“Call sign?” Wendy found the spot at mid-thigh where the bullet had ripped a hole in his uniform.
“Yeah. Because I play techno music all the time.”
“This might hurt,” she said and stuffed her two index fingers into the hole and ripped the cloth apart. He hissed again.
The wound was small, but blood was coming out freely, pumping with the rate of his heart, which was slowing. With one hand she pressed her palm against the wound. Moby sucked in another breath and held it.
“Give me your hand,” she said. She put Moby’s hand over her own. “Put as much pressure here as you can.” He nodded. She pulled her hand away as he simultaneously pushed his palm into the wound.
She swept the open band of the CAT over his boot and shimmied it up his calf, loosening it to fit around his knee pad and bulky thigh. For a split second, she thought about how quickly everything changed. This felt just like her two years in residency at the UCSD emergency room, although constant freeway accidents were the trauma cases she dealt with the most, not gunshot wounds. Still, it was remarkable how quickly she slipped back into the mindset of saving a life, a mechanical will that blocked out everything in the world so she could focus on just this one moment.
“You with me, Moby?”
He nodded. “Yeah.” She glanced up. He stared at the strap, readying himself for what she was going to do next. She slid it to his fingers.
“Move your hand.”
He slid his hand away and she quickly wedged the strap past the wound. “Pressure,” she told him. Moby stiffened, pushing the heel of hand against the wound again.
“Wendy, come on,” Troy called from the far end of the room, his voice less urgent than before. “I’ve got Larissa.”
“Hang on,” Wendy snapped, tightening the strap and pulling it against the Velcro to set the tension. She began turning the rod, which cinched the strap tighter and tighter with each twist. One…two…Moby hissed…three…four…the blood began to slow…five…. “Move your hand.” Wendy brushed his hand away from the wound. Blood still oozed…six…seven. Blood trickled. Eight…nine. She slid the rod into the lock and looked Moby in the eye.
“You might pass out,” Wendy told him.
Moby nodded, licking his dry lips.
“This is only going to buy you a couple hours. Do you have helicopters? Planes?”
“Three helos,” Moby whispered, closing his eyes against the pain.
“Wendy,” Troy called from the door. “The gunfire stopped. We have to go.”
Wendy nodded. She snatched her pistol off the floor and started to stand. Moby grabbed her wrist. She gasped and almost pointed the pistol at him until she saw the look in his eyes.
“Sorry,” Moby said. “For—” he nodded toward Reese.
Wendy nodded and pulled her arm free, standing and backing away.
As she moved past Reese for the door, Troy ducked into the hallway, leading the way with Larissa draped over his shoulder. Her eerie moaning echoed out from the hallway like the zombies in Midamerica. For a second, she thought maybe they weren’t alone. A horde of zombies right about now wasn’t an unexpected turn of events given everything that had happened to her today. She tightened her grip on the pistol and flicked the safety off before glancing back across the room toward Reese. Son of a bitch. She wondered if it had been filmed by that camera, and thought to go get it, but it was gone. Only an empty tripod. Troy must have taken it. She breathed a sigh of relief. It may be the evidence she needed to get out of all of this in one piece. Maybe that was what Troy was thinking, too.
“Aladdin, Brick Four,” Moby said behind her, his voice weary. “Alpha Dog down. Black Rook in need of medivac at Conservation Center for leg CAT. Brick Two, advise location.”
Wendy ducked into the hallway behind Troy, her pistol leading the way. Troy leaned out the front door. A green haze of smoke still lingered in the bright lighting of the building and lamp posts.
“Out the door and to the right,” Troy said, nodding the direction.
“You’ve got less than a minute,” Moby called out from inside.
“Get going,” Wendy said, pushing Troy out the door.
Thirty-Seven
The sound of helicopters hovered over the zoo. The first one had come in so fast Wendy was amazed they hadn’t heard it sooner. The other two circled the complex in slow, wide sweeps. Troy led them through the trees to avoid the lit paths. She struggled to keep pace with him as they climbed through snow-covered brambles, and followed in his tracks to avoid getting bogged down by the thick snow. He mumbled curses each time he jostled Larissa enough to make her moan.
