by Dirk Patton
Looking up at us, she held out her hand. Rachel and I deposited two balls of well chewed gum. Tiffany pressed them together, then dropped the larger mass into the cup. When she pulled it out, it was coated with the powder mixture she’d created. Kneading the ball like it was dough, she worked the powder into it. She kept repeating this process until all of the mixture had been used up.
Holding the ball up, she looked at it and nodded in approval. It was probably fifty percent larger due to the added powder and was nearly dry. Picking up one of the foil wrappers I’d dropped on the ground, she rolled it into a tube, and after poking a hole in the ball with a small stick, she inserted an end deep inside.
“Can you open a bullet?” She asked, looking up at me. “I need the gun powder.”
I grinned at her and, using the Ka-Bar, quickly separated a bullet from its brass casing and held it out to her. Carefully, she poured the powder into the foil tube.
“You made a bomb?” Rachel asked uncertainly.
“Thermite,” I said.
Tiffany looked at me, nodded and smiled.
“What’s Thermite?” Rachel asked.
“Iron oxide, or rust, and powdered aluminum. Mixed in the right proportions and ignited, they burn in excess of 4,000 degrees Fahrenheit,” she said, standing and moving to the gate. “More than hot enough to melt the shackle on this padlock.”
“Really?” Rachel asked in surprise.
“Who’s the chauvinist, now?” I asked as Tiffany molded the ball of thermite gum around the padlock’s shackle.
“Oh, fuck off,” Rachel said, but she was teasing.
“So here’s the problem,” Tiffany said, stepping away from the gate. “This will burn really hot, and it tends to spray molten metal. Whoever lights it had better be ready to run.”
She was looking at me, and after a moment Rachel turned to face me. With a sigh, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a disposable lighter. Rachel smiled, then followed Tiffany to a safe distance, making sure Dog was staying with them.
Taking a deep breath, I moved to the gate and looked at the padlock. The foil tube containing the gunpowder stuck up from the ball of chewing gum at a forty-five-degree angle, waiting for me to light it. Once I touched flame to it, the powder would flare and burn hot enough to ignite the thermite.
I knew how hot and violently thermite grenades burned, and had no reason to think Tiffany’s creation wouldn’t do the same. All things considered, I’d rather have a nice long fuse so I could set it off from a safe distance. Shutting down my internal bitching, I flicked the lighter and held the flame to the tube.
At first, nothing, then the gunpowder flashed violently. I yanked my hand back and ran, a loud sputtering sound starting up behind and a wave of intense heat washing over me. When I reached Rachel and Tiffany, I turned to watch and shielded my eyes as they were already doing.
Thermite not only burns extremely hot, but the flame is bright enough to damage your retinas. Ideally, to watch it burn, we should have been wearing welder’s goggles. But, we didn’t have any, so as the metal violently combusted, we settled for occasional, quick peeks through our fingers.
The fire hissed and popped for several seconds, then a fist sized lump of glowing, molten steel dropped to the ground. The two ends of the thick chain swung free, lightly scraping across the iron plate. With a smile, Tiffany bounced on the balls of her feet in excitement.
“I sure am glad we brought you along,” I said, smiling at her.
She looked back at me, her face beaming.
27
There was a back door into the building, inside the fenced lot, that wasn’t nearly as stout or secure as the front. It popped open easily enough with a little persuasion from a long crowbar I found in the area that was used to maintain the monster trucks.
I might not have bothered to break in if any of the vehicles’ keys had been in them. But, they were locked up tight. They were also too tall for me to be able to see through the windows. I had to lift Rachel up on my shoulders so she could check. While I was doing this, Tiffany had poked around the garage area and found a stepladder.
Pausing in the open door, I stared at the darkness for a moment, then lowered my NVGs. Dog, close at my side, remained quiet. Slowly scanning with the night vision, I didn’t see any danger. Leaving the girls outside, Dog and I crossed the threshold and began searching the place.
