“Poor little bastard.”
Simon actually felt sad that the creature had been locked up to die. Alone.
He trudged back into the house and shut the door. He scooped up the last of the Oreos and carried his loot to the truck.
He sat in the cab, eating the last of the Oreos and drinking the whisky, his eyes glued to the garage door. “If they’d only left it cracked, maybe the little beast could have gotten out. Found something to eat or drink.”
He took another pull from the bottle and placed it between his legs.
“Or maybe it would have gotten eaten by something bigger.” He stuffed the last cookie into his mouth then tossed the plastic tray out of the window.
Simon started the truck and drove back through the housing addition. He paused at the house where his motorcycle was still parked. He glanced in the bed of the truck and knew that even if he could find a way to get it in there, he simply didn’t have the room for it.
“Fuck it. Better to stay fed than to hold on to the hog.” He patted the stack of weapons on the seat next to him and put the truck in drive. “Time to form a new gang.”
10
Roger pulled the van away from the staging area and glanced to the roof of the warehouse. A sentry gave him a big wave, indicating the coast was clear.
He goosed the accelerator and tried to put as much distance as he could between themselves and the warehouse. If he were to be spotted, he wanted it to be as far from home as he could get.
Wally gripped the dashboard. “Easy there, hoss. This ain’t no race.”
Roger nodded, pressing the accelerator a little harder. “I just want to get this over and done with.” His eyes darted between each passing building and around each parked vehicle. “I don’t want to get caught out here.”
Hank leaned forward from the backseat. “Slow down a bit. This damned van bounces like a pogo stick and these potholes are rough on the kidneys.”
Roger cursed under his breath but slowed the oversized transport. His eyes took in everything and Wally held the barrel of the sawed-off shotgun out the window, ready for a surprise attack.
One of the hooded men leaned forward, his voice muffled by the black sack over his eyes. “Have you noticed how the Crazies don’t come out during the day as much? Seems like they like the night better.”
The larger ex con snorted. “They’re smart enough to know that it’s easier to hunt in the dark.”
Roger wondered if that was the only reason. He’d noticed the skin mottling on the Zulu that Hatcher had killed. The skin appeared paper gray and blotchy.
He glanced in the rear view mirror. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. But I’d still rather not risk it.” He turned his attention back to the road. “I want to get you fellas to a car lot or something as fast as I can. Give you time to put distance between us before the sun goes down.”
“That’s kind of you.” Roger recognized the voice as the fellow who wanted away from crowds. He wanted to tell him that he was crazy for leaving but he couldn’t argue. If he’d had the chance earlier in the game, he’d have taken his Indian and pointed it due west. He wouldn’t have stopped riding until he hit the ocean.
“We packed you boys a few days’ worth of rations. There’s bottled water and a pistol in each backpack.”
“How much ammo?” The ex-con’s voice seemed to reverberate in the car.
“Fifty rounds. One box each.” Hank responded. “So, make each shot count.”
The ex con snorted. “I’ll find more.”
“I would expect you would.” Roger muttered. He kept his eyes trained on the road and any possible choke points. He slowed the van as he approached the remains of an accident. “Check it.”
Wally’s head was on a swivel. He leaned to either side, trying to see as far ahead of the accident as he could. “I don’t see movement.”
“Be ready, nonetheless.” Roger slowed the van and veered to the far left lane. He hopped the tires over the curb and drove partially on the sidewalk. “It looks clear on the other side.”
Wally gripped the shotgun tighter, the barrel now aimed more toward the front of the vehicle. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I.” Roger shook his head. “No choice though.”
Hank’s voice sounded worried. “We could turn back. Go over a mile or two and catch the highway further up.”
Roger shook his head. “We’re committed now.” He gunned the engine and shot past the wreckage. Remains were seen scattered around the debris, their parts scattered as though wild animals had been chewing on them.
“I didn’t need to see that.” Wally muttered as the last of the choke point passed by.
Roger peered beyond the wreckage and could have sworn he saw movement ahead. “Was that…” he trailed off.
“What?” Wally suddenly seemed much more nervous. “What did you see?”
Roger shook his head again. “I thought I saw movement ahead.” He pointed ahead and to the right. “By that yellow sign.”
Wally squinted but saw nothing. “Too much shadow, man…I don’t see nothing.”
Roger slowed the van slightly and peered behind the yellow sign. He thought he saw a pasty figure step behind a hedge. He felt his guts tighten and he pressed the gas pedal harder. “Probably nothing then.”
He stared in the direction of the movement as they shot past. He made a mental note to avoid the area completely if they could on the return trip. He blew his breath out hard and relaxed his grip on the steering wheel. “I think we’re in the clear now.”
Wally’s hand shot out and braced against the dash just moments before Roger stood on the brakes. The van locked up and slid across the pavement, the rear end coming around to the right and almost putting the vehicle sideways on the four lane road. Hank bounced off the back of the middle seat and fell hard into his third row bench. “What the hell?”
Wally leaned out of the open window and leveled his shotgun. “Move!” He fired the first round into the line of Zulu’s standing in the road, waiting.