The dark shadows they moved through felt overwhelmingly frightening.
Wendy kept the safety on her pistol set now in case she fell, but her grip on the weapon like a vice. She didn’t care that her hands were ice cold without her gloves, or that every few feet she coughed. After what happened at the Conservation Center, she only cared about getting out of here alive.
“Where’re we going?”
“Front gate,” Troy said, breathing heavily.
“Why?”
The helicopter that had been hovering over the Conservation Center behind them suddenly roared over the trees to charge southward. Wendy stopped and looked back, stifling another cough, wondering if the soldiers were out there with their laser beams carving through the trees looking for them.
“Come on,” Troy urged, climbing onto an old tree stump. “It’s just right there.” He jumped off and landed with a thud. Larissa grunted.
Wendy, encouraged by the idea of freedom, scrambled on hands and knees to get up and over the obstruction, skirting a fallen log blocking her way.
The light from the front gate was visible through the trees. Another helicopter growled as it circled the zoo behind them. Troy kept moving ahead, then suddenly called out, “Keith!”
“Yo,” a voice replied. It sounded hollow. Wendy realized Keith was probably inside the back of the cement mixer like Vance had been earlier. It was good cover. Probably even bullet proof.
“Start her up. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Keith said excitedly.
“Where are we going?” Wendy asked between coughs.
“Leaving,” Troy said over his shoulder. He trudged straight for the cement mixer.
Keith climbed out of the back of the cement mixer just as Wendy emerged from the trees. Troy slid Larissa off his shoulder and gently put her on the ground. He stayed bent over, catching his breath. Wendy coughed over and over as she staggered toward him.
Troy looked around. “Where’s Vance?”
“Bugged out with the others,” Keith called back, climbing up through the driver’s side door. “Heading for the rendezvous point.”
Wendy stuffed her pistol into a pant pocket and crouched down next to the frightened girl. She wanted to coo into her ear to calm her down, but she couldn’t catch even her own breath, especially coughing as much as she was.
The cement mixer whined with a ree-ree-ree-ree-ree and rumbled to a start. Keith mashed the gas to get the engine to rev and it belched black smoke into the air.
Troy winced as he looked toward the truck and Wendy got a good look at his face for the first time since before she went into the Conservation Center. A thick, nearly congealed drop of blood fell from the top of his nose. He had a split, swollen lip and the rim beneath his left eye was purple with visible bruising.
“What happened to you?” Wendy reached up, but he straightened, pulling away.
“Peso,” Troy said, pointing at his cheek. “Centavo,” he added, pointing at his eye, then his nose. “Centavo, centavo, centavo.”
“You got in a fight with Chico?”
“Well, I wasn’t alone,” Troy said, as though her remarks made him sound stupid. “He punched me as I was choking him out.”
“Why—?” She coughed before she could ask him why he was choking Chico.
“S
o we could tie him up!”
Wendy didn’t want to ask why that would make sense.
Troy groaned, a hand on his back as he straightened. “Couldn’t let him get to his bunker. He’s got a spent fuel rod from the Palisades.”
“Are you guys coming, or what?” Keith shouted, hanging out the door of the cement mixer.
“Fuel rod? What do you mean?”
“Go on,” Troy said as he leaned down to hauled Larissa back up into his arms. “Get in the mixer.”
Wendy led Troy to the vehicle, asking again about the fuel rod. Troy didn’t answer. Carrying Larissa took all his breath. The only thing she could think of was a nuclear power plant fuel rod, but that was ridiculous. How would they be able to store one of those, much less get it here in the first place?
Keith pulled Larissa up through the driver’s-side door of the truck. Troy and Wendy went around to the other side and Troy pushed her up as he climbed in after her.
“What the fuck happened to your face?” Keith asked as Troy slammed the door shut. Wendy was wedged between them, with Larissa draped over her lap. Keith sat in the driver’s seat, shaking the gear shifter back and forth as he shoved the clutch in.
“Chico,” Troy growled.
