tough, she still wasn’t well.
She cringed in pain quite a bit and knowing broken ribs, she wasn’t in shape to make it through a mob of people.
What if they turned at any second and became violent?
There was no way Morgan could fight them off.
By the elevator was an emergency fire case with an extinguisher and ax, Ross broke the glass on the case and took the ax. He placed only one bag over his shoulder and left the other two, along with the radio, in the lobby with Morgan.
“Just wait here. I’ll bring the truck in.”
“You’re going to crash through the window?”
“That’s the only way.”
&n
bsp; “I can go out there with you,” She said.
“No. I can’t take that chance.”
“They’re not moving out of your way. If you intend on driving through the front window, you’ll have to plow through them.”
“I don’t have a choice. At this rate, they’ll be in the building and we’ll be barricaded in a room. No, this is the only way. Stay here and wait.”
It was good in theory. Walk out, squeeze through the people, get in the truck and drive into the lobby. That was until Ross went outside.
His last encounter with the seemingly zoned out people ended with one of them having a death grip on his jaw. Ross had a small ax and nearly a fully clip in his revolver to make his way through hundreds of people.
He didn’t know what their reaction would be. Would he even make it through them? He would use any of his weapons if he needed to.
As prepared as he could be, ax in one hand, gun in the other, Ross opened the emergency exit door, at the end of the west wing, of the first floor. Mentally, he envisioned himself pushing through the people and to the truck.
He didn’t expect so many blocking his way.
In his mind if he didn’t speak to them, or try to communicate, it would be fine. He figured that was the reason Tanner snapped, Ross had talked to him and made eye contact.
The second he stepped outside, he lowered his head and moved onward. At first it was like a rock concert full of people, pushing his way through annoying individuals who didn’t budge. How many times had he done that in his life and career.
Moving through hordes of people focused only on themselves. Only instead of booze, these one smelled really bad. The odor of urine and feces filled the air blending with a moldy water smell, it was so rank, his glands swelled and mouth salivated from the gag reflex.
While they seemed to be standing still, they weren’t. They moved forward toward the building and the instant Ross opened that exit door, one of them grabbed for it, trying to keep it open.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Ross said and shoved the man aside, blocking the door until it closed again. He didn’t need them rushing in.
Mistake.
It wasn’t just eye contact or talking, Ross quickly learned physical contact made them ‘awaken’ and the man who reached for the door suddenly focused on Ross.
His arm shot up and he grabbed on to Ross’ shirt.
‘Okay I can do this,’ Ross told himself and forged forward.
His shirt was held tight and the collar of it pressed against his throat with every step, choking him. He twisted and jarred his body to get free, only to have another move into him, then another.
If he were claustrophobic, Ross would have been in a panic. Suddenly he was mobbed.
One man holding his shirt, while the others moved into him, squeezing against him.
He could feel their hands on his body, fingers grabbing and scratching.
They were still people, they were still human. Don’t hurt them, he kept repeating in his mind. It was useless. Each step was blocked and Ross found himself buried in the crowd. It was hard to breathe, hard to move.
Hands grabbed for him, bodies pressed against him, each step he took was harder than the last. Within a minute his face was pressed against other faces and he found himself in nothing less than a human vice.
Ross couldn’t breathe.
As much as he didn’t want to desecrate life, it became a fight to live.
The human walls were closing in. He was literally being squeezed to death.
It was time to fight back.
Just slipping through was no longer an option.
He hated to do it, but the moment someone’s fingers dug deep into his flesh, along with the burning pain, Ross screamed out and swung the ax.
He didn’t want to use his ammunition, so he kept swinging. It seemed futile. His hacking didn’t make a dent. Those squeezing the life out of him didn’t even notice. Ross had to amp it up a notch.
The SUV wasn’t that far, yet the weight of the people were holding him back.
Not only did they compress him, they struck him. He felt the blows of pain to his legs, mid-section, head and chest,
With war cries flowing from him, he swung back and forth, in and out.
He pushed his way around to the front of the building. He could barely see the SUV. So many people surrounded him blocking Ross from getting to the SUV. He moved against the grain, feeling not only the lack of air, but the burning as his flesh took the brunt of their kicks and scratches.
He envisioned himself as a football player, plowing through them all. The one man still held onto his shirt.
As he neared the front of the building, Ross not only swung the ax, he flung his body, fighting his way through until he reached the SUV.
He opened the driver’s door and Ross finally pulled his weapon. He shot the man that grasped his shirt, then Ross slipped inside and turned over the engine.