Roger put the transmission into reverse and backed up, attempting to turn the van back the way they had come. From the corner of his eye he saw bodies run into place, essentially blocking their exit.
“Fuck me, they’re everywhere!”
“Give me a fucking gun!” The ex con screamed, his bound hands tugging at the black sack over his head.
Hank glanced through the rear window of the van and yelled. “There’s an alley!” He pointed behind them. “Sort of!”
Roger gunned the engine, trying to use the side mirrors to guide him. “What do you mean sort of?”
“There’s something at the end of it.”
Roger looked further down the concrete escape and saw a garage. “That’s no alley, it’s a driveway!”
Roger gunned the engine and the van bounced hard as it entered the private drive.
“What the hell are you doing?” Wally screamed, his shotgun firing at the closest line of Zulus.
“Trying to get us out of here.” Roger replied through clenched teeth. Just before the garage he cut the steering wheel sharp, sending the van careening through a small picket fence and across a yard of overgrown grass. He prayed that the previous homeowner didn’t leave anything in the yard that could puncture the tires.
The van burst through the hedges along the side of the house and erupted into another driveway. Roger kept mashing the gas pedal, doing his best to put as much distance as he could between himself and the infected.
The driveway opened onto a cross street and Roger spun the steering wheel, pointing the van in the opposite direction of the trap. He threw the gear selector into drive and floored the pedal.
A loud crunching noise could be heard under the van and for a brief moment Roger feared he had rendered the vehicle inoperable. Whatever the source of the noise was broke loose and bounced along the bottom of the vehicle, spraying bright red and yellow plastic across the paved road as it disintegrated behind the escaping v
an.
Roger gripped the wheel and tried to get his breathing under control as he mentally mapped a new escape route. He glanced up in the rear view mirror and smirked at the hooded men. “You sure you want to try to make it on your own out here?”
The ex con was the first to reply. “I’m not stupid enough to drive through a trap.”
The other three remained silent, their private desires more important than the safety the warehouse provided.
Roger blew his breath out hard and smiled at Wally. “That will tighten your sphincter, won’t it?”
Wally shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He made a worried face. “I may have shit my pants a little.”
Vivian woke up and felt as though her mouth was filled with cotton balls. She rolled to her side with a groan and sat on the edge of her bunk. She rubbed at her head and tried to remember how she had gotten to her room.
She tried to stand and felt her legs go wobbly under her. She braced herself along the counter and turned the sink on, sucking cold water into her mouth to swish and spit out.
Once the cotton balls had been washed away she sucked the cold water down, feeling completely dehydrated from the deep sleep.
She stood and tried to stretch, her body protesting. She had aches and pains where she wouldn’t have imagined. She paused and a flood of memories came back to her.
She remembered being grabbed by the two overgrown orderlies, one of them jabbing her with a needle. She remembered Colonel Vickers was there. “The son of a bitch drugged me.” She wiped at her face and waded through the wreckage that was her stateroom.
Vivian opened the bathroom door and cringed at the image in the mirror. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, her hair was a matted mess, her clothes looked like she hadn’t changed in a week. She braced her hands on the edge of the sink and stared at the reflection that she barely recognized.
Her hand instinctively reached into her lab coat pocket, searching for her ‘pick me up’ pills. She nervously patted herself down and realized that they were missing.
She uttered a curse and went back into her stateroom. She pulled open the desk drawer and immediately knew that somebody had been through it. Everything was in disarray and her pills were missing.
She immediately went to her stand up locker and pulled it open. Somebody had gone through her things here, too and she knew that the backup pill bottle would be missing as well. She fell into her chair and held her head in her hands. “Damn it.”
She allowed herself a few moments for a pity party then stood. She quickly changed clothes, pausing long enough to wipe her pits and private parts, slathering on a fresh layer of deodorant and then throwing on the cleanest dirty clothes she had. She slipped her lab coat back on and headed to the lab. If she could find a way to distract the others, she could refill her supply and…
Vivian stood in the doorway, her mind trying to take in the scene in front of her. A man with a bad attitude was cursing in French and digging through the cabinets. “Who is that and why is he in here?”
She marched into the lab as though she owned it. Ponytail bounced up to her with an entirely too sunny disposition. “This is Dr. Broussard. He’s the virologist you requested.” She lowered her voice and whispered, “He’s from France.”
“I gathered as much since he’s cursing in that language.” Vivian glanced to the pharmaceutical locker but Ponytail popped up again.
“The colonel ordered all CNS stimulants removed.” She gave her a self-satisfied smile. “Sorry.”
Vivian gave her a droll stare. “As long as we still have our reagents, I don’t care what he removed.” She could feel her body crying out for the generic Ritalin but she did her best to appear unfazed. She reached for her coffee cup and poured a large cup of caffeine. “When did he arrive?”
“Yesterday. And his attitude has only gotten worse.” Ponytail shook her head. “But Dr. Carpenter is doing much better.”
Vivian’s eyes widened. “Is he responding to the treatment?”
Ponytail winced. “Not exactly.” She glanced toward the isolation ward and cocked her head to the side. “I decided to test a theory.”