Keith shot him a worried look. “He ain’t—?”
“We tied him up.”
“Good,” Keith said as he ground the truck into reverse. He seemed relieved. “Son of a bitch would blow us all to hell just to make a point.” He revved the engine and the vehicle shook as it fought for purchase, wheels spinning a second before lurching up and over the snow surrounding them. It bounded and bounced on suspension that felt like solid bars instead of rusty old shocks.
“Watch the fence. Watch the fence,” Troy said while looking out his window at the side mirror.
“I got it,” Keith snapped. He looked back and forth between both side windows, casually switching his focus from one side to the other. “So, who are these fuckers? Did you see any markings on that Blackhawk?”
“No. I don’t know.”
“Not military, that’s for goddamned sure,” Keith growled as they squeezed between the open doors of the gate, the back of the truck banging into one gate, slamming it open and causing a frightening screech of metal-on-metal. He spun the wheel and the cement mixer went with it, swerving suddenly as it swung around to the left. Wendy slammed a hand into the ceiling to keep from falling over onto Troy. Keith knocked the gear shifter into place and popped the clutch to get the vehicle rolling forward. He hauled the wheel around to the left to turn them away from the zoo’s gates.
“What did you mean by blow us all up to make a point?” Wendy asked, looking to Keith.
Keith leaned forward and shot Troy a look. “You didn’t tell her?”
Troy shook his head. He looked miserable, pained.
“Chico’s supposed deterrent,” Keith said dismissively. “He thinks mutually assured destruction is what’s been keeping them from coming out here all these years. It’s bullshit. They just didn’t care about us…not until we grabbed missy there.”
Keith ground them through two gears and bounced them over several snow banks and parking blocks as the engine roared to push them onto the main road.
Wendy saw a lot of the vehicles were gone, even the two ugly Priuses they used earlier. Someone was getting into an old El Camino, waving as they rumbled past.
Wendy eyed Keith. “Deterrent? What are you talking about?”
“Chico’s dirty-ass bomb.”
“What?”
“Do you not hear straight or something?” Keith leaned forward and looked at Troy. “Is she deaf?”
“He has a nuke,” Troy said loud enough to be heard over the engine. He leaned his head back against the rear of the cab.
“A nuke?” Wendy couldn’t believe her ears. “I thought you just said a dirty bomb.”
“What the fuck’s the difference?” Keith checked the mirrors and switched gears again, turning to follow the course of the road leading away from the zoo. They broke free of the trees and the world seemed brighter, lit by a sliver of moon reflecting off the wide expanse of open, snow-covered land. Keith turned off the headlights.
Troy sighed. Wendy looked at him. His eyes were closed, but his fingers pinched the bridge of his broken nose. His other hand held Larissa from falling off his lap.
“What’s the difference?” Wendy shook her head in disbelief. “If he has a nuke and sets it off, it’ll vaporize us and everything within fifty miles in an instant. How could you let him have a nuke?”
“It’s not a nuke,” Troy said. “I don’t even know if it’s really even a dirty bomb.”
“But he has something, right?”
“Yeah, a lot of dynamite and C-4 and shit,” Troy said.
“Don’t forget those crates of HMX,” Keith growled. “He’s got enough to….” Keith squinted into the mirror on his side. “Fuck,” he added, then looked over at the passenger side mirror. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Troy leaned forward, looking out the same mirror. “What is it?”
“Fucking chopper’s on us.”
Wendy looked at the driver’s side mirror, but didn’t see anything. She switched to Troy’s mirror and saw nothing in it, either. Troy leaned forward and back in his seat, searching the mirror for any sign of the helicopter. Keith’s eyes darted between watching the road ahead and the side mirror even as he accelerated. Then Wendy saw it. The reflection of a bright spotlight showering down on the road behind them.
Wendy let out a frustrated sigh. “This just can’t be happening.”
Thirty-Eight
“We need cover,” Troy said.
“No shit,” Keith snapped.
There wasn’t any, though. They were still on the side road leading to the highway that ran through the middle of the long, empty valley. Keith let up on the accelerator and they coasted toward the intersection, losing speed in the thick snow. The whump, whump, whump of the helicopter rose behind them as the engine noise eased.