It wasn’t large, even smaller than the diner, and was cluttered so badly I idly wondered if the owner was a hoarder. Boxes covered almost every inch of floor space and were stacked to the ceiling. There was a cramped area by the front door where customers could stand, if they wanted to stand very close to each other, and a battered wooden desk facing the entrance.
The desk was so piled with papers that I couldn’t see the surface. Raising, and deactivating the goggles, I clicked on my flashlight and began pulling drawers open. They were also stuffed with papers. Finishing the left side, I tugged the shallow center drawer open. Light reflected off four sets of keys. Scooping them up, I shoved them in my pocket and turned for the door, the light flashing across a box that caught my eye.
Bottled water! Of course. It made sense. This place operated vehicles that took tourists out into the Arizona desert. You don’t do that without also taking along plenty of water. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if the tour companies hadn’t been required by law to have enough water on the trip to last a full day in case they broke down in the middle of nowhere.
Shining the light around, I could see the printing on the boxes that hadn’t been visible through night vision. What I had thought was hoarding was actually box after box of water. Grabbing the closest one, I wormed my way through the maze and outside where the girls were waiting. I put it on the ground and ripped the top open, grabbing a couple of bottles.
Rachel and Tiffany saw what I had and rushed over. Each of them drained a bottle without pausing, then reached for more. I took a minute to search around, finding an old drip pan in the open area used as a garage. I washed it out with one of the bottles, then put it on the ground and poured water for Dog. While he was noisily drinking, I downed three bottles in rapid succession.
We spent several minutes re-hydrating ourselves, then I went back inside and grabbed two more cases. Sitting them on the ground, I stood beside the girls, looking at the monster trucks.
“Which one?” I asked.
“That one,” Tiffany said without hesitation, pointing at the purple one.
It was an older Ford pickup with four doors and a long bed, and it wasn’t just purple, it was purple. Maybe it was triple purple or orgasmic violet, but it was one hell of a shade of paint. There were two rows of molded plastic seats in the bed, and the rear window of the cab had been removed so those passengers could communicate with the ones inside.
Using the stepladder, I climbed up and tried keys until I found the right one to unlock the door. Getting behind the wheel, I glanced around for a moment, amazed at the feeling of being on top of the world. The interior was well worn but in decent shape. I just hoped the damn thing had fuel, and the mechanicals were in good working order.
Starting the engine, I couldn’t help but smile at the bellow of raw power. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. It takes a lot of horsepower to move four tires that are nearly as tall as me. A quick check of the gauges showed there was slightly less than half a tank of gas. The way this thing most assuredly drank fuel, there was no way we’d make it to Phoenix and the Air Force Base.
Shutting off the engine, I scrambled down and spent a few minutes moving the step ladder and checking the other trucks. None of them were any better off. Shit. Back at ground level, I explained the problem to the girls.
“What about the gas station?” Rachel asked, pointing through the open gate.
I reflexively turned to look and cursed when I saw a pack of females charging towards us. Where the hell had they come from?
“In the truck!” I shouted, racing to grab one of the cas
es of water.
Rachel and Tiffany scrambled up the ladder and into the cab, Rachel turning and extending her arms as I skidded in the dirt. With a heave, I tossed the box into her waiting arms. It was heavy and unwieldy as hell, but somehow she managed to snag it and pull it inside.
Dog had caught scent of the females and was slowly stalking towards them, head lowered as a rumbling growl emanated from his chest. I appreciated his sentiment, and would have preferred to fight, but we were too low on ammo. Bending, I scooped him into my arms and, one wobbly step at a time, went up the ladder.
I nearly fell off when an unsuppressed rifle sounded right over my head, but managed to maintain my balance. Rachel was back at the open door, reaching out and grabbing Dog’s front shoulders as I pushed his big, furry ass. A moment later I was up and in.