Vivian’s brow raised higher and she glared at the younger woman. “You experimented on Charles?”
“Not really, but kinda.” She took a deep breath and continued. “I played with the frequency on the generator and together, we discovered some interesting facts about the machine.”
Vivian’s face twisted in distrust. “Pray tell.”
Ponytail went into a long explanation of her theory of frequency amplitudes and effects and blah blah blah. Vivian didn’t care to listen to any of it so she cut her off. “What happened?”
She suddenly brightened and waved her toward the isolation ward. “See for yourself.”
Vivian pushed the door open, the mad Frenchman still cursing as he dug through their supplies. Charles sat up in bed, an old black and white western playing on a laptop across from him. He turned and smiled when he saw her enter the room. “Viv!”
“Charles?” She stared at him incredulously as she stepped around to face him. “You’re alert?”
He nodded, a silly smile plastered across his bearded face. “Thanks to Carol.”
It took her a moment to realize he was speaking of Ponytail. “Oh, really?”
He nodded. “She found the right frequency on the genny and I feel like a million bucks.” He glanced past her to Carol. “I’m hoping that the military will give the okay for me to go back to work.”
Carol shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything yet.”
Vivian reached out and took him by the wrist, feeling his pulse. Charles chuckled and nodded toward the monitor. “Everything is normal.” He glanced at Carol again. “Except the viral load. Are the results back yet?”
She shook her head. “Any time now.”
“So, you think that somehow the generator is inhibiting the viral reproduction?”
Charles shrugged as much as he could. “I have no idea. But the blood in my eyes is almost cleared.” He opened his eyes wide, allowing her to see.
“You requested that they allow you to go back to work?” Vivian asked cautiously.
Charles nodded. “I’m going stir crazy laying in here watching old movies.” He leaned closer and pleaded. “If you have any pull with whoever makes the decisions, please get me out of this bed.”
Vivian stiffened and glanced around the room. She looked at Ponytail and nodded toward the door. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She patted his arm as she stood to leave.
Once outside the isolation ward she pulled Ponytail aside. “This stays between us.” She glanced to either side and inhaled deeply. “Technically, this lab is mine. I run the show. True, we are aboard a military craft, but the lab and the personnel are mine.” She scratched at her chin nervously, wishing that she had just one more dose of the methylphenidate. “I could give the order to release Charles—”
“Then why don’t you do it?” Carol interrupted. “You can see that he’s drastically improved and his clarity of thought is beyond—”
Vivian thrust a finger in her face, cutting her off. “I need to consider this carefully. If I give the okay to release him and the military decides otherwise, it could begin a power struggle that we really don’t need right now.” She looked across the lab at the other researchers. “And we definitely don’t need to increase the tensions here. I need these people operating at peak performance.”
“He offered to work shackled.” Carol eyed her cautiously. “If that helps you to decide.”
Vivian shook her head. “Either we trust in our findings or we don’t.” She blew her breath out hard. “If we have a working treatment, then we have to have full faith in it.”
Carol nodded. “Have you inspected our test subject since your…return?”
Vivian shook her head. “Only once. I passed him off to Dr. Wells.” She met Carol’s gaze. “Please tell me that he hasn’t relapsed.”
She shook her
head. “Nope. Appears fit as a fiddle and his viral load has dropped to the point that it’s unreadable. If he still carries it, it’s either completely dormant or…” She trailed off not wanting to jinx the results.
“Or he’s a carrier.” Vivian stiffened. “We need to find a way to test it.”
Carol pointed back toward Dr. Carpenter. “What about him?”
Vivian squared her shoulders and stared at the doors. “I want your honest opinion.”
“Clear him. As long as the generator makes him this lucid, use his intellect.”
“Would you work with him?”
Carol nodded. “In a heartbeat.”
“Alone?” Vivian turned and met her gaze. “At night? With no security standing by?”
Carol opened her mouth then closed it. She glanced back at the doors then nodded. “Yes.”
Vivian nodded. “Let him go. Make sure the generator is within an effective range the entire time.”
Carol smiled as she pushed the door open. “Time for that shower, doc.”
Simon slowed the truck and smiled when he saw the large tanker parked beside the abandoned gas station. “Time to fill the tanks.”
He turned the wheel and parked beside the large cylinder-shaped trailer. He shut off the engine and climbed down from the cab.
He still had half of a tank of gas, but one never allowed an opportunity like this to escape. If he could top off the fuel and fill a couple of the gas cans in the back, he’d be set for a while.
Simon strained his ears, listening for movement along the shadows that ran the edge of the building. He shoved the nickel plated pistol into his waistband and walked around the abandoned semi. He grabbed the ladder at the back of the trailer and climbed to the top. He had a clear view in three directions and as far as his eye could see, there weren’t any Crazies beating a path toward him.
He grabbed the rails and crawled along the top of the trailer. When he reached the fill access, he flipped it open and tried to peer inside. The faint smell of fumes hit him and he knew…the trailer was already empty.
He cursed and crawled back to the ladder, eying the metal covers imbedded in the concrete. “Son of a bitch got unloaded before he got himself et.”
Caldera (Book 5): United We Fall Page 8