He was injured. He knew he was bleeding, yet couldn’t let it stop him. He put the SUV in reverse and backed up. He shuddered when he heard the thuds against the vehicle.
After a quick turn of the wheel, he shifted the car in drive and slammed on the gas. Driving through people wasn’t as easy as it seemed. They rolled from the front end of his car and got caught under his wheel.
The SUV bounced as it ran over the people and Ross not only heard the crunch of bones, he could feel it too. He felt it physically and he felt it in his soul. Every person he killed, he absorbed emotionally.
Eventually, he broke free and rammed right in and through the front lobby window,
Morgan was waiting with the bags and as soon as the truck was clear enough, she jumped in.
“I was worried,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine,” he repeated. “I’ll worry about it when we’re clear.”
“What’s going on with all these people, Ross?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did, but I just don’t know.” Quickly, he shifted the SUV in reverse and prepared for the bounced, thump and thud of human lives falling beneath the wheels off his vehicle.
He never wanted to run them over, or kill them. Ross had no choice. It was what he had to do to get him and Morgan away and safe.
Ross knew, even making it out of the motel parking lot wasn’t the end of it all. More obstacles would lie ahead.
If getting out of the hotel was that difficult, he didn’t want to think about how hard it was going to be to get to Branson, Missouri.
TWENTY-TWO – CHASING RAINBOWS
When Dawson was seven, to celebrate his First Holy Communion, he went to Idlewild Park in Pennsylvania with his best friend Sawyer and his family. They left on a Friday and they got to miss school. Dawson’s mom and dad didn’t go and it was the first time ever, Dawson had been away from them.
His parents were at work when they left for the park, they had said their goodbyes and gave kisses when they left for the office. Mr. Westerman came to the house to see Dawson off.
Dawson likened that day to his leaving with Judd. His parents weren’t there, he looked back to the house several times as they drove down the street. Mr. Westerman was the last person he saw … sort of. There were a couple differences. There was no best friend, just Judd, he rode front seat in a pickup, and Mr. Westerman didn’t give a long list of instructions.
Mr. Westerman, did however, give a lot of other things.
Judd had taken a tool box and two of those orange gas cans. Mr. Westerman had fishing gear, a bunch of maps, and some old looking thing Judd called a CB.
Judd kept in on the floor of the pickup right under where the change holder was.
Dawson played with it a lot that first half hour of the trip, and even though Judd had it plugged in, it wasn’t working.
“Maybe it’s old,” Dawson suggested.
“There’s just no one chattering,” Judd said,
“Does it need the internet?”
“No, buddy.”
“It’s strange.”
“I wrote a song about one of these things,” Judd said.
“Was it any good?”
“Not really, I liked it. No one really made a fuss about it. It was a cut on one of my albums.”
“How did it go?” Dawson asked.
“Let me think.” Judd tapped the steering wheel a few times, hummed, then snapped his finger. “It was a while ago. The chorus went something like this …” he sang the word. “Been around the world, never looking back, now I can’t go forward a single step. You rocked my heart, you rocked my world. I see you, you see me, when I’m away, there’s always the CB.”
“You sing good.”
“Thanks.”
“I can see why people didn’t like it.” Dawson looked out the window. He was glad it stopped raining. The sun wasn’t out and it was going to be awhile before the water dried up. That was if it didn’t rain again.
‘Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear’ was written in the bottom of the passenger’s mirror. Dawson didn’t get it, why put a mirror on a car that wasn’t accurate.
Through that mirror he also saw Tire Man sitting in the bed of the truck.
“Why’d you bring him?” Dawson asked. “I thought you were scared of him.”
“I am.”
“Then why’d you bring him?’
“You saw him, Buddy. He was trying to get in.” Judd shrugged. “I figured maybe we can train him like you suggested.”
“If he don’t die from the cold and rain. My mom always said, I’d catch my death of cold playing in the rain.”
“All mothers say that.”
“So it’s not true? Did my mom tell a fib?” Dawson asked.
“No. It’s sort of true. You catch a cold and you can die.”
“So, Chuck the Tire Man is gonna get rained on and catch his death of cold. That’s a mean thing to do to him. If you wanna train him you have to keep him alive.”
“Aside from being scared of him, he doesn’t smell all that good. Maybe the rain will wash the smell away.”
“If he doesn’t die from it.”
“I got news for you. Our Tire Man… he hasn’t drank water or eaten anything from what I've seen. Pretty much, that’s what’s gonna kill him.”
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