A quick glance told me I didn’t have time to screw around with the step ladder. Slamming the door, I fumbled the keys out of my pocket and started the beast. Shifting into gear, the exhaust bellowed as I hit the accelerator and cut the wheel to aim for the open gate.
Right in front of the truck was a dead female, and I realized that the shot Tiffany fired had probably saved my life. The giant tires rolled over the corpse without so much as a bump being felt in the cab.
The rest of the females reached the gate at the same time we did. Several leapt at us, bouncing off the fenders. Blasting through, I ran down a slower moving one, then nearly turned us over when I made a sharp turn onto the highway. I had to remember how this thing handled and not make a sudden maneuver that would ruin our day.
“Help!”
Tiffany’s shout came an instant before two females screamed, seemingly inside the truck with us. Rachel and I both snapped our heads around to look over our shoulders. Tiffany’s rifle was tangled in a seat harness, and she was shrinking away from the first female’s grasping fingers. Dog bounded over the back of the seat and slammed into the one reaching for Tiffany. The second was crawling through the opening at the back of the cab.
Rachel ripped my pistol out of its holster on my thigh, raised the weapon and fired in one motion. The report inside the cab nearly deafened me, but it was worth it to see the female flop dead into the bed of the truck. Dog quickly finished off the female he’d attacked, leaving the corpse to bleed all over the back seat.
“You OK?” Rachel shouted to Tiffany over the roar of the engine and tires.
“I’m good,” the girl said, finally freeing her weapon from the seat belt.
“Where the hell did they come from?” Rachel turned to me and put my pistol back in its holster.
“Probably there,” I said, pointing at a small cluster of dilapidated mobile homes sitting on the side of the road. “I started the truck to check the gas and it made enough noise to attract them.”
Thinking about gas, I looked at the gauge to make sure we at least had as much as I’d thought. The needle was just below the half mark. A quick scan of the rest of the instruments and I was satisfied we weren’t about to have any engine trouble, though that could change in a heartbeat.
“How the hell are they living out here? There’s no water. No food. How are they surviving?”
Tiffany scooted forward and hung her arms over the seat back to make it easier to talk to us.
“Don’t know,” I said when Rachel didn’t seem inclined to answer. “We keep seeing shit like this. Keep hoping they’re going to start dying off. But they don’t.”
“They seemed slower,” Rachel said.
“What?” I looked at her in surprise.
“They were moving slower. It’s a good thing, too, or we might not have made it.”
“You think they’re weakening?” I asked.
Rachel shrugged her shoulders before looking at me.
“I’ve got no idea,” she said. “But, I’m with Tiffany. How the hell are they still alive and a threat?”
“Shouldn’t there have been some males in that town?” Tiffany asked.
“I’d think so. Maybe they just couldn’t get to us fast enough when we started making a lot of noise.”
“Maybe,” she said.
Rachel turned in her seat to look at the younger girl.
“What are you thinking? You have an idea why there weren’t any males?”
Tiffany shook her head as if deciding whether to say something or not. Finally, she wrapped an arm around Dog’s neck and sighed.
“They’re still human, right? Which means, they’ve gotta eat to survive. So, since they’re still alive, it follows that they have to be eating something. Right?”
28
We entered the outskirts of Kingman, Arizona about an hour later, and though I’d never particularly cared for the town, I was very happy to see it. We’d driven about 60 miles, with a quick stop to dump the two dead females, and the truck had consumed nearly all of the fuel in its tank. With the heavily modified engine and monster tires, I wasn’t surprised.
“Are we getting gas, or changing vehicles?” Rachel asked as I slowed for a curve in the highway.
“Changing will be a problem, unless we find something with the keys in it,” I said, stopping myself from mentioning Long.
“So is gassing this thing up, unless you’ve got a plan.”
I shook my head and looked in the rearview mirror at Tiffany.
“What about you, MacGyver? Any ideas how we can get fuel out of an underground tank without a pump?”