Keith drove wide, turned hard, and locked up the brakes completely. The vehicle swung and the rear wheels broke free of their traction, allowing them to slide to a sideways stop. Keith ground it into first gear and let the clutch out, spinning tires in the snow and ice beneath them. Out the passenger side window the approaching helicopter hovered a hundred feet off the ground, its belly light following the road they were just on, coming toward them quickly.
“What if they shoot?” Wendy asked.
The cement mixer’s wheels caught and the vehicle bounded forward.
Troy lifted Larissa, dragging her across Wendy’s lap, and forced the wailing girl to sit on his lap. He straightened her out and pressed her face against the side window. “Let’s hope they have facial recognition.”
Larissa’s uncoordinated struggles made her appear like a frightened and confused invalid. Wendy’s outrage didn’t last longer than it took to take a breath, though. As she coughed instead of criticizing his treatment of her, she decided this wasn’t the time for common decency. Whatever it took to survive, that was what mattered. And what irritated her more than anything was that in the back of her mind she wanted Larissa to suffer a little. If it wasn’t for the girl, none of this would probably be happening in the first place. Why did she ever listen to Tom? She could have cleared Larissa and been safely in some science center in the Rurals monitoring the girl’s condition.
She let out a frustrated sigh. Mason Jones, that’s why. Tom’s goddamned father ordered the death of Mason Jones. He was probably the one named Aladdin, too, the one who ordered those two soldiers to kill her back at the zoo.
The helicopter’s belly light flooded the cab from the right side of the cement mixer. It was flying alongside them, descending for a better shot at the tires, or maybe the occupants. Wendy held her breath.
“Stop the vehicle,” a voice resonated from the helicopter loudspeaker.
“Keep driving,” Troy growled.
Keith looked
incredulously back and forth between the road ahead and Troy. “Jesus, T, when have you ever known me to listen to a helicopter?” Keith slammed the clutch in and shifted to the next gear.
“They’re going to try to take out the engine,” Troy said.
“Yup,” Keith agreed.
The helicopter pitched forward and took a wide arc to face them, shining its bright light directly on the front window. Troy moved Larissa to the front glass, pressing her against the dash. Keith reached up and pulled down the visor, which did no good at all, then held an arm over his forehead to shield his eyes from the glaring light. Wendy looked away, turning her head and holding a hand up to block the glare.
“Stop the vehicle or we will be forced to shoot,” the voice ordered through the helicopter’s loudspeaker again.
Keith put his middle finger against the glass to flip them off, squinting against the harsh light.
Wendy looked away. The noise from the helicopter, coupled with the growl of the engine and Larissa’s plaintive moaning made it hard to hear her own thoughts. She grasped for the first idea that came to her head, though.
“What if we dump Larissa?” Wendy shouted.
“What?” Troy stared at her. “They’ll kill us the moment we stop.”
“I mean, dump her. Throw her out.”
Troy looked at her as though she were crazy. “It would probably kill her.”
“I’ll jump with her. Make it look like I escaped from you.”
Keith put his arm down. “What the fuck good would that do us?!”
“I don’t know,” Wendy cried out, confused by her own idea. “I don’t know. Maybe, I don’t know, someone can get out of this alive.”
Clang! A loud clattering erupted from the engine well. Steam burst from the front of the vehicle, spilling over the hood and spraying the windshield. It smelled of boiling anti-freeze.
Keith stomped on the gas. The vehicle let out a gurgling sound as it chugged ahead with a labored, hoarse reluctance. “We’re still good,” he said. “One more like—”
Clang! Thwot, whack, whack, whack, whack. The engine seized. Keith slammed on the clutch and the grinding of metal ceased, but a loud thump, thump, thump echoed throughout the cabin. The cement mixer coasted along the snow-covered road, their speed dipping quickly. 45 MPH became 40 as the wheels rumbled over the uneven snow and ice, then 35.
Plagued: The Battle Creek Zombie Rectification Experiment Page 16