“Who’s MacGyver?” She asked.
I paused for a beat, looked at Rachel, then shook my head.
“Never mind,” I said with a sigh. “Before your time.”
“Well, whoever she was, I don’t have any bright ideas,” Tiffany said.
“He.”
“He? He who?”
“MacGyver was a… aw, Christ. Forget it, already. You’re making me feel old.”
There was quiet for a long beat, then Tiffany began giggling. Rachel glanced at her and after a moment started laughing, too. Shaking my head and grumbling, I ignored them and drove, keeping my speed low.
Kingman is a small city that straddles Interstate 40 in northwestern Arizona. There is a ton of traffic that passes through, heading to and from California. Well, there used to be, but anyway, I knew there were numerous large truck stops in town and felt they were our best chance to find a different vehicle. Or to refuel.
“How far to the air base?” Rachel asked when the merriment died down.
“About 200 miles to Phoenix,” I said, hoping I remembered correctly.
“Can this thing make it on a single tank, before we hassle with trying to fill it up?”
“Don’t think so. We just used almost half a tank to go 60 miles.”
I slowed when I saw an abandoned wreck on the road ahead. So far, I hadn’t seen any infected. We’d passed several small neighborhoods with cheap, squat, block homes and a few businesses that looked like they’d been hanging on by a thread. They were all devoid of life. A steady wind blew dust and tumbleweeds down the empty streets.
I accelerated gently after steering around an overturned school bus. The pavement skirted another neighborhood to our left, nothing but endless desert to our right. Towering dust devils dotted the horizon.
“This is really creepy,” Tiffany said in a quiet voice, pulling Dog close as she looked around.
I had to agree with her. But then, I’d gotten used to the ghost towns that had been created after the attacks. They no longer made the hair on my arms stand up. Much.
“No infected,” Rachel said after another half a mile.
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” I said.
A minute later we topped a small rise and got a good view of the small valley where Kingman nestled between two rugged mountain ranges. A mile ahead were the twin ribbons of asphalt that were I-40. Beyond, the town stretched away to the southeast. From our vantage point, it looked perfectly normal. If only…
At the bottom of the gentle hill we were driving down was a massive truck stop.
An asphalt parking lot covered several acres of desert, and I was surprised to see that it was packed with both 18 wheelers and passenger vehicles. With a quarter of a mile remaining, I pulled to a stop.
“What are you doing?” Rachel asked.
“Just want to watch for a bit. See if there’s anyone or anything moving.”
She nodded, staring through the windshield at the mass of vehicles. There had to be at least a hundred trucks, and three or four times that many cars and pickups.
“It was like that when we came through,” Tiffany said from the backseat.
Her comment reminded me of the conversation I’d had with Caleb. They’d left Albuquerque, trying to get home to California, but the Interstate was shut down. That’s how they’d wound up near Vegas. Now I knew why there were so many vehicles that had congregated at this one location, but that didn’t tell me if there was a whole bunch of infected, or survivors, waiting for us at the bottom of the hill.
After five minutes, I hadn’t seen a single indication of life. No movement other than a tall, skinny dust devil that whirled across the sand and into the parking lot before losing its energy and disappearing. Taking my foot off the brake, I let gravity do the work and roll us down the hill.
“Stay sharp,” I said to the girls. “A maze like that is prime territory for infected.”
Neither of them said anything in return, but I could tell their attention was glued to the parking lot ahead. Reaching an entrance, I stopped again and sat for a few more minutes. Even at idle, the truck was loud as hell, and I was counting on it drawing out any infected that were in the area. When none showed, I pulled in and idled around the perimeter of the paved lot.
It was apparent that people had been living in their vehicles. There were also a large number of tents crowded into the empty spaces between parked cars. Many were tied to bumpers, which was probably the only reason they’d survived the wind and were still in place. But even the ones that had lasted were damaged and tattered from nature’s constant assault.